Eve LaRee Pettit - Meet "Evie"

Today is the day that my dear Evie would have been born. Lucky me, I usually get to schedule my births. Ironically none of them have ended up on the previously scheduled date but this was the intended day of delivery. The pictures I'm sharing here are extremely personal and so sacred. This moment was so beautiful and so painful. I've never felt so raw.

Here is how I met my baby girl Eve LaRee Pettit. "Evie."

It's something that I desperately wanted documented. I also wanted to share it in hopes of helping others who are in this seemingly never ending pit of despair that follows child loss. I don't mean to say that in a negative way but there really is no vocabulary for the sadness that it brings. The way I have been feeling these past few months is indescribably and I imagine I'm not the only one who feels this way. I feel hollow, empty, ill, lonely, sick, sad, hopeful, peaceful and comatose all simultaneously. It has brought me great comfort reading the stories of others and seeing that they have survived. So here I am. Surviving.

We had planned a road trip to see my family in Utah and vacation a little along the way. Judging from my recent flying experience (when I went and helped my Mom clean out my grandparent's house) we decided to drive. That ended up giving us a lot of flexibility which was a huge blessing after losing Evie. It was a great trip. We stopped in Carlsbad Caverns and Glen Canyon Dam this time for our 'stops'. See the previous post for more details. The kids had a great time and I loved seeing something so special and unique.

We arrived in St. George mid day on Saturday and spent most of the day recovering from our trip. I'd been feeling kind of sick Friday night but was feeling much better Saturday morning.

The last time I remember Evie moving was Sunday afternoon. After church, My Mom reached over and felt her kick. I'm so glad we both have that last memory with her. It was a good strong kick.

Monday was a pretty normal day. We took the kids to the splash pad in St. George with a picnic lunch.

We had fun playing with cousins. We rested in the afternoon and went over to my Grandpa's assisted living place (the Retreat) to play some cards. Around mid-afternoon I was starting to watch for Evie to move. My sister was eager to feel her in my tummy and so I was actively paying attention. She wasn't moving.... I found it strange. By about 8 or 9 pm I was starting to panic a little bit. I drank cold water. I laid on my side. I pushed on her. Still nothing. At this point you don't actually believe that something like this could ever happen to you. Perhaps she was just slowing down because she was running out of room in that tummy of mine. Babies are known to slow down at this age. Or maybe she was sleeping. We went to our bedroom... and got ready for bed. I asked Nate for a blessing because at this point I was scared. I knew something wasn't right. But Nate's blessing said that Eve and I would be fine And that I would sleep well that night. I exercised my faith that night. I went to bed... I wonder looking back if I was in the denial stage. This can't possibly be happening to me. Things like this don't happen anymore. This is the 21st century. Babies don't just die for no reason. I did sleep well that night. Surprisingly well. The next morning I had a very personal indication that she wasn't moving. We decided then and there to go to the hospital.

I drove myself to the emergency room, knowing I'd rather drive myself than to try and give Nate directions. I'm a terrible back seat driver and extremely impatient under pressure. They take me up to labor and delivery in the women's hospital in St. George. I get changed into a gown and they start tracking the baby's heart rate. Somewhere between 120 and 160. Wahoo! Huge relief. Then they hook up my own heart rate monitor with my finger. They are both the same.

The same.

My heart rate is never that fast... I knew I was nervous, but what? I tried to calm my nerves but the underlying possibility made me panicky. The doctor took a long time coming to do the ultrasound. In the meantime the nurse was feeling bad for us. She went and got her tiny life flight ultrasound machine. She found something that looked like a heart pumping blood. She even sowed it to me. I can still see the little pulsing on that tiny screen. It's crazy how little images seem so imprinted in your mind from traumatic experiences. At this point I had hope. Strong hope. I'm still not sure what she saw, but it wasn't my baby's heart.

The doctor on call FINALLY came in! Dr. Wong hooks up the ultrasound. It went by so fast it still feels like a blur but the words that rang out for me was... "There's nothing there." I remember seeing Evie's beautiful spinal cord. Her head. Her ribcage. How could she say that there's nothing there? I see her. On the outside, the nurse is squeezing my hand. Nate is in tears at the foot of my bed. Rubbing my foot. I am sobbing. Silently sobbing... but sobbing. On the inside even thoughI know my thoughts are irrational, I want her to look again. She must be wrong! She must be. I NEED this baby. I need her. Her specifically. She just can't be gone. Look again!

Apparently in response to my thoughts, Dr. Wong leaves and gets Dr. Jackson. He is a maternal fetal medicine doctor from the University of Utah. He verifies that the baby is gone.

The baby is gone.

He instructs my husband to hold me.

