June 4, 2008

I started this blog one month after the stillbirth of my first chid, Kara. My life ended at 2:15pm on that day.


Wednesday June 4, 2008; 1:45pm. Routine office visit 37wks 3days into my pregnancy.
After being weighed, submitting a urine sample, and the routine blood pressure test - I am told all is normal and I am shown to an examination room to wait for Dr. Jacoby. At 2:15pm, Dr. comes in and small talk is made about how large the baby will be. I am scheduled to deliver via c-section on June 16th - just 12 days away. I elected for a c-section because I am a chicken shit when it comes to child birth. It is horrifying to think of a person being squeezed out of your body through a small opening - which may be forever changed. Major surgery is more my style - pain killers, a fast delivery, lots of drugs for recovery. Let's do it.

Dr. measures my belly and declares 'this will be a big baby'. I ask 'how big?. She replies with a smile, 'around 8lbs'. She continues to the heart rate doppler and squeezes the ultrasound gel on my swelling belly. I am so large now that it is difficult to do normal things such as lay down, sit up, walk, etc. We are both expecting the steady heartbeat of the fetus, like so many times before. I was just here last Wednesday and the heartbeat was stead and strong. Dr. is having difficulty, she is moving the monitor round and round my belly. She applies more gel and a strange look appears on her face - (I am getting hot thinking about it right now.) She switches on the ultrasound machine and I see a still baby, with no heartbeat. Dr. says 'Babette, I can't find the baby's heartbeat. I am so sorry.' I said "WHAT!? HOW CAN THIS HAPPEN? THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING! OH MY GOD - WHAT THE FUCK?! (over and over and over, in a rasping, barely there voice I have never heard from myself before). This continued for a good 10 minutes until I found my voice and tears began to roll down my face. My life was over. HOW COULD THIS BE!? SHE WAS JUST HERE! I FELT HER KICK LAST NIGHT! oh my God - over and over and over. Dr. called Peter in Miami to deliver the sad news, as I was unable to speak. Peter was on an interview and this happened to be the only day he'd spent away from me in several months. She put me on the phone with Peter, and we were both in shock - not really knowing where our lives were going from here - how does one go on once they learn their baby has died?!

Peter was at the airport, going through security - he would be on the 3pm flight back to Newark and would call me when he got to the gate. I immediately called a few close friends to tell them of the horrific news - and to please spread the word to other friends, as I was unable to repeat the story more than once or twice, and unable to speak without sobbing out words in partial sentences. Then I called my mother. She was unable to understand me when I cried 'Mom, we lost the baby.' I repeated myself and she didn't understand. I finally said 'The baby is dead!' She yelled at me 'Babette! Are you kidding me! What are you saying!?' I had to yell back, because she sounded angry with me - but I think she was just in shock. We all were. I asked her to come pick me up - they wanted me at Riverview Hospital right awa and I could not drive. When my mother arrived, they brought her into the Dr.'s private office with me and she explained the next steps. They would induce labor and try to deliver vaginally. NO, there was no explanation for Kara's death - they may find some explanation once they see the baby - perhaps a cord accident, which is more common that I knew. I initally thought they could put me to sleep and take the baby, and make it go away. Make this whole nightmare disappear. But no, it is not possible and I had to face reality.

I was admitted to the hospital sometime between 4 and 5pm. I don't remember. I only remember walking through maternity (i would not take the wheelchair) to get to the deserted end, where they put the unfortunate people like myself, who are waiting to deliver a dead baby. Walking past the maternity waiting room was like a bad fucking dream. What is this? Why do all of these people get to greet a healthy baby and I am walking to my death? This is unfair and horrible.

I remember getting into a gown and into a hospital bed - an IV line was hooked up and a nurse trained in grief counseling began taking my vitals and explaining what to expect in the next 24 hours. She was very kind, but I was completely in shock and unable to comprehend what was happening. I was already far, far away, only my body was there, nodding to questions, lifting my arm for the bloodpressure cuff. I was not there. I was already with Kara in my mind - trying to understand why she left just 12 days short of her due date. I could not comprehend what they were doing to me - nor did I care. I wanted them to kill me. When asked why I could not have a c-section, they replied that major surgery is never the first option and they would rather I deliver vaginally since the baby is no longer alive. A c-section may scar my uterus and might make it more difficult to conceive next time, and also introduced a higher risk for the mother. I was okay with that - I wanted to be put to sleep and to never awake. Please put me to sleep, doctor. Please take the pain away that is my life now. I am okay with it - knock me out so I will never wake.

5:45pm - Peter is 2 hrs into his flight - he should be landing at 7pm. The Dr. comes in and explains that he will be inserting something into my cervix to begin dilation. Once I'm dilated to an acceptable size, he will begin pitocin to bring on contractions. He inserts the tablet and I feel sharp, searing pain, then it's over. Now I wait. For what, I'm not sure. I've never given birth before, so I am not sure what to expect. 2 hours later, my water breaks. I am told to take shower, and numbly follow my mother into the bathroom. I am unable to function, so my mother helps me shower, dress, use the toilet, clean up the blood. I am bleeding so badly, I am hoping I will hemorrhage to death. I've heard of that before - seems an easy way. Unfortunately, hours later, the bleeding subsides. Dr. comes in several times to check my cervix, which is dilating very, very slowly. Once I reach 2 cm, he begins the pitocin drip and asks if I want morphine or an epidural. I decline - as my husband is not there yet and I want to be clear of mind when he arrives. It is 9pm and still no sign of Peter.

