The truth is, though, that Gracie's birth was as perfect as it possibly could have been. The trauma of Eli's birth is still somewhat "horrific" in comparison to the peaceful, gentle way in which my daughter came into the world. Though we reached the utter depths of heartbreak that day, Gracie's birth into Heaven was a beautiful experience that I will treasure for the rest of my days.
It wasn't even an hour after my last post from the hospital that night that Gracie was born. Ben and I had settled in and turned out the lights to get some rest. I had just drifted off to sleep when I suddenly felt my water break and felt something drop into the birth canal, all at once. That sensation was immediately followed by pressure and moderate cramping pain, so I called the nurse in to check things out. Long story short, she was on her way into the world. The physician assistant covering the unit did her best to hold Gracie in place while my OB rushed in for the delivery, but in the meantime, two more contractions delivered her without any conscious assistance from me whatsoever. My doctor didn't even have time to get gloved up before Gracie was born at 1:20am, roughly 7 hours after the start of my induction. My blood pressure behaved throughout the process, with little spikes here and there but no medication requirement. It was truly an "easy delivery".
As soon as the cord was clamped and cut she was in our arms, where she would remain for the next 16 hours. Our nurse confirmed with a gently placed stethoscope that there was no heartbeat, but it was relatively clear from her coloring alone that Gracie had likely passed away during labor. We had not been monitoring her throughout the process, as we knew that she was likely to pass away at some point along the way, and there would obviously be no intervention necessary if that were to occur. I think that hearing her heart stop beating would have been terribly distressing, so I'm thankful that we had no indication of her passing until we were holding her in our arms.
I felt tremendous peace in those first moments with her. I didn't cry, I just took her in. I was simply present in that moment with my husband and our daughter. We kissed her, snuggled her, whispered our love to her, and inspected every last inch of her form. The defects seen on ultrasound were there, surely enough, but her little face was just perfect. She had the most beautifully formed and distinct little nose! She had the tiniest of little baby feet, just the size of the pad of Ben's thumb. Her abnormalities were small and easy to overlook. We just sat and marveled at her. There were stray tears here and there, but heartbreak and sadness were not the overwhelming emotions in those first hours - we felt peaceful, calm, blessed.
We spent 2 1/2 or 3 hours with her alone, just the three of us. That was due in part to that fact that the placenta took nearly two hours to detach, which apparently isn't all that uncommon in a very pre-term deliveries. Our nurse came in every 20 or 30 minutes to check on the progress of the placenta and to bring fresh warm blankets to re-wrap her, in an effort to keep her warm for us. Otherwise we were left alone with our baby to enjoy some quiet time together. The first time I remember crying was when I was left alone with her for a moment - I think Ben had gone to the bathroom or something - and I just cried apologies all over her. I told her how desperately I wanted to keep her, and how sorry I was that our time together had to end this way, and that her sacrifice was so special in that it protected her big brother and her daddy from potentially losing their mommy and wife.
I know that our journey together had to end that day, and I truly believe now in retrospect that it all happened the way it was meant to happen, but I felt such guilt and sadness at having had to instigate this process - the process that took her life. I will always carry some level of guilt. I know that preeclampsia left untreated was just as likely to take her precious life as labor was - she was a fragile flower. The reality that I had to accept was that there was simply no way to change the outcome for Gracie. Whether it happened at 23 weeks and 5 days or at 25 weeks or at 32 weeks or at term, Gracie was never destined for life on this earth, in our arms. Though I wanted to feel like I had control over something in this situation, the reality is that I didn't. There was never anything I could do to keep her with us. I extended her time with us by refusing to end her life prematurely at 19 weeks when we learned of her diagnosis, and I chose to love her and mother her and make the most of our time with her, but that was the extent of my control. I could fool myself into feeling a sense of control by saying that the decision to induce was ultimately up to me, but the decision was made for me, by the disease process happening in my body - I just had to accept the reality of the situation and then do what had to be done. That acceptance did not come easily for either of us. We wept and sobbed over the new reality that we were handed that night, and we talked it over for quite some time with our doctor before we were able to move forward. In many ways it felt like were "making a decision", and at the end of the day - technically speaking - we were, but there was simply no other decision to be made that day. Continuing to try to assign myself some level of "control" in that situation only serves to give credence to the guilt I feel, and I will need to continue to work on letting that go.
The reality is that God was always in control. The preeclampsia was never a surprise to Him. He knew the number of her days before she was conceived. I know that we honored His will for her life by allowing the natural course of our pregnancy to dictate the terms of her life and death. It just hurts. No matter how we lost her, it was always going to be the hardest day of our lives, the deepest heartbreak of our existence.
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In upcoming posts, I will share more about the time we spent with her during those 16 hours, life at home, and our girl's beautiful memorial service.
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