A Child Called Albie

The day you were born was supposed to be amazing. I arrived at the hospital excited and so ready to finally meet you. You were being induced because of the trouble I had delivering your sister before you. Like all your siblings she was 2 weeks late and very difficult to deliver. The doctor had to break her clavicle to get her out after she was stuck. Your oldest brother was a c-section. He was butt first breech and not able to turn. Your sisters, though fast deliveries at 5 hours from the first contraction to delivery, were both natural v-back deliveries. But getting bigger each pregnancy. So three days before your due date and at an estimated weight (via external palpitation) Of 7lbs (1lb 12oz less than your sister) they began the induction. I’d wanted them to break your water. That’s what started your sisters births. But they chose cervidil. Everything moved along pretty well. Until about 10 hours in, when things began to go wrong.

First, I was hyper stemming, with contractions on top of each other for nearly two hours but wouldn’t dilate past 5cm. Finally at 2am we pulled the strip and I walked the halls. It was apparent that the contractions were slowing down and all but stopping completely. It was then that I first asked for a c-section. This was nothing like my two labors before you. But the midwife suggested I rest for a bit first. So with the help of some meds I dozed off for about an hour or two. When I woke I was given the option of the cervidil strip again or pitocin. Or... go home and come back tomorrow. Thank god I didn’t leave...

After asking for the c-section again and told no, I asked to talk to my doctor. She was supposed to be there as I was considered high risk. But was told she wasn’t available. So I reluctantly went with the pitocin. I was still dilated 5cm and my water hadn’t broke yet. An hour later things really picked up. By 6am I was contracting regularly and had dilated to 6cm. It moved to back labor and they noticed your position had changed and you were facing the wrong way. Still head down but facing the wrong direction.

And then all hell broke loose. A few minutes later I was quickly at 8cm.

In an instance I felt a burning sensation in my lower abdomen at the same time a small bulge appeared above my pubic bone. For some reason they though I had to urinate. I tried without success to use a bed pan but the pain was increasing. I looked at the midwife standing between my legs checking me, looking confused as I wasn’t at 10cm yet, trying to tell me the burning was normal that I was just transitioning.

“No.” I told her... “My stomach burns!”

Time looses meaning to me after that. With in minutes I screamed as a searing pain that felt like liquid lava had been pored over me, raced across my belly and your heart rate plummeted. They quickly had me roll to my right side, then left and because your heart rate was dropping more, I soon found myself on all fours with the midwife reaching inside me. I was screaming in agony the whole time.

“I can’t feel his head. It’s gone.” We’re the only words spoken and as she removed her hand I felt the warm gush of blood running down my legs. I fell to my left side and curled myself protectively around you. Slipping in and out of consciousness, mumbling “My baby... my baby... my baby...” I was vaguely aware of the chaos around me. My mother being removed from the room. People calling for help from an ER 3 floors down. Cords being ripped from walls and a shot plunging into my arm. The whole time I was screaming in pain and fear. I was wheeled down the hall once but taken back to the labor room when they realized no one was in the OR. It had shut down for the night. Staff sent home. When I finally heard a voice I recognized, my doctor. Just arriving to the hospital. I was bounced back down the hallway and elevated down two floors to a cold and dark OR unit. Lights were being flipped on as we went. Once in the OR I was told to crawl across to the OR table. In pain I dragged myself over all the while chanting “My baby... My baby... my baby”

I blacked out a few times but was aware of the staff coming into the room, dropping their coats in the hallway outside. My doctor and midwife talking in the corner as they scrambled to assemble what was needed. They yanked my legs down from my fetal position and I heard some yell “Knock her out NOW!” Within seconds a gentle male voice whispered in my ear as he placed a mask over my face. “Deep breaths Sarah”

Some 45 minutes had passed since my uterus had ruptured and I began hemorrhaging before I was finally, blissfully knocked out.

When I came to I was still in the OR. It was dead silent but for some hushed noises in the corner. “My baby... where’s my baby” were the first words I uttered. “He’s here Sarah, we’re working on him.” And as I was being wheeled from the OR my hand was placed on the softest, warmest of skin. I knew it was you. I stroked your arm unable to see you from the weight of my eyelids keeping me in the dark. Tears began seeping from my eyes. My breath coming in gasps. You weren’t moving. You weren’t crying.

“My baby... my baby... my baby.”

In the recovery room a little bit later I learned that you had saved my life. I’d flatlined briefly from shock but when my uterus tore open you had slipped yourself into the opening and had saved me from bleeding out. But as we would soon learn, at the eventual cost of your life. I’d also suffered a separation of the placenta and several fibroids were found. Not wanting to risk further loss of blood my battered uterus was stitched back together and the incisions closed. Your initial diagnosis was Perinatal Asphyxiation with Hypoxic Anoxia. In lamens terms... you’d drown inside of me. You were being flown to a NICU an hour away. You weighed in a 9lbs 4oz. A far cry from the 7 pounds I could safely deliver.

We baptized you before they transported you. We named you after your two grandfathers; Albert David though we called you Albie. But before your departure they wheeled you in beside my gurney. There were so many tubes and wires but what struck me like a bullet to the heart, was you. You were lying motionless on your back with your head turned towards me. One eye closed, one open. And it was looking into that eye when I knew the devastation of what had happened. It was staring blankly ahead, no life behind it. I reached out and gently touch your arm. Softly stroking it again. And with tears blinding my vision. I whispered silently, “My baby... my baby... my baby.”

Three days later I was released and made the drive immediately to you. Nothing had changed. Within a week and after dozens of tests run, we had your diagnosis. You’d suffered massive and irreparable brain damage to your lower brain and brain stem. Your body tone was loose and floppy from the waist up and stiff from the waist down. In the weeks and months ahead more became known. You would never walk, talk or sit up on your own. You still couldn’t suck or swallow so a permanent feeding tube was placed. You were vision and hearing impaired and in the months that followed you’d developed CP, seizure disorders and a slew of other health issues. You weren’t expected to live beyond the NICU but you did and for another 14 years more.

You were forever an infant mentally in a growing boys body. Racked with disabilities and health issues. You were wheelchair bound and couldn’t hold you head up or focus on any one thing for more than a few seconds. And yet miraculously we grew to be able to make you smile and even laugh. You were the definition of innocence and unconditional love personified. You were my son. And you were my hero. You taught me more about the true meaning of love and acceptance. You taught me how to be strong and carry on. You taught me to appreciate life and time spent with loved ones. You taught me to make every day count. You made me a better person. And on that day, a month shy of your 15th birthday you left this world just as you entered it. In silence and with my arms tightly wrapped, protectively around you.

I know my father greeted you when you crossed over. And that just a few months ago you greeted your father when he unexpectedly passed away. I feel you in the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze. I see your signs that you send me and I dream of you often. Thank you for choosing me to be your mother. You were one of my greatest blessings in life. Fly free and soar high my sweet angel 😇

Love you to the moon and stars and beyond.

~ Mommy ❣️