I don't know if I'll ever have the right words to describe the last four days. There were so many questions, so many moments of anguish, and yes, so much joy.
Last Tuesday, the 13th, we went to my midwife, Monica, for a routine appointment. We heard the baby's heartbeat and got a blood test for second semester genetic screening. Thinking back, I had never had the test for Bella or Evelyn, but since it only involved drawing my blood and I was already at the office, I said yes this time.
The following Thursday, Monica called and said the blood levels came back showing an elevated risk of the baby having Trisomy 18. I was in the car when she called, so I called Steve right away. I couldn't help but choke up. Monica told me Trisomy 18 affects the baby's development and most babies don't survive the condition. I was stunned. Every step of this pregnancy, we've had one "minor" complication after another, and each one has made Steve and I look at each other and ask, "When do we just get to be excited about this baby?"
Monica's office made the appointment with a specialist for us. Whitney made me promise not to Google "Trisomy 18", so we asked friends for prayer, and waited for our appointment. There are moments when every person "keeps all these things and ponders them in her heart". For me, one of those moments will always be the Sunday before our appointment with the perinatal specialist. I was pretty straight-faced when explaining to our class what was going on and asking them to pray. By this point, I had calmed down quite a bit; even thinking I had completely overreacted in my initial worry.
During our class time, though, Trey asked if the entire class could literally come around us and pray over us. I just lost it. I can't describe that moment adequately in words; it was overwhelming to not only release those feelings of worry, but also have our loved ones and adopted family surround us in tears and prayer. It is a moment I will keep in my heart forever.
We had our appointment with the specialist exactly one week from when we had last seen Monica. We were nervous, but felt ready to have it behind us. We knew some of the physical markers that the doctor would be looking for, so when the nurse did the initial ultrasound, both of us were focused closely on the screen. The first thing I noticed was that the baby didn't seem to be moving much. The nurse moved her sonogram wand over my stomach for a few minutes and then looked at us. "I have some concerns, but I want to get the doctor and see what he thinks." We asked her what she was looking for, and she said, "Well, I can't find a heartbeat..."
The empty, sinking feeling of anguish that goes through your mind and heart when you hear those words are unreal. I jut kept thinking, "This can't be happening again. We just had a miscarriage in March. This can't be right." As soon as the nurse left, we collapsed. We sobbed. We held each other. When Dr. Nathan walked in, we just knew. It turns out that our original due date was correct and the baby was not developing properly. We were 18 weeks into our pregnancy, but the baby was only measuring at 16 weeks. Even though we had heard her heartbeat only a week ago, something must have already been wrong.
Dr. Nathan told us that since we were so far along, I needed to be induced and asked if we wanted to do it that afternoon. I knew we were not ready for that emotionally, and as a mother, I knew I wasn't prepared to be away from the girls for two days. I needed to plan a little. I needed to feel more ready. The girls had been at Emily's for a few hours, so I called Whitney to go get them and take them to her house. I knew Steve and I needed to go back to a quiet house and process...
Wednesday was our "pause" day. I was able to honestly tell people I was "okay"; I got my hair cut, we spent time with Trey and Whitney, we hugged our girls, and we packed for the hospital. My parents arrived on Wednesday night, which was a huge weight off of our shoulders. My mom would be coming to the hospital with Steve and I, and dad would be at the house to help Mel with the girls.
Thursday morning was surreal. We woke up at 4:30 in order to be at the hospital at 5:00. We walked into Labor & Delivery with a small baby bump, knowing we wouldn't be walking out with a baby. I changed into a hospital gown and we waited. And waited. I can truly say we were in a healthy place. We knew this day was going to end in overwhelming sadness, but I just couldn't mourn for twelve hours straight. I couldn't lay in a hospital bed and cry for so long when a part of me already knew she was gone. We wanted to see her to be able to say goodbye.
God's grace had carried us this far. And when this day was over, He had filled our hearts with indescribable thankfulness. We had so many concerns, so many questions - the placenta was lower than it should have been, so there was a major concern that if it was covering too much of the cervix, I would have to have a C-section. I can't say strongly enough how badly I did not want a C-section. Not only because it almost guaranteed that I would need to have a C-section for future babies, but also because of the long recovery time and having two other children at home.
Our other major concern was whether the placenta would come out entirely on its own, or if it would have to be removed surgically with a D&C. Even medical websites describe the procedure as "scraping", and it just sounded horrible and violating. If the placenta only came out partially and the doctors didn't perform the D&C in time, they were concerned that I would hemorrhage and bleed out. We had prayer warriors in four different states and multiple churches covering us in prayer.
I wanted to labor on my own as much as possible; I was absolutely fine taking pain medication, but I really wanted to be able to deliver her without an epidural. I wanted to be aware of what was happening and I wanted to be very present when she finally came. I felt it would be cathartic to feel at least some of the labor and physically feel her come out.
Monica and the nurses were unbelievable. They did everything possible to make us comfortable. The doctor that was on shift with Monica was also incredible - answering all of our questions, covering us in prayer, and able to have a sense of humor when we needed him to. I'm sure they were sick of hearing me say, "I'm okay", but I really was. Whitney was in the hospital with us almost the entire time, and for most of the day, we just waited. The drug that they gave me to induce labor was inserted vaginally so that it would reach my bloodstream as quickly as possible. It also allowed me to move freely, without being connected to an IV. The pill that induced contractions was inserted every 6 hours, and they told us to expect it to not start working until we had at least two doses...12 hours.
