Lying on the couch, waiting for the ambulance...I had never hated living in the country more than I did at that moment. It seemed like it took them an eternity to get to our house. Our small town of Sheridan doesn't have their own ambulatory service, we use the county. But we do have a small group of first responders. These people arrive before the ambulance and attempt to provide help.
When they arrived, they looked at me and immediately asked how far along I was. I responded, "34 weeks and 5 days". They were surprised. They had been told I was 12 weeks along. They tried to calm me down...put an oxygen mask on me. But I just couldn't take it. Here these people were...trying to help me and all I could think was "get out of my way! I've got to go! Where's the ambulance?!?"
One of the ladies asked me, "Ma'am, is there a reason you won't leave the oxygen mask on?" And totally out of character, I snapped back.."because I'm not an idiot! I don't need oxygen! I need to go!"
I laid there on the couch, looking at a large photo of Max that hangs next to the fireplace. As I stared at his picture, the same lady commented, "It'll be okay. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away." With tears in my eyes, I just shook my head and told her she didn't understand. I'm a pretty calm, patient person. But at that moment, if I hadn't feared harming my baby, I would have probably punched her in the nose.
Once the ambulance finally arrived I felt some relief. I knew we would be getting help soon. The paramedic on the ambulance crew was great. But again, it seemed like it took forever before we actually left the house. He had to check all my vital signs, check my bleeding and start an IV. Patiently, I prayed....God's will be done. Everything was completely out of my control at this point.
Aaron rode in the front of the ambulance and we flew down the highway towards Eagle Lake, lights flashing, sirens blaring. In the back of the ambulance, the paramedic asked me if I would mind taking my shirt off. I thought it was a funny question. There I am, sitting with no pants or panties on, holding a bloody towel between my legs and he was kind enough to think I had an ounce of shame left in me. When in reality, I would have marched naked through the streets if it had meant helping Madden survive.
I was surprised how quickly we actually arrived at the hospital. We must have been going really fast. As we pulled in, there were people waiting to help us. And I was so thankful...I saw a familiar face. The on-call doctor was a family friend. He knew us. He knew our story. And I knew he would do everything he possibly could to save our son.
They wheeled us back to the labor and delivery room. And I couldn't help but think..."this was the place that I did not want to be." I chose to change doctors and to deliver Madden in Victoria because I didn't want to be in this room...the room where I delivered and first held Max. But there I was...in the same exact room, in the exact same bed.
I just kept telling them they needed to get the baby out. All of the staff was calm. They checked for the baby's heartbeat. And they immediately found it. His heart was beating strong. There were no signs of distress. The doctor knew I was bleeding a lot, but he had seen similar bleeding before, and the baby sounded good. He called for an ultrasound technician and left the room to call my doctor. And at that moment, I had hope. And I found myself thinking once again..."maybe, just maybe."
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Call 911!
Today, I woke up with Madden on my mind. I always think of him and Max....pretty much constantly. But this morning, my heart was focused on Madden, and in my first waking moments I replayed January 12th over and over in my head. It was a horrible day...and I just want to warn you, if you are squeamish about blood or pregnancy related discussion, you may want to skip this post.
But up until that day, there were zero complications with my pregnancy. Due to Max's heart condition, I was considered high risk, but there were absolutely no problems to speak of. We had more ultrasounds performed than usual, specifically focusing on Madden's heart...particularly the thickness of the walls. A fetal echo cardiogram was performed on Monday, January 7th. Everything looked perfect. We were assured his heart looked great and everything appeared perfect.
That week I went home and prepared Madden's room. His due date was six weeks away and I finally began to let myself hope. Friday night, Maryn had a couple friends spend the night. I figured I'd spend a little extra time making each child happy before their new brother entered the world and consumed most of my time. The girls played great together. I took them home around lunchtime on Saturday...and everything was still normal.
After getting home, I started to feel a little sick. My belly hurt a little, I felt really tired...but it didn't seem like anything other than regular pregnancy discomfort. I soaked in the bathtub and watched my belly move back and forth. Madden...his usual self, kicking away.
My parents came to get the three kids. They planned on having them spend the night and giving Aaron and I a little time to relax together. As soon as they left, I laid down on the couch to rest...still not feeling well. And I have to say, it crossed my mind..."maybe I should call the doctor, maybe I should go get checked out."
