Selah was my 3rd pregnancy after two healthy pregnancies; therefore I imagined this one to be old hat after my sons. Everything happened quicker the third time; I felt those flutters and kicks sooner, my tummy grew bigger sooner, and I felt huge sooner. However from the beginning of this pregnancy, I also felt safer and more at ease than I had with my first two pregnancies because I knew I had this pregnancy thing down. I even decided to switch from my regular OB doctor’s office to a midwife group because I was feeling so confident and wanting to go a new more “natural” route this time. Physically my pregnancy felt similar to my first two. I was always nauseous UNLESS I was eating something, so I always had a big bag of snacks with me - that my friends really liked to tease me about! The only thing different about this pregnancy was for some reason, I was just certain that it was a little girl. I can’t tell you why, but I FELT it in my heart. At ~19-20 weeks, I went in for the “routine” appointment. The nurse put the Doppler on my belly but couldn’t seem to find a heartbeat. She told me that she had a faulty Doppler and left the room to get another. That one wasn’t working either…. She then said, “I’m sure everything is okay but let’s just go to a quick ultrasound to check out baby”. At this point my heart was racing, this did not seem like everything was okay.
As soon as she got me hooked up, I saw my baby pop up on the screen and I was so relieved that I took a deep breath and I said “oh there she is, she is there, she is okay, right?!” The midwife looked at me and said “She is there honey, but her heart is not beating”. At this point, my entire body went numb, I felt like this could not be true. I could not be hearing these words here in this dark room by myself. Unfortunately, I lost my mother when I was 19 and was in a dark room alone when they told me the news as well- so immediately I began experiencing all sorts of mixed traumatic emotions learning my daughter was no longer alive. I sat in that room- crying the deepest most guttural cry I had ever experienced. My mom was gone, and now my little girl was gone and I was so anxious to have that “mother-daughter” relationship that I had been missing all these years. It was something I had dreamed about! My heart was shattered in thousands of pieces. At some point, they called my husband to pick me up and take me home. Before we could go home though, they sent us downtown to confirm that our baby was no longer living. This part felt like torture to me as we had to sit in another ultrasound room and go through the same thing all over again. The tech in the room kept asking me if I wanted to look at the screen and see her but I could not stop starting at the ceiling. I could not seem to look at that once kicking active baby. The silence in the room was deafening.
At this point, we were given the option to either deliver Selah or to have a D&E (dilation and evacuation). After learning what a D&E entailed, I knew I needed to deliver my daughter. However, that night- a Wednesday, the doctor called to say he had reviewed my ultrasound and wasn’t sure if I should deliver her not knowing when she may have passed. If she had died 4 weeks prior (which was when my last OB appointment was) then I would not want to be delivering her. In that moment, he took the choice away and said I would need to have a D&E. I was devastated. I could not believe I would not get to hold my little girl as she was taken out of me. We waited for days for our call to come in but they kept telling us the hospital was full. 5 days later, on Monday, Feb. 12th, we were called in. I felt like I was living in an alternate universe. As soon as it was known that I was not 'delivering' her, instead of my 'baby' and my 'little girl', their language changed to my “fetal tissue" being removed. I couldn’t stand how the language changed and the demeanor of the nurses changed. I was so heartbroken. The first thing I can remember when I woke up from the surgery was looking down and seeing my stomach deflated and saggy - and it felt SO empty. Even though I knew what happened, it seemed so unreal because she was there when I went to sleep but now gone as I lay half-awake in that hospital bed.
