I know that I am not alone here, I know that there are nurses out there who can relate to the title I gave this and the heart wrenching feelings that come with it.
Sometimes we have that gut feeling that tells us that something is wrong, sometimes not. I didn't want to work this final weekend at my job. Only two nights left to my contract and for some reason I dreaded it. But I went, I felt an obligation to the staff I have been working with and my patients. I had an easy assignment, one s/p c-section and one cervical ripening.
At 6:30 am I woke my patient once more and said, up to the BR and then I can remove that cervidil. We both laughed and off she went to the BR, telling me she had actually woken at 4 am and it fell in the toilet, I was busy with my other patient and she hadn't wanted to bother me. Playfully I chastised her for not calling me.
When I did Leopold's I felt something was wrong, when I placed the us on her abdomen there was silence, I adjusted the volume, no placental sounds, no fetal heart tones, I checked the monitor again, as I reached for the phone it rang and the CNM was on the line, I said "come in now", I called the Resource nurse to get me the ultra sound machine at bedside, things were happening at the desk as I sat with my patient and listened to the silence.
The silence, I felt a tear slowly moving down my cheek and my patient chatted about how stubborn this baby boy was. She didn't understand, how do you tell someone?
The silence... the ultrasound showed us a vertex position fetus, we viewed the ribs and looking inside at the heart that sat motionless I felt the weight of my own in my chest.
The story continues, but for now I am dealing with the silence, and the sadness. I am reaching out to others that have heard it and can relate. Please share with me..
Specializes in Pediatric Psychiatry, Home Health VNA.
Hi Gramma. Your description brought back memories of an all-too-familiar scene for me, except I was the patient. I will never forget telling one of the residents at my 39 week appointment that something was wrong, and her brushing me off telling me everything was fine and I was just experiencing anxiety. A couple of days later I noticed I hadn't felt any movement in 24 hours but thought I was being paranoid. I went to L&D to get checked out, laughing at myself because I was surely being ridiculous. I remember the triage nurse not being able to find a heartbeat with the doppler and the feeling of heavy dread I experienced but she kept a plastered smile on her face and told me he was probably posterior and that was why I wasn't feeling movement and we couldn't hear the heartbeat. A resident came in with the portable ultrasound and in that split second time stood still for an eternity. The sound of silence was deafening. I knew, I just had this gut feeling and then the physician said the most devastating, life-altering words an almost parent could possibly hear. "I'm sorry. He's gone." It twists my heart and my stomach now to remember and it's been over six years.
I will never forget the two loving, compassionate, empathetic nurses who stayed with me the entire night and well into the next shift to be there during the delivery. It was the longest and the shortest night of my life and they were right there offering a hand to hold and cried right along with me. Somehow they made me feel less alone and more human. Sometimes a hand to hold or a long hug is more powerful than all the words that fail in a time as painful and devastating as losing your child. These nurses gave me comfort and control when the world around me was falling apart.
I don't think stillbirths will ever get easier from a nursing perspective. I don't think they should either. Times like these test your strength and encompass the true meaning of nursing. You have the opportunity to make all the difference in the world for your patient. I will never forget the way they respect my wishes and never once judged me. I closed my eyes during the birth because I just couldn't cope with the reality that this would be the only time I would have to be a mother to my beautiful little boy. It had only been roughly 12 hours since I had received the news and I was very fearful of seeing him lifeless and still. Later on they gently encouraged me to hold him but told me exactly what to expect and wiped away my fear about the situation. In retrospect I'm so glad I listened. I have such beautiful memories of my baby looking like a peaceful angel and it truly began the healing process for me. In some ways I wish I held him a second time and bathed him, but I did the best I could at the time and I know I can't have regrets.
I never could have gotten through this experience without those two nurses, and the impact they had on me was so significant that it is the reason I became a nurse myself. My dream is to work in a NICU and be there for parents going through the pain and uncertainty of having a critically ill newborn. You never know whose lives you are going to touch around you. You are so powerful as a nurse, especially in situations like a stillbirth where you feel powerless. Just know that the touch of your hand and the warmth of your presence is more comforting than all of the words that lose their meaning when your patient is struggling to cope with the death of their child. I will never forget my nurses, and I'm sure your patient will never forget you. Feeling the heaviness of your own heart when a baby has lost the beat of theirs is a sign you are right where you should be. Never forget that. :)
I can't thank you all enough for your kind words, for your sharing of your own experiences. I reached out to all of you because I felt alone in my own grief. It's been three days, we did have a debriefing and the support of the other nurses and staff was wonderful. We will all carry this event with us forever.
