I always thought when I wrote this out it would be a joyous occasion. I thought my tears while writing this would be happy and my words, filled with triumph and confidence and pride only a new mother can feel. Two years later as I sit here struggling to finally type this out, I come face to face with the painful, gut wrenching truth. How does one write about a traumatic birth loss? How can I put into words the pain of that day? The trauma that could have been avoided. The tragedy that could have been prevented. Grief that rips my heart in two every day, repeatedly. The day my son came into this world and the day his soul left it.
I know most birth stories do not begin with a back story, but ours is different. You see, most new mothers write out their birth story and do not touch upon their pregnancy because they have their child’s whole future ahead of them. They will have the rest of their life to note milestones and make memories. All I have with Waylon is 40 weeks and 2 days and a lifetime of grieving him. My time with him was precious and I feel he deserves so much more.
I found out I was pregnant with Waylon the day after our nine-year wedding anniversary. We did not really plan on having another child, but we weren’t really preventing it. The moment we found out; we knew he was our missing piece. He was the completion of our little family. In the early days, he blessed me with bad nausea and an aversion to food (unlike his sister who had me eating everything in sight). I did not mind; I was happy as can be knowing I was going to be a mommy again. I am one of those women that love being pregnant. I love every single aspect of it including the labor and delivery.
After having a textbook natural labor and delivery in the hospital with our daughter, complete with our amazing doula Christine, I always dreamed of what it would have been like to have a home birth. You hear all the magical stories. The peace. The calm. The gentle, knowing hand of a home birth midwife to guide your precious child safely into the world in the comfort of your own home. It sounded like heaven on earth.
After careful discussion with the knowledge that I was healthy and a good candidate for home birth, my husband and I decided to proceed with it.
We found our midwife. We felt confident with her confidence. She assured us that she would be at our birth and the only thing that would keep her away would be another birth or a personal emergency. We took this very seriously as we knew we were inviting her into our home and placing our lives and the life of our son in her hands.
My prenatal appointments were routine. Waylon was doing amazing. We had an anatomy scan at 22 weeks, and he was developing on schedule and there were no issues. Nothing was extraordinary until my 36th week. While my midwife was palpating my belly, Waylon flipped and went breech. I felt it instantly and was assured that it was still early and he had time to flip head down. Knowing what could happen, I was very anxious in the days and weeks that followed. I was advised to do certain exercises to encourage him, I kept up with regular chiropractic appointments, I talked to him, I prayed. I did everything in my power to try and get him to go head down.
In the last weeks of my pregnancy, he would flip several more times. I cried many nights. Exhausted and helpless, I was reassured by my primary midwife that this was normal and there was still time for him to go head down. I was told by her that she is trained in breech births. Breech births were just a ‘variation of normal’. He needed to go head down by the 39th week to avoid having to transfer our care to a hospital. She assured me that if something happened during labor and he went breech, she would be well adept at handling it. I kept the faith, continuing my exercises and researching any options available to me to turn him. I am very in tune with my body, and I was extremely sensitive to everything I felt. Every kick, every hiccup was monitored. Weeks later at a prenatal appointment, the secondary midwife who was filling in while my primary midwife was at a birth, assured me that he was head down and in position by gently palpating. She said he was very ‘touch sensitive’ so she did not want to palpate too hard.
Not too long after, he was transverse. This happened a few more times in those last weeks. I stayed positive and prepared for my home birth because I was reassured there was still ‘time’. I had all the affirmations written out. I made a special playlist of music with songs that resonated with my pregnancy and the beautiful boy we would soon meet. I had my ‘sanctuary’ set up. I bought all the snacks for my birth team. Waylon’s room was finally finished. All we had to do was wait for him.
