346 Nursing for Women’s Health Volume 14 Issue 4

Tracey Milton Turner, MSN, RNC-OB, is an assistant professor of nurs-ing at Liberty University in Lynchburg, VA. Address correspondence to: tturner5@liberty.edu.

DOI: 10.1111/j.1751-486X.2010.01567.x

pregnant. We were absolutely thrilled, yet also nervous due to our history of miscarriages. But my husband and I felt really good about the pregnancy. I had my first ultrasound at 8 weeks. There was what looked like a clot at the site of implantation, but the baby looked good with normal growth. The ultrasound was repeated at 10 weeks, and there was no sign of the clot. The baby was moving and growing appropriately. My son saw the baby on the ultrasound machine at this visit and was delighted. My 14-week ap-pointment was normal. The fetal heart rate was glorious to hear. At this point, we told our fam-ily, friends and coworkers that I was pregnant. At 15 weeks, I began to feel some fluttering. I loved being pregnant again.

It was a slow day at work the day before I turned 16 weeks, so I decided to try to find the baby’s heartbeat with the Doppler. I couldn’t find the heart beat, but didn’t think anything of it at first, since the baby was still so small. So then I looked on the ultrasound machine and was unable to find a heartbeat or see any move-ment. I quietly put up the machine and went back to work, caring for my labor patient. My husband happened to be in town and decid-ed to stop by work to get a glance at the baby. I couldn’t tell him over the phone what I knew in my heart. I asked one of the obstetricians if he would look for me. I warned him before we went to the room that I was unable to see a heartbeat or any movement when I looked ear-lier. His trained eyes revealed that our baby was dead. The baby measured 15 weeks and 3 days, indicating that the death had just occurred. There are no words to adequately express how we felt. We were so excited about this long an-ticipated baby, and we had taken so many precautions.

The doctor on call discussed my options—induction or dilation and evacuation. At the time, both options sounded absolutely terrible. He said that there was no obvious reason that

this would happen, because I was being antico-agulated and my glycemic control was so good. It was just one of those terrible things. I had to walk out of that room and tell all of my cowork-ers that I would be leaving work early because my baby was dead. I had no idea what I was go-ing to do, but I knew that my precious, perfect baby was no longer living.

It was a really long ride home. We had to tell our son that the baby in Mommy’s tummy was dead. He prayed that the baby in Mommy’s tummy would not be dead. It broke our hearts. The next day, my obstetrician called. She was so saddened by the news and discussed our op-tions again, expressing her willingness to help us in any way. The fetal bereavement counsel-or from the hospital also called. She was just as wonderful. She just listened to me weep and talk through the situation. Over the next few days, I felt like I was going crazy. I would have dreams that the baby was still alive. I would wake up in the middle of the night and convince myself that the ultrasound machine had been broken. I knew that all of these emotions were normal, but having to go through them was torture.

After about a week, and much prayer, we de-cided to be induced. The day of my induction, I asked the obstetrician to repeat the ultrasound just to be sure that the baby was dead. He gra-ciously complied, and my baby’s demise was confirmed once again. He asked me how I want-ed to proceed with the induction. I just said that I wanted it to be over quickly. He induced me using Laminaria and aggressive Prostaglandin gel administration. I delivered within 12 hours of the start of my induction.

Peyton was born in his amniotic sac. He was perfectly formed. There was no obvious reason for his death. He had 10 beautiful fingers, 10 beautiful toes and the cutest nose. I know that to everyone else he looked like a dead baby, but to me he looked like the son that I loved since the day I found out I was pregnant. As perfect as he was, I knew that I would never feed him, comfort him or watch him grow up. The bond with him was instantaneous and intense, just as it was when I delivered my first son.

My husband and I were able to hold him and spend time with him. We were delighted by how perfectly he was formed. Yet, the grief was over-whelming. It was like a great sadness overtook us. The bereavement counselor was amazing.

I wanted people to know that he

was not just tissue; he was a perfectly

formed child with beautiful features.

August | September 2010 Nursing for Women’s Health 347

that day. She just let me be a grieving moth-er, and that was exactly what I needed. We did an autopsy and chromosome studies on Pey-ton. Everything was normal, which confirmed his perfection. But it doesn’t explain why this happened.

