Birth Story, Part 1: The earth falls off its axis.

I never really felt the need to write this. I have always just written my emotions as they came to me and the events in the aftermath as they occurred. But as the months pass, I've put together more and more pieces and had more and more memories as I've talked to different people who were with me on July 30 and 31, 2009. Sentences I muttered myself that I dont remember saying until someone says it back to me. And now that my mother is back in town for the first time since August, she has reminded me of some things I had forgotten, too.

Very early on, I found lots of blogs of other mothers who had been through the same type of loss of their newborns, either right before or at full term, or right after birth. And I was always drawn instantly to a link that stated in some words or another "The Birth Story.." Often they had a title.. such as the holiday it happened on, or simply just harsh and raw words to describe the moment they were dealt the news it was all over, or the heartbreaking final farewell. The day before the loss, the dream shattered, the devastation, the devastation continues, the actual birth after death, the winter solstice, a night with the baby, saying goodbye. It's simply heartwrenching, gutwrenching, mindwrenching, soulwrenching, each story itself. They are eerily similar and yet completely unique.

On Wednesday, July 29, my best friend was 26 weeks pregnant and had just been put on bedrest early that week because she was dangerously effacing and having terrible pain that was probably nothing other than contractions. This was extremely frightening and her doctors held on tight to the hopes that she could just make it to 28 weeks, a much safer milestone. She had originally planned to come to my house that day to have lunch with my mother and me. Instead, my mother and I went to her. We got bagel sandwiches, juice, cookies, and stopped at Target to try to find Grey's Anatomy DVDs for her (since she'd missed most of last season). The person at the bagel place said "look at you! you're having a boy, right?!" I said "no, it's a girl, but she's breech, so I guess she sits differently in my stomach..?" She said "oh, ok, hm, when are you due?" and I said "Friday." It was 2 days away. I was thrilled. She gave the usual well wishes and we were on our way.

We had lunch with my friend and she was so sick. She was pale, exhausted, in pain, and threw up all the yummy lunch we had provided her. Kathlyn was kicking along nicely all day. I remember that very clearly. Kathlyn was usually a very quiet baby; she never kicked much at baseline. This was one of her more active days, but nothing that would make me think back that she was kicking so much that she was in distress.

I felt terrible for my friend and didn't want to leave her, so we waited until her husband got home so she wouldn't have to be alone. I was praying so hard that everything would be ok with her baby. Little did I know how starkly our situations would flip-flop. She held tight and was born pink and screaming at almost 41 weeks, 3 months later, after being so afraid they would have a preemie on their hands.

I don't remember what I did for much of the rest of the day. I know I spent time on facebook because I posted a final pregnancy picture of myself in the 11 o'clock hour that night. It was from the Friday before, in scrubs, from my last night at work. I know whenever I sat on the computer, I did kick counts. She just had to be ok. I would have noticed if she wasn't kicking.

Just after midnight, there is a comment posted on that picture that I made in response to someone else. I left a status update with the lyrics to "One Day More" from Les Miserables, because I always have that song in my head when I'm one day away from anything significant. I wanted to go into the attic to search for a photograph of myself with a pacifier in my mouth, clutching a baby doll. I wanted to post it and state "I have wanted a baby since I was a baby, and finally I'm there!" But, my mother was already asleep upstairs, so to search around in the attic would wake her.

So I went to bed, just after midnight.

I laid down on my left side like a good little pregnant girl, allowing my placenta to properly flow to my daughter for the second to last night. As I got comfortable, Kathlyn shifted heavily inside me. It felt like real movement: I have questioned whether she had already passed and this was the weight of her dead body moving and settling inside me to a new position, but no, I don't think so. It felt like her head was trying to move. I said "whoa, baby, are you trying to turn?!" We had hoped she would change to head down to avoid the c-section. But at this point, I had accepted it and was ready. I feared having to be induced and go through the work of labor. The turning stopped. I got comfortable. I went to sleep. Blissful.

Was this a last gasp? Was this an attempt to leave the breech position and go head-down? Did this shift cause my precious baby to settle on top of her life line, her umbilical cord, and strangle the underwater breath out of her?

