Most people only get to dream of angels, we got to hold ours in our arms.

The story of Myles Thomas…

We learned about him on February 10 – Michael’s birthday. My first thought was, “Who finds out they’re pregnant on their oldest child’s 20th birthday?” Only me. Well, not only me. I’m sure others have had a similar experience, but…

Shocked… surprised… numb. So many feelings went through my head. My husband was excited, of course. He had been wanting another child (or many more) for a long, long time. It took me a little more time. I had to mentally readjust the rest of my life. I did the mental readjustments and realized that this, like other surprises that have occurred, is doable and actually is a good thing. I did begin to get excited, but nervous. Nervous because now, at my age, I had a lot to worry about. I quickly learned to stay away from Google. Particularly don’t Google, pregnancy after the age of 40. Talk about reading scary things. We kept the pregnancy mostly to ourselves. I told people at work as did my husband. We didn’t tell family until we were certain everything was fine with him. Ultrasound after ultrasound, test after test, everything was looking great. I was nauseous almost the entire day each day, which, as hard and as frustrating as it was at the time, was a very good sign.

We finally picked a day to tell the family. We told Michael on Friday, April 22, we told the girls on Saturday, April 23, and let the girls ‘tell’ the rest of the family on Easter Sunday, April 24. I hit the second trimester , everything looked great, it was smooth sailing from here on out, right? It was safe to bring the family in on our secret.

My husband and I found out through the amnio that we were having a boy. Now to pick a name. Names are hard to pick for a teacher. Some names just don’t jog good memories! I liked Madden Thomas. My husband’s instant response was, “Madden? Like the football game?” Others said they liked it. It was a strong name.

Through the month of May things continued to run smoothly with the pregnancy. Well, except for the nausea that was getting better but still a big part of my day. Madison was so excited. She began making a list of names and reading baby articles. Both girls went to my doctor appointment and were able to hear the baby’s heartbeat in early May. Kenzie began to get a little uneasy. She was going to lose her place as baby in the family. I was able to explain to her no matter what, we’d still have as much love for her in October as we have every other day of her life. She was fine after that. I told them they could come to the ultrasound appointment with me on June 1 and they’d be able to find out if they were going to have a baby brother or sister. They were both excited about this. Madison started watching ultrasound videos on You Tube.

Towards the end of May I began to worry because I hadn’t felt a significant amount of movement . At the end of May I began to worry a lot more, but kept trying to put negative thoughts out of my mind and come up with different reasons why I hadn’t felt much. It just means this baby isn’t as active as Madison was throughout the pregnancy – that’s a good thing, right? He’s going to be calm and easy going like is big brother. Good. I tried to tell myself that maybe my due date was later than we thought. Although I knew that wasn’t likely because I had an ultrasound at 6 weeks which gave my due date as October 14. Apparently the earlier you have the ultrasound the more likely the expected date is correct.

Saturday, May 28. Madison was sick so I took her to the doctor –asthma problems. We went to lunch after the appointment and then went to Barnes and Noble to look at baby name books. We found the name Myles and both liked it so Madison added it to her list of possible names.

Wednesday, June 1. Ultrasound day. I picked the girls up from school. They were so excited! Tom was going to meet us at the doctor’s office after work. They called us back to the room. Through all my pregnancies, through all the doctor appointments, the heartbeat of the child I was carrying was always easily found. The instant the nurse placed the fetal Doppler on my belly and all we heard was the deafening sound of silence, I knew. She kept moving the Doppler around trying to find the heartbeat. She checked the batteries. She left the room and brought back another Doppler. Still silence. The look on Madison’s face. She knew something was not right. “What happens if they can’t hear the heartbeat Mommy?” Me, “It means something is wrong with the baby.” The nurse left the room again and brought back another Doppler. Silence again. Different nurses came in and out of the room with different Dopplers. Each desperate to find the heartbeat. At that point I just wanted to scream STOP! Why were they putting me through so much torture? That’s what it felt like… torture. Another nurse came in, “We’re going to put you on the ultrasound real quick Deb. Girls (to Madison and Mackenzie), why don’t you stay here and wait. I’ll have your mom back soon.” I don’t want to go on the ultrasound. I already know what the results will be. “I’m sorry honey, I can’t find the heartbeat.” I had to go back into the room and tell the girls their little brother was gone. Madison was distraught, she wanted her brother. She wanted Myles to be okay. I had to call Tom and tell him they couldn’t find the heartbeat, that his son was gone. I was so angry at the nurses for what they had put me through. I realize now they weren’t trying to torture me, they wanted to find the heartbeat nearly as much as I did. Tom arrived at the doctor’s office. Madison ran to him crying. The doctor came in to tell us what would happen now. Did we want to go in to the hospital that night to induce labor or the next morning? What? I don’t ever want to go into induce labor to deliver my baby. He’s mine and I’m not giving him up. My instant thoughts, although I realize that they are unrealistic. I had to get out of that office before I could make any decisions. More phone calls had to be made. We had to tell our friends and family. We decided the girls needed us at home that night. We’d go to the hospital in the morning.

