Our Story

The day it all came crashing down:

Wednesday April 12,2017 was just a typical day. I came straight home from work to head to our 38 week OB appointment with my husband. We had our whole evening planned. We'd go to the doctor, go out to dinner, and stop at the light bulb store on the way home to finally fix the light above our kitchen island. 

We (impatiently) waited to see the doctor as she was running behind that day. When we were called back, the medical assistant joked, "still pregnant, I see."  I giggled and replied, "Yep, I'm waddling my way around."  She weighed me and took me back to the exam room where she checked my blood pressure. As she checked we chatted about how the next day would be my last day of work and then I would be on maternity leave and could really start "nesting" now. She left and we waited for the doctor to come in. 

The doctor came in and began with her usual questions, "any contractions, gushes of fluids, or changes in movement?” I stated that I wasn't feeling her as much, but just felt "jabs" to my pelvis and ribs. She said that was probably because my baby was getting big and it was crowded in there. She then grabbed her tools to measure my belly and listen to Tatum's heartbeat. She has had some trouble before but usually finds it. She kept trying, searching for her heartbeat, but couldn't find it. She kept saying she'd get "something", but couldn't find it. After about 10 minutes her assistant came back in to help. As the medical assistant looked she joked again by saying that the baby was "being a little stinker" and was probably turned around. As time passed, I could see the look on their faces change. I just looked down at my husband and I could feel my eyes begin to fill with tears. 

Unfortunately for us, we were visiting one of their satellite offices, which meant that they did not have an ultrasound machine in the office. The doctor told us to drive to the OBECC (OB Emergency Care Center) for a quick ultrasound. She said, "I am sure everything is okay, but we want to be sure". She was going to call the ER to let them know we were on our way. 

As soon as we walked out of the office, I immediately began to cry. My husband nervously comforted me as we walked to the car. The ride to hospital seemed like forever. Traffic was heavy and we seemed to hit every red light possible. 

We got to the hospital and anxiously walked to the OBECC. I sat impatiently as they took my information to register me. We went back into a room and a nurse brought in the ultrasound machine. It needed to warm up so again we waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then we waited for a doctor to come in. 

Four nurses, the doctor, my husband and I all watched the tiny screen as the doctor began to explore. We had no idea what we were looking at. Finally the doctor spoke; "unfortunately I don't have good news. We are looking at the heart."  I froze. What was he saying? He never actually said the words so with my voice trembling I asked, "Are you saying she's gone?" He said the word I feared, "yes".  I screamed, I cried, and I grabbed onto my husband. My husband, who I've been with for 7 years, turned different colors. The nurses grabbed him a chair and made him sit. We held each other and cried.  The doctor and nurses quietly backed out of the room. 

A few moments later someone came in to say that a specialist would be coming to look as well, just to be sure. Although in my heart I knew she was gone, that left a glimmer of hope. We waited again and finally the specialist arrived. We waited quietly as he looked. In a seemingly careless way, he confirmed our worst nightmare. Our full-term baby girl had passed away. My husband and I cried and screamed some more. Why? How? There were so many questions running through my mind. 

The doctor came in to tell me that I had an option. I could begin labor and delivery that night, or I could go home and begin the process when I was ready. The answer was simple. I needed to start it right away. I knew that I could not go home knowing that my baby girl was lifeless inside of me. 

The staff asked if we wanted some time alone, which we did. We needed to process this and just cry. We cried some more and just held onto each other. Although heartbroken, I knew we needed to make some phone calls. Like any teacher, I immediately thought of work and how I was supposed to be there the next day. My husband worked up the courage to call my coworker and tell her what had happened. Next he called our neighbor, asking her to come to the hospital with us and care for our dog, Lilo, while we were in the hospital. Next we made the dreaded calls to our parents. I called my parents. I couldn't get the words out. I just cried. My mom kept asking what was wrong and I finally got the words out. "She's gone. Tatum is gone."  Saying it out loud made it real and I cried harder. I can't even remember the rest of the conversation. It all became a blur. TJ called his parents next. I could hear him having a hard time speaking and he just cried. My heart broke all over again. He came back and we just continued to cry together. 

