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