There isn't a single week that goes by without newspapers printing sad headlines. Headlines of deadly accidents... rare diseases. These things happen in life, and we're all very much aware of it. We know it happens. But it happens to other people. People who are meant to exist only in headlines.
For the rest of us, life is supposed to be reasonably predictable. The drive home will be safe. You will get over that cold. And your children will outlive you, bring you joy, and be the greatest legacy you could leave behind.
Seemingly healthy babies do not die.
On December 19th 2013, and in the days that followed, Kayleigh and I were forced to consider questions that we simply could never have fathomed having to consider. How could we have? Losing a baby after a perfect pregnancy is simply not something that happens.
The first difficult question: "Would you like there to be an autopsy?"
I can absolutely understand why some parents would opt not to have one. "You want to do... what... to my baby?". For us, even while we were still holding our daughter, we knew we needed to have answers. If we could not fix what happened, maybe we can learn something that will be useful next time.
The second difficult question: "Would you like to cremate her?".
It's hard to understand how people decide where to draw a line - but for us, this was an option we could not even consider from the outset. We had recently done our wills, and when discussing the question, we were both okay with cremation - in theory. But to be holding your newborn baby, and asked to consider whether her body should be destroyed? It was simply not something we were able to say yes to.
"Would you like there to be a funeral?"
In hindsight, I am glad we did. But it wasn't an obvious choice. "Why should we?" we asked "No one even had a chance to know her. What is there to remember?". The outpouring of support, though, played a good part in convincing us that we were far from the only ones grieving. Offering a place for our amazing friends and colleagues to show their support was good for all of us. A moment of togetherness, in honour of our daughter, is a beautiful memory to have.
"Where should she be buried?"
There is a cemetery a short walking distance from our house. But even when we found out that they could do a burial in the winter, it wasn't as obvious a choice as it might seem. The cemetery is right along our daily commute- would we be okay being reminded of Anya every single working day? We discussed it, and decided that, really, the last thing we would want to do is forget. A reminder - any reminder- of our beautiful daughter is something that we cannot turn into a negative. Including her grave.
We still don't know what happened to Anya. We are hoping the autopsy results will give us answers, but we may never know. At the moment, I'm okay with that.
When speaking of Anya, people often ask me:
Would you still want to be followed by a midwife in the future?
Do you think it would have made a difference if Anya had been born in a hospital?
Would you return to the birth centre next time you're in labour?
And what I ask myself:
Was I too blazé when I was pregnant? Was I careful enough?
Was it something I ate?
Did my pelvis somehow crush Anya's head and cause her brain to hemorrhage?
If I had pushed harder, longer, faster, would Anya still be alive?
Here is what I have to believe to stay sane and not drive myself crazy with guilt and what ifs:
Yes, I would still be followed by a midwife in the future - or at least some combination of a midwife and a doctor, depending on the autopsy or any future test results. I trust our midwives completely. If test results indicated medical expertise was necessary, I know they would recommend (and I would want) to be followed by a doctor. Our midwives took the time to get to know Anya, and now they are caring for our hearts. I don't think I could get through my next pregnancy and birth without their support.
No, I don't think it would have made a difference if I had been in a hospital instead of the birth centre. I ask myself this question a lot. Sure, if I had been in a hospital, they may have used forceps or done an emergency C-section, and Anya might have been born 15 minutes earlier. But I believe Anya would still have died. We met a couple recently, in a very similar situation to us. Their son was born in a hospital, after an emergency C-section, but that didn't save him from dying. Medical advances have made a huge difference in childbirth. But we can't control life and death, and sometimes seemingly healthy babies still die.
Next time I give birth, it will be in a hospital. As much as I have to believe it wouldn't have made a difference if Anya had been born in a hospital, I do have a tiny, minuscule sliver of doubt. And that is enough to sway my decision.
As for the questions I ask myself, I realize they are mostly irrational. Still, I will be less blazé - less naive really - throughout my next pregnancy, I will be more attentive to what I eat, and I will try to remain sane knowing I may never have answers to the question Was it something I did?
You left us so quickly, we barely got the chance to get to know each other. Everyday I think about who you were, and who you might have been.
What I know about you, my dear sweet daughter:
You were calm. You moved softly and gently within me.
You shared my love of nature. You were with me, kayaking on Stones Lake, on lac Poisson blanc; swimming in Taylor Lake; splashing in the Atlantic Ocean.