A nurse came in to begin my IV. After one vein “blew up”, we finally got a successful IV started. Time passed and then it was time to go up to the labor and delivery floor. I cried all the way there as I saw beautiful pictures of babies on every wall. It was torture.

The long road to labor:

That night and the entire next day was spent trying to get my body ready for labor and delivery. The first step was to receive Cervidil in attempt to prepare my cervix for labor and delivery.  This would take twelve hours to take effect. The nurses suggested that I take a sleeping pill to try to get some rest. I took it, and still only slept for 2 hours, at the most. I spent most of the night crying or wondering what happened. 

On Thursday morning they checked my cervix. No progress.  They decided to use a tablet that was inserted to help with the process.  This tablet would take 4 hours to take effect.  Four hours later, 1-2 centimeters dialated.  They gave me another tablet and we waited another 4 hours. Four hours later and I was still only 1-2 centimeters.  Finally they began Pitocin.

Thursday seemed like the longest day. I was emotional and uncomfortable. I got an epidural and to my surprise had "back labor" so there was still a lot of discomfort. My contractions became too close.  They were coming back-to-back, yet I was not dilated more than 3-4 centimeters so they needed to stop the Pitocin. Thursday night was long. Nurses came to check on me and move me every hour, which meant little sleep again. Between all of it continued more tears and difficult conversations. 

Over and over they would check and I was not progressing. I was emotionally and physically exhausted and was reaching my breaking point. The discussion of a cesarean kept coming up in family conversations. I was reminded that I "wouldn't be a failure” if I decided to do that. Finally my doctor came in around 1pm on Friday. I had made significant progress, but wasn't where I needed to be yet. The doctor stated that it "just might not happen for me" and that I could possibly have to have a C-section. She said that she'd come back at 3pm. If I hadn't progressed, we'd have to seriously consider a C-section.  For the next 2 hours I waited uncomfortably as I felt my contractions become more intense. I was exhausted and didn't know how I'd find the strength to deliver if I had to. 

Time passed and just before 3pm the nurse checked me again. I was ready. The doctor walked in and heard the news. She left quickly to grab her belongings and said she'd return in a few minutes to begin delivery. While she was gone the nurse asked me to do a couple of "trial pushes". I pushed 2-3 times and Tatum was already coming out. She urged me to stop and wait for the doctor to return, which seemed like forever as my contractions continued and the instinct to push became stronger. 

The doctor came and three more nurses arrived in the room as well. Before pushing the doctor asked if we wanted to see the baby. We did. With my husband by my side, I pushed a few more times and our little girl, Tatum Skye O’Connor was born sleeping at 3:22pm. She weighed 6 lbs. 14oz, and was 20.5 inches long. It happened so fast. She came out and I froze. I heard silence and began to cry and scream again. I already knew she was gone but the silence was like a stab in my heart. There was no baby crying. My husband leaned over and hugged me as we both cried. I looked around and everyone was crying. The doctor cried, the nurses cried, and of course we cried a lot. 

The nurses cleaned our little girl up as the doctor finished up with me. After getting our permission, the doctor collected her umbilical cord, some amniotic fluid, the placenta, and a small piece of muscle from her little leg for testing. We knew we wanted tests to be performed to try to find out why this had happened. 

After she was cleaned up, the nurses brought our baby girl over to me. She was beautiful. I looked down and cried again. Her poor little head was so swollen and I just hoped that she didn't suffer any pain. My husband and I sat on the bed together and cried as we held onto our baby. After some time, my husband went to call our family members back in. His parents, my mother, and my grandmother were in the waiting room while I delivered. My husband asked them if they'd like to see her. They came back into the room. We were all full of so much sadness as Tatum was passed around. 

