Birth Story

Mira has been gone from this Earth for 8 months now.  She has been gone longer than she lived here.  I was 34 weeks and 2 days pregnant when Mira was born and then died less than an hour later.  The first two weeks of pregnancy don't really count, because that time is actually just the time before conception occurs and life begins.  So Mira lived for 32 weeks and 2 days.  At 8 months, she has now been gone longer than she was here.  That hurts, we should have had a lifetime together.

When you have a child that dies, not many people want to hear about how they were born.  I have had a couple people (thank you, thank you, thank you) ask to hear every detail of my birth story, but most people change the subject when I try to talk about having my child or being pregnant.  Here, at 8 months without her, I want to take the time to write down every detail of the day she was born and share it with anyone who wants to read it.

Mira was born on Monday, December 18th, 2017 at Children's Hospital of Philadelphia.  Since we live about 1 hour and 45 minutes from Philadelphia, with good traffic, my parents, Joe's parents and Joe and I went to Philadelphia the night before and stayed in hotel rooms.  I did not think there was anyway I would sleep that night, but I actually did.  Joe and I got up at 5 am on the morning of my scheduled c-section to take showers and get ready.  I took a shower and used the special soap I was given to use the morning of surgery.  I sat on the bed while Joe helped me put on my socks, as my feet, ankles, and leg were so swollen I couldn't do it myself.  I couldn't get my shoes on, none of them could physically get on my feet at this point.  My mom took the laces out of my sneakers so I could get them on.  My parents, Joe and I got in a cab and were taken from our hotel to the hospital.  We were over a half hour early.  We were told there would be traffic and to give lots of extra time.  We didn't need it.



After checking in with security, Joe and I led the way to the 5th floor of the Wood Building of CHOP to the Special Delivery Unit, which we could have found with our eyes closed by this time.  I remember feeling so strange with each step I took.  I was taking a step towards meeting my daughter, who I had fought tooth and nail for over the last 8 months.  I was one step closer to her being taken out of my body, my body that kept her alive, and therefore closer to her death once my body would no longer be able to keep her safe.  I kept hoping we would get stuck in traffic, stuck in security, stuck on the elevator, something.  But no.  Everything went smoothly and I checked in with the nurse and was taken to my room.  I was given a hospital gown and more antibacterial soap to wash one more time.  I held it together fairly well until I couldn't get that stupid robe to cover me enough to walk back out in front of everyone.  I asked my Mom for help and after no one could find my robe (the robe I lovingly picked out to use in the hospital and was right in my bag, NOT that stupid, bright, fake cheerful CHOP robe), my mother thoughtfully covered me with a sheet while I got into the bed and then covered me up.  I wouldn't be allowed to have the robe until after surgery anyway.

Next, the nurse found Mira's heartbeat with the monitor and hooked it up for me to listen to for a while and to get a nice long print out of her heartbeat for us to keep.  Since we were early, we still had some time to wait before my scheduled surgery.  A surgeon, whose name I don't remember, came and introduced herself.  I was mostly listening to Mira's heartbeat, she wasn't my doctor, just a doctor, I assumed there to watch since Mira would be having a rare procedure (intraoperative cephalocentesis) before my c-section and CHOP is a teaching hospital. Then I heard her or the nurse say she would be doing my c-section after my doctor completed the procedure.  That got my attention.  Wait.  Dr. Khalek was doing my whole surgery.  That was the plan.  She was good.  She was great.  I knew her background.  I read her research. She was the one I trusted to get my daughter into my arms alive.  I was told that an unexpected delivery had come in, and she may need to do that, but she would be by to talk to me soon.  That time between when I heard that and when Dr. Khalek came to see me was probably my most anxious.  Dr. Khalek did come though and told me my surgery would be a little later than planned due to the emergency. I got right to the point, "are you still doing my whole surgery, or is someone else doing the c-section?"  She answered, "Do you want me to do your c-section?" I said yes, and she said then she would, as simple as that.  So much relief.