Then they let us cry. The leave the room and we just sob and sob. Loudly this time. I remember rocking myself... thinking that might help. Hugging my tummy a little tighter. The only thing I remember saying is "I can't do this! I can't do this again!" "I just can't!" "How are we gonna tell the kids?" I also said some irrational things like "I can't go home. I don't wanna go home." "I hate it there!" "I'm so sad." Words cannot even express that moment for me. I just couldn't believe it. I couldn't process it.

Here is what I wrote about her in desperation to keep her alive a little longer. I wanted to not forget... To think I thought I might forget.

"Just found out. That my third baby, Eve LaRee is no longer with us. I wish I had kept a better record of this pregnancy so that I would have more record of the very short time she spent here with me. I'm 31 weeks pregnant. She was feisty. Did not like the sound of the Doppler. Always had to be chased down by the nurses. We've been trying to decide what to do from here. It's so hard when we don't have a place that feels like home. I think we'll bury her here near St George. Likely in Santa Clara."

After I wrote this I called my Mom. She said hello... I couldn't even get it out. I didn't know how to say it. I just sobbed out the words barely..."She's gone." Once I got past that I could talk about it a little better. with a little more logic and a little less heart.

We had a few possibilities ahead of us. I knew I'd be having another C-section. Should I deliver in Houston or St. George? Where would we bury her? I made sure to find a really good doctor that would be an excellent surgeon in Houston. Ironic that I'm 0 for 2  when it comes to actually having her for surgery. If I do want her to be buried in Houston, I should take her home in my Tummy and deliver her there. But Houston didn't feel like home. I'm still wondering if it ever will. We decided that we wanted the support of our family and to bury her in a place that felt like home. She is buried in the most beautiful cemetery in Utah.

I asked Dr. Wong about her stitching techniques.. basically asked her to sell herself to me. I asked the nurses how they felt about her and how her patients had recovered in the past.

The social worker came and gave us a few books. None of which I read until several days later.
For those looking for more help: Books I liked were
Tear Soup 
An LDS perspective on infant loss
Gone Too Soon
For General Child Loss
After the Darkest Hour, The Sun Will Shine Again
For kids:
We Were Going to Have a Baby, but we had an Angel instead

Because I needed to fast before going to surgery I went home for a few hours before coming back for surgery. We took this time to cry a little more. I got home and just hugged my Mom and my sister, who was sobbing. My Mom said she'd been crying ever since we called. My Dad was home from work, playing chess with Jeff. We know we have to tell the kids. We take them into the addition bedroom at my parents' home. Aria and I are sitting on the bed and Nate and Jeff are standing/kneeling next to the bed. We are all really close together. I make an effort to make sure that we are all touching each other. We tell them we went into the hospital that morning and found out that Evie's heart was no longer beating. She died in Mommy's tummy. We won't get to bring her home. I don't remember what words we used exactly. Aria started crying. She asked a few questions. Jeff pretty much just said, OK, I think he asked a question or two as well, but honestly I think he mourned the loss of my ectopic pregnancy in such a way that he didn't feel the need to mourn Evie in a significant way as well. He quickly asked if he could go finish his game now.. I still wish we could get inside his 6 year old brain. Chelsea took them to the park.

 I remember just searching for a way that would make me feel better. I can't really look at anybody. I can't really talk. So I head into the living room, with the baby grand piano. I play a Chopin prelude. It's minor. I cry some more. It heals me just enough to help me face the rest of the day.

My Mom, Dad and Nate all follow me in there and listen to me. I start wishing I had played something written in a major key. We talked a few logistics at this point. When the surgery is, when we think they should bring the kids. What we need. My Dad and My husband give me a blessing, right there on the piano bench. I don't know if it helped me feel better, to be honest I don't really remember feeling much of anything. But I do know that it is what I needed to hear and it is what my husband needed to say. His tears rained on me. literally.

On the way back to the hospital I wrote this: "This is going to hurt for a long time. I get overwhelmed just thinking about the future. I'm glad I have my spouse with me... he is loving and kind and recognizes me for who I am.

It's hard to let go of her. I longed for her and desperately awaited the day when I would get to hold baby Eve. I'm sad that it will just be her body that I get to hold. I know her spirit was with me and that she needed this body. A perfect brain. Good lungs. Spinal cord was beautiful. Maybe our family on earth was meant to be just Aria and Jeff. I'm sure we'll be able to see in the future why this happened, but for now all I can do is cry."

I get an IV put in. They give me anti-nausea medication. I've been known to vomit. Pretty excessively.  I ride the wheelchair to surgery. Nate follows in his gown. This part from here on out is really fuzzy for me. Maybe Nate will be able to fill in with a little clearer mind at some point. I go into the surgery room. Nate waits outside while they get me drugged up.

