Friday, September 15th. The date was carefully marked in pen on our calendar for weeks. The day we would meet our eighth baby. We didn't find out if we were having a boy or a girl, but I was pretty sure we were having a boy. I had been sick in early pregnancy with Hans and I never was with any of the older girls. This time I was also sick, I had terrible heartburn and barely slept the last 6 weeks of my pregnancy. My belly was nice and round like it was with Hans, so I was very sure this would be a boy.
The early morning started out well. We woke Abbey and Maggie to put them in our room so they could hear Hans when he woke up, and were out the door before 6 am. Upon arriving at UPMC Lititz I was surprised and excited to see my favorite nurse, Morgan, was working (she wasn't scheduled but got called in as they were busy). She got me checked in, monitored the baby and we had a lovely chat.
After Morgan's shift was over, two other nurses took over. They had a difficult time getting my IV started which was not much fun for me. However, eventually they got it and I made a joke about hoping that would be the hardest part of the day.
The anesthesiologist came into the room and we had a chat about my history with epidurals and spinals and what was horrible and what was good. He was a delight; he happened to be from China and he was so excited to learn we have two girls adopted from China. I could tell it truly brought him great joy to know that these special little girls are well loved and part of a family.
Surgery got bumped back a little because of an urgent situation and obviously I was understanding of the delay. I did text my family to let them know so they weren't worried if they didn't hear from me at the time they expected. They had originally told me they would let me play music from my phone while they got everything started. I had Marty's song, "Shade of a Cottonwood Tree" all queued up and ready to help me have peace. However, it ended up not working out and they handed my phone to Trent before I went in. I sang Marty's song in my mind over and over. It was the easiest, best anesthesia experience I've ever had. It went in easily and pain free.
As we waited for it to take full effect I had the loveliest chat with the nurse. She asked what names we had picked and everyone in the room was so excited with us to find out if we were having a boy or a girl; if we would have a Henry Paul or Mary Jubilee. The nurse loved the name Jubilee and said one of her favorite songs is called Jubilee (I assume the song by Maverick City) so she thought it was a girl.
Once I'm prepped Trent comes in and surgery begins. The whole time I'm praying for strong lungs. Please, Jesus, give this baby strong lungs and let this baby come into my arms. Prior to surgery after talking with my chiropractor about praying vision prayers, I had a beautiful image of this birth. There would be angels filling the room and the Lord Jesus was standing beside the doctor, breathing life and health into our baby's lungs the moment of birth. That image stayed with me during surgery as I prayed for the life of this baby. And then....
The most beautiful sound in the world. A wailing newborn baby. Trent stands up to announce to the room..
It's a girl! 5 pounds, 11 ounces, 19 inches long. 9:40 am.
There was much laughter and celebration. The nurse checked the baby and I think I heard Apgar 9, and now here comes my newborn baby, all wet and red and with the tiniest nose being placed on my chest.
My doctor said my uterus was very thin and she apologized profusely that she nicked Mary's cheek when she opened the uterus to get her out. But all of this didn't matter because now surgery is done and my baby is in my arms and we're going back to my room to recover. Thank you, Jesus!
As we were in recovery I got to hold Mary, attempt to breastfeed, (she wasn't great at this but I wasn't worried), snuggle, be amazed that this baby was really and truly breathing well and in my arms.
*This next part is somewhat graphic, be warned*
The same two nurses were there with me, pressing on my stomach, checking blood pressure and heart rate and temperature and the amount of blood. I was getting a little annoyed because all I wanted to do was Facetime our kids at home to let them know they have a sister and she's tiny and adorable and the nurses weren't leaving. Not only that, they kept asking me how I was feeling. They removed pads at a pace I didn't recall from before; they started weighing them which I was confused about. Over and over they asked how I was feeling. They were whispering about calling my doctor, and at one point I looked over and there was blood on the floor. Again, I just felt confused and irritated. Finally, we asked them to leave so we could call our kids. They agreed to give us a couple minutes of privacy.
We had a nice chat with the girls and Hans, though now I can't remember what was said. The nurses came back in while we were still on the call. At some point I had handed Mary over to Trent, but I don't remember when. After my nurses came back I started to feel unwell. I remember telling them I feel like I might faint; I recall one nurse waving alcohol under my nose to keep me awake; a vague recollection of someone trying to get blood from my arm but not having success. The next thing I remember was waking up, feeling very tired and there was a different nurse taking Mary's footprints.
What happened when I lost consciousness had to be filled in for me by Trent, my doctor and nurses. People came pouring into the room, my doctor pushed on my stomach and said another large clot of blood came out, they worked to increase the fluids in my IV, gave me a shot (I think), and drew blood for a stat CBC. Words were being said like, "Stay with me, Emily!", "blood pressure dropping, Heart rate 33". While my dear husband sat with our 2-hour-old baby on the couch and I lost nearly 2 liters of blood, about 1/3 of all the blood in my body. It was a horrible, scary experience for Trent. From what I understand I was back in stable condition after 5-10 minutes.
