Scott and I both got up very early to prepare for the hospital. I showered, did my hair and makeup, and packed a couple of bags with things I thought I’d need. We weren’t sure what Scott would do, so he didn’t pack a bag at this point.
My work sent me flowers - aren't they beautiful?
My last tummy picture before our baby entered this world. I was 28 weeks, 4 days.
We headed outside to put the bags in the car. It was still dark out but not too cold for December. A light layer of snow covered the ground. I glanced down in our backyard and saw two deer staring back at me – a mom and her baby. I pointed them out to Scott and I watched them as Scott finished loading up the car. We love when our deer visit us and it felt special seeing them that morning. After we got everything loaded, we headed out. It was around 5:30am – we wanted to be sure to get there on time. I called my mom as we drove to make sure she knew we were on our way. She wasn’t far behind us.
We arrived at St. Mark’s hospital woman’s pavilion, pulling into the cramped parking spot. Luckily we found one right in front of the underground entrance – actually, it probably had nothing to do with luck but more so due to the fact that it was about 10 minutes to 6 a.m. I slowly pulled myself out of the seat, rocking back and forth a few times to build up enough momentum to pull myself out of the car. It really hit me how large my stomach was and how sad it made me to know in a few short hours my tummy would be gone. I tried not to think about it as Scott opened the trunk, grabbed my bags, and then we headed inside.
I realized how much I’d grown to hate the elevator as we stepped into it. This was the elevator that took us to our first MFM appointment where we found out we were going to lose our son. It took us to every appointment after that too. I’d seen several happy women come and go through this elevator, with their large round bellies and smiling families with them. I couldn’t help feeling a small twang of pain, anger, and sadness every time I saw them. I tried valiantly to avoid meeting their eyes, as mine were usually red and puffy from crying after an appointment.
Thankfully, the elevator ride was short and we headed to the labor and delivery unit. The nurse I’d spoken to the previous night was waiting for us and introduced herself. I was glad I had called ahead and informed her of our situation. They were all extra sensitive and kind. She led Scott and me to my room.
It was large and very nice. And part of me truly hated it. I was saddened as I thought about the fact it was so large in order to accommodate doctors, nurses, family and friends who would come to experience the birth and life of a new child. It felt too large, with only me, Scott and a lone nurse in it.
The nurse didn’t waste anytime and got me dressed in my hospital gown. She showed me where everything was and I went into the bathroom to change. By the time I came out, my mom had arrived. I felt better knowing she’d be there for us the entire time. The nurse came back in the room and had me lay down on the hospital bed in order to prep me for surgery.
Despite my best efforts to ignore why we were there, my room kept cruelly mocking me with reminders of the fact I would not be leaving the hospital with a child in my arms. Twinges of sadness would shoot through me as I spotted these little reminders - the warming table probably saddened me the most. I looked up at the light above me, the one that the doctor uses during labor to help him see. My distorted face looked back at me. I looked tired.
The nurse who had welcomed us introduced us to two more nurses – it was time for a shift change – letting us know that they would be taking care of us for most of the day. Prepping me didn’t take too much time, and I spent most of that time lying in bed talking to Scott and my mom. I actually felt pretty calm and at peace. And before I knew it, it was time.
My mom gave me a hug and said she’d be there when we got back, and then the nurse helped me walk back to the surgery room. I put on one of those wonderful blue hairnets on the way in. I’ll admit the nervousness kicked in as I was helped onto the surgery table. The anesthesiologist gave me my epidural which I really didn’t enjoy. It didn’t hurt, but on the first attempt the anesthesiologist hit a nerve or something because my entire body jerked pretty hard and it was really unpleasant, like a sharp tingling. Luckily the second time he got the right spot and before I knew it my body started feeling very warm and the numbness wasn’t far behind. By the time Scott was brought back I was entirely numb from the chest down and a large blue sheet was literally in my face, covering most of me.
I was so glad Scott was there. This was my first surgery ever and these were not the circumstances I pictured for the occasion. The surgery itself wasn’t bad but I was still uncomfortable. There were a few moments when I think I squeezed Scott’s hand a little too hard. The most painful part was actually my chest. This pain came on pretty suddenly and I thought something was wrong. I told the anesthesiologist and he explained that when your body is cut open, air enters body cavities where it normally can’t get to and that this can be extremely painful. He said it’s the thing patients complain about the most. He wasn’t lying either, it hurt REALLY bad and actually hindered my breathing a bit.
