40 Weeks

Today would have marked 40 weeks in my pregnancy with River--my due date. It's amazing to me how, for the last nine-and-a-half months, I had based my excitement all on this very day and now, on this day, all I feel is pain. It was supposed to be my finish line at the end of my daughter's prenatal race. From this point on, it would mark the beginning of her life outside the womb. We all know it didn't exactly happen that way. 


And so begins the long account...


From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I knew River would come early. I just knew it. My guess was in the first few days of June. I was close. I also guessed she would be a girl. And I was exactly right. I remember journaling about her on the day I took the home pregnancy test. I just felt like I was writing to my daughter. I thought she'd be reading it when she was sixteen, learning all of the things that went through my mind while she was growing inside me. How I wish that could be true. Now, my baby is in Heaven. Only her earthly body remains here on this earth. Sometimes I still can't believe the beautiful glass urn that sits in her bedroom contains the precious face I stare at on my computer screen every day. It's so unreal. 


I go back now to the week before she was born. It was Thursday night and I was at Worship Team practice with my church family. Afterward, like usual, I stayed to talk to my dear friend Cindy who is also pregnant. At the time, she was 10 weeks behind me in her pregnancy. We would always chat about what I had experienced during that stage compared to what she was going through. It was remarkable how different our babies were. I remember her telling me that her little person was very active as of late. I made my usual remarks about how Baby Hadduck was active sometimes but usually pretty calm. At the time, I chalked up the calmness to "personality." I feel like now that I was wrong. Or at least that evening I was wrong. River had been pretty quiet in the last few days. I had felt her move during practice but it wasn't as much as she normally moved while I sang. I tried to ignore it and not freak myself out. I thought I felt her move again while I talked with my friend but, with the knowledge I have now, I would have recognized that as a contraction and not fetal movement. In fact, I'd been having contractions for some time but didn't realize it. For the longest time, I thought that baby girl was simultaneously pushing down into my pelvis, up into my lungs and out to the front. To me, it felt like a big stretch. I could feel her little bottom right up against the outside of my belly. The pressure was more intense than what I felt for her usual movements.  Again, I just credited to the fact that she was bigger now and running out of room in there. At one point in my pregnancy, probably around 6 months, I was keeping track of her movements. I did this for a month or more. It was something pretty typical for pregnancy and I did them mainly for peace of mind. It also was a precaution due to her only having two vessels in her umbilical cord instead of three, which can cause issues with blood flow. After about a month or so, I stopped doing them. They seemed pointless because I knew her movements so well...or so I thought.


On Friday, we took her 37 Week belly photo. Our pregnancy weeks began on Wednesdays so we should have done it then but, as usual, we fell behind sometimes and weren't as accurate as we could have been. I remember recording the video and asking if I should turn my belly from left to right again, doing it slower so it was timed correctly. Spencer said it was fine. I could have done better. Then we took the still photos and, of course the battery in our camera was low. It kept dying during pictures and we would wait, trying to milk every last bit of energy it had left. The pictures we got were rushed. After that, we headed to work. Little did I know that the picture I had taken that morning may have been the last picture I had with her alive. I miss her so much. Spencer and I headed off to work. I was scheduled from 12-4, Spencer from 12-6. I brought my breastfeeding book with me to read after I got off. I remember sitting with Spencer on one of our breaks and telling him that I hadn't felt her move for a while. I began to panic. I tried to stay calm but at one point I even said to him I was afraid the cord might be wrapped around her neck...it was. How I had that gut feeling, I'll never know. Just as my break was coming to an end, I finally decided I needed to call my midwife. I picked up my phone to dial and there it was--I felt her move! It was that pressure again where I could feel her move in all directions...in reality it was a contraction and it took my breath away. How I wish I would have known what my body was doing. My body knew. It knew something was wrong. But I set my phone down and went back to work. Nevermind that I never felt her move again after that. Nevermind that it wasn't actually her...my baby was in distress. My baby was dying. 


