My Story….

Parent Stories, Support Resources

Written By: Nicole Diaz

As we prepared for the arrival of our 2nd daughter, Rylie Krystine, the thought of still-birth never crossed my mind. I never imagined our “hello” would be “goodbye”.

I absolutely LOVED being pregnant.  I did everything right…got early prenatal care and ate right.  My daughter, Rayna was 3 and could not wait to be a big sister.

On Tuesday, December 21, 1999 at 37 weeks gestation, Rayna and I saw Rylie was moving around and waving “hi” as the ultrasound tech scanned my belly. The tech confirmed that Rylie was still a girl and gave us a few pictures to take home. Life was picture perfect.

Then, without warning, my dream turned into a nightmare.  I woke up the morning of December 22nd like any other day.  We had breakfast and got ready for the day, which included my weekly doctor’s appointment.  As Rayna and I waited in the waiting room for our turn, I couldn’t remember when I felt Rylie move last. Then, I heard my name.   As we walked back to do the routine weight check and urine sample, I mentioned to the medical assistant that I don’t think I felt Rylie move that morning.  She smiled and said “I am sure everything is fine.  The doctor will be in with you shortly.” and walked out closing the door behind her.  The physician assistant came in shortly after and when I asked where my doctor was.  She said, “Oh he’s busy, lay back and let’s hear this baby’s heart tones.”  As I laid back and my belly shifted the PA joked “oh this baby is a mover.”  Then, placed the doppler on my belly.  She moved it around and around trying to get the tones and continued to make comments like, “Well, if I didn’t just see your belly move,  I would be worried.”  At this time, I was starting to panic.   She had me walk to another room where the ultrasound machine was and said, “I am sure baby is just laying with her back to us, so I just want to show you for peace of mind that everything is ok.”  As soon as the ultrasound wand hit my belly, I started crying.  The PA didn’t say anything and continued to scan and then said, “I am going to send you next door to labor and delivery.  Their ultrasound machine is better than this one.  Is there anyone you would like for me to call.” My head was spinning, tears were falling, and Rayna was squeezing my hand asking if everything was ok with her baby sister.

When we got to the hospital (next door) I was “greeted” by a lady asking, “Oh are you the one with the fetal demise?” I was caught off guard and said, “No, the PA at my doctor’s office sent me over here because she couldn’t detect the heartbeat.”  The nurse then lead me to a room and told me an ultrasound tech would be in shortly.  My husband at the time showed up with my dad, who took Rayna for us.  We sat in that room for what seemed like an eternity (it was about 45 minutes) before the tech came in.  She scanned my belly and didn’t say a word.  When we asked her to tell us ANYTHING she said the doctor will be in shortly.  Again, we were left sitting, not knowing, and waiting…and waiting.  Another 35 minutes pass and the phone in the room rings.  The nurse comes in and says, “That’s the doctor, he wants to speak with you.” She hands me the phone.

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New Guest Blogger: Lindsey Henke – Imagine a Mother…With Empty Arms

Parent Stories, Support Resources

Imagine a mother who sees for the first time not one, but two, pink lines on her pregnancy test.  She is full of joy and nervous anticipation.  Ready and willing to bring life into this world.

Imagine a mother whose body swells with anticipation as life courses through her veins and love encompasses her heart.  Her belly growing bigger with each passing day waiting to meet her unborn child.

Imagine a mother full of beauty and hope for the child she tenderly cares for in her womb, as she caresses her enlarged tummy and embraces her pregnant body.  Gently whispering her hopes and dreams for her child to her womb as her husband sleeps peacefully next to them both at night.

Imagine a mother being held by the father of their unborn child as they look in to their newly prepared nursery, the nest they have created together, for their future family member. Their shared true love. Their child.

Imagine a mother praying to God, the Universe, the air, to whoever will listen. Asking for safety and guidance as she prepares for her little one’s impending entrance into this world.

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Guest Blogger: Lindsey Wimmer

Parent Stories, Support Resources

When I was asked to write a guest blog, I was honored, but a bit intimidated and plagued with writer’s block.  While trying to figure out what would be interesting to those at OC Walk to Remember, I thought I could address who I ‘remember.’  For my husband and I and our families, we will always remember our first son Garrett.  He was stillborn at 37 weeks in July 2004.  We were blindsided and spent the next several months trying to sort out what had happened, learning how to process a kind of grief we had never known, and working really hard to take life one day at a time. This is a story I know happens over and over, every single day.  While each story has its own twist, I’m continually saddened by the similarities in the stories. So, then I thought that I could address how I ‘walk.’  While our story may be the same as so many other families, we each choose our own path to ‘walk’.  And it’s that walk that has brought me a sense of peace and purpose.

In my ‘real’ job, I am a  Pediatric Nurse Practitioner.  While, I was extremely grateful for all of the grief resources available to us, my brain was wired to ask about why this happened and what could be done to prevent it.  In the first few months after our loss, I, like so many mothers, could barely function let alone answer these questions.  Almost nine years later, I am starting to address them. For us, our ‘walk’ began with a simple golf tournament.  Our goal was to honor and remember our son in a way that our family would enjoy.  We chose to have a fun golf tournament to celebrate Garrett’s brief time in our lives.  Over the years, it grew and has morphed into the Star Legacy Foundation.  Over that time, we have been fortunate to meet phenomenal researchers and too many beautiful families affected by these tragedies.

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