9:45pm - my mom is still with me and my brother & his fiance, my dad & his wife, all have come & gone. I continue to cry, but still feel unconnected to this horrific world - I am not here anymore. I am full of emptiness and sadness too great to bear.

10:20pm - I receive a text from Peter - 'landing at 10:40pm, hope you get this.' He calls at 11:15 - he is on the ground and heading to the car. He will be here by midnight.

midnight - Peter arrives and rished to my bedside - he is sobbing and I am sobbing and holding each other. I want to dissolve into him and disappear. I want to turn back the hands of time and make this not happen. What have our lives become? We are scared to breathe, to live another moment in this new world. We are unsure of our place in this world any longer. Everything we took for granted, is now precious and frail. How could this be happening to us?

Peter stays by my side for hours, until the contractions begin. I refuse the epidural and morphine, because I am not in physical pain - only emotional. I ask for sleeping pills so that I can rest. More nurses come in and out - all trained in infant bereavement, all expressing sympathy and understanding. I am in a daze - hearing their stories but only vaguely. This is their tragedy, not mine. I cannot accept. Vilma shares her story of losing 2 babies - TWO!!! I cannot fathom the despair and turn away. This is not happening. It is not possible to lose TWO babies! How does one go one? Vilma explains her struggle and her happy ending of a baby girl- their 'victory baby' names Victoria. She is at peace with her life, accepting her tragedies and feels blessed to have one living child. She has persevered - how will I? I continue crying all throughout the night - silently, in the hopes that I will not wake come morning. We meet Linda - our night nurse. She is kind and sweet, telling me she will be here for us all throughout the night. She will never be far from us.

Thursday June 5, 6am. Linda comes in to take my blood pressure, test the dilation of my cervix, renew my IV, etc. She is kind, like all of the others. She gives me a sponge bath and tells me the story of her son. 15 months old, dies suddenly on her front lawn while they are outside playing with his toys. No cause of death was ever found. His heart simply stopped - like Kara's. "They" believe that unexplained in-utero deaths are like SIDS - the child/fetus heart simply stops beating. There is no comfort in this - just information that leads me no place good. Will any child ever be safe until they pass the 2 year mark? Will I ever even get pregnant again? Can I endure another pregnancy only to have a full term baby die on me? This is not a good place - I want to die.

Peter wakes and we are both in a daze. Not knowing what to say or do. We hold each other and turn on the TV to break the silence. Every movement is slow and painful - we move as if encased in wet concrete. We hold each other and cry on & off, all day. My mother returns at noon with essentials from home, but could not find our digital camera. She brings toiletries and a change of clothes for Peter, and essentials from my diaper bag, which I packed just 2 days prior, with all the essentials I thought I'd need when I was in labor. It sickens me to think that 48 hours ago, I was packing my overnight bag with a going home outfit for me and baby Kara. I am overcome by grief and the crying has no end. I vow never to go through this again and think I can possibly be content with dogs and focusing on my weight training - maybe I'll indulge in my fantasy of becoming a fitness competitor - I'll throw myself into that. Odd thoughts - but I am still in shock.

My brother & Christy return in the early afternoon to keep us company during the long vigil. Mom stay and keeps us company as well - running for coffee and soda when needed, trying to help me stay comfortable while I continue to bleed and contract.

Sometime around noon, I ask for the epidural. I'm told I should get it now, because the anesthesiologist has a busy schedule and may not be able to get to me in time later on. I get the epidural and a shot of morphine, because I am terrified of having to face my dead baby. I do not think my mind will endure the sight of her - so heartbroken am I. I fear that I will break in two. The morphine takes the edge off and the epidural is working nicely.

At 5pm - my Dr. comes in and says I'm not dilating, and I've spiked a fever. They have decided to perform a c-section and I'll be heading into surgery now. I am relieved that this waiting is over, and that I will be given a short respite from grief by being sedated. Horrible thought - but I am on the verge of losing my mind from the waiting and the anticipation of seeing my dead child. My life has ended and I am just living because my heart continues to pump blood to my lungs, which continue to breathe. I have no control over it.

Peter calls my dad and he & Maureen come back to the hospital to wait for my recovery.

I am wheeled into the operating room and given a sedative, which makes me vomit twice. I fall asleep while telling the anesthesiologist how scared I am and how I need to be sure I'm not awake for this procedure, with tears rolling down my face. This continues until I am asleep.