Thankfully the surgery was pretty quick, but I held onto Scott for dear life. I felt a lot of tugging and pulling and then Dr. Brown said, “The baby’s out.” I felt so empty and numb (aside from the numbness from the epidural that is). I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to hear the sound of my baby’s first cry even though I knew I never would, because he couldn’t and never would in this lifetime. I don’t think I will ever have a problem when my future children cry – it’ll be music to my ears!
After that, all I could think about as I lay on the table while my doctor sewed me up was seeing my baby for the first time. I wanted to know what he looked like. I was a little nervous because I had no idea how his condition had affected his features. I didn’t know if I’d see his little face or his hands and feet. I didn’t know how fragile he’d be or how long I’d get to be with him. But I wanted him.
After they finished me up and removed the sheet, Dr. Brown was smiling and very optimistic. He started off by telling us that the surgery went better than expected. He informed us of our baby’s condition – that he’d probably been gone for a few days. His skin was torn in a few places from birth and he was very fragile. He then continued by saying we’d made the right choice about having a c-section. According to him, there was no way we could have delivered our baby vaginally because the cystic hygroma was much larger than they anticipated. He also said due to the extra fluids, my uterus had stretched far enough that it wasn’t necessary to make a vertical cut. This means there’s a high probability I can have my next child vaginally. I rejoiced in my heart at that!
Since I was completely unable to move from the waist down, they put me onto my bed and wheeled me to my room, where my mom, Kim, and Kaelyn were waiting for us. After I was settled in, one of my nurses asked if we were ready to see the baby. I looked to Scott, and we nodded. We were both ready.
Kyden James Fife was born December 8, 2011 at 8:02am. He weighed 3 lbs, 7 oz and was 10 inches long. The nurse wheeled him in and we got our first look. Honestly, it was a little hard for me to see him. Not because I didn’t want to look – never that - but because I couldn’t sit up thanks to being numb. But I was patient. I wanted Scott to see him first. As Kyden’s mother, I knew him better than anyone in that room, because I carried him. And I wanted Scott to have an opportunity to see him and know him and love him. I let our mom’s and Kim see him too. Kim even took pictures for us. And then my patience wore out and I wanted to see him too.
The nurse asked if we wanted to hold him, and I nodded. She took him and swaddled him, as he was extremely fragile and…well, for lack of a better word, wet. Because of his swelling and fluid buildup, his skin was leaking fluid constantly so he had to be wrapped well in order for anyone to hold him. I had only caught glimpses of him while he was lying beside me in his bed, so I was anxious to see him
And then she placed him in my arms.
There he was. The baby I’d carried for 6 months. The baby I had thought of every moment since I found out I was pregnant. The one who had brought me more joy and at the same time sadness and fear and anxiety than I’d ever experienced in my life. He was there and I could see him, face to face.
It didn’t matter that he couldn’t look back. At that moment, it truly did not matter. It’s difficult to explain, but looking at Kyden, I had the distinct feeling of, “This isn’t my son.” Meaning, this poor, fragile, precious body no longer contains the spirit that is my son. He was not there in my arms.
But he was with us! He surrounded all of us. You could feel Kyden in that room with us and I was filled with so much peace! At that moment, all was well. I knew that Kyden came here and accomplished what he was asked to do, and that his work here was finished. And I was okay with that. Of course I will always miss him. There’s a piece of me that is missing and I will never be whole until we’re reunited. But I can be patient. If anything, this experience has taught me faith and patience!
The rest of the day flew by. Family came to visit throughout the day and we were so grateful they could and did! We were so happy that so many people got to meet our son before we had to say goodbye. The nurses called a photographer from Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. These are photographers who volunteer their artistic talents to come and take pictures for you of you and your child. They edit the images and make a DVD/CD for you so you can have these precious memories forever. Our photographer, Jen, did an absolutely fantastic job and we are SO grateful she was willing to do this for us! Our pictures will be held dear to us and our family forevermore.