Saturday was my last day of work. All of my co-workers were getting excited for the baby to come but were sad I was leaving. It was nice to feel loved. Throughout the day, I had been feeling the pressure again, only this time it wasn't just in my belly. I felt it on my pelvic floor. It felt as if the bottom of my uterus turned into a ball and then released. It was then I realized   I had been having contractions all along.  I was so excited. I didn't even think about the fact that I had been substituting my contractions for movement. I was so oblivious. I began to time out my contractions diligently. It was fun. I was working the front desk that day so I had access to email. I texted my Doula to let her know to expect an email from me. It contained the list of my timed contractions. They were coming every fifteen minutes. She was excited. I called her on my last break and, after describing what was going on, she told me she thought it sounded like the beginning stages of labor. Spencer and I were both shocked but elated, nonetheless. We were going to have a baby! Word at work soon got around and people were just as surprised and excited as we were. My dear manager Andy even studied up on childbirth and was prepared to deliver in the case she came while at work. His humor made us all feel comfortable. We felt so loved by our family at the store. They were just as excited about this baby as we were...and just as crushed when they found out about what happened next.


We went home early from work and packed a bag for the hospital. We were supposed to be going to a family dinner in Portland but didn't think it was a good idea since we hadn't even installed the car seat. I called my Doula again and she thought it would be fine to distract ourselves with family. Afterall, my contractions were still only fifteen minutes apart or so. I called my Mom. We made plans to go late to dinner. I had spaghetti and timed my contractions through dinner. Ten minutes apart and increasing in pressure. Nothing spectacular happened that night. I slept well, for the most part, and woke up a few times in the night feeling a contraction. Nothing too painful, just noticeable. 


Sunday morning, I woke up ready to go to church. It seemed as if my contractions had stopped. I was a little discouraged. As we arrived early at the church to practice music for the service, one of the ladies immediately noticed that the baby had dropped. I had noticed a few days ago but didn't realize it could be recognized by others. That excited me. My contractions started picking up again. I began to wonder how I would deal with them during Sunday School, in which I was one of two teachers for the 0-2 age class. Normally we only have two babies. That day we had five. It was overwhelming. My contractions started picking up even more and I found myself significantly stressed. I knew it wasn't good for the baby to be stressed but I stuck it out...almost bursting to tears, but I stayed. Come time for service, I was relieved to be going out for worship when I realized I was also scheduled to stay for nursery. I quickly asked for coverage and told them I just didn't think I could handle it today. During the service, I sang through my contractions. It felt good. It was something I had wanted to try when the time came and I was pleased to know it was something that would help me through them. After church, Spencer and I went home and decided to put up the artwork in the baby's room. I figured since my contractions were coming stronger, we should get in gear and make sure everything was perfect. We finished that and then Spencer began to install the car seat. We had a feeling we'd be making a trip to the hospital that night. It came down to one piece and Spencer couldn't find it. He panicked. I tried to keep him calm. After much searching and breathing, he found the piece he was looking for. It was safe. Things were really ready. We headed into Portland that night for dinner and games with my family this time. Another ploy to distract us. My contractions got much more intense. I was having to breathe through them, no longer able to talk. My family was excited. We played a dice game and I laughed harder than I had in a long time. I think that sped up my labor a little. When it was time to go, I attempted to sleep in the car on the way home, like I had the night before. I wasn't as successful this time. When we got home, it was late and I just wanted to curl up in bed. I tried laying down and no sooner did my body hit the sheets was I was up and moving around, trying to get through a painful contraction. No sleep was coming that night. Spencer and I began to seriously time contractions. They finally reached consistency! Coming every five minutes and lasting for a minute or more, I decided it was time to make another phone call to my Doula. We decided together that it was time to call the midwife on-call. I couldn't believe this was happening. I was so excited. When I finally got through to the midwife, she began to ask me all of the questions I expected. Then she asked if the baby was still moving around...I was so consumed with the idea that nothing could be wrong I told her I had...or at least I thought I had felt the baby earlier that day. She said everything sounded fine, but I  know now that it wasn't. Things were not okay. River was already gone and I was continuing on, unaware of the sad underscore playing along to my story. Heather, my Doula, came over and we continued to labor at home. It was just how I imagined. My water had not broken yet and I was able to stay with the people I felt comfortable with, in my own home, working hard toward bringing our baby safely and naturally into the world. 


