The day I forever lost a piece of my heart.

**This took place back in 2011-2012. This is our story about getting pregnant with our Olivia...I published this post without proofreading. I know there was grammatical errors. This was the hardest part of our story that I hope to ever have to write. Not everyone who reads this post will agree with my decision, but please don't judge me. The feelings are still very raw and I mourn my loss every day.

Dr. B put us in contact with a specialist at Rush. Before going to see him he asked Dr. B to give me another ultrasound. He wanted Dr. B to confirm that what Sherri saw was in fact the case. In the back of my mind I was hoping Sherri made a mistake and that this would all go away. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Not only did she confirm that I was pregnant with four babies, but she also confirmed that all four babies had normal heartbeats.

A few days later I was called in to the specialist. As I walked in the exam room the nurse looked at me with a big smile on her face and said, "So you are the most blessed patient that everyone is talking about!?"

I could have slapped her. Who the hell was she to smile at me? Define "blessed" lady! I came walking through the door with my head down- I haven't slept, I haven't eaten and I haven't gone an hour without crying. I would have appreciated it if she kept her chipper ass to herself.

She took my vitals and compared to the file Dr. B's office sent over. She noticed I lost weight and made a comment that if I wanted a healthy pregnancy I would need to stop losing weight. This pissed me off.

"I'm losing weight because every time I see an ounce of food I want to vomit. Because every time I catch myself wanting to pass out I have to remind myself to keep breathing. Because I can't stay awake long enough before I find myself crying myself back to sleep. And, I'm not the most blessed patient. Keep reading my file lady! I'm not here to find out my due date. I'm here to find out when I'm suppose to terminate this pregnancy!" At this point I sat in the chair with my arms crossed, head down and continued to cry my eyes out. I knew she was embarrassed and I knew she felt bad, but I didn't care how anyone else was feeling beside myself.

After my vitals were taken they called Don back into the exam room to be with me. Thank God for this. I couldn't go through this appointment by myself. There would be several more of these appointments and if it weren't for my husband I would be lost. I was emotionally broken, sleep deprived and didn't have an ounce of hope. When the specialist came in he was blown away by our situation. 2 embryos splitting with all 4 taking is incredibly rare to say the least. This man looked and talked to me like I was a science experiment. He spoke using medical terms that sounded like a foreign language. I was so upset and so frustrated that I found myself tuning out. I stared at the ceiling and let Don ask all of the questions. I did this with every appointment. I would lay there as they walked Don through the ultrasound while answering his questions. I rarely ever said a peep. When we got in the car I would snap out of my daze and ask Don what the doctor said. This was the only way I knew how to get through these appointments.

Our specialist was in full agreement with Dr. B. A reduction was necessary. He didn't think I could go full term with these babies. Here is a quick rundown of each baby.

Baby A and B shared a sac. Originally they thought there was a thin wall separating the two, but a few ultrasounds later it was proven that these two needed to be reduced.

Baby C looked healthy. Baby C had a sac of its own with plenty of amniotic fluid.

Baby D had a sac of its own, but lacked a healthy amount of amniotic fluid. Doctors predicted that this baby would miscarry on its own. If not, Baby D would need to be reduced as well.

The plan was to reduce A, B and D. A reduction is an invasive procedure. The specialist explained that there would no guarantee that Baby C would make it, but by doing the reduction, this was our best chance to walk away with a baby.

The reduction was scheduled the week of Christmas. As soon as they told me the date I cried. I remember thinking that every Christmas from here on out would be a reminder of what would be the worst day of my life.

A reduction can only be completed through your first trimester for obvious reasons. Therefore, there was a rush to get it done the week of Christmas as I was nearing the end of my first trimester. Our specialist then informed us that another doctor would be performing the reduction at another hospital within the Chicagoland area. He explained that Rush doesn't allow reductions to take place at their hospital. When I asked why he explained that they view the procedure as an abortion and for religious beliefs they do not allow it. Let me tell you, in that very moment, I felt like the dirtiest piece of shit that ever existed.

A couple weeks later Don and I sat down with my therapist. She got me through the IVF process, I thought it would be good that we meet with her to get us through the reduction. We were both struggling with the decision and we needed to get on the same page when it came to our views and beliefs. We both cried our eyes out and said what we needed to say. I made a comment in that session that I struggle with to this day. I told her that had I known this was going to be the scenario, I would have never done IVF to begin with. I would rather not be pregnant then have to deal with all of this.

I left that session feeling crappy about my comment. It was the intention to reduce three babies. I still had to hold on to hope that I would walk away with one.

A half hour after we left the therapist office I started to miscarry, in a Portillos.

Don rushed me to the closest ER. Unfortunately, it wasn't a hospital that had any affiliation with Rush. This meant that my doctors had zero privileges when it came to my medical care.

