Day 7: My little bit of happy - my blog."...he has crossed over from death to life." John 5:24Dear Caleb,
Had you been born at term I would be writing this on a warm late May or early June day. You would either be sleeping on my lap with a soft burp cloth beneath your face or sitting at my feet in a bouncer seat. I would probably stop every few words to touch your feet, or place a calming hand on your belly as you drifted through different stages of sleep. I would carress your silky head which certainly would be full of hair like your sister's, for at 17 weeks when I held you to my heart you already had hair follicles on your tiny little head!
Instead, my precious son, it is a cold and bitter January day. It has been 3 days since I last held you close. It has been 49.5 hours since we watched them lower you into the ground and each took a turn blanketing your casket with a shovel full of the earth.
Really, you weren't there. You were watching from your place in Heaven
("Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith..." ~ Hebrews 12:1). But as I have said so many times this past week - the heart doesn't always understand what the head already knows. The story I am about to tell, you weren't with us for any of it. But my heart will never fully acknowledge that. The body that housed you for those 17 amazing weeks in my womb will always be precious to me. Just as the bodies of your daddy and your brothers and sisters are precious to me - God's design is wonderful and perfect. I am so thankful that I was able to hold you to me and whisper words of love and sorrow to you.
One week. That's how long it's been since your body left mine. How empty and lost my body feels without yours!
We woke early, about 4:30 am, as we had to drop your sister Sarah off at a friend's house where the other kids had spent the night, and we had a good 2 hour drive ahead of us. I showered and put on my maternity jeans and chose the last maternity top I would wear while carrying you. In my bag I packed a sweater that was not maternity - after you were born I did not want to wear maternity clothes unless I absolutely had to.
Stepping out into the cold morning we had to make our way to the car very carefully, for it had snowed during the night. Not a lot of snow, just enough to make the world feel very cold and to make the ground a bit slippery. We dropped Sarah off and made our way to the hospital. Daddy kept changing the station trying to find something that would distract us without offending us or adding to our pain.
We arrived at the hospital just before 8:00 am on January 8, 2010.
Two years before, on that very same day of the month, we brought your big sister Sarah home from the hospital. On that day in 2008 the sky was sunny and the Virginia air was warm - a balmy 72 degrees! I remember being wheeled out of the hospital with Sarah in my arms and sitting in the sunshine with her while I waited for your daddy to pull the van around to pick us. My heart was so full of joy and excitement that I thought I would explode.
On this day however, the day you were born, it was bitterly cold. The sky was grey and gloomy. I couldn't help but notice the stark contrast and how appropriately the weather matched my heart. This day was not a day of excitement and anticipation. My heart was filled with sorrow, gloom, and dread.
However despite the sadness of all we were losing, all we had already lost, nothing could distinguish the fact that yes, there was indeed some anticipation. For today was not only the day we would deliver our dead child - today would be the day we found out who you were.
In my heart of hearts I already knew you were a boy. I always knew, from the begining. I was convinced and I couldn't wait to reach 20 weeks and have that sonogram where I could watch you dance and play. That sonogram where, if you cooperated, we would get a peek at those parts of you that would tell us some of who you are. That confirmation that, YES! Mommy was right, you are indeed a boy!
Being that it had been 2 years since we'd been to this hospital we couldn't quite remember where registration was. When we got to the desk I told the lady working there that I needed to register for labor and delivery.
She asked me if I was in labor. Are you kidding me???!!! You were a sizeable bump by now, but not THAT big. I simply told her no, I was here to be induced. She took my name and told me to sit down and wait to be called back. After a few minutes the registrar took me back and asked me a few questions.
Early in the conversation she snottily said, "oh, you didn't preregister?" I let the comment slide and just simply said no, I hadn't. A few questions later she asked me for the date of my last menstral period. September 7. Now she knew why I hadn't preregistered. I was no where near my due date. I had no intentions of coming into the hospital in January to have a baby. She quickly finished up and sent us upstairs. No congratulations, no good luck. Just 3rd floor L&D and here is how you get there.