Some other things were a bit mixed up with the emergency delivery, but nothing too big.  CHOP does not allow NLMDTS photographers in the OR, so our photographer was due to arrive right before my surgery was over.  The Child Life specialist and Psychologist would take the pictures in the OR.  They would make sure our birth plan was followed.  But they were with the other Mom, the one would wasn't expecting this today. I understood that she needed them more.  They said they could make an exception our photographer was called and rushed right over.  While that was happening, it was time to go back to the OR.

My nurse and Joe walked us back to the OR doors, with me wrapped in a blanket and decked out in a hair net and hospital gown.  Joe was not allowed past the OR door until I had my epidural, so we had to say good-bye for a bit.  The nurse walked me into the OR,  everyone was wonderful and kept reminding me that I was about to meet Mira!  The epidural was not bad, when it hurt too much, the anesthesiologist was able to adjust quickly.  Before I knew it, I couldn't move or feel anything.  Which is such a weird sensation, even when you know it is coming it is very strange.  Dr. Khalek brought me her phone and had me pick a Pandora Station.  I picked Snow Patrol, and she laid the phone next to my head.  Next Joe was in the room and I immediately felt so much relief.

Dr. Khalek then told me they were going to start the intraoperative cephalocentesis.  This procedure involved draining the fluid from Mira's brain using a needle before she was born.  Ultrasound was used to guide the doctor so the needle could safely travel through me and into Mira's sweet head between her skull bones.  I was assured over and over that there was no way should could feel this and no way way she could feel pain.  The procedure was necessary because Mira's head was too large to deliver safely, even by c-section.  I made the doctors promise that if they saw any signs of Mira being distressed or in pain, or of this procedure affecting our chance to meet Mira alive, that they would stop and switch to a more invasive method of c-section to save her, even if it meant I would lose my uterus or ability to carry another child.  We talked about that quite a bit in my weekly prenatal visits at CHOP.  But the procedure went very smoothly, I listened to my music, Joe stroked my head and made sure to not look at the needle.  Dr. Khalek joked with me about some of the strange songs Pandora had selected.  I laughed and told her I didn't know them either.  Then they announced the procedure was done and they would be moving to the c-section.  I asked, "And she is okay?  She is still okay?"  They promised me she was.  During the procedure the Chaplin had arrived to baptize Mira and our social worker to take pictures. I'm not sure when it was decided she would do this rather than our photographer, but it all worked out fine.

Shortly after they started the C-section, they announced my beautiful daughter was here. I started crying right away and asking over and over, "Is she okay, is she okay?"  Within less than a minute they confirmed she had a heartbeat and was breathing.  They wiped her off, wrapped her up in her blanket and got a hat on her and handed her to Joe, who held her as close to me as he could.  She was so perfect.  As sick as she was, she was just so beautiful.  I wanted to hold her so badly, but with the epidural and in the position I was in, I couldn't move my arms.  I fought as hard as I ever have physically fought and got one arm moved enough to touch her bundled up body.  I could feel her wiggling in the blanket and was so, so, so happy.  She was born alive.  I felt immense relief in that moment.  I did it.  I kept her alive to meet us.  I kept her safe to live on her own terms.

Joe and I told her over and over how much we loved her and how beautiful she was.  I thanked her for fighting so hard to meet us.  I asked her, "Do you recognize our voices?"  She immediately coo'd in response, and we all smiled and laughed.  With my poor hearing, and being in the middle of being operated on this is the only coo I really heard, though she coo'd three more time.  I could just make out this one, and I ask Joe, even now, all the time, to describe her noises to me again.  He always patiently obliges.

Next, while Joe held her and I had my hand on her still, Laura, our Chaplin, baptized her.  Mira coo'd as she was dedicated to the Lord.  For the remainder of my surgery Joe and I just stared in awe at Mira and told her over and over how much we loved her.  I was so excited when they said they were done.  "Can I hold her now?" I yelled.  They said as soon as they moved me off the operating table to the bed I would be able to hold her and move my arms better.