Emergency bleeding complications during the procedure led to being admitted to the hospital. By this point it, was very late at night and I was so out of it that I had no idea where I was being taken to. It was a fast whirlwind with little information being offered. All through the night, I kept asking the nurses questions and they just kept looking at me like I was crazy. At one point, I asked the nurse what I should do with all my milk coming in and she said she had no idea what I even meant. I was beginning to get the feeling I was not in the right place. Turns out, as I found out later the next day, they put me in their “only available” bed which was in the bariatric surgery recovery unit. Every nurse who came in asked me what I was doing there or how I got there and I kept having to explain to them that my baby was gone. They had no idea how I ended up in that unit. The next morning, the doctor who performed the surgery came to talk to me and delivered the unfortunate news that a mistake was made and he was “so sorry” but we should have delivered her. She was further along in utero than they had thought, approximately 20 week’s gestation and due to the size of her and my uterus it was clear that a D&E was not the appropriate choice. I could not believe what I was hearing…..I should have delivered my sweet little girl just as I wanted to. I should have held her before she went home to Jesus. She should have felt her mama’s warm arms around her. Because of this mistake, no one got to hold her, we didn’t get any ashes, we didn’t get any pictures, and we didn’t get the same treatment. I felt completely robbed. Unfortunately as a therapist myself, I know that statistics show that women who get to hold their babies that have passed fare better in their healing processes; than women who are unable to hold their babies.
The doctor went on to explain that due to the complications and the size of the uterus, he wasn’t sure if he got “it” all and I would need to go home and take a pill for the next five days to make sure everything had been expelled. He explained this pill to me as the “abortion pill”. At this point I was pretty sure I had to be in a nightmare. I had to go home and do this AGAIN?!?! I was discharged and proceeded to camp out (LITERALLY) on my bathroom floor for the next 5 days as my body reacted horribly to this pill. After several talks with on call nurses, it was explained that my body was essentially going through labor. The pain of this ‘labor’ was nothing like my first two labors. The most heartbreaking part of this whole story - that I continue to struggle with - is that because I didn’t get to deliver her, hold her, take pictures of her, get her little footprints, bury her, or keep her urn; I feel less of her mom. I wasn’t sure how to talk to people about this loss because how do I even explain that I didn’t get to hold my 20 week along baby girl?! I felt like I had failed in doing my part as a mom because I had no keepsakes from her birth; no tangible memories from her life inside of me for that long. However, one of the best gifts I ever received was from my doula who had a recording of Selah’s heartbeat that I had recorded from an ultrasound visit and had for some reason thought to send to her. She still had this recording and put it inside a bear and now I have my Sweet Selah bear with her precious real healthy heartbeat inside of it. I press the paw and can once again hear her heart beating from within me. A gift I will treasure for my entire life until I can feel her heart again one day!
When I found No Foot Too Small months later, I found a community that reminded me that she still was MY DAUGHTER, and that I could say her name and talk about her out loud. I could teach my boys that they had a little sister and that we can celebrate her short but mighty life altering existence. Selah Eleanor, her middle name, after my late mom Sarah Eleanor. Selah Eleanor, my one sweet daughter who I will forever share + love + celebrate.
Another reason why the NFTS mission is so vital to me is because of where I spent those few nights in the hospital. A bariatric surgery recovery unit, really?! I had to explain my story continuously over approximately 93 times and I cried each time they left the room thinking this all had to be a mistake. No mom should have to be in that spot where no one knows what she is doing there. I can’t even express how much gratitude I hold in my heart for NFTS and the mission and values they embody; including building these birth and bereavement suites for families. This group of incredibly strong women have transformed my grief journey and have taught me countless lessons about how to continue to “mom” my sweet Selah until I meet her in heaven one day.
I do and will remember Selah every day and my two boys now talk about their little sister as if they met her only yesterday. My oldest, who is 10, recently told me that he knows Selah would have looked just like me and he wishes he could see her. And then with the cheekiest little smile he whispered under his breath, “but someday mom, someday I will and I’ll give her the biggest football tackle”. Our precious, Selah. Some days the waves are so high and won’t stop crashing and then some days the tide is low and it is a bit easier to breathe. I wouldn’t ever want the tide to recede completely because these waves are now a part of our family and our journey through loss.
Selah….taken from the bible this word means “to stop and praise…to take ones breath away”….
She most certainly stopped me in my tracks and the thought of my daughter, Selah, will always takes my breath away.
IN HONOR AND CELEBRATION OF SELAH, DONATIONS CAN BE MADE HERE. ON BEHALF OF THE SPIELMAN FAMILY, THANK YOU FOR YOUR GIFT.
