Sadie’s Story

(This is a guest blog by Marie about her daughter Sadie. Thank you for sharing this with us Marie.)

I just found out about “Return to Zero” yesterday, and I am so touched by all of the stories that are being shared on your site. I thought I would share my own story. I have also attached a few pictures and a link to a song that I wrote for Sadie, which my brother performed at her burial service (and then recorded for me), you are welcome to include them as well if you decide to use my story on your site, which I hope you will… Just because something feels good about putting it out there. Thanks for your time and your efforts in bringing awareness to this kind of tragedy. -Marie Hughes

My baby girl, Sadie Jane Hughes, was stillborn on June 19th, 2012 at 4:01pm. I was 36 weeks and 6 days pregnant. She was 6 lbs. 2 oz. and 19.5 inches of pure perfection. We found out that Sadie had died on a Monday night. I didn’t feel Sadie moving, at least not the way that she usually did… it seemed like I could feel something, but I didn’t get any distinct movements when I did my kick counts, even after drinking a big glass of orange juice… so we called the answering service and Dr. Roberts called us back and told us to go into the hospital.

We had just seen Dr. Roberts the previous Friday…and we had seen Sadie because we had a biophysical profile that day. She got a perfect score. I still don’t feel good about that score, but that’s another story… and hindsight is 20/20, I guess… nobody thought there was anything wrong… everyone was glad I was past the 36 week mark, especially me. I felt like it was a real victory, and we were out of the danger zone…I was so happy and so excited.

Anyway, we drove to the hospital without too much real fear. We were pretty sure I was overreacting… she was just sleeping, just running out of space… the ultrasound tech said on Friday that she had started to move down, and that was probably why things were harder to feel… my placenta was in front, and I had been told that could also make it harder to feel… certainly, nothing could be really wrong, but still.

We knew the drill when we got there – we’d been sent to the hospital three times in the past month and a half, twice to triage. We were just a few minutes from a sigh of relief. I think that we might have been the only people in triage that evening, but of course I could be wrong – for sure it was not bustling with activity. We were very quickly getting the monitor strapped across my stomach, like we had so many times before… usually they could find her heartbeat fast, no problem, but a couple times before it had taken a few seconds longer than you want it to… so we felt like any second, we’d hear that familiar, comforting, beautiful sound of Sadie’s sweet little heart beating.

But we didn’t. At one point, there was a heartbeat, but it was my own. It felt like time was standing still and we were looking in on our worst nightmare from outside our bodies.

I just can’t even describe those minutes. I couldn’t tell you how long it was. An ultrasound tech came in… my husband could see the ultrasound screen, but I couldn’t… so I was watching his face, watching the screen… seeing in his eyes confirmation of the unimaginable… it was truly the worst moment of my life, without any close seconds.

When I think about that night, I really can’t even believe I didn’t just kill myself. Dave knew what that little blinking heart looked like, and there was nothing…just still…we knew, but nobody could say it out loud. We had to wait…not long, or really long? – I am not sure at all of how much time elapsed before Dr. Roberts came and confirmed that Sadie was dead.

I really love Dr. Roberts and have nothing but good things to say about her as a doctor and as a person, but that night, she was the grim reaper, and I still have nightmares about her telling us. She let us know that we had options – we could have a c-section right now, be done with everything within the hour… we could come back for a c-section tomorrow… or we could get induced tonight… or we could go home and come back to be induced tomorrow.

Dave and I talked about what we wanted to do for a few minutes…and decided to go home and return the next day to be induced. I needed one more night with my baby inside of me, and I needed to try to give birth to her… I had been anticipating that experience for so long…for years really, but certainly very much during my pregnancy… we had taken Bradley childbirth classes. I had read every book under the sun. I wanted to give birth to my baby girl. So we went home… our empty just-installed car seat behind us… to an agonizing night of terror and the most excruciating sadness and despair. Home to our dining room that was still filled with all sorts of baby shower presents not yet put into their place.

But I am glad we went home. We didn’t know how to prepare ourselves… should we bring a camera? Clothes for her? Is this all just morbid? But we decided yes, we would bring the camera and a special onesie that I had picked out soon after I found out I was having a girl, and we brought a pink baby Gund teddy bear for her too. And then we drove to the hospital, knowing that we were about to go through the hardest experience of our lives.

Our nurses and doctors were an enormous source of support and compassion while we were at the hospital. I can’t even begin to express how grateful we felt then and still feel now. Brunie, our nurse during the delivery, and Dr. Garvey… they were just amazing, and they helped to make Sadie’s birth a beautiful experience that I truly just cherish so much and will forever.

