My husband Sean shares his story...
Joeli Grace
When I think about what happened that night, everything comes flooding back like a terrible dream. No matter how far separated from the event by days, months or years I will never forget how I felt. It was the absolute worst night of my life.
It was Wednesday January 29, 2008. My wife Abi was pregnant with our second baby. The day started like any day should. I went to work in the morning and that evening we had plans for dinner at our close friends’ house. It also just so happened that we had a “routine” five month checkup scheduled in the afternoon and an ultrasound for the following day. I mention the ultrasound scheduled for the following day because we were very excited about it. We were going to find out if we were having a baby boy or girl.
I thank God to this day that I was there for that five month appointment. I could not imagine Abi being there alone. Up until this point I was so preoccupied with work that I had only been able to make one other appointment.
I vividly remember sitting in the waiting room. I was trying to entertain my two year old daughter, Seana, with a typical waiting room-like wooden playhouse and kitchen set. We were one of the last appointments of the day so there weren’t many people in there with us. What happened next started a chain of events that I wish God would have somehow spared us from.
Abi came out of the room with a desperate look on her face. All she said was “Sean, they can’t find the heart beat”. I had no idea what to think. My heart immediately sunk but I went straight into denial. As we walked out to the car I called our friends to cancel our previously arranged dinner plans. I asked my friend to keep the baby in prayer. I said something like, “I’m sure everything is fine but we just need to go in for an emergency ultrasound to find out what is going on”. I reassured Abi over and over again that everything was going to be okay.
We arrived at the hospital and were told to sit in the normal waiting room with another expecting mother, but Abi couldn’t handle it. She froze at the door and would not go in. We waited by ourselves outside of the triage until Abi's sister arrived. She was able to watch Seana for us.
Finally, we were called back and given a room. The technician got Abi ready for the ultrasound. Abi couldn’t see the screen but I could. She asked me to squeeze her hand if I saw a heartbeat. Until this point I was still convinced that somehow everything was going to be fine and the baby would be ok, but I was wrong. I stared at the screen in total disbelief. There was no heartbeat. I stared blankly at the screen for some time. I wanted to squeeze Abi’s hand so badly but I couldn’t. Everyone in the room was completely silent except for Abi. She screamed “No! Why God? Why?! “. I had never felt so helpless.
At this point we did not know what to do but we had to somehow come to accept the reality of what was happening so we asked them to use the Doppler. We thought that maybe if the baby was positioned strangely that we could at least hear the heartbeat. This brought a fleeting glimpse of hope when even the doctor could not tell whether he was hearing a slow baby heartbeat or Abi’s. They did another ultrasound only for us to view the lifeless screen one last time.
We were given two options. We could either go home and wait for nature to take its course, allowing Abi to go into labor naturally or be induced that night. I was overwhelmed by confusion and doubt. I still could not 100% believe that our baby was dead. Abi still kept telling me that she thought she felt movement. I did not know what to think but we had to face the facts. We had the results of two ultrasounds and the Doppler saying that there was no longer life in my wife’s belly. If we went home, we had no idea how long it could take. We didn’t think either of us could have handled that emotionally so we decided for Abi to be induced.
We were taken to another room were Abi would have the baby. It wasn’t the wing were healthy babies were born. It was different. It was such a weird and terrible feeling. I struggled with how to even define it. Abi wasn’t giving birth, our baby wasn’t alive. She was just going into labor.
We had been at this same hospital to give birth to a healthy baby just two years prior. The room this time was vaguely similar. There was a bed, a birthing ball, a room to take a hot shower but it just felt like we were there in vain. It was very eerie.
I stayed up with Abi all night waiting for the Pitocin to kick in and start contractions. There was no bed in this room other than the one that Abi was on so I just laid on the cold tile floor with a blanket. After several hours the contractions started. There was something very scary about this for me. I still wanted to believe that our baby was alive but when labor started it was the beginning of reality setting in. This was the point when I knew it was really over and I just erupted into tears. I was helpless.
Labor went into the following morning. It seemed like an eternity of drawn out, excruciating, emotional agony. I hated every second of it.
Nevertheless, God was still in control. He sent a terrible trial into our lives that day but He provided ways for us to get through it. There were not many things I could count as blessings at the time but I will say that He sent the most amazing nurse I think we could have possibly been given. Her name was Eleanor. I hope she somehow reads this someday because at the time I could not express to her just how much she meant to my wife and I. She was gentle, courteous, considerate and went out of her way to help us that day. Nothing could lessen the pain but Eleanor was a ray of light sent by God to let us know there was a way to get through this.
We had our baby late that morning. No doctors came in for the delivery because I guess there was no need. We had a baby girl. We named her Joeli Grace Dougherty. It was a very strange thing because I knew deep down that our little one was in heaven with Jesus and she probably had been for several days already. So we never really got to meet Joeli, we were just looking at her shell.
