I arrived at outpatient labor and delivery at 5:15pm. The nurse told me to go back to the third room and wait; someone will be in to hook me up to the NST machine in just a few minutes. I waited for what seems like hours, thinking, "my baby could be dead or dying, what the fuck is taking so long?" It's ironic that's when I decided to get impatient, considering that I had gone from the morning until that second without taking any action whatsoever. I keep urging my belly to move, just a little. Let me know you're still in there, honey.
Two nurses finally came back. One puts the Doppler on my belly and tries to find the heartbeat. Nicolai was almost 5lb at this point (according to the previous week's ultrasound), and his heartbeat was never hard to find. She kept searching. I was hooked up to a heart monitor as well, and I watch my own heart rate rise exponentially with each second of silence on the Doppler. She still couldn't find it. I started hyperventilating. Suddenly, I heard a rapid heartbeat on the Doppler. "Is that him, is he okay?!!" "No, honey, that's your heartbeat."
The nurse call downstairs for the ultrasound machine. That terrible sinking feeling in my stomach grew worse. The doctor who did my NST at my OB's office 2 days before came in. He even remembered Nicolai's name when he saw me. I was laying on the table with the nurse beside me. The doctor was beside her, and the ultrasound machine was beside him. I didn't have a clear view of it at first, as they were obstructing my view. "He's okay, right? You can see him now, and he's fine, right? Right? Please say something, he's okay, right?"
I first knew that my baby had died when I saw the look on the nurse's face. She clenched my hand. I jerked up and looked at the monitor, and saw what no mother should ever have to see. His little ribcage - calm, still, silent. No heartbeat. I screamed and let out a wail that could be heard throughout the floor. "My baby, NO, NO, NO, not my baby, please God, not my baby."
I felt my body slipping into shock. My own screams sounded like someone else's in my ears. I vaguely remember the nurses trying to hold me down so that I wouldn't fall off the table. I remember the doctor asking me, "Lisa, where is Natalie? Where is Daniel? Who do we need to call for you? You don't need to be here by yourself."
My husband wasn't there yet, but I knew he was probably en route. I knew my mom was on her way to our house. I knew that Natalie was at home. And I knew that my baby was dead. At that moment, that was all that I knew in the world. Time stood still.
I don't remember who I called first. Either my mom or my husband. All I was able to get out to them was, "The baby died. The baby died. Please come, I need someone here with me."
It was probably 15 minutes later that my husband arrived and collapsed in sobs on the table with me. The nurses and the doctor left us in that tiny room alone for a few short minutes. I don't remember what, if anything we said to each other. We communicated only in wails and sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I killed our son. He died inside me and I didn't even know it."
The doctor called my husband out of the room first to talk to him while the nurses tried to get my breathing stabilized. "Lisa, we have to talk now about what comes next. You and Daniel are going to have to make some very difficult decisions in the next few hours. We need to get Nicolai out of your body soon so that your own health is not jeopardized. We are going to need to induce your labor. Trust me when I say that you do not want us to cut him out of your body. You need to labor, as slowly and naturally as possible, so that minimal damage is done. Nicolai is almost a full term baby, and it is going to take a significant effort to birth him. It may be tomorrow night at this time before he is actually born."
I am not comprehending what he is saying to me. I am inconsolable. "Please, please do a C-section. Please, I need this to be over as soon as possible." I can't labor and birth him naturally knowing that he is dead. I can't even look at my big, pregnant belly. I can't touch it or lay my hands on it, knowing that inside of it is my my baby. Dead. My belly, which once housed life, has turned into a tomb. Attached to me. I can't get away from it. I can't remove it. It is a part of me now.
My own heart rate continued to skyrocket. My chest physically and severely hurt. Then the idea dawns on me, "What if I'm dying too? What if the unseen horrible blackness that took over inside and killed my baby is now killing me too? What if its deadly poison is slowly sinking into me now?" Again, I become terrified. "You can't do anything to me - you can't give me anesthesia, you can't give me any drugs, I'm dying too! I can't give birth right now! Don't you see that? I can't breathe, my heart feels like someone is slicing through it with a hot knife!" I shouted this to the doctors. My subconscious was trying, in any way possible, to keep baby Nicolai safe and warm inside me, and not thrust into the cold, dark world that awaited him. My body did not want to let him go.
No comments:
Post a Comment