This is not a story I’ve ever enjoyed telling, and although it has long been a very painful memory, the time has come for me to share. On the anniversary of my loss, I decided to step out and share because I remember how I felt at the darkest time in my life, and if there's some way I can alleviate another's suffering, then I am more than willing to help.
People’s reactions varied from being supportive, to becoming very uncomfortable, because they didn’t know how to deal with what I was going through or how I felt.
I lost my daughter 31 weeks into my pregnancy. Medical error and negligence played a big role in this, and although I begged for help for eight hours, telling the nurses there was a problem, the doctor never once came and never sent anyone else to look in on us. The nurses became frantic as the hours passed, as signs of infection and fetal distress grew. They even ranted at how the doctor was sitting at the nursing desk having a coffee, refusing to act. An ultrasound performed 24 hours earlier showed the baby to be in perfect health, but because of an amniotic leak, I had already been in the hospital for two days.
When the doctor finally showed up, it was to perform an ultrasound. She turned the screen towards me and said. “Here, this is the heart. There’s no more activity, now you have to deliver it.”
Just like that, my heart died with my baby.
I was sent to a delivery room where the doctor said she’d come back later to provoke me, and that it would be long and painful. But my body had other plans. My contractions started immediately. My husband came in, dropped to his knees, laying his head on my belly and cried. Our child was gone.
About 2 hours later, the baby started to emerge. A tiny foot had appeared, so my husband went for the nurse. Two of them came in and without any consideration for me, one tried to ‘get me into position.’ I was too low in my bed, having the stirrup that she fastened to the side of my bed arrive at shoulder level. I told her she couldn’t put my leg in there, but she yanked on it, putting it where she wanted…pulling my hip out of its socket and damaging the ligaments. At this point I pushed my baby out.
The other nurse pulled on the cord, and pressed her fingers so deep into my abdomen, I was sure my uterus was going to be ripped from me. The doctor never showed up.
They wouldn’t let us clean up our baby, but we held her and we cried for over two hours before they took her away, never to be seen again, because we don’t know what they did with her.
By morning, the doctor came in to see me. She wanted to know how old I was, and snickered when I told her that I was 42. She answered that she ran the fertility clinic at the hospital and that no woman got pregnant with their own eggs at my age. She then got up and left.
That afternoon visitors roamed the halls, mamas with their babies were all around, and sounds of celebration was in the air…except in my room where I cried alone. Even the nurses avoided me.
The next day I went home…home to my 20 month old daughter. I got out of bed to care for her, and had she not been there, I would have probably never gotten out of bed at all. My heart had shattered. I felt betrayed by the system, because I had done as they told me. I felt anger and guilt, because I hadn’t been able to protect my child.
I watched as life went on around me, as other families had babies, and I continued to relive those last eight hours over and over again…every single day, every single night. The pain never went away, never eased up. I withdrew from life. I had to walk with a cane, because although my therapist put the hip back in place, it was never the same. For well over twenty years I had been a martial artist, teaching and sharing my passion, and from one day to the next, I couldn’t even bend my leg to put my sock on.
To the people who had never interacted with Emma, all they knew and acknowledged was that I was no longer pregnant. For us, a whole lifetime was lost. First steps, first words. Late night snuggles…
There would never be any milestones, never be any pictures. No birthdays or celebrations…just a gaping hole through my heart and life.
Luke Benoit, an amazing life coach, was the first to tell me “Sweetie, you need help.” He identified my PTSD, and there began my journey to healing. I saw an EMDR specialist who also confirmed the PTSD. She accompanied families who had terminally ill children. Not an easy path to walk. But she worked her magic and for the first time in two years I could take a breath. I could tell the story without suffocating and reliving the horror over again. But something still wasn’t right.
Almost 3 years after our loss, I found out I was pregnant again, and the urge to rid my home, body and life of everything toxic took over. We began eating organic. We used green products and cleaners, we prepared for the birth of our child. She was born in our living room, in a blow up pool, in the silence of our home, with daddy and a close friend watching over us.
Yet still, something was wrong with me. I couldn’t feel joy, I had lost my passion, and I still felt broken.
I truly believed I had tried everything to heal. I invested large sums of money over time, with only slight improvements. Inching my way out of the darkness. I began writing, and published five novels, because I needed to create a world where people cared about one another. Next came a big step for me, answering my calling to be a healer. I mentored under an amazing woman, intuitive coach and energy healer, Sue Dumais, of Heart Led Living, and became an Intuitive Coach myself, bringing more healing and solace into my life. The next step came through the Emotion Code by Dr. Bradley Nelson. After reading his book, following online webinars and then practicing on myself, I decided to take the plunge and became a certified Emotion Code Practitioner.
I know what it feels like to lose a child. I know what it feels like to suffer day and night for years, and I stand here today, offering my services to release your Trapped Emotions and alleviate your pain. You do not have to face endless suffering anymore. Let me help.
I never thought I would be helping others through this type of trauma, but I know what it feels like to be all alone in the world going through it. So, if I can help someone release the emotions and put an end to their suffering, then I will have found a greater purpose to my loss and my suffering.
I never thought I would smile again, hope again, dream again...but anything is possible. Your life awaits.