When we arrived at L&D we pushed the little button and told them we were there for our induction. They let us in and as soon as we walked up to the nurses station they knew who we were and why we were there. Being flu season I had to sign a paper stating that I had no flu symptoms, no I did not get the seasonal flu shot, but yes I did receive the H1N1 vaccination before they showed us to our room.
They put us back in the far back of L&D where we would be secluded and private. I had brought one of your daddy's scrub shirts to wear and explained that I would be wearing that instead of a hospital gown. It was grey, the one I wore to deliver Sarah was purple and neither has, nor ever will be, washed..
Our nurse, Dee, left us alone while I changed out of my maternity clothes and got into bed. When she came back we asked for one more sonogram. "It was very clear yesterday, and there was not any doubt. But we believe in a God who can do miracles and while we are not expecting one we don't want to discount one other."
Daddy and I were also very careful to stress to her that you are our child. We told her that we wanted you to be treated just as if you were a full term baby and we were promised that they would do so.
After taking my vitals, asking a million medical history questions she told me that I "could get my epideral at any time." I responded that I would not be getting one and she seemed a bit taken aback so I explained that that is just not how I birth, that my last baby was a natural delivery and this one would be too. The nurse seemed skeptical told me that I could have it at any time if I changed my mind. Daddy called Grandpa to let him know we were settled in and he could bring Grandma at any time.
The sonogram tech came into my room with her machine, which was such a relief for me. The room was my sanctuary where I was protected from prying eyes and inconciderate comments. She plugged the machine in and turned it on before squirting the warm jelly on my belly over the place where you lay. Immediately we could see that yes, you were indeed still very quiet. Not a shudder, not a twitch. Your heart rate was not beating at 164 beats per minute, your normal during life, but completely flat line. Still, flat waves crossed the screen. She spent a few minutes looking at you, your placenta, and your cord. I think she could tell that you were wrapped up in your cord, but she didn't say anything. She was going to give us one last picture, but the printer didn't have any paper in it. That was ok though, you were curled up in such a tight ball we couldn't see any of your details anyway. Forgetting she'd just been looking at our lifeless baby she wished us good day and left the room.
It was at this point that time began to stand still for me. I don't remember if Grandma came before I first saw the doctor, but I am sure she must have. I hadn't slept the night before despite taking Ativan and Tylenol PM and I asked if they could give me something to help me sleep. Their only solution was Nubain which would knock me out for the delivery and I staunchly refused.
Again, I was not trying to be a martyer. But giving birth to you was one of the very few things that I got to do and I wanted to experience every second of it. I wanted to be in control of my body and my labor and to guide you into the world. I was not willing for my body to simply expel you or for someone else to come in and remove you. Labor and birth is something that mother and child do in harmony, and you weren't going to be here to help me so I was going to have to do the work of both of us. I so desperately wanted to do that for you and I wasn't about to let anything interfere.
When Grandma came in she brought 3 things that were/are very very precious to me. A stuffed mama and baby lamb, and 2 very small blankets. Grandma commented on the eary silence in the room. There was no quiet steady "whump whump whump" of a baby's heartbeat coming through the monitor. Infact, there were no monitors at all. Shortly after she arrived the nurse started my IV, which was not without incident. She hit a nerve bundle on the first try causing pain to shoot up into my fingers and had to move the IV to a different location - and my arm/hand did not feel right in that area for a full week!
We arrived at the hospital having only one name for you - we still didn't have a girl name. There were two reasons for this - daddy and I could not agree and I was convinced with every fiber of my being that you were a boy and we didn't need one. While you were growing within me and people asked what names we had I joked that we had "Caleb Enoch for a boy and 'Hey You!' for a girl." When Grandma brought the lamb in daddy and I both knew without asking each other that if you were born a girl you would be named Rachel, which means lamb. We eventually settled on Rachel Carol Miller (Carol after Daddy's mom) if you came out a girl.
