Life Has A Way of Unraveling (Part 1)

This is an excerpt of what I wrote one year after Parker was born and buried.  At the time I wrote this, I was carrying our second child.  This is part one.

It was quiet. The monitor sounded no noise, not even the usual sound of fluid. I started to cry as Adam rubbed my arm. She searched. She couldn't find his heart beat but remained poised, professional, and genuinely kind. She explained what was happening and said "I am concerned, just like you, but I'm going to have them bring down a new machine so we can get a better look." They tried a different machine, then another...After several attempts on various equipment, it became surreal. A different technician with a huge machine came in, performed yet another scan and silently shook her head no at the nurse. The technician put her hand on my knee and said, "I am so sorry for your loss."  That was the first of thousands of 'I'm sorry’s' we would hear. 

And life was unraveling.  Marked and marred…broken.

She left. We then waited for the doctor to come in. It was around this time that I realized the other mother who had been in the triage room when we arrived was gone...I don't know when they moved her out of the room but I realized she was gone. I suddenly felt very unworthy, unmotherly even, but I missed her being there. The doctor came and did one final scan, checked me, and delivered the news.

The next hour was filled with technicalities -- notifying family, changing out of the hospital gown to regular maternity clothes, and discussing with the doctor when to return for induction. I noticed my back was still hurting from when we had first arrived at the hospital and now it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I knew I was panicked but I don't think it showed, not entirely, at least, on the outside. 

We went home.

I was walking around, with a full-sized, 40 weeks and 2 days, pregnant belly…and inside, there was no life.  I felt like a tomb. 

We hadn't made a decision about when to return to be induced, but I knew, secretly in my heart, I wanted one more night. I loved being pregnant. Everything, seriously, EVERYTHING, had been perfect. I was the one who would have been ok with going two weeks past our due date...I loved the time I had with him.

My back was hurting more. Adam rubbed and called labor & delivery. We followed their recommendations and I took a bath and two tylenol. We had three couples from church visit us – one of whom was and is an obstetrician. After two of the three had made their exit, Dr. Moore and his wife Lisa stayed. At least another hour passed. My back continued to hurt. Dr. Moore suggested we return to the hospital. He asked permission to put his hand on my tummy...I said sure. He then proceeded to inform us that they could make me comfortable until we decided to induce. I kept shifting and moving but could not find a position that relieved my back. By this point I was extremely uncomfortable. Dr. Moore continued to urge us to go back just to let them help relieve some pain. We eventually agreed, but because of how the morning had gone, I told Adam he should shower before we went back. Dr. Moore and Lisa stayed with me while he showered. I changed clothes and grabbed a couple of last minute items.

When we arrived back to the hospital, we found out Dr. Moore had made several phone calls, informing the hospital, ER, and Labor and Delivery that we were coming back. They sent us straight back, skipped registration and said they'd come register us later but that we needed to go directly to the women's unit. Being a Sunday, the hospital was fairly empty...I don't think we even saw one person until we called the nurse's station from the red phone outside the wing. I still felt really uncomfortable.

They put us in a large room towards the back corner. After a check they told me "you're a good 7." By 8 my water broke. I told our nurse that Dr. Moore said we could go back to just be comfortable and that we could still wait to be induced. Kindly touching my wrist, she asked "why would we want to wait?" I explained that my parents lived out of town and that I wanted to wait until they could come. She stopped talking to me and looked at Adam...she asked "where is mom? Is she already on her way? Is she in town?" I didn't listen to Adam's answer but I realized that this might already be happening and that we might not have the choice to wait. I had no idea I was already in labor...yes they told me I was a 7 when we got back, and yes, we were admitted to the LABOR & DELIVERY unit. All the back aches and difficulty finding a position I attributed to my body panicking from the news we'd received just hours earlier. Within an hour I had gone from a 7 to 10, but because Parker was gone, he had floated upward; they had me sit up in the labor chair for a couple of hours to allow gravity to help. In that time, we were asked about a funeral home and pulled an outfit from his diaper bag for him to be buried in. We were asked a series of other questions...autopsy or not? Who did we want in the labor room?  Blood work on Parker?  Blood work on me?

We answered each as ONE--looking to Adam and him looking to me for answers to questions we were totally unprepared for. 

No parent should have to plan their child's funeral. It is chronologically out of order. And yet, here we were, making decisions as Parker's parents, about his final arrangements before he had even been born. Baffling and bitter but the task was ours.

