This past January she shared her rendition of what happened on January 9, 2010. She posted it on her FB. I am not sure if it's public or just for my and dh's eyes. I thought I would share it here. It was interesting to read another persons perspective of that life changing time. Some facts are not quite right and there are things that she thought I was feeling (thinking) that I know were not quite right. I will try to add my thoughts to things in a different colour.
Gavin...my personal and private story
by Tracey on Saturday, January 8, 2011 at 6:06pm
In
the wee hours of the morning, my sister gave birth to her second child.
For myself, this story started at 3 am. When the phone rang, I snapped
out of my sleep and with a cautious urgency, told my husband to get the
phone, as he was closest. As he answered the phone, I asked if the call
was legit. In my haze of slumber and fear, I tried to reassure myself
that we have been drunk dialed by wrong numbers in the past, and
perhaps this was one of those times. As well, I feared it was bad news,
immediately fretting it was about one of my parents.
When my husband handed me the phone, dread fell like a heavy pit to my tummy and I began to shake. It was my brother in law. He informed me that my sister just gave birth and he wanted me to bring my camera. My mind was crazed and rampant with emotions. I thought perhaps we had been drunk dialed after all. You see, my sister was only halfway through her pregnancy, a mere 23 weeks (20 weeks 6 days). I became angry and said “what?” He reworded his statement and informed me that my sister had a miscarriage (not sure if this word was used but I never refer to Gavin's loss as a miscarriage). I stupidly still could not grasp the situation. After all, I was relieved on some level that this was not a tragedy call about my parents. I demanded him to explain why he wants me to take pictures and tell me exactly was going on. He told me again that my sister gave birth, she had the baby, a miscarriage. I asked where they were, trying to make sense of the situation. They were at the hospital.
My brain went into shock mode as I finally began to understand. My sister has had miscarriage, but the baby was far enough along to be...a baby. Not a bloody mass expelled, which is my first image when someone says they have had a miscarriage. I started to cry quietly. My sister finally takes the phone to speak to me. She had the baby. She’d like me to come and bring my camera. They only have their cell phones. She has been admitted and is in a private room. The reality of it all began to sink in. This 3 am phone call was, indeed, a tragedy.
My husband immediately told me to get the kids up and let’s go. He did not want me driving on the roads in the dark and to the area we had to go. With quickness and reassurance, we quietly got all the kids out the door, grabbing juice boxes, snacks and a couple of DVD’s...and my camera. I tried to explain to the kids, all 7 and under, that we had to go see auntie, but that she was ok (not really). I look at my husband in desperation. I didn’t know what I was trying to say to the kids. He simply told them that auntie needed mommy right now. Bless him.
The drive seemed endless, with silent tears falling. As the hour approached 4 am, we arrived at the Emergency entrance. After several inquiries with a variety of nursing stations, I finally found my sister. Oh my God, I thought. This is surreal. For in her arms lay a swaddled bundle. Her baby boy had indeed been born. He was so tiny and pink. My sister and I both burst into sobs and tears as i hugged her. She was sitting up in the hospital bed, IV’s and hospital bracelets adorned her, wearing a hospital issued gown, and the fetal monitor with the paper spewed out beside her. And her story, which had actually started many hours earlier, began to tumble out. Through tears and yet with strength, I learned that she was spotting earlier in the day. The nurse said her doctor was unavailable and suggested she go to a medi center. Being too smart for that, she called the woman’s clinic. They suggested she go to emerg (I called the case room at labour and delivery, they told me to come in). During the 5 long hours waiting to be seen, she began contractions (I didn't actually start having contractions until after being admitted and being put in a l & d room on trendlenburg. While I waited I had started spotting and losing mucous). Once she was moved to a private room, things happened fast. Too fast. Blood work and ultrasounds indicated this was bad news (blood work was normal U/S was bad news 3cm dilated with bulging bag). All they could do now was wait. At approximately 2:40 am (2:17am), baby Gavin was born.