In the days leading up to his birth I had early labor signs. I knew he was coming. My contractions were getting stronger but very inconsistent. The morning before his due date on May 16th, I woke up and knew that day was the day. We had a prenatal appointment for that morning, the primary midwife sent the secondary midwife because she “lived closer”. She palpated gently again and assured me he was in position. I tried to go about my morning after she left but the contractions started to come quick and consistently. An hour later, around 10:30 am, I was calling my primary midwife to tell her my progress. She told me to call as the contractions got closer together. I then called my doula, Christine, and our birth photographer. I made a video for Waylon while I was contracting, telling him how much I loved him, how we were going to make a great team during labor and how I could not wait to meet him. I was overflowing with love and anticipation.
Around noon, everyone started to arrive except for my primary midwife who said she was on her way but would be sending her secondary midwife to monitor me until she arrived. Another two hours passed, and my husband called our midwife again who advised us she was ‘running errands’ but would be ‘on her way’. He was starting to get very worried but was trying his best not to convey that to me as I was progressing rather quickly.
My first birth with my daughter was filled with unknowns. The ‘pain’ of labor was foreign to me. I was not able to really embrace it and enjoy it like I would have liked to. I closed my eyes the whole time and was in fear of the next wave of contraction. With Waylon, I anticipated every feeling. I relished in every sensation. I moved with it. I embraced it. I felt every ounce of power my body had, and we worked together. I was in a euphoric state of bliss. I slow danced with my husband, I played with my daughter, I laughed, I cried…I honestly have never felt happier in my life. I knew what was coming and I couldn’t wait to meet our son.
The secondary midwife arrived and watched me have a contraction as I continued to labor in my bathroom. I lunged through the contractions feeling every muscle in my body tense up, then slowly relax. Another hour had passed, and my primary midwife still had not arrived. We asked where the primary midwife was and were reassured that she was on her way. As time passed as it quickly does when you are in labor land, we made the decision for me to labor in my tub. Contractions were getting closer together and I could feel him moving down. The secondary midwife would come check on me every so often and monitor a contraction. I worked calmly with Christine on my breathing and headspace but as she can tell you, I was in the zone. Just having her there was a comfort to me.
I got out of the tub to labor more, then I recognized a sensation that I knew to be transition. This was around 4:40 pm, three hours AFTER my midwife told me she was on her way but had still not arrived.
I was trying to stay focused and not let my worries get the best of me. Vocally, I started to change, and my emotions arose because I knew I would be meeting my son very soon. Transition is always the hardest part but thinking back on it now, I cannot recall the pain, I cannot recall the anxiety, I can only recall the anticipation and joy.
I decided I wanted to get back in the tub as I felt pushing was imminent. The primary midwife still had not arrived so the secondary midwife along with the birthing assistants, were nearby as I moved to the tub. I felt the urge to push and started pushing for what I am told was around 20 minutes. Suddenly, during a contraction it felt like a bubble had burst. I looked down and saw that my water had broken. I was so excited! This was it; this was the moment I had been dreaming of. Soon my son would be in my arms. The secondary midwife did her ONE and ONLY cervical check and said two words I will never forget, “He’s breech!” All the joy, love, peace, and calmness left the room immediately and chaos ensued. My body, still contracting, kept pushing as I heard her scream to her assistant to call 911. All the confidence I had vanished. My calm sanctuary turned into hell. There was a lot of yelling. Everything was spinning around me as confusion took over and nobody knew what to do. I moved to hands and knees as my body was still pushing. The secondary midwife switched from a state of frozen to hysterical. She had no clue how to guide me or help my son.
I had no idea that one big push had got his feet and legs out. I had retreated mentally. I needed to protect myself. I closed my eyes and cried, looking for guidance on what to do. I could hear my sweet husband trying to comfort me and be my pillar of strength. I tried to look to him and Christine for comfort and strength, but my body had stopped. I tried to block out the chaos from the birth team. The screaming, the panicking, I was becoming overwhelmed. I realized that my body had gone into fight or flight mode. There was panic all around me and I was pushing through sheer will alone. The EMS team had arrived, and I had another big push that got him out to his chest. I still had my eyes closed trying to retreat from the trauma, but I know that the midwife was pulling on Waylon HARD trying to manipulate him. It was at this point he got stuck and was hanging out of me by his neck, his cord prolapsed.