You shared my love of Anne of Green Gables, as I read to you in the bath, as we visited in PEI together. You and I were kindred spirits.
You were efficient like dad. You were conceived in a blink of an eye. You were positioned head down, low in my womb and ready to go after as few as 5 months of pregnancy. You were determined to be born as soon as you reached full term. You came to us after 7 short hours of labour.
You had beautiful, curly, red hair.
You were meant to come into our lives. Dad and I knew we were having you, Anya, before you were even conceived. We were always going to have you, Anya.
What I wonder about who you might have been:
What colour would your eyes have been, once you grew out of the baby blue eyes phase?
What would your smile have looked like? Would your laughter have been quiet or loud?
Would you have liked school? What would your passions have been?
What would your flaws have been?
What kind of a mother would you have been? I keep wanting to imagine you pregnant, in labour, giving birth, and caring for your children.
Would your hair have stayed curly and red? Would you have liked your red hair?
I wish I could watch you grow up and share my life with you. I imagine you a baby, a young girl, a teenager, a grown woman, all at once, in a blink of an eye. All the things you will never be!
But I won't despair Anya, because you were! You existed. We shared our lives together. And I loved you.
Our midwife brought you to the reanimation table. Everything happened so
quickly.
I was confused - in shock. I didn’t know what was happening.
You weren’t breathing or crying. I couldn’t go to you. My body had
nothing left. I couldn’t even sit up. And there was the placenta to come still.
I told dad to go to you - to comfort you.
I was lying in bed - powerless, confused. I wanted to be with you!
You should still have been on my belly, skin to skin.
I hadn’t even seen your face. I had to ask dad to check that you
really were a girl! I felt desperate - things were not as they should be!
The paramedics were there to help. I watched as our midwife intubated you. Dad
and Mamie watched, hoped - helpless, powerless.
Someone decided it was time to transfer you to the hospital. Dad
would follow. I really, really insisted Mamie accompany him - drive - to the
hospital. I could see dad falling apart - and I couldn’t go with him or be
there for him - the best I could do was make sure he wasn’t alone.
Our midwife went ahead in the ambulance. Dad and Mamie got ready to go. The second midwife insisted they drink a few sips of juice, take some breaths.
Dad didn’t look well - he was lost, so worried, in such shock. We
never ever expected this!
Dad brought me my cell phone, so I wouldn’t be totally alone. He
kissed me. He left. He was going to you Anya, as fast as he could!
Dad:
In that minute, my beautiful Anya, you were born. You were alive. My initial reaction was to be stunned - You weren't yet crying, or moving, but I kept telling myself 'this scary moment is something that many, many parents go through'. It would only last a moment, then things would be normal.
Our midwife massaged you, to get you to start breathing on your own. I saw you start to turn pink. I smiled a little. "I think.. I think this is good." Suddenly, I was asked to cut the cord - my brain didn't have the time to process the request. Our midwife cut the cord, and placed you on the reanimation table.
Your heart was beating. You just needed a little extra help, I told myself. I watched as our midwives started doing chest compressions. After a few seconds, mom asked if you were okay. I couldn't answer. I didn't know what to answer. I was stunned, and I felt more powerless than I ever had in my life. I managed to reach and grab your tiny hand. "Dad is here", I thought, "Come on, Anya. Cry."
But you didn't cry. You needed to go to the hospital. And just like that, for the first time, our family was apart.
"I can't leave my love just a few minutes after she gave birth!", I thought. But your mom insisted. After being incredibly strong through labour, she somehow managed to be incredibly selfless in letting me go to you. She insisted that Mamie drive, seeing that I wasn't in any shape to go by myself. After a sip of juice, and telling mom how much I loved her, I was off.
7:20 AM
Mom:
Our second midwife came to care for me. Sometime in the past few minutes, I had
delivered the placenta. I only vaguely remember noticing as it happened…
There had been a bit of tearing. She stitched me up.
Someone washed me with a warm cloth.
Dad:
With Mamie, on the way to the hospital, she thought it would be a good idea for me to call my mom. I did. I asked her to head to the hospital - something was wrong. For the first time, I thought 'What if she doesn't make it?'. Before that, the worst that could happen, in my mind, was that you might have lacked oxygen, and it could have caused damage.