They wheeled me into ultrasound to get a better idea of what the situation was. When I got in the ultrasound tech who was about my same age asked if I was "really pregnant with quads!?" That's when I snapped back, "I'm having a miscarriage! Why don't you tell me if I am even pregnant anymore!" She never looked back at me. She finished the ultrasound and had me moved back into the ER. By the time I got back to my room my siblings, mom and Don's parents were there waiting. This overwhelmed me. I'm a very private person and though I appreciated everyone's support, I wanted to be by myself.

A short moment later the doctor came in to tell me that Baby D miscarried. Babies A, B and C were still holding on, but I was bleeding internally so he was doubtful that the pregnancy would have a positive outcome. They kept me overnight to monitor the bleeding. The entire time we had constant contact with Dr. B (who also communicated with our specialist and OB). Dr. B was still hopeful. As long as my body was slowly passing the blood, he still had hope for Baby C.

My reduction was moved back since they couldn't perform the procedure due to the bleeding. I was on complete bed rest and was absolutely miserable. The bleeding was heavy and continued for weeks. I was hesitant to go to the bathroom because I was afraid to see what would be in the toilet. I would sift through blood clots with my bare hands in the shower. I never knew what exactly I was looking for, but I was petrified of miscarrying another baby.

Don and I went to meet with the doctor who was to perform the reduction. I was 13 weeks pregnant and had no clue what to do. We had toyed with the idea of not moving forward with the reduction and see how far along I could make it. I won't discuss the conversation we had with the doctor, but what I will say is that his bedside manner was completely inappropriate and made the appointment worse than it needed to be. The doctor had little patience for a grieving couple and told us that if we were to move forward with the reduction we needed to do so that very day. It was getting to the point that I would be too far along to have the option.

Both visibly upset, I asked for privacy and Don and I called Dr. B. I was hysterical crying informing Dr. B of how our appointment was going. I told him that we were both confused and wondered if moving forward with the pregnancy was an option.

"Here are your options. You can move forward with the pregnancy, maybe make it to 17, 18, 19, 20 weeks. My opinion is that you will deliver and bury 3 babies. OR, you can move forward with the reduction and give Baby C the best possible chance of surviving. If you move forward with the reduction I want you to promise me not to cry and work yourself up. You take care of your body and give that baby a chance."

That was it. It was all I needed to hear. As much as I thought I would never be capable of a reduction, I am telling you that I am not strong enough to bury a baby, let alone three.

Don and I made the decision, a decision that we never thought we would ever, ever have to make. A decision that broke our hearts. We moved forward with the reduction.

Surprisingly, I was awake during the reduction. I had hoped he would have put me out. They put patients to sleep to get their wisdom teeth removed, they should put patients to sleep before they have their hearts ripped out of their chest. Don stayed in the room with me. I wish he hadn't. To this day I wish he hadn't witnessed what went on in that room. There was no convincing him to walk out. He was there for me and sat by the top of the bed the entire time.

If the above bothers you, please stop reading now. 

A Multifetal Pregnancy Reduction (aka- Selective Termination) is done by ultrasound. The doctor inserted a needle into my abdomen, into the fetus. Once he made contact with the fetus he injected a fluid to stop the heartbeat. The room was dark and it was the doctor, nurse, myself and Don. It was quiet. There was no small talk. Don had his head down. I looked at the wall to the left of me (which was where the medical cart was sitting). If I looked straight I could see the procedure being done, if I looked to the right I could see the ultrasound monitor. I chose looking to the left.

Every once in a while the Doctor and nurse would communicate, but they stayed true to how sensitive this moment was for us. The nurse would speak up to help guide him to the fetus. He would say things like, "I'm in." "Almost there." "Still a heartbeat." "Heartbeat terminated."

After the first fetus was terminated he removed the needle and emptied the fluid he removed from the sac. He did this on the medical table sitting right in front of my eyes. I about lost my mind. I knew I had to keep still, but my God- I felt like I was suffocating alive. How cruel that we had to go through this.

I didn't say a peep, but I cried my eyes out. I said sorry at least a hundred times. I was so sorry to my babies. I was so sorry that I gave up. I was so sorry that I made the decision I made. I was so sorry that I couldn't follow through with my promise to live a great life with these babies. I was so, so, so sorry.

Once the second fetus was terminated the Doctor looked at me and told me that he thought I made the right decision. I didn't respond, I couldn't. The nurse quickly took an ultrasound picture of Baby C and handed it to me. She told us to hold on to hope for this baby. I was sent home to be on complete bed rest. I was still bleeding internally from the miscarriage and because of the termination, Baby C's survival rate was at risk. Every two weeks the chances of survival increased. The doctor said that if we made it an additional 6-8 weeks, Baby C should survive.

Going home that day is a complete blur. I left that office with a broken heart that day. I will forever live on with a missing piece of my heart. Dr. B's voice kept playing back in my head, "Don't cry. You take care of your body and give that baby a chance." I'm not going to lie, I cried. I let the tears roll from my eyes, but I wasn't hysterical. I didn't let myself get worked up, but I would lay there and let the tears roll out. I would only stay awake until I felt myself breaking, and then I would go back to sleep.

I slept with my ultrasound picture and I held my belly every waking moment.

Please, Baby C, I need you. Please.