Gavin was not stillborn. He was born with a heartbeat. Legally, he lived long enough to be considered a live birth. With enough of the story told, we lapse into silence and shift our attention and thoughts to this beautiful tiny babe. His ears were forming, his facial features were complete. He even has the family trait dimple on the chin. My sister unwrapped him a little bit. He lay in her arms with these long skinny arms with perfect fingers, long skinny legs with perfect toes. He is sticky with drying blood. I fear he is actually stuck to the blanket (I do remember being VERY careful. His skin was so thin and fragile, he was getting stuck to the soft blanket). She wraps him again, as if to keep him warm.
A couple times, I thought my sister was about to pass Gavin to me, then seemed unsure. I wasn’t sure myself if she was ready to relinquish his hold. There are definite boundary’s to be respected in difficult times like this (at the time I wasn't sure if she would want to hold him). The nurse enters the room and explains the ritual that is about to happen. Aside from naming the baby, they bathe him, and do his measurements, hand and footprints and things of the like. The nurse gives us a few more minutes. I pass the camera to my sister and her husband and explain briefly the settings and such. I turn back to my sister. This time, when she slightly raised the baby in her arms, I reach for him. As I hold fragile little Gavin in my arms, I say a prayer for this Angel. According to the nurses, they have 2 options now. The baby can be buried by the hospital, with 49 other babies and they will let them know where he is (not quite right. The hospital buries babies every few months. Each year they alternate between a Catholic and Public cemetery. Parents can choose to purchase a plaque of remembrance at the site), or they can have their own funeral. My sister thinks she’d like to have him cremated and keep his tiny ashes. I gently place Gavin back in her arms, hug her again and we cry a little more. I take my leave, allowing them to go through the closure ritual in private (I actually wanted her to take the pictures. Instead I did it myself. I didn't realize her DH and kids were waiting in the car).
The dark drive home seems to be in slow motion that passes quickly. I do not talk about what is going on in that room. Not in front of the kids. My tears are a steady stream now. It occurs to me that Gavin was born and died one day before my own birthday. With a renewed sadness, I know that I would have been honoured to share my birthday with my tiniest nephew of all.
Deep sorrow has my nausea welling up and I fight desperately to force it down. I taste acid with my little burps. My husband places his hand on my knee and gives it a little squeeze. I am grateful to him. He will be my rock, as usual. As this story comes to an end, I do so realizing that this is only a chapter. This story will never have a true ending. The grief and memories will always be there in our lives, chapter after chapter.
When my husband handed me the phone, dread fell like a heavy pit to my tummy and I began to shake. It was my brother in law. He informed me that my sister just gave birth and he wanted me to bring my camera. My mind was crazed and rampant with emotions. I thought perhaps we had been drunk dialed after all. You see, my sister was only halfway through her pregnancy, a mere 23 weeks (20 weeks 6 days). I became angry and said “what?” He reworded his statement and informed me that my sister had a miscarriage (not sure if this word was used but I never refer to Gavin's loss as a miscarriage). I stupidly still could not grasp the situation. After all, I was relieved on some level that this was not a tragedy call about my parents. I demanded him to explain why he wants me to take pictures and tell me exactly was going on. He told me again that my sister gave birth, she had the baby, a miscarriage. I asked where they were, trying to make sense of the situation. They were at the hospital.
My brain went into shock mode as I finally began to understand. My sister has had miscarriage, but the baby was far enough along to be...a baby. Not a bloody mass expelled, which is my first image when someone says they have had a miscarriage. I started to cry quietly. My sister finally takes the phone to speak to me. She had the baby. She’d like me to come and bring my camera. They only have their cell phones. She has been admitted and is in a private room. The reality of it all began to sink in. This 3 am phone call was, indeed, a tragedy.
My husband immediately told me to get the kids up and let’s go. He did not want me driving on the roads in the dark and to the area we had to go. With quickness and reassurance, we quietly got all the kids out the door, grabbing juice boxes, snacks and a couple of DVD’s...and my camera. I tried to explain to the kids, all 7 and under, that we had to go see auntie, but that she was ok (not really). I look at my husband in desperation. I didn’t know what I was trying to say to the kids. He simply told them that auntie needed mommy right now. Bless him.
