“Walking With You” was created by Kelly at The Beauty of Sufficient Grace to help support those who have lost a child.

Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. To learn more and/or to join, please visit Walking with You.

Praising God - Let’s take some time praising God for who He is, because no matter what we may be facing, our circumstances cannot change our steadfast, mighty, unchangeable God. If you would like some ideas on attributes of God, please click here: Moms in Touch website Attributes of God list.

Angie at Bring the Rain and her husband, Todd, who is a singer in Selah, wrote the following song for their daughter, Audrey Caroline, who received a fatal diagnosis at Angie’s 20 week ultrasound. They chose to put their faith and their daughter’s life in God’s hand and continued with the pregnancy. Audrey was delivered and when home to God on April 7, 2008.

I have been playing this song over and over, crying both tears of sorrow and of love. The past few weeks have been difficult for me, and I’ve found myself feeling more lost, more sad, and more exhausted (physically, spiritually, emotionally) than I have been in a while. I know part of it is because we lost our Rainbow Baby. I know part of it is my body having to readjust after the miscarriage and the needs for hormones to balance out. Part of it is also because of all the milestones that have just passed and that are fast approaching.

Did I ever tell you that I miscarried Rainbow on the same date I first saw Calvin’s heartbeat? Or that I found out we were pregnant again during Thanksgiving week (the same week we found out about Calvin)? Last Thursday, January 28, was the anniversary of when we first heard Calvin’s heartbeat on the doppler. January 29th was when we found out about amniotic band syndrome. That next day was by a Level II ultrasound that confirmed 3 amniotic bands; that was also the day Louie and I chose life for our son. Next month with be 1 year since we lost him. And I don’t understand how I got here. How Louie and I have managed to survive these past 11 months without our son, without our second child.

Much of the anger has left me… not all. A great deal of the shock has left as well, though some of it remains. And I’m left with the same raw aching for my children. My arms have been feeling so empty lately. I find myself waking up and reaching for something to hold. Not my husband. Something smaller. Something unreachable. So I settle for a folded up pillow or one of the stuffed animals we bought for Calvin. Sometimes I reach out and lay a few fingers on his urn. Lately the tears have been just under the surface, and I’ve been holding them down. Maybe for fear that they will never cease? Tonight though, listening to I Will Carry You, the tears have finally fallen and flowed freely. And I think I’m starting to feel a little better.

These lyrics (which I’ve copied below) express much of what is in my heart. Lately, these words: People say that I am brave but I’m not / Truth is I’m barely hanging on, have been feeling especially true. But as I listened to the song again and again, these started to hold more power for me: And I will praise the One whose chosen me / To carry you. It is easy to praise Him when things are good. It is easy to get angry with Him and even turn away from Him when things are bad. But I can’t forget that the devastation I feel is born out of a greater good that I would never wish away. I do not regret my pregnancies. I do not regret choosing to continue with my pregnancy after learning the risks of amniotic bands. Just as God chose me to carry Calvin and Rainbow on this earth, I chose to give life to my children. And although I feel like I failed to keep life for them, I stand by that choice.

So I will Praise Him

God is our shelter and strength,
always ready to help in times of trouble
So we will not be afraid even if the earth is shaken
and mountains fall into the ocean depths;
even if the seas roar and rage,
and the hills are shaken by the violence.

There is a river that brings joy to the city of God,
to the sacred house of the Most High.
God is in that city, and it will never be destroyed;
at early dawn he will come to its aid.
Nations are terrified, kingdoms are shaken;
God thunders, and the earth dissolves.

The Lord Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our refuge.

Psalms 46: 1-7

I praise you, Lord God, because your are are always with me. In times of joy and of despair. In times of heartache and of happiness. Whether I am clinging to my sorrows and unwilling to give them up or laying my burdens down at the foot of the cross, you are there. You are with me. You are with my husband. You are with my children. Lord, you are everywhere, in all places, at all times, and I praise You.

Ever present, You are the God who gives and who takes away, and in all things you are steadfast. You are the same, unchanging, immutable. You are the same God when I hope and when I despair. So, I praise You, Lord, when you bless me, and I praise You when you afflict me.