Spending time with our baby:

Our families left the hospital, I was unhooked from my IV and epidural and they even brought me a real bed (as opposed to the uncomfortable delivery bed I had been stuck in for 48 hours). A photographer came to take pictures of our precious Tatum. Nurses came to help hold her for her photo shoot. In addition they took her footprints, handprints, and clipped a wisp of her hair to place in a memory box for us to keep. 

The nurses told us that we could spend as much time with our baby as we wanted to. I had previously read sad stories of people who spent time and held their dead babies. I remember thinking of how sad it was, but questioned if I'd be able to do that or if it would be too "weird". Honestly when the time came, it just seemed so natural. She was our baby and she belonged with us. 

The nurse brought in a bassinet so she could be right next to me. I ate dinner and kept her by my side. We spent 8 hours with her in total. We held her and rubbed her soft, perfect, chubby cheeks. As the night went on, the swelling left her face and went up into the top portion of her head. On the plus side, we saw what her face really looked like. She looked perfect. So beautiful. I could not bring myself to take off her little hat. I could feel how uneven her skull was and I could tell that she was so swollen. She looked so perfect and I did not want to ruin that image I had of her. I did peak under the hat to see how much hair she had. A full head of it..I knew it! With all the heartburn I had, she had to have a full head of hair. 

My husband and I took turns holding her and then we put her on the bed between us. We wanted to keep her forever. As the night went on, we agreed that we couldn't keep her overnight. Her perfect skin was beginning to change to hues of blue. We knew that if we fell asleep, she would not look the same when we woke up. Again, we wanted to remember her as the beautiful girl we saw in front of us. We agreed that at 11:30 PM, we would give her to the nurses.  We kissed her, hugged her, and talked to her until it was time to say goodbye. We both cried again. We didn't want to say goodbye but we knew it was time. We both gave her one last kiss and then my husband brought her to the door so that the nurse knew that it was time to take our little girl. 

Going home:

On Saturday it was time to go home. We woke up and I finally was able to take a shower. It seemed like forever, but I was finally being discharged from the hospital. I dreaded the wheelchair ride down to the car. This was supposed to be a happy time. Instead, I was wheeled down looking at those same beautiful pictures of babies on the walls. I began to cry again. The nurse rubbed my shoulders and my husband held my hand as we continued. I got into the car and cried some more. I was supposed to be sitting in the back with my baby in the car seat. Instead we were leaving without our little girl. 

My mother-in-law rode home with us. This was helpful in distracting us during this difficult drive home. My father-in-law followed behind us in their rental car. We arrived home. I was already exhausted. We walked in the door and we were overwhelmed with the generosity of our neighbors. While we were in the hospital, they filled our refrigerator and our kitchen counters with food. 

For a little while, I stayed downstairs. I didn’t want to go upstairs and see the nursery.  Eventually I was very tired and was experiencing cramps so I wanted my bed. My mother-in-law helped me upstairs.  I got half way up the stairs, turned corner and froze.  I am so glad my mother-in-law was right behind me.  I felt like someone punched me in the stomach as I looked up and saw Tatum’s room. I cried. My mother-in-law consoled me as we made our way to my bedroom.  I tried to sleep, but my mind was racing.  I couldn’t believe I was home, no longer pregnant, experienced labor and delivery, but had no baby to show for it.  That night my husband and I got very little sleep.  It was hard to be home sleeping next to the empty bassinet. 

What No Parent Should Have to Do:

The days following were emotional and long.  We visited the funeral home and made arrangements, we picked a plot for our baby at the cemetery, planned her burial service, and designed the marker that would be placed on her plot.  Thinking about that makes me cringe. These were things we never imagined doing as we planned for Tatum’s arrival for nine months. 

The day of Tatum’s burial service was a Wednesday. It was exactly one week after we found out that our baby’s little heart had stopped beating.  We planned to have the service later in the day so that my coworkers could attend.  I tried so hard to keep myself busy and relaxed that day.  My mother-in-law and I went to the nail salon.  I couldn't relax. My mind was stuck on Tatum.  When we returned home I got ready for the day. My head was pounding.  I could hear my family downstairs and with every word spoken, my head hurt more.  I was dreading the entire evening. 

