Ames and Simone.

It is always something, but rarely the something you expect. Don’t you find that to be true? I expected another first trimester miscarriage, and when that didn’t happen, I shifted my morbid focus to preterm labor. I read studies and memorized statistics. Now I keep thinking I prepared for the wrong thing. I didn’t prepare for this. This particular tragedy never occurred to me, was so far from my mind that when the nurse couldn’t get a picture of cardiac activity on the ultrasound yesterday, and left to get the doctor, I thought my baby was merely uncooperative and sleepy. He was in a strange position, down by my cervix, his little elbow and shoulder resting there, his arm over his head.

They tell me he died maybe three days ago—a Friday. They point out the small accumulations of fluid in his chest, the thickening of skin around his brain, his swollen umbilical cord, bloated and looking, I think, like link sausage, or DNA. Signs that he has been dead for more than a day. Two weeks ago he was “ideal.” They checked his heart, his brain, his kidneys, all of his baby parts, and everything was, they said, “perfect.” It just goes to show you. I don’t know what, exactly, but something about counting your chickens, or how hope is a winged thing that is always flying into your windshield.

I don’t think this post is going to make a tremendous amount of sense, which is fitting somehow, because none of this makes any sense to me at all. I miss my baby. His name was Ames. I wasn’t going to give the babies their names until they made it to viability, but I changed my mind. Ames was a good baby, he deserves his name. My poor little boy. Now, in the place I thought I felt him kicking, I can feel his sister. I wonder whether I ever felt him at all.

Last night a grief counselor called me to set up a time to make a birth plan. I am confused until she explains that I will be delivering both babies, though Ames will be only a pound and will have undergone some euphemistic changes. She tells me I might like to start thinking about whether I want him buried or cremated. Frankly there are few things I want less to think about. I would like Ames to be born live and squalling and covered with whatever disgusting substance babies are born covered with. That was my birth plan.

Usually in these cases they never find a cause, or so they tell me. They will analyze the placenta, because sometimes there is a problem there. They will check his chromosomes. But probably it will remain a “mystery.” I think “mystery” is a poor word choice, personally, because it makes it sound intriguing, and there is nothing intriguing about a dead baby. I am assured his death was caused by nothing I did, but this does not stop me from asking about every medication I have taken. I wonder about the days I forgot to take my baby aspirin. I wonder whether it was weaning off the prednisone, or being on the prednisone in the first place. I wonder how I am supposed to believe this has nothing to do with me when my body has failed four consecutive pregnancies. I wonder about a lot of things.

I hope it is not distracting, this writing in short paragraphs. I am not quite myself, and linking things together in a long entry, with a narrative, is beyond me at the moment. Probably you will be hearing a lot from me this week, because I am on modified bedrest, and it is very quiet here, and Scott and I don’t seem to know what to say to each other just yet.
You are always here for me during difficult times, and it means so much. Yesterday, after the ultrasound, the nurse left me alone to call Scott, and after I made that call, one of the worst I have ever made, my next impulse was to see if the medical records computer on the table could connect to the internet, so that I could post here. That sounds odd, but there you are. Your support has held me up.

A year ago, to the day, I was in beta hell, waiting for confirmation that my third pregnancy was doomed. The January before Scott and I had nearly separated over the question of whether to pursue fertility treatment. The January before that was my second miscarriage. January is a terrible month. I am terrified that this month is not done with me, that I will lose my little girl before the end of it. On January 25th I will be 24 weeks—the barest edge of viability. Ten more days.

They tell me there is a good chance that Simone will be fine (that is her name, Simone—she is a good baby too) but, now, how am I to believe that? How? I am on modified bedrest because I have been having a lot of contractions. Monday’s appointment had originally been scheduled for this Friday, but I moved it up because of the contractions, and an increase in discharge, and my general impatience. The contractions probably started when Ames died, though of course I didn’t know that at the time. Because Ames is Baby A, and is nearest to my cervix, there is a concern about preterm labor, or infection, or god knows what else.
“It is better when the upper baby is affected,” said my peri. Better.

Simone is transverse across the top of my uterus, kicking and wiggling obligingly. She waved at me on the ultrasound, and then opened her tiny mouth. I saw her eyeball, her chin. I just need her to live. Please. My dear girl. Sometimes she kicks hard enough that I can see it from the outside. I wonder what it is like for her in there, now. I am carrying one live baby and one dead one, and if I am very, very lucky, I will continue to do so for 14 more weeks. It hurts to think about.

They took blood yesterday to test for clotting factors, and warned me that having so much “non-living tissue” in my uterus can cause clotting issues that may endanger me and Simone. They will keep checking for the next six to eight weeks—after that “the risk is minimal.” Six to eight weeks.
I haven’t yet reached my peri’s danger-threshold of more than six contractions an hour, and yesterday my cervix was long (on transabdominal ultrasound). But I can’t relax, and I think I will call tomorrow and ask to sit on the monitors for a bit. Sometimes my belly stays so hard for so long I can’t tell if it is a contraction or something else. And six seems like such an arbitrary number. What if I am having six contractions an hour and can only feel four of them? I need to find out whether it is too late for P17 shots to calm my uterus. I need to buy a thermometer. It is hot in my apartment, and I am always overwarm, but now I am terrified of fever signaling infection.

I need a plan. I think we made one yesterday, but I don’t remember much of it now. I remember they promised to monitor me closely. I remember that starting at 28 weeks, should I get that far, they will do weekly biophysical profiles, and if Simone shows any signs of distress they will deliver. I remember they said she is likely to be born early, and I remember worrying about lung maturity, because of my gestational diabetes, and I remember that when I thought of my gestational diabetes I felt like screaming, because how many more ways can this pregnancy be high risk? And I remember the peri telling me that if I managed to get to 36 or 37 weeks they would do an amnio to check the lungs and deliver me then. But there are so many days to get through before 36 weeks, and information about outcomes is scarce. If any of you know of anyone who had a similar story, please write and tell me. I am starved for information.

And I am angry. I suppose that is to be expected, but waiting for the elevator after everything I saw another pregnant woman and thought bitterly that probably everyone in her body was still breathing, and probably she didn’t have two overflowing sharps containers on her counter, either. Probably she wasn’t still throwing up hard enough to cause nosebleeds, and probably her hair always does exactly as she asks. I am glad I don’t believe in god, because I think I would have marched straight to the nearest crossroads and sold my soul. I miss my baby, and it isn’t fair. Many of you have lost babies, and it isn’t fair. So many people want children and can’t have them, and that isn’t fair either. I demand that my other baby live. I have had just about enough of this.

185 comments

  1. Ronna says:

    I am so glad to hear from you. There is nothing we can do to ease your hearbreak but we can share it with you. Please write whatever you need, whenever you need. We will be listening.

    I adore your choice of names too.

  2. Stacy says:

    I am so sorry.
    I wasn’t going to write but this post made it a necessity for me. I am so sorry, I wish I could help you other than saying everyone in Internetland is thinking of you.

  3. Jenni says:

    after all you’ve been through they should just give you the keys to the peri’s office along with a cot and some instructions on the equipment so you can put your poor mind at ease anytime you want… it seems like so much more sadness then one woman should have to bear.