I thank You, Lord, for allowing this grief into my life. That pain is born out of the love for my children and has softened my heart. In this weakness I am learning to rely on You, to lean on You, Lord, who is always at my side. I praise You for your faithfulness. I am learning to reach for You. Even when doubt starts to set in, I choose to trust in Your grace and Your mercy. Even in my sadness, I will praise You, because I know You can and You will heal me. Glory unto you, Lord God, in whom my weary soul will find comfort and peace.

Amen.

“Walking With You” was created by Kelly at The Beauty of Sufficient Grace to help support those who have lost a child.

Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. To learn more and/or to join, please visit Walking with You.

Waiting

…we are sharing our experience after we heard the news that changed our lives. If you are joining us for the first time, or if this topic doesn’t apply to you…please share part of your journey anyway. I know the Lord will use our stories to encourage those walking this path. If you are a mother who has heard the words incompatible with life, what happened next for you? Share about the waiting if your journey continued. How did you walk that path? What were some of your feelings? What did you do to form lasting memories? What were your struggles? Things you found comfort in?

Amniotic Band Syndrome

I spoke of this briefly in this post: The 5th Belongs to Calvin: Calvin’s Life, when amniotic bands were found in the sac that was supposed to be protecting my baby. It was a Thursday afternoon, the day after my 2nd prenatal appointment, when I had first heard the beautiful sound of my baby’s heart beating. Louie picked me up from work to take me to the ultrasound appointment. We were filled with excitement because we would see our baby again. I was going to go alone because Louie had a Flash workshop to attend later that evening, but he decided to go because he wanted to see the baby, too. He would just leave early, and I would take the bus home if the appointment ran long.

The ultrasound tech remembered me because of my double uterus. I remember laughing with her and Louie because the baby wouldn’t wake up and move into a position she needed to take certain measurements. She would prod and press on my belly and have me cough. I had to have both the internal and external ultrasound (you’d have thought I would’ve been used to the wand because this was my fourth ultrasound with this pregnancy, but it was still very uncomfortable).

Then another ultrasound tech came in, and the first said that sometimes if the baby won’t move for one, it will move for another. This second tech was not as jovial, and looked very serious. Then she had me empty my bladder, and while I was there, I heard the first tech speaking with someone in a serious tone, saying “I discovered she had a duplicate uterus…” I decided to stop listening. The new tech took some more pictures. I saw her take pictures of the baby’s hands and feet. I saw her type “AMNIOTIC BAND,” and I was confused. I didn’t know there was such thing. Then we did the blood test portion that factors into the AFP screening (for Trisomy 13, Trisomy 18, and Down’s Syndrome). Then she left and Louie and I were waiting and waiting and time kept passing. I told Louie that he could leave for his workshop, but he chose to stay.

Eventually, she came back and told us to go to the waiting room, and the doctor would talk to us. While were in the waiting room, we heard the the first tech say, “Thank you for taking that case. I knew something was wrong.” I was scared. So was Louie. We decided to move to the other side of the waiting room. It seemed like too much to hear without any answers. I thought that maybe something showed them that the baby had down’s syndrome.

The genetic counselor, Kati, brought us into her office, and told us that the tech saw amniotic bands, and proceeded to explain that amniotic band syndrome is characterized by pieces of the amniotic sac breaking off into sticky strands that can wrap around the baby’s body parts. Sometimes they leave marks that look like tight rubberbands, sometimes they cause amputations. The tears flowed freely and heavily then. I had horrible visions of bands causing decapitation. She continued to say that commonly, fingers and limps are amputated, and that it looked like the baby’s right fingertips had already been amputated. She explained that there is no known cause for this. That it is not genetic. That there was nothing we did or did not do to cause it. But she still took a family history, just to be thorough. She wanted us to get a second opinion from the radiology department and would call us as soon as she could get us in for a Level II ultrasound.

After we left her office, we sat in the waiting room and cried some more. Louie overheard her speaking to a colleague, wondering if she was too harsh or did not approach us gently enough. We walked to the car. We sat in the car. Then Louie started sobbing. I had never seen him cry so desperately. We cried out together, asking God to protect our baby.

