William's Birth Story 1: Finding Out

William would have been a week old today if he'd been alive the day I pushed him into the world. My due date. We'd been anticipating this date for nine months. He lived inside of me for three-quarters of a year. I held him in my womb for three seasons. Spring seems like such a perfect time for birth, when everything is coming alive. Now, for me, everything feels dead, and my baby is dead, and the last thing I want to do is watch the world come to life again.


I keep thinking, I should have known. The worst thought is wondering if I did know. Did I ignore my instincts and intuitions? I think I did. I was so tired...so tired, so much in pain. I'd been laboring at night for five days, all night long having contractions that hurt like hell, but by morning, they'd be gone.


I called my midwife two days before our scheduled appointment on Wednesday April 1, and told her about this unusual labor pattern. It was very strange for me - very strange. My body didn't labor this way, I said. When labor starts for me, contractions begin, get longer, stronger and closer together, and then the baby comes. My labors have never stalled, never been what they call "prodromal." I've never had false labor. Four babies, and never.

It can happen, she said. Stay hydrated, get lots of rest. She did this with several of her babies, she said. Weeks, sometimes. I cried after I got off the phone. Weeks? I couldn't stand weeks of this. I was exhausted to the point I thought I was starting to hallucinate. Every time I tried to rest, take a nap, the contractions would start again. So ironic.

That evening, before my husband came home, I felt William stir. Usually an active baby, he'd be quiet the past few days. My midwife said they slowed down at the end, and I knew it was true. Maybe labor really was coming, I told myself. It would be over soon. When I felt him - a flurry of activity, lots of wiggling, squirming, I was so relieved. There was my little man! Thank goodness... in the back of my mind, I'd been wondering. Was he okay? How was he handling all this awful pre-labor stuff?

That night, I had more contractions. Up again, exhausted. I slept the next afternoon for a good three hours. So tired. I could barely get up to make dinner. Everything hurt. This couldn't go on much longer. I had a midwife appointment the next day, and was considering asking her to give me something to get these contractions to either a) go away or b) get productive enough to bring the baby!

I finally got almost a full night's sleep on Tuesday. I didn't know why the contractions stopped that night, but I was grateful. Wednesday dawned, and I was glad I had a midwife appointment. We'd hear the heartbeat today, and all the crazy anxiety and worry would disappear, and maybe I'd even be holding him by the next day, if we could get the contractions moving again.

We did all the usual things. I peed on the stick - perfect pee. Blood pressure? Perfect. Measuring 37 weeks. (I was officially 39 weeks...) We'd determined he wasn't going to be a moose like his brother (a nine pounder!) so I wasn't surprised. My first two had been in the seven pound range, and that's about what we expected.

I told my midwife about my concerns... he'd been moving less. I hadn't slept because of this strange labor pattern. And I was anxious. A mother on one of my mommy boards had lost her baby just a few days ago - stillborn. Gone, with no explanation. Gone at full term. It was anathema to me. Impossible. That just shouldn't happen.

And then she put the doppler to my belly, and I knew. I hoped - I held my breath and listened - but there was nothing. She found my heartbeat, several times. The sound of the placenta. Whoosh - whoosh - whoosh. But there was no galloping racehorse sound of my little man's heart. I looked over at my husband and shook my head, mouthing, "He's gone." I knew. I just knew. I couldn't believe it, even as I said it, but I knew.

She tried and tried. She moved him around, felt where he was in my belly. She shifted him easily from one side of my belly to the other, and I looked at her and saw the same thing in her eyes. No baby moved that easily. He'd always fought to stay right where he was, comfortable with his back on my right side instead of my left. I never could move him, even if I tried.

"Should we go to the hospital?" I suggested.

"Just to see what's going on," she said. "It's an old doppler. Maybe the batteries..."

Right.

It was a comedy of errors, getting to the hospital. No one knew how to get there. I'd Mapquested a different hospital, a little further south, but my midwife didn't want to go to that one. I called the hospital three times for directions, and got three different ways to get there from three different people. Finally got through to labor and delivery, and they said to come straight up. We parked, and my husband took my daughter's hand, and I took my son's and we walked across the lot and into the hospital.

"Is the baby dead, Mom?" My seven-year-old daughter, our baby-lover, who had been anticipating this birth more than anyone, I think. "I don't want the baby to be dead."

"We don't know, honey," her dad said, pushing the "up" button on the elevator. "We're going to find out."

They were ready for us. I settled myself on a gurney in triage. We were all there - my husband, my children, my midwife - listening. The nurse used the monitor first, pressing it around in different areas on my belly. She picked up my heartbeat just fine. But nothing else.

"Maybe some more goop," she said, squirting more gel on my belly. Still nothing. Then she tried the doppler. "These are a little stronger."

And still. Silence.

"Is the baby dead, Mom?"

"I'll have them order an ultrasound," the nurse said, handing me a towel to wipe my stomach.

"Is there any chance that the ultrasound is going to show something different, if we can't hear the heartbeat with that?" my husband asked.

"Not much of one," I answered him myself.

The nurse nodded, "I'm sorry."

It wasn't until the ultrasound, though, that it was official. I watched them - three nurses and the ultrasound tech - because I couldn't see the screen. Everyone else could, of course, but not me.

It was my husband who said, "There's no movement." But he didn't have to tell me. I saw it in those women's eyes - the sorrow and horror showed on every one of their faces, the same feeling I'd had two days ago, when I heard about another baby's death, when I'd been standing outside looking in.

Now I wasn't anymore. At some point, between then and now, I'd crossed over into another world, and now they were looking in at me.

"It's not the answer you were hoping for," one of them said.

I shook my head. "I didn't expect..."

And I hadn't. Of course I hadn't. Hoped, yes. Prayed. Wanted to believe. But expected? No.

"Is the baby dead, Mom?"

"Yes," I nodded and held my arms out and my daughter fell into them, sobbing.

"I don't want him to be dead!"

"I don't either," I whispered, rocking her, holding on. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I didn't throw up. I didn't pass out. I didn't kick the ultrasound machine off its stand. I just rocked my daughter and whispered, "It's gonna be okay."

But I never once believed it.