We have been given numerous flower arrangements, orchid plants, and stuffed animals, in addition to meals, prayers, and thoughtful gifts from friends who have walked a similar path as we are currently walking. These things have been visual, tangible ways we have felt loved and supported during this surreal time in our lives.
Our girls prayed with friends, a family from our church lit a candle for us in their home chapel while keeping us in prayer, and another family dropped off snacks, items to bring to the hospital, stuffed animals for the girls and yo-yo’s for the boys after hearing Astrid no longer had a heartbeat.
Aunts, uncles & friends have sent these:
My SD family sent us these:
Jake’s brother & SIL sent us this stuffed swan and a matching print that I hung in the girls’ room. (I love that their purchase of the swan and the print equals 15 meals for children in need.) The Psalm reference in the note is Psalm 91:4. “He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings.”
This print with a quote from St. Zélie Martin is one I absolutely love was given to me by two different people. It sits on the dresser in our bedroom.
Shecklet #4 drew this for me – it’s Astrid in my belly when I was pregnant. I’ve said this before – she was so excited to have a baby sibling come live with us. I wish I could have given her that gift.
A friend of mine gave me this – left on our front porch – after Astrid died. It now sits on my kitchen windowsill next to the “Hope” cross that another friend gave me after our miscarriage back in August 2009. The note in the small box below reads: “A mother’s love is not defined by the number of children she can see, but by the love she holds in her heart.” Franchesca Cox
My SILs, Kari & Stacie, sent this sweet gift in remembrance:
Instead of hand writing thank you notes to everyone who reached out and supported us during our pregnancy, Astrid’s death, and the subsequent weeks, I decided to write a longer letter to friends and family – sharing more about what we went through during my pregnancy and what Astrid’s life and death taught me.
I picked out the brightest envelopes I could find and found stationery to match. Not only did my words contain heart-felt thanks, but the writing process also proved to be therapeutic in a way I didn’t imagine.
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Dear family and friends,
My intention was to write individualized thank you notes to everyone who has prayed for, supported, and loved us during what has been one of the most difficult times in our family’s life. As I began to do so, I found myself writing the same message over and over, not because it was superficial, but because it was honest & full of emotion. I felt it was important to share with everyone.
Many of you did not know we were pregnant until we recently reached out asking for prayers and explained what was going on. The pandemic kept us contained at home, so very few saw the visible sign of our pregnancy. Looking back, I suppose this was a blessing as well as a hardship. A blessing in that I didn’t feel the need to tearfully tell everyone who inquired about our pregnancy how our little girl was actually really sick. And a hardship in that it was difficult to not be able to share (in person) with those who care about us.
We had 25 weeks with our sweet little girl. During that time, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I frequently found myself asking the questions, “Why is this happening? What could this experience possibly teach me?” If I stopped to think, I could probably come up with many lessons that I’ve learned, however the ones that stand out the most are the lessons about loving and being loved.
Starting at week 10 of the pregnancy, Jake and I were aware of the possibility of Astrid not having the opportunity to come live with us here on earth. However, we knew from the first appointment that indicated that something was not quite right, that we would give this baby (we didn’t know she was a girl yet) every opportunity to live out her life for as long as God planned. We did not take the time we had with her for granted. We celebrated after every weekly heartbeat check. We thanked God every night for another day with her. We prayed with her and her siblings each evening. She was also part of three birthdays and several holidays including Mother’s Day. She heard her siblings speak to her, tell her hello, goodnight, and I love you. She was part of the commotion of daily life, e-learning for her siblings, and evening conversations between Jake and me. I have no doubt in my mind that she knew she was loved. Loving her was easy to do.
