I died... (and lived)

I died. Slowly, and painfully, over and over again.

I don't know if it's called exaggeration or over-acting, but that's how I felt for the past few weeks. It started when I had those blood clots and pelvic pains three weeks ago. I was so afraid thinking that I might have a miscarriage and lose our baby. We followed all of the doctor's instructions and I took all of the prescriptions to make sure that we will be able to save our baby. Each and every day, I prayed to God that He keep our baby safe and make every thing all right.

I had to be on bed rest. I rarely made time to sit in front of the computer. I made sure I'm relaxed and worry free all the time. I even told my self that I will never entertain anger in my heart for the duration of my pregnancy. I even told God that I will do whatever it takes to make sure that our baby is safe.

I was lucky enough to have the support and prayers of my dear friends. I was so grateful that my family and my spouse have always been with me in each and every step of the way. They have all been helpful for me to go through each day of uncertainty and hope.

I learned to seek God's help more often as the days passed. I found my self holding the bible day in and day out, hoping that the scriptures will help me feel better. I was telling God then that I will be a better wife and mother, and a better person as a whole. I made promises to God in hope that He will be delighted and take care of our baby.

Two weeks after that fearful morning that I had blood clots and pelvic pains, I woke up feeling the pain again. I was so afraid to pee that Sunday morning because I didn't want to see any blood. To my dismay, there was blood. It wasn't as much as before, but I was afraid I had to get the bible and pray. I told my mom as soon as she woke up and asked her to call a doctor.

I was brought to the doctor late that afternoon and admitted at his clinic for confinement. I was given intravenous fluids because the doctor said that I was dehydrated and then had an ultrasound later.

The sonologist said that our baby is still breathing and moving. However, I saw in her eyes that there's something wrong. My doctor then approached us and checked the ultrasound himself. He then asked that I be brought back to my bed.

A few minutes after, my doctor approached my husband and I and talked to us regarding the ultrasound results. He then said that I have a myoma (uterine fibroid) which prevents our baby from moving upwards to the right place in my uterus. He said that our baby is not secured in the place where she is. (which is almost near my cervix) Then, in a low voice he said that he will be honest to tell us that "the chances of our baby being saved is 50-50."

Bang! I felt like I was shot. I didn't know how to react. My husband had to hold my hand firmly as we try to understand what the doctor said. We thought everything will be all right upon knowing that she's fine in that ultrasound but we were wrong.

I can't explain what happened after. All I know is that my mom said later that I had to give our baby to the Lord because it seemed that there's nothing we can do. She said that my spouse and I must leave everything to God because with the myoma in my womb, our baby had little chance of surviving. I was crying like a baby as she tried to explain that my son Boris needs me more than a sister so I have to accept what fate has to offer.

That night, I hardly had time to sleep as I pray to God that His will be done. The pelvic pain went on as well as more blood clots. I held on to the bible as often as I could and hoped that there will be a miracle or something. I also told God that if our baby will survive this, I hope that she will survive all the way to the ninth month. Or if not, then let her not suffer much time in my womb, only to die. I was like crazy, because in my mind I was thinking that it's okay if I will die for as long as my daughter will live, but on the other side I was thinking that I am willing to give my daughter to the Lord because Boris needs me more.

That Monday, I had to go through so much physical and emotional pain brought by the situation. I felt like being tortured, and even killed over and over again. The doctor said that there's medicine in my IV fluids to stop the bleeding and pelvic pains but it just went on. The doctor then said, "I guess we can't save the baby anymore."

Bang! I was shot again. I told the doctor that we've accepted the situation and are prepared to face whatever happens. Yet, I know that I was still convincing my self that things will be all right. My spouse can only hug me tight and show his unwavering love and support even though I saw in his eyes that he wanted to cry.

That Monday night up until the dawn of Tuesday, I felt labor pains that really made me cry. I was so down I wanted to die. I was killed over and over thinking that all of the sufferings and physical pains I had to endure were not in any way going to save our baby.

Finally, I delivered our baby as I peed around five in the morning. I died for the nth time and only God knows how I wanted to see our baby. But, I wanted to see her alive, and not in that state. She was so small and fragile. The doctor had to bring me to the delivery room for the d and c. (dilation and curettage) I was thinking then that I want to be sedated right away for me to be unconscious of what had just happened.

I woke up a few hours later and was brought back to my hospital bed. When the effect of the anesthesia was gone, I was brought back to reality. I held on to Barry and he hugged me tight. Then I cried a river uttering "baby ko." ( my baby!) He can only offer his warm embrace as I repeatedly uttered those words, hoping that I will be able to accept what happened.

Moving forward to this day, a week after that fateful day of my miscarriage. I asked my self if I'm okay. The answer is an indefinite yes. I am coping and trying to live a "normal" life. I know that God is faithful to His promises and that the things happened for a reason. I am not blaming any body for what occurred. Yet, I can't deny that I still feel like dying over and over again.

I don't know when will I ever stop crying, and thinking what could have been if she didn't die. I am healing my self and living each day with endless prayers. I thank God each day for my friends, family, and most specially Barry and Boris who made me feel blessed in spite of everything that went on.

I died so many times, but lived and will live so many times also. That is because for that short span of time that I had this whole experience, I became closer to my family and to God. God gave me hope that there will be a brighter day. He made me realize that I was blessed enough to have a meaningful three months of pregnancy that changed my life for the better, which will be forever.


As for our baby who we named Beatrice Enna, her memory will always remind us to be humble upon the Lord. She may not be around but her short existence is enough to prove to us that God is good, all the time.



I asked the Lord for strength with endless prayers
and reading the bible that day that I was confined