Our families came that night to be with us. And Louie’s parents went with us to the ultrasound appointment the next day, after which we went to meet with Kati and then the perinatologist. Kati told us that the radiologist said the baby’s fingers were in fact unaffected, and that our baby did not have any bands wrapped on any part. The perinatologist then came in and spoke to us of the risks. He told us that they did not know much about it. That normally it is not found until after birth, when the effects are visible. That when it is found early on, the majority of parents choose to terminate. We asked how many bands. Three. One in front of the baby’s face. One by the right arm. One by the left leg. There was nothing they could do. The bands could not be removed. We were offered the option to terminate or to wait and continue to monitor the bands. We chose to wait. Our next appointment was scheduled for March 4.

Praying, Hoping, and Planning for Life

With each week that passed we were grateful that we were closer to the baby having a chance to survive outside of my womb, and away from the threats that my body created. We relished in looking at the week by week developmental descriptions. I did my research on amniotic band syndrome, and after hearing the positive screening for Down’s Syndrome, I researched that, too. I wanted to be prepared to take care of my baby and understand the needs that came with ABS and Down’s Syndrome. Of course, there were times when I would be overcome by fear, worried about my baby, scared of what this tiny little life had to face inside of me.

Each night we prayed for our baby. I prayed on the way to work. I prayed on the way home from work. Each time I thought of my baby, I prayed for healing. I prayed for the bands to disappear. I prayed that my baby would be unaffected by them. That, if it was His will, I would be able to bring this baby into this world, and that Louie and I could raise our child. Louie and I would speak to our baby, urging our little one to stay away from the bands.

We chose to cling to hope, and continued to make our plans to move back to Vallejo and live with his parents during my maternity leave. But we were cautious, maybe in a subconscious way. We only bought our baby two things, a stuffed penguin and a stuffed hippo ,which we bought on Black Friday (it sounds so terribly ominous now, doesn’t it?). We bought these dolls just a few days after learning I was pregnant. This was before the spotting and cramping and threatened miscarriage.

On February 25, the day before my birthday, I had my second prenatal appointment, with a doctor I hadn’t met before. She reviewed my file, talked to us again about the amniotic bands, about the sac holding my baby coming apart, and the high risks of my pregnancy. It was like being told all over again. Then, when she couldn’t find the heartbeat right away, I just thought my baby had died. My baby was dead. Then she found it. And she said it was fine. And we could make my next prenatal appointment after my ultrasound the following week. This made me uncomfortable because it made it seem like she was expecting us to change our minds or that something would go wrong between now and then. Nonetheless, I was happy on my birthday, knowing that my baby was alive, enjoying the flutters of life I had begun to feel inside me.

That weekend, Louie felt movement for the first time. I hear the jealousy when I would tell him I could feel the baby move, but he could feel nothing when he placed his hand on my belly. That afternoon, His eyes and his smile were so big and bright, and he had such excitement and joy as he laughed at this new connection with his baby. It was our last weekend with the three of us altogether.

The Last Day

Wednesday was my ultrasound day, and I felt so overcome that morning that began weeping as I lay in our bed with my hand on my belly. I hadn’t really felt the baby move in the past couple of days, but I didn’t think too much of it, because there isn’t a whole lot of punching and kicking at that stage of pregnancy. I do remember noticing on Sunday that I had been sitting in the same position on the floor for a really long time, but I didn’t feel the usual ache and need to adjust my position. The light shone through our blinds on me, and though I would have normally seen it as a sign of hope, I didn’t. Still, I prayed and longed for the best.

We had breakfast. I ate eggs, and I didn’t throw up like I usually did. On the way to the hospital, Louie told me that my hands were ice cold. We went to our appointment, and the ultrasound tech took some preliminary pictures, and asked us if we wanted to know the baby’s sex. He offered to put it in an envelope that we could open up when we got home. I couldn’t really see the monitor, but Louie and his mom were watching. It was quiet. I could numbers in the corner, 15 wks, 16 wks, 17wks, and I thought it was weird that they kept changing. Then the radiologist came to take more pictures. He said that the doctor would talk to us about it. I asked the tech if we would get a picture from him or from the doctor, and he just said the doctor would talk to us.