Oh, my little Katie. What happened?

I woke up to my alarm 8-9 hours later, and I remember being surprised that I was in the same position. I slept soundly, and did not get up to pee at all, normally an every 4 hour event. This dawns on me now, she had probably passed away early on, and was not kicking at my bladder like she normally did. I can't help but worry that this 8 hour span in the same position was what killed her. If she was laying on her cord, she didn't stand a chance if I wasn't changing positions myself. It doesn't matter what you say. It doesn't matter if you tell me it's not my fault. I am just so mad at my body and if you haven't had a stillborn, you have no way of understanding, so please don't try. Please don't attempt to convince me otherwise. If your children died under your care, you would blame yourself too.

I got dressed into maternity shorts and a blue and white striped Gap Maternity shirt with a cute cowl-neck, that has since been thrown away. I never want to see, let alone wear, that shirt ever again. I dont remember if I was wearing my denim or my khaki shorts, so I still have them. If I knew which one, I would have chucked them too.

John was asleep and was scheduled for court later that afternoon. My mom was taking me to my appointment, as she had on Tuesday when I had my near 10th NST, passed without a hitch. At 10:45, I was supposed to see the doctor, go over last minute details, and sign consent for surgery. At 11:30, I would go to the hospital L&D side to register and have pre-operative bloodwork drawn.

I peed into a cup. I was weighed. My blood pressure, typically perfect, was around 140/80. The tech said "your blood pressure is elevated..." Didn't really bother me. Nerves for surgery, maybe. Was this part of the process? My body responding to the lifeless human inside that I was no longer just a womb, but now a walking tomb for? Can't you just see the dark cloud behind me? Is your heart racing? It's like a bad horror movie where you already know the ending. You know the murder is going to happen, the girl's going to get raped, the plane's going to crash, the world is going to explode, the earth will shake, the train will wreck, someone's going to die, but you still hold onto the edge of your seat, hoping it might turn out differently.

I remember thinking in the days before that every time I went to the doctor the past 2 months or so, I had an NST or an ultrasound, so I never really saw much of a doppler at all. I remember thinking, I wonder if they'll do the doppler or if because it's one day away, maybe they won't. I hope they do. Just so I think everything's ok. Why would I think that? Why wouldn't everything be ok? Who needs a heartbeat check, this baby's arrival tomorrow is imminent!

I was handed a clipboard to sign consent for the c-section and in walked the tech with the doppler. Where's baby usually? "Oh, her head is right here (pointing to my right side), so this is where they find the heart rate." Hm. Nothing. Let's try the other side. Oh, no way. That's where her legs are. Nothing. I made eye contact with my mom. I'm thinking, silly doppler. Those things are so cheap. There it is! "No, I think that's my heartbeat." 80-90. The tech said, "no, that's baby's. Uhh. I think they're gonna want you to have another NST." I made eye contact with my mom again. The tech left. I was told later, she told the nurse that baby's heartrate was way down. No kidding. If her heartrate was 80, that's dangerous. I said to my mom "that was MY hearbeat." She nodded.

I signed the paper on the clipboard. Yes, I understand that you can die from any type of surgical procedure. Elizabeth B Davis, July 30, 2009.

Into the next room with a nurse I had met many, many times before. I have since developed an extremely close personal relationship with her.