Most of you know the last 2.5 years have been challenging ones for our family – to say the least. There are many layers to those challenges and I’ve been slowly making my way through them. I was talking to my friend, Michelle, in the cemetery after Astrid’s burial and she shared an observation with me that I’ve been pondering ever since. She told me (lovingly) that for most of my life I have felt that I need to be, or do, or act a certain way in order to receive the love and approval of certain individuals. It is exhausting and the toll it takes on one’s self-esteem is significant. She asked me to look at the last 2.5 years of life’s challenges from a different perspective. What I have gone through has allowed me to see just how much our friends and other relatives love me as I am – imperfections and all. (The same goes for Jake and our kids.) People aren’t expecting me to be anyone other than myself, aren’t expecting favors to be returned, and only want to show us love. Standing next to her, I was overwhelmed with emotion and started to cry with gratefulness. My family has been blessed with such wonderful friends and relatives. We really do feel loved. It’s my own insecurities that have made me feel unworthy of the kindness people have shown us. That’s something I am working on and Astrid’s brief earthly life and death are helping me continue to do so.
If you are receiving this letter, it is because you have not only made a difference in our journey through the loss of Astrid, but likely the last 2.5 years as well.
We have experienced your love through prayers.
We have experienced your love through meals.
We have experienced your love through cards & flowers.
We have experienced your love through taking care of our kids.
We have experienced your love through text messages and emails checking in on us.
We have experienced your love through memorials in Astrid’s honor.
We have experienced your love through support at the cemetery.
We have experienced your love through your friendship.
Your gestures, large and small, have shown the six of us how truly loved and supported we are. Thank you.
With gratitude & love,
Jacob, Veronica, Nolan, Lincoln, Ingrid & Helena
(Astrid Philomena’s family)
“But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we also await a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will change our lowly body to conform with his glorified body by the power that enables him also to bring all things into subjection to himself.” Philippians 3:20,21
Astrid’s Grandma Patti (Jake’s mom) offered for us to use the baptismal gown that Jake and his siblings were baptized in to wrap around Astrid when she is laid to rest. The dress was made by her Great-grandma Lois and is a similar design to the one that Grandma Lois made for the Shecklets’ baptisms. Jake brought the gown over to the funeral home yesterday afternoon.
Today we heard back from our Judy from our parish, who has been guiding us through planning Astrid’s funeral mass. We did some minor additions to music and asked for Shecklet #3 to change roles with Jake so she could read the intentions at mass. Shecklet #1 will read the first reading (Wisdom 3: 1 – 3, 9) and Shecklet #2 will read the second (Philippians 3: 20, 21.)
Two of our friends worked together to create a Meal Train for us for the next few weeks and we have been blessed with two meals thus far. Much like when we returned home from my brain surgery in CA, being provided a meal during a time of recovery, and in this case, recovery & loss, is a gift that means so much. I know people say “it’s the least I can do,” but really, it means way more to us.
I keep scrolling through the photos we took of our time with Astrid in the hospital. We still have not had a chance to look at the ones taken by our nurses, but we will get there. The organization, Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, that is available to take photos for families experiencing the loss of their babies was not able to come to the hospital to take photos for us, but they do offer a retouching service. Once we’ve looked at all of the pictures we have of Astrid, I plan to send a selection to them in hopes that they can be retouched if possible.
Those are two words I never dreamed I would be writing about my child. How do you go from telling your husband you’re pregnant to selecting bible readings and music for your baby’s funeral mass?
This isn’t what we want to be planning. We want to be picking out a car seat, choosing a crib, stocking up on diapers.
As I told one of my aunts tonight, emotionally, this is the hardest thing I have ever done. I feel like right now we are just getting things done/prepared for Thursday’s funeral mass & burial and then after that, the larger waves of grief will hit. Then there are the milestones that we won’t actually be celebrating with her on earth – her due date, first holidays, first birthday, etc.
And yet, I know that she is in heaven and she isn’t hurting. She is with Great Grandma Fran, Great Auntie Helen, Great Grandma Veronica, Sammy, her Papa Dale, our goddaughters Gianna and Faith, and so many other loved ones. The kids know their sister is a little saint, we can ask her to pray for us, and we have the hope of seeing her again one day. I’m so grateful for our faith.