7:30 AM
Dad:
We arrived at the hospital. I went to the emergency department, and told them that I was here for my daughter. They asked me for some information, then I was led to a waiting room just outside the ambulance entrance. They told us that the doctor would be with us as soon as possible.
Then we waited. And waited. The wait felt like forever. I asked doctors passing by 'Can I see my daughter? Is she OK?'. I was met with a 'Someone will be out soon'. No one could tell me that you were alive. I've never felt anxiety like I felt during those long, long minutes.
Mom:
There was a police officer in the hall. He said he had to check the room. I should have known then that something was really wrong. I was in shock!
Our second midwife covered me. The police officer looked in. He gave instructions not to move anything in the room - in the beautiful orange room in which I had dreamed of welcoming you to the world! (I wonder how many healthy babies have been born in that same room since…)
I kept asking myself what I had done wrong. It felt like the police officer was there to check that I had taken proper care of my baby. All the officer said to me was: Bonjour. Yet I felt so guilty, by his mere presence…
The police officer returned to the hall.
The birth attendant made me some food.
I was famished! In shock - and famished! All I could focus on was the food in front of me. I ate muesli cereal with milk and fresh fruit. It was the best bowl of cereal of my life! (If it seems irrational that I would want to eat at a moment like this… I can’t stress how categorically hungry and unable to think of anything else I was in that moment.) I ate 2 toasts with PB & J. And I ate an over easy egg.
8:00 AM
Dad:
My mom arrived. We still hadn't heard anything. We kept waiting. And waiting. There was a group of paramedics standing around, chatting... acting so normal. I finally lost it. In anger, I told them: "We've been waiting for god knows how long - I would really, really want to know if my daughter is alive. Can you please get the doctor?"
The doctor came out, with our midwife. I hurriedly asked "Is she OK???". He shook his head. "Did... she die?". He nodded.
My poor Anya.
That was the moment where I completely fell apart.
I cried like I never had before. In the midst of it, the doctor was explaining that they had tried everything. Our midwife, visibly shaken, tried to explain how you had always been a low risk birth. I angrily answered something along the lines of 'Then how did she die??'.
I couldn't stand anymore.
I don't remember the next few minutes very well. My mom hugged me. Mamie hugged me. They started making calls.
I was asked if I wanted to see you. I nodded. They told me that I couldn't touch you, not until the coroner had signed off. I was taken into the ICU. On a stretcher, there you were. Looking so beautiful. Asleep. A police officer was on guard, close to you. A doctor explained that we would be given a room for the day, and that we would be able to see you again when the sign-off had happened.
We walked towards the elevators. Numb. Stunned. "This isn't what was supposed to happen."
Mom:
I was left alone for a time. There were two other women giving birth
now, where before we had been alone.
I called or texted your aunt Sarah… I don’t even remember now. She would make
her way to Gatineau.
I tried to call two of my coworkers, but there was no answer.
I asked to go to the bathroom and a new midwife (that I was just meeting
for the first time) helped me.
I asked for my midwife… (not the one who had delivered you, but the one who we saw regularly - the one who was supposed to have been
there for your birth… in my mind at least). I knew her. I trusted her. But she
wasn’t available.
8:15 AM
Mom:
I kept asking if there had been any news from the hospital. No,
there hadn’t.
I kept asking if I should express some milk for later. I was worried
that I wouldn’t be able to produce milk for you if we were apart too long.
I was in shock, in denial. I refused to believe anything serious was
happening. You were going to be OK. You needed a bit of help, but you would be
fine. And you were going to need me to feed you, my daughter, my Anya. It was
going to be my job to take care of you.
8:30 AM
Mom:
The birth attendant was sitting with me. The new midwife came in and asked her to call my midwife. The attendant was confused - Why? She wasn’t on call? She wasn’t supposed to come into work this
early. The new midwife said to do it because I had asked for her, because I wanted her, needed
her.
I saw that she was trying to communicate something with her eyes. I
panicked and started to cry for the first time. I had seen it in her eyes: they
knew something they weren’t telling me. They knew you had died! Or so I
thought…
The new midwife asked me what was wrong, if I had felt something in my connection
with my baby.
I shouted inwardly: No! I can’t feel what’s happening to my baby! No
one’s telling me anything! I have no idea what’s going on! Is Anya OK? Is my
daughter still alive?
