I was numb. The next few hours are kind of blurry 6 months later, but I remember heading back to Newberg Hospital to check-in...
Dr. Johnson had told me to come back when I was ready, and his colleague Dr. Emmons would induce. I remember Dr. Emmons from earlier in my pregnancy, I had seen her once for an OB visit, and she had less of a lovey-dovey and nurturing bedside manner. I wasn't sure what this experience would be like. John and I took our overnight bag up to the third floor of the office building, and walked through the same double doors that we had been visiting for the past 7 months. The same receptionist checked us in, and when she asked my name this time, I stumbled over the words and told her Dr. Emmons would be inducing us today. A smile spread over her face as she exclaimed, "Congratulations!"
I looked down and stepped back as John continued to check us in. The receptionist looked really confused as she tried to find my name in the schedule. She finally walked away and whispered to another employee and a few seconds later, a very quiet and somber employee named Marissa came out the side door and asked us to come back into one of their conference rooms.
"I'm so sorry for your loss." She said. She was the first of MANY people to say this to us over the next few hours, days, weeks and months. "Dr. Emmons would like you to check-in to the birthing unit. Do you know where that is?" I think she could tell by the look on my face that:
A. I did not know where is was.
B. Any directions she gave me would be completely forgotten in the fog that I was in.
"I will just take you there, okay?"
John and I were scheduled to tour the birthing unit on January 16th. It was on my calendar, and I was very excited. Here we are on December 9th though, and we were getting a VIP escort.
The walk from the OB office to the birthing unit was eerily quiet. I'm sure poor Marissa was racking her brain for small talk, but neither of us spoke a word. We got to the entrance to the birthing unit, and she instructed me to pick up the intercom phone, tell them who I was, and say that I was checking in. I wish she would have done it for me, but I reluctantly picked up the phone, waited for an answer, and said, "My name is Sarah Thomas and I'm checking in for an induction."
The woman on the other end said, "Okay, I'll buzz you in."
Marissa gave us a somber goodbye and good luck, and she walked back to her office. As the door clicked open, we walked in. It was so bright in the hallway, and I was even more dazed and aimless as I walked in to find the reception desk. The woman from the intercom phone was sitting behind the desk. I recognized her immediately as a neighbor who I had grown up with across the street. Cindy Burns. She recognized me immediately as well, got up from behind the desk, and yelled, "Sarah! I didn't know it was YOU!" She began crying and I realized that they were ready for me.
The nurses checked us in and led us to the very end of the hallway. We had a birthing room on the corner of the building, furthest away from the reception desk and all of the other rooms. I am so glad that they did that. I remember when we had Hudson, we heard other babies and families celebrating in neighboring rooms. I did not want to hear that this time. I wanted privacy and to just be alone. The next few minutes seemed like an ordinary birthing experience. The nurses explained what was going to happen, got me all prepped in my gown on the bed, and hooked me up to my IV and monitors. The fetal monitor was absent of course.
I remember asking the nurse when we finished getting all settled, "How long do you think all of this will take?"
"Hard to tell," she replied, "It could be a few hours or a few days." Then she smiled and walked out the door.
I turned to John, holding back my tears, and said, "God, I hope this doesn't take DAYS!"
Over the next hour or so, nurses and doctors, and even a social worker came in and out of our room talking to us, explaining things, asking if we had any questions. The mood was so somber and nobody would smile. It was starting to get to me. I felt like the lack of emotion and the "poor you" looks were making it worse. I mentioned to John that the staff needed to "lighten up" and he went right out and told them that. From then on, the nurses smiled at me, made light jokes, and made it feel a little less like my baby had just died. If we were going to have to stay for a while, at least make it less miserable, right?
As the afternoon progressed, the induction got underway. My birth with Hudson was a scheduled cesarean, so I was completely unaware about how all of this stuff worked. They explained that it would be a 3-step process of softening, ripening, and then delivering. Each step was unpredictable, and we would just have to wait and see how long each step took. They asked how I was feeling, and if I needed anything. I said that I was anxious (duh), and that I had heartburn (because, well, I'm still pregnant). The next words the nurse spoke were both crushing and relieving...
