Today is November 22
nd. Six whole years ago my daughter was born. It is a day emblazoned into my brain, my heart, and my soul. The day that a first-child is born is an especially momentous day for any mother. It is not just the child born in that moment, but the mother. The past nine months discomfort is a barely adequate introduction to the immense change that your life is about to go through. We eat right, we visit the doctor, drink lots of water, take lots of naps, make frequent bathroom visits, don't sleep well, worry over every little change, desperately wish for it all to be over so we can hold our little miracle. But in the end, a healthy baby arrives and a mother is born. Or so it should go(and usually does). We tend to take for granted that it will indeed play out in that very way. I know I did. But, apparently Heavenly Father (and probably Abby too) saw fit that I have true appreciation for the miracle that was my daughter. And so they forced it onto me.
November 22nd 2003 was a Saturday. I don't really remember what day of the week my boys were born, I'd have to go look it up. But I remember lots of which-days in Abby's birth story. From the Wednesday night that she was more active than she had ever been, turning somersaults and doing flying acrobatics. To the busy Thursday where the doctor said things were looking well, how was the baby moving? 'Not much that I've noticed today, but that's normal and last night she was going nuts.' 'OK then, we'll see you on Monday (due date), then discuss possible ways to encourage labor'. The Sealing Session at the Temple that night was interesting, kneeling down on a narrow ledge with a giant belly in front of you is tricky. Dinner out was good, I was tired, I still hadn't felt my daughter move really. But, her movements in general were so slight, and I'd been so busy today, I probably just hadn't noticed. And I really don't want to go to the hospital just to be told I was being paranoid and should simply take time for kick-counts every day. It's late, we have an hours drive ahead of us, let's just go home. Friday still nothing much. Definite decrease in movements. But I second guessed myself ALL DAY. We ate a big spaghetti dinner in and effort to jump start some baby movements. That night I called my mom. In tears. And she promptly told me in no uncertain terms to call the doctor RIGHT NOW, who said yes, go get checked. Rather than drive an hour to St George where my doctor was, just to be told baby was sleeping, we went to the local hospital. Apparently the nurse was about to send me to St George where I already was a patient, but changed her mind and hooked me up to some monitors. I think it was about 8:00 at night. Friday night blurred into Saturday.
On the monitors, I was relieved to see Abby's heartbeat. Pretty steady at about 156. Definitely good. As is standard practice, they kept me on those monitors for a full hour, and handed me a button to push so I could record any movement. I pushed it a couple of times, but the sensation was very, very small. While I sat there all relieved that my baby's heart was beating, Jeff and the nurse were noticing that the monitor line was practically flat. She had no accelerations or decelerations at all. It took me a little bit longer, but I'd gone to the pre-natal classes too. I knew this wasn't good. But she might be sleeping after all. A thought which seemed far more hopeful than silly now. The nurse said it seemed likely that the baby would need to be delivered, I asked if we should get to St. George. She said no, if I was transferred at all, it would be after. They have a tool they use to wake up sleeping in-utero-babies, did you know? I don't know what it's called but it vibrates and sounds like a power tool. So the nurse pulled out this little gadget, applied it to my belly and **BUZZ** **BUZZ**. Nothing, not a flinch, not a twitch. Her heart rate remained steady. I was terrified. I wanted my baby out right now, because something was very, very wrong. The nurse called the on-call ob and he arrived quickly, with an ultrasound technician and machine. They began what I have since learned is called a bio-physical profile. An ultrasound in which they score certain indicators regarding babies well being(like an in-utero apgar). It usually takes a half-hour. They took a lot longer on mine. During which they asked me if there had been anything unusual found on my ultrasound a few weeks prior. NO. Should there have been??? Well, there's something floating by her head. The doctor showed me her upper lip, it was perfectly formed with lines like a bird flying high in the air. She was beautiful, I knew. With the BPP, immediate delivery is recommended for scores 6 or lower. Abby scored a 2. Time to set up an emergency c-section.
In the middle of the night, in a small but well-equipped hospital, an emergency c-section takes some time to set up. They need to get an anesthesiologist out of bed, along with some operating room staff, a pediatrician and neo-nate nurses. Then everyone had to drive in the middle of the first big snowstorm of the season. If the emergency had been a delivery complication, it would have been different. But there was a baby coming that was going to need some help. Just what the problem was, no one knew. And the situation was steady, better to have everyone there than to rush. The pitocin that they had given me for a required 'trial of labor' made every muscle in my back spasm, so the nurses used a sheet to roll me onto the operating table, where the anesthesiologist gave me the spinal. Jeff got all decked out in the surgical coverings, and came to sit with me. Up went a big teal curtain across my chest and they started prepping. An important part of which was making sure the anesthetics were working. They pinched my abdomen, yes I could feel it. Then they pinched my arm, ok NO I didn't feel that much. So they proceeded since I didn't feel any real pain. But I felt the pressure. And it isn't a little bit of pressure either, the pulling and tugging is remarkable. Especially with stomach half-full of spaghetti dinner. So the anesthesiologist held a bowl and a vacuum hose while I vomited, and talked to me. He reassured me that I was doing fine, and let me know what was causing the sensations ('They just opened up the uterus') while Jeff held my hand and kept his mouth shut. Kept his mouth shut about the copious amounts of blood all over the table and floor. Kept his mouth shut about the doctor's comments that they had never seen this much blood, where was it coming from??. When Abby was delivered at 4 am, not a single sound came from her. She never drew a breath, her apgar score was 0. I only saw the top of her head as they took her to the NICU. She had beautiful dark hair. It was off to the recovery room for me, where I think they drugged me so I would sleep for a few hours.