I didn’t express those thoughts out loud though… I explained to her that I
thought I had seen something, bad news in her eyes. I thought she knew
something and wasn’t telling me. I thought that was why she had asked that my midwife be
called. She told me (Pretended? I still wonder…): No news yet.
Sometime later, my midwife's trainee arrived. We had been on the phone with her a
few hours earlier, she was the one who reminded us about the pressure points, with her soothing voice… before our world fell apart… She took care of me. She hugged
me. She showed compassion. I felt taken care of, truly, for the first time all
morning. What a gentle soul!
I went to the washroom again, with some help to walk across the
room.
I waited.
I suddenly noticed how tired my body was, how sore my legs and arms were.
She massaged me.
I waited.
9:00 AM
Mom:
My midwife arrived. Again, I asked: should I express some milk for Anya? She suggested we wait until we arrived at the hospital. (Again, I wonder how much
they already knew…?)
Would it be too late to express milk if we waited? No, she said. My
body knew how to produce milk. (Little did I realize then that my body wouldn’t
know when it didn’t need to produce milk…)
I waited.
All through the wait, I held on to hope. Everything would be OK. The
doctors were helping my baby, and I would be with her soon. It would be as if
none of this had happened. Life would go back to the way it was, the way it was
supposed to be.
I waited.
9:30 AM
Mom:
We were waiting for an ambulance. Legally, the birth house couldn’t
discharge me, couldn’t let me go, for at least 3 hours - except in an
ambulance.
It was rush hour. There was a snowstorm and lots of road accidents.
My health was not at risk. I was fine. The paramedics had other priorities.
Everything was perfectly normal with my recovery, just as everything
had been perfectly normal all through my pregnancy. So what could have
happened?
Eventually, we were on our way. Enough waiting with no idea what was
happening to my daughter!
The roads were slippery and snowy. I don’t remember if anyone spoke
on the ride to the hospital. It was a short drive. I don’t think I thought of
anything much… I noticed how the world continued on, though I was staying
still, in limbo. To me it seemed that everything had stopped.
I remember very specifically my thoughts as we turned into the
hospital. It was the first time I let myself think about what might be
happening, what might have already happened, to you.
I wondered if you would live. I wondered if you would have severe brain
damage or serious health problems. I wondered which outcome was worse… for you…
for dad and I. And I’m ashamed of that thought.
I should have wanted you to live no matter what! I shouldn’t even
have wondered if there was a fate worse than death! Yet every now and then I
still come back to that question. What if you couldn’t move and you couldn’t communicate, couldn’t
understand the world around you? What kind of life is that? Would you, could
you, have been happy? Would your dad and I have been happy? Would I have been
able to love you as deeply, as wholly as you deserved? As much as I love you
now?
9:45 AM
Mom:
We arrived at the hospital.
My midwife went inside to get a wheelchair. We had to walk (waddle) to the
entrance. I settled into the wheelchair, and she wheeled me into the elevator.
I don’t remember having any thoughts in that moment. I must have
been in shock, in denial still, protecting myself from what was to come.
She wheeled me into our room.
There was dad.
I remember… he was wearing a red t-shirt.
He looked at me, and he shook his head with sadness and despair in
his eyes. And I knew you had died.
I thought: What? No! She was mine!
And I broke down crying. Your dad and I held each other.
Dad:
We had been waiting in the room for at least the last hour. I was getting angry that they hadn't managed to get your mom here, yet - She deserved to know. I imagined how anxious she must be - probably a mirror of what I had experienced downstairs, outside the ICU. I wanted to be there for her so very much.
Before your mom arrived, I got to hold you for the first time, my beautiful child. I wanted so badly to take care of you.
When we received word that mom was on her way, they took you away for a little while - our wonderful nurse was wise enough to recognize that if she saw you being held, your mom would get the wrong impression.
She arrived, in a wheelchair. I shook my head, and mumbled 'She didn't make it'. Your mom said "No. But... She was mine... She was mine."
We held each other.
The rest of the day:
Mom:
We spent the day together in that hospital room. When the nurse
first asked me if I wanted to hold you, I hesitated, though only for a moment.
I was horrified that to see you would mean I couldn’t deny it, you had really
died.
I took you in my arms Anya, and I cried. You were beautiful. You
were perfect. You were real - you had really been born - you had really
existed!
You were mine, my daughter, and you had died.
