Everly Grace

*** WARNING: this post contains photos and content that might be upsetting to readers ***

On Sunday, December 6th we were woken up by the call from the hospital asking us to come in for our induction. It was a call we had been waiting to get for two days but, even still, it was a call we could never be ready for.

We got ourselves ready and made our way to London knowing that, when we returned home, our lives would be forever changed. I felt fairly calm during the one and a half hour drive and the calmness continued while we waited to be taken to our birthing room. It wasn't until we entered our room and I saw the bed that I'd be spending my time in, the uncomfortable looking couch that Caen would attempt to use as a bed and then the small baby station that would remain empty, that the reality of our situation really sunk in.

After about an hour of getting settled in and eating a last-minute meal before I would be sustaining myself on ginger ale and Jello, I was given the first dose of the induction medication and our journey to meeting our daughter began.

I don't really want to write a detailed play-by-play of the 21 hours of labour that followed but I will try to summarize the experience as best I can.

First, let me talk about the incredible staff at the hospital. Because of when we came in and how long our labour was, we were there for three separate shifts which meant three crews of nurses, OB residents, OBs etc... and they were all fantastic. I can imagine that working on a case like ours is not likely the highlight of their day, but each staff member was very sensitive to our situation and incredibly attentive. These people were gems.

As we moved into the evening, I spiked a fever and my blood pressure was dropping quite low so I was checked routinely every 15 mins (I think... I was sort of out of it) so I didn't get much sleep. Even so, the time seemed to go incredibly quickly. Early the next morning my water broke and then a few hours after that, it was time to start pushing.

This was something I was not mentally prepared for.

I had been able to psych myself up to get through ever other part of the process (and for someone who is quite terrified of needles and has a low pain tolerance, there were a lot of internal pep talks). But when it came to pushing, I felt completely unmotivated and totally numb. I wasn't scared of the pain (because the glorious epidural had taken care of that), I wasn't too tired, I just knew that it was the last step in having this be final and having this all be over.

At 8:12 a.m. our daughter, Everly Grace, was born. I couldn't look at anything that was happening at that point but Caen cut the umbilical cord and then they took her away to look for signs of life. They eventually brought her back to us and the OB confirmed what we already knew - she was stillborn.

They gave her to us wrapped in the little quilt that I had made and put on the little toque I had knit - the only things I was able to make for our little girl and now the only belongings of hers we really have. It took a while for us to begin to slowly unwrap the blankets to get a better look at our daughter. Being part of some pregnancy loss forums, I had seen other babies born at that gestation and so I knew what to expect. In some ways she was absolutely perfect - 10 tiny fingers, 10 tiny toes, a beautiful little face and button nose. But she was very delicate looking and her skin was quite red because her fat stores hadn't developed yet and all her blood vessels were very close to the skin.

We stayed in our room together, as a family, for probably another 5-6 hours. People came and went but we just didn't want to put her down or have her taken away just yet.

We asked for some private, uninterrupted time in which Caen read me the first entry of the journal that he had started to write to Everly the first day that all of this started (and he continued writing all the way up to the first night we were back home afterward). After that, we listened to beautiful and meaningful songs that he had picked out. I didn't add much to the situation other that sobbing endlessly and I'm so grateful that he put so much thought into making those last moments with our daughter so special.

When it was finally time to say goodbye, the nurse took Everly away and then helped us get to our car. As much as I wanted to hate everything about that room, I felt extremely emotional leaving. I guess that I knew that once we left, we would be spit back out into the real world.

That night we sat on the couch and watched Netflix, almost as if it was any other night. It wasn't how things were supposed to be. Earlier in the day we gave birth to a child and now we were just back in our regular groove. People always talk about having a baby and how your life changes forever and how you'll never have that free time to relax anymore or how you'll have many sleepless nights. In that moment - a moment of doing what we had always done and enjoyed before - I would have given ANYTHING to trade it all in. It was at that moment that I knew that life would never be the same and that an experience like this leaves a scar. How deep that scar is and how long it will take to heal is unknown but it's there. I have no doubt that we will be able to find a new happy and a new normal but there is no going back to the way things were.

A few days later, Everly's ashes were delivered to us. We added them to the memory box that also has her blanket, hat, a few footprint casts, her blessing certificate and the butterfly that was put on our hospital door to let everyone know about our situation. I am so incredibly grateful that we have all of these things to help us remember but I also can't help but feel incredibly sad that what was supposed to be a lifetime of memories and belongings has been reduced to being able to fit into one tiny box.

I am really happy we decided to proceed with going through labour and I'll be forever grateful for the profound impact this tiny little lady has had on our lives. We are stronger for having gone through this - stronger as individuals and as a couple. But, the emptiness that I've felt since this day is unlike anything I can describe and the pain of being a childless mother is one that sometimes makes it hard just to breathe.

RIP our little angel.