I don't miss Juniper as a person. I didn't KNOW him. If someone had brought be another newborn I could might have gone home content. Instead I went home empty.
Everyblogger has written a loving, devastating and eloquent birth story. I haven't. I can't.
Heather asked some time to hear Juniper's story.
Here's his story.
He was conceived by chance. We all warmed up to the idea. I got excited about having another baby. I made him some diapers and gathered baby gear and made silly registry at a major retailer to occupy Nigel for a few hours with the scanning gun. Juniper (who was never called by ANY name while he could hear it) had the hiccups a lot. He kicked at the laptop when Nigel and I played the Wizard game. He slowed kicking on Thursday the 28th of January, while we were at OMSI. I had him checked out on Friday. His heartbeat was fine; a little fast at 150bpm. He had the hiccups on Saturday while we were having sex. And then he died. Possibly on Sunday. We sorted baby clothes at Jenna's on Monday. I don't think he moved at all. We found out on Tuesday. The midwives came for a home visit and couldn't hear his heart. So we went to the hospital. I brought the jar of raspberry leaf tea I was drinking. The ultrasound doctor couldn't shut up. I wanted to throw my jar at him. I have no idea what he said. I finally said "YOU NEED TO STOP TALKING!" He walked out of the room. Dave got there too late. I got dressed and said "i need to get the kids to school." I left the hospital and went home. Raven asked what was up and I said "the baby died" and went to my room and threw everything off the shelves onto the floor. I died inside. I spent the next week hiding and and weeping and raging and trying every herb and device and treatment that was safe at home to get him out of me. Dave took the shower doors off and the tub got cleaned and a curtain got put up. Molly the accupuncturist came. She had spirals on her jacket. I read bad SF novels. The baby wouldn;t come out. My body was being an ass. I gave up the next Tuesday. On Wednesday, February 3rd I went into the hospital and tried all sorts of medical things to get my baby out. I got 3 IV's because they screwed up the first two. I took a bubble bath. Finally at 10:50 after a balloon in my cervix, lots of Pitocin and Morphine and fighting against the epidural solicitors and FINALLY being allowed to eat, on my knees I birthed my butt-first, dead child into my own hands. Doctors and nurses looking on. I felt his scrotum as he came out and declared him a boy. No one touched him until I allowed it. Dave cut the cord even though he had never wanted to before. The kids came and saw Juniper, but didn't want to hold him. Several friends held him. My sister took pictures. We washed him and let him get weighed and measured and I diapered him and dressed him. I took more pictures with my phone. A horrible nurse came and did impressions of his feet and asked if he'd been in the fridge yet or something. Who asks that? We called her a bitch when she left and complained about her to someone. We held him and cried for 12 hours. His nose bled a lot and his mouth kept falling open. His head was mushy and I don't know why. Then they took him away while I cried "goodbye baby" over and over. We went home. They gave me medications to help me sleep and people brought food. I came downstairs after a few days, but jumped and ran every time the doorbell rang. I played the Wii with Nigel. They cut my baby open and measured and weighed his heart and liver and lungs and kidneys and other bits. Except his brain, because his head was too mushy. Then they took him to a funeral home. I went there a few days later and held him one more time, but I didn't unwrap the blankets because I wanted to remember him whole, not stitched back together. I held his hands and kissed his hands and took pictures of those perfect, cold little hands. Dave didn't want to see him again. Lisa held him again. Then I left him. Forever. A few days later Dave brought his "ashes" home. I looked at them -such a small bag full of crumbs- and there were bits of bone. I had alchemical dreams where I mixed my blood and tears and milk and his ashes and bones and made a new baby. Or thoughts that were not dreams. I cannot remember exactly.
I can't relate very well to everyone who had a baby they could relate to. I feel deficient. Not reverent. Like a bad mom. I wanted a baby. That baby is the one I was supposed to have, but damn! I didn't know him. He wasn't nobody. He could have been anybody. And he was everything but now he is nothing. He left a hole and I need to fill it.
I want to get the things out of the safe deposit box. I don't have access or even know where it is. I see the contents list in Dave's top drawer. A set of Clay feet. Hand and foot prints. Baby hat (which hat I wonder?) a lock of hair. What else? What other scraps of baby are missing from Juniper's shelf. There is a bag under the shelves in the dining room. They were going to be Juniper's shelves. They had his diapers stacked and a warmer for the cloth wipes. Little bins from Ikea with pins and snappis. Now it's here in the dining room; holding the phone, battery chargers and cell phone cords and that bag is under it. I know there is a nursing bra in there. I'm not sure what else. There is a blanket I think and a sleeper. Almost 6 months and I haven't opened it. We got all the baby stuff out of storage 4 weeks ago. I haven't looked through it. Except to try and sell the carseat that will likely expire before we ever have need for it. We dropped of the hand-me-down swing and vibrating rocker at Goodwill along the way. They didn't mean anything. They were for a baby. Anybaby. Just not that baby
Now, if anyone is still reading, I am going to go through that bag under the shelves with my webcam...
Here's what i found:
A tiny hat 
The matching sleeper (sized 5-8 pounds) Never worn. Hand me downs from Sora(who also never wore them.)
A blanket I got from Caludia when Nigel was a baby
Maternity Jeans and a nursing bra
Some garbage bags from my birth kit
The bag it was in was for the sheets from the birth kit.That's it folks.
Been avoiding it for 5.5 months and this was it. It didn't even make me cry. Nothing he ever wore. Nothing that smelled like him. No milk ever got on that bra. A bunch of nothing. Not even memories.
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10 comments:
Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. This was such a raw and painful post, I hope you are not feeling guilty about the way you feel. I didn't connect much with Aiden until after we knew he was dying. I've started to hate his name because we picked it in a hurry so he wouldn't die without a name. He never would have had that name if he had lived so it feels like a fake baby, he was never real.