The kids had been gone maybe ten, or fifteen minutes before our world was shattered once again. Aaron and I were on the couch together. Him...watching TV, and me...just trying to get comfortable, when I felt a sudden gush of fluid. Immediately I knew it was not normal, but I thought maybe my water had broken. But when I reached down and saw my hand, I knew it was blood and I knew it was bad. I didn't have to say a word. Somehow, Aaron instinctively took his eyes off the TV and looked at my hand in the air and jumped off the couch.
I began to panic. I got up and ran to the bathroom. I took off my pants and blood gushed out, all over the bathroom floor. I sat on the toilet, and it just wouldn't stop. It was more blood than I could have ever imagined...and I don't even have the words to describe to you just how much it was.
I knew right away that my placenta had abrupted. And what's worse is that I knew my child couldn't survive without the oxygen provided by it. I moved to the bathroom floor, sitting in a pile of blood, and I hoped. Maybe I've dilated. Maybe his head is low. Maybe I can deliver him right here...right now. I checked myself, but I could feel nothing.
Immediately I began yelling to Aaron...."He's dead! He's dying! He's not getting oxygen...I'm going to lose the baby!" And I remember Aaron just asking, "what do I do?" And this time, it was me telling him..."Call 911! We have to go. We need help!"
I also remember Aaron calling out to Max. It really caught me off guard. He yelled out for Max in heaven to help us...to talk to God and help his baby brother survive. And I just sat there...crying and praying and screaming...once again. Aaron called his parents to come help. They live right down the road and were there in minutes. But there was nothing they could do either. I grabbed a towel, put it between my legs, laid on the couch and waited. Waited for the ambulance....waited for my baby...waited for an answer to my prayers.
"Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him." -Matthew 6:8
"We always find that those who walked closest to Christ were those who had to bear the greatest trials." -St. Theresa of Avila
But up until that day, there were zero complications with my pregnancy. Due to Max's heart condition, I was considered high risk, but there were absolutely no problems to speak of. We had more ultrasounds performed than usual, specifically focusing on Madden's heart...particularly the thickness of the walls. A fetal echo cardiogram was performed on Monday, January 7th. Everything looked perfect. We were assured his heart looked great and everything appeared perfect.
That week I went home and prepared Madden's room. His due date was six weeks away and I finally began to let myself hope. Friday night, Maryn had a couple friends spend the night. I figured I'd spend a little extra time making each child happy before their new brother entered the world and consumed most of my time. The girls played great together. I took them home around lunchtime on Saturday...and everything was still normal.
After getting home, I started to feel a little sick. My belly hurt a little, I felt really tired...but it didn't seem like anything other than regular pregnancy discomfort. I soaked in the bathtub and watched my belly move back and forth. Madden...his usual self, kicking away.
My parents came to get the three kids. They planned on having them spend the night and giving Aaron and I a little time to relax together. As soon as they left, I laid down on the couch to rest...still not feeling well. And I have to say, it crossed my mind..."maybe I should call the doctor, maybe I should go get checked out."
The kids had been gone maybe ten, or fifteen minutes before our world was shattered once again. Aaron and I were on the couch together. Him...watching TV, and me...just trying to get comfortable, when I felt a sudden gush of fluid. Immediately I knew it was not normal, but I thought maybe my water had broken. But when I reached down and saw my hand, I knew it was blood and I knew it was bad. I didn't have to say a word. Somehow, Aaron instinctively took his eyes off the TV and looked at my hand in the air and jumped off the couch.
I began to panic. I got up and ran to the bathroom. I took off my pants and blood gushed out, all over the bathroom floor. I sat on the toilet, and it just wouldn't stop. It was more blood than I could have ever imagined...and I don't even have the words to describe to you just how much it was.
I knew right away that my placenta had abrupted. And what's worse is that I knew my child couldn't survive without the oxygen provided by it. I moved to the bathroom floor, sitting in a pile of blood, and I hoped. Maybe I've dilated. Maybe his head is low. Maybe I can deliver him right here...right now. I checked myself, but I could feel nothing.