"Well Sarah, the bright side of this circumstance is that our entire pharmacy is at your disposal. We want you to be as comfortable as possible." She then fed my IV with some anti-anxiety meds and some acid reducer.
My whole experience was surreal. At times, I forgot why I was there, to deliver a stillborn baby, and at other times, the reality was just overwhelming. I went back and forth between crying uncontrollably, and masking my pain with laughter and jokes. The nurses said more than once that they were amazed by our strength. Together we coined the phrase, "Team Thomas" and it soon became a hashtag... #TeamThomas. Whenever we had to deal with a tough moment, John and I looked at each other and said, "Team Thomas" and that brought us back to a place of strength and determination.
The first stage of this induction was taking a lot longer than we thought. It was now Tuesday night, and nothing had progressed. I was determined to have a natural birth this time, because I remember how "out of it" I was after Hudson's cesarean, and I didn't want to miss out on any time with Parker. I knew that we wouldn't get to be with him long, and I wanted to be totally present in those limited moments. I spoke with Dr. Emmons about the induction, and she asked if I had any questions. There was one question that was weighing on my mind, but I hadn't asked yet..."Earlier in my pregnancy, Dr. Johnson told me that an induction could be dangerous when I have had a previous cesarean. Is that true?"
She shifted in her seat, looked around the room for a second, probably collecting her thoughts, and said, "Sarah, the reason that we don't like to induce after a cesarean is because if your uterus ruptured, it would be very dangerous for the baby. In this case, that is not a concern."
"Oh."
We spent Tuesday night in the hospital, still with no progression. Luckily John was off work with his injury, so he never left my side. My mind went to work many times throughout the ordeal. I know that my job should be the least of my concern at this point, but I couldn't help thinking about my students. I had spent part of the previous day e-mailing and texting my teaching partner and the substitute we had hired for my maternity leave. I kept telling them that as soon as I was "done" I would come in and make some sub plans. I kept thinking that this would be all over soon, and that things would just go back to normal. They kept telling me to take my time and they would take care of things at school. I just felt bad. I felt bad that they had to scramble around to cover my class. I felt bad that my sub, who was so excited to be hired for a 4-month maternity leave was now stuck with a much more temporary position. I felt bad that I wasn't at school to celebrate Christmas with my students. And I felt bad that very soon, in 26 different houses, a very sad and confusing discussion would be taking place between my students and their parents. I just wanted to be in my classroom right now, with my big belly, laughing and counting down the days during our Calendar Time to when Mrs. Thomas would have her baby.
Hudson hung out with his Grandma on Wednesday, and she brought him for a short visit that afternoon. We ordered him a PB&J from the cafeteria and he watched cartoons on the TV in my hospital room. I could tell that he was uncomfortable there, seeing mommy attached to so many wires and tubes, and I was not my usual happy self, even though I was trying really hard to act normal. I asked John's mom if she could take Hudson to his preschool the next day, so he could have some normalcy and see his friends. If my life was going to be destroyed and turned upside down by this, I wanted to keep Hudson's intact. I got to hold him for a moment before he left. He crawled up onto my bed and gave me the huge hug that I needed. At that moment, I realized how lucky I was to have a very healthy and happy young boy. I took for granted how easy his pregnancy and birth was, and how blessed I was to have him. When he left, all I wanted to do was go with him, and to be with that happy, carefree and naïve little boy.My friends and my family stopped by that day too. My best friend, Mollie came many times to sit with me, keep me strong, and just let me vent and cry and complain to her. She was such a calming presence and just always knew what to say or do to help. She was also a great #TeamThomas advocate. She made sure the nurses were giving me everything I needed, explained all of the medications and procedures that go with an induction (sometimes multiple times because I would forget), and made sure that we had everything covered at home and in the community. She set up a GoFundMe account to raise money to help with house cleaning. My other friend, Lyndsey set up a Meal Train for us, and people all over the community were signing up to bring us meals and support us. Some families from my school were even on the list. It was crazy...even though I was going through the worst time in my life, I was so overwhelmed and humbled that so many people were surrounding our family with love and support. Texts and emails and visits streamed in throughout the day, and it was so nice to not feel alone.
