In many ways, we are still healing from this loss. We will probably be in the process of healing for the rest of our lives. But it gives us great comfort knowing that when we leave this earth, we will be reunited with Ian and will get to hold him in our arms forever, instead of just in our hearts.
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I've been staring at my computer screen for hours, wondering how I'm going to write what I have on my mind. I go back and forth on how I wanted this blog post to start. To put it simply, there's no good way to start it.
On Tuesday, December 16, at 6:27 P.M., Eric and I became parents to our beautiful, innocent, perfect little boy, Ian Joseph Schackmann.
Just one
But that next morning, I still couldn't find the heartbeat. Trying not stress out, I texted Eric my concerns. He still said not to worry, but I knew I couldn't wait until my next appointment to see if something was indeed wrong. I called my OB's office, trying to laugh off my situation and saying that I just needed some reassurance. I was scheduled to come in later that afternoon.
Once at my doctor's office, a nurse took me back to an exam room to check on the heartbeat. She made small talk to me as she looked, but I couldn't help but notice the fear in her eyes as she too, like I had done many times that day, searched my stomach high and low for my dear baby's heartbeat. She decided to call in another nurse, one that used the Doppler more often than she did and always had luck finding heartbeats, to take a listen. As she searched, I couldn't help but fear the worse. She told me that she thought she was picking up something around 150, which could be the baby. To make sure, she decided to have me squeezed in to get an ultrasound.
Sitting in that waiting room waiting on the ultrasound was torture. I was there, alone, fearing the worst. I saw numerous women who were visibly pregnant, oblivious to the fear and pain I was feeling. When I was finally called back for my ultrasound, I didn't know what to think. I was hoping, praying, that I would see that tiny flicker of a heartbeat on the screen. Deep down, though, I knew something was wrong.
The wand hit my stomach and the ultrasound tech moved it around until she found the baby. But this wasn't the baby I had seen just weeks before down at SIU, arms and legs flailing around, his mouth opening and closing. No, this baby was something unrecognizable-curled up into a small ball. The tech quickly took measurements without saying a word. I tried staying positive, but then she told me the words that will forever haunt my nightmares, "I'm sorry, Sharon, but your baby has no heartbeat." Tuesday, December 9, at 3;05 P.M. our lives were forever changed.
I immediately called Eric. The only thing I could muster to get out was that the baby had no heartbeat. He said he was on his way. I was brought to another room to wait on Dr. Haller to come in and talk about what to do next. Luckily, Theresa works in Effingham and came over to the doctor's office so I wouldn't have to be alone while I waited on Eric. After what seemed like hours, Eric finally walked into the room. I couldn't help but burst into hysterical sobs when I saw him. This baby, the one we planned for, wanted, prayed for, loved, was gone.
After hearing the options, we decided that I would be induced and have the baby as opposed to getting a D&C. I couldn't stand the thought of our baby coming out of me in pieces, which would be that case if we decided on a D&C since I was so far along. I had my blood drawn to be sent for testing to see if what caused the miscarriage had something to do with me. Then we were led out the back door, which I was thankful for. I know as soon as I walked out into that waiting room I would be flooded with tears once again.
Once we got home, we told my mom, which was so much harder than I had ever imagined. Eric had told his mom, so no words were needed when she arrived. But to physically tell someone what had happened, that made it real. It was no longer this terrible nightmare that I was thrown into, but now a cruel reality that I am forced to live with for the rest of my life. I could see my mom's heart breaking, as my older brother Ryan was stillborn two years before I was born. The news not only brought on a sad reminder of her past, but also the pain of knowing what I was going through without being able to offer more than words of love and support.
The rest of that night was spent cradled in Eric's arms, letting the tears fall freely down my face, questioning why on Earth something like this had to happen. The following days went slowly. Though we tried to do things normal people do, the harsh reminder that something had changed was evident. We told a few of our closest friends what had happened, and left our parents to tell our relatives.
Cards, flowers, and sympathies flooded in. I spent most of the next week curled up on the couch, unable to reply to anyone without being overwhelmed by a sense of sadness. Friends and family stopped by, and they were a welcome distraction to the reality looming in our near future. I was scheduled to be induced at the hospital on Tuesday, December 16 at 7:30 in the morning.
As Tuesday approached, I slowly started realizing that that day was indeed almost here. That I would have to accept the fact that I soon would no longer be carrying our son. Thankfully, Monday was a long day. But when Monday night rolled around, I did everything I could to keep from going to bed. I made Eric watch just one more show with me in the living room before we laid down in bed, knowing that that would mean I was that much closer to Tuesday. I laid as close as I could to Eric that night, and he never took his arm out from under my neck.
Tuesday morning we were mostly silent as we prepared for the day. Eric made us cinnamon rolls for breakfast as I finished packing our hospital bag. Once in our room in Labor and Delivery, I broke down again. That was not how I pictured my first time in Labor and Delivery to be. Luckily, I had to best nurses I could have ever asked for.