    I hope January passes very quickly…

  4. lori says:

    i am so, so sorry for the loss of your baby boy, ames. i am thinking, and wishing, and praying for a safe and healthy rest of your pregnancy with simone. and, for some peace for your aching heart.

  5. amanda says:

    i agree with jenni. i actually thing that your dr. should be living in your apartment though.

    i am sooooooo incredibly grateful to hear from you alexa. thank you for sharing with us and opening up to us and sharing their names and your thoughts and your sad news and this whole journey. thank you for lettings us be there for you and share this burden with you, as little as we can… which feels like not enough and so very little after all.

    what you are going through, what you have been through… there are no words at all. after your post on monday i may have decided that i don’t believe in a god at all any more. its all so horribly, unspeakably wrong.

    all my thoughts and hopes are with you and scott and simone. please DO write a lot.

    i will brainstorm to the best of my ability for things to do when you need the time to pass quickly and the thoughts and fears to leave you the hell alone.

    lots of love.

  6. Heidi says:

    I am so very sorry Alexa. I wish I could take some of your pain and carry it for you. You and Scott and your babies will all be in my thoughts.

  7. Molly says:

    Simone is a beautiful name, Alexa, and so is Ames. Lovely.

    I am just overcome by how senseless and awful this seems, and by how much you’ve already been through, and the battles that you will continue to fight.

  8. Jillian says:

    Alexa, I’m so so sorry. You’ve been much on my mind since the sad news of Ames’ passing. I’ve been reading your blog for a while now, and so I know that your son was a good baby and that you both were deserving of much more time together.

    I know we will all continue to join you in your hopes for Simone.

  9. jonniker says:

    I’m just sitting here miserable on your behalf, Alexa. I desperately want to be able to do something — anything — to make it better, to fix it, to help you, and it breaks my heart that there is nothing any of us can do except be here to listen. It’s not fair. There should be more. It seems like surely our collective thoughts and love will bring him back or take this away, and most of all, I am just so sorry that I can’t do that, because I want to — I want to so, so badly.

    xoxo

  10. MN Guy says:

    Damn. I am so sorry for your loss, and your plight. I’m an atheist, so prayer is out, but know that I’ll be thinking of you, and hoping for a healthy, caterwauling, vernix-covered little girl for you. Be strong.

  11. Sara says:

    I’m so sorry for the loss of your sweet Ames. It’s not fair, and it’s not your fault. I hope that the rest of your pregnancy is long and uneventful, and that Simone arrives safe and sound.

  12. Tash says:

    I only flit through here occasionally so I was devestated to read of this news. Well, devestated, as in swearing, crying, and finally stunned silence. I am so heartbreakingly sorry for the loss of dear Ames. (And as a mom of a “mystery” I concur: it’s not remotely one at all.) Please Simone, please hang in there. For everyone. You sound remarkably coherent, write when you can and believe me we’ll be here. Thinking of you.

  13. Laurel says:

    oh Alexa. I am so sorry that you are having to go through this. You should not have to be dealing with this. The names that you picked are perfect. Ames and Simone, beautiful babies. I will continue to pray for you and Scott, your pregnancy, Simone’s quick development, and everything else. Please write as much as you need to, we will always be here to listen.

  14. Jen says:

    Oh, Alexa, I am so terribly sorry for your loss of your sweet baby boy. I will keep you, Scott, and baby Simone in my thoughts and prayers.

  15. Leggy/Clover says:

    Oh Alexa, I am crying for you and for your dear sweet Ames. It is not your fault, there is nothing you could have done. How frustrating it must be to not have any answers. (Frustrated! What a pathetic word for what you must be feeling- I’m sure that’s the least of your complicated emotions right now.) I wish there was something, anything I could do for you. I know you don’t know me from Adam, but please, if there is anything at all I can do, please let me know.

  16. EJW says:

    Oh Alexa, I so wish this weren’t happening. Simone and Ames are beautiful names. Please know that this isn’t your fault, in the least, and that everyone here in the computer is listening to you and pulling for you and hoping for you.

  17. Gbich says:

    Alexa, I’ve been reading your blog for a couple of months now, often laughing inappropriately out loud at work. I’ve just recently embarked on the pre-pregnancy roller coaster, though I cannot imagine how you must be feeling right now.

    I’m so very, very sorry for your loss, and especially for Simone who has lost her brother. As someone who does believe in some kind of god, I can only pray that Ames will watch over Simone through the duration of your pregnancy. You’re in my thoughts.

    “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
    -Winston Churchill

  18. Erin says:

    I am so, so sorry for your loss.

    My ex-SIL was pregnant with fraternal twins and lost the boy at about 22 weeks as well. She delivered a healthy baby girl at 39 weeks. I wish the same for you.

  19. Newt says:

    Oh Alexa. I don’t have any pull with God, but I’m sending my most fervent hopes that little Simone grows strong, and fast. It’s so little, but you are in my thoughts.

  20. Farah says:

    I wish I’m so sorry didnt sound so trite – please know that You and Scott and baby Ames and Simone are in my thoughts. You and Scot picked very beautiful names. I wish that I had answers or something to comfort you. Just virtual hugs and supoprt!

  21. barbara says:

    Peace to Baby Ames and I wish you much peace, too. I so want for you to get through this shit with no further misery, with a healthy baby. Gah. Big virtual hugs.

  22. Kristin says:

    Alexa, you’ve been on my mind constantly since I clicked on your site last night. I’ve been following your blog for several months now and I was in shock when I read the terrible news. I’m so sorry about Ames. Please take care and don’t blame yourself.

  23. Andrea says:

    I am so sad and outraged for you. I don’t have any idea how you can bear this– what a horrible combination of grief, fear, pain and uncertainty. Their names are wonderful, and I hope you’ll find some peace and a way to make it to 38 weeks.

  24. Jen H. says:

    I saw your last post. I couldn’t even post a message, I’m sorry. I just tried to pretend I didn’t see it, because it saddened me so much. I checked back tonight, positive that it was all a big mistake. I am so sorry you lost your baby boy. I am thinking about you and Scott and baby Simone…

  25. Kymmi says:

    Ames is a beautiful name. I know how much you love your little boy – my heart breaks for you. There are no words that I can think of to make you feel better, just know that you, your husband and Simone are in my thoughts.

    Be well.

  26. Flicka says:

    Next year we are just going to skip January altogether.

    My heart is breaking for you, Alexa. I wish I knew more what to say. I wish I could be there to distract you during the long, quiet hours of modified bedrest. Ames is a wonderful name. So is Simone. They are good babies. You are a good mother. You are all in my thoughts.

  27. Meagan says:

    I am so, so sorry. And angry. And also shocked. I just assumed nothing like this would happen. How can things like this happen? You’ve been through so much that I was sure you had hit your misery quota. Beyond hit your quota. So Simone is going to be fine. She has to be. There is no way she could not be. It’s unfathomable. Tell her Meagan said that anything less than perfectly fine is unacceptable. And, while you’re waiting for her to pop out all perfectly fine, know that everyone here is thinking about you and wishing very good things for your whole family.

  28. Nico says:

    Oh, Alexa, I am so deeply deeply sorry that you are experiencing this heartbreak. You have gone through so much already to get here, it is just wrong that you won’t get to know your little boy. I am thinking of you, Scott, Simone, and Ames.