In that final hour before delivery, we saw family and had a few visitors. At 8pm on August 19th, I started pushing and by 8:19, Parker was born. Dr. Cross delivered and upon our request, they took him to bathe him before we saw him. Shortly afterwards, we met our beautiful baby boy. He was perfect and just looked like he was sleeping. Adam held him first. Then me. We spent time with him. I cried and wiped my tears from Parker's face. I remember telling myself to study him...notice his nose and ears. Look at his hair and every aspect of his physical self because this was my only opportunity to know my son outside of my body. "Study him," I told myself, "pay attention!" Then a nurse came to take him and a man from the funeral home wrapped him up in a cloth.

Family and friends started to pour in once he was gone. Both of us in complete shock didn't realize what had just transpired. There were tears but they seemed to be short compared to what came in the days, weeks, and months after his birth.

I can't say for sure why, but I believe in situations like ours, there is a measure of grace and protection the Lord affords...and for us, I think the measure was great. It puts one on coast, able to feel, experience, and remember but surreal and protective. Minds can only comprehend so much pain and hearts can only take so much. It started sinking in overnight. Sleep seemed to come to Adam without much effort, but I laid in the bed with my thoughts that wouldn't shut off. I thought about the fight we had had just days before because I was worried his birthday would fall at the beginning of the school year. I thought about the petty complaints I had made about heart burn. I looked at my sleeping husband and lost it...I had one SINGLE job and 9 months to do it -- GET PARKER HERE SAFELY -- failure, disgrace to my husband, embarrassment and loss were all feelings that seemed to flood my night but nothing so present as the monumental absence of our son. I would pull myself together, demand that I stop crying, and then I would look over and see Adam again. Waves of emotion continued every hour and I never found sleep. 

The days following Parker's birth were the MOST DIFFICULT DAYS OF OUR LIVES. 

The day I was released from the hospital, Adam brought me home, I showered, and we headed to the cemetery. We stopped at the funeral home, and we made calls to those who would help attend to the service. We picked out a casket...the flowers for his spray...his plot...and songs for the service. These are not the typical activities of brand new parents.

We set a date. August 25, 2012 would be the day we would bury our firstborn. The week ensued and despite my desperation, the days kept coming, flipping by, one by one. I didn't want even one day to pass without him. 

THESE WERE THE MOST DIFFICULT DAYS OF OUR LIVES.

I remember feeling obligation to say something in a semi-public way but what words are appropriate in such circumstances? Words were insufficient and lacking. I felt suffocated by my grief. My husband alongside me, I think he felt the same way too. 

The day before we laid Parker to rest, I went in to see my doctor. She told me the results had come back and that she knew what had happened. She asked if I was ready to know or wanted to wait. I started to cry and nodded yes. She said that the results indicated "infarction" or, in words I could understand a "cord accident." I didn't then but I quickly developed a disdain for the word "accident." She said it was the most definitive and clearest report she had ever received and, that out of all the possible outcomes, this was the best. The best? I wondered... My definition of "best" was clearly different from hers. She said all the other outcomes could have meant a higher risk of a similar outcome in future pregnancies if we ever chose this path again. This one only meant there was a 13% chance of a repeat occurrence. "WOW" I thought, 13% seems like too much of a risk. A risk I thought we would never consider again. But I will say, that as I'm typing this at 29 weeks pregnant with our second child, risk is only measure of that which has value. In the time following our loss, I realized I would not trade anything for the time we had with Parker. His life changed me. His death changed me. I couldn't go back to who I was before (and why would I) because now, I was Parker's mom -- beyond infinite value, our baby existed and his life mattered and matters. I wasn't prepared for the battles, both private within myself, jointly with Adam, and publicly that we would face. Our marriage was tested. Our individual resolve and commitment refined. It wasn't pretty. Some days harder than others. Anger came to our home and at times, felt like it would never leave. Family struggled to support us and meet the unbearable needs we had. Time did not and does not make things easier. Losing Parker does not get better or easier. I am thankful for him. I am thankful for the Lord giving us the opportunity be his parents. And now, I am grateful for our second child, Parker's younger brother who has yet to be born. The risk is great but the reward we are already reaping. These two boys, distinct and separate in their own right, have a place in our family. Life begins at conception, not at first breath. I don't understand God's sovereignty and that's ok, because I don't have to. He is who He is--unchanging and steadfast. I am thankful to Him who gave Parker life, and, on this weekend, the anniversary of Parker's birth - the anniversary of our loss - I praise Him for who He is. Only by His grace...