I’ve included parts of the story of what happened when I had Jonathan (my second son) in some of my fb posts and briefly mentioned it in a couple of blogs, but I thought that I would dedicate a complete blog to what happened to me on Thursday, October 2, 2008. A day my life and my perspective on life changed.
A little over seven years ago, I was pregnant. I was one day shy of being 40 weeks. My son, who I had nicknamed Flutterbug before I found out his sex, had been active during my whole pregnancy. This particular day, he hadn’t been moving a whole lot. I touched several spots on my stomach, hoping to get a reaction out of him and nothing happened. I did it again and still nothing. I started to get worried. Because it was after hours, I called the number of my OB/GYN’s office. The voicemail service gave me a number to call and leave a message for my doctor to call me back. My doctor called me back and she told me to go straight to the hospital.
During most of my pregnancy, I had watched all of the pregnancy shows about women having difficult pregnancies, so I was ready for all kinds of things, but I wasn’t prepared for what was about to happen. When I was pregnant with Mart (my first son), I was in denial for six months. I was several months pregnant before I actually started getting prenatal care. I was in school, away from home, but I made it a point to eat healthy and take care of myself. With Jonathan, I did everything I was supposed to from the very beginning. After I took that 3rd pregnancy test and they all said the same thing (PREGNANT! PREGNANT! PREGNANT!), I went to the doctor and got a prescription for prenatal vitamins.
Okay, so back to my story. I made it to the hospital, with my ride or die chick, my mom. My doctor had the nurses to hook me up to a fetal monitor. Because Jonathan was in distress, I had to be put on oxygen. I remember my doctor telling me that they were going to have to induce labor. The doctor broke my water. She told me that when my contractions got intense enough, that I could get an epidural. There’s something about me and epidurals. I always end up getting two because the first ones never take. I remember sitting on the side of the bed to get my epidural and all of this liquid gushing out.
As my labor progressed, Jonathan’s breathing kept decelerating with each of my contractions. Because my cervix was dilating at a very slow rate, my doctor made the call to do an emergency C-section. I could feel the gentle tugging as they pulled that little angel from me. Jonathan didn’t make a sound. I heard the nurses call out his APGAR scores and they were low. I had watched enough labor and delivery shows to know that they weren’t what they were supposed to be. The nurses worked diligently trying to get Jonathan’s scores up and to get him to make a sound, but to no avail. While a piece of my world was crumbling right in front of me, there was this odd, calmness about me. I wasn’t hysterical. I wasn’t crying.
I could see them working on my son and I laid there praying, begging, and pleading with God to let him be okay as the doctors stitched me up.
They eventually took me back to the room I was put in upon my arrival to the hospital. The doctor came in and told me that they had a pediatrician on staff, but didn’t have any neonatal doctors. They were going to transport Jonathan to Children’s Hospital. At first, they were going to take him via ambulance, but a helicopter was in the area and could get him there in a shorter amount of time. They rolled him in the room before they took him to the Children’s Hospital. With tears streaming down my face, I grabbed his little hand. I gave him a little pep talk and some kisses on the hand before he left. I told him that I would be there to see him as soon as I could.
Because I was recovering from a C-section, I couldn’t go see him. I was in the hospital for two days. Where they had taken Jonathan, to the Children’s Hospital, was about an hour away. Thank God for family. The hospital he was medevaced to was right down the street from where my aunt lived. When my cousin called her, she hopped in her car and was headed to the hospital. She drove so fast, she was at the hospital before the helicopter even left the hospital where I had the baby. She pulled over on the side of the road and waited until my cousin told her the helicopter with Jonathan in it had left the hospital. My Aunt and my cousin took care of him until I was released from the hospital. They would go visit him and take pictures of him for me.
I think I probably had the fastest C-section recovery ever. I needed to be with my son. I wasn’t going to be released from the hospital until I could get up and move around. I got mobile real quick. My doctor gave me a list of things I was not to do, which included going up and down steps. Oops, my bad. It was a nice idea. I think because I did that and forced myself to do that (repeatedly), that I healed quicker. I don’t recommend that anyone go against their doctor’s orders, but I had to do it.
