The Road to Bryton - Day 7

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Between midnight to 1 am I remember my hospital room feeling busy. Our parents were there and in my mind I was trying to plan out how to pay for a burial and delivery.  I had some money set aside to make up for while I was off work, but had not been able to save anything past that.  I remembered that we have an insurance policy that covers the burial of any of our kids and mentioned that out loud. I wasn’t aware at the time that our child had to be born, take a breath and then die for us to get this benefit. Who plans to ever deliver a dead baby? Not us.

At some point my dad volunteered to give me his 2 burial plots he has by my grandmother. This gives me some peace as I am trying to prepare for what is to come.  By 1 o’clock my induction is going and my epidural is in place.  On the third attempt, my epidural was finally in place.  It took so long because I was shaking so bad. The nurse was even trying to hold me still. I asked if I could be knocked out and woken up when everything was over. I am pretty sure my doctor said yes, whatever I wanted they would do. I chose not to take advantage of this because I don’t like feeling drugged and not in control of my body, even if I am about to completely fall apart.

After everything is ready, I decide I will try and rest while my parents and oldest daughter move to the waiting room. All night I felt restless feeling so sorry that we were finally having a girl and now she was already gone. You see Bryton is Chris’ first biological daughter. I met Chris when our oldest Payton was just over 2 years old. She was tall for her age and well past the baby phase. After we got married we had 3 boys, each time hoping for a girl. For a husband who is a huge sports fanatic who follows everything; I always found it interesting that he wanted another girl so badly. This was not because he does not feel Payton is his, but he always felt strongly there was a daughter and he longed to hold a newborn girl. Chris wanted to shop in the girl side of the store just as much as I did. This dream was now shattered.

As the night went on I still could not sleep.  My mind was running in a million directions. I asked my nurse what the baby would look like. They told me it depends, each one looks different. Later I would find out that it depends on how long it has been since the baby passed away. Since I was full term there was no way to tell from an ultrasound how long it had been because every baby is a different size depending on genetics. I was scared, scared that I would not be able to hold or look at Bryton’s body. I wanted the delivery to be over, but I also didn’t want it to happen.

Sometime during the 4 o’clock hour my stepmom and mother in-law came in to check how things were going. I was not too far from my body being ready to deliver. As the hour went on I suddenly felt like my body was pushing. My nurse said I was just about ready, then right when she left the room I felt pressure and called her back in to check again (it felt like my baby had just come out), my water had broken and I was 100% ready, they were getting my doctor who was attempting to sleep at the hospital. Oddly, this is the first time out of 5 deliveries that my water broke on its own.

I was so scared. I did not want to do this. I wanted to run away (a repeating feeling). I wanted my mom and dad to fix everything. Then I felt it. I could feel everyone’s prayers for us entering the room. The only word that can describe what I felt was love.

As we got ready the room was silent. There was no monitor with the sound of the baby’s fetal heart rate, there was no worrying about the baby, instead everything was about me and what I wanted. I decided anyone who wanted to stay in the room could.

When my doctor came in she was quiet and serious, this is not normal for her. During my last delivery we talked through the whole thing about random stuff like sushi. This time I just waited quietly until she told me to push. When I did pushed it felt completely different from my past deliveries. It was literally caring dead weight. I am now a believer that babies assist in their delivery. I don’t know how, but they do. This baby felt heavy and hard to push. My last delivery, 3 ½ years earlier, I only had to push once.

As I waited to push again I was still crying and shaking. I know I pushed at least one more time and by 5:01 am Bryton’s body was delivered. My doctor asked if Chris wanted to cut the umbilical cord, he was holding my hand and I felt him hesitate. I remember thinking that it was OK if he could not do it. He let go of my hand and cut the cord. I did not watch. I still had my face covered and was then asked if I wanted to hold her through the tears all I could say was, “I don’t know, I don’t know.” My nurse then said, we will clean her off and get her wrapped in a blanket and then see if you want to hold her.

I felt like such an awful person. I was too scared to look at Bryton’s body. She was gone, so why should I Iook? I could feel she was not in there. She was gone. I could not even feel her in the room. I could feel others there like my grandparents, but not Bryton. She was gone, gone.

After my doctor got me situated she gave me a hug and finally lost her cool as she started to cry and told me she does not know why this happens and that she did not think a cause to her death would be found because Bryton was perfect. I was told later that as she and my nurses went into the hall and cried. My doctor went and found Payton. She hugged Payton and sobbed. My doctor was my family doctor through 5 pregnancies and deliveries, an eating disorder, date rape and teen pregnancy (not a result from the rape but from no self-esteem afterward). We have been through a lot together. 

Through my tears I asked Chris if he would take pictures of Bryton. I did not know what I wanted pictures of though. I just knew I wanted pictures and whatever I did not want later I could get rid of. I can’t even remember being handed Bryton, but I do remember as soon as I looked at her my heart that I thought was already shattered, exploded. I felt so much love and so much pain all at the same time. It was not like looking at a living newborn, this was so painful I can’t describe it. The only way to even understand it is to sadly experience it. So I wish no one to understand it.  

She looked like a normal newborn, but relaxed. Her lips were bright red, as the skin had started to peel, but other than that she did not look any different than any other newborn. I cried harder and harder each time I looked at her and felt her dead weight in my arms. Never had a 6lb 4oz baby felt so heavy. I said anyone who wanted to hold her could and asked Chris once again to take pictures. Even after all my preparation I had accidently grabbed my broken camera flash and with it so dark outside, Chris did the best he could to take pictures through his tears.

