Today is the day.
We rush to see the kids in the morning before Z goes to school. Janette's mom again reviews what to expect and we pray together. This morning is also Janette's dad's cataract surgery. Mom will be very busy today. The doctor calls and says we should be first in line for Labor and Delivery and they will call us to come in.
We call into the women's prayer meeting for us, and are thankful for the Body praying, crying, and caring for us. Many prayed for me too. My favorite was someone who prayed something like: "Pray for Derrick, you know men they do not share any of their feelings but they are hurting inside."
At 11AM, we are "invited" to Labor and Delivery. All the nurses are very kind and sympathetic toward us. Everything happens slowly as if no one is in a rush. The nurse puts the first induction drug in around 2PM. The doctors did not give a time frame for labor and delivery, but everyone estimates the induction will take about a day, worst case two.
We ask to hear the baby's heartbeat every couple of hours, knowing each time maybe the last time we hear her alive.
At around 5pm, Janette's contractions are getting stronger. The nurse puts in another dose. Later at night, Janette is starting to be in pain and asks for an epidural. They continue to monitor her labs and draw blood frequently; her health is slowly declining. After a couple hours they try to put the epidural in. The anesthesiologist runs into issues and is taking forever. Janette is in a lot of pain. I feel helpless next to her.
The epidural is in but she still feels a lot of pain. The goal was to have the labor and delivery be as easy and painless as possible so she can enjoy precious moments with our baby. I glance at the clock. If this is supposed to take 20 hours, how is Janette going to survive this?
At around 9pm, I keep on asking when the baby will come as they check on Janette. No one gives me a clear answer, but finally someone says soon. Soon! I don't feel ready, part of me wanted to go through this slowly and take everything in but I am thankful everything is happening quickly since Janette is in a lot of pain. We haven't had a chance to discuss what we wanted to do when the baby comes. Will we take pictures? Will someone come and take pictures? Who do we want here to see the baby? Who will be in the room during delivery?
Another nurse comes in to set up the new baby station and warmer. I give her an odd look, what is that for? Our baby does not need to be there, there will be no Apgar score.
We check the baby's heartbeat one last time. It is fading and difficult to find. Our baby is dying.
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At around 11pm, they start to tell Janette to push. No one seems to be in a hurry though, it is a little odd. It seems like the baby is not completely ready to come out, but the doctor can feel her and is trying to help her come out faster to speed things up.
We were warned what our baby may look like. All babies at 20 weeks are very red as their skin has not fully formed, their eyes are fused shut, and they are less than a pound. Our baby had extreme swelling around her head and whole body; we were prepared for her to have issues with her facial features and other parts of her body. The only normal part in the ultrasounds were her hands and feet.
At first, one of her feet popped out since she was breech. She had a normal-looking foot with tiny tiny tiny toes, and was deep red and swollen, but a baby's foot nonetheless. She's coming, she is coming! Janette was screaming in pain the whole time, the doctor was reaching in, trying to carefully pull the baby out. She pulled out the other leg. Next came the body and that is where she began to look a little different. Her body was swollen like she had a potbelly all around her. After this, we were telling Janette that she is almost out. I thought she would just slide out by now, but it was a struggle. Her head had the largest mass surround her, she surprisingly had a face! A peaceful, cute little face. A baby this age was supposed to be less than a lb, she came out weighing 2lb and 2oz. She had skinny little legs and feet like a normal baby.
They placed her in a bassinet, and worked on Janette. She was still in a lot of pain trying to get the placenta out. The doctor was very concerned about the placenta and sent it to Pathology. As they worked on Janette, no one seemed in a hurry to have Janette see the baby. Janette's mom and I looked at her, and took some pictures. I stared at her still lifeless body and cried. That’s my daughter and she's gone, that’s my daughter and she is clearly not well. In some sense, she was more normal than we anticipated. Taking a look at her lifeless, dark red and swollen body, there was a sense of peace that she was in heaven with the Lord. In her suffering she did not belong here, and she was sent to her final home quickly.
Through all the commotion of taking care of Janette, the baby was just there on the side, lying there still, lifeless, unloved. I interrupted the doctor as they were marveling at the placenta, a little annoyed that was more important than our baby, and asked them to move the baby over so Janette could hold her. Janette held her for the first time, admiring her and who she was. Mom and I pointed out parts of her to Janette, and how they resembled some of our other children.
Janette was exhausted and dozed off. I could see how hard she was trying to stay awake and she finally gave in and rested. Mom came back later with Dad and Janette's sister. They came in and looked at the baby. I asked if they wanted to hold her, but not to pass her back and forth over and over again since she was so fragile. Dad took her, and stared at her not saying a word. Janette's sister took a turn and wept, and Mom held her and was so sweet talking to her and admiring her little features. They then prayed with us and left. I am thankful for their support and cherishing our daughter with us.
It was just our family: Janette, myself and baby. I held our baby's hand, her little little hand, her whole body was fragile. I touched her hands, her face and her lips, tacky, with her mother's blood around her. Her little chubby hands, her fingers, her toes. She's mine, was mine, is mine.
I wanted Janette to enjoy our baby, to hold her to see her, for us to talk about her, but she just couldn't. She had just endured the hardest labor of our 3 kids, ironically for the smallest baby. I don’t know when or how we would know we were ready to say goodbye, never to see her again. Even though she wasn’t alive, she was with us. A little bit later, Janette woke up and held her. I sat on the bed and we talked, admired, and were saddened. She was like something helpless and sad, you took a look and knew something was wrong, she needed help, she was not meant to be. We talked with the nurses and said we were ready to go. Goodbye Baby. As we were pushed out of the L&D room, we walk by every other L&D room and the nurses station with 10+ nurses there, weeping. They all look, some with more compassionate faces than others, all knowing why we were crying. We came out empty-handed.
Earlier, our nurse kindly said this is the worst day of our life - please ask for anything you need, don’t feel bad. If this is the worst day of our life we will be okay, I hope she is right. Our God is steadfast, we will get through this.
I come back with the nurses who kindly stayed a second shift to get imprints and prints with me of our baby. They were so precious and gentle in how they treated her while getting her prints, they kept on saying "Sorry princess" as we needed to push hard her hands and feet into the clay and ink. This is what we will remember you by, little hands and feet. It is 4AM and this whole day is a blur, will we remember anything that happened?
Goodbye Baby, we love you.
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