I finally got to see Jonathan. He was so adorable, even with his swollen eyes and lips. His hair was slicked down and he looked liked a mini version of his dad. He had all these tubes connected to him. Initially they thought he had suffered some sort of severe brain injury a couple of days before I had him. They had him lying on a cooling mat trying to cool his body to prevent any additional brain injury. I spent my days holding and talking to him.
I would go there with my mom and aunt and just sit there and talk to him, rubbing his head, and holding his hand. When I left in the evening, the hospital gave me a number to call and check on him when I wasn’t there. Sometimes I don’t think whoever I was talking to even checked his chart. They had me thinking that he was getting better, when he wasn’t. Jonathan wasn’t breathing on his own. He could only take a breath every couple of seconds on his own without the ventilator. His breathing was nowhere near what it should have been.
One day, my mom and I met with the one of the neurologists. She said that he had little to no brain activity. She then described the quality of life that Jonathan would have if he were to live. My mom supported my decision to have him removed from the ventilators. Talk about heartbreak. That was definitely the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.
I requested that he be baptized before I had him unhooked from the machines. On October 8, 2008, my family all gathered with me at the hospital. We all took turns holding Jonathan and taking pictures with him. We prayed. We cried. We laughed. They unhooked him from the machines. The doctor asked me if I wanted to donate his organs, and I said “no.” I have regretted that decision ever since. At the time, I couldn’t see past my pain to allow Jonathan to give the gift of life or donate organs to save someone else. I didn’t want them cutting on my baby.
His organs had shut down and he was gone and I sat there and held him for 30 minutes. I didn’t want to let him go. My oldest son Mart was with me that day. He was out in the hallway. We heard someone crying and we just assumed it was Mart. It wasn’t Mart. It was the head of the NICU. He said that he had never seen family come together in such a manner. He went on to say that, he knew Jonathan was loved because some of the kids with less serious illnesses didn’t have as many visitors as my son did. We prayed again before we left the hospital and this time the doctor and the nurse prayed with us.
After all of this, I was devastated. I had the extra weight and the stretch marks to prove that I had been pregnant, but I didn’t have a baby. I left the hospital feeling like I hadn’t even been pregnant. I came home to a fully furnished and decorated nursery without a baby. I crawled in the bed and I cried and I slept and I slept and I cried. I was prepared to bring Jonathan home and be his mother, but I never got the chance. For a very long time, I was mad at God for letting me go through 9 months of pregnancy, preparing for this little person, getting attached to him, loving him, only to take him away from me.
As much as it still hurts to this day, I believe that everything happens for a reason. I may never know or understand that reason, but God had a purpose for my pain. It was to draw me closer to him. He emptied me out so that he could fill me up. It was for me to share my story, for me to be a beacon of His light for those that have been through the darkness of the loss of a child. The loss of a child can pull you into a depression, some people don’t bounce back from, but you have to. I’m living proof that you can, day by day, week by week, month by month, and year by year. You will always be missing a part of you, but it does get easier. You have to get up and keep getting up. You have to find things to occupy your time, so that sadness and depression don’t consume your thoughts. Mourn! Do whatever it takes to allow you to grieve.
Since my son was full term, I had a funeral service for him. It was me and about 12 of my family members. We had a small gravesite service. The funeral director bought some balloons to release after the funeral, but they managed to wiggle themselves free before the end of the service.
When my son passed, the hospital gave me a beautiful cloth chest. In it was the outfit that my son passed away in, the stethoscope the nurses used to check his heart beat, the tape measure they used to take his measurements, his baptism certificate, a small gold ring, and a card that contained some strands of his hair.
You can’t have a testimony without a test. At the time, I thought that there was no way that I was going to survive what happened. Look at me now, seven years later. I’m here. I’m stronger. I’m wiser. I’m happier and I’m living a pretty good life. That experience taught me the true power of God’s grace. It saved me and it can save you too.
Lessons Learned:
1) Everything happens for a reason, regardless of whether or not we know or will ever know what that reason is.
2) There is a purpose for your pain.
3) God’s grace really is AMAZING.
Love, peace and blessings
LESSONS OF LOVE FROM MY FATHER 