I don't miss my baby. My baby was deformed and would have died no matter what. I miss the baby I wanted, the healthy one. I miss the baby that would have cooed and laughed, not the one that would have been on a feeding tube.
Nothing about our situations is f'ing right. I think the best we can do is be honest. Feel what you need to feel, no judgement.
I'm sorry you have so much pain, I wish I could take it from you.
((Hugs))
I know it doesn't feel like it, but I think this is a loving, eloquent story too. The pain is palpable.
I hate when people ask me if I feel my baby around me. "No, she is dead. That is exactly the problem. She is so gone. I don't feel her. I don't get her. I just get some people ash. " Anyway, still angry after 19 months or whatever because of it. It is so fucking unfair to have a child that other people seem to know so much better than I actually know her. it is heartbreaking.
I think Juniper is a beautiful name for boy or girl. I love Junipers. They're so old and kind of timeless. I think that is what happens with the memory of a baby after he/she dies. The memory of what we imagined he/she was going to be like becomes so permanent and timeless. It seems like such a fitting name.
You may not have known him, I know I feel that way too about George, but I think that only makes things harder to some extent. No memories to refer back to and comfort ourselves with. He could have been anybody...but we will never know and that hurts the worst, at least for me.
As I write this I can't stop thinking about that terrible person who mentioned your son and the word "fridge" in the same sentence. What on earth was she thinking? Did you ever get a response from someone at the hospital?
we don't know if xavier was a boy or girl, but he looked a little like michael so i decided boy. my husband never held him; he wouldn't even look at him. i never connected with him while he was inutero because my husband didn't want a third child. i have been grieving so much more than the loss of xavier - i've been grieving the loss of a life that i dreamed and will never come true.
i am so sorry that you feel bad for feeling the way you do, but there is nothing wrong with it. i didn't even bond with my living children until they were born and a few weeks old if not months old.
you are not completely alone in everything you feel.
I hear you--"He wasn't nobody. He could have been anybody." Yes, yes, and yes.
I had a tough time connecting to Calla. I was busy running after my newly-mobile toddler. I got angry about being pregnant and wanted to be done. Only, not how I was done. I don't remember being excited--only exhausted. And then she died, was born, and then I knew.
This post is beautiful, sad, real. I am so sorry your story went this way. I am sorry you are not holding your baby boy today.
"A bunch of nothing." Uh huh. I remember when we were at the hospital, the nurse kept chattering on about baby clothes---"Do you want me to bring in the outfits now?" What the fuck are you talking about? We brought home a big bag of crap--the only things that mean anything to me are the two hats she wore--one is under my pillow, and one is with all the stuff, with little pieces of her hair stuck in the knitting.
I'm with you.
I don't think your story is different in a "bad" way. Your story is more raw, but still beautiful. You had the strength to have the birth you wanted (even if you were forced to accept some intervention to get your labor started). Not having a room full of blue onesies and coordinated bedding had nothing to do with how much you wanted him. He would have been better than fine with the cloth diapers and limitless supply of breast milk that he was going to get from you.
I never talked to my baby except to say things like "Stop torturing me" and "Please come out soon, my ribs hurt".
This post made me cry. I don't think you are a bad mama, at all. I find your birth story beautiful and sweet. It's hard to bond with a being you've never seen - I absolutely get where you are coming from.
To me, this is a loving, eloquent and devastating birth story. Juniper died. Nothing could be more devastating than that.
We are all of course different and come from varied backgrounds and beliefs, but at the heart of it all we are all the same - we're all so fucking sad.
xo
I've read this three times now.
I've cried three times too.
'That baby is the one I was supposed to have.'
Me too.
I don't think that being unable to relate to Juniper makes you in any way deficient. Although my daughter lived, briefly, I think I understand. I sometimes think I just mourn any baby or simply a slightly altered version of her twin. Rather than her.
Your description of your strange alchemical dreams or thoughts made a lot of sense to me. I know I spent a long time dreaming up ways to fix all of this, even though I knew I couldn't.
I'm glad you liked the song I posted on my blog. I still listen to 'I am going to make it through this year, if it kills me' although I don't think that any year will ever be as tough as 2008 for me. Fingers crossed and touch wood and all that.
Oh my dear, I am so sorry for you. Juniper sounds like an absolutely adorable little boy. I'm glad that you named him. Every baby deserves a name, regardless of how old they were when they left us, regardless of their gender (if that was indiscernible), regardless.
My husband and I lost our first child at 17 weeks gestation, November 24, 2008. We don't know for sure if she really was a girl or if she was a boy. We won't know. I decided that she was a girl and that helped me to cope. I needed to know that I one or the other. I couldn't stand saying "my baby died". I wanted to say "my baby girl died". We named her Julia Rose.
Almost 7 weeks ago now, our little boy Evan Riley was born. He too came out the wrong way. He turned around sometime in the 39th week and came out feet first. He died because of how he was born. His cord was pinched, not enough oxygen to his brain and vital organs. His little body just shut down. The doctors and nurses brought his little body back to us but his mind, his soul, wasn't there. We held onto him for 4 days. Enough time for my parents to arrive from the States (I'm in Australia now). Enough time for them to hold him for a few precious minutes and to dote on him as best they could.
We took him off life support and he died in my arms at 4 days and 2 hours old.
It's shit. It really is. We shouldn't have to be grieving our children. It's beyond messed up. I didn't want to be part of this sisterhood after Julia died and I certainly didn't want to be after Evan died, but I had no say in the matter.
Thankyou for posting your story. As hard as it was to read, I find some solace in knowing that there are other mothers out there that understand the incredibly unfair jumble of emotions that I'm going through.
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