“It was a baby girl. She was perfect.” His voice is breaking in a way that I’ve never heard. “And today, there was no heartbeat. Just, out of nowhere, there was no heartbeat. They don’t know why.”
“Patrick, no …”
He works hard to control himself, but he’s about choking on his sobs. “There’s an appointment scheduled a few days from now. To induce labor.”
“Is there anything they can do to make this easier on her?” I am frozen. “She has to go through labor? They can’t knock her out or something?”
“No,” he says through tears. “It’s safer for her this way.”
My push to fly out there is met with thanks, but it’s not wanted. I get it. I get not wanting too many people around during the worst trauma imaginable. Katrina has her sisters and her parents, who I know she’s close to, but I worry about Patrick. Whether he has enough support. It’s a wild loss for him, too, and I am not confident his guy friends get how intolerable this is. RobBob will for sure be there, though.
Life cannot be more fucking barbaric. The idea that Katrina has to sit at home for days, knowing she’s carrying a baby that isn’t alive, one she’ll have to deliver? God, this is so grossly the opposite of the labor and delivery she has been planning for. I feel sick, and I cannot begin to imagine how they feel. This is pain on an excruciating level that most of us will hopefully never feel.
How on earth is Katrina going to survive this?
How is Patrick? How arethey?
It’s sickening.
Patrick understandably goes silent for the next few days. I wish I had more of a relationship with Katrina, although I’m not even sure what I’d say in this horrific situation
Megan Madonna answers my call the next morning and shows up immediately. Without asking for explanations, as there are none needed, given my mood and tears, she helps me carry boxes of baby gear to her car so it can all be donated.
Patrick texts me when they get to the hospital a few days later. Every few hours, I get a heartbreaking text, but I know not to reply. He just needs to share as he goes through this nightmare.
Patrick:We’re here. They’ve hooked her up to the IV to start labor.
Patrick:She’s in pain, crying. I don’t know what to do. How to help her.
Patrick:I can’t fucking do this. How can *she* fucking do this?
Patrick:This is impossible.
Patrick:Contractions are starting.
Patrick:She’s pushing.
He calls me hours later.
“It’s over,” he says in anguish. “It’s over.”
And I stay on the phone with him for what feels like forever as he sobs and pleads with God to make the pain stop because he cannot bear this, and moreover, he cannot stand Katrina’s pain. She’s sobbed herself to sleep. For now.
Somehow, Katrina made it through hours of contractions and pushing, knowing how it was going to end. A baby they’d lost. It was so gruesome, but that was the reality.
She’ll awake in agony.
It makes me sick to think about what she’s heroically survived.
“There were too many decisions to make. Ones I couldn’t have imagined,” Patrick tells me. “Like, did we want to hold her? Name her? For hours, Katrina wouldn’t look at our baby. But she also wouldn’t let anyone take her away. But there are these cooling baskets they offer. Bassinets that can keep the baby’s color. So, they look…alive, I guess. They set one beside Katrina’s bed. In case she changed her mind about wanting to see or hold her, and they said we could wait as long as we like before Katrina had to be discharged.”
“Patrick …”
Somehow, he continues talking. “Then this wonderful nurse, Lori, showed up. She knew all about this stuff. This horrendous situation we’re in. And she helped. Took the most special pictures. It never occurred to us to even think about this or want this, but she suggested it. There are specialty photographers who take photos of babies like ours. Ones who have passed. But this one nurse here? She told me that she and another of her colleagues do this on their own, too. She’s got tiny clothes and blankets and…” Patrick has to take a minute. “But she dresses them and captures pictures. And we didn’t know what to do, but I wanted the option to see these pictures. Katrina did too. So, we went ahead.
“The nurses were so goddamn kind. I don’t know how they do this. They brought so many cute blankets, and outfits, and adorable hats, all in our baby’s size. Helped us wrap up our baby, sculpt our arms to hold her. We both held her. Our little girl. It felt right,” Patrick manages to get out.
“We named her Daniella. We hadn’t even settled on a name before. Until she was born. Then we just knew. And then we had to give her away. When Katrina was ready to go home—to our empty fucking house—we had to hand her off, knowing we’d never see her again. It was so beautiful for about a minute and then so gut-wrenchingly awful.”