I wake to sounds of sobbing. I don't know where I am for a moment, until I see my husband holding an infant and sobbing over her. Oh God - it's Kara. My baby has died!!! Why am I awake? Why couldn't I just die with her? I am foggy and can't understand anything being said - until someone asks if I want to hold her. I am unsure, because it is too painful. Peter brings her to me and lays her in my arms. My heart breaks into a million tiny pieces as I look into her small, beautiful face. I have never seen so much beauty, and I am amazed that she looks exactly like Peter and me. I cannot believe this perfect little person was created by us. Our love is go great, that we created a miniature replica of ourselves fused together. This baby was inside of me for 9 months. Here is the person I've been waiting for. Here is the person who has haunted my dreams for 9 months. Here is the person who has driven me to near madness through pregnancy pains, insomnia and 3am meals alone in the kitchen. Here is the person I longed to hold, cuddle, kiss and sing to. Here is the person who I thought would enjoy waking to birds in her nursery every morning. Here is the person who would wear all the pink and ruffled outfits I recently washed and folded so carefully. Here is the person who I would spend this summer with, waking long strolls in the park, each day in a new ruffled outfit with matching hat - so adorable in her pram. Here is the little girl I anticipated for the past 9 months - the person who would make daddy and my lives complete. This is the person I've waited my whole life for, and she is dead.

Peter tells me I said two things upon waking "Can't they do something, to bring her back? Anything?" and "Oh my God - she's so beautiful. I can't believe how beautiful she is. We are definitely trying again."

She is gone. She left us over a full day ago, to be with God. My life is over.

Linda takes photographs and I feel 'dirty' and inappropriate. Why are we taking pictures of my dead baby? I don't ask this, but I feel morbid and it feels wrong. I am still drugged out and don't hold her for very long. I wish I held herlonger and didn't have so much morphine in me. We call a priest and he comes to bless Kara. I am only comforted by the knowledge that she is with God and did not suffer. I gaze at my daughter's face, her little hand with long fingers, her gorgeous feet -she is perfect. Absolutely perfect, except that she is dead.

This is my life now. I don't know how I will go on.

I stayed in the hospital for 3 more days, recovering from the c-section, but trying to recover from the loss of my child. Peter stays with me - in a state of shock, calling the funeral home and our parish to make funeral arrangements. He calls his parents and his children, to come to the hospital to see their granddaughter and their sister. They arrive on Friday and Kara's remains are brought back to our room. Everyone looks at her and comments on her beauty - but no one picks her up to hold her. It seems inappropriate now - she has been in the morgue overnight. It breaks my heart.

Everyone leaves at dinner time, and we are alone again with our grief and our thoughts. We ask to see the baby again and Kara is brought up for us to hold and cuddle. Daddy holds her and tells her everything in his heart. How much he loves her, how much he misses her, and calls her 'honey bunny'. He tells her she is safe iwth Godin Heaven and that someday we will all be together again. He tells her that he does not fear death any longer, because he looks forward to seeing her face and being with her in eternity. He tells her he will always love his little baby. I hold her and talk to her about everything I wanted to do with her this summer. I tell her I'm so,so sorry this happened and to please forgive me. I tell her that I love her more than anything in this world and if I could change this, I would. If I was given the coice to die in her place, I would have gladly chosen that path. I tell her she's beautiful and that I will forever miss her and that I will see her again in Heaven someday.

i don't know how long we each held her - I only know that she was cold when I kissed her forehead and her perfect little nose. I have never seen a more beautiful baby, in my life. Why has God taken her from me?

That night is again, a blur. We are in such a state of shock, that the world is unreal. We sit quietly and stare at the TV, unaware of what is on, or what is being said. We finally sleep - and wait for morning.

Sunday morning we both wake crying, again. Every morning, this seems to be our life. Wake, cry, hold each other, cry. We check out at noon and begin packing our belongings to leave this place of death. Maybe at home we will find some comfort - or maybe it will be a house of horrors, everything reminiscent of the pregnancy and the expected baby.

The drive home is surreal. FLowers are blooming, the sun is shining, and kids are riding their bikes in the park. It is a beautiful June day, and our baby will never see any of these things. We are sad beyond belief and cry all the way home. Once home, we climb into bed and spoon - crying ourselves into a restless sleep. I am in terrible pain from the surgery, and our bed is too flat for comfort. Peter lifts me out of bed and prepares the pull out sofa in the basement. He takes every pillow in the house and makes an angle like the hospital bed, and gently helps me into bed. He sleeps on the couch next to me. We stay here for 3 days and 3 nights. Each day waking up to cry, never leaving the other's side. We are unsure of our stability without each other. No one goes to get coffee or use the bathroom without notifying the other. Each morning I wake sobbing, telling Peter I want to die. Please just let me die! And each morning, he reminds me that he needs me and cannot live without me. Asks me to please hang on and to know that Kara is in heaven and knows everything. She knows that we love her and miss her. She knows that we are in pain and wishes only for us to grieve for a short time, as she is happily in Heaven with God, awaiting our arrival one day. But I am not to be consoled.

I want to die - and just have to figure out a way to do it. not sure if Heaven will admit me.

From Sunday through Thursday, I wake up this way. The day proceeds in the same form - crying and sleeping intermittently. It is agonizing. Kara's funeral is on Thursday the 12th. We are not prepared for this.