Immediately I began yelling to Aaron...."He's dead! He's dying! He's not getting oxygen...I'm going to lose the baby!" And I remember Aaron just asking, "what do I do?" And this time, it was me telling him..."Call 911! We have to go. We need help!"
I also remember Aaron calling out to Max. It really caught me off guard. He yelled out for Max in heaven to help us...to talk to God and help his baby brother survive. And I just sat there...crying and praying and screaming...once again. Aaron called his parents to come help. They live right down the road and were there in minutes. But there was nothing they could do either. I grabbed a towel, put it between my legs, laid on the couch and waited. Waited for the ambulance....waited for my baby...waited for an answer to my prayers.
"Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him." -Matthew 6:8
"We always find that those who walked closest to Christ were those who had to bear the greatest trials." -St. Theresa of Avila
Thursday, April 18, 2013
One day...
Madden was due to be born in February. While I was excited to meet him, hold him and kiss him, I was content being pregnant and in no hurry to go into labor. I just knew that this little boy was sent to help our family heal...it was the only thing that made sense to me. I looked forward to mending my broken heart, but was also hesitant to let go of the heartache of losing Max. I knew that Madden wouldn't replace Max, but I was afraid that I would start my new life with a new baby and my memories of Max would fade.
As I mentioned before, it took me months before I could buy anything for Madden, and months before I could enter the bedroom that would soon be his. I loved this baby. I loved every kick and punch he could throw at me. He was so very active, even kicking Aaron in the back as we slept one night.
But it was difficult to prepare for his birth, while still clinging to every detail of Max's death. But ready or not, his due date was approaching fast, and I had no choice but to begin preparations for his arrival. So I bought a few clothes, sewed a few burp cloths, purchased new bedding, a new car seat and splurged on a nice diaper bag. Slowly, I began to look forward to the birth of this child, this miracle. But, there was still his room to deal with.
It was Max's old room. Max actually rarely slept in his room, but it was all of his stuff...all of his belongings. I wanted it to feel like a different room, in a different house. So I decided to rip out the carpet and replace it with laminate wood flooring. My in laws and I laid it ourselves, one plank at a time. And once it was completed, it did feel different. I no longer dreaded entering the room. Once again, I could sit in this small bedroom and work without feeling sick to my stomach. I was able to begin removing Max's items without bursting into tears. We received a cedar chest from my husband's grandmother. I placed Max's personal belongings inside, and began to make room for Madden's. The second week in January, I finally completed his room.
We had our house for sell for nearly two years...before Max was even born. After losing Madden, we decided to take it off the market. To our surprise, two weeks ago, someone contacted our realtor. They were interested in our home. They came one Sunday and viewed our property, and the following Sunday we had a signed contract. So now we are moving, and its very bittersweet.
I have my memories of Max here. This is where I was pregnant with Madden. I know that the boys won't stay behind as we leave. I'm positive they'll travel with us wherever we go. But I am afraid of losing memories.
However, I am looking forward to starting over. In our new home, wherever that may be, I won't have a room that's off limits for everyone. I won't have a bedroom that has to remain closed. I won't look at the kitchen sink and remember happy bath time, or my closet and remember Max sleeping peacefully in his bassinet. I can pack up all of my children's belongings, instead of just packing up the belongings of the child I lost. I can leave this house...the house where my placenta abrupted, resulting in the loss of Madden. I have the opportunity to let go of pain once again, but the real question is 'do I want to?'.
What I want really doesn't matter. I want my family to be complete. I want to hold my babies once again. I want us all to be together. I want to feel normal. I want to feel whole. I want to rewind time...I want to fast forward time. I want to scream, cry...disappear.
No...none of it matters. Regardless of what I want, time will tick on one second at a time. I just have to live minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day....and trust in God's plan. I believe one day I will feel whole, normal and complete. On that day my soul will separate from my body and I will be exactly where I belong...where I am meant to be. One day....
"My soul longs for your salvation; I put my hope in your word. My eyes long to see your promise. When will you comfort me?" Psalm 119: 81-82
"Let nothing trouble you, let nothing make you afraid. All things pass away. God never changes. Patience obtains everything. God alone is enough." -St. Teresa of Avila
As I mentioned before, it took me months before I could buy anything for Madden, and months before I could enter the bedroom that would soon be his. I loved this baby. I loved every kick and punch he could throw at me. He was so very active, even kicking Aaron in the back as we slept one night.