The social worker came back that day. We needed to fill out more paperwork before Parker's birth. We needed to decide what to do with his body after he was born. First thing we needed to decide, was if we wanted an autopsy. The thought of ANYTHING being done to my little baby boy made me sick to my stomach. At the same time, I was desperate for answers as to why he died. If it was something preventable, I wanted to know. We talked through the options with the social worker, and decided that a partial autopsy would be best. Collect some tissue and leave the rest intact. We were also told that there would be no birth certificate. Or death certificate. According to the government, he never existed. No social security number. Nothing. That broke my heart, and made him less real. He had a name, he had a family, he was real! Another decision we had to make was whether we wanted to cremate him or bury him. Ugh...so many decisions that I am having to make in such a short period of time. Less than 24 hours ago, I was still happily unaware that he was gone. I was still pregnant, at work, daydreaming of the future. Now I'm looking at funeral homes, cemeteries, and grief resources. John did some research and found a local funeral home that had some plots in a "Children's Garden". We would bury Parker in Newberg, just a few minutes from our home, among other babies born before or shortly after birth. That brought me a little peace in a day of hard decisions. A little while later, the social worker came in to tell us that the pathologist decided that testing Parker's placenta would be sufficient, and that he did not need to do any tissue extraction from his body. That brought me even more peace.
Wednesday evening came, and still there was no change or progression with my induction. The doctors and nurses kept telling me to give it more time. The idea came up to try a cesarean if we couldn't get things moving, but I was determined to keep trying naturally. The "softening" stage is very painful. The misoprostol that they were applying every 4 hours was one of the most excruciatingly painful experiences of my life. We were entering the second full day of this, and I wanted some relief! Dr. Emmons, bless her heart, was the first to suggest a more aggressive approach to getting things done. I was ready, and I was now so thankful for her no-nonsense bedside manner! By midnight Wednesday night, we had moved on to stage 2 of my induction!
I now had an epidural in my back, and Pitocin flowing through my body. We started out pretty slow with the Pitocin, and the anesthesiologist showed me the button on my epidural drip that would deliver more medication if things got painful. Thursday morning came, and things were finally moving along! Hudson decided that he didn't want to come back and visit me (I don't blame him), but Mollie and my sister did. I was so thankful. Mollie told me about an organization called, Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep, where volunteer photographers came to the hospital to photograph stillborn babies. She had already set it up with the hospital for them to come when Parker was born. I was so nervous for all of this. I have never seen a dead body, and I wasn't sure I wanted to. I chose not to view my mom after she passed away, because I didn't want to remember her in that way. I felt firm in that decision, and I have never regretted it. This was different though, I have never seen Parker alive, and I didn't want to miss that one chance to hold him and see his face. I was pretty certain that I would hold him. I was in the middle of a conversation with my sister and Mollie, when I suddenly fell under intense and unfamiliar pain. I felt like my entire insides were crushing in on itself, and I had no idea what was happening. I was writhing in pain, and could barely even speak. I begged John to get the nurse, because I was sure that I was either dying or Parker was on his way...
My sister and Mollie left the room as the nurses came in. They quickly examined me and let me know that I was not dying and Parker was not coming either. I was having a contraction. Apparently, they had turned the Pitocin up to full strength, and somehow in my fogginess, I did not know that meant I would be getting very strong contractions. They reminded me of my pain button, and told me to use it every 20 minutes. Dr. Emmons came in a few minutes later, and let me know that Parker would probably be born soon. She let me know that because of the epidural and his small size, I might not feel much, and might not even be aware when he begins to come. She wanted to do an ultrasound to check his position. As she wheeled the machine into the room, I turned my head to the opposite side. I had already seen him silently still on the screen 2 days prior, and I did not want to witness it again. I just listened as she informed me that he was breech. "There is nothing we can do at this point." She said. "We will just deliver him breech."