The walk to the perinatal diagnostic center was long and cold. We sat in the room with the perinatologist. She asked us if they told us anything, and we said know. I assumed that maybe one of the baby’s limbs had been amputated. She said, “I’m sorry, but the baby has passed away.” She told us that he had birth defects that babies generally don’t recover from, that he had body wall complex. Louie asked about ABS, and she said that they are related. That there is something about the amniotic bands that is linked with the birth defects, that it’s a very complicated relationship and interaction.

Then she said we had to get the baby out, and gave me the choice of scraping everything out (including my baby) or being induced. Because I could not say, “Just leave my baby in me, and let me die, too,” I chose induction. She said it would be best to do it that night, so I went home to pack up some things, forced myself to eat what little I could swallow down, then left to return to the hospital, surrounded in a haze of anger, despair, guilt, and disbelief.

“Walking With You” was created by Kelly at The Beauty of Sufficient Grace to help support those who have lost a child.

Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. To learn more and/or to join, please visit Walking with You.

The First Steps

…it is certain that there was a day, a moment when your world changed. There was a loss of innocence that day - the innocence we have before we know that the unthinkable can actually happen. A complete change in perspective.

Threatened Miscarriage and Pregnancy Tissue

I started cramping and spotting just a few days after the positive pregnancy test. I called the hospital after a couple days, and they scheduled a ultrasound and blood tests. I was able to see my tiny, tiny baby, but I was two weeks off (based on my last period), and not far enough along to detect the heartbeat. The doctor told me I could be having a miscarriage, come back in a week.

A few days later, I called to follow up on my blood tests. The nurse said it looked good, that my levels doubled. (It was like exhaling relief.) But then she took it back. (Then having your breath slammed to a stop with a forceful palm.) They hadn’t quite doubled.

The next week came, and we saw our little one’s heartbeat flickering like a firefly on the monitor before us. We were given a picture to take home. I thought we were okay. But before we left, the doctor stopped us to say that the ultrasound technician found the gestational sac was shaped abnormally. So we had to come back again in two weeks, which fell on Christmas Eve.

The following week was my first prenatal appointment. I liked the midwife right away. She was very sweet and nurturing, and continued to be a source of comfort even after we lost Calvin. She started examining me, mentioned she could see the spotting. Then, “I see what looks like pregnancy tissue at the opening of your cervix.” Panic. She tried to reassure us, saying that sometimes she sees this and everything turns out fine, but doesn’t want us to wait until the next week for our ultrasound (which was scheduled on Christmas Eve). went to speak with the receptionist to get us a same-day, emergency ultrasound. She left the room, and I fell apart in Louie’s arms. Together, we cried for our baby, silently beseeching God to let our child live. As we waited, I told him that if we lost this baby, I wasn’t sure if I could go through another pregnancy and risk another painful loss.

We didn’t lost our baby then. His little heartbeat was fine. The developmental measurements were right on track. And the next week, on December 23rd, I received a call congratulating me, and telling me the pregnancy was “viable.” It wasn’t until the end of January that I would learn about Amniotic Band Syndrome.

But ultimately, it was during these first few weeks that I first tasted the pain of losing Calvin Phoenix. As the deep aching love for him lay claim on my heart in that first month of knowing him, in that first month of motherhood, I spent week after week after week in tears and fervent prayer, waiting to learn whether my baby would live or die.

Prayer Request

Tomorrow is the birthday of sweet Milo Henry, who passed away on January 20 of this year as a result of SIDs. His parents, Heather and Nathan, have become very dear to me and Louie, and they have made this request of their friends and family: “At 5:30pm on September 17th, we invite you to share in a moment of silence with us for Milo…wherever you are…do a meditation, say a prayer, light a candle, reflect on the positive things in your life, or what you would like to have for your life.”

If you are so moved, please lift Heather, Nathan, and Milo up in your thoughts along with us. You can visit Milo’s memorial site at: milosalomonis.org.

“Walking With You” was created by Kelly at The Beauty of Sufficient Grace to help support those who have lost a child.

Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. To learn more and/or to join, please visit Walking with You.

This week, we are sharing how we chose the names for our babies and any special meaning behind them.

Calvin Phoenix Zapanta Ejanda

I believe it was in early January that Louie and I chose Calvin’s name. It was after Christmas, after we received the sweetest message “Congratulations, your pregnancy is viable!” We were in his room at his parents’ house coming up with names that included both letters L and C, as a way to combine both of our names (Louie and Crystal). We just went through all the names we could think of that included these two letters, such Clyde, Lucy, Lucious, Chrysalis, and Chucklass (just kidding on some of those).

