My Stillbirth Story - Part TWO.

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]