Anyone who knows me at all knows what my kids mean to me. I think that's one of the reasons that losing one of them has affected my life as it has. This is my lost angel's story.
As the new year of 2000 began to lose some of its excitement I realized I wasn't feeling very well. January was giving way to the arrival of February and I brushed off how I was feeling to the winter blahs, a not unheard of condition in a snowcovered land such as I live in. It was about the first day of February that I came to realize something was truly wrong. I was unable to stand upright without a stabbing pain in my lower abdomen and simply going up and down stairs would leave me breathless. However being the stubborn individual that I am I refused to see the doctor, holding strong to the opinion that it would pass. I was so wrong.
On February 2nd I took a quick trip to a nearby doctor who sent me for multitudes of tests and told me to go to the hospital if it worsened overnight. I was slightly concerned by his persistence but I was still determined it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. At that point the most likely thing seemed to be my appendix.
Later on that day I was feeling somewhat better and I had a friend over to visit. Though I did not know it yet that friend was going to be a key factor in saving my life. I am a figure skating coach and I was going over my lesson plans for that evening when the pain came back with a vengeance. This friend of mine was at the time training to be an EMT and she took total control of the situation. Against my protests she loaded me into the car and drove me straight to the emergency room. She didn't know what was wrong, but she knew it was big.
Once we reached the hospital I started to realize that maybe this was a big problem after all. Instead of the 3 hours spent in the waiting room that I was expecting I was immediately shipped off to a private room in emergency. About 2 hours later, after countless tests, I got the news that made my emotions go into turmoil. I was pregnant. The joy I felt at that moment was indescribable. But something was wrong. They suspected it was an ectopic pregnancy. At this time I barely knew what that was. Several ultrasounds later the diagnosis was confirmed. I had a tubal ectopic pregnancy and it had reached a dire point. I had been hemorrhaging for several days and emergency surgery was required. I was privileged to be able to see my baby four times on ultrasound before they had to take her. I just kept thinking over and over how small, and helpless, this poor creature was. That image will be forever etched in my memory. The only sight I had of her.
I was immediately transfered to a different hospital that specialized in obstetrics. Within moments of my arrival there they began to prep me for surgery. I didn't even have time to grasp what was going on as the nurses bustled around me. All I knew was they had to be wrong, nothing was wrong with my baby. How could this happen? And I wanted my husband there. All other thoughts were pushed back to a dark corner of my mind.
At the second hospital I faced the largest challenge of my life up to that point. I needed to sign the papers that would allow them to remove the, as they term it, "pregnancy". I begged the doctor to try anything else to save my baby, but he said there was no hope. If they didn't get her out now I would end up dying along with her. So finally I signed over the life of my child and watched my entire life change.
The last moment I remember before I gave in to the fog of anesthia was staring at the glaring overhead lights they would need to take my baby. I felt tears building in my eyes as I silently pleaded with my child to forgive me for what was about to happen to her. In the early morning hours of Thursday February 3rd 2000 we lost our littlest angel before she had barely begun. This emergency surgery was able to save my life, even though the pregnancy had progressed to a point much further than is considered safe, but not our baby.
As soon as I woke up later I knew she was gone. I was thankfully only conscious briefly before I fell into a dreamless sleep. The next morning when I woke in a sterile room I knew it was still real. And I cried, I cried for my baby who was denied the life she deserved and I cried for myself, denied the opportunity to get to know this life that was cut short too soon. And I cried for my family, denied having another member added to their rambunctious bunch. Those were the first of many tears.
I arrived home later the same day as the surgery with a heavy heart. The physical pain was quick in passing but the emotional pain continues to lay deep inside my heart. Lexie will always be a part of our family, if only in our hearts. This is my way of saying goodbye and remembering at the same time. Our lost angel will forever have a place in my heart. The one who was stolen too soon. I will never hold my baby, never rock her to sleep, never watch her go to school, never watch her be married. But because she left us I continue to be here for my other children. That is a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. I only knew I was pregnant for 6 hours before her life ended. But in those 6 hours, and the months since then, she grew to be an inseperable part of my heart.