We finally agreed on a name for a boy, which you know to be Calvin, and a name for girl (I will not share her name because should our Heavenly Father decide to bless us with a daughter, we want to wait until then to share her name with the world). If Calvin had been a girl instead, her name would have still included Phoenix.

Phoenix was because we wanted a name that honored Louie’s grandfather, Felix. Tatay, as we called him (which means Father in Tagalog), was welcomed into Heaven last September, right before we had our Catholic wedding ceremony. This was an important way for us to pass his memory on with our child. That’s Tatay in the photo to the right, and yes, he is popping his collar! Little did we know how appropriate the name Phoenix would truly be, since now the soul of our blessed son is living in the grace of God. We know that Tatay, along with our other loved ones who have passed from this life into eternal life, is watching over Calvin.

Something special that my mom noticed, and that Louie and I hadn’t realized, is in the first three letters of Calvin’s name: C-A-L: Crystal And Louie. So with his name, our precious boy carriers us with him.

The Etymology of Calvin and of Phoenix

According to Behind The Name, Calvin can be traced back to the French word chauve, which means bald. I find this amusing because I imagined my relatives nicknaming him Calbo, which is the Tagalog word for bald; the reason being that the Filipino pronunciation of v’s sound like b’s. Also, it is rather appropriate, since he was born bald, with merely a hairline and the dark beginnings of hair, which were both clearly discernible on his head. Our Calvin had a widow’s peak just like his mommy.

Phoenix derives from Greek and means “dark red.” And as many of you probably know, it’s the name of the immortal bird of Greek and Egyptian mythology that becomes consumed by fire, but rises from its own ashes. The immortality of this bird, its rising back to life from its own ashes, reminds me of God’s promise for each of us – Though we shall return to dust, we will rise again to everlasting life. And so I live in the hope of joining my son again.

Sharing His Name

It was our plan to announce our baby’s name (and thereby his gender) after our ultrasound on March 4th. I was 18 weeks pregnant, so we were sure we would learn (confirm) whether our baby was a boy or a girl. The ultrasound technician even offered to write it in an envelope that we could open when we got home. But things changed. We did not get this envelope. When I asked for a picture, he responded, They’ll talk to you when you get there.

There was the Fetal Diagnostic Center where we were going to meet with a perinatalogist to review the ultrasound results. This was a follow-up appointment to the ultrasounds we had at the end of January, which detected the presence of amniotic bands. This is what she said to us: I’m sorry. The baby’s passed away. (You can read the full story on this post - The 5th Belongs to Calvin: Calvin’s Life.) When I asked the doctor if our baby was a boy or a girl, she answered that she didn’t know, that they didn’t check, considering the circumstances.

This Is How We Shared His Name, Instead

After I delivered Calvin, and while I lay sobbing with Louie crying I’m sorry over and over into my hair, they took my little boy, cleaned him, and dressed him. At this point I still didn’t know whether I had a son or a daughter. My attending doctor, Nita, told me that our baby was malformed, but she didn’t want to try to describe what he looked like to us, because whatever she said would not really show it. God bless her for saying that, because though we still feared seeing our baby, we did agree to do so. I asked her if our baby was a boy or a girl, and she said he was a boy. In that moment, our baby had his name.

Another doctor, brought the bassinet carrying our son into the room, and very gently asked if our baby had a name. We said, Calvin. She replied, Calvin is very special. He’s so special. The people in the room with us, those four doctors and nurses, were complete strangers until that day, but they were the first to hear his name. And Peggy, my nurse, was the first to write his name (on the card above).

I don’t know if anyone other than a parent who’s lost a child can understand how important it is to hear his or her name, to see this name written, to have others acknowledge the life and existence and significance of this precious, precious person who was taken away so much sooner than any parent would ever want.

It’s been four months since we said both hello and goodbye to our son. This is difficult for me because I was 4 1/2 months pregnant with Calvin when we lost him. To think that he has been gone from us for almost as long as he was with us is such a painful thought. But I’m thankful for every day that we had with him, especially because I know how much he fought to stay with his mommy and daddy for as long as he could.