Dad:
That day is still a blur. So much of your family came to see you that day, my beautiful Anya. I wish you could have seen how loved you were. I held you, looked at you, and tried to tell you about all the things we should have gotten to do together. I had so much to show you. Your wonderful home was ready for you, if only you would wake up.
I want to put our last journey together - which I had always thought
would be our first journey together - into words, so that I can never forget a
single detail of it, of you.
Creating you, and bringing you into this world, is the best thing
I’ve ever done, even though you died almost immediately after you were born. We
had 9 beautiful months together, and an amazing final journey.
Our last journey…
December 18, 2013 7:00 PM Mom:
It all began the evening of Wednesday, December 18, 2013. I should
have suspected it earlier - I got home from work, with 2 more days to go before
my maternity leave, and all of a sudden, probably for the first time ever, I
didn’t care about work anymore. Suddenly, it was all about you. Little did I
realize, this shift in attitude was a sign you were about to be born!
11:30 PM
Mom:
I woke up. My first contraction, and a little bit of spotting. I
woke up dad, and I told him I was going to have a bath - to calm the
contractions.
I had hesitated to wake dad. He looked so peaceful, sleeping. I
didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily if it turned out to be false labour.
Dad:
When your mom woke me up, to let me know she was going to have a bath, I was thinking 'This couldn't really be it.. could it?'. I had spent my last few days at work trying to figure out how to stay home after the holidays, in case you were a bit late. The thought of you arriving early hadn't even crossed my mind.
If this was it, though, I would need rest. So I tried to go back to sleep. I can't say I succeeded. Excitement will do that.
December 19, 2013
12:30 AM
Mom:
The bath didn’t calm my contractions, and a bit of research about
the spotting convinced dad this was the real deal!
I thought we would have a long day ahead of us. Mamie had been in
labour 28 hours with me, her first born. I expected my journey with you would
be much the same. So I thought back to our prenatal class, took a Gravol and a
Tylenol, and tried to get some sleep.
That didn’t last! Within less than an hour, I was back in the bath,
yelling: How do women do this without an
epidural!
1:00 AM
Mom:
Dad suggested we call Mamie. I remember worrying it was too late -
Mamie would need her sleep if she was to help us through the labour and the
next few days. But dad convinced me we should call her. Thank goodness!
Mamie was so happy to hear I was in labour. She couldn’t wait to
meet you! She told us she had been thinking of us, suspecting imminent labour!
We talked over the plan for the next few hours with Mamie. We
thought it would be quite a while still before your birth, so Mamie was going
to have a shower, and slowly make her way to our house. She planned to arrive a
few hours later, hopefully arriving before we made our way to the birth house.
2:00 AM
Mom:
I’m not exactly sure about the timing of what came next. Mamie’s
voice had given me confidence: Yes! I can
do this! No epidural for me! But the pain was so intense. So intense, I
puked right there in the bathtub!
After that, dad decided it was time to call our midwife. Her voice was calming and serene.
She reassured us that everything was progressing normally. She gave
us tools to manage the pain, reminding dad of the Bonapache pressure points she
had taught us during our last prenatal appointment together.
The Bonapache method worked wonders!
I tried to get some sleep, as per her suggestion. Even a minute or
so between contractions would be 10 minutes in an hour. But sleep eluded me.
There was but a brief moment I could rest - the calm before the storm!
Sometime through all of this - in the bath before the puking and the
call to our midwife perhaps - I found a moment to be absolutely… perfectly… excited! You
were coming! My baby girl! We were going to meet you! We were going to be
parents!
We loved you so much Anya!
Dad:
It was getting pretty difficult to think that this wasn't the real deal. At this point, I was alternating between doing pressure points, trying to time contractions, trying to keep your mom comfy, and trying to sneak in a google search for additional pressure points. I certainly could've used one or two clones of myself.
I thought some music might soothe mom - And it did, for one song:
When they next song started? "TURN IT OFF!!!!!" "Yes dear - Whatever you need!"
2:30 AM
Mom:
The next hour or so was a blur.
In the bedroom. Your loving dad caring for me. Caring for us!
Bonapache pressure points. A giant pile of pillows. Lavender candles.
I felt so loved, through the pain and confusion of the contractions.
Your dad is an amazing, gentle soul! He took such great care of me. He always does. I love him, more than I ever
thought possible! I am the luckiest.
