Pushing to end preventable stillbirth in memory of Owen Nathaniel Vick

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More Bedrest Adjustments For Our Baby’s Safety (PAL Journal: 22 Weeks)

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5/30/17 (22 weeks)

Our sweet baby boy. We love your cute little face. Daddy was watching the ultrasound on FaceTime from work and the doctor kept pointing out your little winky, saying it’s a boy. Ha. I guess he thinks daddy wants you to be a boy and truthfully that makes daddy happy, but no matter your gender, daddy and I will be so thankful to have you! So glad you’re doing ok in there. Now we just need you to keep growing strong and healthy!

This week was a time of getting used to bedrest. The first week was a bit rough since I’m not used to laying around so much and having others do things for me. But now I get up a little more for a bite from the kitchen and have a bed in the office so I’m a bit more comfortable.

I stopped wearing the awfully hot and uncomfortable compression tights last week as the nurse said getting up to use the use the bathroom was enough circulation. We had dinner on Sunday for my dad and my bday and enjoyed my favorite meal, mom’s quiche.

Naomi has been struggling with me being unable to take her to and from school but I got her the Barbie with a bike she’s been wishing for because of her bravery while I was at the hospital and keep reminding her we’re doing this so baby brother can be healthy. I know it’s hard for her to have other people taking care of her and driving her to school as she’s used to me doing it, but we all are having to make sacrifices for this baby we all want so much.

This detailed schedule is what I gave my mom so she could take over with all of Naomi’s activities since I could no longer take here or pick her up. It was crazy! Thankful for my mom’s ability to fill in.

Our cerclage surgery follow up apt went great! Daddy was unable to take me as he had to work later, so we had a scary ride with mom driving us. She’s not used to van or the LA traffic!

Thankfully though the check-up on me and baby Jax went well. We saw his face a little clearer and watched him move his arm around. With another appointment behind us, I feel more hopeful that our little boy is going to be ok.

I finished crocheting his rainbow trapper beanie and a few things for the sprinkle.

Also printed out the pics of the pregnancy so far to hang on an old vintage looking door we got on FB to display at the shower. Tami also offered to give us her baby carseat and Mamaroo to use, which will save us more money on big item purchases. I feel so thankful and blessed knowing everyone loves Jax as much as us. Another week closer! 🙏🏼

Getting To The Gestational Age That We Lost Our Son Owen (PAL Diary Entry: 32 weeks)

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8/8/17

Ultrasounds give me the worst anxiety, but the greatest relief when they’re done. I can then say to myself, “all is well today”.

As we get closer to passing 32 weeks and hopefully meeting our son Jax I think my grief for Owen has gotten stronger, mainly because I feel sad that he’s not here too but also because I am worried that people will act like this baby fixes everything and that’s not right. Jax is going to add joy and make us happy in his own way but it’s impossible for anyone to erase the grief we have over Owen and I worry if they know we had another boy they’ll just think everything is fine now. Strange thoughts maybe but I just don’t want Owen to be forgotten and I don’t want that burden on Jax of making everyone happy. I’m just sure I’ll get defensive when anyone makes any comments about me having one daughter and one son or anything that suggests he’s better or stronger, etc. People say things trying to be nice and cheerful but those type of comments hurt me greatly. So on top of worrying about having him be born healthy I have that added layer of worry over what’s going to be said to us after he’s here. I’ll def make sure to announce and post about him while mentioning that he’s not going to replace our other son and that we are still grieving Owen so that hopefully people will realize that they have to be careful with saying anything hurtful but I can imagine someone will not know how I feel and say the wrong thing without meaning to upset me.

Like a family member on the phone yesterday said something about how this boy is going to be big (her usual choice of word that bothers me) and healthy, so I decided to tell her that while I hope that’s true and we will be happy to have him that I hope she realizes we are still going to be sad about Owen and I don’t want anyone thinking that Jax is going to replace him. She said oh no, we still miss Owen and think of him. I’m glad I said that to her because she has the habit of focusing on this baby and to me it has felt like she thinks this is going to make us a perfect little family with a boy and girl. But hopefully now she’ll be more sensitive.

Anyway, that’s my thing for this week as I get to the point where we were when we lost Owen. Just feeling melancholy and missing him, plus a little scared, but also thankful we are getting further along.