Caleb, here is where I have to confess that part of my grief process was to begin to hope you were a girl while I was in labor. You see, in my heart I had bonded with and planned for a little boy for almost 5 months. It felt that if it turned out you never really were my little boy then I hadn't really lost *you*, but instead someone else I had never known.
Sometime around 1:00pm the doctor came in and administered the cytotec. I only know what time it was because I was told. As I said, time for me stood still once I stepped into that delivery room. I kept having to ask throughout the day, "what time is it?" "what time did they put the cytotec in?" "what time is the doctor coming back to do the second dose?"
I hate that cytotec is used to induce labor. I had it with Emelia as well. Most people don't know that cytotec is one of the active components of the abortion pill, RU-486. It was bad enough that you would be leaving my body, it was so much worse that it was being done in the same way a live baby is forced from his mother's body so he can be thrown away like so much garbage.
I was surprised at how quickly my body responded to the cytotec, but I wasn't sure if this would be long and drawn out, or if I would labor quickly like I had with Elijah, baby Hope (miscarried at 12 weeks but never fully developed in March 2006), and Sarah. In addition to cramping my body also responded by developing a fever and severe diahrea.
The one moment of physical time that day that I was aware of was 4:15pm. That was when my body jumped into full on labor. My labor with you was so very similar to that of Hope's and Sarah's. Stronger but slighly less painful than Hope's, less intense than Sarah's. But the pattern and the response of my body were exactly the same. At 4:15 I knew it would be soon so I looked at the clock to see what time it was to give me an idea of about how long this was going to last. I turned to Daddy and asked him again what time the doctor was coming back for the next dose of cytotec and when he answered, "5:00" I told him I wasn't going to get it.
A few minutes later I could tell that you were begining to make your way through my cervix. The difference between your birth and Sarah's was more than just size. The complete stillness of your body as you came through the birth canal was soooo obvious. My contractions still weren't exactly painful but I knew it was getting to be close to time so I told Daddy that he needed to convey to the nurse that I know by body and while I don't appear to be in a lot of pain we are definately making progress.
She came in and checked my cervix and announced that we had "bulging bag of water". This was the point where I began to lose it. I had seem your still heart and body twice. I had suspected for days before my doctors appointment that something was wrong. It had been days since I'd last felt you stirring and bumping around within me.
But that moment, was the moment of truth. My pregnancy was over. I had to let you go and say good-bye. And my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. In my sobs I cried out to your Daddy and Grandma that, "this is usually a team effort". Rather than you and I working as a team, I had to do it all on my own.
Because your Uncle Isaiah died from Grandma's water breaking after she threw up (she had an incompetant cervix and his bag of water slipped through) I was so afraid to do anything that would cause my abdominal muscles to tighten. My body was fighting between wanting to sob hysterically, needing to cough (as my asthma had been flaring up badly), and desperately trying to relax and let my body just guide you through. I knew that because you had been dead for a few days your body was already begining to deteriorate and I was so afraid that if you came through the cervix and birth canal without that bag of water to protect you that you would fall apart. I needed you to come out in one piece and I felt like if I could protect your bag of water I could keep you from falling apart.
And then it happened. The nurse was in the hallway, Daddy was at my side, and Grandma was somewhere in front of the bed. I felt you come. Suddenly your tiny self slipped into my birth canal and I cried out, loudly, "OH NO!!!!!!! OH GOD NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!". The nurse heard me from the hallway and came into the room and began to position me for delivery but I didn't let her. "He's here now. I'm pushing now.", I said.
And with one push you came out with a gush and a splat. Like a water balloon landing you were inside of me one moment and laying lifeless on the bed between my legs the next.