We got our first dose at 10:00 AM, and settled in. Light cramping started within the first hour, but was extremely minimal for quite awhile and very low on my pain scale. Real labor started after dinner; it was very surreal to have the experience and pain be so similar to my natural labor with Evelyn. I guess we shouldn't have been surprised since this was natural labor, but Monica had told us that because of the baby's size, I wouldn't have to wait to be dilated to ten centimeters before the baby came; I would probably only need to be about 3 or 4. There was definitely the point where I was laboring on all fours and begging the nurse for drugs, which thankfully, she provided quickly. Monica and the nurses knew I didn't want an epidural and knew I didn't want to feel drugged when the baby came, so they gave me a drug that really helped me with the pain, but also allowed me to feel present.
We met our baby girl at 11:15 on Thursday night. Monica checked my cervix, asked I could bear down slightly, and I felt her slip out. I looked down and saw the smallest little body on the sheet. That was the moment of release I had been waiting for. All of my waiting and sadness and anguish and loss. All of the pain I saw when I looked into Steve's eyes. I finally felt like it could come out. I laid there and sobbed. My whole body shook on the bed as Steve leaned over me and sobbed with me. I knew Monica was moving and talking, but I didn't know what she was saying. I heard my mom crying and saw Whitney.
We cried and felt calmer. Almost relieved. Monica asked Steve if he wanted to cut the cord, which was no wider than a charge cord for our phones. Steve has always felt that this is a Daddy rite-of-passage, and he was thankful to have the opportunity to participate in the baby's birth in this way. We were still concerned about the placenta, but Monica waited a little bit to see what my body was doing, and then asked me to bear down and push again. The placenta came out smoothly and seemed whole.
Throughout this entire experience, God had proved His faithfulness. Every single request that we had asked family and friends to be praying for had been answered. My body hadn't gone into early labor until I got to the hospital, I didn't need to have a C-section, the placenta came out without any further complications, and the baby had been delivered on the first day, which meant our time at the hospital would be as short as possible. As the nurse took the baby to clean her up, we were overwhelmed by feelings of thankfulness. Only God could have protected us in this moment with His grace. There had never been a moment where we thought, "Where are you, God?" We knew He was there. The song, How Great Thou Art, had been in my head all week long, and we had no doubt that He was still great.
The nurse asked us what the baby's name was, and we said, "Her name is Lily." It had always been Steve's favorite choice when we had talked about girl names and it just seemed right. When the nurse handed us our Lily wrapped in a blanket, and everyone gave us a few moments of privacy, we once again had a flood of emotions. How do you say goodbye to a baby you just met? No amount of warning from the doctor or Monica prepared us for how she would look. Both of us still expected to see a chubby, little baby, just very tiny. It just wasn't true with Lily; it was clear that she had problems. I would have chosen to see her no matter how she had looked, but a part of me also wished I hadn't needed that moment to have closure. We closed the blanket again and focused on her little feet and hands. God had miraculously formed them just as they should have been, with little toes and little fingers. My mom, Whitney, and Mel came in eventually and were able to hold her and say goodbye. We kissed her blanketed head and handed her back to the nurse.
Because God is merciful and gracious and good, I believe He also gives us moments of joy and humor in the midst of excruciating pain. One of those moments was when we were all sitting on the bed, looking at Lily's little body, and all of a sudden, I said, "That's a penis." All I could think of was, "What are we going to say? What are we going to tell people? We're already going through this terrible trauma and everyone knows we were having a little girl!" I looked at the group around me and said with a completely straight face, "This stays in this room. We have a girl." (Which, of course, was ridiculous. How could I have expected to keep that to myself? I'm also a little surprised that Whitney didn't laugh out loud at this point, because you could tell by the look on her face that she thought I had permanently lost my mind.) Thankfully (dear Lord, thankfully!), the nurses checked her little body and confirmed that Lily was a girl; some of her parts were just very swollen from the birth. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, and said to myself, "We have a girl. Her name is Lily."
Handing her little body back to the nurse was an emotional moment, especially for Steve, because we had to tell the nurse whether or not we wanted to see Lily again before we left the hospital. We knew we had been given our moment to say goodbye and that we were feeling unexpectedly fulfilled, but how do you say the words that you don't want to see your baby again? That you're okay leaving her at the hospital and going home without her? Everyone knows it's not "okay"; that it's not normal and it goes against every instinct you have as a parent. But you still have to say the words.
We were settled into our recovery room by 2:00, early on Friday morning. Everyone else had left and it was just Steve and I. We were stunned by our feelings of thankfulness and closure. We know (and have already experienced) fresh moments of grief and tears. We miss Lily; we ache for the baby girl that should still be growing inside of me. But we are thankful. For friends and family who surrounded us in unimaginable ways. For the friends who were praying for us and crying with us, even when they didn't know what to say. For those who sent flowers and brought dinner and texted us their love. For God's protection over my body when so many things could have gone wrong.
On the morning of our doctor's appointment with the specialist, Steve's mom and dad had texted us a Bible verse; "You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in You." Isaiah 26:3. That verse has been in my mind ever since. I can't say that my peace has been perfect, but it has been present. We have been blessed with two beautiful little girls who are a constant reminder that life has to keep going. We have a group of family and friends that has mourned with us and loved us and walked through this valley with us every step of the way.
On Sunday, we will have a short service at our home and say goodbye. It will be a small group and very simple. My prayer is that this is a moment of peace and joy for us, a time of healing for Steve and I, and a chance to once again, say goodbye.
To all of you who have cried with us and prayed for us, thank you so much for your prayers.
We love you.
Saying hello and goodbye to our baby girl.
Lily Wires
August 22, 2013
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