Two Years Ago Today

Two years ago today I woke up to learn that while I was unconscious, the doctors took my three baby boys from my body. They were too young and too small to live without me and I was dying with them.

We had fought for so long for those babies. Years of infertility. IVF. I was originally carrying quads because when my body does something, it decides to do them in the weirdest way possible. We lost one baby at 8 weeks.

I was so sick. From ten weeks on I had the worst morning sickness. I became so dehydrated that my doctor had ordered me to be on home IV therapy. So I went in a couple days before Christmas to get the IV placed and to learn how to deal with it and how to clear my line and all that.

The next day I accidentally messed up my line and had to go back to get it replaced. That probably saved my life because they took my blood pressure and immediately sent me to the hospital. I spent a few days in the maternity ward on bed rest with lots of medicine. They couldn't control my blood pressure and I was getting sicker.

I was sent up to ICU where I was fitted with a PICC line and had so many tests done. I couldn't breath half the time. I could only breath properly if I was sitting upright slumped over a pillow. That made my blood pressure worse though. I stopped eating. Everything made me throw up. I stopped drinking. I stopped peeing.

My kidneys were shutting down. My liver was shutting down. I threw a blood clot in my left eye. I had to actively remind myself to breath because I couldn't trust my body to breath for me. I couldn't sleep because I couldn't breath. My mother took a picture of me right at the end. I looked like I was already dead.

 I have no memories of the final day except someone yelling at me to breath and someone else trying to get me to drink an ensure. I remember throwing up that ensure too.

I woke up in a chair. No memories of how they got me into the chair. The nurses were bringing in my three babies so that I could see them and hold them. They had taken pictures of the boys beforehand and did hand prints and foot prints and did little molds of their hands and feet for me. They put together a little photo album for me of pictures of the babies.

They were so tiny. Only 17 weeks but so perfect. Their little hands and feet were perfect. Little eyes and ears were still not formed completely but their noses and lips were already perfect. The nurses had wrapped them up in little blankets and put tiny little hats on their heads for me.

We had them baptized. We named them. Andrew Noah, Benjamin Levi, and Caleb Thomas.

This time two years ago

Right now, two years ago, I was sick.

I had seriously bad morning sickness from about 10 weeks onward of my pregnancy. Everything made me throw up. I couldn't tolerate the smell of raw meat. I was forcing myself to drink Carnation Instant Breakfast with peanut butter blended into it for extra protein because I was having such a hard time eating anything.

My feet were so swollen. I didn't know it but my eye sockets were swollen too.

I was dying. My body was killing me because I was trying to have a baby. Three babies to be exact. My three babies that I had wished for and prayed for my entire life. My three babies that were a miracle of modern science because there was no way I was going to conceive them without treatment.

My three babies that I would have gladly given my life for if it meant that they could live. Instead, they had to die so that I could live. How does a mother live with that? How does anyone live with that knowledge that someone had to die so that you could live? The babies had zero chance of survival without me. I knew that. I know that now.

But, oh, if it could have been different.

I've thought about this for a while now...

I started a blog when I was pregnant with my sons. The purpose of it was to be a place where I could keep my family and friends updated on the crazy journey that was my pregnancy. I called it, "Kellie and the Belly Dwellers." Catchy, no?
When the babies died, one of the first things my husband did in his grief was shut down the blog.
I wish he hadn't. I had some thoughts on there from when I was still filled with the wonder and joy of carrying life.
I can't go back now.
The first few posts will be a bit disjointed as I am almost two years out from my loss. It will be two years on December 30th since I last held my babies in my body or in my arms.
I promise that I will tell the story of the three little dragonflies. Tre libellule.