In Our Darkness - 3. Chapter 3: A Wail of Grief

A Wail of Grief

When blunt trauma occurs during a pregnancy, medical professionals follow a simple protocol to asses the situation. First, they stabilize the mother. Then they check on the baby. There are a myriad of ways to proceed if fetal heartbeat is detected. There are none, when the heartbeat is gone. There are no attempts at resuscitation.

“Fetal heart tone absent.” That’s the sentence that broke Elisabeth Andrew’s heart. She remembered it now, clear as day. It was never forgotten, only buried somewhere in the depths of her mind. The second she felt life within her extinguished, things changed.

She remembered a blur of faces above her, as they wheeled her into the hospital. Lights, flashing lights. Hands, touching her. She remembered trying to say something but being unable to form words. She lost track of time, of pain, of fear. She just remembered the confusion. And cold. She was cold.

How do you describe the indescribable? How do you recollect the unfathomable? She tried to recall as best as she could.

Something happened. She knew something happened because she woke up in the hospital, disoriented. A feeling of emptiness washed over her. Something was absent, something had been lost. But what? If only she could remember. She hazily looked around the room, straining her neck to see something that might jog her memory back into action. But nothing came. The rooms was empty, and her head felt heavy. She fell asleep again.

Elisabeth had never seen her husband David cry, until the day she delivered their first son via C-section; stillborn. Heavily medicated, she couldn’t understand much of what was going on, but she could understand that cry, and it spelled death. And then it wasn’t really a cry, it was a wail of grief, stronger than both her, the doctor, and the nurses seemed to anticipate. It was that first prophetic wail, and the enormity of his pain, that overshadowed her grief in every way, and would continue to do so for years to come.

There was too much going on for Elisabeth to properly grieve. All the machines, the noise, the doctors and nurses, the smell of the hospital, her head throbbing and the taste of blood in her mouth from the tongue bite she endured right at the time of impact. She found it funny, such a major crash and her worst ailment was a tongue bite. She felt tears streaming down her eyes, but her brain was numb. She couldn’t comprehend that her son was gone. Just like that. After nine months of carrying him. Like he never even existed. It was too insane to grasp. Just a few hours ago she was cradling her enormous belly and making jokes about his alliterated name. No, she wasn’t going to grieve. She was going to close her eyes, and when she would wake up this would all be a bad dream. She’d turn to David, he’d rub her belly, kiss her forehead, crack a joke, and then bring her some ice-cream. They’d sit in bed at 5am and watch international soccer matches while eating their favorite pistachio pint straight out of the container, with one spoon, the baby happily kicking in her belly. She felt the doctor prick something in her arm. A calmness spread through her. Yes, she felt certain that this was a bad dream now and that everything would be okay when she woke up. This just wasn’t the sort of thing that happened to her or David. Their marriage was perfect.

Except, when she woke up, her scenery hadn’t changed at all. She was still on that uncomfortable hospital bed. And she was still cold and in pain. Her whole body felt like it was hit by a train. She ached in every way.

She could hear whispers coming from inside of the room, but her head was too woozy to make them out.

“That won’t be necessary,” she heard David’s voice.

“Are you sure?” said another male voice, “These things can be tough on a marriage. Many couples don’t come through to the other side. You might want to use all the resources you can get. There’s no shame in getting some help.” This was followed by a long silence. She could feel the tension, even though her eyes were closed. Then, between phrases like “fetal injury” and “fetal death” she started remembering. The crash. The noise. The pain. The hit. The blood.

She groaned as she tried to pull herself up, and that’s when she saw him. Her husband, except he looked nothing like his usual self. Standing beside her bed with a male doctor. His face puffy and red, his eyes swollen, his arm in a cast. He was the proof, the unmistakable proof, that her baby was dead.

She grasped at her stomach with horror.

“No…no, no, no, no, no” she heard herself repeating. “It’s not true,” she sobbed as reality hit her like a thousand bricks, “it’s not true, tell me it’s not true!” she screamed as David tried to hold her with one arm. “You liar!!! It’s not true, it can’t be true,” she wailed as he broke down in tears again.

“Elisabeth,” he said through his tears, and her insides evaporated, and she hoped that she would die right then.

“That’s not possible,” she said, now looking at the doctor hopefully. He could fix this. He was a medical professional. It was his responsibility to save lives. “It’s not pos…I….he’s gone?” she asked as tears cascaded down her face. Hot and sudden.

“The pregnancy is terminated, yes,” he replied scientifically.

“He’s gone?” she repeated more angrily this time. The doctor looked at her quizzically.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Answer me!” she screamed, hysterical by now. Both David and the doctor looked at her in shock. The doctor swallowed audibly, finally understanding the question.

“Yes, your baby is dead,” he replied. She stared at him grateful for his bluntness.

At that moment she felt like she had been given a death sentence. But she lived. She lived through that day, as the doctors poked and prodded her and asked her about her pain. She refused pain medication and insisted she felt fine, even though every inch of her body was screaming. She wanted the pain, she deserved the pain for not protecting her child. Her body had failed her. And now pain was a welcome guest, something to keep her numb and focused.

She lived through David’s incessant questions for the doctor. She lived through taking pictures with her dead baby, because the doctors told her and David that it would be helpful to their healing. She lived through her C-section scar, her aching breasts and the now useless milk they produced. She lived through their family and friends’ sad and awkward condolences. She lived through it all, because she had no other choice.

She was interviewed by one redhead Detective Bryce and her older partner whose name she forgot. She told them she couldn’t remember anything besides glaring headlights and then waking up in the hospital. She was given a change of clothes by Celia, her best friend who always thought of everything. She brushed her teeth with the travel size toothpaste Celia brought her and smoothed out her hair with her hands. She was ready to go home.

On the way home she clutched a pamphlet from the doctor. It was titled “What To Do After Your Child Has Died.” She stared at the words, at the annoying lifeless colors on the front page, the depressing images and the stupid font they used. She imagined the person who wrote it as someone who considered themselves to be full of genuine advice, only wanting to soothe the grief of a heartbroken mother. Yet, she did not feel soothed. What she felt instead was irrational anger. As if there was a twelve-step program to getting over your grief. “Have you ever lost a child, pamphlet writer?” she angrily asked in her head.

When they got home Elisabeth passed by the half empty nursery on her way to the bedroom.

“Good thing I didn’t finish it after all I guess,” she mused, numbly. The look on David’s face was pained. But he recovered quickly.

“Let’s go lay down,” he said. But she didn’t want to. She went to the kitchen, and started washing the dishes, much to his dismay. Then she cooked dinner, which neither of them ate. Then she took a shower and did her typical nighttime facial routine. She got in her Christmas pajamas, which always made her feel warm and cozy, and then got into bed with a book in hand. David watched her through it all, with a confused face. This routine would continue for weeks to come. She would ignore his yelling, she would ignore his pleading, she would ignore him altogether. She could only focus on herself. On staying normal. Minute by minute, hour by hour. Just staying normal. Any deviation from that, and she might be gone. Her mind might simply overheat and give out, like a computer processor.

Until one day a package arrived. Something that was out of stock, but finally shipped. It was a baby monitor. She looked at it curiously, then opened the leaflet with directions and started putting it together.

She left the camera in the unfinished nursery, and walked back to the bedroom, monitor in hand. She sat down next to a stunned David and turned it on.

“Elisabeth, what are you doing?” he asked her. But she didn’t hear him, because as she looked at the empty crib on the baby monitor camera she felt the floodgates of hell open and the pain washed over her like a wave of fire. After a while David rocked her to sleep, as they finally cried together.