3:00 AM
Mom:
Dad decided it was time to call our midwife again - the spotting had
come back (later confirmed to have been a completely normal part of labour),
and the contractions were lasting longer and getting closer together.
She asked how far apart my contractions were (about 5 minutes apart,
lasting over a minute each, by dad’s best guess). She suggested we slowly head
over to the birth house.
Dad started to pack a few things, last minute additions to our bag.
And we were on our way.
Dad:
This was it. The moment I had been picturing in my mind for almost 9 months. I scrambled to find the list of last-minute additions to our bag. I gathered everything on the list, leaving the kitchen a mess. I made a sign for Mamie, indicating that we were on our way to the birthing house. I stuck it on the door. I took a moment to pause, and think 'This is it. The next time I come home, it will be as a dad - with our baby... Wow.'
3:45 AM
Mom:
What a drive it was!
A snowstorm had started over night. It wouldn’t end for a few days
after.
Dad was amazing! Driving slowly, carefully and calmly, through the
storm. Visibility was poor, roads were slippery, and I was alternately telling
dad to be careful, and moaning in pain.
Sitting in the car was the first time all night I really looked at
the clock. Sitting in the front seat, I couldn’t help but stare at the time. I
was trying - more or less successfully - to time my contractions (4 minutes
apart by my best guess). I was worried my contractions were still too far
apart, and that I would get sent home, despite the seemingly constant
contraction pain.
We made it safely to the birth house, pulling into the parking lot
just behind our midwife, and stopping for a contraction on the way out of the car.
We walked into the birth house. Dad helped me take off my boots. I
waddled upstairs and chose a room - the orange room, the very same room in
which I had dreamed you would be born!
4:15 AM
Mom:
Our midwife examined me. We heard your little heart beating strong at well
over 100 beats per minute. I was so exquisitely happy to hear your heart - it
was always my favourite part of prenatal check-ups. And now, we were going to
meet you!!
After examining me, she asked if I liked good news: I was 9 cm dilated!
(No reason to be concerned anyone would send me home at 9 cm.)
She suggested I hop in the bath to reduce the pain, float and relieve
my body a bit. I remember stepping into the hot bath and thinking: Mmmmmmm! So
nice, so hot, so wonderful! I had been worried about making my baths too hot
during pregnancy - and here was a midwife endorsed hot bath! How perfectly
exquisite that bath was!
4:45 AM
Mom:
I felt good in the bath. The contractions still hurt terribly of
course! I remember alternately yelling at dad to use the Bonapache pressure
points on my back and to: Stop
touching me!
Sometime later, Mamie arrived. Someone got me water, and apple
juice.
I accidently pressed the water jet button on the bathtub during a
handful of contractions. It startled me every single time - yet somehow,
leaning on the side of the bath, I kept pressing the button - and it continued
to surprise me.
5:15 AM
Mom:
I remember telling our midwife: J’ai peur de la poussée! (I’m scared of the
pushing part!)
I remember holding myself up, hands in the bottom of the bath, in an
intense moment. My hands started to hurt from the weight and the energy I was
directing into them. She smiled and said: On accouche avec tout le corps! (Labour
is a full body experience!)
I remember a moment between contractions - I felt you move inside of
me! It was the only time I took to notice - through all the pain - that it was
really you, my baby Anya that I had carried for 9 months. You were living this
journey with me! I said: Je la sens bouger! (I can feel her move!) To which our midwife responded, stating the obvious: C’est un bébé! (It’s a baby!)
She examined me again - I was fully dilated! She broke my water, though most of the amniotic fluid had already
leaked out slowly. I remember being so happy! You were on your way Anya!
5:45 AM
Mom:
Somewhere along the journey the birth attendant and the second midwife arrived.
Time to push!
Our midwife told me things were going to start moving quickly. She and the second midwife helped me out of the bath, and I tried to find a comfortable position.
I wasn’t afraid to push anymore. All I could do was push. I couldn’t
have waited to push - or held back - if I had wanted to. My body was ready.
You, Anya, were ready!
I tried different positions on the bed - on hands and knees, on the
birthing seat… I remember sitting on the birthing seat, with a mirror below. I
was curious and scared to look in the mirror. It was overwhelming, yet I wanted
to see you arrive.
