There is a corner of our community where professionals enter into the grief of strangers. They wrap their arms around Centre County women and men who are paralyzed by disappointment.
Perhaps you do not know where this sober corner is located. After all, only 10 to 15 families are unfortunate to experience it each year.
However, I want you to know about the beauty found in one room at the end of the maternity ward at Mount Nittany Medical Center, where mothers deliver their deceased babies.
I never anticipated knowing about it myself.
In fact, when I hopped up on the ultrasound table for my exciting 20-week maternity appointment, I was prepared for the same “looks good” report we received for our first two daughters. As you can imagine, we were devastated when the technician said, “I am so sorry.”
Our baby had died.
Our Juliette, who had already entered our daily routine, our
prayers and our future plans was gone. In the blink of an eye, we were ushered into the valley of the shadow of death which, as many of you know, is very deep and very dark.
Although it is deep and dark, it is replete with God’s graciousness.
When we arrived at Mount Nittany Medical Center to deliver Juliette, my heart throbbed at the familiarity. Yet the smallness and stillness of my womb betrayed me; this time was not like the others. Nurse Linda Solano showed us to our room. She sat by my side, held my hand, and cried with me.
I was so shocked by the news, I couldn’t think clearly. I didn’t know the “right way” to do a stillbirth. She guided me, making gentle suggestions.
I didn’t think I wanted to hold the baby; but she said I’d never regret it if I did. She was right.
She said Juliette would weigh one pound and would be crimson. She was right. (Though we were all surprised to see great-grandmother’s chin gracing her tiny face!) We didn’t bring our camera; the nurses took pictures for us. They wrapped Juliette in blankets, and placed her in a bassinet.
Any time I wanted to see her, they’d wheel the bassinet into the room, carry her to me ever-so-gently, and let me hold her as long as I needed to.
The nurses and Dr. Stevenson guided us through each difficult decision.
They assembled a box of memoirs for us to take home. Juliette’s hospital hat and delivery blanket.
A tiny gold ring that had fit around her wrist. A bear named Hope.
Hospital bracelets. Footprints. Tasteful photographs. Though I would throw the box out the window if it meant having Juliette back, it is a beloved treasure that validates my deep maternal grieving.
There is a corner of our community where doctors and nurses commemorate life, even through death. If you or a loved one has the misfortune to lose a baby in pregnancy, remember that there is a warm embrace waiting for you at Mount Nittany Medical Center.
Laura Booz and her husband, Ryan, live in Centre Hall, where she is able to stay home with their two daughters. Juliette’s full story can be read on her personal blog www.10millionmiles.com.
Read more: http://www.centredaily.com/2010/11/14/2338668/cradling-stillborn-victims.html?story_link=email_msg#ixzz15eNSRaOS
