Walking With You - Meeting Our Babies

If you'd like to meet Kelly and learn more about Walking With You, please click on the picture above.

Last week, we talked about "Waiting". This week we are supposed to talk about meeting our babies, making memories and the time we spent with them.

My friend, Suzanne, is a Nurse Practitioner in the NICU where I delivered. I met her when Emma Grace was born prematurely at 25 weeks, and we've since remained friends. She and another nurse friend, Lori, came to my c-section with Grady that evening on November 12, 2008. They were going to come to my scheduled c-section just two days later. Suzanne was already working; Lori came in just because she's a precious soul.

I was completely against pictures of Grady. It just didn't seem right to take pictures of my dead baby. I've previously talked about this in a post called "Regrets". Fortunately, Suzanne got in my face, albeit politely, and told me that I wouldn't get this time back. I agreed to the pictures. And I'm SO very thankful! The hospital furnished a beautiful, white, smocked gown for his pictures.



When he was born, still and silent, at 6:14 pm, they asked me if I wanted to see him then or wait until recovery. Gib and I agreed that we would wait until I was in the recovery room. About 45 minutes later, when I entered the recovery room, the photographer from NILMDTS was finishing the pictures. At the time, I only wanted pictures of him. Therefore, I have not one of me with my precious boy.

I was in a daze. Not from the medications, but from the confusion and shock of the whole situation. There was the flash of the camera, hushed talking, commotion behind the curtain, more flashes, but no baby noises.

Grady was there, but he wasn't crying.

His body was there, but he was missing. His soul was already in heaven. He breathed his last breath inside of me. The last beat of his heart was long gone.

It was time for me to say hello and goodbye all at the same time...

Gib held him first while the nurse in recovery did some things with me. Gib and I can't remember who brought Grady to me. It was either him or Suzanne. The only thing I remember is Suzanne walking over, before he was in my arms, saying "Tonya, he's beautiful."

And, oh, how right she was.

I remember holding him for the first time. He was still warm from my womb. He looked like he was sleeping.

He just wouldn't wake up.

I kept stroking his face, kissing him, telling him how sorry I was, asking him what happened.

I held him for a while. I was asked if I wanted to keep him in the room with me. Since I'm a nurse, I had a little insight to this part of the deal. I asked them where he would go if he didn't stay with me, and they honestly told me he would go to the morgue.

No thank you. I've been there. (not in that hospital but where I worked years ago) I decided to keep him with me.

We were very fortunate that he didn't have bodily fluids leaking from him like some babies do. He really and truly looked just like he was sleeping.

He was beautiful with his BRIGHT red, rosy, rosebud lips. He had deliciously chubby cheeks. He had long, beautiful fingers and BIG feet, just like his Daddy! His skin was softer than the finest silk, I'm convinced.

I was then transferred to my postpartum room, which was NOT on the postpartum floor, per my request. I remembered being there after Emma Grace was born, hearing a baby crying in the middle of the night. I cried, too, because my baby was in the NICU, fighting for her life. I just knew that I couldn't be on the postpartum floor in that situation.

Grady stayed with me until I left.

That Thursday I was numb. The tears wouldn't come. I was exhausted. I had tried to sleep the night before, but had stared most of the night at Grady's bassinet, willing him to move and make noise. Didn't happen...

I asked for no visitors, but a few came anyway. One of them was my brother. He showed up bright and early the morning after Grady was born. I was holding Grady on my chest under a blanket, kangaroo style, just like you would hold any other baby. My poor brother walked in and was VERY confused. He thought he had misunderstood because I was holding Grady. I felt so bad for him because he was caught off-guard. He didn't stay long, but I was glad he came.

Not long after that a hospital worker from housekeeping came in to sweep my floor and change the trash bag. As she was leaving, despite the card on my door, she said, "Congratulations". What was I supposed to say? I mustered a weak, "Thanks".

Gib came for a while after he got the girls to school. A few more people came in and out. Grady was with me the whole time. I am so thankful that I kept him with me. I only wish I had held him more. I even wish that I had cuddled him in the bed with me at night. That may sound crazy to some of you. But he was my baby. I had watched and felt him grow the 36 weeks and 5 days that I carried him. The bond was strong. The love intense. The guilt overwhelming. I needed to be with him.

It was all I could do...

Those two days passed by way too quickly.

Friday came, and so did the tears. I took two sleeping pills the night before because I HAD to get some sleep. I slept well, but I was able to "feel" a little more the next day. I cried all day. I knew the formal goodbye was coming.

Dr. Joe came to see me. He asked if I was ready to go home. I told him it was a tough decision...I had two girls at home who wanted and needed me, but when I left, I had to say goodbye to Grady, this side of heaven. He's such a wonderful, kind, caring, compassionate person and doctor. He said he would write my order that I could go that day or stay until the next day. The choice was mine. I knew I was going to have to say goodbye sometime.

I decided to go home.

The funeral home came to get Grady. Unfortunately, because of living in a small town and because of my mom's funeral, I'm on a first-name basis with the funeral home directors. Chad was the one to come get Grady. He was so kind. He didn't rush me. He came in to tell me how sorry he was and that he was there. He brought some magazines and said the nurse would know where to find him when I was ready.

How could I ever be ready to say goodbye? To touch my baby for the last time...

But I had to.

I asked him one question. I needed to know...

Was he going to put Grady in a body bag? That may sound terrible, but again, being a nurse, I know these things. I couldn't watch them (same people) take my mom from her home after she died because I knew she would be in that bag.

To my surprise, he had a basket to put Grady in. When it was time, he brought the basket in to the room and put it on the bed. The nurse gave me a standard hospital blanket to wrap Grady in. He had been wrapped in a beautiful blue and white crochet blanket that I was going to take home with me.