It was so sad and surreal, but it was so incredible to give birth, and despite the tragedy that we were in the midst of, Dave and I were able to experience something so special that day. My husband was just of course by my side throughout—as he had been throughout my entire pregnancy… and I just felt his love so powerfully getting me through, feeling my pain and pushing through his own to be strong for me and for Sadie. He knew how much I wanted to deliver her, and he, and Brunie, and Dr. Garvey… they were all just amazing, and they gave me the strength that I needed.

I look back on Sadie’s birth with pride… it was as perfect as it could ever be, given the circumstances. I really appreciate that everyone seemed to understand that this was a profound and miraculous moment, not just a means to an end. I didn’t want to get it over with—I wanted to savor this magical process of becoming a mom, and Dave becoming a dad.

We saw Sadie soon after I delivered her, which was at 4:01pm. When she was placed in my arms, my husband at my side, we just melted and fell in love even more with her, with each other… she was so perfect and cute. I kissed her and smelled her and rocked her in my arms. I stared at her face… studied it… begged her to open her eyes. The whole time I was in labor, I held onto this fantasy that she would be okay after all… even after she came out, I thought maybe a nurse would come back in and tell us that’s it’s a miracle, she’s alive… she’s okay.

Of course, nobody gave us any reason to believe this would be the case… but I think the reality of everything just hadn’t nearly set in yet, and I still had this sliver of hope. For weeks, I still pleaded for this all to be a nightmare that I would wake up from, pregnant, ready to have our baby girl and bring her home. I passed her to Dave, her daddy… and he held her and wept, and looked at her with such pure love. The image of Dave holding Sadie… the two loves of my life… the one person who loves her as much as I do… he is an amazing father, and I just hate that she can’t be here to see how much he loves her… everything about her. I’m so glad he didn’t try to be stoic or brave… we both let our guards down, let ourselves be completely in that time with her, knowing how finite it was.

And everyone told us she was beautiful, and that made me glad, because even now it’s so much easier to take in a compliment than a condolence… because I know what to do with the compliment because I just couldn’t agree more – she was a precious little angel, just so beautiful… but the condolences are something we don’t know how to respond to sometimes.

I always skipped over the small blurb in the pregnancy books that talked about stillbirth… it was too much to even consider… I mean, I had already had a miscarriage the year before, and had been trying to have a baby for about four years… surely there wasn’t such a sick twist of fate ahead of us. I didn’t need to make myself sick with worry by reading about that stuff while I was pregnant. But now I wish I had known more. I wasn’t prepared, and I’m still not prepared for losing my baby.

We don’t know what happened – the autopsy was inconclusive… she was perfect, everything was right – her weight, her growth… I just grapple constantly with what I could have done to kill her, and it is awful. It is unbearable.

Being out in public is a nightmare… there are pregnant people everywhere, babies, little girls – on tv, it’s impossible to escape it. Not to mention I’m a music teacher at three grade schools, so I’m literally surrounded by reminders of ages that Sadie will never reach almost constantly now that I am back at work. The world is just loaded with salt to pour in this open wound. I feel like staying home, closing the blinds, not answering the phone, not looking at emails.

Her pictures are absolutely the most important things in the world to me now. I’m also very glad that we have her hospital blankets and the hats she was wearing and the onesie she had on… they smell like her. I hope that scent lasts. I know it won’t, but we have all of that stuff in a big airtight glass jar that we bought to preserve the scent as long as possible.

I’m glad for everything we have – the hospital bracelets, the foot prints, the locks of hair.

I’m glad this movie is being made. Stillbirth is something that we are far to silent about. A

nd in closing, here is a poem I wrote for my sweet girl before Christmas. The holidays were tremendously sad and difficult.
First Christmas in heaven…
I wish you weren’t there.
Daddy and I miss you
-there’s sadness in the air.
We didn’t hang stockings,
We’re not planning a feast…
In fact, I feel sick at the sight of a wreath.
I pictured this Christmas with you in my womb…
Last Christmas, I never predicted this doom.
We were together,
As close as could be-
Because last Christmas, Sadie, you were growing in me.
The mood was so different-
So joyful, naïve…
All I could picture was this year’s Christmas scene.
Me, you, and daddy—the happiest three…
Hanging your “Baby’s first Christmas” on the tree.
Red velvet dresses and cute little shoes-
Staged family photos, of course all starring you.
Instead, at your headstone is where we will be…
Crying beside your sweet, sad little tree-
I know you can see us—
That you feel our strong love…
We wish you the merriest first Christmas above.