  29. Kate says:

    Oh, god. I’m so sorry. I am going to send my very best healing thoughts to you. I know they’re paltry and inadequate, but I can’t think of a single other thing to do.

  30. All Adither says:

    You so deserve to have this baby girl come live with you. I don’t pray, but I’m thinking about you more than one should think about another human being they don’t even know.

  31. jv says:

    I’m speechless, and shocked, and brutally upset. I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, I don’t want to imagine. I am so sorry, there is nothing to say. I’m a stranger to you, sending you a hug.

  32. Bea says:

    I’m so sorry. You’ve said everything so well, I don’t know what to say. I guess I wouldn’t have known anyway.

    It’s always something, and it’s always what you don’t expect.
    There’s so many days to get through – I hope you can do them all one at a time.
    Other pregnant women don’t go through all that. It’s not fair.

    Bea

  33. B says:

    This is heartbreaking news. I am so sorry.

    Little Ames you are missed already, even though you are not born yet. Know that you are loved.

    Simone – grow strong. Grow and grow. You are loved more than you will ever know.

  34. Melissa in TN says:

    Hi Alexa. I just wanted you to know that my prayers are with you (I hope that’s ok). I have been thinking of you all today.

    I love the names you picked out. They are beautiful and I’m glad you shared them with us.

    I am so very sorry. Rest and take care.

    M.

  35. kris says:

    I don’t understand why things like this happen. I don’t have any pretty words, but I know that your babies have pretty names. I’m sorry that Ames died – I’m sorry for everything that you won’t know with him. I’m sorry that you’re going through so much pain right now and I hope that all of us who are here, circling around you in support, can give you even the barest help in bearing this pain, because we all care about you, and Ames, and Simone, and your husband. You’re loved and your babies are loved, and we will never forget him.

  36. OrchidLover says:

    I was so saddened by your last post that I woke up twice last night, with the words you wrote running through my head. This sucks so much and I’m so sorry. I know Simone will be fine. You know how? Because the fucking worst thing that could happen did. She has to be fine now.

    I love your name choices–we were talking about Simone for our girl, too, but haven’t decided. We don’t know each other at all. The internet is really funny, but because I like you so much just from reading your blog, Simone immediately jumps out at me on our list now. You have a remarkably clear mind for someone in your situation–I think your point about things you never worried about going wrong happening is pretty profound.

    Don’t worry about birth plans or anything else you don’t want to think about now. Just do what you feel you need to. I’d definitely pray for you, but I don’t especially believe in God, so I think I say, “You’re in my thoughts.” That’s like the same thing, but for atheists or agnostics.

  37. Stacie says:

    Life is so cruel sometimes, and this is definitely one of those times. I am so sorry. My prayers are with you, your dh, Simone, and little Ames.
    May January pass quickly…

  38. stillheidi says:

    I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. No words. I know the next weeks will be so hard, but I’m sure worth it when you hold your baby girl.

  39. Watson says:

    Alexa,

    I am so, so sorry about this. As others have said, there’s nothing we can say to ease your pain. I can’t imagine what you’re going through and I can’t begin to think of anything comforting to say, except that you have many, many friends out here thinking of you and keeping you in their thoughts.

    Just take care of yourself any way you need to — write or don’t write, whatever feels better. I wish for you the best health for Simone and that she grows and grows until she’s well ready to enter this world.

  40. Megan says:

    I am truly so so sorry. My heart just aches for you, me, everyone who ever suffers the loss of a child, wether the child is not yet born or a grown man, it’s the hardest thing in the world.

    I know you don’t believe in God, but I’ll pray for you and both your children anyway. I’m pretty angry at God myself. He owes me a favor.

  41. KS Grandma says:

    So I was driving down this road in Kansas that you have never thought of, why would you? Thinking about you while you had no idea that I was, again, why would you wonder if some Grandma in Kansas was having trouble seeing the road for all the tears flowing on your behalf. And I get the anger part. And the non-god part, and the how-to-talk-with-Scott part. The part that I can’t figure out is how to wrap you up in that grandma hug from here and just hold you while you feel all that you simply must feel. (I hope that’s not too weird, or stalk-like, but you have written in such a way as to include us, and now we are included, albeit too far away to bring you casseroles which you couldn’t eat anyway.) Please know that I care, for what that is worth, and for how surprising it is to me to feel so much emotion for a person that I probably wouldn’t recognize in a crowded room. OK, it is strange. But it is true, and if it matters, then I have the obligation to tell you that it is true. You and Scott are not alone. Many of us are holding you as you go through this.

  42. R says:

    January is a bad, bad month. I can’t even imagine how gutwrenching it must be, having both of them still with you, with things the way they are. But you can do this. We’ll all here, ready to do whatever it is that we can, even if it’s only waiting and hoping and thinking of you. I’ll keep you, and Ames, and Simone in my thoughts.

  43. Ann says:

    My heart is breaking for you. I thought about you throughout yesterday. Every now and again I would wonder why there is such a heaviness in my heart and then I would remember your post! I do believe in God, although I also cannot understand why such tradegy happens! I will pray for you and Scott and Simone and ask that He keeps Ames safe in His arms. Again, I am so sorry – how very inadequate those words are in easing your pain!

  44. Lori says:

    I had an unexpected end to my pregnancy. Both the baby and I lived, but we easily could have died. I did not experience any of what you are going through, but my son was early, and he did have premature lungs, and I didn’t hold him or see him or even be within 43 miles of him for days. My pregnancy was uneventful until 31 weeks, then pow. I don’t think you can ever prepare, no matter what, for what happens when you try and bring a baby, or babies, into this world. I do know from what I’m told is twins often develop faster than singles, and girls faster than boys. There are no answers, and unfortunately no promises. I remember thinking if only I can make it to ‘here’, then we will be ok. But the ‘here’ is always changing. I feel for you deeply. I want you to be a mother. I want to hear about Simone and how she’s keeping you up and driving you crazy and all the shit that comes along with it. But I also want you to know that the worry and uncertainty never ends. I’m not sure if I’m helping or not. I’m trying to be honest and I’ve never been one to give false hopes. It’s a fucked up thing that happened, to Ames and all your lost babies. They were all your babies. I have a devine friend who wholeheartily accepts that this was each childs destiny, and our part in it theirs as well. I wish I were so strong. You are all in my thoughts and prayers to the universe. Thank you for sharing your life with us. I am humbled by your ability to reach out. To Simone: please stay strong, like your mama. To Ames: let your mama know that she was a good mama, your time together was just too short.

  45. Trudy says:

    Oh Alexa. My heart crumpled when I read your post yesterday. Can’t stop thinking about it. Need to try to make sense of it. And can’t. I’m sorry beyond words.

    All I can offer is my weird way of trying to deal with these things; watching my brother lose his 15 year old son to a ‘mystery.’ (They never did figure out why a strapping 15 year-old collapsed and died.)

    If even one of us readers, for even one day, can approach tomorrow as a more calm parent or a more loving wife or a more sympathetic friend — then does that help you at all? If what you’re experiencing makes us stop in our tracks and take stock of what’s truly important, do you gain even a shred of comfort? I’m afraid not, but I hope that the rest of us feeling such sympathy can gain something out of this — some little tiny bit of positive out of your tragedy. When tomorrow we find out our water heater went out, or our car needs $1000 of repairs, or our child throws an unprecedented tantrum — can we step back and take a breath and remember that in so many other ways we’re blessed each day beyond belief? I hope so because that is the only way I can make sense of what you and Scott are going through.