Thursday, June 2. We walk all the way from the parking garage, into the hospital and into the labor and delivery ward behind another couple. They were there to be induced also. They were full term and their baby was fine. Why us and not them? They don’t even look like they like each other. Why them and not us? Why was my baby taken away from me? Haven’t I been a good enough mom? Why didn’t I deserve this baby? Externally I was keeping myself together. Internally I was a basket case. I was a basket case, but at the same time I was calm. I think every mom has had the thought about how heart wrenching it would be to have to go through labor and delivery with a stillborn baby. I know I have. I know I have and thought how cruel it was to the mom. How I could never do that. I could never survive such a tragic experience. Now here I was in that role. I was walking into the hospital to deliver my child, but I wouldn’t be taking him home. I was a wreck and I was calm at the same time. How can that be? Seems strange, doesn’t it? This is my only answer: When you realize the next thing you do for your child will be the last thing you will ever do for your child, the strength you muster to do it is massive. The only thing left for me to do for my son was to deliver him. I was determined to give him everything within me.

The doctor and nurses at the hospital were incredible. They knew when to talk. They knew what to say and they knew when to say nothing and leave us alone. They said the labor and delivery would take up to 24 hours. Are you kidding me? I have been to hell, I am still in hell, and now you’re telling me I’ll be in hell for the next 24 hours? How naïve I was – to think hell would only last for 24 hours. When you lose a child, you are eternally in some sort of hell. Joan, the grievance nurse, sat with us for almost two hours talking us through everything that was going to happen and all the decisions that needed to be made. Have you named your baby? Yes, his name is Myles Thomas. After he is delivered, do you want to hold him? Yes, I want to hold him and I never want to let him go.

Friday, June 3. Myles Thomas was delivered at 12:32 a.m. I would have been 20 weeks that day; half way through the pregnancy. The cord had twisted. He was tiny. He was perfect. Tiny ears. Tiny fingers. Tiny fingernails. Perfect. I will never forget his closed eyes and perfect little nose. I will never forget every inch of his tiny self tucked in that tiny blanket and that tiny hat.

What is normal? Such a simple question, but one I can’t answer now. We have a new normal now and it’s a difficult normal to swallow. It’s a normal I don’t want. In my old normal when a stranger would ask me, “How many children do you have?”, I was able to answer “three”. What do I say now?

I will never know the color of his eyes. I will never get to smell that sweet baby’s breath. I will never get to feed my baby. Never get to sooth him when he is crying. Never get to sing to him. All the hopes and dreams have been ripped out from under me.

My baby died for no reason. Now I have to take care of myself. I don’t want to take care of myself. I want to take care of my baby.

There are three types of people in my life now. Type 1, those who acknowledge my loss and call me to check on me. Type 2, those who call but don’t acknowledge my loss. Type 3, those who have dropped out of my life. Type 1 gets me through my days. They call and ask how I’m doing. I tell them honestly, I’m here. Sometimes I’m okay, sometimes I’m not. Type 2 want to check on me, but don’t know what to say so I think they just talk about everything else to try to get my mind off of my loss. Type 3 don’t know what to say so they have decided saying nothing is best. It’s not. Type 2 and type 3 also don’t say anything because they don’t want to risk making me remember it. There is no making me remember it. It’s there all the time. Myles is always on my mind. A simple “I’m sorry” or “I’m thinking about you” or even “I don’t know what to say” is better than silence.

Myles is missed so much. The hospital gave us a memory box full of different items in remembrance of our son. One of the items was a small heart charm which I wear on a necklace now. When Joan went through the memory box and told us what each item represented, her words about this charm helped at the time. The one constant in Myles’ life was the sound of my heartbeat. From the moment he was conceived, throughout the pregnancy he always had the soothing sound of my heartbeat. He never knew pain. He only knew love and warmth.

Another item in the box was a paper with Myles’ footprints and handprints. Tiny footprints and tiny handprints. I think our children teach us as much as we teach them. Myles has taught me even the tiniest of footprints can leave a huge impression; even the tiniest of footprints can change your world forever. Most people only get to dream of angels, we got to hold ours in our arms.