And There We Stood
Most people enjoy their Christmas Day with presents, family gatherings, a nice dinner, or even a quiet night at home, but for me it was different that year. I sat silently sobbing in my car alone as I pulled up to the cemetery. It had been one year to the day since my life changed forever, and it still felt like it was just yesterday. I gently fiddled with the delicately arranged pink and purple flowers in my hands as I waited for him to arrive. It was only a brief moment before I saw the headlights of his car light up the dark and mournful cemetery entrance. As I slowly walked to meet him at the gate I felt a powerful surge of emotions. It had been a year since I’d seen him, and I was confused and overwhelmed by the cascade of feelings. I felt I could just explode, but I took deep breath and felt the cold evening air fill my lungs which helped center me for the moment. We opened the gate and ambled our way to the one grave that seemed to bring a bit of cheer to the place with its mini Christmas tree sweetly lit with pink and purple lights. When we reached the grave site I again took a deep breath as I gingerly placed my color coordinating flowers on the cold damp ground. Then I closed my eyes, and I was back to where it all began.It was Christmas morning and I was back living with my parents since the breakup. What a terrible breakup it was. I mean, who breaks up with someone just months after finding out they’ll be having a baby together? Who breaks up with someone by defriending them on MySpace at that?! I was bitter and alone, but my parents were a huge help. God love them, but they will sleep in until noon on any day off they get. The whole house was asleep, but I was up intensely watching the clock on my bedside bookshelf. The red digital display was the only light on, and it seemed to illuminate my entire room. I stared for a good long while, and nothing was regular in terms of possible contractions, so figured I was having what I thought were gas pains. It was 5:00 AM, and I didn’t want to bother anyone with my tummy troubles, so I decided to get an early start to my day. I waddled my giant pregnant self to the restroom which was, thankfully, just down the hall. After doing my business my heart dropped to the floor. I was immediately in tears at the sight of the blood, and I called out for my mommy.
“Mom! Mommy! Something is wrong!” I fought to get the words out through my frantic sobs. She ran into the room and tried to gain some control of the situation even though I could see the panic starting to well in her eyes. “Get your shoes and coat,” she calmly ordered as she grabbed her keys, still wearing her Coca Cola jammies. We were out the door in less than 5 minutes, and my mom helped me navigate my way over the icy sidewalk into the car. She closed the door and turned on her hazard lights as she peeled out of the driveway. Once we hit the empty, early morning highway my contractions came out of nowhere and hit me like a ton of bricks. Every 5 minutes I grabbed the car door to brace myself for the pain, and my amazing mom talked me through each one, still cool as a cucumber. “Just breathe Sara, and relax. Tensing up will only make it worse.” I’ll never understand how she could remain so calm. It was a thirty minute drive to the hospital, but since it was early and my mom was driving like a bat of hell we made it in a record breaking twelve minutes.
We made our way to the labor and delivery floor straight away. There were so many questions that it was all a blur. They asked me why I was there and how far along I was in my pregnancy. I began to answer, “I had some bleeding this morning…” I winced in pain as a contraction hit me, “and I am only 23 weeks and 5 days along.” The look on the nurse’s face said it all; she was worried as well. I was checked in with no hesitation and led to my room by a nurse in cheery Christmas scrubs covered in candy canes and presents. The upbeat, festive nurse had me change into my fashionable backless gown and proceeded to strap me into all kinds of monitors and machines like some kind of medieval torture professional. I laid there rather uncomfortable as the itchy Velcro wraps held the rigid monitors to my already rock hard belly. I tried to lose myself as I watched the contraction monitor spike with little red hills every few minutes. It wasn’t long before the doctor came in to check me for dilation. I giggled a little on the inside as I felt like a thanksgiving turkey, but then her answer brought me back down to the harsh reality I was facing, “She is already 10 centimeters dilated.” That is when the anxiety set in. There was nothing they could do to stop my labor, and I was terrified.
We knew the baby would be born, and soon, so I figured it would be best to call her father and let him know. We may not have been together, but he was still her father, so I had my mom call him since I was still in shock and in immense pain. “Mom, please call Todd. He needs to be here!” As she was on the phone I let out a contraction induced scream that seemed to rattle the ugly beige walls. “He didn’t answer, but I left him a message,” she said with a very clear look of annoyance on her face. No surprise there, he hadn’t been taking my calls for the last couple of months. Even though it was expected I was still a little disheartened. “Maybe my crazy pregnancy yells will light a fire under his ass!” I was only half kidding when I uttered that under my breath.
Time seemed to pass like a raging bull, fast and uncaring of anything in its way. As much as the medical team tried, they could not keep the inevitable from happening, so they tried to make me as comfortable as possible for as long as I could take it. I tried to be strong and bear through the pain, but it rose in a striking crescendo only to climax with a loud scream. The doctor said it was time to discuss my options. “We don’t try to resuscitate babies born before 24 weeks, but since you are so close we want to do an ultrasound to measure the baby.” I reached for my mom’s hand, and she squeezed it tight as I buried my face into her hair. The sweet smell of lavender did nothing to ease my worried mind; it raced, filled with worst case scenario thoughts. They wheeled the ultrasound machine in and got to work. Seeing my daughter’s tiny body on the screen filled my heart with love and joy if only for a moment. “One and a half pounds.” the ultrasound tech announced. That was it, she met the cut off, and the doctor agreed to deliver and do everything they could for my baby. I let out a small sigh of relief.