38 weeks and 6 days into my pregnancy, I hopped clumsily up onto the NST table. She placed the monitor onto my left side (but that's where her legs are!) because that is where the tech had found what she thought was Kathlyn's dangerously low heartbeat. Nothing. She said she wasn't going to strap it on yet like they normally do, she was just going to find the heartbeat first. Nothing. I think I pointed to the right and said "this is where she is.." That's where she ALWAYS was, for every single NST. Nothing. This nurse has told me that she instantly knew the truth. She had done this for many many years. Gone not only was the heartbeat, but the swishing placental sounds. It was all over. She hid it well. She left the room to tell the doctor. She has also told me since that in the hall, she gave the doctor a knowing look. It's bad. It's over. No heartbeat. The baby is dead. But she came back into the room and said, with nominal cheeriness, "we're going to try to find the baby's heartbeat with ultrasound!" Time to walk down the hall to that room. She really was a good actress. I was not going to believe that my baby had no heartbeat. It just simply wasn't an option. She's healthy and I'm full term and there's been no indication of this. Hopped clumsily up onto table number 3. The nurse asked the US tech "can I stay...?" I let out a sigh. She said "are you ok?" And I said "why is she doing this?!" And she said "well, maybe everything's ok.." Between that statement and the one asking if she could stay in the room for support as if the largest elephant shit was about to hit an industrial sized fan, I was starting to really worry. She placed the wand on my belly. I looked for the EKG type strip that normally shows up at the bottom on the screen. Please, where's that strip. Where?! No strip. No words. I could see the shape of my baby's head, looked like it moved. Oh, hope! She's moving! Well, no, the force of the wand probably just moved for her.

Brace for it. It's coming. The US tech in a moment she probably doesn't consider to be one of her finest. "I'm sorry. There's no heartbeat."

I'M SORRY. THERE'S NO HEARTBEAT.

I'M

SORRY.

THERE'S

NO

HEARTBEAT.

My memory fails me. I know my hands went to my forehead. I know my mom threw down my purse and hers onto the chair next to her, with a monstrous bang, the nurse moved out of the way after letting out a gasp (even though it was no surprise to her), and my mom tried to hug me but I had no interest in receiving such a hug. My memory tells me that I said "WHAT?!" once, and then a combination of sobs of "why" and/or "how" over and over again. But my mom says it rings in her head very clearly that I said "what" three times. Loud, but not a scream. "WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?" I remember thinking and I'm glad I didn't say outloud, does that mean she's dead? Does that mean we can't save her? My heart is still beating (wonders never cease)... so can't my circulation help her? She's full term. There's got to be something we can do?!

No.

There's nothing you can do.

I remember the nurse saying "I'll get Dr. Rollins" and Dr. Rollins arriving very quickly. That doctor has also since told me that she held my chart in front of her, the world was closing in around her, and she could concentrate on nothing else but hoping that the baby was just hiding and that it wasn't true. She wondered how she would break the news to me, but then she didn't have to, because the tech already had. I asked how or why (don't remember) this happened? Dr. Rollins, exasperated, said "I don't know..." and that we couldn't have predicted this. With help, I sat up. My hands to my forehead again, elbows on my knees, I was looking at the wood floor. Wake up, please, this can't be true. I'm not looking at the wood floor with my remains and that elephant shit scattered all over it. I'm in bed. I'm asleep. It's time for my appointment. Get up, and let's go. We're having a baby tomorrow. One last appointment today before the actual birth on the 31st.

No such luck. Still to this day, I want to wake up back that morning around 9:30 and start over.

I asked for my phone. I had to call John. How on earth or in heaven or in hell am I supposed to tell my husband that our daughter is dead...

Really. How does one do that?

Like this:

Pray that he answers the phone, number one. He hardly ever answers his phone when he's asleep. But he did. He describes me on his own blog as calm but somber. John, I don't know what happened, but you need to come here, there's no heartbeat. He was confused. Where are you? What appointment? What? What happened? I remember feeling frustrated. I'm at the doctor's office, obviously. I had a pre-op appointment, but what on earth/heaven/hell does that matter at this point, she's gone, just come!

We were moved into an office, with a few chairs and a large desk. The wait for John was excruciating. My mom and I sat silent. I felt what I thought was baby kicks. I looked at my phone, 30 minutes had passed. I called John again and he was about to enter the elevator downstairs. He should be there in just a minute. He said he went up to the desk and was tapping his finger, saying something about being here to see his wife. He was holding it all in, the floodgates, as he had done at the house, getting dressed, feeding the dogs, and then driving over. The door to this office was open this whole time, and I heard soemone open the door to the waiting room and say "Mr. Davis...?" and the called him into where I was. He burst into tears at the site of me. He kept saying "that was our daughter.."

