Jackson's Stillbirth

This post is one I had really hoped I’d never have to write but everything has changed.  My eleven years’ battle is no longer over.  We’ve been outflanked and lost our son.

Friday afternoon as the daycare children slept, I sat in the rocking chair with my darling 3 year old in my lap, sleeping.  Her little brother was very active—probably the most movement I’d felt throughout my pregnancy.

Saturday we went to the National Museum of Natural History. I was on my feet all day but feeling great.  It’s wasn’t unusual for me to go a day or so without feeling much movement, but when Sunday afternoon rolled around and I still couldn’t feel anything, I pulled out my Doppler to reassure myself that everything was fine.

His heartbeat was nowhere to be found.  I told David and after dinner we went up together while the girls and grandparents sat down to watch Frozen.  He and I listened and searched for almost an hour, taking a break at various moments and hoping against hope that he was just hiding behind the anterior placenta.  After that hour was up we made the decision that we needed to go to the emergency room to get things checked out.

Did you know that if you’re 20 weeks or further you’re supposed to go to labor and delivery? 

Yeah, I didn’t know that so we were redirected.  When our nurse, Alicia, couldn’t find the heartbeat with the Doppler either, a radiologist was sent in. 

With one quick image we could tell immediately that our son had passed away.  There was no movement and clearly no heartbeat.  Devastation set in quite quickly.

Why did we both feel that everything would be okay?  Why did this happen? What did we do wrong? Why had we felt such comfort after the priesthood blessing I’d been given if I was just going to lose this baby anyway?

I don’t have any of the answers to those questions and in all honesty, we may never know.  The lab work I had done last week has still not come in so those are answers we still need.  They may not tell us why our son passed away, but they can tell us what it wasn’t.

Because I was past 20 weeks, a D&C wasn’t an option and I would have to go through labor and delivery.  After having a D&C done at 12 weeks with my last loss, I wanted to go through the process and to hold my son, which surprised me.

I was scheduled to return to L&D at 8am the following morning.  The nurse I’d had the night before also happens to be one of the bereavement nurses at my local hospital.

Alicia escorted us to a quiet room at the end of the hall and I was hooked up to the monitors and an IV.  I had 8 more vials of blood drawn, including one that would check to see how fast my blood clotted because I have been on Lovenox and baby aspirin to prevent clots.  After I met the ob/gyn that was on-call that day, I was checked and the cytotec was administered.  If you read the link, cytotec is *not* a drug I would have used at the time, had I known the warnings about it ahead of time.  I certainly wasn't in my normal "question everything" mode at that point.

The waiting began and Alicia gave us quite a bit of information.  I had been warned that I might need to decide what to do with our son’s body, but being told that we’d have to go through a funeral home added far more reality to the situation than we’d expected.  After making several phone calls, we went with the only funeral home that actually answered the phone.  That’s right—none of the other places even answered the phone when we called!

There was a lot of paperwork to fill out.  Between the hospital admittance paperwork, consent for the medications, possible epidural, acknowledgement that we’d be responsible for making postmortem arrangements, and photography consents, I was exhausted.

Around 1:30 I was checked again and another dose of cytotec administered.  My cervix was still closed, but contractions were stepping it up and if I heard Dr. Duggal correctly, the outer rim was thinned, so I was making progress, but slowly.

By 2:30 the contractions were painful enough that I was ready for the iv pain meds. Within moments of the fentanyl being given, my head started to swim and I rolled over to sleep for an hour.

Throughout this whole process, David sat near me, trying to read a book and keeping family and friends up to date.  Twice I tried watching The Big Bang Theory on my kindle, but I just couldn’t.  I spent a lot of time posting and reading posts on facebook from friends and strangers near and far showing their love and support.

I’ve never felt so loved.  It was overwhelming and I think I cried just as many tears over the heartfelt pain my friends were feeling for me as I did tears of pain for myself.

At 5:30pm I was checked again and a 3^rd dose of cytotec was placed.  I had reached 1 ½ cm but hadn’t thinned out at all.  I knew I only needed to make it to 5 or 6 cm, since our son was small.  Progress seemed slow, so we invited my in-laws over to bring David some dinner and drop off the flowers they’d picked up. 

My visiting teacher, Sheyna, also dropped by with an adorable arrangement of flowers and some clothes for me to wear!!  The last thing I’d wanted to do was wear maternity clothes home and I owned nothing that would fit!

By 6:15pm I was in a lot of pain.  The contractions had moved on the pain scale from a 4 or 5 to a solid 8 and sometimes 9.  Alicia left to order the epidural for me.  The only thing I could do at that point was breathe and try to count.  The pain was so intense I couldn’t even look at the clock. 

And then it happened.  I felt a sensation—very much like an instant widening of my cervix.  I told David and shifted positions, quite certain my son was about to be born.  We pulled the covers off and in one quick unavoidable push, my son was born, snuggled loosely in his amniotic sac with what appeared to be all of the placenta intact, just as the Alicia had described it would most likely happen.

Jackson Lawrence Terry arrived Monday, March 31^st, 2014 weighing in at 9.2oz and 9” long with only his parents there to watch.

David quickly called the nurse and she rushed in, put on her gloves, and carefully moved our son, still in his sack, over to the warming tray.  A quick text was sent to my in-laws telling them that I’d just given birth and that they needed to stay put (they’d just walked into the lobby) until I was cleaned up. With that last push, the pain was instantly gone and I felt immediate relief, both physical and emotional.

In all honesty, the next hour and a half flew by.  The first thing the doctor did was to check my bleeding.  It was heavy, so my IV was switched over to pitocin.  She then went to examine my son.  I wanted to watch, so I had them wheel the warmer close to the bed.  The placenta and sack were shown to me, then they used a needle to puncture the sack.  My son was small, as expected, but perfectly formed.  His umbilical cord was centered in the placenta with no knots and it wasn’t wrapped around his neck, either.  He had ten tiny fingernails on his fingers and ten tiny toenails on his toes.  The hair on his head was starting to grow and I could easily see his eyebrows.

Jackson was perfect. He was beautiful. And he’ll always be my son.  I was filled with so much love so fast that there wasn’t room for heartbreak in that moment.

The doctor checked me again and was fairly certain that a part of the placenta hadn’t detached. She needed to scrape it out.  She initially tried checking with her hand, but my cervix had closed up and I actually screamed in pain and lifted myself off the bed. 

In the whole of my living memory I have never screamed in pain.  Yes, it was the most physically painful moment of my life and David wasn’t even there—he’d gone out to the lobby to update his parents and to bring his mother back to see her grandson.

In the end, I had a D&C right there where I’d delivered my son, with no medications since the fentanyl had worn off and without my husband by my side.

When my doctor switched to the speculum and asked for the smallest curettage, I knew she was scraping all of the remaining placenta out.  I quickly sent a text to David telling him to I was NOT fit for company.  Talk about a close call!  He and his mom were right at the door.  He told her to wait outside and he came in, throwing the doctor for a loop because she wasn’t expecting him.

He and I took a few minutes to hold Jackson.  We held his tiny hands and feet, gently stroked his head and cheek, and we took a few photos.  It was then that we invited his mother in.  She held her grandson, marveling at just how perfect and how tiny he was.  I’m so glad she had those moments to hold him.  I know some people tend to forget stillborn babies, but having held him, I know she’ll never forget and she can help us keep his memory alive.

 Holding my son for the first time.

His hands were perfectly formed. Look at how tiny those fingernails are!

His growth was asymmetrical so his legs and feet were tiny, even for a 20 weeker.

My little Jackson.  Our son.  Gone, but never forgotten.