On a cold November day, my life changed forever.
On this snowy fall day heaven got a new angel and a part of me went with
her.
I awoke at two-thirty in the morning on November
seventh, nineteen ninety-one. My swollen stomach was hard with a contraction.
I was in labor. It was too early. I was only thirty- two week's pregnant.
I raced to the phone and called the hospital. The nurse told me to come there
immediately. A surge of panic tried to take me over. I reminded myself that
most babies at this point in a pregnancy survive. I calmed down and prepared
to go to the hospital.
When I arrived at the hospital, they took me to
an exam room. The nurses started preparing me for my examination. They put
the cold conductive gel on my round abdomen.
They hooked me up to a machine to monitor my
contractions and the baby's heartbeat. The machine started reading my
contractions. I waited for the wonderful sound of my baby's heartbeat. The
nurse moved the monitor from one side of my stomach to the other. There was
still no sound. Again panic started to rise within me. I asked the nurse
what was wrong. She assured me that finding the heartbeat when the baby was
so small was sometimes hard. She called for another nurse to try to find
it. Then she called another. There was still no heartbeat. Now, the panic
was about to take over. The nurse called for an ultrasound. The technician
came in and hooked me up to another machine. Instantly my
baby's image was on the screen. I saw no movement.
I didn't see the little movement on the chest I knew was the heartbeat. At
this point hysteria began to set in. I ask the nurses if my baby was dead.
Silence was my only answer. The nurse then called for a doctor. The doctor
came in and looked at the screen. She then turned to me and told me that
my baby had passed on. My mind screamed in pain. Now hysteria took over.
I sobbed uncontrollably, salty tears streamed down my face. I felt as if
the world was crashing in on me.
The nurses took me to the labor and delivery floor.
They were going to help my labor progress. It was now time to start my most
difficult and painful journey. When we reached the birthing room, a nurse
wheeled out the bassinet. A bolt of pain ran through me. I knew my child
would never fill it. They put me in the bed on my side. They again hooked
me up to many machines. They bombarded me with questions. They asked if I
wanted to bury or cremate my child. They asked me if I wanted an autopsy.
They asked me question after question. I answered each question to the best
of my ability. I wondered how they could expect me to think with this combination
of pain and numbness taking over my mind and body. I labored for the next
ten hours knowing I would not have a child to take home. Shock and pain ravaged
my body. At last, my body brought forth my first daughter. The nurse took
and cleaned her. She then brought her to me and laid her in my arms. All
my senses came to life. I took in every sight, smell, sound and touch. I
knew that this one moment would have to last me a lifetime. I caressed her
soft white skin. I touched her silky auburn hair. I studied her face and
etched it into my memory forever. I held her close and inhaled her fragrance.
I listened to the silence that comes with death. I named my daughter Andrea.
I held her, kissed her and sang to her. I did all the things a mother does
with her newborn. She was perfect. She was whole. She was my child. After
awhile, I handed her to the nurse. Knowing I had held my child for the last
time. How painful it is when hello means goodbye.
They moved me to my own room the next day. Family
and friends began their visits. They tried to be comforting, but they caused
me great pain. Cruel comments assaulted me. They would tell me that I am
still young and can have another baby. How do
you replace a child? How do you replace any person? She was a person. They
would tell me that it was good, I didn't get to know her. I carried and nurtured
this person inside my own body. How can a relationship be more intimate than
that? I knew they only wanted to make things better somehow.
To me it seemed that they didn't acknowledge the
depth of my pain. I didn't lose something replaceable. I didn't lose something
foreign to me. She had a face. She had a name. She was mine.
The loss of a child before birth is as painful
as the loss of a child after birth. I am a mother of three children. I have
two on earth and one in heaven. I love them all equally. I am also sure I
would grieve for them equally. I may have only held my daughter once in my
arms, but I hold her in my heart forever.
Andra Ranay died from a placental failure.
Back to Andrea's Page
To: I'll Hold You in Heaven - Memorial Page - a page
for your little angels.