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When Kyden was first brought to us, he was extremely swollen from all of the fluid built up in his body. But throughout the day the swelling went down. By the time Jen came and did our photographs, we could actually see his facial features and he looked almost normal. By the end of the day he looked so peaceful it felt like he really was asleep. In fact, I caught myself checking on him to make sure he hadn’t woken up by us talking too loudly and I’d even check on him to make sure he was still breathing - which is really kind of sad to admit seeing as he never took a breath outside the womb. But that’s how peaceful he was. He was there, just not in his body.
By the end of the day, I was absolutely EXHAUSTED. I don’t remember ever being so tired in my entire life. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like to actually go into labor and have a child you have to care for straight off the bat! After everyone left that evening, I went to sleep. There was no choice in the matter; my body would not stay awake any longer. Kyden lay on my left in his bed as I slept; Scott sat on my other side in a chair. My two favorite boys were watching over me.
When I awoke it was around 10 pm. Throughout the day, Kyden’s physical condition deteriorated rapidly and we both knew we had to say goodbye. We’d decided before Kyden was born that we’d only keep him for a day before turning him over to the hospital for an autopsy. Well, when the time came, suddenly I didn’t know if I could let him go. Scott handed me our son and I held him and looked at him and told Scott that I really didn’t know if I could say goodbye. I asked if we could keep him until tomorrow. Scott was the voice of reason and reminded me that Kyden’s body was too fragile for us to keep. So I asked if Scott would say a prayer, which he agreed to.
Honestly, I don’t remember the words that were spoken. I know they were beautiful words, exactly what needed to be said. But what I remember the most was the spirit that accompanied that prayer. That will remain with me forever. Needless to say, the tears flowed freely from both of us, and we were surrounded with so much love and peace. Had an outsider walked in, they would have only seen the two of us in that room. But we could feel distinctly that we were not alone in there. Its not something that can really be described, but from my feelings, I know Kyden was there in spirit. If the veil had been removed, we would have seen him, standing between us, he was that close. And the feelings we had were of, “It’s okay. You can let me go now. Its time. I’m all right and I love you and I know you love me. Don’t worry.” I was gently reminded that this body no longer held my son and letting his body go would not mean my son would not be with me.
After that, the peace remained with us. We both held him for awhile longer, laid him back in his bed and when the nurse returned, we told her we’d said our goodbyes and she could take him.
The remainder of my hospital stay was quite uneventful; unless you enjoy watching someone suffer and cringe from doing a task as simple as getting out of bed. The nurses encouraged me to get up and walking as soon as I could because it would help me recover quicker – plus work out the extra air that was trapped inside me from surgery. Oh it was quite painful. I really hope I never have to have a c-section again! But if it’s for the good of my child, there’s no question.
Scott was able to stay in the hospital with me the entire stay, which put me at ease. He helped me when I needed him and he went for walks with me up and down the halls. I have such an amazing husband.
We also had plenty of visitors who brought so many beautiful flowers and things to comfort us. Again, I was so grateful for the earthly angels in our lives!
My mom brought us some snacks and Scott spelled out Kyden's name using the crackers.
There were really only two times that I “broke down” during my stay – aside from the first day. That was a given! The first was while we were out on one of our walks. As we made our way slowly down the hall, suddenly from around a corner in front of us came another couple going for a stroll as well – only they were pushing their baby along with them. I hurried and turned around (by “hurried” I mean I moved at a turtle’s pace instead of a snail due to the pain from my surgery and dizziness) and told Scott we needed to go back to our room. I think I held the tears off until I got back, but I don’t really remember. That was a stab to the chest, one I didn’t expect.
The second one happened on another walk, only this time it was a group of people – two nurses pushing a hospital bed with a woman lying in it. In her arms was a newborn, and her husband brought up the rear, dragging their personal items. Again, I felt the stab to my heart and we returned to our room so I could cry.
It was hard having to recover on the same floor as all of the healthy deliveries – walking past rooms with happy, laughing families. But the hospital was sensitive and placed us farthest down the hall, away from the other rooms. So we were secluded and it was quiet. They’d also placed a picture of a red rose on our door, signifying that we’d lost our baby. This way visitors and staff would be aware to be sensitive. I appreciated that.
I remained in the hospital for three days and I returned home December 11th, Sunday afternoon. It was so strange being home. I’d gotten in the habit of holding my stomach, or rubbing it to “comfort” my son, so it was strange reaching for it, only to feel the flatness. There was a lot of adjusting I had to do. Scott and I spent a quiet Sunday together, trying to rest a little before facing the coming week.
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