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HELPLESSNESS: THAT DULL, SICK FEELING OF NOT BEING THE ONE AT THE REINS. WHEN DID YOU LAST FEEL LIKE THAT– AND WHAT DID YOU DO ABOUT IT?
We arrived at Community Medical Center in Missoula just hours after being in both Great Falls and Helena. To be near our family we opted to end this horrific journey in Missoula. At the advice of our doctors in Great Falls and now Missoula, baby and I were being monitored through the night and as long as his heart remained stable enough (translation, as long as he didn’t die first), his birth was scheduled for nine the next morning.
That night was horrible. Terrifying, exhausting and extremely uncomfortable.
I had only been pregnant for 30 weeks. Even though by now an entire lifetime seemed to have passed, it was only 10 weeks since we found out our baby was sick.
But helplessness didn’t fully set in until the morning. At my bedside sat Dylan. His eyes sunken from fear and lack of sleep. My dad stood against the wall, silently worrying. My mom and little sister, Jaci were there, silent hugs and kisses on the cheek reminded me I wasn’t alone. My dear friend Emily held my hand at the edge of my bed and my mother and father-in-law, Jeff and Deaette offered prayers of strength.
Her abrupt demeanor and accent startled me. She opened the door and while locking her eyes into mine, she sternly said that everyone needed to leave. I assured her anything could be said in front of these people, but she wouldn’t let them stay. Before the tension could thicken, a blanket of despair took over and its darkness concealed my whole body.
“You both need to understand how serious this all is. Your baby is very, very sick. I do not expect him to survive. He has less than a 3% chance of surviving his first hour.”
Helplessness? To say the least.
She was the one who would save him and she didn’t believe it was even possible.
I had spent the night before curling my entire existence around my belly. Hugging and rocking him through skin and fluid, I begged him to keep moving. I continually pressed and stroked my belly and I whispered to him, willing him with my words to stay alive until they came to take him. As much as I believed he needed to be born or he would surely die, I also knew that these moments of him gently rolling inside me may very well be the last time I would hold him alive.
She left our room as abruptly as she entered.
Our family slinked back into the room. They didn’t need to ask. All the air had been sucked out of the room. Through tears I was trying to catch my breath.
As best he could, Dylan held me. The little bit of remaining hope completely escaped me.
He muttered to them, “It isn’t good.”
A few minutes later a kind face appeared, she would prep me and care for me while a C-Section took my son from the body that could no longer keep him safe.
As she wheeled me down the hall and into the OR, a quick glimpse at my dad let him know how scared I really was. With my eyes I pleaded for him to save me, to save him.
Helplessness.
There was nothing we could do.
Nothing.
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