But it was difficult to prepare for his birth, while still clinging to every detail of Max's death. But ready or not, his due date was approaching fast, and I had no choice but to begin preparations for his arrival. So I bought a few clothes, sewed a few burp cloths, purchased new bedding, a new car seat and splurged on a nice diaper bag. Slowly, I began to look forward to the birth of this child, this miracle. But, there was still his room to deal with.
It was Max's old room. Max actually rarely slept in his room, but it was all of his stuff...all of his belongings. I wanted it to feel like a different room, in a different house. So I decided to rip out the carpet and replace it with laminate wood flooring. My in laws and I laid it ourselves, one plank at a time. And once it was completed, it did feel different. I no longer dreaded entering the room. Once again, I could sit in this small bedroom and work without feeling sick to my stomach. I was able to begin removing Max's items without bursting into tears. We received a cedar chest from my husband's grandmother. I placed Max's personal belongings inside, and began to make room for Madden's. The second week in January, I finally completed his room.
We had our house for sell for nearly two years...before Max was even born. After losing Madden, we decided to take it off the market. To our surprise, two weeks ago, someone contacted our realtor. They were interested in our home. They came one Sunday and viewed our property, and the following Sunday we had a signed contract. So now we are moving, and its very bittersweet.
I have my memories of Max here. This is where I was pregnant with Madden. I know that the boys won't stay behind as we leave. I'm positive they'll travel with us wherever we go. But I am afraid of losing memories.
However, I am looking forward to starting over. In our new home, wherever that may be, I won't have a room that's off limits for everyone. I won't have a bedroom that has to remain closed. I won't look at the kitchen sink and remember happy bath time, or my closet and remember Max sleeping peacefully in his bassinet. I can pack up all of my children's belongings, instead of just packing up the belongings of the child I lost. I can leave this house...the house where my placenta abrupted, resulting in the loss of Madden. I have the opportunity to let go of pain once again, but the real question is 'do I want to?'.
What I want really doesn't matter. I want my family to be complete. I want to hold my babies once again. I want us all to be together. I want to feel normal. I want to feel whole. I want to rewind time...I want to fast forward time. I want to scream, cry...disappear.
No...none of it matters. Regardless of what I want, time will tick on one second at a time. I just have to live minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day....and trust in God's plan. I believe one day I will feel whole, normal and complete. On that day my soul will separate from my body and I will be exactly where I belong...where I am meant to be. One day....
"My soul longs for your salvation; I put my hope in your word. My eyes long to see your promise. When will you comfort me?" Psalm 119: 81-82
"Let nothing trouble you, let nothing make you afraid. All things pass away. God never changes. Patience obtains everything. God alone is enough." -St. Teresa of Avila
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
He has risen...
Easter has already come and gone. And it really wasn't easy for me to stay strong through the Easter holiday. It was our first attempt at going to a family gathering since we lost Max. The kids enjoyed it. The company was pleasant. But I was just so very uncomfortable, and I am sure some of our family members were too. I don't know if I'll ever feel normal again, but I know I need to take steps in the direction of normalcy. My kids deserve that. My husband deserves that...and so do I.
On the bright side, I have to say that Easter had more meaning to me this year than ever before. No matter what you think of Jesus, you have to admit that he changed the world. Some people believe He was just an eccentric magician. History tells us that He was crucified, but the thing that people debate was His resurrection.
I choose to believe that His crucifixion alone wouldn't have started the movement that has resulted in Christianity as we know it today. He was crucified as an attempt to silence Him. But the result was the exact opposite. His apostles were scared during His prosecution, and all but John hid during His crucifixion. They were scared. They denied Him. But after His death, something changed. They grew bold. They became fearless. And all of them, except John, were martyred for their cause. They died proclaiming that Jesus was the Son of God.
What changed from Jesus' crucifixion to their own deaths? They believed. They saw Him...and they believed. They knew He had risen. The Holy Spirit came down on them and they began to work miracles in His name and Jesus' church was formed. With His guidance, twelve men started the Christian religion. Twelve men gathered billions of followers that would believe for generations. He wasn't a magician...He was God. In my eyes, that's really the only explanation.