    When my nephew died and I witnessed my brother and sister-in-law’s anguish, it took me days if not weeks to go, “Well, at least he collapsed amongst his friends at football practice and had a coach nearby trained in CPR. What if he had died while out on his beloved horse riding alone in the pasture and we would have always wondered if something could have been done? At least we were spared that doubt.”

    Readers (and I don’t expect this of you, Alexa), do you see what I’m saying? The best thing we can do for Alexa and Scott and Simone is to make this into something meaningful in our own lives and cause us to cherish something tomorrow that might have been aggravating a week ago.

  46. Lioness says:

    I don’t think you can ver prepare for all the horribl things that can happen to us, and I agree with you, they never quite are as expected. December through February are horrible, horrible months. I cannot think of anything to say that would help you, really help you, but I know first hand how sometimes, despite good friends and family IRL, only those in the computer truly save our sanity. Maybe it’s because those who died will be remembered by strangers, if strangers can grieve than surely they will never be forgotten, if strangers understand the we have a safe place for the crazy and maybe the crazy willnot anihilate us. Strangers have had my back when I flt all of me was slipping away and the pain was not taken away, there’s not really anything that anyone can say that will accomplish that, but the edges were briefly blurred and when your sanity is vanishing bfr your very eyes that is a humungous, if minute and transitory, thing.

    So this is what I want to say, I will remember. And I’m so very sorry.

  47. Cari says:

    So, so, so, so sorry – I am just heartbroken for you.

    Just in case it helps at all, and because you asked if anyone had stories, this happened to my grandmother in 1936. She didn’t find out until delivery, but without any monitoring or intervention she did carry the remaining twin. I’m not sure if they knew exactly how many weeks, but my aunt wasn’t especially tiny.

    I’ll keep you in my heart, you and your little ones, with all my very best wishes.

  48. Gillian says:

    Dear Alexa, Another stranger who hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you and Scott and how utterly unfair the loss of Ames is – it’s heartbreaking. That doesn’t help, I know, but I will be thinking positive thoughts from now on, and wishing you everything you could wish for yourself.

  49. Ovagirl says:

    I am completely devastated by the depth of your loss Alexa, it is horrifying. I will try and do all the good things your readers suggest but I also want to honour your courage and your gritted teeth and say yes this is completely fucked and to say please, whoever is there, out there, please protect this tiny little girl please.

  50. Kath says:

    Dear Alexa, my heart is so heavy for you, Scott and poor little Ames. I’ll be here, listening. Thinking of you. Sending love. Hoping for Simone to grow and thrive and be born joyfully into your arms.

  51. Katie says:

    I am keeping all my fingers and toes crossed for you, to make it to 24 weeks, to make it to the end of January and then to make it all the way to motherhood, with both you and Simone safe and sound.

  52. Angie says:

    Dear Alexa, we have never met, but through your writing I have come to admire your considerable courage, humanity and wit. I found your blog when I was going through IVF last November (negative) – I read every single post in the archive and it was a great support in many ways to share in your experience. I should have said “thank you” sooner.

    This is shattering news and words seem a bit frail in the face of it, but please hang on in there. Never imagine that losing Ames was your fault in any way. Reading these replies, I see I’m far from alone in thinking of you and hoping for the very, very best outcome for you, Simone and Scott.

  53. fvck. didn’t comment yesterday, because, what the fvck is there to say? that this is horrible? that this is unfair? that this is mounting evidence that the universe sucks. and is cruel. that the new language you’re learning is unspeakable.’mystery,’ ‘better that the upper one affected.”

    i hate the universe with you. for you. we all do. SO FVCKIN CRUEL.

  54. nina says:

    oh alexa, i demand that simone lives as well. and i mourn ames, you beautiful, good, beloved baby, with you and scott, from afar.

    this sucks. this sucks so fucking much. and it’s so fucking unfair, and i still can not believe it. you fucking deserve that this ends well for you and simone and scott. this bullshit needs to end, you’ve had more than your share of crap happening, you and simone fucking deserve a good and healthy and as eventless as possible 18 more weeks. or hell, 12 would probably be enough.

    this is such a fucking nightmare. and it’s a shame we all can’t do more to help you.

  55. Teej says:

    I’ve been thinking about you constantly. Your words kept me awake last night, and I hope that you can feel all of these stranger-friends helping to hold up a tiny bit of your heavy heart. I wish we could do more. Love to all four of you…

  56. Shelli says:

    I am so so sorry. I wish for protection for you and little Simone. I have to chime in with the others to say the loss of Ames is unfair, so freaking and unbelievably unfair.

  57. Jean says:

    Delurking to say that we are all here for you and know that we will be here to listen to all you have to say and that way you can stay strong for Simone. Unsure of what words to say, I borrow what I see at the best composition of my feelings and hope you know that I mena all of it.

    Dear Alexa and Scott and baby Simone,

    I can’t come over with a plate of food.

    I can’t hold you in my arms or put your head in my lap as you cry out your pain.

    I can’t hand you a pillow to throw or a tissue.

    I can’t hear your voice on the line.

    I can’t imagine what you’re going through.

    I can’t make it all go away.

    I can cry for you.

    I can rage at the universe on your behalf.

    I can cry in frustration for being so far away.

    I can pray to God for healing.

    I can let you know that I am sending love with all my psychic energy.

    I can let others know so that they can send you their love.

    I can hope that you know deep in your heart how much you are loved.

  58. Waiting Amy says:

    Ames — he will be remembered and missed.

    I am proud to help shoulder your burden in any way I can. If that is simply listening and being here, that is easy and I will be waiting. I wish I could do more.

    Simone — be strong and healthy.
    Alexa — you do the same.

  59. Cindy says:

    All I can do is lay here and cry. Nothing I can say, nothing I can do, nothing anyone can do to stop your suffering.

    When you lose a child, no one can reach you where you are……not until you find your way back.

    I can say how very sorry I am but I know from experience, it doesn’t help. I can scream why with you but that never helped me either.

    I will say this, you are not alone and you are loved and cared about by many. You make a difference.

    I am so very sorry.

  60. Bean says:

    I’m so sorry for your loss. My thoughts are with you and your family and many hopes for Simone’s health, and that she stays inside for many, many more weeks.

  61. Ms. P. says:

    There are no words to express how sorry I am for your loss of baby Ames. My heart is incredibly heavy with sorrow. You are in my thoughts and prayers and I will be wishing a speedy and healthy next several weeks (and hopefully months) for Simone.

  62. Mary says:

    I’m coming out of lurkdom to say how sorry that I am for your loss. I know that there are no words that will make this suck any less, but wanted to let you know that we are all here for you, as a sounding board if nothing else.

  63. nobe says:

    Heartbreaking. I went though something very similar. While I’m sure that no-one else can truly understand the depth and breadth of the anguish you feel, my thoughts and prayers are with you.