Phoenix with Amazing Baby

Claire gave us this picture of a banner she saw on Myspace. It’s so appropriate because I am amazed at the strength of my little boy.

With this first entry of The 5th Belongs to Calvin, I’m finally ready to share the full story of Calvin’s life and the 4 1/2 month journey Louie and I were able to share with him while he was on this earth.

If you would like to contribute a picture for Calvin Phoenix, please read about the Calvin Phoenix Photo Project.

The Big Fat Positive

On Tuesday, November 25, 2008, two days before Thanksgiving, I decided to take a pregnancy test. I had suspected that I was pregnant for a while, but wanted to wait for my body to build up enough HCG levels. The line showed up as soon as I started peeing on the stick. I was ecstatic. I placed the positive test on the table in our bedroom, nonchalantly called Louie over, and pointed to the pregnancy. I remember his eyes lighting up and growing wide; he had a huge smile on his face. It’s a little known fact that Louie and I made the agreement that if he did not drink Coke for a year, I would consider having kids. Of course, he surpassed his end of the bargain :).

Waiting to Be “Viable”

A few days later, I started cramping and spotting. The cramping was mainly in one spot so I was afraid of an ectopic pregnancy. On December 2nd, I went in for an ultrasound, and learned that the pregnancy was in my left uterus (yes I have two, if you are curious, you can see my 3d ultrasound is in this post ) and was told that I could be miscarrying. The doctor wanted me to come back the next week. She gave me a form to give to the front desk stating that reason for another ultrasound: viability. To see the tiny life inside me and know that we could lose him was so difficult. Because he measured at only 5-6 weeks, and I guess because they weren’t sure if he was “viable,” I didn’t leave with a picture of my baby, but a picture of my own double uterus instead.

Louie and I went back to the hospital the following week, on December 10th. We saw and heard our baby’s heartbeat, which was amazing. He was so much bigger than when we first got the chance to see him on the ultrasound screen, and we finally got a picture of our little peanut. But after speaking to the doctor, she told us that the ultrasound tech felt that the sac holding our baby was misshaped. So they wanted us to come back again in two weeks (which fell on Christmas Eve). Again, the form read viability.

The week after that, on my mother-in-law’s birthday, I had my first prenatal appointment. Sharon, my midwife started to do an exam and saw pregnancy tissue at the front of my cervix. She tried to reassure us that some women have this and still go on to have their babies. She personally went up to the receptionist to get us scheduled for an ultrasound on that same day, because she did not want us having to wait until the next week (the Christmas Eve appointment). All we could do was cry and wait and pray. When we finally went in for the ultrasound, we saw Calvin, more than twice his size from the last week, heart beating strong, swimming in my belly. We went home relieved, with more pictures of our little salamander baby. And at the beginning of the following week, I got the most beautiful message from Kati, the genetic counselor: “You don’t need to come in. Congratulations, your pregnancy is viable!”

Amniotic Band Syndrome + Down’s Syndrome

We had about a month of respite until after my second prenatal appointment on January 29. At this appointment, we heard Calvin’s heartbeat on the doppler for the first time; it was a beautiful sound that brought me to tears. The doctor recommended that we do the screening for Downe’s Syndrome, Trisomy 13, and Trisomy 18, and we only agreed because we would get to see our baby again. We went in the next day and saw just how much he had grown - he actually looked like a baby as most people picture them, with a big round head and little belly. A different ultrasound tech came in and the mood changed; she looked so serious. Then she left. And Louie and I were sitting waiting in that room, until finally she came back and said that we needed to talk to someone about the results. They had found amniotic bands, which causes amputations and can threaten the baby’s life. I broke down. She also told us that it looked like the fingertips on his right hand were missing. Louie and I sat in the car sobbing, crying for our baby. Our family’s came that night to be with us.

The next day, January 30, I went in for a Level II ultrasound. We watched Calvin swimming and turning, opening and closing his hands, stretching his body out, moving away as the ultrasound tech pressed on my belly. Watching Louie watch our son was such a beautiful moment; it’s one of my few memories of Calvin with his daddy, and I hold it so dearly. After another 2+ hour long ultrasound, we went to speak to Kati and the perinatologist (a specialist for babies in utero). Upon reviewing the ultrasounds again, they said that our baby still had his fingers, and although there were three amniotic bands, they had not attached. Somehow, our baby had been avoiding them.

