Wednesday March 22, 2023; the day we found out about you. After trying to conceive for what felt like an eternity, seeing that positive line was unbelievable. After enduring the heartbreak of a chemical pregnancy and a miscarriage, and months upon months of negative tests, we finally got our miracle – our rainbow baby. We were overjoyed.
We didn’t know anything, except how much we already loved you. We didn’t know your gender, your name, who you would look like, but we knew this was the beginning of our family and we couldn’t wait to meet you. Our dreams were finally coming true!
Pregnancy wasn’t an easy road for me. Morning sickness lasted all day, aches and pains, etc. But at six months, everything took a devastating turn. I began experiencing unbearable stomach pains, crippling headaches, and relentless vomiting. After several sleepless nights, we decided it was time to go to the hospital. At the emergency department, they sent us to the mom-and-baby unit immediately. However, the doctor dismissed my symptoms, insisting that my pain wasn’t real, that the symptoms I was experiencing simply didn’t exist. He sent us back to the emergency department without truly assessing our baby.
They initially suspected it might be my gallbladder or appendix, but after numerous tests, everything came back negative. We were sent home, still without answers, and I was still in pain.
A few more days passed, and the pain became unbearable. Scott rushed me back to the emergency department. This time, they took me seriously. The pain was unlike anything I’d ever felt, and I was terrified, with no idea what was happening. Finally, they decided to transfer me by ambulance to a hospital better equipped to handle premature babies. I was sent alone, without Scott.
It had been a week of hospital visits and tests, and we still had no answers. Exhausted, I told Scott to go home, shower, eat, and just try to feel human again. It was late, and I didn’t expect any more updates that night. But that’s when the chief of maternal-fetal medicine came in with his ultrasound machine. I was excited to see our baby girl, and there she was – moving, jumping, her little heart beating strong. She looked perfect.
But then the doctor told me she wasn’t growing. She was too small, not receiving enough nutrients. They suspected severe pre-eclampsia and a condition called HELLP Syndrome, but more tests were needed to confirm.
I called Scott, crying hysterically, telling him something was wrong with the baby, begging him to come back to the hospital. After more tests, the diagnosis was confirmed – HELLP Syndrome and severe pre-eclampsia. More doctors came in to discuss Charlie’s situation with us. They explained the potential outcomes if she were born early – blindness, deafness, cerebral palsy – and asked us to make impossible decisions about how to proceed. Should we take extreme measures if she’s born early? What should we do if she’s born without vital signs?
How were we supposed to make these decisions?
They gave me medication to help Charlie’s lungs develop and to ease my pain. I was on a magnesium drip, steroids, pain medication – my organs were failing. But the pain relief didn’t last, and soon I was in agony again. My blood pressure skyrocketed to 198/109, and I nearly had a stroke. That’s when they made the call. The pain was too severe, my test results were worsening – it was time to induce labor.
I was moved to labor and delivery and given an epidural. Unfortunately, it didn’t take, and they had to remove it and try again. I hate needles, but at that moment, I had no choice. Having to prep your body to deliver your baby knowing she won’t survive is something no mother should ever have to go through. A few hours passed, and then I felt a little pressure. Then, suddenly, it was overwhelming. I panicked, screaming for the doctors and nurses to help.
And then, our baby girl, Charlie Amelia, was born sleeping, still in her amniotic sac. The sac saved her tiny bones from breaking during delivery, a small blessing in disguise. We held her for as long as we could and just loved her with everything we had.
I stayed in the hospital for another week as they monitored my organs, Scott didn’t leave, sleeping by my side every night. They couldn’t remove the epidural for four days because my platelet count was so low that I risked bleeding out. If things didn’t improve, I would have needed a platelet transfusion. Thankfully, they were able to remove it just in time, and I avoided the transfusion.
But then came the social workers, in and out of our room, talking to us about funeral arrangements and what to do with her little body. No parent should ever have to make funeral arrangements for their baby – for their child.
The day we walked through our front door, without our baby, we just collapsed. We cried and held each other on the floor of our entryway. Not only am I grieving you, I’m trying to recover and heal and make funeral arrangements. Every day I wish I could trade places with you, to give you a life here with your daddy who needs you. I’m so sorry baby girl. But I thank you for saving mummy. You will always be my sunshine.
I love you, to the moon and back, beyond all the stars in the sky.
After going through hell and back, carefully taking into consideration all the doctors advice, Scott and I have made the decision to go through surrogacy. I am too scared to conceive again and carry. Scared that the same thing will happen. Scared to lose another baby. Scared to lose my life. That is why we have made this difficult decision. It kills me that I won’t be able to carry, but if this is the only way we get a family, we will give it everything we have.
XO
Mummy
Photos taken by Hannah Day Photography.
Find out more about Project Finding Your Rainbow.
Make sure to follow Journey For Jasmine on Instagram and Facebook!
Pin and help spread the project!