My Girl

I was watching My Girl in the hospital.
I was a strange mix between being tired and being emotional.
They'd just given me the medicine to start my contractions (so I could give birth to my dead daughter) and I was convinced it wasn't going to work (In that moment, as in most of my pregnancy after I found out Mia was sick and would die, I just wanted it to be over with.)
"You need to give me more," I cried to the nurse, unsure of why I was crying. I was wrapped up in some of those blankets from the warmers. I had an IV in my left arm, medicine that was supposed to help me give birth to my dead daughter flowing into me.
"You're fine," The nurse assured me, "Just try to relax, darling. Labor will start before you know it."
But I wasn't convinced. I was hysterical. More, I needed more.
I just wanted her out, just wanted this nightmare to be over. I was terrified of the idea that the medicine meant to induce labor wouldn't work.
I kept trying to get up out of bed and go somewhere (I'm not really sure where). I kept asking for more medicine, kept hysterically sobbing and telling the nurse it wasn't going to work.
In the end, I did end up needing more medicine.
In the end, I got an epidural. I pushed and screamed and cried, the warm blanket that was quickly losing its heat wrapped under me, stuck to my back with sweat.
And there she was, so tiny, so fragile, so perfect.
This wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want a dead baby. In that moment I would have done anything to put her back inside me, where she belonged, where she was safe and alive.
All the while the closing song from My Girl played from the TV screen in the corner of the hospital room. I don't even know how it was still on, but it was.

My Girl, My Girl, My Girl.

Part One - D-day

I started this little journal file on my computer. It's password protected, and just started out as a place to write my thoughts out. I expected it to be a couple hundred words - her birth story and nothing more. But it's turning into 10,000 words and instead of just her birth story it has become my story with her, and a place where I talk and write about her and cry and get angry and grieve.
I'm not feeling very wordy this late December night. The room is hot and my palms are sweaty and I cut my thumb today while trying to cut some veggies for dinner because I wasn't paying attention.
So I thought I'd share a little bit of what I've been writing over in that online journal - her birth story, her death story, and mine too.
...
...

 It was September 10. I wasn't prepared for what was going to happen. The night before the appointment where I would find out she was dead I went out for dinner with a friend of mine. My mom and I camped out in a hotel room and I watched the premiere of Breaking Amish and slept under crisp white sheets. It wasn't a remarkable night, except that I wasn't nervous, or scared. I was expecting to go home with the news, "Just wait. It will happen when it's time. Everything is fine."

We got to the hospital and we were late and I filled out forms and waited for the doctor. I rested my hand on my growing belly and glanced around the room at mother's with babies and pregnant mama's and pictures of newborn babies that covered the walls.

The doctor called me in and I rose and followed him to this little tiny room and sat on the table and we talked and then he did an ultrasound. After a few minutes I was allowed to sit back up. Something was wrong.

 I wrapped my arms around my stomach and wanted nothing more then to run. I didn't want to hear whatever news was going to come out of his mouth. I wanted to get out of this room, to put on my shoes and run waddle out the door.

 He told me my baby girl was dead. And I sat there, numb.

Everything after that became a blur and I barely remember being taken to another room and the phone calls that were made to tell everyone that my baby was dead and we ate lunch at this little cafe and I tried to believe everything was fine. We would go home now and nothing would have changed.

But everything did change. I pushed and I screamed and I cried and people kept telling me I was doing great and all I wanted to do was scream at them. I kept thinking, "I can't do this!" And then something inside of me said, "Do this for her."

At 11:04am on September 10, Amelia Mae was born.