Abigail Frances is the second child of Brian & Vickie Bacon--the first to proceed them to Heaven. Brian & Vickie have been married nearly 25 years and have one grown son, Ben. Abigail was joined in Heaven by her sister, Anne, in 2005. You can read Anne's story on her own caringbridge site found under the "Resourses" tab.
Abigail Frances was born at rest December 6, 2003 at the precious young age of 39wks6days.
PCOS infertility kept me barren most of my life; our living son was a true miracle. After 17 yrs of secondary infertility, we finally conceived Abigail thanks to a PCOS diabetic medication called Glucophage. It was thrilling to have such a blessing after so many years of barrenness.
But because I was diabetic and over 40, my OB referred Abigail's care to a practice of high risk specialists who were supposed to monitor her according to high risk protocol.
The pregnancy was uneventfully delightful until the final four weeks when one of the providers took me off my insulin injections and rx'd a diabetic drug that proved to be disasterous. What's worse, my pleas for help fell on deaf & neglectful ears. I'll go to my grave wishing I'd taken my care elsewhere, but we neared the end and I hoped for the best.
Sadly, in spite of the additional medical "expertise" Abigail died in utero after failing a routine bi-weekly NST (nonstress test) the week before her due date.
It's a long horrid tale that illustrates dramatically infuriating medical incompetence. For unknown reasons, the dr & nurse practitioner on rotation that day were indifferent to Abigail's obvious struggles. We were sent home rather than inducing immediate delivery. To my horror, Abigail died sometime in the night, and she was pronounced dead at our follow-up NST the next morning. She was born on that Saturday evening at 6:18pm after three days of induced labor.
We learned that sudden antenatal death syndrome (SADS) is quite common in the middle of the night in the last days of pregnancy--especially in high risk pregnancies, and yet we were treated with neglect and disregard.
As I expected, my doctors made sure to blame my age and diabetes as a means of covering the many failures they made in monitoring my care. I went on to learn everything one can learn about high risk management of a diabetic pregnancy and the mistakes they made are inexcusable. After countless hours of study and diabetic research, we concluded that those perinatal "experts" are legalized killers and THEY are the primary cause of Abigail's death.
Pathology tests showed that Abigail was a normal healthy baby that died of fetal distress caused by cord constriction & placental insufficiency--fetal distress that showed up plain as day on the NST we had just hours before her death. It's quite distressing that the expensive fetal monitor did it's job, but it's unclear as to why the even higher priced dr didn't do his.
Ultimately, it was dramatically poor medical management that was the cause of her untimely death. As a result, she was born directly to Heaven, leaving us with agonizingly empty arms. She'll always be our beautiful sleeping baby forever in our hearts.
Late October marks the beginning of Abigail season for me. It's the time when I was great with child and the season was changing from Indian Summer into Autumn, and then into the cold, frostiness of Winter as I bore her sweet lifeless body. I entered into the hospital on a warm, golden autumn day (Thurs Dec 4th), and was entombed in a windowless birthing room until my release on Sunday Dec 7th (Abigail finally being delivered in the early evening of Saturday Dec 6th). When the nurse wheeled me out into the hospital drive way, the warm golden autumn had transformed into a frozen, snowy winter whereby the trees were barren of their previously golden leaves, and all the earth was moist with the remains of melted snow. I'd gone in for a prenatal follow up, only to be told that my darling girl had died. They checked me in, began my induction, and I didn't see the light of day for the next three days. The doctor's office was on the 4th floor of the hospital adjacent from the Labor & Delivery dept, so I went into the hospital as one person, and came out all those days later with the entire world completely changed. The weather had been one way when I went in, and completely another when I came out. I'd left all the baby's clothes in the drier to be folded when I came home from the doctor. Little did I know that it would be four days before I came home, and that the folding of her clothes would be a pointless exercise that would serve only to exacerbate my grief. There was no point in choosing an outfit for her to wear home for the hospital. I was instead tasked with choosing an outfit for her to be buried in. My entire life became a paradox of opposites. A composition of oxymorons that to this day--all these ten years later--would tear my heart apart. If I missed her then, I miss her ten times more now. They say that "time heals all wounds" but whoever said that is an idiot. Simply put, there are some wounds that are dug deeper as time passes. It's been ten years. I'm older now (and I wasn't exactly young at the time). PCOS menopause has made me quite sick & unwell. Age has added to the problems rather than making them better. It's been the hardest ten years of my life, and I've had a lot of hard years to compare it to. I still struggle with wonderment as to how the LORD will see me thru it all. Seriously. I don't know how I've lived thru it all except to give credit to Jesus who has clearly carried me thru the greatest suffering & weakness I've ever known.