Finally the time came to head to the burial service.  My husband and I arrived and waited until we were ready to head over to Tatum’s plot.  We were driven to the area.  I could not believe the number of cars that were there.  I squeezed my husband’s hand.  I felt so sad, but so thankful at the same time.  It was the saddest day of my life, but I was so grateful for the amount of support that I saw in front of us. 

My husband and I asked our fathers, Tatum’s Grandfathers, to carry her.  The hearse opened and tears streamed down my face.  It was the smallest casket I had ever seen.  My poor baby was in there.  My husband and I followed Tatum and her Grandfathers to the tent that was surrounded by so many friends, family members, coworkers, and neighbors. The ceremony was beautiful. My husband, my rock, was so brave as he read a personal letter to our baby girl.  He held it together so well as he read.  When he returned to his seat, he fell apart.  My heart broke for him. He was hurting so much and I couldn't help him. I couldn't help myself.  Nothing could have prepared us for this heartache. 

My husband and I wanted to see Tatum’s casket lowered into the ground.  Due to the extra small size, she needed to be manually placed into the ground.  My husband and I got up to place roses on her.  It killed me to look down and see bugs flying around her beautiful flowers.  I immediately regretted asking to see her lowered into the ground.  My sweet baby girl was in the ground with bugs. I was destroyed.  Guests passed by to drop roses in with Tatum. I was so humbled by the amount of love and support we received. 

After the service, we invited guests to a reception at the clubhouse of our housing community.  I felt so overwhelmed with emotion. I began to get dizzy and felt sick.  My husband urged me to sit down and he brought me something to eat.  I realized that I hadn’t really eaten that day.  The emotions of the day made me forget. I felt much better after eating and even though it was difficult, it was nice to socialize.

Overwhelmed With Gratitude:

Although we were experiencing the worst moments of our lives, my husband and I were so grateful for all the love and support that we had received.  The nurses at the hospital were beyond sweet.  I could not have asked for a more sympathetic team of people to help us through those difficult four days at the hospital.  Our neighbors were incredibly thoughtful for making sure we were well fed and taking such good care of setting up the reception to follow Tatum's burial service.  My father's boss went out of his way to help my dad fly down to attend the service.  My mother-in-law was a complete blessing as she offered emotional support and help around our home during her visit. Along with all of this came the unbelievable love and support from family, friends, and coworkers.  We realized that although we are completely heartbroken and crushed, we are lucky to have so many people who care deeply for us.  

Life After Loss:

Every day has been difficult.  I am living through the grieving process and struggle with my emotions every day.  I have decided that I will not let this tragedy consume me.  Sure, it has changed me forever.  I am not and will not be the same person that I was before.  I see the world differently now. I am a mommy of an Angel, or as I prefer, a butterfly.  Please, don’t tell me that I “would have been a great mommy” or that "I will be a great mommy someday".  I am a mommy. My husband is a daddy.  In our short time as parents, we have already had to experience the hardest thing any parent could have to experience. We had to say hello and goodbye at the same time. We are left in a world of “what ifs”. I would give anything to see my baby’s eyes, or to hear her cry. 

We will visit our Tatum often.  She is buried close to home so that we can easily walk or ride our bikes to visit her.  I never thought I’d think of a cemetery as being a peaceful place, but it is.  My husband and I visit her and sit under the trees near her plot. It’s quiet and we can talk and remember our little girl.

Since losing our sweet Tatum, I often hear that I am “strong” or “brave”.  I don’t feel like either of these things.  I have no choice.  I can either let this take over my life, or I can live my life in remembrance of my baby girl.  Nobody can imagine this happening.  We are forced to live it. 

Follow me here as a write through my process.  Every day is a struggle but as I've been reminded, "this life is a journey."