When Hello Means Good-bye

As most of you know, Brendon and I were expecting our second child in early September.  We knew we were having a baby girl and were beyond excited to be giving Cole a little sister.  My pregnancy had been fairly uneventful.  Around 35 weeks, my doctor thought I was measuring a bit small, so I had some extra tests done over the next few weeks.  I had several Non Stress Tests to make sure the baby was strong, and I had a very detailed ultrasound to measure growth.  After all the tests, it was determined that our baby girl was doing fine, but just may have been a little small.  I was advised to relax and enjoy the rest of my pregnancy.

My due date was September 9th.  On September 8th at 39 weeks and 6 days, I wasn't feeling much movement from our daughter.  I called Urgent Care, and the nurse I talked to told me everything was probably fine, but advised me to call an OB on-call.  After doing so, I was told to go to the hospital and get monitored.  I went reluctantly, thinking it was a waste of time.  However, when the nurse started hooking me up to the monitor, she couldn't find a heartbeat.  She tried a more precise Doppler without a better result.  An ultrasound soon confirmed that our daughter no longer had a heartbeat.  I called Brendon to tell him what was going on.  He rushed to the hospital, and together we tried to process the news we thought we'd never have to face.  The daughter we dreamed of and hoped for and loved for 39 weeks and 6 days was gone.

The doctor presented us with some options of what to do next.  While giving me the option of a repeat c-section, they encouraged me to continue with my plans for a VBAC.  The doctor I saw was very reassuring and told me that he was confident a VBAC would be successful.  We decided to go home for the night to be with Cole and process everything, with plans to come back in the morning to start an induction.  My parents happened to be in town for a visit, so we had dinner with them and my sister's family.  It was a great blessing to have my family so close.  After dinner, I started to feel strange.  I was lightheaded and hot.  My sister took one look at me and ran to get Brendon to take me back to the hospital.  We tearfully kissed Cole good-night and went back to the ER.

The doctor I saw determined that I was having an anxiety attack, which made sense.  After I calmed down, we decided to stay at the hospital and start the induction process.  A balloon catheter was inserted at 10pm on September 8th to help me start to dilate.  By midnight, I started having contractions that were strong enough to keep me awake.  I tried to sleep, but the contractions were too painful, so I began walking around the room.  At 2:30am I took a sleeping pill, which did nothing to help me sleep, and at 3:00am, I received some pain medication so I could sleep.  I got another dose at 5:00am.  I slept until about 7:30am, at which point I started walking around because the contractions were less painful that way.  At 10:00am, I needed to rest, so I laid down after a shot of Morphine.  The Morphine did not help with the pain, and I was back walking around within an hour.  Whenever I was walking, Brendon was right there with me.  During every contraction, he held my hands or rubbed my back.  He was the amazing birth partner I knew he'd be.

We got a visit from our Pastor in the early afternoon.  She prayed with us and cried with us and blessed our baby.  All the while, my contractions were getting stronger and stronger.  I decided to get some stronger pain medication so that I could eat and rest.  This medicine helped for a few hours, but around 3:30pm, I was in intense pain.  At this point, the balloon catheter came out.  I was between 4 and 5cm dilated.  I also started having contractions I cannot describe.  By 5:30, I was 10cm dilated.  When they told me this, I got incredibly scared.  The labor process had given me a huge distraction from the emotional pain I was enduring.  I was suddenly faced with the fact that I was going to bring a child into the world who would not be breathing.  I was scared of what she would look like, and I was scared for what I would feel like once she was no longer inside of me.  But I didn't have a choice.  She had to come out.  And at 6:31pm on September 9th, after 45 minutes of medication-free pushing, our beautiful, perfect-looking daughter Molly Christine was born.  Stillborn.  But still born.

Brendon held her first.  I've never really seen my husband cry before, and I could have spent my entire life without seeing his tears if it meant we would have been able to bring a healthy Molly home.  As soon as I was physically ready, he passed Molly to me.  The three of us sat on the bed together for a while.  The nurse took some photos, which I am extremely grateful for.  I wasn't sure if I would want pictures, but I treasure the few we have of our daughter.  We kept Molly with us overnight, and the next morning, we had to say good-bye.  It was impossible.  I don't know how I let her go for the last time and watched the nurse take her body from the room.  I still can't believe we left the hospital without a car seat and diaper bag and our lovely girl.

I think of her constantly.  I long for her, I miss her, my entire body aches for her.  I think of how Cole would have looked with his baby sister in his arms, how Brendon would have been such an amazing, gentle, sweet Daddy to our daughter.  My mind tricks me into thinking she's in the next room or still in my belly.  The day after Molly was born, I told Brendon that I felt like she was still inside of me.  He wisely responded with, "She will always be inside of us."

Amongst this tragedy, we have found many blessings.  The two nurses who spent the most time with us at the hospital were truly a gift.  I was able to have a VBAC, which I desperately wanted to achieve.  I am extremely proud of the way I delivered Molly, and it was amazing to finally learn what my body can do.  Neighbors have been bringing food each day.  Some people have brought gifts for Cole.  My sister has been beyond supportive, despite dealing with her own grief over losing her niece.  And Brendon and I have found a strength in each other and our marriage that we didn't know was there.

Cole has been a champ.  He doesn't understand what is happening, but he is of course affected.  He's handled spending time away from Brendon and me with incredible grace, and when nothing else can, he makes us laugh.  Yesterday he said to me, "Mama, is the baby out of your tummy?"  After I responded that she was, he said, "Can you run with me now?"  I laughed and was reminded of what is important in his life, and that is being able to play with his Mama and Dada.  Although my heart breaks at the fact that he will never know his sister on Earth, I am grateful that he is too young to fully grasp what has happened.

Everyone I talk to always ends the conversation with, "Please let me know if there's anything I can do."  If you are wondering that, just please let me talk about Molly.  I'm going to cry.  I'm always going to cry over losing Molly, but I desperately want to talk about her.  She will always be my daughter.  She will always be on my mind.  It hurts a little less when I can share her and my grief with others.  This pain comes in waves, and when I can share a small memory or get out how I'm feeling, the wave of pain is a little smaller.

Although we are in pain, we are hopeful.  Hopeful that Molly is happy, being held by our grandparents.  Hopeful that Molly never knew and never will know pain.  Hopeful that we will be able to go on and have more healthy children.  Hopeful that we will see Molly again and be a family.

"Life is a blend of love and loss, but love is always stronger.  Love lives forever."