Little brother Jax still growing in my womb,

Grief (Uncensored)

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Here she is again; That viscous, heartless bitch, grief. She has no care for what day it is. She storms in, flinging the door wide open whenever she damn well pleases and ruins everything; Holidays, anniversaries, special occasions are all fair game. Four years after loss, her arrival has gotten a bit more predictable. We don’t feel the weight of her constant, daily presence like we did the first couple years. She’s more like the annoying uncle everyone puts up with at Thanksgiving and tries not to engage in conversation to avoid his off-color jokes. But that doesn’t mean she can’t show up without a moment’s notice and turn your whole world upside down again. People say grief comes in waves. In my experience she’s more of a tsunami attack. You can’t just wade in the shallow side of grief, she’ll drag you into the deep end and dunk you under as you gasp for air, crying out in vein for someone to save you. All it takes is a small trigger or a bad day for her to see her way in. Kick you while you’re down, that’s her style. A real bitch I tell you. But you know the weirdest part of this toxic relationship? Sometimes I see her coming and I invite her in. I welcome her like a long lost friend. Ah (sigh of relief), there she is, just when I was afraid I had “moved on”. That the pain of loss had decided to let go of my heart and somehow that means I miss him less. After a long spell of her silence, of being able to go through my daily routine without a tear, I feel somehow thankful when she returns and she reminds me of how much I lost, how badly I still long for my baby boy. She’s the only one who knows how truly broken I still am. She heard my guttural screams when I was told the news, “I’m sorry, we couldn’t save him. Your son died”, or some similar matter of fact statement that I couldn’t believe I was hearing as I was coming out of the black fog of anesthesia. My husband held my hand, tears flowing. Cries followed that sounded so foreign, but somehow were coming from deep within me; uncontrollable and piercing wails like a wounded animal. Only she knows how we sat together in the darkness every hour of every day after for months on end. I couldn’t imagine life without our son. The only moments I could see the light were when my sunshine came to my bedside to sit with me. My four year old girl, sitting sweetly in my rocking chair smiling at me and instinctively coming to my bedside to hold my face within her tiny hands making mommy smile back at her when I was at my worst. She kept me from being swallowed whole by grief in those early days. My husband too, with his rock solid strength, pushing forward, going back to work to keep us afloat and putting on a brave face though he was also fighting off grief and severe PTSD. God was there too, silent but steady, understanding all to well the pain of losing a child. He never left my side and kept promising me beauty for ashes, asking me to trust Him. Then inexplicably, somehow life continues moving on. We learn to cope, figure out ways to honor our lost loved one and by some miracle we can experience joy and hope again too. Grief takes a break, maybe she finds some other poor unsuspecting soul to ambush. Yet she won’t let you forget her, she comes back unannounced and as much as I dread that day, I can’t help but smile because I know she’s going to bring me right back to that place. That moment I held him in my arms for the first time, smelled his fresh baby skin, took in his perfection, every inch from his soft blonde hair, handsome cleft chin, long, thin body, down to his slightly crooked toes (just like daddy’s). He’s gone now, but he was here. He died in delivery, but he lived in me, and that’s where he continues to live today. Always in my heart, my son, Owen Nathaniel Vick. Grief lasts forever just like our love, they coexist hand-in-hand, and I’ve learned to accept the crashing waves that allow me to feel the depth of that endless love.

A Life is a Life from the Start

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When does life begin? I know many have debated this issue and I won’t be the one to settle it here. Yet I feel inclined in my late night insomnia induced pondering to share my two cents.

Conception. No doubt about it. That moment when a very persistent sperm meets the specific egg that was dropped at that exact time of the month is the instant life begins. Yup, as soon as I read the plus sign on my pregnancy test I knew I was a mom. Ask any woman when she finds out she is pregnant and I think she will tell you the same thing. Of course it takes many more months to form a healthy, viable baby, but from the very start we already assume full responsibility for the care and growth of that baby in our womb.

Physically, some women go through many difficult challenges in their pregnancy journey (infertility, IVF, cerclage, bedrest, progesterone shots, c sections, and so many other serious medical issues) while others have less complicated pregnancies yet still also experience many of the same changes having to adjust their eating and drinking habits, take prenatals, go to countless doctors appointments and deliver (no small feats). Of course every mother equally sacrifices their bodies as they grow a tiny human inside their womb. Pretty sure we all in the final uncomfortable months wonder how we can possibly expand any further as our skin is stretched to the limit and we can’t even fathom there is any more room left inside for the baby to grow more. Yet somehow we do, and somehow that baby continues to grow and form until it’s time for that precious child to meet the world.

