Strong As a Mother
A story of loss and continued love, Part 1
This is the story of the pregnancy, birth and death of my first child, my daughter Parker.
I found out I was pregnant on October 19, 2015. I was ecstatic. The first trimester proved to be very 1st trimester-ish: full of nausea, tiredness, retching and food aversions. Since finding out I was pregnant I also developed paranoia of miscarriage (which I have had for all my pregnancies). I went to the bathroom dozens of times a day to check for blood, unable to reason with myself. I got up early in the morning to lay down and meditate to ease the waves of anxiety.
Prior to getting pregnant I knew I wanted to give birth naturally at a birth center rather than in a hospital, so that is the path we took. I found myself a small group of local midwives and felt safe and comfortable in their care. My husband and I also chose to not find out the gender, as we had no preference and just wanted a healthy baby (I thought she was a boy the whole time… sorry Parker). As the second trimester approached, week 14 to be exact, the undesirable pregnancy symptoms eased and I felt normal again, anxiety finally lifting.
I knew going past my due date was likely, so when June 21st came and passed I wasn’t too surprised. But by 41 weeks I wanted this baby out. I had an ultrasound at 41 weeks where fluid was measured but not much else. I had two acupuncture sessions and FINALLY woke up one morning in active labor, at 41 weeks and 4 days. It was also the crabbing opener so we went for a boat ride and then hung around the house the rest of the day. Things progressed and by 5 pm we were on our way to the birth center.
Once we arrived I came prepared with all the techniques. Music. Mantras. Essential Oils. Guided Meditations. Snacks. I was ready. I rotated between the bed, toilet, birthing tub and ball, riding the waves of labor. The midwife with me monitored the baby on the doppler every 15 minutes. Finally, by 11:45 pm I was like “I am done. I want the hospital. Give me all the drugs.” Apparently, this is transition and when your baby is ready to come out, so she told me I was “shit outta luck” but could push if I felt the urge. So I did while in the birthing tub… breaking my water, which had moderate meconium staining. I then got kicked out of tub due to the dirty water and laid on the bed where the midwife struggled to find my baby’s heartbeat. She tried and tried, not being able to discern the baby’s heartbeat from mine as it was so low. She very calmly told me that I had ONE last push to get this baby out or she was going to give me an episiotomy. I think I said “FUCK” really loudly and opened my eyes to see a look of panic on my husband’s face. I closed my eyes and PUSHED so hard I thought I might turn inside out. Out SHE came, Parker Grace Stout born at 12:27 am on July 2, 2016. She was alive, low heartbeat, not breathing on her own and very, very pale. My midwife suctioned her, gave her oxygen, and started chest compressions while the student midwife called 911. I talked to Parker, shaking her legs saying, “come on baby, come on baby” over and over. The medic’s got there at what seemed like lightning speed, less than 5 minutes. They grabbed my baby and whisked her away to the local hospital. My husband went with her and I stayed to deliver the placenta. Except, the placenta did not come. My midwife gave me Pitocin and attempted to manually extract it (no pain meds) with no success, but softball sized clots of blood kept coming out of me. 911 was called again and I to was taken in an ambulance to the hospital.
Before the medic’s took me to a room they let me stop and see Parker who was awaiting a med flight to Seattle Children’s. She was breathing somewhat on her own, but respiratory was still helping her so her little 7 lb. 2 oz body didn’t have to try so hard. She was very pale still, and gave me a cute Babinski reflex with her foot as I touched her. It was because of this reflex I knew/thought she was going to be okay.
I was wheeled on a gurney to a room and needed to transfer to the hospital bed. When I stood up I realized I had been sitting in a pool of blood and more blood was gushing down my legs. Shit. A small female doctor came in and said she was going to remove my placenta but would give me some Fentanyl first. I would also need to consent to a D&C and hysterectomy just in case things went south. UM WHAT, okay. My midwife, held my hand as I screamed in pain as it was removed. That Fentanyl did nothing and now I had to get stitches in my lady bits. My dad later told me that the doctor was so bloody as she left my room that it was on her shoes. I was shaking from blood loss and anxiously awaiting a call from Andy. He finally called and told me they were going to do therapeutic hypothermia to help Parker’s brain and organs. I started to get more worried, and more anxious. I wanted to leave. I wanted to be with her, but the doctor would not discharge me because of how much blood I lost. She recommended a blood transfusion and said that the placenta removal left me at increased risk for infection.
I got THE call at around 5 am. Andy and my daughter’s Neonatologist told me she was going to die. They did everything they could. I screamed and screamed and screamed. My dad walked in the room and I screamed “THIS IS NOT REAL LIFE. SHE IS DYING.” I told the doctor I was going to leave, and she told me I could if I could pee without much blood, so I did a kegel and peed with no blood. They couldn’t find me a wheelchair (WTF) so I walked myself in my mesh undies, my husband’s sweatpants and a random WSU sweatshirt that I had in my car out the hospital doors to my sister in law’s car, where she drove me to Seattle.
We arrived at Seattle Children’s about 20 minutes after she passed away. She lived for just short of 6 hours, taking her last breaths in my husband’s arms. I want to use the word devastated but that doesn’t even begin to explain how I felt. I held her after she passed, for hours, my mom, dad, step-dad, and in laws all got to meet her and hold her. I wish I would have stayed longer. I wish I would have taken more pictures. I wish SO. MANY. THINGS. After answering almost 40 minutes worth of questions over the phone for organ donation (they really need to streamline that process), we decided to go home. Go home without our baby. I didn’t know how to leave her but I also didn’t know how to stay. Her body had started to cool. I stared at her, trying to memorize every long finger, every freckle. Parker and I both had blood draws as the Neonatologist suspected that an Acute Maternal-Fetal Hemorrhage was what had occurred, an autopsy later confirmed this. On July 2, 2016 my daughter was born and died.
The best and worst day of my entire life, I then had to learn how to not only navigate this unbearable loss but to continue to live life without her which continues to be the hardest challenge of all.
“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.” -Jamie Anderson