http://www.today.com/parents/grateful-time-we-were-given-emotio
nal-delivery-room-photos-help-1D80133990
It's a really touching and beautiful story. However for me, I was a complete mess after reading it and began to write. So, I'm going to share with you a different version and outcome that might also help someone hopefully one day like I'm sure Daniella's story has.
On June 7, I dreamed that I saw my ultrasound tech in a parking lot, and she told me I was going to have to deliver my baby that week b/c I had cervical cancer. Yucky dream, right? I told Ben about my dream and he said that was really weird and messed up and I needed to go see a doctor. My appointment for the 20 week ultrasound was several days away and baby girl was kicking all over the place so I really honestly wasn't worried. I'd even had a dream several years ago when I was pregnant that the baby died, only to then to find out I actually did have a miscarriage at 12 weeks. But still, in my conscious world, I really wasn't worried.
I'm by myself at the appointment (Ben had some meetings) and the monitor shows her cute feet and hands moving all around, measurements looking good, heart looks perfect and then the tech gets to her head. It's apparent that it is not symmetrical, but I just think, no big deal, she's still growing... they grow at different rates, right? The tech puts her hand on my hand, and with her gripping eyes says, "I don't want to tell you the wrong thing, but I think your baby's skull is broken", I say, "Oh my God, that sounds horrible", (not really knowing what exactly she means) She looks back in a very concerning way and says, "yes, it's horrible, I don't want to tell you the wrong thing, so I want to get the doctors opinion". And then I say, "but the heart is fine right?" That is what I was concerned with, b/c of a previous pregnancy it was something we were keeping an eye on. She says "yes, the heart is fine". What a relief! I knew the harmony genetic testing all came back perfect and her heart was great, so I was feeling like the skull would be a little bump on the road.
The doctor comes in and they are discussing in medical terms to each other. I'm still not getting how serious the situation is, thinking my baby will need to heal and I'll do whatever to help. The doctor asks where my husband is and if he can come asap. I'm starting to cry and get scared at this point like a little child who's lost her mother and doesn't know where to go or what is happening. I call Ben to come, and tell him something is wrong with our baby. The nurse leads me to the doctor's office to wait and gives me her coat, I guess for comfort (certainly not warmth b/c it's June in the south). I remember looking outside of my doctor's window to our Charlotte skyline searching for a cross, crying and silently begging to see a cross. I never saw one. The nurse comes back in to get me and says Ben has arrived, they take me back to him and we embrace in front of a dozen nurses working and a couple patients. I become a big total crying mess. All the other nurses are trying to look away but it seems indicative they know it's a sad situation and proceed to put up their guard like they have to do. (As a side note, I have a great respect for our health care workers and the additional emotional demands required to do their work , especially the nurses who have to come in after the doctors leave during a bad scenario) We go in the room again to do another ultrasound and he shows Ben what is going on. I'm basically hyperventilating at this point and the doctor (ranked a top Obstetrician in Charlotte) says how he is so sorry and that with her severely fractured skull, she is not viable. Essentially, she was on life support in the womb was our interpretation. He then gently tells us that unfortunately b/c we live in the state of North Carolina, that I don't have much time to think about what to do in this situation, and that I need to make a decision THAT afternoon. SO, to boil it down for you with the information we were given, my choices were to deliver naturally when she comes (which is unknown) and then watch her suffer and take her last breaths, or to induce delivery within three days and then watch her suffer and take her last breaths, or to induce delivery and perform D&E under anesthesia for a palliative alternative for all parties involved. That doctor recommended the latter. Clearly, I was total wreck.
I tell them I need more information and I want to see my gynecologist (we were at the obstetricians office b/c I'm over 35) but my doctor is in another building. Ben and I walk through the parking lot to the other building and I have a huge melt down where I can barely walk and he's hugging me tightly. I tell him I'm tired of hurting and I just don't want to hurt again, that I can't make it. ( I had been suffering from some depression recently, coupled with pregnancy hormones and now this, I really didn't know how I'd survive). He tells me that we will get through this and it will get better and that we must have the procedure done b/c for us to go through anymore is to much to endure. I get to my doctor's office and she's not there, so I end up seeing a male colleague of hers who recommends the same thing as the obstetrician b/c it will help "close that chapter of my life". But really he can't even give much advice b/c they don't deal with these types of situations given of how far along I am, so I have to go to another group of doctors whom I've never met before.
The appointment with that doctor is later in the afternoon so I have to sit with my thoughts for a couple hours. My mother hasn't been able to answer my calls that morning and I didn't want to leave a message, so when I do get a hold of her, she drops everything and drives up. We meet the doctor and she instantly made me feel like I was in good hands. She said she spoke with my obstetrician and he recommended a medical termination. She said "this is the best decision you can make." Hmmm, I'm not really sure anyone should ever have to be in this position, but sadly it is more common than we think. I'm scheduled the next day to be induced, and again the following day.