A few days later, I received a call from Kati saying that the screening for Down’s Syndrome also came out positive. We decided to refuse to the amniocentisis because of the increased risk of miscarriage (which was already there because of my double uterus), and because we had decided we would love, care for, and raise this child regardless of whether he had it or not.

I began doing my research on Amniotic Band Syndrome and on Down’s Syndrome.

Knowing His Touch

In the following weeks I began to be able to distinguish my baby’s movements from the rumblings of my growing belly. I could feel him fluttering and tumbling inside me. Louie wanted so bad to feel Calvin moving around, but I told him it was still too soon. So for the time being, it was like a secret between me and our baby.

On February 25, the day before my birthday, we had our second prenatal appointment. I guess it was because she was new to my case, but the doctor spoke with us again about the risks of amniotic bands, brought up our options of continuing with or terminating the pregnancy. It was difficult because it was like hearing the news all over again.

After a couple minutes of searching, she finally found the baby’s heartbeat. It sounded weird to me – not the way it sounded before, but she said it sounded fine, and that we could schedule the next prenatal appointment after the ultrasound. We were just so thankful that Calvin was still with us.

That Saturday, as we were sitting in his parents living room and Louie starting playing music on his laptop, Calvin started tumbling around. I told Louie and he placed his hand on my belly. He got so excited because he could actually feel Calvin moving. I don’t know why or how Louie could feel our son dancing in my belly so early in my pregnancy – Calvin was just going into 18 weeks. But I am so grateful that Louie got that chance.

Saying Goodbye

On March 4, we went in for our follow-up ultrasound. It was hard because the monitor was next to me, so I couldn’t really see it. I did notice that sometimes the numbers on the bottom right corner would range from 15 weeks to 17 weeks, which was really odd to me. I also noticed that after a while Louie had his eyes closed, and he wasn’t looking at the screen. It got really quiet. When I asked the ultrasound tech if we would get a picture from him or from the doctor, he just said the doctor would speak to us.

The doctor told us that the baby had passed away. God said no to us. He allowed our baby to die.

Louie later told me that he saw our baby wasn’t moving, that the ultrasound was not reading a temperature, but as we walked to the doctor’s office, he was trying to convince himself that our baby was okay.

It was not what I wanted. What I wanted was to go into the ultrasound, know that my baby was alive, find out for sure whether he was a boy or girl, then announce to the world his name, which Louie and I decided to keep secret until we knew.

That night, I was admitted into the hospital. About 10 hours after they starting giving me Misoprostol, and before the anesthesiologist could come in and speak to me (I had finally agreed to an epidural), I told Peggy, my nurse, “I feel something coming out,” and she rushed to get the doctor, Nita. I felt such a tremendous tearing sensation that I could not let go of my grip on the bed to hold Louie’s hand. Nita asked me to lie back, but I couldn’t. I just started crying out. I remember screaming in pain then feeling the rush of liquid and then my baby.

On March 5, 2009, at 9:54am, I delivered Calvin Phoenix into this world. Not alive and breathing, not full-term, but I have to be grateful that God did answer this prayer, even if it was not in the way I wanted. I got the chance to give birth to my son, to hold him, to call him by his name, and to see him in his daddy’s arms.

The Strength of My Baby

My attending OB, because of Calvin’s size, was under the impression that he had died 3 weeks prior to when I came in to be induced. I told her that we had a prenatal appointment the previous week – in fact exactly a week before being told he had died – and heard his heartbeat. From the beginning of my pregnancy and the threatened miscarriage with the spotting and cramping and pregnancy tissue, to the amniotic bands that invaded what should have been the safest place for him, our son fought to stay with us. He was struggling, but still he held on. Though Calvin should have passed sooner, he clung to life so that my birthday would not be a reminder of his death, but of my happiness as I felt him dancing in my belly to his daddy’s music. This is such a gift from my precious child. And I am so proud to be his mother.

Happy Four Months, Calvin Phoenix! Mommy and daddy love you so much.