Joe placed her in my arms at the exact second they laid me in that bed.  I held her close, felt her wiggle, and touched her face.  Her sweet skin was so soft! I kept telling her she was perfect and I loved her.  "We did it, we did it,"  I told her.  I stroked her arm with my finger and as my finger slid over her palm she grabbed it tightly and I cried.  As they wheeled by bed back to my room, I could feel her movement slowing and then stopping, but she still had my finger.  Then she let go, and moved her arm up to cover her face.  The exact position she had been in on every ultrasound we had from 18 weeks on. I though it was probably time.  I held her close, kissed her, and stroked her face as I sang to her, "Come on, baby, with me, we gonna fly away from here.  Out of this room and this hospital grey will just disappear."  The neonatal doctor who specialized in palliative care walked up then and I looked up at him and repeated for the last time, "Is she still okay?"  He asked if I wanted him to check, and I said yes, but I already knew.  He checked her and handed her back to me shaking his head and said, "she is gone."  I cried in a way I didn't know I could, and screamed out, "But I wanted more time!"

The doctors and nurses laid quick, gentle hands on us and said they would give us privacy and walked out of the room.  I sobbed, and Joe quietly cried for a few minutes.  But only a few minutes.  We were filled with this unreal, supernatural peace and were able to go back to staring in awe at our beautiful daughter.  After some time alone, our parents came back to us and met Mira.  Desiree, our amazing photographer, joined us quickly and took beautiful pictures.  Joe gave Mira a bath and we dressed her together. The was joy and peace in all of this.  The pain would come later.

Over the three days I was in the hospital to recover, we would spend every minute with Mira.  I held her, sang to her, and read her books.  We made molds of her hands and feet.  We made colorful canvases of her footprints and our hands.  We squeezed every memory into three days that we could manage.  It was a good three days.  There were tears and pain, but mostly peace and love.

The peace was there right up until we had to leave.  Laura (the Chaplin), Dr. Cole (the palliative care team psychologist), Leah (our favorite nurse), all four grandparents, Joe, and I gathered around Mira to say good-bye on that last day.  She was dressed in her burial gown, made from my mother's wedding dress, with a pure white cloth diaper to keep her comfortable.  Laura blessed her and prayed for us all.  My parents and Joe's parents said good-bye.  Then we were alone, with Dr. Cole just behind us, in case we needed her as we said good-bye for now.  When we were ready, as ready as possible, Dr. Cole motioned to Leah, who stepped in a wheeled Mira's bassinet out.  She promised us she would be with her all the way to where she would rest in the hospital.  Our parents came back in.  I was crying of course and just wanted to leave.  Dr. Cole was so thoughtful and had everything prepared already so we could leave to moment I wanted to, whether it was hours later, or right away.  I wanted out now.  The perfect peace seemed to have left with Mira's body.  All the bags were packed and ready to go already.  I just needed to put on my shoes.  My mom went to put them on me and then we remembered we had removed the laces the day we arrived because they did not fit.  My baby was gone, and with her all that swelling and fluid.  My shoes were now stretched out and huge.  They felt as wrong on my feet as leaving a maternity unit without a baby felt to my heart.  My mom found the laces and got them fixed up so they fit again.  I was too week to walk, so my mom pushed me out in a wheel chair with Joe next to me, and me holding her stuffed fox as tight as possible.  That was the loneliest, most painful, walk/ride of my life.  I never wore those shoes again.  In fact, I threw them out a few months ago.

Mira's life was a beautiful, amazing, miracle. Her death was miraculous in its lack of pain and supernatural peace.  It is living without her that hurts.  Comfort comes from remembering that she never felt any of this pain.  I will shoulder this pain with gratitude, because it means I took the pain from her so she felt none.  I know she is playing in the kingdom of Heaven, feeling nothing but joy and waiting to be with me again.  That makes it all worth it.