As difficult as this was for our mother and father I was glad to see the support of family and friends they had. After the delivery and when our mom and dad were ready they allowed family and friends in to see and hold their son. He was baptised and everyone had time to be with him and his parents. I was honored when I came in to work that evening and my patient asked me if I would like to hold her son. It was the beginning of the healing process for me.
My patient and I talked alot that night, she shared her delivery experience with me, her story and we cried together. I know the importance of sharing one's birthing experience, most mother's do and it doesn't matter how many years have past those stories are still close to our hearts. Her story although sad was a wonderful story, a story of support and encouragement through labor, the pains of delivery, the joy of meeting and holding her son, and the sadness of letting him go.
I feel honored to be a part of that story, I will never forget this wonderful couple and their son and the lessons they have taught me.
Thank you again for your support, kind words and sharing.
Am so very glad you got to hold this baby whose soul touched yours so deeply. I'm glad you got to talk and cry with this family...may you have peace and healing. Hugs to you.
HappyPediRN
328 Posts
Hi Gramma. Your description brought back memories of an all-too-familiar scene for me, except I was the patient. I will never forget telling one of the residents at my 39 week appointment that something was wrong, and her brushing me off telling me everything was fine and I was just experiencing anxiety. A couple of days later I noticed I hadn't felt any movement in 24 hours but thought I was being paranoid. I went to L&D to get checked out, laughing at myself because I was surely being ridiculous. I remember the triage nurse not being able to find a heartbeat with the doppler and the feeling of heavy dread I experienced but she kept a plastered smile on her face and told me he was probably posterior and that was why I wasn't feeling movement and we couldn't hear the heartbeat. A resident came in with the portable ultrasound and in that split second time stood still for an eternity. The sound of silence was deafening. I knew, I just had this gut feeling and then the physician said the most devastating, life-altering words an almost parent could possibly hear. "I'm sorry. He's gone." It twists my heart and my stomach now to remember and it's been over six years.
I will never forget the two loving, compassionate, empathetic nurses who stayed with me the entire night and well into the next shift to be there during the delivery. It was the longest and the shortest night of my life and they were right there offering a hand to hold and cried right along with me. Somehow they made me feel less alone and more human. Sometimes a hand to hold or a long hug is more powerful than all the words that fail in a time as painful and devastating as losing your child. These nurses gave me comfort and control when the world around me was falling apart.
I don't think stillbirths will ever get easier from a nursing perspective. I don't think they should either. Times like these test your strength and encompass the true meaning of nursing. You have the opportunity to make all the difference in the world for your patient. I will never forget the way they respect my wishes and never once judged me. I closed my eyes during the birth because I just couldn't cope with the reality that this would be the only time I would have to be a mother to my beautiful little boy. It had only been roughly 12 hours since I had received the news and I was very fearful of seeing him lifeless and still. Later on they gently encouraged me to hold him but told me exactly what to expect and wiped away my fear about the situation. In retrospect I'm so glad I listened. I have such beautiful memories of my baby looking like a peaceful angel and it truly began the healing process for me. In some ways I wish I held him a second time and bathed him, but I did the best I could at the time and I know I can't have regrets.
I never could have gotten through this experience without those two nurses, and the impact they had on me was so significant that it is the reason I became a nurse myself. My dream is to work in a NICU and be there for parents going through the pain and uncertainty of having a critically ill newborn. You never know whose lives you are going to touch around you. You are so powerful as a nurse, especially in situations like a stillbirth where you feel powerless. Just know that the touch of your hand and the warmth of your presence is more comforting than all of the words that lose their meaning when your patient is struggling to cope with the death of their child. I will never forget my nurses, and I'm sure your patient will never forget you. Feeling the heaviness of your own heart when a baby has lost the beat of theirs is a sign you are right where you should be. Never forget that. :)