I hope I can look back on the readings we chose for her funeral mass and find comfort when I’m struggling. She is a child of God. She belongs to Him. We were given a short time with her, but as it says in Philippians 3:20,21 “..our citizenship is in heaven.” She is where we all should long to be one day.
What follows was written during our hospital stay. I fluctuate between past and present tense and have chosen to leave it as such since it gives a more realistic feel for how I was feeling when I was writing.
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My in-laws arrived just before 7AM to stay with the kids while Jake and I went to the hospital for my induction. We checked in to Mercy Hospital around 7:30AM. Nurse Ka got us situated, I changed into my gown and blue grippy socks and then answered a bunch of admitting questions. I met Dr. Ayika, who explained the induction process (which was new to me) and said that a “normal” delivery should still be ok even though the baby is breech.
We ordered breakfast, and after eating, my induction was started.
9:50AM. I expect a long, slow ramp-up over the next 24 hours. I plan to request an epidural once the pain is gets too intense. This whole experience is emotionally painful enough. I’m glad there is the option to ease some of the physical pain. Jake is resting, which is much deserved. He has been “on call” for me and the kids for almost this entire pregnancy in a more intense way. I am glad he has an opportunity to sleep if he needs to or be alone with his thoughts. His presence beside me is comforting. I know he wants to “do” something, but him being here is doing just that for me.
Our friends, Melissa & Tom, brought us some lighter conversation via our texting group thread. They are two of several people who have continued to check in with us, pray for us, and offer support as we’ve needed it. They plan to be at the cemetery on Thursday along with Michelle and Rita (who may just “happen to be at the cemetery” visiting her dad <3. )
We had lunch around 2PM (Jake said he likes the hospital food) and then closer to 3:30, Ka came in to introduce my next nurse, Amber. She’ll be on until 11:30PM. I was given another dose (increased) of the induction med and they monitored me for a while to make sure contractions were progressing.
*side note – Amber’s BIL had an AN. It always surprises me when I meet someone who knows about the tumor I had.
4:45PM. We’re resting again and I plan to order dinner around 5PM. Contractions are still manageable , so I don’t feel the need to request the epidural yet. Going to pray a Chaplet of Divine Mercy in thanksgiving for the overall peace that I feel right now in this moment. I know emotions will change – likely rollercoaster, but right now I’m so grateful for peace.
Dinner came, we ate and then rested again. While I was laying down, I started feeling nauseous. I ended up getting sick – felt somewhat better afterwards. Amber, my nurse, gave me a med to help with the other stomach issue I was having and got my IV started in advance of my epidural. (Prior to that, Dr. Ayika checked and I was dilated to 1cm.)
Between when I was checked and when the anesthesiologist started to prep for my epidural, my contractions really started to ramp up – in intensity and frequency. Jake sat in front of me as I bent forward so the epidural could be placed. I breathed through numerous contractions (while wearing a cloth mask!) Once it was finally in, it took a long time for it to take effect. (Longer than any epidurals I’ve had in the past.) The contractions were strong and painful and numerous – nothing like I remember feeling with my other labors. I laid on my side, breathing and begging for the meds to kick in. They gave me a dose of fentanyl to try to ease things a little – they did, slightly, in addition to making me tired and spacey. During one of the strong contractions, my water broke. Thanks to the meds, I may or may not have said, “Oh shit, my water just broke!” and then apologized for swearing. It was a relief at first, but then the contractions intensified again. I told Amber that I felt ready to push, so she checked me and said she was going to call Dr. Ayika so I could deliver.
Dr. Ayika and Amber got me situated and within 6 or so pushes I delivered (breech) our sweet little girl at 9:21PM. We named her Astrid Philomena Sheck. She was 12 incues long and 3lbs. 7oz. They laid her on my chest as Dr. Ayika delivered the placenta. (Every time I lost fluid, I thought that had to be it…but then there was more. I am amazed at how much I had retained. It explains why I was measuring four weeks ahead at my last appointment with my midwife a little over a week ago.)
