Day 14: It has now been 14 days and 21 hours since the night baby Isabellas amniotic sac ruptured. The gestational age at time of PPROM was 20 weeks and 1 day. The minutes and hours immediately after are now such a blur, but specific memories remain... I remember the feeling of my pulse throbbing in my head as we rushed to the hospital, our good friend Mack (ICU nurse) waiting for us in the ambulance bay with a wheelchair ready to help me rush Karen to the OB ward for triage, and the feeling of relief to finally have her on the stretcher surrounded by the OB nursing team. Blur... We have heart tones... Blur... The saddened expression on the nurses face when they confirmed that the fluid was in fact amniotic fluid... Blur... Then we enter our hospital room, family is arriving, my watch reflects that it is 2:30 am, and I have no clue as to what day it is or the fine details of what all of this means so early on in a pregnancy. But our fears are soon confirmed when the ultrasound is completed and we are told that delivery is imminent. Baby A (Isabella) has no fluid, and the contractions begin to strengthen. Blur... A brief conversation about baby clothes being chosen for them, along with what to expect should we choose to see them...You will likely hear them cry... Blur... The fear has set in, everyone in the room is crying, including the nursing staff. We accept that all is lost: we will be delivering two babies, and neither has a chance of survival at such an early gestation. Hand in hand, we wait for it. Blur... I choose to send a 6am txt message to some close friends with whom I work explaining the situation (all are physicians). Karen and I discuss an epidural, if our anesthetist friend is on call to perform the epidural, etc. The weight of the grief is so suffocating in our hospital room, so I choose to walk out into the hallway to breath and try to make sense of this all. Once in the hallway, I realize that I have several missed phone calls and texts from some of my physician friends. Conversation ensues. Blur... There is a chance... My pulse quickens. The adrenaline from the mere thought of this jolts me back into my normal state of decisiveness. Dr. Fletcher (a true heaven send to emergency medicine and luckily, a friend) arrives to comfort Karen and all of us. The discussions start. 7am has passed and we anxiously await the arrival of a new on-call OBGYN with eager questions. The room is buzzing with anxiety, and a few close friends arrive... Phone calls are made... In the midst of this all, I find myself bargaining with God. Of course, this is a process of grieving. We all do it. I up the ante. Give us strength God, and I will follow your lead... Nurses are buzzing throughout the room. A new OBGYN is taking lead as the on-call schedule dictates, and he has a bold plan. We need a high risk OB center with perinatology. Our doctor tries, calling and presenting the case, but we are denied. At this stage of pregnancy nobody will stop the labor after Isabella delivers... We all know exactly what that means for our baby boy, Ashton, whose amniotic sac remains intact. He will also be delivered as the contractions rupture his premature amniotic sac, and he too will succumb to the fate of countless babies before him. The heaviness in the room returns... Again I bargain. Give me strength God... Countless trips to Memphis, fertility specialist consultation, and in vitro fertilization was required for us to even be at this place. Why? Why would you allow us to hear them, feel them, see their sonography images, name them??? Why?!... The bargaining has stopped. I have accepted Gods plan. I know that we were not meant to have these children. - Much like Peter, I had stepped out of the boat and walked atop the water...ever so briefly... But when the wind and rain battered me, I too looked away... and began to sink... Oh you of little faith! Then as if the storm had dissipated I hear Karens doctor say, We have a plan... I am presented a clinical study that outlines a detailed framework for Interval delivery of twins with similar circumstances. The work begins, and our medical team is successful in halting the uterine contractions. We are given numbers, directly from the clinical literature... Isabella has no chance. She will deliver soon, 50% of these infants deliver within the first 48 hours... This poses significant risk to Ashton, who we will try to keep in the womb by using bold medical interventions. Hand in hand, we wait... We pray... God is silent. The minutes and hours turn into days... Every passing hour signals that our persistent baby Isabella is still in the fight. I picture the battle of Thermopylae, where a small pass was guarded against tremendous odds... Our baby girl displays Spartan qualities as she refuses to die... to succumb to this certain fate. Every four hours we endure the bittersweet sounds of their tiny hearts beating. She defiantly persists, refuses to leave the womb and her twin brother Ashton, who lays just atop her in their tiny world. Days and nights pass like clouds in an evening sky. 14 days have now passed. Isabella remains defiant. Todays ultrasound reveals there is no amniotic fluid to aid in her lung development and to ensure that she can be saved when the time comes for her delivery. Yet we pray, and she continues to defy the odds. I refuse to look away again, despite whatever wind and rain this storm batters me with; I will keep my eyes on Him. His plan will suffice. Ashton is doing well, sucking his thumb and kicking around throughout todays ultrasound. Isabella, his guardian angel, lies calmly deep within the womb, her heart beating as strong as ever. The prayers, support, and inspirational messages we have received from so many of you have kept our ship afloat. We received a card today that reminded me: God intimately knows every moment you have experienced and those yet to come. That passage is so true! God is not silent. Gods message to us in this test of faith is coming directly from you all. Every text, FB message, prayer, card, phone call... They matter. We know that we serve an awesome God. We do not know the moments to come, but I thank you all for sharing so many with us. When you feel yourself begin to sink, remain steadfast, look to Him. His hand will be outstretched and he will pull you back from the depths. Two tiny heartbeats remind me: God is here, he is with us, and he is the author of our story.
Posted on: Fri, 01 Aug 2014 04:00:02 +0000
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