I called the L&D unit to see who all was working that day and night. I knew my friend Ashley would be there, and thankfully, she answered the phone. Ashley was Cohen's delivering nurse, and also a friend and former co-worker of mine. I will never forget that phone call. It was the first time I verbalized Mollie's death out loud. And the raw emotion that could be felt through the phone was palpable. Even if a mother has never experienced a loss, a mother can always still imagine the pain and suffering... heartbreak... involved in losing a baby. The silence and then obvious gentleness in the voice on the other end of the phone was enough to say, "my heart is breaking for you". And I needed that, in that moment.
I asked Chelsea to call and tell my parents what had happened and let them know we were coming over.
We got there. I remember them both standing, waiting in the kitchen for me. They both were crying. Obviously. My dad gave me a big dad-hug. I sat down and kinda talked through it. Cohen sat on my lap and cuddled me. And then I went and laid down and cried until it was time to go.
My dad took Cohen and I to meet Derick, Jake, and Shaina on the road. We had to get the trailer back to Derick's parents and get on our way back to BA. Shaina drove the boys in my car. Derick and I rode back together in his truck. We talked a bit about what was going to happen and what our plans were. I know I verbalized several times that I NEVER wanted to be pregnant again for fear of going through this again.
We made it home. We all started picking up around the house and getting it somewhat presentable for my parents, who would stay the next 2 days with the boys, while Derick and I were at the hospital.
The rest of the night, I really do not remember well.
We got to the hospital around 10pm where they were expecting me. I was met by Julie, who is also a former co-worker and dear friend. (really, she's such a genuinely good human being) Julie is a mom of 5 boys. Again, a mom is a mom and we all deeply feel the pain of another mother when she's lost like that. Julie greeted me with little to no words, as there really are none, and instead just embraced me in a big ole hug. And that's pretty much all a grieving mom needs in those moments. She skipped all the regular stuff at the front desk and immediately took us to our room, where she did everything she needed to do there, so we could avoid having to chance seeing a pregnant person happily waltzing around. That was really the first of many things the staff went out of their way to do to make things easier on us, as grieving parents. They also had an extra bed in the room for Derick to sleep on, instead of having to sleep on the little pull out chair. This is not uncommon of them to do in special situations like these. And it is actually very common of one of my former weekend nights cohorts, Cathy, to make sure and do for special situations. She was always very attuned to the small details like that. It was just a small touch that, even though Cathy was never my nurse during that stay, it was a little act I knew she was probably responsible for making sure was taken care of.
Once settled into our room, our admitting nurse, Alisan, came and got us situated for the night. I pretty much had my mind made up of how I wanted things done. And everyone was more than willing to do whatever they could to make it happen.
I wanted it to go as fast as possible, and I wanted to be as out of it as possible.
When your body isn't ready to have a baby, it really takes a long time to get the baby out.
The details still remain pretty foggy to me... one, because I did choose to stay drugged up, and two, because I was in such a state of shock. I know that night I requested an Ambien to get a decent sleep and that I wanted to start the cervical ripening process in the early morning. Pretty positive we started that around 5 and I got a good bit of sleep. That day, Sunday, is very much a blur. I know Shaina was there some because she went and got my mom and brought her to visit and then took her back to my house. I know I went all day getting Cytotec every few hours to try and get my cervix to respond. Ashley was my nurse during the day, that day. I remember getting meds at some point, which were legit and I would absolutely recommend to every woman faced with having to labor, and vaginally deliver a dead baby, to accept all painkillers, or anxiety medication offered to you. Why on this earth would you want to feel that, if you could avoid it? You're already in the worst pain, emotionally, that a mother's heart could possibly bear.
Several of my friends were working that Sunday. At one point, I remember 3 of them being in my room together. Ashley, Trisha, and Dee Ann. Dee Ann and I were very close when I first moved to Tulsa and worked there on the unit. She was able to minister to me that day, in a way only God could have been responsible for. God used her own child-bearing time and heartbreaks endured over 30 years ago, to speak to my broken heart in that moment. It's still hard for me to give God credit for anything that really went down during that time, but it is very obvious that He made sure Dee Ann was there that day and the next (these people only work 3 days a week, so being there, and on a day they don't usually work, is kind of cool). Her role in the next month would end up being one of the most important ones. Someone I hadn't really talked with much in a couple years, but someone whom I knew deeply... And God was able to use her as an experienced grieving mother to begin walking me through those first days and weeks as a newly bereaved mother, starting right there in the hospital.
That night, I took another Ambien, and drifted to sleep. Jaime was my nurse that night. I know sometime during the night, the contractions started to hurt pretty bad, despite the pain meds I was getting. I really, really did not want to feel anything. I got my epidural around 5 that morning.
I remember going through all the motions and never really connecting completely with the fact that I was going to have to see my baby born too early, and lifeless in a few hours. I was sad. I cried a lot. But I was just so unprepared for those first moments of seeing her. But I do not honestly think it's possible to be prepared for that moment. Other than just to know... you cannot be prepared for it.
Shift change rolled around and it was Monday morning before I knew it. My sweet and dear friend, Shara, was working that day. I am SO thankful she was there and would end up being the delivering nurse.
When I talked Derick through how all this dead baby delivering stuff would go down, I told him that it is highly unlikely that a doctor would end up delivering. And that, in most cases this early, the baby just kinda slips out, once the cervix dilated enough.
Well, sure enough, like I'd said, just before 9 am, I started to get uncomfortable in my position. Shara helped me to sit up. She was helping me position my pillows, when I told her I thought I smelled amniotic fluid-a smell any labor and delivery nurse can identify immediately. I remember being a little bit silly from meds. I remember Derick and Shaina sitting next to my bed. I remember Shara pulling the covers back to check and see if my water had broke. And then I remember looking down and seeing my poor, tiny, 20 week baby girl's lifeless body halfway delivered. Shara took action very quickly. The air in the room immediately went from light to slow motion, somber, quiet...
Shara laid me back, had me very lightly push to get Mollie the rest of the way out. It really seemed like in one fell swoop, she called in a tech, had the doctor called, had me laid back, and had me gently push. Dee Ann was in the room in seconds. Everything was a blur.
I had Derick or Shaina make phone calls or texts to make the appropriate people aware and get people there that I needed/wanted there. I wanted pictures to remember every single detail of what was to occur in the next few hours. Shara asked me if I wanted to place Mollie on my chest. I am so glad she did. That was the only time I ever felt my baby girl's warm body on mine. From there on out, she would be ice cold every other time we saw her.
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