Damn, I was hoping this thread had been refreshed for a hopeful/positive reason.
Instead, another heartbreak of incomprehensible proportions.
Nuke, you have my deepest condolances, and I’m sure those that were offered to zut are applicable to you as well.
My heart is broken. You’re all in my thoughts and prayers. This is just so hard, I know. I’m going to cry for a while now.
There’s nothing I can say… I never understood what miscarriage really meant before… {{{{{zut and Mrs. zut}}}}}
Goddamn. I’m sorry for you and your wife. I have been blessed with two children and I know how I would feel if they died. I never cry but this almost got me. Sheesh…I really, sincerely wish you both well and hope if you try again your dreams come true…
Nuke, I’m so sorry for your losses.
You chose beautiful names for your babies, and i know they could not have asked for better parents.
Zut, I hope your sorrow has eased a little since you posted this, you have my heartfelt condolences also.
It has been a year and a month and a day since I posted the OP of this thread, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about Fiona and Alexander. Not in a heart-wrenching, I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening kind of way (at least not now), but in a melancholy, what-if kind of way. And I finally worked up the courage to look back, and reread what I and others wrote here.
You’ll note that I’m bumping this year-and-a-month-and-a-day old thread. My own thread. Pretty gauche, I know. I won’t do it again, I promise. But I did it for three reasons. The first, which is either most or least important, depending on your perspective, is that I hoped perhaps one or two other people would read, and be touched by the story. After all, what else can I give my children other than existence as a fleeting memory in other people’s minds?
The second reason is that I missed Nuke’s post in this thread. And, really, I feel a little ashamed for not replying earlier, but I didn’t see this thread at the time. So Nuke, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about your loss; that’s something no one should have to go through. And, I think, I understand your pain. I’m glad you shared your story, and I appreciate the other posters who commented on both your and my stories. Godspeed to David Robert, Oriana Ingrid and Jessy Jesus.
And the last reason for bumping this is that I’d like to add, if not the rest of the story, then at least more of the story. And, I’m afraid, the story maintains the melancholy tone of this thread.
My wife was released from the hospital fairly quickly after the events in the OP. (And actually read over this thread; she also sends her thanks that so many people cared enough to write.) She was rather tired, understandably, and spent a lot of time resting and recovering.
Perhaps two weeks later, when getting ready for bed late on a Sunday evening, she began hemorrhaging. Not a few drops, but an actual pool of blood. Shades of two months prior! Luckily (at least in this circumstance) we had made some pretty good contacts in the intensive care OB ward at the hospital, so we called them and they told us to come on in. We hobbled downstairs and into the car; I blew through all the stoplights on my way to the hospital.
They took her into the examination room right away; I joined her after moving the car out of the fire lane. The resident on duty examined her, but couldn’t quite tell what was going on. He summoned the on-call senior OB, who repeated the examination. As he was looking, the drip-drip of the hemorrhage turned into a full-bore splashing much like the slopping of dishwater over the side of the sink.
And suddenly, things speeded up. A couple more nurses appeared from nowhere, she was prepped in what seemed like sixty seconds flat, and off she went for and emergency D&C. That’s medical slang for scraping out the inside of the uterus.
It turned out that she had some retained tissue that was causing the bleeding, and thanks to modern medicine, everything was fine. She did need a full six pints of blood transfused over the next twelve hours, though, and was pretty tired for the next few days. And after that, she felt much better pretty quickly. But that’s not the end of the story, oh no.
Because over the next few months she had lighter-than-normal periods. Much lighter than normal. That was odd, so she scheduled another OB examination. Come to find out, the inside of her uterus was nearly completely scarred over. With that amount of scarring, it’s extremely unlikely that she’ll ever become pregnant.
She has researched this syndrome, and consulted with some specialists in the area, and even undergone an operation to remove the scarring. But the operation was not successful, and, realistically, it’s unlikely that the scarring will ever be removed. Not impossible, but unlikely.
And thus, the chances of another pregnancy are, at best, small.
And you know what? You know what the worst thing about the whole situation is? It’s this: I’m almost glad. Glad that there will be no more pregnancies. That’s a harsh and terrible thing to say, I know. But the thought of going through another loss of children, sometime in the future, fills me with dread. Were she to be pregnant once again, it would be an awful nine months.
But on the other hand, don’t I owe it to the two children that didn’t make it to try? To show them what kind of Dad I would have been? To raise one or two or three other children the way I would have raised them? Isn’t that more important? A whole lifespan versus nine months?
Maybe so. I don’t know. I’m ambivalent.
