On Tuesday morning, February 24th 2009, my water broke, without warning or provocation. At only 19 weeks pregnant I knew, instinctively, that this was the end of our hard fought and long journeyed pregnancy. I was rushed to the emergency room where it was confirmed that my water had indeed broken and the ultrasound revealed that there was no more amniotic fluid in my uterus. The baby was in a dry environment, but maintaining a healthy heartbeat of 140 beats per minute. Fortunately, the baby was not in distress and the ER staff told us to remain hopeful--success stories have been documented for babies in the same position as our little one.
Next, I was admitted to labor and delivery, the antepartum unit, and instructed that I would remain on very strict bedrest until a neonatal specialist could evaluate our situation and give us further direction. Our appointment with the perinatologist was arranged for the next day. In the meantime, we were told to prepare for a long and bumpy pregnancy which would include a transfer to another hospital, better equipped for anetpartum care and a neonatal care unit, and several weeks to months of hospital bedrest, as well as the realization that our baby might not survive even after all this effort. Saddened, confused, and emotional, Clarke and I began compiling a to-do list to prepare our family for this sudden and immediate change in our circumstances. I also received a priesthood blessing.
That afternoon, my obgyn delivered news that dropped a bomb on our last hope. She told us that our journey wouldn’t be all sunshine and lollipops and bedrest. IF the baby survived following bedrest and delivery--anytime after 24 weeks, it would face insurmountable physical and mental challenges that would include blindness and deafness among other problems. My doctor then told us that she didn’t expect the baby to survive the next few days. We were devastated.
On Wednesday, we had another ultrasound and the baby was still doing fantastic and measuring perfectly. The heartbeat was 150 beats per minute. Unfortunately, after nearly 30 minutes of ultrasound, the technician could not detect any trace of amniotic fluid. The perinatologist met with us to discuss the ultrasound findings and his recommendations. His prognosis was “grim.“ He was blunt in explaining to us that the pregnancy would not make it to 24 weeks (“possible” infant viability outside the mother’s body) and if, by some miracle, we were still pregnant at 24 weeks, only then would he admit us to the antepartum unit at St. Lukes in Boise, and only then would any effort be made to save our baby. He went on to explain that babies born 24-26 weeks, “micro-preemies” are guaranteed to suffer multiple issues, including blindness, deafness, heart and lung problems, severe deformity, mental challenges and often indefinite institutionalization for the whole of their life. Although he only mentioned termination once, his analysis determined that that was our best option. Termination….abortion.
We were left to make the monumental decision on our own that afternoon and after crying for some time and discussing our options, we prayed to Heavenly Father to make this decision for us. Terminating our perfect, living baby, who had a healthy heartbeat was not an option. We chose life, but for how long? Hours? Days? Weeks, if we were lucky?
On Wednesday afternoon we informed my doctor of our decision and she told us that we could go home that evening, if we chose, to wait for the inevitable or to stay in the hospital. Given that I was already having mild contractions, we chose to stay in the hospital one more night--just to monitor the situation. It was one of the wisest decisions we made as I started laboring, consistently, at 12:00 a.m. Thursday morning. In the midst of our grief, we chose a boy name and a girl name for our child as we still didn’t know if we were to lose a son or a daughter. We were also burdened with the first thoughts of burying our child, before it was even born.
Without the assistance of an epidural and only a few shots of morphine, I spent the next seven hours in painful labor, delivering our baby at 6:56 a.m. The nurses quietly told us that the baby was a girl. She was beautiful and tiny, weighing in at a little over 10 ounces, 8.3 inches in length. We named her Amelia Jayne See. Clarke and I took turns holding our daughter throughout the day, praying to Heavenly Father that little Amelia knew how much we loved her, and making arrangements for her burial. During our time in the hospital and afterward, we have been blessed with the support of family, friends, and church and are grateful that we have the knowledge of the plan of salvation. We have chosen the words "Families are Forever" to be put on her headstone along with her name and birthday. Its our hope that this message reaches other young parents who are grieving their babies, buried next to or near Amelia. We want her short time here on earth to have a postive and lasting impact on everyone who hears her story.