After the contractions came to be 2-3 minutes apart, we all decided it was time to make the journey to St. Vincent's. We grabbed Kara, our friend, neighbor and birth videographer, and hit the road. During the car ride, my contractions came less frequently. Heather told me it was my body's natural instinct that kicked in, keeping me from delivering in the car. I laughed and said that was cool. We worked our way to the elevators. It was around 4 or 4:30 in the morning. I had to pee. The one thing I had learned through this process was to pee between contractions. Nothing at that point was more painful than being caught on the toilet in the middle of a big one. We finally made it to the maternity floor. I leaned heavily on the counter, giving the receptionist my information in between contractions. I was smiling. I was so happy to be there. For those of you who know my previous birth plan of a homebirth, saying I was happy to be at the hospital was a big milestone for me. It was something the Lord really helped me come to peace with. As I walked through the giant glass doors, I said goodbye to my life of just Spencer and I. I was ready to be a Mommy. I was proud to tell everyone why I was there at 4-something in the morning. I followed a nurse to triage and found myself trying to lay down on a bed so they could check me. Just sitting was difficult during a contraction but I did my best to lay down anyway. 


This moment is a moment that haunts me still. A moment I replay in my head daily. The moment they couldn't find my baby's heartbeat. The technician strapped a fetal monitor to my belly and began searching. I was used to dopplers and knew it sometimes took a while for them to find the heartbeart but this time was different. She searched for what seemed like hours in what seemed like a million positions. Nothing. She pulled in another nurse. Nothing. I looked at Spencer and began to cry. He said "No, no" and pulled me to his chest. A doctor finally came in with a portable ultrasound. She pulled up our baby on the monitor and at that very moment, a part of me died. My baby wasn't moving. They pulled up an image of her chest cavity. No heartbeat. The little heart I had seen beating just shy of two weeks ago remained still. She was gone. 
I had no amniotic fluid, the very thing my physicians had been keeping an eye on. The very thing that would signal a problem and likely lead to an induction. The very thing that could have saved my little girl's life was missing. I didn't understand how this happened. As soon as the nurses and doctors left to tell my Doula and friend, I began sobbing and wailing harder than I ever have in my life. It couldn't be true. How could this be true?


My smile was gone, stolen from me along with the life of my child. I couldn't bring myself to lift my head. I walked down the hallway somberly to my delivery room. The sequence of events following that moment were somewhat of a blur. My family had just arrived, coffee in hand and smiles to spare. Everyone was getting ready to spend the day waiting for the arrival of our baby. Soon they heard the news. People flooded our room. Tears flooded our eyes and sorrow flooded our hearts. I was still having contractions but not as frequently. My body was shutting down from the grief. Later, the midwife on duty, Jabke (Yab-kuh) came in and expressed her condolences and began to tell me my options of proceeding in my "unique situation." I had wanted to deliver naturally for the sake of the baby but at this point, that was no longer a consideration. I was advised to have an epidural so I could be mentally prepared for the birth and the meeting of my child. I was terrified. But, after another hour or so, I decided to have the epidural. I cried through the last contractions I could feel while leaning over my hospital bed. I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. 


They began my epidural, the beginning of the end of my journey through pregnancy. My freedom was taken from me as well as my dignity. I could't feel my legs. My backside was exposed without my knowledge. People who came in to visit me saw me laying there, vulnerable and broken. My mother fed me ice chips. I began to run a fever. Many times I thought about asking for a Cesarean...I didn't want to do this any more. I didn't want to have to face the reality of giving birth to a dead baby. I was so scared. What did a dead baby look like? I suddenly flashed back to my last day of work. My co-worker Sam and his girlfriend Megan had just lost their baby girl just after 20 weeks. He asked if I wanted to see her picture. I remember asking him if it was scary to see a stillborn child. He told me it wasn't. It was his daughter and he loved her. As I looked at that tiny image, I saw beauty. She was so small but so perfect. And her Daddy was so proud. 


