So I had a blog post all ready to go this morning to memorialize my six precious angel babies in honor of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day…but then inspiration struck…
…in the shower.
My daughter is just chilling in the living room, watching Cinderella and eating Pops…cuz ye know, it’s Thursday, when suddenly inspiration PUMMELS me. It’s so bad that I have to step out of the shower with conditioner still in my hair, and talk all my ideas into my phone.
You see, right now I’m working on the next book in my romance series and I’m going deep on this one. Many ask me how I went from writing a memoir in recurrent pregnancy loss to adult contemporary romance, and if you’ve read A Broken Us, my first romance novel…you know that it all started with infertility. I wanted to bring the face of infertility into an epic love story that would give it a larger platform than memoir provides. It just snowballed from there.
Writing for me is so much more than a smutty love story. It’s about tapping into emotions and the way people think and feel and react. It’s about telling a story of how someone can get past all the crap in life to find love and a happily ever after. Because that’s what I found.
But not everyone is as lucky as me. I’m sitting here after losing six freaking babies and telling you that I KNOW I’m one of the lucky ones. I got my baby. I got my HEA. But what about those who haven’t? What about those still suffering through loss, still grieving, still aching, still waiting for their rainbow baby?
Find something that fulfills you and drives you and use those angel babies to inspire you to go after it. That’s what writing and publishing books has become for me. So now, when inspiration strikes and I get that magical AHA moment…I
wonder know where it comes from.
My six angels.
October 15th is National Pregnancy and Miscarriage Loss Awareness Day. The entire month of October honors this but on the 15th at 7:00 in the evening, no matter what timezone you’re in, you’re supposed to light a candle honoring the precious babies you have lost. It’s supposed to create this gorgeous wave of light across the world. My family and I will definitely be doing that.
In the meantime, I want to share an excerpt from one of my angel baby’s whose story hasn’t been told yet. We lost Nevaeh Peace Daws on November 11, 2013 at 18 weeks pregnant. It was our most devastating loss to date and will be included in it’s entirety in Chasing Peace…which I hope to release later this year. Below is an excerpt of our precious baby that we said goodbye to, much too soon.
By Amy Daws
Copyright Amy Daws
“This is it, isn’t it?” I cried to the doctor. There was no holding back my emotions now. I knew better. I knew prolapsed membranes were about as bad as it could get right now.
The doctor looked at me apologetically and said he wanted to try and manage my pain so we could make it until morning so my personal doctor could decide what he wanted to do. He excused himself so he could go call my doctor and update him on my status.
The tech looked so sad and tired. She knew me. She knew my history. I was the only girl they ever did ultrasounds on with an abdominal cerclage. I knew all the techs by a first name basis, so they knew my story just as well.
After being taken back to my triage room, my labor progressed to where I was screaming and thrashing in pain. They doubled and even quadrupled my pain meds but nothing was working. Finally the doctor came back in and said we just couldn’t wait any longer…I couldn’t continue laboring like I was on that cerclage. It wasn’t safe because at any moment I could start bleeding out.
It was then he said, “We have to deliver the baby.”
I looked back at him broken hearted, “But the baby’s still alive! We’d be killing the baby right?” I was bawling now asking questions I already knew the answers to.
“The baby can’t survive without fluid in your uterus and yours is almost entirely prolapsed through the cervix right now. There’s no meds we can give you to stop the contractions because you’re too early gestationally. The meds don’t work this early on. If we don’t do something now, your uterus will rupture. That’s very serious.”
I looked at him and in that moment I was so hurt and so tired and so emotionally beaten, I just didn’t care anymore, “Ok fine, just get it out, and get it over with. I’m done, I’m so so done. I don’t want any more kids. We have one, that’s enough.” I pleaded with him desperately.
He suggested instead of a mini C-section like my emergency plan called for, he wanted to go in abdominally, snip the cerclage off, close up and then let the baby delivery vaginally. This way he wouldn’t have to cut in to my very small uterus.