It was about 10 am before I got to go see Abby. Dr. Ghaffari had spent 6 hours hand-bagging my baby to keep her alive. The only reason they let me get up at that point was because the life-flight team was there to get her, and she would be transported soon. Getting into the wheelchair was agony, and the trip down the hall felt like a roller-coaster. I looked at her and set my finger in her hand. That was all I was allowed to do, because more touch would cause more over-stimulation. Her beautiful upper lip was covered in tape that secured the ventilator tube to her nose. Her body was swollen from the IV fluids they had pushed to keep her blood pressure up. The life-flight attendant came to talk to me, get the required permissions, and confirm which hospital they were taking Abby to. They gave me the choice of sending her to a hospital in SLC, or to the Utah Vally hospital in Provo. I chose Utah Valley, they had taken very good care of my baby brother 4 years earlier(this whole thing was like a horrific flashback for my family), and it was a little closer. She told me that I needed to sign forms for a possible heart-lung bypass, informed me of the high risks, and said some other scary stuff that I gratefully have forgotten. Jeff came to kiss me goodbye, and followed Abby out into the hall. They had given permission for him to go with her. I had just had surgery, and would have to stay in the hospital for 48 hours. I was taken to my room, where I would have to wait alone.
Many details of my time in the hospital are blurry. I know I had visitors. Jeff's mom must have been with me a good deal of the time. My grandparents drove up to sit with me for a while. My Aunt and Uncle came by. My parents left Green Bay earlier than they had planned and drove straight through, so they must have been there on Sunday. But I think I was alone a lot on Saturday. I know I was alone when Jeff called. It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon. He called to tell me they were at Primary Children's Medical Center in SLC. They had tried going to Provo, but a large cloud bank rolled in and they couldn't land. So they had to fly to Salt Lake, where Primary's said they had plenty of room, hurry up and bring her in. There was still no real change in Abby. They'd gotten her apgar scores up to a 2 at this point. But nothing was improving. Jeff was calling to let me know that they were going to get ready to put her on an ECMO machine. The heart-lung-bypass. They would have to administer blood thinners to prevent clotting. This was likely to cause a bleed in the brain, and if it did they would stop trying. I was in tears. I vehemently told Jeff that he couldn't let them take her off of life-support. At least not until I got there to say goodbye. He didn't say much, we'd talk more later. He was going to go talk to the doctor and wait. I was alone, so very, very alone. We had home teachers assigned to us, but I couldn't remember their names. So I looked up the phone number of Bishop Steffensen and called him. No one answered, and I left a message on their machine through my tears. As I sat there and grieved for my daughter, I wished desperately that they hadn't taken her. Why did they take her away from me?? Why couldn't I have just held her for an hour? I just wanted to have a relationship with my baby, if she had to die, couldn't she die with me? Then other thoughts forced their way through my grief. There had been so many close-calls. If I had waited until Saturday morning, she would have died. If I'd gone to St. George, that extra hour may have been too long. That bank of fog?? If they had gone to Provo first, they would have been transporting her to PCMC right now, because only PCMC had the ECMO machine she was needing. Heavenly Father was taking care of my baby, and he wouldn't let her die alone, I'd see her again. I was sure. I was fierce in my certainty, I practically growled at the demons in my head. "You can't have her!! She is my baby, and she is here to stay!! God wouldn't take her away from me now, not after all this!" I was a little concerned that I was being irreverent, but held onto the hope. Sister Steffensen returned my call then, Bishop was not home just now, but he'd be home soon, and would come see me right away. I told her I appreciated it, and that I just desperately needed a blessing. I needed some comfort, something more than the hope that had formed in my mind. I don't recall exactly which happened first. But 2 things happened. At 4 o'clock I got another phone call. It wasn't Jeff, it was the doctor. She had wanted to call me herself. Abby was finally stable. They hadn't needed the bypass. She didn't know how long recovery would take, or how much permanent damage there was but for now, Abby was fine. Jeff would tell me later that Abby was literally being prepped for surgery when the improvement started. It wasn't medicine that did it, it was Heavenly Father. Bishop Steffensen came in and gave me a blessing. In that blessing I was promised all that I had desperately prayed for earlier. In almost the very same words. A relationship with my daughter and she would live. I hadn't told Bishop what exactly I was wishing for, but someone had heard my prayers, and was answering them in a way I could not ignore.
I believe in Miracles. I believe in the power of the priesthood. I know that my daughter is a blessing straight from Heaven. She is my daughter, and she is incredibly special. There is so much more to tell about this story. The blessings Jeff and other worthy priesthood holders gave her. Men who were nearby in the hospital and could help him. I don't tell them now, because I was not there for them, and this story is what I remember about that day. There is more I'd like to share, but it will have to wait for another day. The miracle of her recovery. The impact she had on the people that helped her. The impact they had on us. The prayers of dozens of close-family members. The worries that my mother and husband hid from me. Then there is six years of wonderful life stories. Abby is my refining fire. She is intense, and stubborn, and loving, and smart. I am so grateful for her. I am so incredibly grateful for the priesthood power that kept her here. It is very, very easy for me to Give Thanks this time of year.