After Jake and I held Astrid, Amber and Laurenda (my overnight nurse) took her to take some pictures in another room. We obviously have the ones from immediately after birth, but the nurses took such sweet care to put her in a party dress, hat, diaper, and blanket. She looked like she was sleeping peacefully in the bassinette. They gave us an SD card with the photos that we will look at at home.
We spent the next several hours with Astrid’s body – blessed her, said bedtime prayers with her, and told her how we look forward to seeing her again one day in heaven. That hope – eternal life in heaven – is what we can cling to.
We said goodbye to her body at 2:08AM.
Sunday morning 5/17. Both of us slept hard. We’re exhausted – emotionally and physically. The texts and emails we have received since announcing Astrid’s delivery have been full of love, prayers, and support.
I cannot believe what we have just experienced. It feels like a dream. And yet, when I look down at my belly, I know it wasn’t. I am so sad. I miss my little girl.
Jake and I have received many emails and text messages offering prayers, love and support since we shared the news of our baby’s heartbeat stopping. One email I received in particular today made me stop and pause. My friend concluded her note saying, “Mary Mother of God, Our Mother, send Roni a rose from heaven to comfort her darling baby home.” Shortly after reading her email, our doorbell rang and a flower arrangement was dropped off on our porch. In the arrangement were three orange roses. The friends who sent the arrangement had no idea the other friend emailed me and said what she did.
UPDATE: 5/15/20 – my friend who sent the arrangement that included roses texted me the following: “I called the florist yesterday and told them the ‘rest of the story’ of the flowers showing up after you read a friend’s email and the rose and all that. I spoke to the delivery driver. She was in awe, because she said she sat in the parking lot for 20 minutes trying to get her GPS to work on her phone and your address wouldn’t show up… and she was running late. But she wasn’t late, it was perfect timing for you to get the email and THEN the flowers. 🌹”
I met with an OB this afternoon to discuss the next steps I will need to take following the news of our baby’s death. He was very kind. I’m scheduled to be induced on Saturday, 5/16. I’ve never been induced before…
I was told I needed to have a COVID test prior to being admitted, so I scheduled that for tomorrow morning. Even with a “rush” put on my test, it isn’t a sure thing the result will be back before I’m supposed to report to the hospital. I’m really hoping that it’s back in time. I have enough anxiety right now. I don’t need to add to it by having to wait longer than Saturday to start the induction.
I was going to write one long post and include everything at once, but what I was writing was turning into a very long post, so I figured it was better to write as things develop.
We had our 20 week ultrasound yesterday. Due to COVID-19, Jake wasn’t able to accompany me to the appointment. I understand the need for caution, but it sucked.
The first glimpse of our little one was all I needed to know that things were not going in a positive direction. The internet is full of wonderful and horrible things all at the same time, and I’ve done enough research to know that what I was looking at on the screen in front of me was a lot of fluid built up where I knew it shouldn’t be. The cystic hygroma behind baby’s head/neck was large (I was shocked when I saw the actual size in my visit notes online) and there was substantial fluid buildup in his/her belly. From there on out, I let the tears flow as the ultrasound technician looked at the rest of the baby – lungs, leg & arm bones, kidneys, stomach, head/brain, and a detailed look at the heart (fetal echo.) She attempted to determine the gender of our baby, but our little one didn’t want to cooperate. Of the two things I was hoping we’d see – lower fluid amounts and gender – I saw neither. I’m pretty disappointed.
Once the ultrasound was complete, the technician went to speak with the MFM doctor and pediatric cardiologist to share what she found. After I don’t know how many minutes sitting alone in the room, the MFM doctor came in and introduced himself. I called Jake and put him on speakerphone so he could hear what the doctor had to say.