The drive seemed endless, with silent tears falling. As the hour approached 4 am, we arrived at the Emergency entrance. After several inquiries with a variety of nursing stations, I finally found my sister. Oh my God, I thought. This is surreal. For in her arms lay a swaddled bundle. Her baby boy had indeed been born. He was so tiny and pink. My sister and I both burst into sobs and tears as i hugged her. She was sitting up in the hospital bed, IV’s and hospital bracelets adorned her, wearing a hospital issued gown, and the fetal monitor with the paper spewed out beside her. And her story, which had actually started many hours earlier, began to tumble out. Through tears and yet with strength, I learned that she was spotting earlier in the day. The nurse said her doctor was unavailable and suggested she go to a medi center. Being too smart for that, she called the woman’s clinic. They suggested she go to emerg (I called the case room at labour and delivery, they told me to come in). During the 5 long hours waiting to be seen, she began contractions (I didn't actually start having contractions until after being admitted and being put in a l & d room on trendlenburg. While I waited I had started spotting and losing mucous). Once she was moved to a private room, things happened fast. Too fast. Blood work and ultrasounds indicated this was bad news (blood work was normal U/S was bad news 3cm dilated with bulging bag). All they could do now was wait. At approximately 2:40 am (2:17am), baby Gavin was born.
Gavin was not stillborn. He was born with a heartbeat. Legally, he lived long enough to be considered a live birth. With enough of the story told, we lapse into silence and shift our attention and thoughts to this beautiful tiny babe. His ears were forming, his facial features were complete. He even has the family trait dimple on the chin. My sister unwrapped him a little bit. He lay in her arms with these long skinny arms with perfect fingers, long skinny legs with perfect toes. He is sticky with drying blood. I fear he is actually stuck to the blanket (I do remember being VERY careful. His skin was so thin and fragile, he was getting stuck to the soft blanket). She wraps him again, as if to keep him warm.
A couple times, I thought my sister was about to pass Gavin to me, then seemed unsure. I wasn’t sure myself if she was ready to relinquish his hold. There are definite boundary’s to be respected in difficult times like this (at the time I wasn't sure if she would want to hold him). The nurse enters the room and explains the ritual that is about to happen. Aside from naming the baby, they bathe him, and do his measurements, hand and footprints and things of the like. The nurse gives us a few more minutes. I pass the camera to my sister and her husband and explain briefly the settings and such. I turn back to my sister. This time, when she slightly raised the baby in her arms, I reach for him. As I hold fragile little Gavin in my arms, I say a prayer for this Angel. According to the nurses, they have 2 options now. The baby can be buried by the hospital, with 49 other babies and they will let them know where he is (not quite right. The hospital buries babies every few months. Each year they alternate between a Catholic and Public cemetery. Parents can choose to purchase a plaque of remembrance at the site), or they can have their own funeral. My sister thinks she’d like to have him cremated and keep his tiny ashes. I gently place Gavin back in her arms, hug her again and we cry a little more. I take my leave, allowing them to go through the closure ritual in private (I actually wanted her to take the pictures. Instead I did it myself. I didn't realize her DH and kids were waiting in the car).
The dark drive home seems to be in slow motion that passes quickly. I do not talk about what is going on in that room. Not in front of the kids. My tears are a steady stream now. It occurs to me that Gavin was born and died one day before my own birthday. With a renewed sadness, I know that I would have been honoured to share my birthday with my tiniest nephew of all.
Deep sorrow has my nausea welling up and I fight desperately to force it down. I taste acid with my little burps. My husband places his hand on my knee and gives it a little squeeze. I am grateful to him. He will be my rock, as usual. As this story comes to an end, I do so realizing that this is only a chapter. This story will never have a true ending. The grief and memories will always be there in our lives, chapter after chapter.
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