  64. Nicole says:

    This is the most heartbreaking post I have ever read. Ames was a very good baby and you did feel him. You knew when it was Ames and when it was Simone. Make the drs give you any testing/monitoring you want. It is time for them to give you some peace of mind regarding your beautiful daughter.

  65. PiquantMolly says:

    My god, the cruelty of the world astounds. I only hope that by sharing in your grief we make it easier to bear.

    When I was in college, my choir director told us a devastating story. He and his wife had tried to have children for years and had had miscarriages along the way. Finally, they had a pregnancy reach 20 weeks. While the doctor was performing an amniocentesis, the baby moved and was mistakenly hit by the needle and died.

    Overcome with grief, he went home and in the space of 10 minutes composed a beautiful choral work based on a text from the Song of Solomon:

    Set me as a seal upon your heart
    As a seal upon your arm
    For love is strong as death

    Many waters cannot quench love
    Neither can the floods drown it

    Dr. Clausen has never performed Set Me As A Seal with one of his choirs, because he still feels the pain of his child’s loss. However, he believes that the Holy Spirit moved through him to compose such a beautiful work so quickly. I’m not a religious person, but I do believe that the strength of love can work wonders and that, somehow, Ames was aware of your love for him.

    Ames is a strong yet sensitive and beautiful name, and I can only hope that Simone can somehow draw from his strength to continue to grow and develop. I’m thinking of all four of you.

  66. elise says:

    It is NOT your fault. I have no idea why these horrible, unfair, miserable things happen. No idea, and I agree that it is nothing but unfair.

    I think your choice of names are perfect. And Simone, I demand that you be allowed to live as well. Your mother needs you.

    I am so, so, SO sorry Alexa.

  67. electriclady says:

    What beautiful names.

    I’m just so devastated for you and Scott. I wish that the pain each of us all feel would take a little piece of your pain away. It is so, so, unfair.

    There is a long way to go before 36 weeks, but you will get there. Just focus on getting through one week, or one day, at a time. Again, know that if the love of other people could carry you to that point, you would be there now.

  68. Vicky says:

    I worked with a woman that was pregnant with twins, she lost one of the twins but went on to deliever the other one who was healthy. I’m sorry I don’t remember any specific details such as the week she lost the one and when she delivered the other one, but it was definitely more than 2 months.

    I’m very sorry for your loss. I hope Simone makes it to your arms.

  69. Antonia says:

    Electriclady wrote “Again, know that if the love of other people could carry you to that point, you would be there now.” and I want to second that. I so wish our love and thoughts and sadness could do that, carry you through the next days and weeks and hopefully months.

    I’m so heartbroken for you, Scott and Simone, Alexa, and I can not fathom the extend of your despair right now.

  70. Debrah says:

    Dear Alexa,
    like most people here, I never met you but I really deeply feel for you. I was so happy every time you would have good news and I just could not believe that this tragedy happened to you. It is obviously sensless and I can imagine how hard it is to try to make some sense out of it all. Fortunately, your little girl is thriving now and we will all be thinking of your whole family. Feel free to share your thoughts, fears and hopes with us. I know you can feel the love of your readers, I was crying yesterday not only because of your cute little boy, but because of the warmth of all the people writing to you here, it was overwhelming.

  71. Erin says:

    Oh Alexa, my heart broke while I read this. You seem so strong, but I know this has to be the hardest thing imaginable. I know that you’ll continue to be strong for Simone and that she will do the same for you.

    Ames is a beautiful name.

  72. Ann says:

    My heart aches for you–not only for the loss of your son, but for the hell you’re going to have to go through to save your daughter. There’s no easy way to look at it–it just plain blows.

    I know that after we lost my son at 20 weeks, I was very specific about the kind of blog I was looking for: 2nd-trimester loss blogs that were a bit farther out from the loss so that they weren’t so bleak (I needed cheering up, you see). If you’re bored and are looking for somebody else who went through (and is still going through) hell, you can read my story. It starts at the end of October.

    My thoughts are with you.

  73. kate says:

    Another stranger posting to show her (virtual) hand reached out in support and love.
    I’m (still) wishing peace and healing for you and Scott, of course, in it’s own due time.

    Ames and Simone? Lovely. Simply lovely. A beautiful choice.

  74. JANEY says:

    Dearest Alexa,

    I’m another one of your myriad silent allies. I found your blog recently and have spent wonderful times with your spectacular turns of phrase, your eye-wateringly funny tales of the slings and arrows of your life, and your capacity to arrest one’s thoughts with your deepest feelings for your babies.

    I’m English, now living in Canada. I tell you this because, like KS GRANDMA who posted earlier, there was a person on Monday who found herself driving down a freeway thousands of miles from you with a huge blank gaping hole in her mind and big fat tears blocking her vision. It was me – off to pick up my IVF/ICSI children from school. I was thinking of you and Ames, and Simone and Scott.

    If there is any strength to be had from a circle of mostly unknown and often silent cyber-readers, I’m sure I can speak for all of us in saying we offer that up to you. You have enchanted and enlightened, caused spontaneous eruptions of unstoppable mirth, you’ve brightened many a day with that inimitable vivacity that’s yours alone. We owe you. But how can we give you something back to ease the pain right now, when you need it most?

    We can’t. Perhaps there’s a few ounces of consolation to be had from the feeling that, silently but vigilantly, there are so very many souls out here, across North America and probably across the world, who are right now wishing and hoping and pleading that the next weeks move calmly and uneventfully to Simone’s safe arrival. Meanwhile, the same souls are all here remembering that lovely boy of yours and honouring his too-short time with you.

    I’ll keep my little light shining over here on the west coast.

  75. Sara says:

    I found your blog for the first time today through Google Reader’s “Discover” feature. I am so sorry this post is what I found. I am so sorry this is happening to you. I am just so sorry.

  76. Audrey says:

    Honestly, I had the same first thought as you when I read your last post. It wasn’t until I saw the comments that I realized a cheerful “Hope he stops being uncooperative!” comment would be hugely inappropriate. And then my heart broke for you.

    I’m so, so sorry about Ames. He was a great baby, with a great name. I wish nothing but the best for Simone (again, great baby, great name).

  77. Sarah says:

    Ames is a beautiful name and he was a good baby. Thank you for sharing your twins’ names with us. My heart is still breaking for you. I feel like this week could have and should have been so different. As I creep towards my own delivery date, I’m reminded by your story of the frightening unpredictability of it all. And although I can’t fathom all of your pain, I do know that my unborn one and I feel robbed by your loss as well, and we hope and pray that the universe takes good care of you and Simone during this sad time.

  78. Ginger says:

    I love you, and babies Ames and Simone. If there is any damn justice in this world you and your family will get through this. Do anything you need to heal yourself as best you can so you can provide for wee Simone. Like all the commenters here, I would do anything I could to support you through this. If you can think of something, please let us know. You deserve much better than all this loss and pain.

  79. Susan says:

    Delurking to say how so very sorry I am about Ames. Like everyone else here, I will be hoping/wishing/praying for you, Simone, and Scott.

  80. Sara says:

    I am so very sorry about Ames. I stop my day with thoughts of you, and him, and Simone — I wish I could offer some comfort or some wisdom. Some assurance. If wishes from Internet strangers were solid gold, you would be Fort Knox. Fort Knox with a baby daughter named Simone kicking happily in your arms after a safe delivery at 36 weeks. You have the very best of my hopes and thoughts.