The afternoon quickly moved on, as I happily pressed my epidural every 20 minutes as they suggested. My anxiety grew as the hours passed by, because I knew the moment was imminent. My sister and Mollie left, and I was glad to be alone. Since my pain was so unpredictable and I wasn't sure what to expect, I was happy to just deliver with my husband by my side. John and I were just relaxing in the room when I felt it. Something. I couldn't figure out what it was, but I just "knew".
"John, I think Parker is coming."
John buzzed the nurse, and she came in and checked once again. "Yes! I see his umbilical cord!' She said. Normally, birthing a baby umbilical cord first is not ideal, but as I was told many times, this circumstance was not the norm. "Don't push Sarah, Dr. Emmons is on call and is on her way."
The nurses pulled John aside, and even though I could hear them, tried to quietly prepare him for what to expect. Parker has been dead for probably 4 days. The birthing process will be rough on his body, and he might have some broken bones and bruises. His skin is thin and fragile, so it might be peeling in spots. In other words, it wont be pretty. In what felt like forever, but was probably only a minute or two, Dr. Emmons came in. The overhead spotlight came on, they got me into position, and we began.
After one push, at 8:00 pm on Thursday, December 11th 2014, Parker Joseph Thomas was born.
No cries, no rushing around, no excited exclamations. Just silence. They wrapped him up and handed him to John and I. He was beautiful. He had his brother's chin (a cleft chin that neither John or I possess), my nose and his daddy's lips. He looked just like his big brother. The nurses were right though, the skin on his hands and feet were peeling, and it looked as if his jaw was dislocated. Despite that, he was the most precious little boy I had ever laid my eyes on, just like his brother. I held him and examined him for as long as they let me. John held him, John's parents came and held him, Mollie came back to hold him and my sister held him too. It was a bittersweet moment for everyone, we were happy to meet him and happy for it all to be over, but devastated at the outcome.
Ron from Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep arrived soon after, and took photos of Parker until way past 10:00 at night. The time went by way too fast, and before I knew it, the nurses were asking us if we wanted to go home or stay the night. I was exhausted, and I wasn't ready to leave the hospital. I wanted to stay and be in Parker's presence for just a little while longer. "I think I want to stay the night." I replied. "Can I hold him again in the morning before I leave?"
The nurses just stood there, looking at each other not knowing what to say. I knew what they were thinking. He died Monday, tomorrow is Friday...and he will need to stay in the morgue all night. He wont be the warm and fleshy baby tomorrow that I was able to hold tonight. They eventually agreed, and I fell fast asleep, looking forward to another few minutes with Parker in the morning. 
We woke up bright and early Friday, I took my first shower in 4 days, got dressed and filled out the discharge paperwork. All that was left was to hold my sweet baby one more time. I knew that Parker would not be in the same condition as he was last night, but I needed to say one final and lucid goodbye. John took all of our bags to the car while I got my shoes and coat on. I wanted to be all ready to go when they brought him to me, so that it would be the last thing I did before I left. When John arrived back in the room, we asked to see him. 
The nurses carried in a small white box, about the size of a shoe box. Inside was my sweet baby Parker, all wrapped up in a blanket. The nurses told me to take my time, and let them know when I was ready. John and I just stood there, staring at him and bawling. I told Parker that I loved him about a thousand more times, and just stroked the blanket that he was wrapped in. I didn't want to leave, because I knew that I would never see or hold him ever again. This was it. I was no longer pregnant, I was no longer having a baby, I was going to go home empty handed and heavy hearted. John and I held each other and gave Parker one last look, before we left him peacefully sleeping on the bed, and went home.
