The two words that I feared the most. I felt like I was punched in the throat. On August 31, 2011 I went in for a routine prenatal visit at 2:30 and by 6 p.m. I was being admitted to the Antepartum Unit of Dekalb Medical Center. It was week 19 and the next day was supposed to be the day we had the ultrasound to find out if it was a boy or a girl. It was too late for the Cerclage, my cervix was open almost 3cm and the bag of waters was bulging. A condition that made it too risky to attempt the stitch. I am still way too traumatized to give a blow by blow replay, as is customary of my story telling, so I will spare the horrific details. And horrific they were, in the end.
On September 20, 2011, at 11:03 p.m., Our daughter, Jessie Mae, was stillborn. She was small, weighing only 1 pound 8 ounces. Her tiny, perfectly formed hands were only as big as the tip of my finger. She was as cute as could be, looked just like her Daddy.
I never saw it coming, even in spite of the situation being as dire as it was. I was crazy enough to think that I could make it far enough to spare her. I can't even begin to describe how it feels, other than to say that it's like God ripped my heart out, shoved it down my throat and left me to choke on it.