I haven’t written my story here, only linked back to my first blog, so I am rewriting it here. I am also sharing it on a board I frequent, so here is my story.
I was nearly 39 weeks, and for both of my pregnancies, Tim has read Harry Potter aloud to me and the baby in bed at night, and both babies had always responded to their daddy’s voice. Both kids came alive with movement when he started reading. This particular night, I noticed no movement. It struck me as odd, but I wasn’t too worried.. I drank two glasses of over-sweetened iced tea, and waited for movement. I got one reflex-like kick. I was relieved. We continued to read, and went to bed, with a slight unease. In the morning, I woke up, made some toast, and waited for movement.. still nothing. Nothing at all now. So we called the midwife. She suggested coming in. We quickly got dressed and went in to her office. She immediately checked for a heartbeat, and found it. She expressed how relieved she was, and that she had been really worried. She called the hospital and informed them that we were coming in for an NST. She met us there. We went in and got the band put on. The heartbeat was there, but there were concerns. The baby’s heartbeat wasn’t varying to stimuli… they couldn’t get it to vary at all, really. It was around 158, too high. At one point, while the doctors were all standing around talking, her heartbeat dipped to the 30’s, and the alarm sounded. The midwife yelled “is anyone going to do something here?!” and I quickly readjusted and the heartbeat recovered. It still didn’t vary, however, regardless of how many things they tried to do to get her to respond. I *still* didn’t realize the severity of the situation. I just assumed she was being stubborn, nothing more. They decided to do an emergency csection. I cried, I was supposed to have a homebirth, in the water, with candles and music, the works.. I called my mom, and she cried with me, telling me how sorry she was. I was surprisingly calm. If the baby was in distress, and needed out now, then my desires for my birth experience would take a back seat. My healthy baby was all that mattered. They checked my cervix for induction for vaginal delivery, but it was posterior, and I was in no way ‘ripe’ for it. So they proceeded to prep me for a csection. It was a leisurely pace, I joked with the nurses, things were peaceful and relaxed. I discussed with the anesthesiologist that I did not want my hands tied down to the bed, as they were with Evan. I trusted that I would not freak out and grab my baby. He laughed with me, and agreed that it wasn’t necessary. I also expressed to the operating doctor that I would prefer Tim to announce the sex, delay cord cutting, and eyedrops for a few hours. My wishes were respected, in the event that “everything went smoothly”. I was anesthetized. Numb. I held the hand of the anesthesiologist, and Tim. I felt the pressure they warned me about, and soon after, my doctor said “It’s a girl”. I cried. Tears fell down my face. How I’d wanted a girl! I’d had the ‘girl dream’ just a week or so before, and splurged on lots of Old Navy girl things, with intent of returning them if I’d been wrong, though I knew I wouldn’t be. I mouthed “I love you” to Tim, and my life was perfect. We had our son, we had our daughter. In 34 years, no moment had ever been more perfect. I was so lucky, so blessed.
It was so quiet… No one was saying anything… she wasn’t crying. I ask: “is she okay”? Tim says they’re just getting her going. She’s on the crash cart now, I can’t really see what’s going on. The anesthesiologist is looking over me and Tim to the cart, with a furrowed brow, looking very concerned. It’s still deadly quiet. I ask “Is she okay”? the anes. says “She’s very sick”. Lots of people are standing around now.
I hear “.. and 1 and 2 and 3 and 4…” repeat.. repeat…
Things start to go completely spacey now. Am I hearing this? Are they resuscitating my baby? What’s going on? I feel like I leave my body, and watch from above.. like I’m removed from it, it’s not really happening to me. I speak, though I don’t actually realize the words are coming from my mouth. I hear them as anyone else in the room.. I say “Is my baby going to die?”
Quiet. No one says A.ny.thing. Then the anes. says again “She’s very sick”..
Then I hear “we have a pulse”.
A while later, the neonatologist comes in and tells me there’s been a trauma to Isla. Something has happened to cause significant brain swelling, and they’re trying to helicopter her to the main children’s hospital for some brain cooling technology. She’d get back to me.
Sometime later, she returns, with a very heavy face. She tells me that “there is no hope”. She has consulted with neonatologists all over the country, and none believe, based on the info she provided, that there was any hope for my daughter. She has no brain activity whatsoever, zero response. She was on life support, and there was no hope of her leading a life with any quality, and her recommendation was to discontinue life support.
In our shock, the first thing we both asked was could we donate her organs? No, the damage had been done too long ago or something like that.
They wheeled my bed into the NICU and I saw my daughter. In an isolette, wearing a diaper, big blue hose coming out of her mouth, completely distorting her beautiful face, a scratch on the tip of her perfect nose, probably from the frantic shuffling to save her life. Her clean brown hair and tiny fingernails.. so absolutely perfect. How could this be? She must be just sleeping. Open your eyes.. look at me baby… It’s your mommy… They wrapped her up, and handed her to me, and I felt like I was acting in a movie. I held her, looked at her, and talked to her. It was completely surreal. Shock is a very powerful condition, and I was in it, entirely. She had a little hiccup sound, that was like a fake kind of breathing. It was a double little hic-hic… it was the only sound we’d ever hear from her. She was born around 2:45pm, and we removed life support sometime around 5pm. They didn’t know how long she would last after removing life support. The hospital chaplain came and did a blessing, during which I floated in and out of consciousness, trying desperately to be awake for it all, despite the drugs and all.. Family came, held her, and Evan held her too. He was so excited to meet her. Everyone left around 8, except my sister, who stayed. We took turns holding her, Tim slept with her in his arms, something he did with Evan regularly, and he treasures this memory. Isla’s nurse was there constantly, and was amazing. She checked vitals regularly. Eventually, Isla’s little hiccup changed from a double hic to a single one. A wave of panic rose up in me. It really was happening. My daughter was going to die. Soon. Her colour started to change, she became less pink, more bluish. Her lips darkened. Nurse checked stats again, said hb was ‘very low’. Her body began to cool, and I repressed roaring in anguish. We gathered around, telling her how much we love her, how sorry we are, how desperately we wish we could trade places with her. The nurse came again, and told us “she’s gone”. We didn’t know what to do. We held her a few minutes more, but I couldn’t bear to watch her body change, and cool in my arms. Rather quickly, we surrendered her to her nurse, and we were left alone. My milk came in the next morning, and we put ice packs on it, and after asking several times, I was given medication to stop it. I didn’t have a single letdown, thankfully.
Cause of death was attributed to a very probable cord accident. Her cord was wrapped 3x tightly around her neck. We did not have an autopsy.
So that’s my story. It was really hard to type it out here. I don’t often visit this part of my story, because it’s so wretchedly painful. Thank you to all the other women who have shared; it is so very lonely sometimes, and only made less so by sharing time and tears with others who’ve endured a similar loss. So I thank you.
I can’t believe it’s so difficult to live a life I lived effortlessly for 33 years. Wow. I think I have changed. I wonder if it’s obvious?