There Will Be No Baby Tonight
Devastated.
Crushed.
Heartbroken.
These are the words that I can best use to describe myself at the moment. Part of my knows that everything is, and will be, okay…but right this moment, my heart will have none of that.
About two days ago, Cassie began the work that she and I believed was the beginning of labor. Things started slow…short contractions, very far apart. Each contraction, we dutifully tracked, waiting for them to become eight minutes apart, when we were told to come to the hospital.
Yesterday morning, in the early morning, that happened. We were thrilled. I flitted around the house, my heart aflutter with the excitement of what was coming. At long last…the day that Cassie and I have been waiting for these nine long, long months, was finally coming. We were going to see our daughter. At last, no more waiting. No more conversations in bed, trying to nestle as close to Cassie’s belly as I can. No more wondering if she’ll have Cassie’s eyes, or my nose, or Cassie’s tipped smile, or my hair. We’d at long last experience the miracle of Braelyn, hold her in our arms, feel her close, see her looking at us with the beautiful eyes I know she’ll have. It was a thrill, and a joy, and it was quite unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
So, I called everyone on the first call list - first Maryanne, then Cassie’s parents, then mine, then Mollie and Ogre, Braelyn’s godparents. I burst around the house, getting the baby bags ready. I had everything prepared for action. We got Cassie in the car, and we sped to the hospital.
And then…nothing happened. Braelyn freaked out when presented with a heart monitor and a contraction detector. She pulled away for the birth canal, and the contractions arrested. Cassie’s dilation and effacement hadn’t changed. There was nothing anyone could do.
They sent us home.
When we arrived home, the contractions started again. And so, deciding to spend as long as we thought we could at home, we did everything we could to gently encourage contractions. We lit candles, something that it felt like Braelyn wanted. We started playing a beautiful loop of Pachabel’s Cannon, with the words “Alleluyah” sung in an amazing harmonic repetition. (In fact, as I write this through still raw tears, I’m listening to the song, hoping to find solace in Braelyn’s birth song.) We did some very amazing energy work. And the contractions came on faster, and stronger. We gota yoga ball, which helped move things along at a fantastic pace. I gave Cassie Raspberry Leaf Tea with a special tincture, which would help move things along. We both worked together, long and hard. The contractions would come, Cassie would focus, and I would be at her side. It was a tiring work, but we felt that things would come together…this was not over. Braelyn would come tonight.
And so we slept into this morning. At about four, the contractions once again woke Cassie. We quickly went to the ball, and we worked together. She’d feel a contraction, and I’d be there, at her side, unmoving. Soon, they were less than three minutes apart, and they were longer than before. It was once again time…we believed that there was nothing that could slow this down. Again, I made the calls, and again we sped to the hospital.
This time, they didn’t send us immediately home. The nurse at the hospital, an angel named Stephanie, wanted Cassie to try and labor in peace, at the hospital, as much as she could. We got Cassie’s ball from home, with just the right amount of air. We laid together in the bathtub, as the contractions swelled. We were there for about five hours…but no change. Everything was exactly the same.
Again…they sent us home. This time, we had strict instructions - we were both to rest. In the rush to bring Braelyn into the world, we’d neglected our own needs. The doctor thought that perhaps the labor was arrested because Cassie was so tired. And I was not far behind her…in no way could I have been the help I needed to be to deliver that baby.
So we went home. And the contractions stopped…nothing. We ate, and we hoped, and we slept. When we woke up…still, nothing. Everything has halted.
And so, here I sit, quietly contemplating the events of the past days, and I can’t help the string of emotions that are pouring out of me.
I feel a terrible sadness. I’ve spent a long time afraid of being a father, because there are so many unknowns. Was I going to make some mistake that would ruin her life? Would my temper, affected by many unslept nights, flare and cause me to do something stupid? What would happen if she came out, and there was something wrong with her mentally, or physically, and Cassie and I would be faced with a bittersweet burden for the rest of our lives. What if, would this, could that…no one told me that fatherhood would be so fraught with fears.
But yesterday, as the contractions came, and Braelyn moved closer to my reality, the fears vanished. There was no more fear about being a father. I would do it. I could do it. Nothing could stop me, and there would be no mistake that I would make that I couldn’t fix. Besides, this is what I was born to do. I’ve lived an amazing life, learning about the power and love of a family. It’s been my destiny to be a father since the day Maryanne chose Mom and Dad to be my parents. Since the day Mom and Dad decided to do foster care and Amber came into my life, the sister I helped raise. Since every child who came into that house in Alford I helped care for. I held. I wondered at. And I knew that, some day I wanted.
It’s been my destiny since, as a cried over losing Tia, a tiny spark danced about me in a dreamlike state and introduced herself as my daughter. She told me to dry my tears, that she was coming soon, and that I would find her Mommy in time, when I was healed of Tia. And when I was healed, I found Cassie. And then it all happened…like she promised, she came. On her own terms, under her own rules.
And so yesterday came, and ended my fears. And today came, and wounded me with this deep sadness. I know that pregnancy is a mysterious thing…the first stage of a relationship between parents and child that lasts a lifetime. And the bond that Cassie and I have forged with Braelyn is simply amazing...indescribable. I know that Braelyn, and Cassie, and even I need to be in perfect balance, and the time needs to be right before she’ll come into the world. But it still feels like I’ve been wounded.
All I’ve wanted, quietly, all my life, is to be a father. And all these past two days have been about it my ardent need to fulfill that desire. It consumed me so completely, I neglected myself. And it feels like, at the cusp of seeing that dream become reality, it was taken. And I feel the questions that often are associated with mourning and grief come to mind. Could I have done something different? What did I do to make things stop? If there something I could do, or give, or stop doing, or change, that would bring Braelyn into our home tonight, and end this long wait? Is it wrong for me to have hoped with all my heart, and all my soul, that maybe I might be a father today? Is this my fault? What do I do now?
The answers are simple…no, this is not my fault. No, it was absolutely correct for me to have hoped with my everything that this be. No, there’s nothing I could have done, or that I can do now, to have changed this outcome. In fact, Cassie and I did everything we could have, and people in the room commented on both the love that we showed each other each step of this process, and how happy and healthy Braelyn seemed in all of her monitorings. These two days were as perfect as they could have hoped to be.
But the pain is not simple. And simple answers cannot simply send it away, for either of us. As I deal with my own pain, I watch Cassie lay on our bed, staring bitterly into space. She won’t speak what she’s thinking, doesn’t need anything when I ask. She growls a few angry words at the cat whenever she tries to comfort her. It’s like someone died in our home…and even though no one did, even though things will quickly start again when the time is right, our home has a pall cast upon it.
So…that’s how we stand. All is quiet here in the Tucker home. There is a lot of work left to do, and a lot of pain for us to feel and work through. But this is not over. Because even in the darkest of nights, there is still a light and a hope. And the brightest dawn always follows the darkest night.
I want to thank everyone who’s supported us so far in this, and who will continue to support us as this time continues. This story does have a happy ending…and the happiest of new beginnings. We’ll both be fine…I know this. But it will take time. Time for us to stop blaming ourselves for this not coming to pass now. Time to accept that the path is unbroken, just winding. And time to be ready for Braelyn’s arrival into this work.
Now we heal. We rest. We dare to hope. And we wait.