This is not a birth story
There is an invisible thread that runs from the tip of my cat’s tail to the crown of my baby’s head.
Sitting in the animal hospital waiting room deciding whether or not to euthanize was not on my approved list of waiting-for-baby activities. But there we were, choosing between an $8000 blood transfusion to just stabilize him, or let him go while we were right there to hold him close.
What did I plan to do while waiting for the baby? Snuggle with the cat, feed the cat, give the cat his pills. Paint in my studio where the cat held guard in the sunny windowsill. Almost all of my waiting activities included the cat.
I expected death to be loud. Normally a vocal cat, for the final twenty four hours of his life, Clover was nearly silent. He released a rare whimper of pain when we tried to move him or bathe him after finding him sleeping in his own pee at 3 am. The final moments were so very quiet, holding him in my lap as his heart stopped beating.
When we walked in the door of the animal hospital I truly believed we would head home in a matter of hours with Clover on the mend. No part of me was prepared to leave his body there and go home empty handed. Walking back to the car with an empty cat carrier was a perfect metaphor for how empty we would feel over the coming days.
I was 38 weeks pregnant when Clover died. Every corner of the house reminded us of him. We went for a walk on the beach that afternoon. Running into neighbors, they said, “Any day now? That baby is coming soon, right?” All we could muster were blank stares. Huh? Baby? I feared that when this baby finally arrived, I would wish it was Clover.
Then, we waited. Waited for the most aggressive grief to pass. Waited to feel excited about a baby once again. We waited another three weeks. Mostly sitting on the couch staring out the window. Wishing Clover was sitting in my lap like normal.
Some people regret not paying attention to those everyday moments. But every damn day of his life I sat there absorbing his softness, the weight of his body, and the feeling of his fur on my legs (one of my favorite sensations of all time). I knew I had to absorb our time together becauseI knew it would not last forever. I knew if I put down my phone and just sat with him it would never be a time I would regret. I loved our mornings together. Their absence reverberates through my whole body every day around 6:04 am.
If the house is quiet and I sit still enough with my eyes closed, I can feel his fuzzy head, nuzzling the back of my neck.
The next twenty one days rolled by in slow motion. The pendulum swinging from incredible sadness and longing, to excitement and longing of a different kind. These two events are like layers of sedimentary rock settling on top of one another. Then, compressed by time to forever be solidified in my body and heart.
Eventually, Clover marched back far enough in time to pull the invisible thread taught. On Dec 16 at 2:20 am that thread finally stretched to its full tension, enough you could pluck it like a guitar string.
This is a birth story
We expected the baby to come close to his due date. I don’t know why? Trust in modern medicine, I guess. Each evening past the expected due date I would finally concede that it wasn’t happening today, maybe tomorrow? The night before Clover started showing signs of distress, around 11 pm, I felt a huge wave of painful contractions that lasted an hour a a half. This pattern happened almost nightly for the next 22 days.
We drove to the hospital three times in anticipation of the baby. First time, we thought my water had broken and 24 hours later the midwives wanted to examine me. My amniotic sac was certainly intact. The second time was for a scheduled induction, we drove one and a half hours there in NYC traffic and got a call when we were mere blocks away. “Every bed is full, do you want to wait the night in the waiting room, or go home and come back in the morning?” That waiting room is hell. So home we went (through traffic again). The next morning we got in the car at 6:30 am and The Eye of the Tiger was playing on the radio. The song we had joked for months would be the one we played during my final push at the delivery.
Of course, if you have a 7am scheduled induction, it assuredly won’t start until at least 4 hours later. We were ushered into our labor room, got set up on the IV, and watched the synthetic oxytocin begin to drip into my system. At first the contractions were mild, almost fun, as I had willed regular contractions to come for so long. Every 30 minutes our nurse would come in and up the dose: 2 mu/min, 4 mu/min, 8 mu/min. Now things were happening. I needed pretty serious deep breaths to get through the contractions.
A few hours later, at 12 mu/min - I said, “This hits different!” At 16 mu/min my whole body started to shiver. I complained of being cold, but the nurse said I was hot. Still shivering, uncontrollably. I called for the anesthesiologist. The nurse turned my Pitocin down to 14 mu/min and the anesthesiologist showed up within minutes. Hold still, he said, but my shivers were completely uncontrollable. Somehow he inserted the epidural catheter amidst my convulsions. An immediate calm came over the room and my body. Then, he handed me a button, “if the pain ever gets too much, just push this button.”
The midwife was in and out checking on my contractions. “Beautiful!” she would exclaim every time she looked at the chart. Me, I was high. Super high. What did that button do?!
Turns out it was a fentanyl drip. Locked to the wall, regulated to only give so much per hour.
Then I fell asleep, and the shivers started up again. “Push the button,” I told Brian. And he pushed the fentanyl button. “NO THE OTHER BUTTON! Call the nurse. I think I’m dying. My heart is beating too fast.” She meandered in, “Push the button,” she said (referring to the Fentanyl button).
Me: “But I can’t stop shivering! My teeth are chattering!”
Her: “Yeah, you are in pain.”
Me: “Oh.”
We pushed that button every ten minutes for the next few hours until I calmed down.
Thirteen and a half hours after the Pitocin drip started, our midwife said, “We can start!” It’s time to push. Okay! Finally! Something new to do besides stare at the chart spilling out of the monitor.
I pushed for hours. “Do you want to touch the baby’s head? You can reach down and feel it,” the midwife said. Absolutely I wanted to touch his head! I felt around for the crown of his head with my own hands, a body I had only experienced through layers of organs to this point. The midwives must know what kind of motivation that can give a person. I pushed harder than I had ever pushed before.
The nurse put on her surgical gown and the midwife put on hers. “Get the baby nurse,” said the midwife. I knew it had to be soon. Setting up the blood bag and a very large cart filled with scissors (WTF do you need 14 pairs of scissors and clamps for?!). I can’t really remember those last moments of pushing. But, seeing them prepare for the moment of delivery opened up the ultimate well of energy in me.
For as silent as Clover’s death was, the birth was loud. Machines buzzing, three hospital staff members working in perfect harmony, plus Brian talking me through pushes, and whatever guttural noises I was making.
And then we heard his cries, and his impossibly small, bloody body was on my chest, screaming.
These two are forever tangled to me. I don’t know the full picture: why I could not have both at the same time, but that’s the reality. I spent countless hours imagining the two together at last, and none of those will ever come to fruition.
The moment of Clover’s death and the first breath of the baby are one-and-the-same to me. The cycle that will play out in my life, and yours, again and again.
Thank you for reading this very personal essay. I will be back in a few weeks with more of my regular programming. This was an excellent opportunity for me to practice what I preach: just keep practicing. :)
Oh Bekka. Thank you for sharing 💗 wishing you and your new fam the very very best. Thinking of y’all
I felt like I was in the delivery room with you! So powerful Bekka, loved this. & Clover forever. xx