  81. Allison says:

    I am new here,but I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am. Those words sound so empty,but please know that I will be thinking of you and Simone. The world is not fair and that sucks. I am so so sorry.

  82. pixi says:

    Alexa, I’ve thought about you and your babies so many times since your loss. I’m so sad about Ames, and I hope with all my heart that Simone makes it OK.

  83. carrie says:

    Ames will be with you always.

    I’m so very sorry. And so very angry at the world. This is not fair. This should not happen.

    Thinking of you all.

  84. lizneust says:

    Alexa and Scott – my prayers and thoughts are with you and your children. There is nothing much else to say, but try to be good to yourselves and each other.

  85. andrea says:

    What beautiful names you’ve chosen. Ames will forever be loved and remembered by all of us out here who have followed along in your journey. We will all send positive thoughts and strength to Simone and ask that she wait just a bit longer to come into this world and meet her amazing mama.

    much love.

  86. Heather says:

    I don’t know what to say that someone else hasn’t already said…Ames will be remembered and loved. You all will be in my thoughts, and not to offend but I would like to keep you in my prayers too if it is ok?

    Write as much as you need, we are here for you.

  87. Michelle says:

    I am so sorry for all the pain/hurt you and Scott are going through.

    Please know that this is not your fault.

    My wish for you is that this January goes as quickly as possible with no more shocking events…and that next January is uneventful and peaceful.

  88. Eleni says:

    Delurking to say I am so very sorry for your loss and the pain that comes with it. Your family will be in my thoughts. Virtual hugs and casseroles from yet another person who has been following along. I’m not religious but I’m definitely willing the universe or whatever forces that move our lives to let the oncoming weeks pass quickly and without further incident. Take care, Eleni.

  89. Beth says:

    Thank you for sharing Ames with us. I feel lucky to have known him, to have borne witness to his short life and to your beautiful family. I am a stranger, but a stranger who has been profoundly moved by your candor, your wit, your brilliance, and more than anything, by your growing and enduring love for your babies. We, this circle of hands reaching through the ether, pledge to remember your son and to will your daughter into this crazy world. Hold on, little baby. Please hold on.

  90. Andrea says:

    I think little Ames is watching over his sister, Simone and will help insure she’s born okay.

    My heart breaks for the loss you and Scott have endured.

  91. Natalie says:

    I have pondered since reading your last two entries as to what I could add… At first I also thought that there must have been a terrible mistake about dear little Ames. Then the strength and bravery with which you wrote to us all the following day was made it all unfortunately clear. My husband and I are here in London (UK) and both read this news with heavy hearts and all day long I have come back to your news again and again.

    Ames being snatched away is harsh and unfair. Having said that, what cannot be snatched away is the colour, texture, and joy he brought to your life in his short time and to your network of reader-supporters who followed your lives day by day. At risk of sounding as trite as you like, I think time is the only healer… One day when Simone is old enough to understand I think she will see how her Mummy is a role-model : courageous, experienced, wise and deep, how she has suffered and how when life’s tragedies unfold (as they do to all of us at some stage) that she too will be able to make it through. Sometimes these life tragedies shape us and so many other lives too that we cannot even begin to fathom it at the outset. Ames has still in his short life left a beautiful and indelible impression that has and will continue to shape so many people’s lives directly and indirectly. I personally will always remember little Stampy. Please do not let the desolation you feel now wipe memories which are yours to keep from your minds – you and Scott related to Ames and got to know him and he DID move and live and love so do not doubt yourselves. You are great parents already. Love to you, Scott, Simone and Ames. (PS. I loved the S.S.A.A alliteration of your names as a family).

  92. ML says:

    Oh sweet lady….I have read here for awhile, I don’t think I have ever commented but I had to now just to say my heart breaks all over again with yours. I have lost three beautiful (I believe) children. I am just so horrified and sorry for your unfathomable pain. Have you found Kate over at sweet salty? She artculates this pain in the most stunning way.

    (http://ingliseast.typepad.com/ingliseast/)

    You aren’t alone. And we all have picked up Ames and Simone in our hearts as well. We love them so much. I’m so sorry…

  93. Priya says:

    Alexa, I couldn’t comment yesterday because I didn’t believe it. I have no words for your loss. I know you’re brilliant and strong. Only the best wishes and love for you, Scott, Simone and Ames.

  94. Heather says:

    I am so sorry for your loss. I just don’t know what else to say.

    I hope and pray for you, your husband, Simone and Ames.

  95. Angela says:

    delurking to say how sorry I am you are going through this. Unlike you I wished I did believe (I’m an Agnostic/athiest depending on how pissed off at the world I am) so that there would be some emotional/psychological support in “leaving things in the hands of god/any god” but all we have is ourselves and our strength and yours is being severely tested…hang in there…for you, your relationship and most of all for little Simone. My thoughts are w/ you and my condolences for little Ames…beautiful names by the way.

  96. Jana says:

    I went through IVF in September and that is when I found Flotsam. My cycle was negative, so your blog became my pseudo pregnancy. I could never know your pain, yet in many ways Ames is a loss for all of us. You have had enough and I am angry too.

    As infertiles, we are left out of many conversations. So Alexa, thank you for sharing your story. We will continue to wait for your next post, hoping and praying for brighter days.

  97. Val says:

    Alexa,

    Again, I have no words. I can’t begin to understand why something like this has to happen to such wonderful and deserving parents like the two of you. I am sending you all the good thoughts and prayers that I can, and I just know Simone will make it, she HAS to, she absolutely HAS to. My thoughts are with all of you at this time, may Ames forever be in your hearts, and forever watch over you with his heart and soul.

    Sincerely,
    Val

  98. Ashley says:

    My dear, sweet girl,

    What a fucking nightmare. I don’t know what to say except that I love you and I don’t even know you. To still be standing and breathing after this blow makes you one amazing person. I am so very sorry. I am so sorry for the agony of the rest of the pregnancy, the unreal, shocking, hard-to-fathom reality that you’ve lost Ames but will still be carrying him. I’m numb. I’m so sorry. I’m sure peace is out of reach for you, but I hope it somehow, someway, comes your direction.

  99. You asked for stories, and I remembered one. A real life friend was pregnant with twins (after IVF and after having to reduce from triplets early on– she was v. small and had medical issues and could never have carried all 3) when she discovered that one of them had anacephaly and would not survive and she had to… I don’t know what the word is… terminate that half of the pregnancy? It was right around the same stage of pregnancy and the other child was born healthy and full-term and is currently about 18 months old.

    I’m still thinking of you constantly and wishing there was more I could offer.

  100. AM says:

    It is unfair that you have lost this boy, and unfair that you are finding yourself worrying whether something as innocent as whether you feel hot or cold means something more sinister. I am holding you all in my heart and hoping for only good news from here on in.

  101. Dead Bug says:

    I wish I had the words for what I want to say. I don’t. But I can at least tell you how much this post has affected me, how I am wet-eyed and full of sadness for you, and thinking of the two I lost who were never anything like as real to me as Ames is to you. You will be in my thoughts, Simone will be in my thoughts, and your bravery in putting this frank, unvarnished grief and fear out there is something I will always admire.

