THREE WOMEN, ONE FAMILY: THEIR TRAGIC LOSSES AND SWEET WINS IN BRINGING CHILDREN TO THE WORLD
By: Maritess Mallari
Tags: Birth, Pregnancy Loss, Autoimmune Disease, Mothers And Daughters, Motherhood

Our family was plagued with miscarriages and fetal deaths. In the course of 30 years, my mother lost two babies, my eldest sister, four. I, too, lost my firstborn. Of the seven children, only two saw the light of day. In a sense, they lived longer than the rest — in the womb for 40 weeks, in the world for a few hours. All of them died before they could even begin to live.

My mother was the first to suffer some hard, devastating times. She lost her fourth child through miscarriage. I, her fifth, was almost robbed of life too, barely hanging in as the first two months of Mamang’s pregnancy was spent trying to keep me in. As if that wasn’t enough, four years later, our youngest was blue and unresponsive when she was born via Caesarian Section. The doctors were able to revive her after 30 minutes. Who would have thought that she’d be gone in less than a day? Mamang soon suffered from post partum depression after her demise.

In a span of six years, my eldest sister’s first four children died. She miscarried the first one during the first trimester. The second child, a boy, was delivered full term via C- Section in 1995. He looked perfectly healthy but for some reason, his lungs had blood in them. He was gone on the day he was born.

Manang’s third baby was hydrocephalic. Ultrasound at eight months showed that he was no longer alive. His head was abnormally big due to his condition, it required a C-Section to take him out. I can still remember that fateful day when Manang came home from the hospital. Without ever meeting our questioning eyes, she handed us the ultrasound report and locked herself up to grieve for her third loss in three years’ time. We would grieve some more when her fourth child also died by another miscarriage.

Death by any circumstance is painful but one after another was beyond us. Over Manang’s longtime ordeal, we reached a point when we didn’t know what to feel anymore every time she announced her pregnancy. A part of us would be hopeful but most of the time, we were just so scared for her. The series of loss, I think, even for the strongest mother, is just too much. It was difficult for all of us too, to say the least, but more so for our mother who had to witness and hurdle her daughter’s pain, one she knew all too well. Life asked so much more from her — she needed to be strong for all of us, and to be stronger than all of us. Having lost our Father early, she’s the only pillar we lean on to.

And then there’s my sister. Her life’s tragedies made us think of settling for less than what she desired. Much as we continued to pray and hope for better circumstances, for us, to be childless is better than the constant battle of not knowing when the sun would finally smile on her. Life is uncertain, yes. During those times, we could only pray that she would not suffer any more than she already did.

Manang, however, never wavered in her faith that one day she will have a child of her own. I remember my mother talking about my sister’s deepest convictions. Her will to try again was anchored on one fact — she never had a problem conceiving. For as long as she could still get pregnant, she would give it her all. And so on her fifth and sixth pregnancies, they made sure that she got the best medical help they could afford. It didn’t matter that she would travel all the way to Manila for her regular pre-natal check up. It didn’t matter how costly it was. It didn’t matter what that required from her physically and mentally. It didn’t matter that she would go under the knife for C-Section the third and fourth time. What mattered was that finally, her seven-year arduous battle ended with two lovely girls delivered healthy and strong just a year apart.

Having witnessed all of that, I developed a fear for my future children. I went through singlehood afraid of my own motherhood journey. Two months into marriage, my husband and I were elated to know that we were expecting. The first trimester was not an easy ride as morning sickness and vomiting got the better of me, but in general, I was really thankful to be given a clean bill of health by my doctor. There was nothing that threatened my pregnancy in any way. I could have rested my anxious mind, but one thing bothered me though. I could not always feel my baby kick.

Little did I know that a cruel twist of fate would lead to the most horrific time of my life. When we had an ultrasound at five months and a half, my baby was found to have no heartbeat anymore. Gone was the life we came to love, evidenced by the sweetest sound passing through the Doppler. It was never faint, how come there’s only silence now? I felt cheated on and my world crumbled. I could not believe that my biggest fear actually came to pass. Did the devils knew about it and proceeded to play games on me? And won?

To make matters worse, the abortion pills, supposedly given to allow a normal delivery, didn’t work. I wouldn’t dilate so they induced labor. Still, nothing happened and so the doctor opted for a D&C on my third day at the hospital. Halfway through, my baby’s left leg got detached from its body and the doctor was concerned that I would bleed. To keep me from possible complications, they decided it was best to do a C-Section. I went home in so much pain physically and on the inside, it didn’t take long for depression to get a hold of me. I succumbed deeper into the dark when one day my breastmilk stained my house dress. It was a harsh reminder of what could have been.

As I struggled to get past my tragic loss, so many questions pulled me farther down the black hole I didn’t know how to get out from. Was God angry at me? Why is it that others have it easy and I don’t? Did I do anything wrong? Did I miss doing something that could have prevented it? Perhaps I am not deserving of any children. Am I punished for something? What if I won’t conceive again? And if I would, what if I lose my baby again just like my sister and my mother? Will I have the same story? It would go on and on. I thank God that when I got back to work, I slowly recovered. As months went by, I felt better — good enough to hurdle all the complications that came with my second pregnancy.

I was diagnosed with Anti-Phospholipid Antibody Syndrome or APAS, an autoimmune disorder that causes thickening of the circulating blood. Such condition made sustaining my pregnancy particularly challenging. It’s believed to be the cause of our failure on the first. After what seemed to be never-ending sub-chorionic hemorrhage, bed rests, spotting, premature contractions, constant monitoring, Duphaston and Aspirin doses, and later on steroid shots, I delivered my bouncing baby girl at 36 weeks and 5 days thru C-Section on the day Manang’s fifth child celebrated her sixth birthday.

My compassionate OB-Gyne, Dra. Gamutan (2nd from left) together with the team of excellent doctors and nurses, taking my baby out safely. Monitoring closely (not in photo) are my Cardiologist, Dr. Dayan, Anaesthesiologist, Dr. Gamutan and Pediatrician, Dra. Lagare. These great men and women continue to serve in the medical field with much passion, dedication and care.

Through it all, the Almighty kept my mother, my sister and I from breaking beyond repair. Whatever reasons He had for allowing these things to happen to us, we won’t know for now, but I pray that our family’s story will give hope to women who are currently fighting battles to bring beautiful children into this world.