9 years ago ...

9 years ago, my life was very, very different.

9 years ago, I was pregnant with my son, Jeffrey.

9 years ago, my husband made me pretty much completely miserable during my entire pregnancy because he was no longer the center of my attention. He didn't talk to me for the first two months after we found out. It was so bad that I was ready to pack things up and walk away if he hadn't improved by the time my birthday rolled around. This was something I hadn't told anyone but my closest girlfriends at the time and I highly doubt they would have said anything to him about it. For my birthday, he bought me my maternity wardrobe so I thought he was finally coming around. He seemed to get a little excited for a while about the baby and, when we found out it was a boy, he was over the moon for a couple of weeks. But he was disappear more and more to go to the track at night. I would ask him to bring me ice cream so that he'd have to come home early. As the due date approached, he started really scaring me. During the last couple of weeks before I delivered, he talked of running the truck into a telephone pole and killing himself but making it look like an accident so that Jeffrey and I would have his insurance money. He was concerned that we weren't in the right place financially to have a baby. He also swore to himself that he'd never bring a baby home to an apartment and we were still in an apartment.

9 years ago, I came to conclusion that I might not be anywhere near my sister's league where my mom is concerned when I told my parents that I was pregnant and they looked like they wanted to crawl out of the restaurant and run away. I could see it in their eyes that they were not happy about what I'd just told them. They were so unhappy that they met us for dinner a second time to apologize. They brought me a quilt that was made for my mom when she was pregnant with me. As my mom would be sitting there holding the lifeless body of my son, she would apologize for not being more excited.

9 years ago ... At this very moment, I was staring at the TV not paying attention to what was on or what was being said.

9 years ago ... 9 years ago, I lost my baby boy. Tomorrow he would have been 9yrs old.

Jeffrey was my first and, as luck would have it, the pregnancy was generally normal. No major complications during the 42 weeks but there were some minor complications.

At 36wks, Jeffrey was still in a breach presentation. Since he had not yet begun to drop, the doctor did an external cephalic version (ECV) to turn him head down. That means that she and another doctor manipulated my abdomen by pushing on it and physically forced him to turn around so that he was head down. It was a rather uncomfortable couple of minutes but the only risk it really posed to me or the baby was the possibility of early delivery due to a ruptured placenta. I then had to wear this 12" Ace bandage type of gizmo, a.k.a. the girdle, around my abdomen to keep Jeffrey from flipping back around.

I also developed a rash that pregnant women get called PUPP (pruritic urticarial papules and plagues). PUPP occurs in about one in every 150 pregnancies and characterized as itchy, reddish, raised patches on the skin that will go away after delivery. It was one of the most uncomfortable periods I can ever remember. I would pretty much bathe in cocoa butter just to stop the itching. So I would slather on the cocoa butter, put on one of my husband's t-shirts, and put on my 'girdle' and I'd sleep sitting up on the couch. I don't remember why I was sleeping sitting up but my instinct tells me it was because I suffered from a great deal of heartburn during both of my pregnancies so that may have been the reason.

My due date was April 9. That day came and went and my Jeffrey had not made any move towards the exit. I was going to the doctor twice a week now and they were checking for various things but by feel as well as using their in-office ultrasound. Nothing concerned them so I felt completely at ease.

On April 19, I had a feeling that I can't really describe even today. The doctor scheduled me to be delivered on Tuesday, April 24. I would arrive that morning and begin the process. I don't know if it was the fact that I was just plain tired of being pregnant at this point or if I actually sensed something was wrong but I asked if there was any way we could do it sooner and he said he wanted to give the baby the chance to do it on his own. OK, there wasn't anything to be concerned about so we can wait.

On April 21, I was sitting on the floor when my son started to kick up a storm. I did the usual mom thing and complained to him about how hard he was kicking. I know now that was the moment he died because, although I continued to do the kick counts here and there, I really didn't feel him kick or move after that even though I felt something that made me think he was moving.

On April 23, I began to go into labor. Knowing that we had time so we went to breakfast and then called the doctor. Rather than make us wait, she had us come right in. By lunch on April 23, I knew my son was gone. I have never really liked my name but I absolutely hated hearing the doctor say it when she told me.

I laid there crying for the rest of the day. What else was I going to do? They gave me all of the drugs I needed so I wouldn't feel physical pain since there was no concern for the baby's health; however, they didn't give me enough drugs to dull the emotional pain.

On April 24, I woke up early enough to see the sun rise. I looked out the hospital window and noticed that the trees didn't have much in the way of leaves yet. I started crying right away and my husband woke up. He asked if anything hurt and I told him it was just my heart.

Jeffrey was delivered still on April 24, 2001 at 1:32pm after a 42wk gestation. He was 9 pounds 3 ounces and would have weighed more if he'd survived or if I'd realized what had happened earlier. He was delivered normally rather than c-section because, as the doctor explained to my husband, they didn't want to give me a physical scar in addition to the emotional ones. (My husband would tell me much later that he was glad they didn't do a c-section. At the time, though, he just wanted me to not be in so much pain.) The doctor said that the cord was wrapped tightly around his neck twice and he believed that was what killed him so we didn't do an autopsy.

My husband made the initial arrangements for the funeral home to pick up our baby. We would go back after I was out of the hospital to bring the clothes we'd packed to bring Jeffrey home. That is the outfit he was buried in. I also gave them a stuffed animal my sister had bought for him since we expected him to be with us for Easter just a couple weeks earlier. I didn't want him to be alone.

When I was released from the hospital, my husband took me to a park because I didn't want to go into the apartment. I noticed that in the couple of days that I was in the hospital, the leaves had come out on the trees. I have always felt the leaves were a sign of Jeffrey. (I also see a mourning dove and think of him but that's another post.)

This week has been exceptionally challenging because of all of the stuff in my post from yesterday plus my husband is out of town until early, early Sunday and there's changes happening at work. So, besides my daughter who would take excellent care of me if I were to break down in tears, I am alone this year for my son's birthday. It's a lot to take when you're already emotional. I also think the emotions have been overflowing because the Spring has been very warm this year and the leaves have been out for more than a week. Last year, I barely noticed the date until it was THE date. This year, I've been building up to it and the only reason I can think of is because of the damn leaves.

At least one good thing came out of the loss of Jeffrey. I found one of my very best friends. She lost her son on April 19 and we met on a bulletin board for grieving parents. Now, I know they say to be careful of people you meet online (and boy were they right! jk) but, after 9 years, she knows just about everything about me and there's not much I can't say to her. Love ya, Nik!

Tomorrow is Jeffrey's birthday. He would have been 9yrs old. Happy Birthday, Jeffrey. Momma loves you and misses you soooo much!