Our Story (3)-Silence in the Delivery Room

The time was approximately 5:00 pm on that dreadful Tuesday afternoon in April.

Waylon and I were alone in the room; the doctor had just stepped out to arrange our check-in with the hospital to deliver our son. We both picked up our phones and immediately began to call family. We had no clue what we wanted them to do exactly, we just knew we didn't want to do it alone. My cousin was the first to hear the news, as he was the closest and we needed him to come to the hospital to get Lyla. I'm sure he thought it was "go time" since I had joked with him before the appointment about being ready to come and get Lyla. I squealed with numbing thoughts as searched for my sister's name and pushed "call". She answered. My stomach dropped realizing that it would be the first time that the words actually had to make there way out of my mouth and into the open air. I cried, "He's gone." She was on her way. I made one more call to my aunt as Waylon was calling his mom. We asked that they spread the horrifying news to others for us. Most of our family lived about 2 hours from us and the hospital.

My cousin arrived to pick up Lyla from the front, but he first met us in the examination room. Hugs, tears, and "I'm sorrys" had begun and would continue for weeks to come. Waylon walked out with him to give some raw explanation to our sweet 4-year old princess. He told her that Mommy was okay, but that baby Wyatt had to go see Jesus. They tell me that she smiled.

We were given directions to get in our car and drive to the main entrance in order to make our way to the maternity floor. I couldn' walk. I refused to stand up and feel the weight of my very pregnant belly. Two nurses offered to wheel me there. I agreed. Waylon walked beside me like a sad, somber statue whose brain was barely able to tell his legs to move.

We stopped at the registration desk (even though I had pre-registered). There was a crying baby in the hall. Almost immediately, the lullaby music sounded over the loud speakers marking the birth of yet another baby; one that was alive, no doubt. I GET IT ALREADY! PLEASE STOP REMINDING ME THAT MY BABY IS GONE! I covered my ears and closed my eyes as Waylon finished up at registration.

The nurses continued to take us to our final destination. The nurses told the nurse on the maternity floor my name. She glanced up and down quickly, making sure not to make eye contact. My room wasn't ready. We were placed in a confined waiting room; a holding cell of sorts.

The first members of our support system, our family, arrived about 15 minutes after our placement in the waiting room. It was my grandmother and my aunt. I'm unaware of what my appearance was at that time, but from the looks on their faces it must have been disturbing. The tears and apologetic tones continued.

My room was finally ready. I walked down the hall. The thought that that might have been the last time that I would feel the weight of my son inside of me crossed through my mind. I wanted it to last forever. My room was at the end of the hallway, you know, away from all of the rooms full of happy families and living, crying babies. The walk took forever and a pain pinched my heart with each baby cry.

My door. Finally. There was a card on my door that hadn't been on any others. A picture of a leaf and a tear drop with a dark purple background. Ah-ha...a warning sign for all those who entered about the extreme sadness and misfortune that stood stagnant behind that door. I felt like a zombie. My mind felt apart from my body which felt apart from my heart.

I stood in the middle of the hospital room, with tears streaking my face, waiting for my next orders. A few nurses came and went with instruction to undress and put on a gown. My blood was drawn by the lab techs. No one was really speaking, except for formalities. I laid back on the bed. This was really happening. This was not at all how I had pictured the labor and delivery of my sweet boy.

Two nurses walked in and immediately hooked up the monitor for contractions and started an IV. There would be no need for a fetal heart monitor. I cringed at the invasivness of it all. Before it was all said and done, I had been jabbed three times and was actually starting to feel physical pain. However, the pain in my heart was so eclipsing.

 I wanted an epidural for my heart.

A second ultrasound was performed. I still couldn't look at the screen. The atmosphere in the room was morbid. There didn't appear to be any miracle happening that day, not for us.

Waylon stood by my side. Family members began to pile into the room few by few. I wish I could have been on the outside looking in, so that I could see what they saw. It must have been horrifying, because each person that entered looked at us and immediately began heaving back the waves of tears. I can't quite remember who came when or exactly what they said or did upon arriving; however, I remember the sad and distraught look on my dad's face as he had to be helped into the room.

There we were. Surrounded by family who loved us dearly and had anticipated our little man's arrival.  None of them were expected to be there, yet, they were; there to share in our adversity and our sorrow. I had never been so glad as at that very moment that our families are so amazing.

 The hospital staff had prepared a separate waiting room for our families away from the normal waiting room which, of course, was full of over joyed people excitedly awaiting the arrival of babies; live babies.

My nurse that first night was wonderful, to say the least. It was rather obvious that she had been trained for such events, and she handled it with unbidden grace and care. She explained everything she was doing and all of our options in detail in a soft and genuine voice. I think she was an angel.

Pitocin was started soon after my arrival in order to start the labor process. An epidural was administered a few hours later. Family came in and out in small groups talking, crying, sitting quietly as I layed in a hospital bed completely helpless and being forced into labor to deliver a lifeless baby.

We prayed. The Chaplin prayed with us. Literature about our circumstances was given to us. It was pushed to the side. I was starving, but I could have cared less if I ever ate again. I refused all meds that were offered with the hopes of "taking the edge off" or helping me to sleep. Why was this about my comfort? Shouldn't they be concerned about the well being of my baby...oh that's right.

Around 2 am, most of our guests had either made their way to the waiting room, a hotel room, or our home. Waylon and I selfishly tried to get a little rest. I woke up around 4:30 am in tears and with the hope that it had all been a dream. It was real. Too real.

Around 7:20 am, as Waylon was rubbing my hand, my water broke. In a normal delivery room, that would have been a welcoming advancement; however, to me it meant the time to deliver my innocent, precious baby was drawing nearer.

I convinced Waylon to go home and check on Lyla at that point. The nurse had checked my progress and I was still only dilated to about 3 cm. We were certain that it would still be awhile before my body was fully ready to do its job.

As family returned that morning, the room began to fill once more with their grim, but reassuring faces and movements. My uncle led us in the prayers of the Rosary. Throughout the entire Rosary, I felt an immense amount of pressure. After the Rosary, around 8:00 am, I asked the nurse to check me once more. I had dilated to 9 within minutes.

 In a panic I demanded that Waylon be called. He had just gotten to our house and vowed to return immediately to the hospital. I was nervous and scared that he wouldn't make it back in time. In time for what? Why did it matter? It wasn't as if some glorious birth of a living being was about to occur. I wish that I could have spared him from all the pain; the pain of watching his wife progress through a morbid labor and delivery and the pain of watching the lifeless body of his son emerge from my tomb of a womb.

The show was about to begin. But it was no ordinary show that would be expected during the birth of a baby. There wasn't an array of fancy equipment. There weren't a lineup of nurses ready to handle the beloved newborn. There wasn't a group of excited family members and friends waiting in the halls to hear the baby's first screams. It was simple, disturbing, and silent.

The baby had crowned. The doctor entered. My epidural had run out, but I was promised that the meds were still in my system. Wrong. I felt everything. I felt every pain. I felt my baby's limp body as it exited mine.


I begged Waylon not to look. I knew that we only had 1 chance to brand the memory of our son's earthly appearance in our minds, and wasn't sure what he might look like immediately following delivery since the question of  his demise was still a mystery. Would he be blue? Gray? Swollen? Baby-like? We had no clue what to expect, yet again.

Talk about a mix of emotions- I was elated to have the "hard" part over with, but I wanted him back almost instantly. Back with me. Back where he had been safe and alive for the last nine months. Wasn't going to happen.

His sweet body entered our world at 9:00 am on April 25, 2012.

I was still hoping for that miracle.

Denied.