Our Loss

My pregnancy ended last Tuesday with the birth of my already deceased baby girl. She would have been my fourth daughter, but somewhere along the way, something went wrong. I had a bad feeling all through this pregnancy, and was already trying to brace myself for what I feared, and even expected on some level. The last time we heard her heartbeat was at 16 weeks.

We went in for the ultrasound at 20 weeks. The midwife's apprentice accompanied us. She asked me if there were any concerns and I told her I had not yet felt the baby move, and it troubled me. She assured me it wasn't that abnormal, especially with a first baby (this one was my 4rth). The doctor asked me the same thing, and I gave him the same answer. I received the same response from him.

Then I watched as he started the ultrasound, trying to get a good look at the baby. She was in a hard to get position. He jammed that thing down into my belly so hard. Much harder than I remember these being. He said something seemed off. He continued to do measurements, saying not too much. I watched the screen as my baby didn't move. At some point, when he was pushing especially hard, she did move. It was not a natural feeling. I kept pleading in my mind for him to address the real issue. By this point, I've always seen the heartbeat. Why isn't he talking about the heart? After a while, he shows me. It's a little box on the screen, inside it shows all of the blood/fluid flow. The placenta was rife with activity. Then he moves to the babies legs. Nothing. Then slowly up to the babies abdomen. It's completely still. No color, no activity. No heart. I suppose the heart was in there somewhere. But it wouldn't show up at all with absolutely no blood pumping. It's like my baby was hollow. Only then did he finally tell me what he'd been thinking.

My baby had passed. It had probably been some time as she (we wouldn't find out the sex until birth) was measuring very small. Probably not much past our last heartbeat check. We decided to have her in the hospital with the doctor. The midwife's apprentice accompanied us again. The dr was hoping we'd be done by midday on Tuesday. We went in that morning at about 7am. My body just didn't want to let go. I took morphine along with cytotec. I wanted so badly for it to be over, but I was so scared of what it would be like delivering a dead baby, even a really tiny one. I knew she would also be in really bad condition, due to the time she would have already been dead prior to birth. I was too scared to want to see her. That's not how I want to remember her. Dead for weeks. I preferred the gentler ultrasound view, with her tiny little hand up against her face, like she was just sleeping in there. Like any baby would do.

At around 8 pm, I was talking to my husband and the midwife as the contractions were getting stronger. I talked a lot of the time, trying to distract myself. Suddenly I felt, what I could only describe as a pop, down around my cervix. We told the nurse. She sort of peeked, but didn't see much. She was afraid to do a cervix check this time. She went and alerted the doctor to come. I waited. Then I felt something else. Something like the pop, then something sliding in there. My legs were still together. I called the nurse again. She had me open my legs to look, and I felt her slide right out. I just said 'oh.. I gave a tiny push, just for the last bit. My husband asked what it was, and the nurse told him. He looked. By the look on his face, I knew then, that I really did not want to look. My husband who seems so strong. He looked sick. I wanted him to look. But I regretted that even after seeing his face. But he is ok.

The doctor came in after the fact and cut the cord, examined the baby, who had been just lying there between my legs while we waited. I felt like crying then, but I didn't. He informed me that it looked like he was right, and that the baby had been gone for quite some time. I could tell he also was not eager for me to see the baby. Part of me feels like a monster. Everyone wants to see their baby. But I just couldn't. Not like that. If she had only just died, I could have. But not after weeks.

After that I just wanted to leave. Get back home to my baby and other kids. But the placenta wasn't ready. He warned me it might want to hang on. He'd give it a few hours then remove it surgically if he had to. Then they got really busy and sort of forgot about me. At around 11 he came to see me. I'd been on pitocin for a while now, as well as the cytotec to try to get the placenta out. They put my legs in the highest stirrups I've ever seen. Getting into that position alone, was enough to start pushing the placenta out. I held in until he was ready though, and he caught what there was and cleaned me out more thoroughly and with more tools than I think have ever been used on me. It was really uncomfortable, but he wanted to make sure I could get out of there soon. I passed some fairly large blood clots, and lost a little more blood than would have been good. But I was ok.

He sent me the release form, and I was heading out the door. I went to the bathroom to clean up, pee, change cloths. I felt really dizzy and really sick. I puked and heaved green bile for a little while. Then I was able to finish getting dressed. But I couldn't walk far. I sat on the little sofa thing for a bit. Then I told Karl I'd like a little support. I was ready to leave. We made it out into the hallway and out the door of the unit and that's as far as I could go. I asked for a chair, wheel chair, anything. I clung to the wall trying to stay off the floor. Afraid I couldn't get up if I went all the way down. The nurses came rushing out. Said I was completely pale and had me lay down right there in the middle of the floor, with my feet up in the air. They took my blood pressure, called the doctor. I ended up having to stay another hour. I took a nap. The labs came back ok, and they let me go. I got to ride in a wheelchair out to the car. I was tired and out of sorts, but so desperate to go home.

My 7 year old and 5 year old named the baby Artica Love. We plan to plant a tree near their bedroom window to help remember her. This is especially important to my 7 year old.

That's all there really is to say right now. I just wanted to share the story, the only one there will ever be about Artica Love.