Dad:
With all that was going on, I somehow still had a doubt in the back of my mind that your birth was imminent. You hear stories of long, painful labours - and in contrast, ours hadn't been long. But as your mom was starting to push, I couldn't help but think 'December 19? We are going to be parents before Christmas? What an incredible gift'.
6:05 AM
Mom:
And now the scary part!
I think it was sometime while I was on the birthing seat… Your heart
rate started to drop.
I vaguely remember our midwife saying something about getting an ambulance and
making our way to the hospital. I wasn’t sure why… I thought it was simply
preventative. I vaguely remember being disappointed with myself. I needed
medical intervention to bring you into this world, where so many women had
managed without. But I trusted her.
And I had no idea how things would end - thankfully - I would have
panicked it I’d known. How does one give birth, while facing sheer panic?
All these thoughts were very vague and distant anyway… All I was
focused on, truly, was pushing!
She asked me to move to the bed. I think your heart rate picked up
again. (Though I must admit I’m not sure if I realized this at the time… my
memories have already been altered by what I learned in the days to come.)
I lay on my left side, and I pushed. Your heart rate dropped again.
I moved to my back, and I pushed. Your heart rate came back up. Then
it dropped.
The ambulance arrived, just as your head started to crown.
Our midwife asked me if I wanted to touch your head. I did! I was touching
you, my beautiful daughter! You were almost with us! I couldn’t wait to meet
you. Touching you kept me going. motivated me to push. I wanted to hold you in
my arms!
I remember Mamie on my right side and dad on my left - each of them
holding one of my legs, coaching me to push.
Dad:
In hindsight, this is where things took a turn. But in the moment, my dear Anya, I was not worried. If there was one thing that was stressed to us, it's that midwives err on the side of taking every precaution. And so it was easy to tell myself that the ambulance was just a precaution. I had little doubt that we could succeed without it.
6:40 AM
Mom:
Then things started to unravel…
Someone gave me oxygen to breathe. Our midwife told me to push harder, for
longer - to hold my breath and push for longer. I remember she placed her
fingers just where I needed to focus my pushing.
I don’t know what she said exactly, or in what order…
She told me to push. This was it. Anya was going to be born at the
birth house.
I felt relieved - I wouldn’t have to go to the hospital. I thought
you were going to be OK Anya…
Then she told me to push even harder - longer - and something in her
voice set off an alarm bell inside me. She said push, and I heard: Your baby
needs you to push! Push to save your baby!
I pushed and pushed with everything I had! I only paused to take a
breath! I gave everything I had to help you be born quickly, safely!
I was even pushing between contractions. And I remember the
second midwife telling me not to push if I didn’t have a contraction. That was
hard. I wanted to push you to safety. I didn’t want to stop pushing until you
were in my arms!
I pushed! And I pushed! I felt guilty pausing for a small breath.
Please know, I only stopped pushing when I needed to breathe. I had to breathe!
Mamie, dad and our midwife all told me to get mad! But I didn’t have any anger in
me… Only desperation! I knew I had to push for you, for my beautiful daughter,
for my baby Anya, whom I loved (love still) with every fiber of my being!
Our midwife threatened an episiotomy if I didn’t push hard and long enough. I
almost yelled at her: Cut me open! Do the episiotomy if it will save my baby!
But I didn’t yell. I don’t know why - maybe I was scared. I wish I
had yelled at her. I wish I had been able to save your life!
6:58 AM
Mom:
I remember Mamie telling me to push - giving me strength and
confidence. I remember dad - giving me hope and love - we were about to meet
our daughter!!
I pushed as hard (and as long) as I could - and your head came out!
Your head! I think I felt surprised: Wow! My baby’s head!
I pushed more, until your shoulders came out. I felt the rest of
your body slide out of me. You were born!
(Oh how this moment was supposed to turn out differently! It should
have been the happiest moment of my life!)
Our midwife placed you skin to skin on my belly.
You were so limp. I was immediately in shock. I wasn’t sure what was
happening - but I was worried - you were so limp!
She asked dad to cut the umbilical cord. But it all seemed so rushed…
I knew they meant to take you away after… to try and help you.
Dad hesitated to cut the cord. Who wouldn’t? I imagined his
thoughts: Can I cut the cord? Will it hurt my baby? What if I do it wrong?
Only a few seconds passed, but she judged things were taking too long.
She cut the cord and took you away from me.
That was the last moment of your life we spent together.