Emotionally, from the moment they conceive, hopeful parents prepare for their baby’s arrival and envision who that baby will become. A mother and father’s bond and love for that baby often grows exponentially along with every cell of its body. From the week to week updates on the apps or websites we check and the doctor visits where we can physically see the baby on ultrasounds, we know those little growing cells are alive and creating a being from day 1. But more importantly in our hearts that child has already taken his or her position in our family as our child and that will never change no matter what happens on the long road ahead.

I know there are those who will still debate this issue scientifically or rationally noting that at that first moment we can’t claim there is a living baby inside of a mother yet. I imagine these people have never been pregnant before themselves. I find myself hard pressed to believe that anyone who has carried a child and/or witnessed the miracle of creation for themselves as a father would be of the opinion that the mother wasn’t carrying a life, granted in its beginning stages, when they first got pregnant. While I don’t advise anyone to get pregnant just to see what I mean, I feel I can safely wager that if they did they would have to agree. You can’t experience the process of reproduction and watch your baby grow, develop likes and dislikes, flutter, kick, and turn in habitual and distinctive ways, without realizing that this very tiny being is becoming a unique person with each passing day and soon, if you’re lucky enough to get to participate in the miracle of birth, your awe will overtake any doubt as you behold that tiny, perfect little person and ask, “Wow, you were in there all along”? Yet somehow you have an instinctive sense of knowing that very child was in fact in there, growing inside of you, becoming who this child was made to be, and bonding with you from that very first second. If, I pray, when, your little one looks back up at you with their eyes full of wonder and you have the great fortune of seeing them continue to form and evolve as they get older, I am certain you’ll have no way of disagreeing that from the very start your child was alive and every moment of that life is a true blessing.

This isn’t a political debate, there is no hidden agenda or religious belief being pushed on anyone. Just the truth in my heart that I wanted to share with the universe tonight as a mother of five: one in heaven, two in my arms, and two more in the stars (though they only formed in my womb for less than two months each they are also a part of our forever family).

Owen, Jordan and Avery, I love you all just as much as your siblings on Earth. ????

Edit: This is my spiritual/personal belief about life, but I strongly support a woman’s choice and I know sadly many need to make a very difficult decision because of their baby’s condition or threat to their own life, etc. It is a very complex matter and my point was just to highlight how I have thought of all my babies as mine from day one and I especially feel protective over anyone who will question that my son was born, although he was born still. He was still born from my womb and will always be my son.

Indifference or Apathy Towards Loss; It’s Time to Talk

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Lately my expression of grief has been lingering in the anger phase more than usual. Probably because all my emotions of frustration and anger regarding the loss resurface every time we celebrate our son’s “birth” day (October 3rd). I inadvertently return to that earlier stage of trying to make sense of why we lost him and who was at fault. It’s an extremely lonely and depressing place to be, but I can’t escape it, it keeps me up at night and tortures my mind endlessly. Couple that with the perceived indifference or apathy that I feel others have toward our loss, especially now three years later, it’s a dark and alienating feeling I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Clearly no one would dare say anything suggesting we move on or that they don’t see why I’m still grieving, but it’s what they don’t say. The difficult moments when I or my husband decide to tell someone we lost a son don’t happen as often as before. But when we do, especially when he shares our loss story (because he doesn’t express his grief as much as I do so when he opens up about our son I know it took a lot), I would expect that the person listening could offer their condolences. It doesn’t have to be a lengthy conversation, but a simple “I’m sorry for your loss” would be much less cruel than silence and a change of topic. Why is it that people skirt passed uncomfortable conversations about grief? I guess maybe they think if they talk about the loss then we’ll be reminded and somehow hurt more? I know it’s hard to go there and feel empathy for someone when they’ve experienced the unspeakable and some people are surprised by the shocking, sudden knowledge that we lost a baby so they just don’t know what to say. But coming from a loss mom, if you don’t know how to react just say whatever you can come up with: “I’m sorry”, “That must be so hard”, “I am here for you”, “Can you tell me about him?”, anything, just don’t stay quiet please. It breaks our hearts our child is no longer here and your avoidance of talking about him doesn’t help. If anything it dishonors his memory and makes us feel even more alone.