Our daughter Payton came in but could not bring herself to hold her. She looked at her from a distance and that was OK. I don’t think at almost 16 I would have wanted to hold a dead baby either, especially if it were my only sister. My delivery had happened so fast that my mom and stepdad who had our boys did not make it but came in shortly after. Each of the boys came in. At first none of them wanted to hold her, but eventually Boston climbed up onto the bed with me and when I was not looking he would rub her hands. He kept asking me to take her lipstick off (since her lips were bright red and were starting to get darker).

The hospital got to work trying to get a hold of a photographer and attempting hand and foot molds. They took her hand and foot prints and got her dressed in her white dress, but it did not fit because she was too big. We decided to go from a white dress with purple ribbon to a sold white dress. My nurse was getting ready to leave and instructed us to remember that this was our show; no one should tell us when to have the mortuary come that was up to us. We could be with Bryton as long as we wanted an not to worry about or listen to anyone else’s opinions. She said she was selecting the nurse she thought would be best to take over and making sure everyone knew the situation.

As my doctor came in to check on me before she left, she told me she ordered labs and sent my placenta off. They would be checking both me and Bryton for many conditions ranging from diabetes to lupus. She instructed the hospital to let me leave whenever I wanted; she was not going to make me stay as I normally do just fine after delivery. Many vials of blood were drawn and we went about the day exhausted and broken but still having many decisions to make not sure if we would leave that day or spend the night.

I was brought breakfast and could not really eat. I could not taste anything. Our family was taking turns holding Bryton and I was still crying off and on and laughing through my tears while being sarcastic at times (I am sure I seemed like I was losing my mind), this is normal for me when stressed. I was currently trying to figure out how to tell one of my best friends about what had happened as she was getting married today (this is a side story I will share later).

There was so much that seemed to take place this day. We were given paper work to fill out. One paper had me fill out information about my pregnancy; there was not one risk factor I could check off for having a stillborn. I did not drink, smoke, take drugs or have a chronic illness. We filled in Bryton’s full name, Bryton Elizabeth Wintle (there is more about this in the post The Dream).

I was so tired and at lunch once again tried to eat. The only thing I ate was the lemon pie; it was the only thing I could slightly taste. I later learned that losing your sense of taste is a side effect of grief. It would be months before it came back. I tried to sleep but felt guilty if we left Bryton’s body sitting alone. I actually did not feel a huge desire to keep holding her, but there was a need to make sure her body was taken care of. We were still waiting for the photographer to arrive. I got a little frantic wanting all of the kids to get ready to be in pictures and then I broke. I could not get myself ready and pretend to be happy for pictures. It was then decided that we would only have pictures taken of Bryton and at a later date have family pictures taken with us holding her picture. This way I could stay the mess I was and my kids did not have to smile when they did not feel like it.

Once the photographer arrived she went to work taking pictures of Bryton and then asked what else I wanted. I told her I just wanted pictures of Chris holding her hands and feet. She then asked if I would get in the pictures and I said no. It was not that I did not want my picture taken but I could not smile when looking at Bryton as my heart shattered more and more each time I looked at her. The photographer agreed to leave me out of them, but later asked me to hold her feet and hands. She slowly worked me into a few pictures as tears streamed down my now swollen face (I was positive I would not use any of these pictures).

It was now around 2pm and we were given a list of mortuaries to choose from. Another nurse walked in to ask me a question and when I looked at her I instantly recognized her. It was my nurse from Monday, the one who had monitored Bryton. I quickly asked if it was her and she looked sad as she said yes. She told me she wishes there had been a sign that she was not OK. She sat down and told me that she had a stillborn sister and watched her mom suffer from the grief. She shared that still to this day she suffers. I felt bad for her. I felt bad that she had been my nurse that previous Monday. I felt bad for all of my nurses and kept telling them so. Who wants to go to work and end up delivering a dead baby? My guess is no one, including the doctors.

As Chris called the first mortuary on the list they told us everything for babies is free except the casket and the casket cost depended on the baby’s size. We did not have the strength to keep calling others so we called the mortuary back and set up the dreaded time to pick up Bryton’s body. At this point a nurse came and asked if she could take Bryton to try hand and foot molds again because they did not like how the first set turned out. The nurse that brought her back made sure to say; “her nose is really starting to run.” We got the hint that she thought we should have the mortuary come and told her we had already called them. Her nose was running. This is graphic but the truth. Small bodies deteriorate fast, plus she had already started to deteriorate before being born. We watched as her body got darker and darker, her skin more wrinkly and fluid from her brain ran out her nose. It was hard. But as any good father Chris would wipe her nose and say, “oh sweetheart,” in the sweetest tone I had ever heard. While falling apart I was also falling more and more madly in love with my husband. Watching how he loved our daughter even after she was gone was the most amazing thing I have ever seen on this earth.

We had visitors come and go, warning each one that Bryton was still in our room and getting very dark. But if that bothered anyone they did not show it. By the time the mortuary came it was 3 pm and one of my childhood friends and her husband were there. I remember the two young men that came in with a small quilt and asked if it was ok if they wrap Bryton up. Chris and I each gave her one last kiss as we handed her off. I felt ready to let her go. But as they wrapped her up I cried, they then asked if they could over her face now and we said yes, as they did I broke. Each step you literally don’t think you can take and then you do. It is still so much harder than you can imagine but you make it; you don’t have any other choice.

I am now being asked if I want to order dinner, but I don’t know if I am staying. Part of me feels like I should as I can’t face going home empty handed. Chris is ready to go home and tells me if I don’t go yet that he needs to; he can’t stand to be at the hospital any longer. I agree to go home. So by 4pm (11 hours after delivering Bryton) we are packed up with all of our things and a white box instead of our baby. For the day decisions are done, the funeral planning will start tomorrow. 

There is more to this day, but I will end here and write about the rest later.