The worst possible thing a mother can hear is, "I'm sorry, there is no heartbeat."
I lay in the hospital bed going in and out of consciousness. I know my family arrived at some point; my aunt, my nana, my mother, my best friend. They all came for me. The hours passed like minutes. Finally, they gave me an epidural. What would it hurt, my baby was already gone. I was in so much pain I couldn't sit up for it. The anesthesiologist had to give it to me laying down. I went in and out of sleep again. I'm not sure how much time had passed. Around 9 p.m., the doctor told everyone that I was progressing slowly and she wouldn't be born until morning. My mother left with my son, I had forgotten all about him being there. He must have known something was wrong because he was being so quiet.
A little after 9, I started feeling pressure. I could feel very little pain. I told the doctor something was wrong. She said "That's normal, it means she's getting into position." I kept saying that she was coming. I had never had a vaginal delivery before, but I knew something was happening. She finally took heed and looked to see if I was right. I was. She was making her debut...
I know everyone in that room was praying for a miracle. Like the ones you see on Lifetime or you read about in religious books. Everyone was hoping they'd been wrong all along and that she would come out screaming. At 9:18 p.m., Lacey Camilla came into this world. Silent. All 2 pounds, 15 ounces of her. She was 17 inches long. She was perfect in every way. They asked if I wanted them to clean her up and I said yes. I was afraid of what she'd look like, I'd never seen a dead baby. When they gave her back, she was wearing a tiny gown with knitted white booties and a pink hat and she was still warm. I know this is a heart breaking story, but I was lucky. I got to have her less than 24 hours after she had passed. Her skin was still perfect. Her eyes were closed. She didn't look dead, she looked like a sleeping doll.
Everyone held her and cried. Why did we have to lose this perfect baby? She was small, but if my doctors had monitored me closely, she could have made it. That's the hardest part. Knowing that if I'd have gone to the hospital just one day earlier, I wouldn't be writing this story. I held her for hours, the hospital chaplain came and baptised her. They put her in a wicker basket and I let them put her in another room so I could sleep. I regret doing that, I should have held her tight and never let her go. I requested her back around 4 in the morning and asked the nurse a question I never thought I'd have to ask. "Is she stiff?" The nurse said she wasn't and placed her in my arms. She was cold. I held her close and the nurse cried with me.
I knew the time was coming when I'd have to let her go. I didn't want to. They let me change her clothes and I realized the blanket she'd been wrapped in was missing. I needed that blanket! It smelled like her. Some careless person had tossed it into the wash bin. Thankfully, we got it out in time. I put a new white gown on her perfect, tiny body and held her until the person came. I didn't know who took her, I didn't know where they took her. For 5 days I didn't know. I drove past her on my way home without knowing it. We had her cremated so I could always sleep with her and I have every night since. She's in my bed right now and that's where she'll always be.
I always think about the "what ifs" and the "if I'd have done this" scenarios. If I'd have known about placental abruption, if I'd have known the severity of preeclampsia, if I'd have know that my OB was a complete quack, I could have made a difference.
[the "after" will be coming soon]
When you lose a child, your life will forever be separated into "before" and "after."
Sunday, December 8, 2013:
I had just had my baby shower the day before. I was so happy to have awakened to the bags of gifts with outfits and blankets spilling over the sides. They were literally taking up most of the floor space in my small bedroom. My first child had been a boy so I was over the moon to have received all of the frilly, pink clothes one thinks of when she's having a daughter. I was 33 weeks along. Everything had been going smoothly up until this last week. I had been diagnosed with preeclampsia on Tuesday and there was talk of an early delivery. They had given me the steroid shots to mature her lungs. She was to be born December 10, only 2 days later. I was nervous, being born at 34 weeks would be hard on her. She would be a preemie. She would have to stay in the hospital neonatal unit for weeks. I started having cramping around 2 o'clock and called the hospital. My obstetrician advised me that it was only Braxton-Hicks contractions and that it was completely normal. It felt like a constant cramping, not sporadic like my research had stated.The cramps stayed pretty steady into the night, but I wasn't worried. After all, I had called my doctor. I went to bed with the feeling of kicks and tumbles and drifted off to sleep.
Monday, December 9, 2013:
10 a.m: I woke up with my son and everything seemed perfectly normal. I went to the restroom and noticed that my underwear was damp, but as all pregnant women know, we sweat. A lot! It definitely wasn't unusual and since I had showered the night before, I cleaned myself off and changed into my clothes for the day. I went about my morning and prepared to head out to an appointment, decided it would probably be best to use the bathroom again before I left. My fiance came rushing in to tell me that his sister had given birth that morning around 2 a.m., and wanted to know if we could stop by after my appointment. I said yes and commenced wiping. As a paranoid woman, I always checked the toilet tissue after wiping just in case something was wrong...something was DEFINITELY wrong. Bright red blood was staring back at me when I looked down. Fear overcame me and I knew something was not right. It clicked in my brain that I hadn't felt any movement that morning, but I just thought she was sleeping. I frantically began pounding my stomach like I was trying to break in but there was nothing in return. No kicks, no punches, not even the smallest flutter. I called my obstetrician's office and told the receptionist that I was bleeding and she asked dumbly, "Can you come in at 1:30?" I told her no, I was going to the closest hospital because something was wrong.
11 a.m: I arrived at the hospital's Labor and Delivery building. I was in a ton of pain and didn't understand why. The lady behind the desk took one look at my pallid face and knew something was wrong. I could barely walk and I told her I was 34 weeks and bleeding profusely. She rushed me back to the triage area and a nurse asked me to urinate in a cup. I tried and was unable to. The cup only filled with blood. I climbed onto the bed, terrified. My fiance had arrived from parking the car and I was glad he was with me. My son had come with us too, I wish he hadn't. If I would have known what was coming, I'd have left him with a babysitter. The nurses all swarmed around me, attaching the fetal monitor and searching for the heartbeat. She was having a difficult time locating it. I could tell she was starting to panic, but she kept reassuring me it was just the machine. It had to be the machine malfunctioning. She called in the head nurse and brought in a different monitor. Still nothing. They called the doctor in and she brought an ultrasound machine. As she placed the transducer on my stomach, my whole world came crashing down. "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat, she's gone." A nurse whisked my son out of the room as we started screaming. I believe I had a mental breakdown because the last thing I remember was the doctor asking me was if I wanted a repeat cesarean or if I wanted to try vaginal delivery.
