Benjamin Part III

 "I want to be clear about something, as long as you give me pain medication, you can do whatever you need to do to get this baby out. I want you to get him out, we want to hold our son", I told the doctor as we entered our last 12 hour rotation before the cutoff Paul and I had set for ourselves.

I want to hold my son.

They would have let me labor longer but I had already been gone from home for 4 days. I knew I had another 3 days post delivery and I couldn't put my kids through an endless time without us after losing their baby brother. Unfortunately, my body just wasn't interested in cooperating and we were about to have to choose our six over our one and I was terrified.

I want to hold my son.

Thankfully, God sent me a doctor and a nurse that night that heard me loud and clear and also met me with a similar sense of humor and sarcasm to offset the stress of the evening. It was game time and it was clear that it wouldn't be fun. Paul and my nurse accompanied me through some quite unenjoyable moments as I offered my body to whatever my doctor could "strongly encourage" it to do.

I want to hold my son.

By about 1030, in a medicated stuper, I started to have contractions. Somehow, in all of our conversations about how things could go, for some reason I never realized that I would have regular contractions. So, when they started, exhausted Jeanne was quite offended that I had to ALSO go through labor. I was so tired. I didn't have the mental energy to do this the way I normally did and I panicked.

I want to hold my son.

Thankfully, it didn't take long before I felt that pressure that all mom's know. It was time.

I was going to hold my son.

"Don't tell me what is happening. I'm scared he's going to come out in a weird way, I don't want to know".

At 11:42pm, our Benjamin Michael was born. The room was eerily silent as the lack of a cry filled every corner. It hit me again, he's gone. I watched Paul's face as he looked on to what was happening, trying to study it and prepare myself for what he was seeing.

"Do you want me to lay him on your chest or wrap him in a towel?", the nurse asked.

"You can wrap him in a towel. Paul can hold him". I wasn't ready, I was so scared, and I needed Paul to buffer me.

As they laid him in Paul's arms, his eyes welled up with tears. He held him just like he he'd all of our babies; with a confident love and protection. Benjamin didn't even know that he had the greatest daddy but everybody in that room did.

"I want to see him. Does he look alright?"

My nurse quickly chimed in, "he's perfect!".

And she was right. Paul laid his 8 inch, 7.8 ounce body on my lap. He was perfect. Like a miniature baby doll. I was stunned. I was immediately struck by the perfect shape of his head. Not even my other babies heads looked that perfect. Next his fingers and toes, I counted 10 each. His knees, elbows, and shoulders, all perfectly formed. He even had the creases on his fingers and toes, nostrils, and full, pouty lips. I just couldn't get over it, he was exquisite. A mini baby at only 19 weeks. God is amazing.

My fatigue caught up to me and I handed him back to Paul. The night was coming to a close and my mind and body were completely depleted. I just needed to sleep. Little did I know, I was just at the beginning.

The next 5 hours were full of a lot more waiting for my body to cooperate, more "strong encouragement" from my doctor to cooperate, and eventually heading into the OR for a God sent D&C.

When I woke up from my D&C, it was about 5:30AM. Everything had been successful and much to all of our surprise, I didn't hemorrhage. Paul sleepily welcomed me back into our room and Benjamin laid peacefully, wrapped in a blanket, in the tiniest of bassinets next to my bed. I looked at him, still perfect, but I had to rest.

In true Jeanne fashion, I slept for about an hour before sitting up in my bed up and pulling my boy over. I still had some trepidation but this was the time, the only time we'd ever get; Mommy and Benjamin time.

I studied him. Every part. So beautifully and wonderfully made. His fingers were so tiny, his ears even smaller, and, oh, those lips were just amazingly plump.

We talked, I cried, and we took pictures. I wasn't sure if I was doing what I was supposed to but I knew I was doing what I needed to. I needed to know my son. My son. My son.

By around 11, it was clear that our time was drawing to a close. His very thin layers of skin were beginning to dry out a bit and I wanted to protect my memories. Paul and I both took one last chance to hold him, kiss him, and say goodbye. Calling the nurse to take him, the finality of saying goodbye to our son, was the hardest thing I've ever done.

It was finished.