During those two days, my baby is kicking away and I am like a typhoon of tears that won't retract. I read my "Jesus Calling", I prayed, I held the cross on my belly and sang "Jesus loves me" over and over and over. I stare up at the clouds. My 20 month old daughter, Josie, brings me joy, but somehow during this particular time she takes a new interest in her baby dolls. She wants to change their diapers and put blankets on them and dress them. A couple weeks prior to this point, she started coming up to me and pointing to my belly (and hers) and says "baby". It was so sweet, showing what a big loving sister she will be. I didn't want to talk to anyone, I send a vague text to my close friends and family, but do not talk to anyone except two warrior friends who walked a path much worse than mine. They saved my life. And hopefully I can return the favor to someone in need. My mom suggested calling the church, but I am scared b/c I truly think they will kick me out. I seriously thought people would not want to have anything to do with me. I was broken. My mother did what any mother would do, she got all kinds of people to pray for me. I would read the emails and was overwhelmed by all the mercy received.
I kept thinking I'd made the wrong decision but everywhere I turned, they said it was the best thing to do. After the two hardest days of my life I was having the procedure done under anesthesia. My doctor told me these things while I was being induced:
1) "you were basically struck by lightening"
2) "this is going to be the worst thing you will ever go through"
3) "you are making the very best decision given your circumstances"
4) "do not go to Target or get on Facebook for some time"
At the hospital, I approached each desk with my name and ID number, and I wondered what others were thinking while watching me weep. But no one looked me in the eye or said anything. I felt ashamed, defective and pulverized. The team came in to begin and I asked to see the chaplain, but his whereabouts were unknown. We waited about five minutes and I was concerned I was holding everyone up and felt bad, so after some time, I just asked my doctor to say a prayer. It was the most beautiful and sincere prayer that I've ever heard and I do not remember any of it, only the feeling that I was in God's hands. They moved me to surgery and placed me under anesthesia. Right before I drifted off, the anesthesiologist said, "do you know what you are going to dream of?" I was out.
When I arrived home, I undressed to get into bed. After 5 months of watching my belly grow (I was one of those weird girls who actually loved being pregnant and the big belly and all), and then to see it deflate in a few hours was mournful. I've yet to find a word to describe this type of emptiness.
Several hours later, I went outside to sit with Ben in the den. I said, "Do you know what happened when I was under anesthesia? I had a dream I was on the beach near the shore, with the most colorful picturesque view of the ocean, sky, sun and sand. About 20 feet away was my father, but, he appeared to be my age (not 66 when he died) and he was healthy and wearing a button down shirt w/ sleeves rolled up and khaki pants, he was walking toward the sun on the shoreline hunched down, holding my little girl's hand. She was older, maybe 2 or 3 and healthy and jumping along in the water wearing a light colored sleeveless dress that tied in the back at the waist. I only saw the back of her, but my father looked back toward me and it was as if he was affirming, 'I've got her, we are fine, and we will see you again'" Isn't that amazing! I can't even believe it while I'm writing it, and it's still as vivid today as it was when I dreamed it. However, there is much debate about REM while under anesthesia, so I like to say it is my Saving Grace from God in the midst of trauma. Katherine Kerr recently gave a sermon during the summer series "How do I accept faith when I feel so unworthy" to our congregation at First Presbyterian Charlotte and she said, "that God's love is not to be earned but received", this struck a chord with me and I often return to it when feeling depressed. We must be open to receiving all that we are given in life (good and bad) and know that there is purpose behind it and it is with love.
The days that followed were rough, my milk came in...I was not forewarned so when it happened it was a very deep emotional and physical pain. I suffered from a bad case of bronchitis due to the anesthesia tubes, which induced a bout of asthma, along with the terrible dark depression that followed. While I continue to grieve and mourn and have the ups and downs and regrets and intense remorse, I'm doing everything I mentally, physically, and spiritually know to grow from this. Regarding my first post, I hope that writing this will also help.
Elinor Joy Johnson is my daughter's name. We were going to call her "Nori". It means "light" and "joy" both of which she has brought me. They are also both family names of very, very special people to me. Her ashes currently rest on my bedside table wrapped in a swaddle blanket. On hard days, I hold her very tight. So, on Sept. 11, after reading the article, and seeing the beautiful images of the baby and wishing I had my own, I began to write this. Then, I remembered I did have a special picture in the midst of those dark days. I had my mother take a photo of my Josie hugging and loving on the baby in my tummy. I am so grateful for having that reminder and I will never "close that chapter" in my life.
