A new, still despondent, day has just begun. Where is my fucking coffee?

Seeing the black and white photo of Chrissy Teigen 2 weeks ago in her hospital robe, IV needle in place and crying into her hands brought me back. No mother should ever have to suffer such an UNIMAGINABLE loss! It is indeed a pain NO ONE can ever imagine- but here we go, I’ll try to explain it.

For me, I carried my baby for 39 weeks and 6 days, that is longer than many mothers I know with healthy, living babies. Within 11 hours of being induced I delivered her vaginally. (Without the help of an epidural, I might add!) Once the umbilical cord was cut, my nurse asked me if I’d like to hold my child and I initially declined. To finally hold her, a moment I waited for for much longer than just the 10 months I carried her, would truly mean she was dead. I absolutely knew it was true, I didn’t hear the joyous cry after my final push, I actually felt the opposite. I could feel the intense sadness enter the room the moment my doctor and 2 nurses gazed at my lifeless child. I waited so long for this moment, the moment of giving birth to my child, but instead pushing her out equated to me giving her death, so no I absolutely was not initially prepared to accept that reality by holding her. My incredibly strong and brave mother was the first person to hold my baby. She instantly fell in love with her first grandchild and then showed her to me.

Mothers, please think back to the first time you saw your first child. Do you remember being completely captivated by the amazement and wonder of what your body made? Do you remember being absolutely consumed by love? I felt the exact same emotions when I finally saw my baby. Please believe me when I say that I did a fucking fantastic job! She was so, unbelievably perfect; 6 pounds 15 ounces and 19 inches long! She had brownish, curly hair. My medical staff had NO ANSWERS to explain the reason for her death. I thought examining the placenta may have given us some insight, but they said nothing! Instead, they did offer an autopsy and advised that it would not be covered by insurance…. Yeah, this is a conversation I want to have moments after I had my baby.

“Get the fuck away from me!”

Let’s go a bit deeper shall we. Notice I mentioned that I only had my doctor and 2 nurses in the room with me when I delivered my baby. I was blessed to have my mother and brother Jonathan at the hospital, but I did not allow them in the room when I pushed my baby out. But where was my husband, you ask? 1,000 miles away in Arizona, completely unconcerned with the well-being of his daughter, let alone his wife. The sadness regretfully deepens, but that is a story for another time. No, I am not okay!

Every single day since I left the hospital without my baby in my arms has felt like an awful dream, the kind you’re trying desperately to awake from. Every day there are a variety of fresh, new reminders of my Evita and the hope and joy she gave me; it’s as if the wound never heals. I am a proud mother, surrounded by a sea of equally proud mothers, but I’m not able to talk about the joy of my child. Just the mention of my perfect, little angel brings sadness to everyone! And all I ever wanted was for her to bring joy to others.

I’m now approaching the end of another painfully, beautiful day, time to sip on my Pinot Noir. The rollercoaster of grief is turbulent at times; easily ambushed by unpredicable emotions throughout the day. Thankfully I’ve managed to hold on to an effective routine since leaving the hospital, because laying in bed, horribly depressed wasn’t a good look on me.

Iced coffee in the morning- provides me the courage I need to get out of bed.

Red wine at night- helps rest my mind so I can get back to sleep.

Everything else in between is pure, raw survival.