Amid all of this, I could hear arguing between the midwife and the EMS over an episiotomy and why one was not being done. The EMS team was growing impatient and loud with the midwife’s inability to perform one and at that point, they made the decision to put me on the stretcher and transfer me to the ER. I was wheeled out of my house at 5:30 in the afternoon on a weekday, in front of my neighbors, screaming and wailing in pain and anguish, with my son hanging out of me by his neck. After the worst 2.5-mile ride of my life with more chaos, screaming, pulling and trauma, we arrived at the hospital where I was wheeled into a general emergency room with an attending ER doctor. I had an oxygen mask held over my mouth while I was held down and had my son was cut out of me with an almost third-degree episiotomy. All while this was going on, the secondary midwife was telling the staff he went breech during labor, asking me “Didn’t you feel him go breech?!” as they are cutting my son out of me. My son was born at 5:52 pm, approximately 4 hours and 11 minutes after my primary midwife had told me she was on her way.
As I laid there and watched the ER team work tirelessly on my son, I got my first look at him. He had gorgeous, auburn red hair and was stocky at 8 pounds, 1 ounce. I held on to his tiny little hand while they continued to work on him. I prayed and talked to him. I could not get over how beautiful he was. The same little guy who kicked me all night and moved at the sound of his sister’s voice was finally in front of me. I wept. I did not take my gaze off him even as they delivered my placenta and tended to me. I ignored the chaplain they brought into the room of 20 plus people attending to us. I did not want to talk to him. I did not want to acknowledge him or the reason he was there. I only wanted to be in that moment with Waylon.
After they stabilized Waylon, they transferred him and I separately to another hospital. I was placed under anesthesia and went back to surgery to repair my episiotomy, as it was internal and had cut my muscles as well. Waylon was in the NICU at the children’s hospital. When I woke up, still groggy from the anesthesia, I had no idea how bad things really were. I knew what I had been through but when this kind of trauma happens, the brain has a way of protecting you and your emotions. I had convinced myself that Waylon was ok since he was stable. I had no idea that he had been without oxygen for 29 minutes. The danger zone for brain damage is 8 minutes. My beautiful, perfect son had been deprived of oxygen for 29 minutes. The next three days became a blur. My healing took a back seat to my son. We prayed for a miracle. We prayed for a sign of life or brain activity. Then we were told his organs were on the verge of shutting down. We were told that he could go into cardiac arrest. We were told that the only organ in him that was working was his heart.
On May 19th, I got to hold my son for the first time. It was so surreal. In my arms, finally, was my baby boy I waited so long to meet. I longed to have him stir in my arms or open his eyes at the sound of my voice, but he did not. A respiratory therapist had to stand next to us to pump oxygen into his lungs. We were wheeled down to a beautiful garden where my amazing little girl and mother were waiting. Our 2 ½ year old daughter got to meet her brother for the first time, to love on him, study him, blow bubbles at him and experience a love that I hope she carries for the rest of her life. We had gone back and forth on if having her meet him was the right thing, as she was so young, and it would be a hard thing to understand. I am so thankful we chose to let her meet him and say goodbye. We have pictures to show her and to this day she remembers his ‘tiny feet’ and how she blew bubbles at him.
After allowing her some time with Waylon, we had his breathing tubes removed. We were warned that it could be traumatic and that he would pass quickly. My husband and I walked around the garden with him telling him how much we loved him and how sorry we were. We cried over him. We fell apart. His strong, courageous heart beat for another 20 minutes before he passed away.
This is not the story I wanted to tell. This is not the way our lives were supposed to be. I have seen some dark places and have learned that those dark places never really go anywhere. They linger around the corner. They will always be there. Being a bereaved mother can only be described as in a perpetual state of constantly trying to catch your breath. I straddle a line every day. The line between heaven and earth. It is heartbreaking to want to be two places at once, but I know one day we will all be reunited. My son’s eyes will be open, and I will get to hold him once again.
