My Story: Our Baby’s Funeral

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On Thursday, just three days after Hadassah died, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Black. Never had the color of my clothes meant so much to me. Never had it mirrored my emotions so closely either.

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My Story: Planning My Baby’s Funeral

wkdro844zfNo mother should have to bury her baby. Even more, she shouldn’t have to plan her baby’s funeral with the little one still wiggling around inside her. It was definitely sobering.

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My Story: the Scary Bleed

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Over the next few days, I was able to work! I still took it easy, walking gingerly to my desk and getting up as little as possible, and I usually worked for one day and started bleeding the next. Although these light bleeds did concern me, I got used to them.

I just really enjoyed working for a few hours! Grinning faces always greeted me as I snail-walked to my desk.

On Friday, I woke up feeling unusually concerned, my stomach churning uneasily. Then, I shifted to my side and felt an ominous gush.

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My Story: Overwhelming Support

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During this difficult trial, Kenny and I never lacked support from our family and friends. From the time we heard that we might lose Hadassah, people started supporting us through prayer and showed concern for each doctor’s visit.

When I sat at home on bed rest, dozens of people delivered us meals. In fact, we were eating meals from loving supporters for about three months straight. One of my closest friends asked to start a prayer chain, and many churches had been praying for us already. My supervisor from work even hired a student to clean my house for a couple of weeks, and several close friends cleaned for me throughout the course of my bed rest.

Friends came to visit sometimes, and I always welcomed the distraction from my grief. One particular visit with our pastor touched us immensely.

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My Story: Final Diagnosis

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Seven days on bed rest stretched into entire weeks. Eventually, Jenny told me that I couldn’t go back to work unless I stopped bleeding, and I had to notify her of each new bleed. She also stipulated that I must sit down with as little movement as possible, and I could not work more than four hours per day.

To accommodate these restrictions, I walked slowly when I had to walk and asked for a personal assistant at work to bring me supplies. I also needed flexibility from my supervisor to leave whenever I felt the need. I could not go out of the house for any other reason except work, and I had to take it easy at all parts of the day. Each morning, I rubbed my sore, unused muscles and wondered what that day would bring.

“What did Atlanta say?” Jenny had called to explain that I would need an FMLA form. I knew she wanted us to make a decision soon. I was almost seven months pregnant and didn’t know the hospital at which I would deliver.

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My Story: Placenta Previa

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After spending a full day at Children’s Hospital of Atlanta, we drove home exhausted and fell into our beds. I woke up with a stuffy head cold to greet me.

“I don’t think I should go to work today.” I blew into my fourth or fifth tissue already.

Kenny agreed. We munched on our breakfast, and I filled up the bathtub with hot water. I could feel my head clearing as I soaked in it after Kenny left for work. As I finished and drained the water out, a small red patch slipped into the drain.

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My Story: Fetal MRI

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After several other appointments that Kenny and I had at Atlanta Children’s Hospital, we ended our busy day with a fetal MRI. I had researched what this experience would be like, and I had been fearing it all day.

I knew that I would be placed inside this big circular machine and left inside for about 30-45 minutes. I knew that the MRI machine was supposed to be totally safe, but I always imagine the worst-case scenario.

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My Story: Big Atlanta

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I remember driving into Atlanta that cold Monday morning to talk to a myriad of doctors. I had never seen a hospital so big. We wound our way around their parking garage, trying to find any open spot. We were already late for the first appointment with the cardiologist.

Finally, we rushed through the huge glass doors and asked a receptionist where we should sign in. By the time we entered the cardiology section, we were over an hour behind schedule already.

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My Story: Questioning God

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On the same day that we caught Jenny up on the cardiologist’s news, Kenny received a phone call from the Children’s Hospital of Atlanta. My heart tapped anxiously inside my chest when he emailed me about it. The doctors were interested in doing a fetal MRI to see the extent of Hadassah’s heart condition. The normal heart formation seemed promising. Finally, we were getting somewhere!

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My Story: the Pediatric Cardiologist

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I remember the hope of this appointment with the cardiologist. Finally, we could get some concrete answers about Hadassah’s specific case of ectopia cordis. I wrote about this experience in my journal:

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