I am so thankful for his resurrection. Because He conquered death...I have no reason to fear it. I look at the cross and I realize that I am not alone. While God allows my suffering, He also allowed the suffering of His own son. Jesus asked the Father to "let this cup pass", but God allowed it. He doesn't even exempt Himself from excruciating pain...why would He exempt me? I don't know why some people are chosen to suffer...or maybe it's completely random. I don't know...but I know I'm not alone.
In every Catholic Church in the world, you can find a crucifix. You will see a replica of the crucified Jesus hanging on the cross. And until recently I never even knew that other religions disapproved of the crucifixes in our churches. Someone recently said..."Jesus isn't on the cross anymore. He has risen. Why leave him up there?" Well, when we look to the crucifix, we see more than punishment, more than pain. It's not the nails and the blood we focus on, but the love. It is a perfect way to show love. Jesus taught us how to love when he took the nails on the cross...completely denying himself, trusting in God and doing what was best for others. I look at the cross, and I wonder, could I have done this? And I think...yes. I could take the pain, the punishment, the humiliation. For my children, I could do anything. But could I offer one of my children? Could I offer one of them to help save many others...without a doubt, no. No, I couldn't choose to give any of my children back to God, even if it meant saving my others.
Today, I am thankful that God makes decisions with with his divine mind, instead of like a small minded human.
"Father, he said, 'if you are willing, take this cup away from me. Nevertheless, let your will be done, not mine." - Luke 22:42
"If ever we are going to be made into wine, we will have to be crushed; you cannot drink grapes. Grapes become wine only when they have been squeezed. I wonder what kind of finger and thumb God has been using to squeeze you, and you have been like a marble and escaped?" -Oswald Chambers
 |
| Max in his Easter shirt last year. |
I choose to believe that His crucifixion alone wouldn't have started the movement that has resulted in Christianity as we know it today. He was crucified as an attempt to silence Him. But the result was the exact opposite. His apostles were scared during His prosecution, and all but John hid during His crucifixion. They were scared. They denied Him. But after His death, something changed. They grew bold. They became fearless. And all of them, except John, were martyred for their cause. They died proclaiming that Jesus was the Son of God.
What changed from Jesus' crucifixion to their own deaths? They believed. They saw Him...and they believed. They knew He had risen. The Holy Spirit came down on them and they began to work miracles in His name and Jesus' church was formed. With His guidance, twelve men started the Christian religion. Twelve men gathered billions of followers that would believe for generations. He wasn't a magician...He was God. In my eyes, that's really the only explanation.
I am so thankful for his resurrection. Because He conquered death...I have no reason to fear it. I look at the cross and I realize that I am not alone. While God allows my suffering, He also allowed the suffering of His own son. Jesus asked the Father to "let this cup pass", but God allowed it. He doesn't even exempt Himself from excruciating pain...why would He exempt me? I don't know why some people are chosen to suffer...or maybe it's completely random. I don't know...but I know I'm not alone.
In every Catholic Church in the world, you can find a crucifix. You will see a replica of the crucified Jesus hanging on the cross. And until recently I never even knew that other religions disapproved of the crucifixes in our churches. Someone recently said..."Jesus isn't on the cross anymore. He has risen. Why leave him up there?" Well, when we look to the crucifix, we see more than punishment, more than pain. It's not the nails and the blood we focus on, but the love. It is a perfect way to show love. Jesus taught us how to love when he took the nails on the cross...completely denying himself, trusting in God and doing what was best for others. I look at the cross, and I wonder, could I have done this? And I think...yes. I could take the pain, the punishment, the humiliation. For my children, I could do anything. But could I offer one of my children? Could I offer one of them to help save many others...without a doubt, no. No, I couldn't choose to give any of my children back to God, even if it meant saving my others.
Today, I am thankful that God makes decisions with with his divine mind, instead of like a small minded human.
"Father, he said, 'if you are willing, take this cup away from me. Nevertheless, let your will be done, not mine." - Luke 22:42
"If ever we are going to be made into wine, we will have to be crushed; you cannot drink grapes. Grapes become wine only when they have been squeezed. I wonder what kind of finger and thumb God has been using to squeeze you, and you have been like a marble and escaped?" -Oswald Chambers
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