    –Bugs

  102. Mauigirl52 says:

    Alexa, I’m so very, very sorry to hear this news. I couldn’t believe it when I saw this post – I hadn’t seen the one about the heartbeat missing.

    If it helps at all, I knew someone at work who was pregnant with twins and lost one earlier on like this; but the other twin was born full term and healthy.

    My heart goes out to you and Scott; my thoughts and prayers are with you.

  103. Louise says:

    I’m over here from Flicka’s, and just aching for you right now. Thinking of you and praying for you and your little one right now. I wish I could do more.

  104. Renovation Girl says:

    I am amazed that in such a horrible situation, you can write so articulately, so beautifully. What a tribute to your son! I am so terribly sorry for all of you. Praying that the next weeks go quickly and that brave little Simone grows strong and healthy. Keep writing…we’ll all be here.

  105. Alexa – I don’t know if you read this far down – I just don’t know what the right thing is, so I will just tell you what is in my heart…words can’t express how very sorry I am that you are both grieving a precious life lost in Ames,willing Simone to live and having a hard time right now with everything else. It must all be too much.

    Thank you for sharing your son Ames with us.I am a stranger but I have read your blog before.

    I know another lady who lost one her twin daughters around the 18-20 week mark and she went on to deliver both her babies. I know of a few more

    I think is our mantra ..
    “We, this circle of hands reaching through the ether, pledge to remember your son {~Ames~} and to will your daughter, Simone, into this crazy world. Hold on, little baby. Please hold on.”

    right now – this may not be what you want …but in
    Australia, another close friend runs a group called OZmost – Aussie mums of surviving twins – they may be able to link you to other stories to give you hope.
    http://au.geocities.com/ozmod2004/ozmost.html

  106. Sam says:

    I’m sitting here, crying my eyes out for you. I understand the need to post, to rally your support. My father died in January, two years ago and I posted about it two hours later. Reading the comments bolstered me somehow. I have no advice, just wanted you to know that I’m here, too.

  107. cooler*doula says:

    I wanted to add that a dear friend is a surviving twin whose sister died in utero. I don’t know any details, as she’s never felt able to talk to her mom about it. But she did deliver both babies, and I believe it was a second trimester death, and Kathy is an almost term baby.

    Just another stranger who won’t forget Ames.

  108. Alex says:

    Alexa,

    You don’t “know” me, but I found my way here from several other blogs I follow regularly.

    I am so terribly sorry for your loss. I would second what Renovation Girl said above. I really don’t know what else to say.

  109. Bittermama says:

    Dear baby Ames will be in my thoughts along with you, Scott and Simone. Write if it helps, don’t if that helps more, we’ll be here for you any time you need us. And I’m sure that your peri will do the same.

    Don’t hesitate for a moment to ask for the help that you need.

  110. Dervish says:

    Oh no! I am heartbroken for you all. I am so very very very sorry to read this and I am hoping fiercely that Simone thrives and stays safe.

    What hell. Truly a damn awful thing.

    I love his name, your son.. Ames. I am sure you have your own connotations, but Ames is the town of my birth and the name conjurs feelings of home.

    When my son was born critically ill and nearly died, I blamed my body for a long time – though it technically was not my “fault”. No one seemed to understand my feelings, despite logic, that my body had failed him. So, I do understand.

    Oh…. we’re here. We’ll be here.

  111. Liz says:

    No one should ever have to walk this path. Hopefully we are all helping you to not walk alone. Thinking of you all and wishing for the best. Ames will always be remembered.

  112. Beret says:

    I am so sorry. I am so sorry about your little Ames. What else is there to say? I hope with the strongest hope your little Simone is born healthy and strong.

  113. Erin says:

    Your children have such beautiful names and my heart is absolutely breaking for all of you. This is such a horrible tragedy with absolutely no meaning or reason to it. I can’t imagine the hell you’re going through, and the grief, but we are all here for you.

  114. Christina says:

    Ames wil always be Simone’s Angel, watching over her through her life. I have a brother that died when I was very young and I have always felt his presence in my life. I hope you can somehow, some day find comfort in that. Far away in Miami, I am pulling for you all.
    Christina

  115. Nancy says:

    I read this in a cab heading to the airport and just started crying for your lose and the beatiful, painfully honest way you expressed it. Ames was lucky to have such a mother. I am so so sorry that your sweet boy is gone and all the resulting pain and grief.

    I’m fiercely hoping, nay, demanding as well, that Simone will greet you on the other side of this pregnancy, healthy and whole.

    Oh dear, strength and love to you both.

  116. Shayne says:

    I came across your website on yesterday and I read it from Nov. 2007 until the present jounral entry. I felt it was on my mind and heart to send you a post to let you know I will pray that all will work out for you. I too had/have some of the same feelings and thoughts that you have and expressed throughout your entries. I just started my first IVF treatment. My first shots were on January 9th. I constantly look at the calendar to see where I am and how far I have to go. And I need to learn to tell myself I have a LONG way to go. As I read your early entries you were honest and shared a lot of what I am feeling and don’t know how to express to others. I am scared of this entire process and wish I could just be put to sleep and awakened once the entire procedure is complete and I am PG. I have hade two etopic pregnancies and 1 miscarriage. I had to have my left fallopian tube removed and have had one unsuccessfull IUI procedure performed. I am trying to do all I can to keep my mind off of the IVF and keep busy with others…but it is easier said than done. I know you are going through a very tough time right now and no one can say they know EXACTLY how you feel b/c they don’t. What you are experiencing is hard, but b/c you are sharing your story with others you will be a testimony as well as a blessing to others. I wish the best of luck to you and your husband. Continue to ask for strength for what you are enduring right now and for what you will have to endure in the future…

  117. Julie Molloy says:

    Damn it anyway, I’m painfully sorry for the loss of your beautiful baby boy Ames! And I am demanding right along with you that Simone is born healthy and alive! I’m sorry that you have to go through this, it’s horribly unfair. And thank you for sharing your feelings so I have a way to tell you right now I care about you, Ames and Simone so much! I’ll be ticking off the days in January (and Feb, etc.) right along with you – you’re in my heart.

    Love, Julie

  118. STACEYB says:

    Oh Alexa. I am so sorry to hear of your loss of your sweet baby Ames. He will forever be a part of your heart and soul. I will continue to hope and pray that Simone grows strong and healthy. You and Scott have endured so much, and my heart is so heavy thinking of how horrible this added tragedy is. You have a gift, Alexa…the gift of words. Take care of yourself.

  119. I’ve been kind of lurking on your blog for several months now, following your progress…
    I just logged on and was left feeling like I was hit by a brick wall. I thought it was a dream you were relating at first. I can only imagine how you must feel.
    I am deeply sorry for your loss. As I sit here at work typing this message I’m struggling to keep the tears from rolling down my face.
    I’m not the praying type either but know that you are in my thoughts and I’m crossing my fingers for baby Simone.
    As far as stories go, I can only think of one in a book (non-fiction) by Matt Sanborne (I think that’s right) who is here in the metro area. He is a paraplegic who teaches yoga to other disabled folks through the Courage Center (originally anyway, I think). He and his wife had to do IVF due to his condition and they had a very similar experience. I would highly recommend that book. It’s mostly about how he found and nurtured his mind-body connection, but I found it inspirational. And his openess and honesty in telling the story of his wife’s pregnancy and how they dealt with that loss was touching (and made me tear up too). I just remembered the book title, Waking.
    Much love to you and your husband. I’m so sorry…

  120. I found your blog through a link from another. I couldn’t read your story and not comment. Although I can’t think of a single thing to say to you that doesn’t sound completely inadequate. My heart is breaking for you and for your babies. No one deserves to go through this. I pray that your little girl will grow strong and stay put until she is physically ready.