I swaddled him. Gib and I kissed him. We told him we loved him.

And I placed him in that basket.

That was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life.

Gib and I held each other and sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed.

Chad walked out of the room with my precious baby, and we followed not long after.

The nurse said she was going to get a wheelchair for me. I adamantly refused!

I was determined that I was NOT going to be wheeled out if I didn't have a baby in my arms. Gib pulled up to the back door, where Grady had been taken out, and I walked right out those doors.

Empty handed.

AGAIN.

Only this time, there was no hope that my baby would come home alive.

He was gone...



Love,
Tonya

Walking With You - Waiting

I'm not sure how often I'll participate in this, but I think it has potential to be very therapeutic for me. Did you know that it helps someone who is grieving to tell their story? Multiple times. Once, twice, as many times as they need to! Even though it is already a reality we live with, each time we tell it is another way we can keep our memories alive. To remember the one(s) we've lost. Each time we tell it there is the potential for an "aha" moment. This is true for me, at least. I can't speak for anyone else...

An amazing woman named Kelly, at The Beauty of Sufficient Grace, came up with a new kind of walk. This takes those of us experiencing grief down a "walk" with others who have lost someone, particularly a child. Each week there is a different theme. I encourage you to click on the button at the top of this post to learn more and to read Kelly's story.

This week we are to share about our time of "Waiting". From the moment we received our life-changing news until the birth/death of our babies.

Here goes...

My actual time of waiting was fairly short but seemed like an eternity. I found out Grady had officially died around 10am on Nov. 12, 2008. He was born via c-section at 6:14 pm that same day. (For those of you who have not read his story, you can click on his picture on my left sidebar)

However, I knew the night before that he was gone. He was always an active little fella. I last felt him kick around 4:30-5pm the day before, Nov. 11, 2008. I thought he might be sleeping and was only moderately concerned when he didn't kick after dinner. I became a little more concerned when he didn't respond to his big sister's voice and poking on my tummy before she went to bed. The thought was in the back of my mind...but it was only a thought..."Surely he's fine. He's going to be born 3 days from now. He's just sleeping."

When I woke up around 1am to use the restroom and got back into bed, his quietness triggered another level of alarm in me. After an hour of praying and pleading, I got up to get my stethoscope and listen for his heartbeat. I found mine, but not his.

Nothing.

Still no movement.

Nothing.

I waited.

All night.

Alone.

Wondering...Call the doctor? Don't call the doctor?

Rationalizing in my nurse brain all the while..."If he's dead, it's too late". No reason to wake Gib, find someone to watch the girls in the middle of the night, disturb Dr. Joe. He was dead at 2am, and he would still be dead in the morning. Nothing could bring him back at this point. He'd been still for too long...

I knew all night he was gone. I hung onto, clung to, the hope that maybe I was wrong.

But I knew...

My baby had died.

I prayed that I was wrong. I prayed for movement. I prayed that God would intervene and do something. Gib prayed with me before leaving for work (I told him once he was up).

Nothing.

Once my suspicions were confirmed by Dr. Joe the next morning, he asked me when I wanted to have him. I would have walked over to the hospital right then, but it wasn't possible. I was given the choice to labor or deliver by c-section. Since I had a classical incision from my second, a c-section was mandatory for Grady's birth...as long as he was alive. But since he had died and we didn't have to worry about oxygen supply to him if my uterus were to rupture, I had the option of delivering vaginally. I opted for the c-section because I had two beautiful girls at home who needed me to be okay. I couldn't risk my uterus rupturing during labor, losing massive amounts of blood and so forth. Dr. Joe agreed, but had to give me my options.

The c-section was scheduled for 5:30pm that day.

So what did we do until then?

I so wish that I could tell you that I was on my knees, praying, seeking the Lord and His comfort. But I wasn't. I turned away from God. I was completely and totally angry with Him. I didn't want people around me. I only called a couple of people, close family members, to tell them the news.

In our time of waiting, we drove all the way back home. I folded two loads of laundry. My neighbor brought Emma Grace home from school, and Gib checked Jessica out of school. And we told them the devastating news. I consoled Emma Grace, who was beside herself heartbroken, got the girls with packed bags to the neighbors house and drove the 45 minute drive back to the hospital.

Oh, we did have to stop at Kroger to get gas and some cash on the way. Which is where I saw one of my friends in the parking lot who kindly, innocently stopped and happily said hi. To which she was met by a wandering woman in shock walking to meet her husband to drive her to the hospital to deliver this dead baby she was carrying.

What a nightmare!

It actually was a blessing that I saw her because she called lots of local people and got the word out so everyone started praying for me. I was so thankful because I couldn't pray for myself!

I remember at the hospital, I was given these "wipes" to clean myself. My WHOLE body! Arms, legs, chest, etc. It was awful! They smelled and felt sticky. I was so mad that I had to do all of this with no reward at the end. I looked at Gib and said, "WE ARE DONE! We are never doing this again!" (Isn't it funny how time heals...I'm not completely healed by any means, but I've come such a long way. I'm open to having another if it's God's will for our lives).

I was surprised that I was given the choice of general anesthesia for my c-section. Just another situation where the baby was not a concern...I felt there was so little that I could do, I could at least be awake and somewhat be a part of his birth, even though it would be silent.

If I'm totally honest, the whole time I was being prepped, and even as I was on the operating table, I was hoping they were wrong. I knew that wasn't the case. I had seen the stillness of Grady's heart on the ultrasound. But there was part of me that couldn't help but HOPE that he was still alive.

The silence in that c-section room was deafening... No cry to be heard when the nurse anesthetist told me that Dr. Joe had the baby out.

My worst fear had come true...my baby boy that I had worked SOOO hard to keep safe and in my womb was gone...

That's my story of "waiting"...

Love,
Tonya