My nurse was very caring, telling me to take as much time as I needed before changing into my gown. She was gentle as she placed the IV into my arm, and always told me what was happening. Dr. Haller soon entered the room. She placed the first of three suppositories I would take that day to induce labor into my cervix. It took a few hours, but the nausea soon hit, as well as the feverish chills. Mild contractions weren't far behind. Luckily the nurse always came in as soon as I called her, and I was able to get pain medicine through my IV, as well as Zofran for the nausea and Tylenol for the fever I was developing.
Four hours later at 1;00 PM, Dr. Haller returned to insert the second suppository. Again, I was hit with nausea and chills, though this time they hit me sooner. Dr. Haller informed us that my cervix was still closed, but that my uterus and the baby had moved down to right above my cervix. Eric and I passed the time that day by doing a lot of sleeping, which I am thankful for. While asleep, I couldn't feel the contractions that worsened with each new suppository.
At 5:40, Dr. Haller came in again to give me the next suppository. She told me this time that my cervix had softened in the middle. She assured me that she was on call that night and would be there to deliver my baby when the time came. I chose to get my Zofran and Tylenol before I ate this time in hopes that the nausea would not hit this time. The pain medicine once again lessened the effects of my ever-strengthening contractions.
Dan, Theresa, and Nichole stopped by for a few minutes after visiting Grandma Schackmann (she was in the rehab wing of a nursing home for falling and breaking her hip the week before). While talking to them I could feel my contractions getting worse. I found myself having to focus on deep breaths through my mouth while they were there. They left to go grab Eric something to eat and said they would be back soon.
Not long after they left, my contractions became unbearable. I pressed the nurse call button, hopeful that she could give me more pain medication. Instead, she sat by my side and rubbed on my stomach. That's when I felt it happening. A deep pressure was forming in my cervix, and I felt it get lower and lower. At 6:27 PM I delivered our baby boy. The nurse quickly called in another nurse to call Dr. Haller. When Dr. Haller arrived, she told me that the sac had ruptured and the placenta did not come out with the baby. About 10 minutes and some horrible pain later, she said that the placenta was out.
Eric sat there, holding my hand tightly, as I took in several deep breaths, processing everything that had just happened. Dr. Haller came back over and asked if we wanted to hold him, our son. I immediately lost it. I know how much Eric had wanted a son, and just knowing that he would never get to know his first son completely broke my heart. And I could tell it had broken his heart too. Dr. Haller brought him over, wrapped in a baby blanket that was a million sizes too big for his little body.
But he was perfect. Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. Dr. Haller said that his cord was wrapped tightly around his belly button and that where the cord attached to the placenta was mostly membrane. She couldn't be certain that this was why he passed away much too soon, but said that we would hopefully know more after he got back from his autopsy.
We were given as much time as we needed with him. We named him Ian, which means "gift from God", and gave him the middle name of Joseph, which is also Eric's middle name. He weighed 4.2 ounces and measured 7 inches long. He fit in the palm of our hands. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I took in everything I could about him-how his head was still a little too big for his body, how long his arms and legs were, those tiny little fingers and toes, his beautiful little face-knowing that all too soon I would never see our son again.
Seeing Eric hold our son once again brought me, and him, to tears. Words can't describe how perfect he looked holding Ian. I hope that one day I can give him another child to love and care for in a way that we will never get to do with Ian. We let the nurse take him to try to get his footprints and handprints, as well as take some pictures. I will treasure those for the rest of my life.
The nurse gave Ian back to us and said to take as long as we needed, because once we were ready she had to take him away to prepare him for autopsy. Eric and I each held our baby boy for the last time in this life. One last time I took in his face, his tiny body. I held his little hand and told him how much Eric and I loved him and that we couldn't wait to see him again. We cried as the nurse took him away, and she asked if we were in fact ready to say goodbye. I told her that we would never be ready. She let us give him one last kiss before she left.
Dan and Theresa had dropped off some food for us during this time, which was a welcome distraction while we waited on my discharge paperwork to be completed. After 11 hours of labor, and three and a half hours of saying goodbye to Ian and waiting to be discharged, we left the hospital. The nurse gave me a hug as she helped me into the car. It meant so much to know how much she cared about Eric and I and the tragic loss we had experienced.
The one thing that comforted me throughout this time was knowing that the first face our little Ian saw was Jesus'. Ian was up in heaven, meeting his aunt Julie and uncle Ryan, flying around with all the other angels. He was perfect, and only knows the love that Jesus, Eric, and I have for him, instead of the pain and suffering here on Earth. For that I am thankful.
Eric and I appreciate the love, kindness, thoughts, and prayers that we have and will continue to receive throughout all of this. Nothing but time can ease the hurt and sadness we feel, but please know your prayers and kind words mean so much to us.
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans
to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and
a future." Jeremiah 29:11
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