And since social media is where many interactions take place these days, if you see a post about a person’s loss, please don’t “Like” it or nod and keep on scrolling. And if you planned on just tapping the sad faced emoji (????), reconsider and kindly take a moment to write out a sentence. Again it can be brief, but it means so much if you acknowledge our pain with a few words. I hope my advice doesn’t come off preachy, but I’ve experienced this enough times in three years and I know people mean well, so I’ve decided to share my feelings to tell others who want to be there for us and anyone else who lost a child that it’s okay to talk about our babies. We crave hearing their name and knowing you still care.

If you’re a loss parent reading this and you feel alone, you aren’t. I’m sorry we are here in this unfortunate club together, but I am glad that we can offer each other support knowing exactly what one another is going through. I will always be honored to hear about your child and grieve them with you. Please tell me about them. Comment with your baby’s name and story below, share my post, and let’s keep talking and honoring their little lives. I miss my son, Owen, just as much yesterday, today and always. It is still so hard, but on the good days something or someone reminds me of him and I can smile because he is mine and I am his forever. ????

Forever Yours

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Days go by,
Further from goodbye
Closer to hello
Never letting go

Memories of you
Tiny, precious, true
Nothing more real
Gone yet present still

Speak, breath, grow
A son I didn’t get to know
So much to learn, see, do
So little shared with you

From the first hello
My heart you stole
To the last goodbye
I never understood why

Your purpose is greater
Trusting in our Creator
Until we meet again
Your momma till the end

A Difficult Question

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“Is she your only child?” That’s a question I’m still struggling to decide how to answer. Often asked harmlessly by acquaintances, like last week at a kid’s party, it’s a question that throws me into a downward spiral for days. Of course, they see my perfect, sweet four year old daughter running happily about and wonder if I would like to have more beautiful children like her; Or even more importantly, do I plan on giving her a sibling? And the obvious answer to me is, We have other children. We have a son. My equally treasured and loved baby, Owen, whom we lost unexplainably towards the end of my pregnancy this October. And, if we’re speaking honestly, I also had another child I miscarried too early to know his or her gender, so technically we have three.

But how honest should I get with those who don’t know my circumstances or how devastating their question is to me? I try to be candid of course; I explain my losses, trying not to get upset, and hoping that it won’t make me into the “Debbie Downer” of the party. Most woman are sympathetic, especially those who are finished growing their families and have no fear of my bad luck rubbing off on them. But I get this feeling from other young moms who are still in their childbearing years that what I’m saying might be too much for casual conversation. Though they listen (with terror in their eyes), I feel like I need to censor what I say so as to not worry them if they plan on having more kids. Truth be told, I am worried whenever I hear of anyone getting pregnant and all I can do is secretly pray that everything goes better for them; That they can get to keep their healthy babies. Please God. Don’t let this happen to anyone else. 

My son is gone and that’s a pain I have to continue to endure until I get to hold him again. Meanwhile I am trying to wholeheartedly enjoy the special moments I get to share with his sister. I know I am lucky and have a lot to be thankful for, but I am still struggling to be okay; the pain, sadness, loneliness, emptiness, hurt and anger of losing our son makes my postpartum depression even worse. Our loss has changed our lives and challenged me to try to rebuild my heart from all the shattered pieces. I’m not there yet, but I’m in therapy and trying to focus on the good, taking it one moment at a time.

At the end of the day, I just have to tell myself this is God’s plan. I heard a DJ on the radio yesterday say, “we have one child in the target and the others still in the quiver”. With that he was saying, our children are like arrows and the target is heaven, so we have to remind ourselves that the ones we have lost have already made it to that amazing place. Meanwhile we all must continue to take aim at that bullseye and try to earn our way in. It somehow gives me a little peace knowing we have our son waiting in the target and the rest of us will hopefully join him when it’s our time. Our three children will still get to play joyfully together some day; This is God’s promise of eternal life for all who follow him and a truth I cling to when I am desperately missing my son.

So I guess I’ll just keep on trying to be honest when I reply to that no longer simple question… It may be painful, but it’s true; We have three children, although only one is with us now.