In Memory of Sierra RayLeen
Sierra RayLeen, October 27, 1987
Tiny Handprints Taken by the Nurses
Sierra’s Tiny Footprint
As we approach Mother’s Day, I thought I would share my story of losing a child. I hear so many stories from other women and it breaks my heart every time. It brings me back to nearly twenty-nine years ago when I lost my first child, a daughter, Sierra RayLeen. She came nearly three months early, and only survived for approximately five hours. It was my first pregnancy, so I didn’t really know what to expect. I was 20-years-old and was excited to be pregnant with our first child. We wanted the gender to be a surprise, so we had no idea whether we were having a precious baby boy or girl. I had been having a lot of problems throughout the pregnancy, especially with bleeding off and on. I, myself had been born two months early, weighing in at 3 pounds 15 ounces, so it had been a concern throughout my own pregnancy; however after nearly six months of problems, and much of that time on bed-rest, it seemed that the pregnancy was finally going well, filling us with much excitement and anticipation. I can still remember the first belly-flutters, the ultimate sign that that there is a little being growing inside. It was amazing, and we couldn’t wait to meet him or her. I knew early-on that I wanted to be a mother. My own childhood had been pretty rough, and I couldn’t wait to have a child of my own to love and watch grow up. It was a dream come true.
That dream came to a screeching halt on October 27, 1987 when I was 6-months pregnant. I was finally to a point where I wasn’t having issues, and no longer required bed-rest (after nearly three months on bed-rest). Because of the issues I had experienced, I hadn’t bought anything for the nursery; however on October 26th, I finally went shopping with a friend, and bought several baby “things”. It felt good to finally start getting ready for his or her arrival. That night, I woke up around 2:00 am with severe cramping and hemorrhaging. I called my husband and he immediately rushed home and we made our way to the emergency room. It was there that it was determined that the “cramping” was actually full-blown labor. An ultrasound was performed and they were able to determine that I was 7cm dilated, and that the baby’s lungs were not fully developed. It was not likely that he/she would survive, and certainly not without intervention. My doctor shared that he could send me to Oregon Health Sciences University (OHSU) where they were performing a procedure where they would put the mother on a bed that actually tipped upside-down, using gravity as a means to hopefully keep the cervix from further dilating and prevent the baby from being born. We were told that it was our only hope in the baby surviving, because the lungs weren’t developed. We mentally prepared ourselves for the ambulance ride up to OHSU in efforts to save our baby; however nearly fifteen minutes later, our doctor came back with news we didn’t want to hear; OHSU was no longer performing this procedure because the survival rate was so low. We were devastated. We no longer had an option, so began the wait for the arrival of our sweet baby.
The nurses later came in with a steel tub and towels, placing these items at our bedside. I was not sure what the purpose of these items were, and in the back of my mind, I feared that the staff would put my baby in this tub and whisk him/her away. I was young and it was my first pregnancy. I did not know what to expect and was utterly terrified. I couldn’t even bring myself to question the nurses as to what the purpose of these items were. I thought perhaps they would take the baby away (I had no idea what the baby would look like or if he/she would even look like a normal baby). With each contraction, I grew increasingly worried about the steel tub and its purpose. I tried to relax as much as possible and focus on getting through each contraction….and, so we waited…
A few hours later, our baby girl, Sierra RayLeen, entered this world. She was just over 15 ounces and just under 12 inches long. She was tiny, but she was otherwise perfect!! Ten fingers, ten toes, perfect little hands and feet. She was breathing, although labored because her tiny lungs were not mature. They immediately cleaned her, wrapped her in a blanket, and handed her to us to hold and admire. I quickly forgot about the steel tub. I only focused on this beautiful little baby girl and how perfect she was. The doctor let us have a few minutes with her and then came back in to visit with us. He reiterated that she was not going to survive; however if we wished, we could have her immediately taken to the nearest neonatal center (several miles away); however because of my blood loss (and my body had gone into shock just prior to delivery), I could not go with her. He assured me that she would be poked and prodded with needles and tubes, and that none of those things could save her. We would lose all time with her. It was, to this day, one of the most agonizing decisions I have ever had to make in my life, and something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. We ultimately decided that we wanted to spend time with our precious baby girl. We didn’t want to waste one minute away from her.
For over five hours, we held her, cuddled her, and kissed her. She wrapped her tiny hand around our fingers and would occasionally take a deep sigh. She never opened her eyes. We were told this was because I had been sedated while in labor (when my body went into shock); therefore she was also sedated. We had the most amazing doctor and nurses. We didn’t know what to expect, but the nurses were so attentive to our little one. They wrapped her up in blankets and kept her warm. They took Polaroid pictures of her (this was in 1987, long before digital cameras and since we had no idea we would be having a baby that night, we didn’t come prepared with a camera), and provided us with a “Special Babies” baby book, along with her foot and hand prints. They are the only physical mementos we have of her, and we are so very thankful that they provided these things to us during that very difficult time. We reveled in each breath that she took and each squeeze of her hand on our fingers. Even after she took her last breath, we continued to hold her, knowing how precious this time was. Letting her go was more difficult than I can express in words. When do you finally let go of your tiny daughter, knowing that these are the last moments that you will ever have with her? When we did carefully hand her to the nurses, they treated her like any other baby. They held onto her like the most precious of cargo. I don’t think the nurses will ever know how much this meant to us, and I don’t think I could ever truly put it in words.
Going home was unbearable. Empty arms that only had the chance to cradle that precious “little” for a few moments in time, would never rock her to sleep, or calm her cries in the middle of the night. It’s a time that I’ll never forget, as it was such a time of darkness and despair. But, we hold onto those beautiful brief moments with our daughter. We had a gorgeous baby girl less than a year later, and a beautiful son almost two years after that. We truly recognize how blessed we were, as many that lose a child, never have the opportunity with another.
My mother, who passed away just a few years later, wrote the following poem for our precious little one: “Sierra RayLeen, child of my child, you only stayed a little while. Bands of love wrap around my heart, knowing we would have to part. Time stands still, there’s no tomorrow, wishing mine, was yours to borrow. Time goes on, and hearts will heal, but the love of Sierra, we’ll always feel.” -Grandma Lois
Sierra’s headstone where she lies was perfect in our eyes and we knew it the moment we found it: “She gave so much to be so little, but angels always do”. Our beautiful angel is gone, but never forgotten.