We spent some time with her shell that morning. We held her and kissed her, we took some pictures too. But most of all we cried. Abi and I sobbed for hours.
Later that day they told us we had to leave. Abi was in good health and there was no need to spend another night. Leaving was very hard for me. It felt so backward to be leaving my little girl wrapped up in a pink blanket all by herself in that cold, strange room. I just kept thinking that we were not supposed to be leaving there with empty arms. I had a lot of flashbacks to the first time we were at that hospital with our first healthy baby. Everything seemed completely opposite now. We got in the car, just Abi and I and drove away.
Abi and I got in a lot of arguments over the next couple of days. We were handling things very differently. At the time, I felt like we needed to be strong and I was not giving Abi adequate time to recover emotionally.
My parents traveled to be with us and to attend Joeli’s funeral. The night before we buried our daughter was the culmination of all of our frustrations. Abi and I got into the worst argument we had ever been in. We just screamed at each other at the top of our lungs and I think I got hit a few times while my parents probably just sat downstairs and listened. They must have felt so awkward.
Our argument ended in tears just like most all of our other arguments over the preceding several days. Together, we decided to go out and buy some nice outfits for the funeral. Also, at that moment I decided to just remain weak for awhile and forget about trying to be strong.
The funeral was an amazing outpouring of love from our friends and family. The funeral director said it was the most people he had ever seen for a stillbirth burial. Joeli’s body was very small. She actually fit into a small rectangular urn. We put her body into the ground that day at Mellinger's Mennonite Cemetery and said our goodbyes.
Although we never got to meet Joeli, I will never forget the precious time we had with her while she was still in the womb. I treasure the times I was able to put my face on my wife’s belly to be close to her. I cherish the kick I felt only a week or two prior. I will always remember that first ultrasound we had of her and seeing her little heart beating away.
One thing that I have always said about my little Joeli is that she taught me more in the short time we had with her than one would ever imagine a child could teach her father in a lifetime. She was such an amazing gift. After we lost Joeli I made a very purposeful choice to not be angry for the time I lost with her but to cherish those moments we had.
Joeli you made your daddy a better man. This story is in honor of you and the blessing you were to our family. Thank you.
When I think about what happened that night, everything comes flooding back like a terrible dream. No matter how far separated from the event by days, months or years I will never forget how I felt. It was the absolute worst night of my life.
It was Wednesday January 29, 2008. My wife Abi was pregnant with our second baby. The day started like any day should. I went to work in the morning and that evening we had plans for dinner at our close friends’ house. It also just so happened that we had a “routine” five month checkup scheduled in the afternoon and an ultrasound for the following day. I mention the ultrasound scheduled for the following day because we were very excited about it. We were going to find out if we were having a baby boy or girl.
I thank God to this day that I was there for that five month appointment. I could not imagine Abi being there alone. Up until this point I was so preoccupied with work that I had only been able to make one other appointment.
I vividly remember sitting in the waiting room. I was trying to entertain my two year old daughter, Seana, with a typical waiting room-like wooden playhouse and kitchen set. We were one of the last appointments of the day so there weren’t many people in there with us. What happened next started a chain of events that I wish God would have somehow spared us from.
Abi came out of the room with a desperate look on her face. All she said was “Sean, they can’t find the heart beat”. I had no idea what to think. My heart immediately sunk but I went straight into denial. As we walked out to the car I called our friends to cancel our previously arranged dinner plans. I asked my friend to keep the baby in prayer. I said something like, “I’m sure everything is fine but we just need to go in for an emergency ultrasound to find out what is going on”. I reassured Abi over and over again that everything was going to be okay.
We arrived at the hospital and were told to sit in the normal waiting room with another expecting mother, but Abi couldn’t handle it. She froze at the door and would not go in. We waited by ourselves outside of the triage until Abi's sister arrived. She was able to watch Seana for us.
Finally, we were called back and given a room. The technician got Abi ready for the ultrasound. Abi couldn’t see the screen but I could. She asked me to squeeze her hand if I saw a heartbeat. Until this point I was still convinced that somehow everything was going to be fine and the baby would be ok, but I was wrong. I stared at the screen in total disbelief. There was no heartbeat. I stared blankly at the screen for some time. I wanted to squeeze Abi’s hand so badly but I couldn’t. Everyone in the room was completely silent except for Abi. She screamed “No! Why God? Why?! “. I had never felt so helpless.
At this point we did not know what to do but we had to somehow come to accept the reality of what was happening so we asked them to use the Doppler. We thought that maybe if the baby was positioned strangely that we could at least hear the heartbeat. This brought a fleeting glimpse of hope when even the doctor could not tell whether he was hearing a slow baby heartbeat or Abi’s. They did another ultrasound only for us to view the lifeless screen one last time.