With a breech preemie on the way we opted for a cesarean section in order to give her the best chance possible. My entire family had gathered in the waiting room, but I wanted my mom to accompany me into the operating room. Just then Todd rushed into the room with a look of guilt and terror on his face. I knew he should go with me, and he, with no hesitation, agreed. Everything was a mad rush as they pushed some medical scrubs into his hands and wheeled me away into the operating room. After my spinal block was administered they placed me on the cold slab of an operating table, and all I could do was shake. I was so scared and confused. When the procedure began to the time they pulled my beautiful doll like daughter out was a split second. They showed her to me for only a glimpse before they whisked her off to begin saving her life. I looked up at my baby’s father as tears welled up in my eyes, and nothing else mattered in that moment. “I’m so sorry,” was all he said as he choked back his tears.
Things were very hazy as I came to the realization that this was actually happening. This was real. My baby was fighting for her life. I laid in the recovery room impatiently waiting to see my daughter. As the pin prickly feeling in my legs came back I was allowed to go see her. A staff member took me down in a wheel chair to see my precious little gift, and the moment I laid eyes on her was bitter sweet. I had just given birth to a wonderful miracle, but seeing her with wires and monitors hanging off of every tiny perfect limb was jarring. I spent every waking moment by her side, fighting through the pain, and my groggy medicated state. All I wished for was to hold her in my arms, but in her condition it wasn’t an option. I spent the next day just staring at her with love in my heart and fear in my mind. As the day came to a close I went to bed for some doctor ordered rest.
Upon waking the next day the first thing on my mind was getting down to the NICU to see my little Leila. I went down with high hopes and was met with a somber NICU pediatrician. There were nurses and doctors in her pod rushing about like busy little worker bees, and I was so lost and out of place. I didn’t’ know what was going on, and all she told me that was that I should probably call my family. The waterworks started again, as I got on the phone to call my family and Todd. This time Todd answered on the first ring, “What’s wrong?! Is everything ok?” I knew it wasn’t good, and all I could do was cry at my baby’s bedside as the medical team worked around me with no interaction, as if I wasn’t even there.
We all gathered in a meeting room on the NICU floor, eagerly awaiting the news as to what we could expect. I tried to occupy my racing mind by looking at the smiling faces of the families in the photos on the walls. Families that seemed to stare back at me with hope and at the same time empty promises for a future that I knew was just out of my grasp. The doctor quietly walked in and sat down in front of me and Todd. “Your daughter has suffered a major brain hemorrhage. We’ve made her as comfortable as possible….” The flood gates opened, and the world stopped at that moment. I didn’t hear anything else, I couldn’t. Nothing could penetrate the sounds of my own crushing sobs. After what seemed like an eternity I was able to center myself and listen. “You can wait this out, but she won’t survive. We recommend removing life support, but it is your choice.” How can a parent make that choice? I don’t remember how we arrived at the choice to remove life support, that part is far too painful a memory to recall, but to ease her suffering it was what had to be done.
I walked over to her incubator for the last time. Looking at my tiny perfect daughter I was distressed. Just the day before she was strong and playful as she pulled her monitor wires between her toes every chance she got. Now as she laid there, sedated, she was so still and so peaceful. I wished I had the same feeling of peace, but the thought of what came next plagued my mind. I tried to fight back the thoughts as I spent my last few hours with her wanting to cherish every second of our fleeting time together. As I choked back the tears I was able to tell her, “I love you my sweet baby.” I sat in silence for the next few hours wishing this was all a nightmare, and hoping I would wake up.
The NICU nurses came in and started to remove her monitors and wires. As they worked to dress her and get her cleaned up Todd and my mom joined me in the room. We all sat at the foot of the bed as the whirring and beeping of her machines stopped one at a time. Even though the NICU was a loud and busy place everything seemed to stop as they laid my daughter in my arms for the first time. The nurses had dressed her in a white eyelet dress with a tiny blue flower at the collar, and she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was overwhelmed with conflicting feelings. I was overjoyed to be holding my daughter for the first time, but I knew this would also be my last which sent me into fits of uncontrollable weeping. With Todd at my side cupping her tiny head, and my mom there with her arm gently wrapped around my back I held my baby close as if the closer I held her the longer I would have with her. I slowly brought her up to my lips and softly kissed her forehead as I whispered, “I love you, and I will always love you.” I looked up and there stood the NICU doctor. She leaned in, stethoscope in hand, to listen for a heartbeat. As she looked at me a tear fell, and in that instant I knew that my baby was gone.
I opened my eyes, and yet again filled my lungs with the crisp winter air. In that moment I felt his hand grab mine. The familiar warmth and strong grasp were reassuring. I looked up into his eyes and saw the pain and the love that we both felt, and I fell into his arms. We stood there in silence at Leila’s grave, both missing our tiny perfect baby, both realizing that we lost our daughter but gained a better understanding of ourselves. We were stronger, closer, and forever bonded.
There we stood… forever changed.
