Abigail, part II

Where was I?  Oh yes, I had just been sent home on complete bed rest (which, I have to mention, is the biggest oxymoron in the world when you're so pregnant...I mean, I probably had to get up every 10 minutes to pee; it added up to quite a bit of exercise!). 

  

It has occurred to me that this is a very egocentric account of what happened.  Its not that I mean to leave Steve out of this, but he was working a lot, and quite frankly, he wasn't the pregnant one.  

  

Anyway... 

  

On October 26, we had several appointments up at the hospital.  Someone asked (Steve? a nurse?) if I wanted a wheelchair to ride around in.  I declined.  Big mistake.  I think we ended up walking a couple of miles total.  I was so swollen with water retention.  I remember it being painful.  That day, we met with the pediatric surgeon.  For some reason, I recall his saying that Abigail had a 50/50 shot of surviving.  Apparently, she only had a 20% chance of living (Steve remembers them saying this.  Was I in denial?  Who knows.).  Not a fun visit, and I was worn out by the time we got home. 

  

During this time on bed rest, my mom was an angel.  When we found out that we were pregnant, my parents decided to buy a 2-family home, and live in it with us.  They wanted to be close by to help with the baby (this was even before we knew there was a problem).  On Labor Day weekend, Steve and I moved into the downstairs apartment, while the upstairs was renovated (I highly recommend moving while pregnant--no one makes you do anything!).  We moved in upstairs, and my parents moved in downstairs about a month later.  By mid-October, I was on bed rest. 

  

My mom would come up every day and make me breakfast.  Cereal, toast, OJ.  At lunch, she would come and make me my favorite chicken noodle soup.  I so appreciate all of the help she gave me! 

  

Sunday, October 29, 1995, I woke up at exactly 6:12 am.  My water had broken.  Once I realized what had happened (because, c'mon, your first thought is, "Oh my gosh, I wet the bed!" LOL), we got up, called the doctor, etc.  

  

When I say that my water broke, I mean it shattered. LOL  I have had friends who say that their water broke, meaning that they had to use the ladies room every 10 minutes and wipe up a bit.  That means that they sprung a leak!  LOL  My water was gushing, gushing, gushing...still gushing hours later.  It was like Noah and his Ark could have floated into my bed.  I literally waddled into the emergency room with a beach towel between my legs!  Very dignified.  The triage nurse who was checking my dilation shifted the speculum in just the wrong direction and got doused.  (Which was fine with me...she wasn't very nice! LOL). 

  

I was admitted to the hospital.  There was no stopping labor this time.  I was 32 weeks pregnant. 

  

At exactly 12:30 pm, Abigail Louise entered this world.  She weighed 5 lbs. 1 oz, was almost 19 inches long, and was gloriously pink-looking.  I barely got a glimpse of her (and without my glasses, at that!) before she was whisked into a room full of doctors.  They were very optimistic, because of how pink she looked, but said that we'd know within 12 hours which way things would go. 

  

Twelve hours.  I could do that.  Twelve hours meant I could take a shower (ugh, this birthing stuff was messy!) and eat--eating was a huge priority, seeing how I hadn't eaten since the day before.  Once I was settled in my room--half of a tuna sandwich, cup of chocolate pudding--my husband & parents decided to go to the cafeteria and get lunch.  No problem--we had 12 hours, right? 

  

Unbeknownst to me, the cafeteria was closed.  So they decided to run up the street to Burger King without telling me.  I mean, they'd only be gone for 30 minutes or so, and we'd know within 12 hours how Abby was doing. 

  

Wrong.  As I was eating, a nurse came into my room with a wheelchair and asked if I was Mrs. Towne.  In the chair I sat, and down the hall we ran.  I can remember begging God to make Abby all right.  That I would do anything, as long as she was okay.  I was also asking for Steve.  Where was my husband?  The doctors were paging him--my doctor actually went around personally looking for him.  

  

I was brought to the NICU, where it seemed like dozens of nuns were waiting to ask me if I wanted Abigail baptized.  I have nothing against Catholics, but we don't believe that babies need to be baptized in order to go to Heaven if they die.  "No," I said, over and over.  I felt like screaming at them to leave me alone.  And still, no Steve. 

  

Finally, they wheeled me over to Abigail.  She was hooked up to so many wires.  The nurses (doctors? I don't know who they were) were breathing for her and pumping her heart.  She had a full head of black hair, and the most perfect fingers.  I was stroking her foot and crying.  A nurse asked if I wanted to hold her, which I did.  She asked if I wanted my picture taken with Abigail--I said no, but she kind of insisted, and I'm so glad now that she did. (I'm currently panicking, because I can't find that picture.  We moved, and I'm not sure where it is!)  

  

I asked the man breathing for Abigail what the machines meant.  "Which one will tell me when she's dead?" I remember asking.  Because obviously, that was why I was there.  Abby wasn't in any pain, but she was in a coma.  In hindsight, her systems were probably shutting down.  The man listened for a heartbeat one final time, and shook his head.  She was gone.  Still no Steve.  I made the decision, alone, to have them unhook her from the machines.  Time of death: 2:38 pm. Two hours and 8 minutes had passed since she was born. 

  

There's a little room off of the NICU.  A room that I think you only go to when something bad happens.  I was brought there.  A nun stayed with me, and a nurse brought Abigail to me, all wrapped up.  She was so beautiful.  I remember kissing her cheeks and nose and fingers. 

  

At last, Steve came in.  Dozens (it seemed) of people, nurses, doctors, nuns, etc., were outside this room, and not one of them bothered to tell him that Abigail had died.  He literally thought that a miracle had occurred, and I was being allowed to hold her.  I said, "She's dead, Steve, she's dead."  Possibly the single worst moment of my life. 

  

My mom, dad & sister came in.  Christine (sis) and my dad took a turn holding her.  I remember being very jealous of the time they took with her.  I wanted to be holding her. (I have no idea why I thought we were on some kind of time table, but I felt very much like I couldn't take as much time as I wanted with her. I also didn't know that once I was in my room, I could have requested that the nurses bring her to me. No one told me that I could do that.)  My dad prayed, and then Steve and I had some time alone with her.  I held her until her hands felt cold.  Then we told the nurse that we were done saying good-bye. 

  

Back in my room (Can I mention here that in all this time, it never occurred to us that we had an honest-to-God real camera with us??  And that we could have taken pictures of our daughter? All we have is the 3 crappy Polaroids of her, one of which, I've already mentioned, is missing. ), the nurses asked if I wanted to be moved to a different floor, away from the new mothers & babies.  I said no, that I'd have to get used to hearing babies cry at some point.  

  

My sister had brought a balloon that said, "Get well soon Abby", which to this day makes us laugh a bit, since obviously it was too late for that.  I still have that balloon.  My friend Sue called to see how we were, and I had to tell her that Abby had died.  The pastor of our church came by to see us.  I remember telling them what had happened that day--my whole body was shaking.  I was probably in shock.  I don't remember a whole lot about that night; Steve stayed with me. 

  

In the morning, I got a phone call from someone in the hospital, asking something about the baby, and I had to tell them that she had died.  I remember just falling apart after that.  My doctors let me go home that day, so Steve and I went to the funeral home and then grocery shopping.  Very surreal. 

  

My dad found a burial plot for Abigail.  He so much wanted to do something to help, and he found a wonderful spot right near a pond, actually near some other babies.  It's a beautiful area. 

  

Here is the picture I thought I had misplaced.  I just remembered that I had scanned it into the computer.  It's pretty blurry, but hopefully you can see how beautiful she was. It's a bit exhausting typing all of this out, so I guess there will have to be a part III.