 I hunch over in an attempt to get my spinal tap in. The anesthesiologist is very kind. He gets it in. I lay down and they start prepping my body for surgery. Within a few minutes I start feeling the minor panic attack I always get and then it gets worse. I almost immediately went into cardiac something or other where my heart rate sky rocketed and my blood pressure plummeted. The anesthesiologist said it had only happened to him one other time, I have a rare case of strong repulsion to anesthesia. It was so scary. So so scary. I remember my nurse and my doctor holding my face saying "stay with me" I felt like I was having an out of body experience. Watching some sort of movie that had all a sudden become my life. It still feels like a dream. A really bad dream. Luckily they got me back really quick with some fun drugs I'm sure, and the operation proceeded without complication.They tell me I passed out but I have no recollection of the lapse of memory. I didn't then and I still don't but I'm still glad I'm alive.

Nate came in, no one told him until after the fact about the trauma I'd just been through. They began surgery and a few moments later our baby Eve LaRee "Evie" was born.

She was beautiful. And perfect... So said the assistants in the operating room.

If you don't like seeing death, you might want to skip to the end. But this is all I have of my sweet baby girl and I cherish them all.

 Nate brought her to me. She looked so beautiful. She looked like mine. Long dark hair. Eyes a little wide set. perfect little lips. Beautiful hands and feet.

Everything was perfect. Just the heart beating inside of her had given up. I missed her so much in that moment.

In the past my births have been the most precious and beautiful and joyful memories I have. Her birth was just as precious and beautiful and even joyful... but everything seemed cancelled out or neutralized by the sadness I felt in her absence. I have to think that she was there in spirit. helping me. helping me make it.

She was warm when she was first born. Warm from being inside me. She got colder and colder as time went on.

She also got more lacerations and more purple and redder lips the longer she was out. I touched her skin to mine. I held her hand. I kissed her head.

I longed to run my fingers through her hair but it was matted down by the amniotic fluid. I stroked her cheek.

We cried and cried. This picture means everything to me. I'm grateful the anesthesiologist had enough foresight to take record of this detail. It was and is so important to me.

They said nothing appeared to be out of sorts. Cord looked good as did the placenta. There was more amniotic fluid than there should be but that has been true for all of my pregnancies.

When they finished the surgery Nate picked her up as they transferred me to the bed from the operating table. Then for the first time in any of my deliveries, I got to hold the baby on our way back to our room. I found this extremely bonding.

My family came shortly after. My Mom, My Dad, My Sister Chelsea and Aria and Jeff all came to say hello/goodbye.

In some ways I wish I had not had so much morphine coursing through my veins so that I could remember exactly how things happened but it is what it is.

Perhaps that Morphine is the reason I could smile peacefully like this while my family surrounded me.

Things I remember:

-Aria adoring her baby sister. She held her for a long time. Touched her face. Grabbed her hand.

-We all took turns holding her and crying. My Dad in particular... just sobbed, which is unusal for him. I can't imagine having to watch my daughter suffer the way I did and still be missing my grand-daughter.

 This is Chelsea holding her.

 To be entirely honest we all cried and cried. and cried.

 -Jeff didn't want to hold her. but he wasn't afraid to talk about her or touch her. He was concerned about the color of her lips. He thought she was bleeding.

-skin to skin time

-sleeping together

-trying to make memories with her

-I sang her lullabies
"You are my Sunshine"
& "Baby Sleep"  - This movie was the first movie Nate and I saw together. We've sung this lullaby for all our kids and Evie was no different. Jeff still asks for it every night.

-attempting family pictures

 -jeff being scared of getting close to me. I was numb from the chest down during most of this. The feeling started to come back towards the end.
-the social worker feeling out of sorts
-the kind gifts from the hospital.
-the beautiful dress they put Evie in

 She weighed 4 lbs. 5 oz. 18 in. long. A beautiful gift from God. Perfectly formed.

-crying in response to our first voicemail regarding Evie from our Elder's Quorum president
-Nate being a wonderful Dad.

-it seemed Evie was gone for a long time when they were making molds of her hands
-me throwing up 10 times while trying not to freak out my kids holding their dead baby sister

I am so grateful for this testimony I wrote in the hospital that follows.
"She has already changed me. I will be more compassionate. I will appreciate Aria and Jeff so much. My life is still so blessed.

"I refuse to become consumed by my grief. I'm struggling to understand why we had to work so hard for this little miracle. She was and is always a miracle. I've loved having her inside of me. She is mine and will always be mine. But really she was only on loan from God. It was a gift to know her and love her.

"This is never something I imagined for myself.

"I think Eve was the perfect name for her because her name means life. I hope she will give me life and support and strength for the rest of my mortal life and that she will give me new life in the millennium. But her name also means the close of a day. She is my evening star. She is perfect and bright. She is Holy. The love heavenly father has for her must be enormous. The love I have feels explosive. It hurts more than I feel I can bear.

"God had different plans for her. I feel that LaRee and Leona are with me right now. They will take care of her during our separation. "