But still, I wonder. I wonder what life would have been like, had things worked out, and the twins survived. They would have been near on a year old now. What would they have been like? Their personalities? Their future? I don’t know. All I know is that I think about them every day, and I miss them, in that melancholy, what-if kind of way. Godspeed, Fiona and Alexander. I miss you.
I missed this thread the first time around, zut and Nuke, but it’s killing me now. I’m the father of boy-girl twins myself, born prematurely. They had to spend five weeks in the NICU after they were born. Blessedly, they’re healthy seventeen month old toddlers now, and we’re expecting again.
I cannot fathom the depths of your loss. I don’t know what we would have done if we couldn’t have taken our kids home from the hospital.
Best wishes to you both, along with your wives. You all sound like just the sort that should be parents, and I hope it all works out for you.
Jesus wept.
This thread deserves a different forum, not MPSIMS but something like, ‘Incredibly sad and heart-rending personal stories that make people you’ve never met cry openly and re-center our awareness of our fragile, human states’.
I missed this thread the first time, and I’m glad you bumped it. We all need reminders of what’s really important from time to time. Blessings to you and everyone who experiences such tragedy and loss.
Pablito
My deepest sympathy and wishes of peace to you and your wife.
I missed this the first time around too. I am so very sorry for your loss.
And I mean this in the kindest of ways, but you and your wife can still be the wonderful parents you sould like you would be. There are numerous kids out there who need a loving home. I’m not sure if the two of you have considered adoption or not but when you feel ready you could make such a difference in the life of a child who needs you.
I pray the best for both of you in whatever choices you make.
Zut, I have no words to tell you how very sad your last post makes me. I hope it brings you some small comfort to know that I do remember your story, and so I do remember your words about Fiona and Alexander.
Nuke, I missed your story the first time around, but I would like to express my sincere sorrow to hear of your tragic triple loss. Sleep peacefully David Robert, Oriana Ingrid and Jessy Jesus.
This is the only time a post has ever made me cry.
I don’t know what to say. It’s just so sad. My thoughts are with you and your wife.
Just adding my voice to the chorus of prayers…
**zut **,
I missed this thread the first time, but like many others who have posted, tears are still running down my cheeks. Thanks for sharing such a moving story of fatherly love.
My heartfelt condolences to you both on the loss of** Fiona ** and Alexander.
Take care of each other. Aries26 expressed the thoughts that came to my mind also when I read your story.
Nuke,
I’m sorry more than words can say for the loss of your children David Robert, Oriana Ingrid and Jessy Jesus. I hope you and your wife find peace and solace. You mentioned trying again, my best wishes and prayers are with you.
zut , I’m so sorry for what happened afterward.
Whatever happens in the future, I pray you’ll face it full of love and hope, not sorrow and fear.
Stay strong, be blessed.
That’s a hard kick in the pants, zut! I am so sorry for you, your wife, and those two little children who won’t get the chance to drive you crazy on family vacations.
–SSgtBaloo
Oh, damn! Where’s the kleenex! 
Zut I’m so sorry for your loss. My heart goes out to you and your wife.
I lost two daughters in infancy. The first in a car accident when she was 13 months old and the second four days after her birth due to a sever birth defect. Jennifer, my oldest would have been 20 this month. It’s been 19 years since she died and it still hurts. I still get all weepy on their birthdays. It doesn’t hurt all the time and nothing like it did in the beginning but it will always be a part of me because they were a part of me.
I wish your heart and soul and that of your wife a speedy healing. You sound like a sensitive and loving individual.
I’m not sure if anyone’s mentioned it but when I lost Jennifer Compassionate Friends was very helpful to me in dealing with my grief.
Good luck Zut you are not alone.
Zut,
I’m sorry too. So much pain.
What you wrote makes you sound like a great father - you care, and you are full of thought, and you are kind to your wife, and you want children, and you are smart - all of those things are so important to being a great father. You even write well; so much the better.
Seems to me you just have to get there somehow, to having children. Whether medically or by adoption or as foster parents or anything else you can imagine. The rest of us need there to be fathers like you doing their jobs.
The part about being sorry - don’t know what it is, but I understand. Now I’m sitting at my desk, on break, wiping my eyes and trying to look normal.
Please find your way there somehow. You’re too good a father to not use!
Best of luck
Thoughts, prayers, and hugs from the great white north.
My sympathies to all of you who suffered these tragic losses. I can’t imagine how horrific it must be.
However, if you feel like you want to be a parent, I would agree with the suggestion to consider adoption and/or fosterparenting. Then you could still have a lifespan of making a difference for a child without enduring the potential pain of more medical complications. Here is some info on where to start with adoption:
http://naic.acf.hhs.gov/parents/intro.cfm