I cried and cried until I heard Grandma say, "Melodie, he's a boy!" and as the nurse scooped you up in the palm of her hand Daddy told me, "the cord is wrapped around his neck."
You were born at 5:18pm. Your time of birth is a testimony of God's love for your daddy and me. Our wedding annversary is May 18 - 5:18. In military time that is 1718 - you lived within me for 17 weeks and we spent 18 hours loving on you at the hospital.
That morning on our way to the hospital I had made Daddy promise me that if there was any visible cause of your death that he could see with his trained eye, that he would tell me. I was thinking in the terms of a trisomy. Never in my wildest imaginings did I think that your death was just a tragic tragic accident.
The nurse tried to unwrap you but you were tangled up so much and so tightly that she had to wait for the doctor. You were so caught up in your cord that there wasn't any length with which she could lift you up and place you on me. They finally realized that I couldn't see you and pushed the blankets down and showed you to me. You were so tiny, and so fragile, and so very very lifeless.
When I could see you they showed me how many times you were wrapped up in your cord, and how tight it was against you I incredulously asked, "THAT'S what killed him???!!!" My next question was if you suffered. I can't bear the thought of your last thoughts being fear and panic but they were certain that no, you just would have gone to sleep and never woken up.
We were so shocked that it was something so stupid - having been certain from the moment we found out you had died that your fate had been the same as all the tiny siblings I had miscarried before you. We thought for sure my body had done this to you. And it turned out to be one of those freak things that is so incredibly rare but can and DOES happen. It's not supposed to happen so even still I have questions and doubts. And even knowing there is nothing I could have done to prevent it I have moments where I am riddled with guilt.
The cord was around your neck - twice. So tightly that when they untangled you you had a visible white line around your neck where the blood had been cut off. The cord was also tightly around your belly and we could tell your leg had been caught in it but come free during delivery as your left thigh was very swollen from the circulation being cut off.
Your head was distorted because of the blood trapped in it because of the cord and when you first came out you were so wet and gooey and floppy I was almost afraid to hold or touch you. It didn't take long though for me to look past death and see my son who's every part was formed so perfectly and with such exguisite detail. It didn't take Daddy and I very long to figure out how to handle you securely and to hold or position your head so that it wasn't distorted by decay and swelling.
You were so beautiful Caleb!
You were 4.9 ounces and 8.6 inches long.
You have your Daddy's hands and feet and look like Papaw (Daddy's dad) and your biggest brother Joshua.
Your tongue, gums, and palate were so perfect!
You had long finger nails and toe nails, and a perfect and exquisitely minute little penis.
You had eyebrows and brand new hair follicles on your head!
You were born with your eyes open and we could see the whites of your eyes, irises, and pupils.
You had creases in the palms of your hands from opening and closing them, and on your toe and finger knuckles from curling them.
You had a perfect little rib cage and collar bone.
The muscles in your arms and legs had amazing definition, showing how active you had been when you were alive.
Your ears were perfectly formed and so so so tiny!
Unfortunately enough decay had set in that the nurses were not able to get your hand and foot prints. But my photographer friend came and took pictures that more than made up for it. By the time she arrived you had dried out enough that you looked just like a tiny little preemie and not like a dead fetus.
I believe, with all that is in me, that God has a purpose in your life and death. The pictures we have of you are one of a kind - no one else in the world has pictures like we do! Your life here is over, but your ministry is just begining. I have made a promise to you and to our Creator that I will be a good steward of the gift I have been given and share your story with the world. If one child is saved from abortion because of the pictures we have of you, all the pain of losing you will be worth it.
Caleb, I miss you so much. Sometimes I feel like I will go crazy from missing you. But I am so thankful I have had the oppurtunity to know you, to hold you and to love you. No matter where I go in life, no matter what other children we have, we will carry you with us. You can not be replaced and I will never stop wishing you were here. So selfish of me, I know. But instinct does not know how to listen to reason.
Sorrowfully adoring you,
Mama
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