As time went on, I began to feel contractions on the left side of my body. I couldn't move so they began to be unbearable. Finally, the man who did my epidural came back with a large syringe containing a more potent dose of my medication. He inserted it into my spinal catheter and suddenly I welt a wave of numbness overtake the whole lower-half of my body. My midwife said to let her know if I began to feel pressure "down there." I told her that I already was. She checked me. 6 centimeters dilated and the baby's head had moved down. During the course of this, I had also received Pitocin to speed things up and help me progress. No more than five minutes later, I felt an immense sense of pressure. I immediately knew what that was. It was time to push. I started telling people to get my Doula, get my midwife, get my nurse. I knew that it wasn't like in the movies--that I would have time to breathe through that sensation without the baby coming in that instant. I was partially right. It all happened so fast. Before I knew it, people were holding my legs up, telling me to push. My body took over. I knew when each contraction came, despite my being numb from the epidural. I breathed and pushed my daughter gently down the birth canal with every uterine surge. When the time came, I asked if I could feel my baby's head crowning. She had hair--lots and lots of hair! I smiled at Spencer and began my last set of pushes. Before I knew it, I felt her head emerge...then her shoulders and the rest of her body. Spencer and I were shaking. The nurse had put a blanket up so I couldn't see her. I asked her to because I was afraid of what I might see. Then they asked if Spencer wanted to tell me our child's sex. He looked at me and decided to do it--to fight his fear of what might be a horrific sight...


"It's a girl!"


We clung to one another, sobbing and laughing. We were right. We had our baby girl.  I heard them mumble something about three days...they predicted our daughter had passed away three days ago. Three days? But that would mean-----


Before I had the chance to think about it, my angel nurse, Suzanne, placed my baby on my chest.  She was stunning. I was holding my daughter and it was as if I had always known her. She was mine. Spencer and I started to examine her, to see which traits she had inherited from us. After a while, they took her to weigh her, measure her and clean her. We saw them print her beautiful hands and feet. It was bittersweet. I thought it would be Daddy who would help give her first bath. Or me that would comb her hair. But I couldn't. I was still numb. Numb from the epidural and numb from grief. 


Soon after, family and friends took their turns holding her, all remarking at how beautiful she was. And boy, she was. The rest is sort of a blur. People came and went. People prayed. Soon Suzanne laid our daughter, our precious River Ellen, in her hospital crib. I eventually asked if Spencer could drape a blanket over the glass to hide her face. I just couldn't stand to look at my River with her little mouth hanging open, revealing her purple lips and tongue. Especially if the doctors and nurses wanted me to eat. I felt disgusting.


I had a few bites of a grilled cheese and a few slurps of some chicken noodle soup. I had complained earlier that I was starving but somehow food seemed unappealing now. As people began to leave for the night, the all-too consuming reality was starting to hit again. It came in waves. We decided to have River spend the night with us in our room. We wanted to be with her for as long as possible. Morning came startlingly sooner than expected. It was Tuesday, the day after this horrific event. The day we could start to think about going home. What was home now? Before, we thought home wasn't defined by the place but rather the people in it. Well, now our home was empty. Literally. Our family had been compiled of three members for the last nine months and suddenly, we were back down to two. It felt as if we were starting over. We are realizing more each day, however, that there is no way we can ever be as we once were. We will never again be two. River will always be our first child that made us a family of three. 


It's terrifying to me to think about future children at this point. I wonder how any child will ever live up to River's standard. She was perfect. I know every parent brags about their child but I tell you, she was perfect. Everything down to her curved big toe. Perfect. 


Today, I write this account. Today I cry. Today I mourn over the child I have lost, the dreams I have lost. But today I still hope. As hard as it may be, I still hope.