I remember saying "I guess we'll have a funeral" and my mom said instantly with conviction "yes.." and then looked at John and backed down, as if she shouldn't be the one answering or making decisions, but John of course said yes too. Dr. Rollins came back into the room. She had reviewed the NST from two days before to see if anyhing had been missed, and it hadn't. I said "how often does this happen?" and she said "it's extremely rare" and my mom with a frustrated sarcastic voice (unlike my mom) said "of course." She is simply tired of the repeated lightning that has struck our family the past few years. I don't really know why the doctor said it was extremely rare. 1 in 140 isn't rare if you ask me. It's quite common. But that is besides the point. Dr. Rollins has a heart of gold. She wasn't on call later that night, but she insisted it was her responsibilty to deliver this baby. She was "in it". She delivers the news, therefore she delivers the baby. I appreciate that so much. She stated that there was the "issue of the delivery." Our options were to go home... come back tomorrow to have the c-section as scheduled. Some people like to go home and gather their thoughts. Wait for the baby to come on its own. Or I could have the c-section tonight. Or I could try to deliver, but because she was breech that could be "quite difficult." The decision was almost instantaneous.. I want to have the baby now. She said "have you eaten?" and my sweet, flustered, crying husband said that he hadn't eaten yet today. I rubbed his knee and said "she means me, because of surgery" and he said he was so sorry, that he's just not thinking clearly and we all in unision told him that's ok. I had eaten breakfast around 10am. So I had to wait 7-8 hours for surgery. We would make our way over to L&D. Dr. Rollins would call and tell them at the nurse's station that I was on my way. The charge nurse and nurse manager would all be aware.


John called his parents who were on the highway in route. He told his father the baby had died, and his father said "bummer." John said "that is the understatment of the year."

I called Travis, our pastor. He was across the state helping load a moving truck. I think I ruined his day. (That is another understatement of the year.) I think my conversation with Travis was similar to the one I made with John. I said "I don't know how to tell you this... we don't know what happened but the baby's gone, there's no heartbeat." And I think he said something like "are you serious?" first, because I clearly remember him saying "well I know you wouldn't joke about that..." He told me he was in Raleigh, but that he'd be back in Charlotte later that night. I said.. "Well, I'm having her tonight. I guess we'll just call you in a few hours." And he said "yes, ok Beth, just call me in a few hours." And John wanted to talk to him, so I handed him the phone. I don't really remember what was said between them. John was still crying. John cried for 3 days straight. And honestly, not that many more times at all since then.

We walked to the cars. As I walked through the waiting room, I remember feeling embarassed amongst the other pregnant women in the waiting room. My baby is dead, and theirs arent. I look sad, and they dont. They probably wonder why I look sad. I wish I was them. No one wishes they were me. Not ever again.

We had to drive across to the parking lot on the other side where L&D is located. It's a short drive, just around the hospital, but I had to choose between my mother's car and John's. I dont know why, I chose my mothers. I dont like that she's alone since my father died. John had already driven alone, so he can do it again. My mom told me to go with John, but I went with her anyway. It worked out, because John took the oppurtunity to call his sergeant. He can't come to court. The baby is coming today instead of tomorrow, because she died. He said that his sergeant said similar to Travis, something along the lines of "you're kidding?!"

I am kidding, really. This is all a big joke. The cruelest joke in history, and I'm the butt.

It's no wonder the birth stories are always written in parts, because this is utterly exhausting.

Next time:
Calling my boss, the 3rd and final person I *ever* told on the phone, or in words at all. Each of the three people I told was male. I never once broke this news to a female, (until returning to work months later to surprised acquaintances who mistakenly stated "you had the baby?!" Why yes, I *did* have the baby. But...) Everyone else was told by someone else, or in writing via text or facebook.

The text message, which I have memorized, and so do most of its recipients.

The wait in the hospital room before surgery.

The birth.

The recovery, the photos, the mere 4 hours with Kathlyn.

The visitors.

The final goodbye.

The funeral.

The autopsy, and lack there of results.




....the aftermath, you've already become well acquainted with.

Thank you for reading.