We have gradually found a new “normal” way of life. We still talk about Peyton and the experience. The tears come less frequently. We will go weeks without crying, and then the pain of the experience will hit us like a brick wall. It can be anything—the announcement of a dear friend’s pregnancy, a birthday, thinking about how old he would be. My joy in being an L&D nurse was absolutely gone for a while. It is now slowly returning.

The grief process is difficult and cyclic. An-ger was very difficult for me because it doesn’t fit my personality. I found that I was angry at how other people weren’t acknowledging Peyton’s birth or death. Some people never mentioned it, while others acted like it was a 1-day event with-out any long-term consequences. I really appre-ciated it when some close friends remembered my due date, and when people continue to ask how my family is doing.

My experience has given me great insight in grief. The things that helped me— acknowledgement, listening without advice and follow-up—are now what I do to help others facing a difficult situation. I understand that healing comes from experiencing the grief process. And I can now see a glorious sunrise on the other side of my grief. NWH

She dedicated hours beyond her shift, taking pictures of Peyton and doing fingerprints and footprints. She understood that these would be the only things to preserve the memory of our son. She understood that once we left the hospi-tal, we would never again hold our son. She saw beyond his just being a dead baby and saw how beautiful and wonderful he was to us.

Leaving the hospital was so difficult, because we knew that we would never again hold or see Peyton. When we left, we picked up our 5-year-old and rejoiced in his presence in our lives. My son was a great companion in the days after Peyton’s birth. Every time I would cry, he would just hug me. We also had great support from our family and friends.

I found that two things were most helpful for me during the time immediately following Peyton’s death. The first was to be around people who would let me choose to be myself or let me grieve. I didn’t want to be treated like a leper. The second was being around people who would let me tell Peyton’s story and show pictures of him. It was important for me to validate his life. I wanted people to know that he was not just tis-sue; he was a perfectly formed child with beau-tiful features. He was my son. I wanted to tell people what his birth was like and how wonder-ful he was. I know that hearing a grieving moth-er’s story isn’t easy, but I was so thankful to my friends and family for letting me express myself in this way. Yet there was a fine line in shar-ing my grief. I appreciated others’ tears, but I could not take on their grief. I was doing all that I could to handle my own grief. I avoided those who tried to push their grief on me.

I returned to work 2 weeks after I delivered. Physically, I was fine returning to work. Emo-tionally, it was so hard returning to the place where I delivered my dead baby and where oth-ers were welcoming their babies into the world. On this day, there was a fetal demise whose due date was the same as Peyton’s. It literally took my breath away. At the end of the day, I had my follow-up appointment with my obstetrician. Just being there to follow up on my baby’s death was terrible. I sat in a waiting room full of preg-nant women when I was supposed to be preg-nant. I wasn’t angry at other pregnant women; I just wanted to be pregnant with them, carry-ing my dearly loved son. My obstetrician was phenomenal. She did nothing medical to me

http://nwhTalk.awhonn.org

My joy in being an L&D nurse was

absolutely gone for a while. It is now

slowly returning

348 © 2010, AWHONN http://nwh.awhonn.org

(continued on p. 346)

experienced 2 years of infertility. During this time, we were referred to a nationally known in-fertility doctor. He discovered a polyp in the lin-ing of my uterus, which was surgically removed. He also discovered that I have a heterozygous prothrombin gene mutation that would require anticoagulation with any future pregnancies. None of this was a big deal because of our in-tense desire to expand our family. I was started on Clomid and Lovenox.

With everything in check, we attempted one intrauterine insemination, and I became

i Tracey Milton Turner, MSN, RNC-OB

I have a very blessed life, including a wonderful husband and 5-year-old son who light up every moment of every day and a career that fulfilled a calling in my life. I’ve been a labor and delivery (L&D) nurse for 13 years. Through the years, my L&D colleagues and I have helped each other through many personal and labor-relat-ed crises and triumphs. My first pregnancy was high-risk because I have type 1 diabetes. Despite my disease, I got pregnant immediately and en-joyed a complication-free pregnancy. I could never imagine the situation that I would face 5 years later.

After the birth of my son, and two sub-sequent miscarriages, my husband and I

A Journey Through Joy and

Grief