Ilana's Story Pt. II

The Messy Middle. Edited by Ofer Koren

Dedicated to Misha who invited me back to myself.

Preface: It’s been over a year since I wrote Part I of this story. I blame it on fear. Mom says fear is just the voice of the ego. But I then realized that my heart wants to continue sharing this story, so I will. For those who experienced loss, I don’t know about you, but when I don’t share, I feel alone in a way that is detrimental to my being. Keeping this specific secret feels like wearing a mask, a mask that kills any true intimacy for me. Why must it be hidden anyway?

As someone who really values rationality, there’s a spiritual aspect to this whole tragedy that I felt uncomfortable sharing, but I am now convinced that I must share it. For myself and for her. I’ll go ahead and just say it: Amidst the experience of anguish and visceral suffering in the hospital, I feared that I would panic, hyperventilate, fight the medical system, even faint. Would they need to restrain this hysterical woman?

Now here’s the spiritual bit: I discovered that within me is a guiding voice. This voice helped me stay calm and clear at every difficult moment. I felt strangely assured of myself, as if I was calling upon 10,000 lifetimes of experience to make sense of all this. I was not alone. Though I did experience a trauma that I hope no one ever does, I will also say that the experience left me feeling more in awe of the workings of our consciousness and our connectedness with some greater loving force. There are many lessons to be learned in pain. I’ll be sharing those bits of wisdom I received from what I call the Unexplainable-Guiding-Voice-in-My-Head (🪷 UGVMH).

Now on with the story:
To bring you up to speed - Ofer and I had just been admitted to the hospital after learning our daughter had died in the womb, two days before the due date. In case you missed it here’s the link to Part I: https://sadbirthday.substack.com/p/ilana

Before this event stillbirths were a complete mystery to me. I was so naive, thinking stillbirths only occurred in movies set in 1800s Ireland, or perhaps in a poverty-stricken village far, far away from me. I also didn't really understand that when a baby dies in the womb, they still need to be, well… born. There’s still labor involved.

Part of the hospital experience also includes an element of medical bureaucracy. The doctor did his best to be compassionate while presenting us with a form: a very grim multiple-choice form (from my not-very-reliable memory):

1. How would you like to handle the remains of your child?   
    a. Take care of burial ourselves   
    b. Have the hospital take care of burial, without our involvement 
    c. Have the hospital take care of burial, and allow us to be present

2. Would you like any further investigation into the death of your child?
    a. Biopsy of the baby (Small tissue sample removed and examined)
    b. Biopsy of the placenta
    c. Full genetic testing 
    d. Further testing of amniotic fluid saved from an amniocentesis procedure.

We sat at an office desk across from the doctor, trying to answer these unbearable questions. I still had our child in my body, and it felt so dissonant that these multiple-choice questions were relevant to us. 'Can we answer these later, please?' I pleaded.
-'Of course,'

We both called our moms, who had been expecting the good news of a baby grandchild. To this day, both our mothers recount how painful these phone calls were for them — how powerless they felt to protect their grown babies from pain.
Then came the hospital admission process: blood tests, two VERY DEEP covid nasal swab tests, IV into my arm — no biggie. Personal questions ('How many pregnancies have you had?'), ID bracelet, blood pressure taken. We could now wait to be transferred to our room. Could I at least have a sticker? A lollipop would have been nice…
My labor was then induced via a hormone-treated ribbon, which gets placed behind the cervix (Didn’t hurt).

An important detail in the story is that we live an 18-hour flight away from my family; they simply could not come to support us in this dire moment. We leaned completely on my husband’s family, who proved to be exactly who we needed. There was humor, support, strength, and presence. Everyone had words of understanding, loving eyes, embracing arms... WE are going to get through this, and everything is going to be okay. We could cry openly and be held with pure love and support. My sister-in-law had brought a whole picnic of healthy snacks. My niece made me the most meaningful, memorable, and delicious sandwich which I can still taste. My brother-in-law, who is a man of few words, hugged me and said, 'You’re much too optimistic to not get through this.' I am eternally grateful for the feeling of connectedness during this unbearably vulnerable time.

🪷 UGVMH: “You can have more than one family in your life.”

The hospital was kind enough to give us a private room and bathroom in the gynecology ward. It was not clear how long this all was going to take, but we knew for sure that we wanted it to be over as quickly as possible. I had this expectation that it all would be over in a couple of hours because it was my second birth - oh how wrong I was! Birth typically involves a very delicate back-and-forth hormonal communication between the mother's body and the baby. Because the baby was not playing an active role in the birth, my body really needed to take its time to adjust to the situation.

🪷 UGVMH: “You are now in business mode. You’re going to focus on each moment, there is no place for fear now, only the mission. After the birth you can feel.”

We got our hands on a joint (an extremely meaningful gift) and snuck around the back of the hospital, trying to find an appropriate spot. We found ourselves in a comically ugly industrial loading zone. We smoked ceremonially, officially beginning our journey, nodding in agreement that we were ready for the road ahead. 'I’ve got you, you’ve got me, we’re going to get through this.'

🪷 UGVMH: “Find enjoyment wherever you can.”

Night fell. My contractions were picking up in frequency, but the pain was completely manageable thus far. I put my headphones on and danced my fully pregnant body through the empty hospital wing, finding a room with big open windows and soothing crisp night air. I danced, contracted, and breathed my hypnobirth breaths. Can you believe I was actually having a great time?
By the way this little collection of songs on repeat helped me immeasurably in the hospital. I am sending gratitude to each of these artists who helped me dance and feel seen under these anguishing circumstances:

My parents-in-law came to support us. My father-in-law came just to hang out with me and gave me a big, strong Dad hug. There was fear from family members that perhaps having a deceased baby in my body for too long could cause harm, and therefore, I should speed up the process by getting a hit of Pitocin. My inner guide helped me decide what to do in the face of that fear.

🪷 UGVMH: I trust my body, I trust the process.

While glancing through the windows, I noticed a children’s ward across the courtyard of the hospital. Maybe the people I see there are parents with critically ill children… I’d prefer my suffering over theirs right now.

The contractions felt excruciatingly painful after my induction. They felt sharp and metallic, unmercifully painful (or was it that the situation was so painful?) As someone who advocates for natural home birth, normally I would reject the idea of an epidural. However, in this context, I believed that spiritually and emotionally, I was suffering enough. I did not need to be heroic and suffer physical pain too. If I reach 3cm dilation I could get transferred to the delivery room and get an epidural. That now became my goal.

Medical side note for those interested: when I did reach 3cm, the doctor suggested that I stay in this private room and maybe try a pain medication first. He was concerned that the delivery ward would be too emotionally triggering for me. If I had not had my midwives there, I would not have known what to do — they informed me that the suggested pain medication would not be effective against this type of pain, and would also induce drowsy confusion. It’s so important to have a knowledgable advocate in a hospital!

In the middle of the night, my body finally reached the necessary dilation milestone. A nurse came and briskly escorted me through the catacombs of the hospital, over clickity-clackity age-stained tiles, down the elevator, through the stainless swinging doors, to the maternity ward.

The maternity ward was… well, Sadistic. A pastel-colored horror dungeon, decorated with newborn baby posters, complete with the soundtrack of screaming mothers, assertive midwives, freshly born squealing infants, and emotional fathers.

What was this repulsive emotion choking me from the inside?
It had a familiar, putrid taste... Jealousy. 
Why did they get to have living pink babies and not me? 
Then I felt ashamed for feeling that way.
We arrived to our delivery room, held each other, and sobbed.

To be continued…