🏈 It Started With Football and Fried Rice
It was the Packers vs. Bears, always a heavy-hitter here in the Northwoods. I was with my then boyfriend, his mom and aunt at a local tavern—surrounded by beer, wings, laughter, and the usual rivalry chaos. I was still a “sprinkled” Bears fan back then, raised that way by my mama. Spoiler alert: I’m now a reformed Packers fan. (That game may have had something to do with it—last time the Bears beat the Packers, and yeah, Urlacher was still their quarterback. Whoa... look at me reminiscing like I own a jersey collection.)
Ask me about today’s football, though, and I’m just a schoolgirl crushing on a second-string red-headed quarterback. Maybe one day word will get out he made it into my blog. 😉
👣 Something Was Off—But I Didn’t Know What
After the game, we loaded up the four-wheelers and headed to the farm to wind down for the night. I noticed baby girl—Ellie—was unusually quiet. A few wiggles here and there, but not the usual excitement. I chalked it up to food and soda overload. But something in me felt…off.
That night, crawling into bed, it hit. The strongest, most painful kick Ellie had ever given me. I was relieved. Thought to myself, “Okay, she’s just squished from all my grub.” What I didn’t know… was that it would be the last time I ever felt her move.
🍴 China Wok and the Silence That Followed
Morning came. I remember my breakfast—peanut butter toast and oatmeal. I waited for her usual kicks. And waited. Nothing.
Panic bloomed. I called my mom. She urged me to stay calm, and took me out to lunch at the China Wok Buffet. Her theory? Greasy Chinese food might stir things up. (Sorry, boss. Yeah, I ate at the buffet. Yes, I regret nothing.)
But even surrounded by egg rolls and sweet & sour everything—nothing.
That’s when Mom looked me dead in the eyes and said: “Kel, it’s time to call the doctor.”
🩺 The Doppler, the Ghost Face, and the Ultrasound
I got an appointment fast. Drove straight there. The doctor came in, fetal doppler in hand. She searched. And searched.
No heartbeat.
She looked pale. Haunted. Left the room and returned with an old ultrasound machine. I stared at her as she probed and searched again.
Still nothing.
And just like that—my heart sank. My breath stopped. My body went cold. I can’t even describe what I felt. Numb. Paralysis. A horror I wouldn't wish on anyone.
She didn’t leave me alone. She sat beside me, cried with me. Yes—cried. Not every doctor is robotic. And I was a young 20-year-old mom who’d just lost her child.
🏥 Room 131 and a Haunting I’ll Never Forget
We needed confirmation. A final sonogram. That’s where Paige enters the story—fresh out of school, sweet as pie, giving me the scan that confirmed Ellie was truly gone.
(Fun fact: we later became Facebook friends and acquaintances. Shoutout if she ever reads this. You made a difference, Paige.)
After that, we headed back to the clinic to plan the next step. Induction scheduled for the next morning. Yeah, that’s right—induced labor at 24 weeks to give birth to a baby I couldn’t take home.
And if you’re wondering who showed up… well, it’s complicated.
I arrived with my mom, my aunt, and my best friend at the time. Two days blurred by—contractions, tears, desperate exhaustion. My doc kept me heavily medicated. But the emotional pain? Nothing dulled that.
Mom—already fighting her own battles—began to unravel. She made things about herself, the way she used to. And I don’t say that lightly—I grew up with a mother who was mentally and “chronically” ill. Half a parent most days. Yes, she got better—and that part of my story is beautiful. But back then, her brokenness added weight to mine.
🌸 The Birth Without Breath
After two long days, the time came. I wasn’t ready. But ready didn’t matter.
I pushed.
She came flying out. Beautiful. Still.
I sobbed. Couldn’t even look at her at first. My best friend Jackie was the first to hold her.
She looked exactly like my father. A man I never met—only saw in photos. Some disagreed. My mom didn’t.
🕊️ Final Goodbyes and Unexpected Collapse
Ellie was held. Loved. Cremated. A beautiful service.
The hospital gave me a memory box that I hold close to this day. They consoled me. They honored her. They honored me.
I was discharged... or so I thought.
Suddenly—boom. My mom collapsed.
She became the patient. Said she over-medicated herself, likely trying to escape the grief.
So who had to rise? Who had to lead?
Me. The girl who just gave birth to her sleeping baby, now standing tall to take care of her mother hours later.
🌟 Why I’m Telling This Now
Because some stories don’t fit into a cute caption.
Because grief deserves space.
Because Ellie mattered.
Because I did too.
If you’ve ever felt alone in heartbreak—if your loss didn’t come with closure—know this: your pain deserves to be seen. And you are allowed to tell the whole story, unedited.
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