In my right mind, I knew that wasn’t what we should have done because that would eliminate my cerclage that I worked so hard to get. This cerclage was supposed to be a permanent fixture in my body. It was supposed to remain in place for subsequent pregnancies. But I was in the midst of the worst pain of my life and just didn’t care.
Kevin must have felt the same way because he didn’t speak up to tell the doctor anything different. I think we both knew we were in way over our heads at this point with the kind of pain I was suffering from.
“I won’t have to deliver the baby when I wake up will I?” I asked him.
“No, I think once I take out the cerclage, the baby should engage in the birth canal on it’s own right away.” He answered.
“Ok, I don’t want to wake up and have to push the baby out, I want it out while I’m still asleep.” The doctor nodded thoughtfully at me.
Once I agreed to the surgery, four nurses rushed in and busied themselves around me prepping me for surgery. I was signing papers telling them they could give me a hysterectomy if need be. Meanwhile, the doctor was telling Kevin he was worried about whether or not he’d be able to find the cerclage or if it would be covered by scar tissue and difficult to locate. They were calling in extra blood from the blood bank and then, my water broke.
A huge gush of fluid and pressure came pouring out between my legs. It was like a dam had released, “Something big just came out!” I screamed.
A nurse came and lifted my gown and said, “It was just your water hon, your water just broke.” She said.
I began to feel some relief from the intense contractions I’d been having. The doctor came in and said this is actually a blessing because now we have no choice but to deliver. Before that, I guess our decision was, in a small way…terminating a healthy baby because of pregnancy complications. By my water breaking, it made it a necessity, not a choice.
I looked over at Kevin and he looked overwhelmed and scared shitless. It all was scary. I looked over to the doctor and said, “I don’t know you. You’re not my doctor, but I need to come back from this. I need you to know that I have an 18-month-old baby at home that needs me. She needs me! She is everything to me! This needs to all be ok.”
He assured me he would do everything in his power but there were a lot of unknown elements. The nurses then said it was time to go, so Kevin kissed me quickly and said he’d see me soon. As the medical team pushed the bed and me down the hall, I felt so very alone and so very sad. Kevin was instructed to wait in Labor and Delivery Triage. I can’t imagine the sight of watching your significant other get wheeled away to emergency surgery while you have to stay back, helpless and alone.
I was crying softly when one of the nurses reached under the blanket and grabbed my hand. She rubbed it soothingly as we passed through the maize of hallways and hospital corridors. It felt like we were moving at warp speed, but her strokes were soft and sincere. I remember her telling me over and over that it was going to be all right. She only stopped stroking my hand when we reached the O.R. and they needed to transfer me to the operating table.
Staring up at the ceiling, the medical team all busied themselves prepping me for surgery. Even with a huge team of people around me, it still felt like it was just me and my little baby in the room. I took a moment and rubbed my small belly. I whispered softly, “Good-bye my little fighter. I’m so so sorry this is happening to you. I wish I could have kept you, but I can’t.” I sobbed loudly and tears streamed down my temples and into my hairline.
The anesthesiologist came over with a washcloth and wiped away the moisture on my face. He didn’t say anything encouraging. He didn’t tell me I was going to be alright. He just wiped my tears. That silence screamed volumes. He knew. He knew what a horrible and rotten situation this was and since words failed him, he offered a simple touch instead. Eventually he put a mask over my face and told me to take ten deep breaths. Before I passed out, the last thing I remember was my own hand continually rubbing my small belly.
Amy Daws lives in South Dakota with her husband, and miracle daughter, Lorelei. The long-awaited birth of Lorelei is what inspired Amy’s first book, a memoir called Chasing Hope, and her passion for writing. Amy is a lover of all things British and her award-nominated romantic comedy series, The London Lovers Series, is centered around Americans in London. It’s emotional and self-deprecating with lots of humor sprinkled in.
On most nights, you can find Amy and her family dancing to Strawberry Shortcake’s theme song or stuffing themselves inside children’s-sized playhouses because there is nothing they wouldn’t do for their little miracle.
For more of Amy’s work, visit: http://www.amydawsauthor.com