August 8, 2011
Sunday was just like any normal weekend day. We went to church, had lunch with our family, and prepared for the coming week where we would start back to school. We had big plans for the week and lots to get accomplished in our classrooms in anticipation for taking maternity and paternity leave at the end of the month. We had an OB appointment on Monday morning and instead of a normal checkup, our world came crashing down. Ezra, our baby who had grown inside of me for 36 weeks no longer had a heartbeat. They checked with portable device and then they sent us for an ultrasound. When the technician left the room to go get the doctor, we knew something was terribly wrong. Dr. Mitchell came in the ultrasound room and did a check himself. By this point, tears were flowing down my cheeks and I knew that the carefree life I arrived with would not be the one I was leaving with. He said that Ezra had no heartbeat. I wept and held onto Randall and Dr. Mitchell left us alone. I don't know how long we held each other and cried, but I just couldn't seem to make sense of the news I was hearing. Just two weeks ago I had seen his heartbeat strong and beating on that same ultrasound monitor. How could it be different today? I had felt his little body moving inside of me just last night. How could this be?
Dr. Mitchell came back in the room and asked if we had any questions. What do we do now? was all that I could come up with. He wrote up orders for us to go to Holston Valley that afternoon to begin the procedure of inducing labor. I began at that moment wondering how in the world I would go through the act of labor for this beautiful baby and then not be able to bring him home with me when I left the hospital. Randall and I came home and gathered up a few things to take back with us, met with our pastor, and then my parents drove us back to Kingsport. I was completely numb. I had envisioned this high speed race to Kingsport when Ezra was to be born, but instead it was an OJ Simpson-like ride. I held onto my Ezra-bump all the way down the road sending silent prayers that maybe the ultrasound was wrong and that my baby was still alive inside of me. I found out later that Randall was begging God for the same thing.
When we got there, we went up to the Labor and Delivery floor and I handed my orders over to the nurse behind the desk. She nodded at one of the other nurses and they took us back to a room that already had my chart laying on the table. She told me to go ahead and change into my gown and get in bed and she began the process of admitting me. I noticed that laying on the counter across from me was a tan-colored teddy bear and I thought, "why didn't they get that out of here before I got here" thinking that it would have been for a baby. Later I found out it was actually for me. The nurse asked me a million questions and couldn't seem to understand how I was there in this situation when everything had seemingly gone so well with my pregnancy to that point. In between questions I cried and felt the numbness continue to cascade across my body. It felt like I was on the outside looking down on a situation that couldn't possibly be me. No, I was the one who had been blessed with the perfect pregnancy. I was the one who had an entire nursery ready at home. I was the one who had wanted this baby more than anyone ever had before. I couldn't be the one talking to the nurses about how they were going to make me "comfortable" during this "process."
Visitors came in and out during the day and evening, but I slept a lot because of the medicine. When the time came for us to go to sleep, I hadn't made any progress with my inducement. They had to continue the medicine during the night, so I got little sleep that night. Secretly, I was glad that things were moving slowly because that meant I could keep my little Ezra with me, inside me, longer. Every time I rubbed my stomach I was met with an ache that soon my little one would be on the outside and I would have to deal with his death. Even though I knew that he was no longer alive inside me, just the fact that I could feel the hardness of his little body when I touched my stomach comforted me. But reality would make it's appearance the following day.
Sunday was just like any normal weekend day. We went to church, had lunch with our family, and prepared for the coming week where we would start back to school. We had big plans for the week and lots to get accomplished in our classrooms in anticipation for taking maternity and paternity leave at the end of the month. We had an OB appointment on Monday morning and instead of a normal checkup, our world came crashing down. Ezra, our baby who had grown inside of me for 36 weeks no longer had a heartbeat. They checked with portable device and then they sent us for an ultrasound. When the technician left the room to go get the doctor, we knew something was terribly wrong. Dr. Mitchell came in the ultrasound room and did a check himself. By this point, tears were flowing down my cheeks and I knew that the carefree life I arrived with would not be the one I was leaving with. He said that Ezra had no heartbeat. I wept and held onto Randall and Dr. Mitchell left us alone. I don't know how long we held each other and cried, but I just couldn't seem to make sense of the news I was hearing. Just two weeks ago I had seen his heartbeat strong and beating on that same ultrasound monitor. How could it be different today? I had felt his little body moving inside of me just last night. How could this be?
Dr. Mitchell came back in the room and asked if we had any questions. What do we do now? was all that I could come up with. He wrote up orders for us to go to Holston Valley that afternoon to begin the procedure of inducing labor. I began at that moment wondering how in the world I would go through the act of labor for this beautiful baby and then not be able to bring him home with me when I left the hospital. Randall and I came home and gathered up a few things to take back with us, met with our pastor, and then my parents drove us back to Kingsport. I was completely numb. I had envisioned this high speed race to Kingsport when Ezra was to be born, but instead it was an OJ Simpson-like ride. I held onto my Ezra-bump all the way down the road sending silent prayers that maybe the ultrasound was wrong and that my baby was still alive inside of me. I found out later that Randall was begging God for the same thing.
When we got there, we went up to the Labor and Delivery floor and I handed my orders over to the nurse behind the desk. She nodded at one of the other nurses and they took us back to a room that already had my chart laying on the table. She told me to go ahead and change into my gown and get in bed and she began the process of admitting me. I noticed that laying on the counter across from me was a tan-colored teddy bear and I thought, "why didn't they get that out of here before I got here" thinking that it would have been for a baby. Later I found out it was actually for me. The nurse asked me a million questions and couldn't seem to understand how I was there in this situation when everything had seemingly gone so well with my pregnancy to that point. In between questions I cried and felt the numbness continue to cascade across my body. It felt like I was on the outside looking down on a situation that couldn't possibly be me. No, I was the one who had been blessed with the perfect pregnancy. I was the one who had an entire nursery ready at home. I was the one who had wanted this baby more than anyone ever had before. I couldn't be the one talking to the nurses about how they were going to make me "comfortable" during this "process."
Visitors came in and out during the day and evening, but I slept a lot because of the medicine. When the time came for us to go to sleep, I hadn't made any progress with my inducement. They had to continue the medicine during the night, so I got little sleep that night. Secretly, I was glad that things were moving slowly because that meant I could keep my little Ezra with me, inside me, longer. Every time I rubbed my stomach I was met with an ache that soon my little one would be on the outside and I would have to deal with his death. Even though I knew that he was no longer alive inside me, just the fact that I could feel the hardness of his little body when I touched my stomach comforted me. But reality would make it's appearance the following day.
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