We were given two options. We could either go home and wait for nature to take its course, allowing Abi to go into labor naturally or be induced that night. I was overwhelmed by confusion and doubt. I still could not 100% believe that our baby was dead. Abi still kept telling me that she thought she felt movement. I did not know what to think but we had to face the facts. We had the results of two ultrasounds and the Doppler saying that there was no longer life in my wife’s belly. If we went home, we had no idea how long it could take. We didn’t think either of us could have handled that emotionally so we decided for Abi to be induced.
We were taken to another room were Abi would have the baby. It wasn’t the wing were healthy babies were born. It was different. It was such a weird and terrible feeling. I struggled with how to even define it. Abi wasn’t giving birth, our baby wasn’t alive. She was just going into labor.
We had been at this same hospital to give birth to a healthy baby just two years prior. The room this time was vaguely similar. There was a bed, a birthing ball, a room to take a hot shower but it just felt like we were there in vain. It was very eerie.
I stayed up with Abi all night waiting for the Pitocin to kick in and start contractions. There was no bed in this room other than the one that Abi was on so I just laid on the cold tile floor with a blanket. After several hours the contractions started. There was something very scary about this for me. I still wanted to believe that our baby was alive but when labor started it was the beginning of reality setting in. This was the point when I knew it was really over and I just erupted into tears. I was helpless.
Labor went into the following morning. It seemed like an eternity of drawn out, excruciating, emotional agony. I hated every second of it.
Nevertheless, God was still in control. He sent a terrible trial into our lives that day but He provided ways for us to get through it. There were not many things I could count as blessings at the time but I will say that He sent the most amazing nurse I think we could have possibly been given. Her name was Eleanor. I hope she somehow reads this someday because at the time I could not express to her just how much she meant to my wife and I. She was gentle, courteous, considerate and went out of her way to help us that day. Nothing could lessen the pain but Eleanor was a ray of light sent by God to let us know there was a way to get through this.
We had our baby late that morning. No doctors came in for the delivery because I guess there was no need. We had a baby girl. We named her Joeli Grace Dougherty. It was a very strange thing because I knew deep down that our little one was in heaven with Jesus and she probably had been for several days already. So we never really got to meet Joeli, we were just looking at her shell.
We spent some time with her shell that morning. We held her and kissed her, we took some pictures too. But most of all we cried. Abi and I sobbed for hours.
Later that day they told us we had to leave. Abi was in good health and there was no need to spend another night. Leaving was very hard for me. It felt so backward to be leaving my little girl wrapped up in a pink blanket all by herself in that cold, strange room. I just kept thinking that we were not supposed to be leaving there with empty arms. I had a lot of flashbacks to the first time we were at that hospital with our first healthy baby. Everything seemed completely opposite now. We got in the car, just Abi and I and drove away.
Abi and I got in a lot of arguments over the next couple of days. We were handling things very differently. At the time, I felt like we needed to be strong and I was not giving Abi adequate time to recover emotionally.
My parents traveled to be with us and to attend Joeli’s funeral. The night before we buried our daughter was the culmination of all of our frustrations. Abi and I got into the worst argument we had ever been in. We just screamed at each other at the top of our lungs and I think I got hit a few times while my parents probably just sat downstairs and listened. They must have felt so awkward.
Our argument ended in tears just like most all of our other arguments over the preceding several days. Together, we decided to go out and buy some nice outfits for the funeral. Also, at that moment I decided to just remain weak for awhile and forget about trying to be strong.
The funeral was an amazing outpouring of love from our friends and family. The funeral director said it was the most people he had ever seen for a stillbirth burial. Joeli’s body was very small. She actually fit into a small rectangular urn. We put her body into the ground that day at Mellinger's Mennonite Cemetery and said our goodbyes.
Although we never got to meet Joeli, I will never forget the precious time we had with her while she was still in the womb. I treasure the times I was able to put my face on my wife’s belly to be close to her. I cherish the kick I felt only a week or two prior. I will always remember that first ultrasound we had of her and seeing her little heart beating away.
One thing that I have always said about my little Joeli is that she taught me more in the short time we had with her than one would ever imagine a child could teach her father in a lifetime. She was such an amazing gift. After we lost Joeli I made a very purposeful choice to not be angry for the time I lost with her but to cherish those moments we had.
Joeli you made your daddy a better man. This story is in honor of you and the blessing you were to our family. Thank you.
thanks Sean for being real. SOOOO sad but such a deep reality for so many. Love you all so much. Joeli one day face to face.
ReplyDeleteamen mom, one sweet day!!! :)
ReplyDelete