A Life Too Short

 

Our family has enjoyed so many wonderful things.  We’ve shared the togetherness of holidays.  We have loved exchanging gifts and enjoying the feasts of Christmas.  There has been more delicious food and the influx of the extended family accompanying the gratitude of Thanksgiving.  Of course the candy and hidden eggs of Easter can’t be ignored.

So many holidays, so much fun.

We’ve welcomed new members into the family and celebrated many, many birthdays.

But we recently suffered one of the deepest, most profound, horrors any family can experience.

It began with a call from our son, Travis.  “Danielle is in the hospital.”

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We had been planning the birth of another grandchild in July.  The doctors had told us it would be a girl and Travis and Danielle chose the name Isabella Rae for our new little angel.  She would join big sister, Emily, and brother, John.

After an initial scare, the baby’s development had progressed well.  Danielle had developed gall bladder issues but the doctors said she would be fine until the baby was born, then her gall bladder could be dealt with.

It turns out they were wrong.

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Travis rushed his wife to the hospital as her symptoms increased dramatically.

Annie and I threw some clothes in our bags and tossed it all into the van.  I don’t think either of us remembers the seven hour trip but there were lots of phone calls and texts between us, our six sons, the daughters-in-law, and other relatives.

The baby was fine, the doctors said, but Danielle’s condition was deteriorating.  She barely recognized us when we walked into the room with her.  The buildup of edema made her beautiful face look…different.

Danielle’s sister, Stephanie, was in the room, setting aside her own battle with cancer to be there for her little sister.  Her dad, Dan, has faced so much horror in his career as a firefighter that not much scares him but he was clearly concerned for his daughter and grandchild.  Danielle’s mom, Marna, tried to put on a brave face, but couldn’t hide her worry.

That was the first time Annie and I came to understand just how serious the situation actually was.

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Travis made many phone calls and fielded others, taking care of his responsibilities to their children and work, all the while being there for the love of his life and his unborn child.

One of the doctors asked to speak to Travis and Danielle alone and the rest of us left the room.

Our son and his love were faced with a decision that no one should ever have to make.  Our dear, sweet Danielle was going to die…and take her healthy baby with her, because the pregnancy was not nearly far enough along for the baby to live outside her womb.  Or…or, the doctors could induce labor and maybe, just maybe, save one of them.   The alternative was almost too horrible to bear.

The decision would have been just as difficult for our son if it had been different, but I have no doubt Danielle would have surrendered her own life if there was any chance at all that it would mean the survival of her baby.  But it wouldn’t have.  The baby would either die with Momma or would be born way, way too early, and maybe, just maybe, give Danielle a chance to live.

With prayer and tears the decision was made.

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Travis came out and told us what must be done.  Not one, single person was happy about it and lots and lots of tears were shed, but we all agreed that it was the only possible decision.

Our son kept us apprised of the labor’s progress …then there was silence.

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The details are fuzzy and I am typing through tears so I hope everyone will forgive me for inaccuracies but I’m positive I am getting the most important points correct.  I think our son came into the room where we were waiting.  He told us, “The ultrasound was wrong.  The baby wasn’t a girl.  He was a boy.”

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I know some of you are thinking that, if the doctors could have been mistaken about the sex of our grandchild they could have been wrong about the chances for survival.

No.  There’s a big difference between trying to interpret an unclear ultrasound image and understanding established medical fact.

The name they had chosen for a boy was Adam Ray.

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Adam Ray never took a breath.

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We were allowed to hold him, touch him, tell him how much we love him.  When someone told us his heart was still beating, I begged the nurses to do something, anything, to give him a chance at life.

Even as I pleaded, I knew it was impossible.  No baby at that stage of development has ever survived outside the womb…ever.

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Adam Ray never took a breath.

 

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