  121. MichelleL says:

    I wanted to add my condolences. This is such a difficult situation — know that one more person is sending you positive thoughts to get through the grief and on to your daughter’s healthy birth without incident.

  122. Tina says:

    I am so, so sorry for the loss of Ames. Life isn’t fair most of the time…no rhyme or reason to it. It breaks my heart.

    Praying and hoping that Simone will make it very far…and be born kicking and screaming enough to fill your home.

  123. Sarah R says:

    If there was something, anything, I could do or say, I would. Just know I send my deepest sympathies and tears over little Ames, and rays of hope for Simone.

  124. Stefanie says:

    First off, I’m so sorry. Of course that doesn’t help but I am. Secondly, you are starved for info so I will just say that while I was in the hospital on bedrest I heard so many stories from nurses about situations like yours that turned out fine. And my doctor made a big deal about getting to 34 weeks which I didn’t do and the babies are fine. In the NICU were many babies born before 29 weeks and were doing great. I am praying for Simone even though I’m not sure about the God thing either. And I know what you mean about needing the Internet. It’s been saving me a lot lately as well. And life is just so fucking unfair!

  125. Nicole says:

    I am still at a loss as to what to say to you, I know there is nothing that can help right now. If you ever need to talk or a shoulder to cry on, im a message away. I have never met you, its been since high school that I have seen Scott, but I feel your pain and with all the care in the world wish nothing but the best for you and Simone.

    I have visions of my little one, playing in a garden…these dreams come to me all the time. I hope that place really exists.

    There are some really great support groups out there. I hope when the shroud that surely covers you now lifts that you will find one for yourself. I know it gave my husband and I some comfort to be a part of one.

    Stay strong Alexa, do your best to continue taking good care of yourself. Try and stay postitive. We are all here for you in the computer world, write as much as you need, its very theraputic….

  126. Ruth says:

    Alexa,

    I wish I had more than inadequate words of sympathy for you and Scott–I don’t. I’m sorry the world will never get to meet Ames. I’m sorry you have to endure this–it shouldn’t ever happen to anyone. You were a warm and loving mother to Ames as long as you were able… you can be proud of that (even while railing at whatever particular force of the universe you believe in at that moment in time). Simone will be lucky to have you.

    I feel like a shmuck writing this–I don’t want to be one of those “oh I know someone who went through exactly the same thing…” people all us infertile women hate. But then you did ask for similar stories so I will share one.

    One of my dear friends went through years of infertility and several (I think 5) miscarriages. On their second IVF attempt they ended up pregnant and were deliriously happy–only to find out a few months in that the baby had no brain. She carried for a few more weeks and then was induced very early to give birth to her “echo” of a child–that’s what she called it. Their third IVF cycle rendered twins–both of whom made it until just after she and her husband stopped holding their breaths, determined the babies’ sexes and gave them names. Then, as with you, their world collapsed around them one day when on of their previously “ideal” babies was found to be lacking a heartbeat. Her brother, however, was–and remained, fine (all the way to his, week 30+ birth). Ian is now 3 years old and has a baby sister. He’s one of the brightest kids I know, cute as the proverbial button, and healthy as can be… It can be the same for Simone. All is not lost.

  127. Becky J says:

    Delurking just to say sorry,

    The comments you have recieved show just how important Ames was to a LOT of people,

    If it were possible that he could be loved back into life by sheer force of will then the community I see here would have achieved it.

    So , so Sorry

  128. Anna in IL says:

    I’m so sorry that Ames has left your lives so early. I will keep all of you in my thoughts, and send only the best wishes for good health for you and Simone.

  129. Johschmoh says:

    Alexa,
    I am so, so sorry. It is all just TOO much, and so damn unfair. My thoughts and prayers are with you, Scott, Simone and Ames.

  130. luna says:

    I am so very sorry for your loss of dear Ames. My heart goes out to you and your family. It’s just not fair at all. Wishing the best for you all in the coming days. ~luna

  131. MN girl says:

    I don’t know you, but I wish that I did so I could give you a hug. A long hug full of the strength that you need to get through. I work in a hospital, and what you are going through it the most difficult experience. Keep breathing, and hopefully Simone can hear our prayers for a safe last trimester and a successful delivery. I will be thinking about you every day until you deliver.

  132. Mandy says:

    I’m so very sorry. Ames is a beautiful name for a beautiful boy. I can’t imagine at all what you and Scott are feeling right now, the shock and devastation of it all along with the gratefulness that Simone is doing well. It’s just not fair, and I can’t understand why something like this would happen to anyone. So sorry.

  133. Alex says:

    I have read your blog for years but never commented. I am so, so sorry for the loss of your baby boy. I was born 10 weeks early and weighed just 2.5 lbs. I spent months in an incubator and suffered hyaline membrane disease (my lungs were underformed and collapsed). My parents weren’t sure I would make it. But, I fought to survive. And, now 33 years later, I am strong, completely healthy, and happy. I pray that Simone will be, too.

  134. fisher queen says:

    I am so sorry. I’m not even going to try to say how much. I can’t.

    My best friends’ twins came two months early and are now just fine. My SIL’s boss’ baby came 3 months early and is also just fine.

    Imagine us all holding your hand as you go through each day.

  135. Lucy says:

    I just started reading your blog (came from Barren Mare), so I hope my from-a-perfect-stranger condolences are appropriate. I’m so, so sorry. Your sweet little boy, your little Ames! I can’t imagine enduring the loss you have just gone through – with the added complication of needing to keep going for the sake of your little girl.

    I’m not much of a god person myself, but I am sending heartfelt prayers to whoever may be up there in the sky that Simone and you both make it through to 36 weeks in hearty and healthy shape.

    — Lucy

  136. zarqa says:

    Hi, I just found you via Julie and read back this far. I am so very sorry for your loss. I lost my boy at 34 weeks nearly four years ago. It was my first ivf.
    I’ll be thinking good thoughts for Simone’s continued improvement.

  137. Christine says:

    Hello! I posted a semi-stalkery note last week. As you may recall, I am catching up with your brilliant posts one by one, four or five per day. Today has been a rough day for me as I am a recurrent miscarriage-prone 38yr old who until this morning… believed she was 9.5wks pregnant. Today’s ultrasound failed to detect any semblance of a teeny-tiny heartbeat, even tho less than two weeks ago… my little nugget was thumping away. As luck (or the boo hoo gods) would have it, regardless of this morning’s developments, I’ve managed to stave off tears at work until I fell upon this posting re: the loss of dear Ames. My heart is broken for you, but I hope that two years on you gaze into your daughter’s eyes and feel a huge sense of relief and gratitude and peace (I hope hope hope!). I will certainly hug my two-year old son a little tighter today. Thank you for your blog. And thank you for your strength.!

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