I already knew the news was not going to be positive, and the doctor confirmed that (in the kindest way he could.) While he didn’t eliminate all hope for our baby, after reading the visit notes today, it seems quite likely that we won’t get to meet our little one this side of heaven. It breaks my heart to read the words “likely fetal demise” in my visit notes. It hurts so much to know there is nothing that we can do to change the outcome of our child’s life. It was so sad to share this update with our kids when we got home yesterday afternoon.
Our baby has “severe hydrops fetalis” (non-immune type.) The fluid building up in our sweet baby’s abdomen is putting stress on other organs such as the heart, lungs, and kidneys. Because we have chosen to not have an amniocentesis, we are choosing to not determine whether the cause of all that’s going on is a genetic abnormality. However, all signs are pointing in that direction since the heart looks “ok” considering everything else that is going on. Going forward, I’m supposed to continue with weekly heartbeat checks for baby and blood pressure checks for me. There’s something called “mirror syndrome” that can occur in pregnant moms whose babies have hydrops.
I told a couple of friends (via text) yesterday that I don’t even know what to pray for right now, so I just keep repeating, “Jesus, I trust in you.” Because really, that’s the only thing that I can bring myself to do. That, and to offer up my suffering for my friend and her family whose son was tragically killed on 3/20/2020.
My head knows God has a plan, a reason, for all of this. But my heart is really struggling to understand.
We weren’t able to get a good updated profile picture of Shecklet #5, but we did get some other photos of our little fighter!
Back in December, we found out that we are expecting another Shecklet – due late August. Physically, this pregnancy has been rough. I’m tired, battling nausea and pregnancy sickness, and my patience is not what I would like for it to be. I wish I could turn a corner and start to feel better.
At my 10 week appointment, I had a dating ultrasound and it showed something of concern. Baby’s nuchal translucency was thicker than they expected to see at this time.
Shecklet #5’s armsShecklet #5
I had follow-up appointment (Jake was able to accompany me) with a perinatologist at 13 weeks along that showed that our baby has a cystic hygroma that grew substantially since my 10 week appointment. The doctor said the baby’s lymphatic system isn’t draining fluid like it should, so it’s building up around the back of the head and down the back. The most likely causes are a chromosome abnormality or heart defect. We did not opt to have any further testing to determine the cause at this time, largely because there isn’t anything that can be done medically. Also, for me, having more information right now would likely just lead to increased anxiety.
Our sweet Shecklet #5
The prognosis we were given is not good. I was told I could see my midwife weekly for heartbeat checks and if the baby is still fighting at 20 weeks, I would then have a Level II ultrasound and fetal echo. We would also revisit prognosis and potential blood tests for further information.
We told the kids about their new sibling (and how the baby is sick) when I reached about 16 weeks along. Jake also shared with his family and we have gradually been telling our friends. I am praying that this baby would be physically healed of all issues – if that is God’s will for him/her. I am also really trying hard to just be present in the moment and be thankful for each day we are given with this new life.
Baby bump on 3/28/2020
I will be 20 weeks along this weekend. I don’t want to say I wasn’t expecting to make it this far, but from what the doctor told me back at week 13, it does seem a bit surprising. I continue to treasure each day we have with this baby and am grateful for the opportunity to feel him/her move. It’s heart has been beating strong at every weekly check. Now we wait to see what the ultrasound and echo tell us on 4/10. I know that making it to 20 weeks is not some magical milestone. I know that God’s plan for this baby may not be for us to bring him/her home to live with us. But I do know that His plan is good, this child exists(!) He loves this child, and we have been given the opportunity to love them too.
We are so grateful for our pastor, Fr. Jim, and the staff at our parish who have made it possible for us to participate in mass virtually while in-person masses have been suspended.
Jake and I don’t get to capture many photos of just the two of us. We needed a recent one for our Family Formation kick-off event (so our new class knows who we are.) Shecklet #4 offered to take one of us this afternoon ❤️