However, the significant blood loss took its toll on me. My memory is very fuzzy before and after the incident. In the middle of the night they were checking Mary's sugars and I was attempting to breastfeed but she wasn't latching and they wanted me to give her a bottle and it was all very confusing for me to figure out. I couldn't tell how much she had eaten or when they were going to check her sugars. Then a NICU doctor I didn't really care for came in the middle of the night to take her to NICU and insinuated Mary could have Group B Strep but they wouldn't know because I "refused" to get tested for it prior to my c-section. In reality, I had researched and found that the risk for a baby to contract GBS through c-section is so low it's not even recommended to receive additional antibiotics for this. The doctor argued with me that that is not true, and also my baby might have sepsis and so they need to take her to the NICU to monitor her blood sugar and give her antibiotics.
As frustrated as I was with this, in hindsight it was definitely for the best as I would really have been unable to care for Mary. Saturday morning, after we had eaten a little breakfast, we walked over to the NICU to see Mary. I held her for a bit and so did Trent. As we sat there, I was looking at the monitor and I asked Trent if he knew what the yellow numbers meant. He stared at me blankly. I looked at the screen and asked again, "the yellow number, what does it mean?" He said, "There's nothing yellow on the monitor." I stared at it again and corrected myself, "White. It's white." I think I leaned my head back and said I felt a little foggy. Trent said we should go back to the room. While I loathed to leave my baby, I really wasn't feeling great.
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Just before I started feeling very poorly.
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A nurse came to check in on me right away and I mentioned I didn't feel great. She said she'd be right back. It felt like 30 seconds later she came in with a doctor who recommended I receive a blood transfusion and an iron infusion. That's when they told me how much blood I lost and said my hemoglobin had dropped to 6 or 7. Later that nurse told me I was completely yellow and she was very concerned for me. Trent agreed that I looked terrible.
I slept through the entire transfusion; I truly didn't even have the energy to sit up in bed. I think I may have cried some that I missed a pumping session in there for Mary.
I think at this point I was coming to terms with and understanding just how near of a thing this was for me and how close I came to potentially not being here. I've teared up and even cried several times since then. When I consider how my husband and children's lives would have had to change if I was gone, it breaks me a little. I am exceedingly grateful the Lord saw fit to allow me to continue to live on earth a while longer. And while I know my life would only really be beginning were I to die, I know it would not be a joyful event for my family. At this point, I also knew that Mary would be our last biological child. I had just been talking with Trent's cousin about how do you KNOW when you're really and truly done having kids? And while Trent was already saying this would be our last, I didn't have that same confidence. I had prayed the Lord would make it very clear to me whether we should have more biological children or not. This event made it crystal clear.
The blood loss also created some other complications for me. It caused my milk not to come in. I was pumping every 3 hours for 20 minutes and getting 1 milliliter (for you not math people that's 1/5th teaspoon). It was very defeating and I definitely cried while in the NICU over this. The staff at UPMC were truly wonderful, compassionate, and encouraging. Trent kept reminding me that in a few more days I'll have so much milk I won't know what to do with it all. Of course, he was right, but in that moment of not being able to feed my tiny baby on top of everything else I just felt worn out and sad. Mary is now 2 weeks old. I have plenty of milk but she has "nipple confusion" (trust me, it's a real thing) and sometimes she can latch and breastfeed well, and other times she can't and I have to give her a bottle. It seems like overnight are her hardest times to latch. As is my normal personality, I'm always trying to find a positive side to this; and I found it! The kids have all had a chance to feed Mary; something they've never gotten to do before. Trent has been wonderful, feeding her sometimes in the night so I can get extra sleep.
Have I mentioned Trent is wonderful? He has taken extra special care of me. This experience has helped us grow even closer together as we each recognize the value we hold for one another, our marriage, our family.
There have been many ways the Lord has shown his provision all without people knowing the situation; my sister praying specifically about bleeding, my mom covering me in prayer, my dear friend praying through the night because her daughter kept asking about me, even a weird thing like me ordering a postpartum protein shake mix and postnatal vitamins when I have never taken supplements after my other babies were born, let alone a shake mix. Yet those things have been beneficial and helped provide not only the protein but added ingredients have helped me take in more iron than I would normally be able to.
So through it all, I've felt a shift in my walk with the Lord, in my relationships in my family, and an altered perspective on life. I learned at age 7 with the death of my friend, Krissy, the fragility of life. When Marty died 9 months ago it hit me again; how fleeting life is and how we just don't know and aren't guaranteed 80 or 100 years. In some ways I feel I've been given a unique opportunity or perspective maybe. What will I choose to do with it? How will I live my life differently? What really matters? How am I spending my time?
I hope that I'm becoming more thoughtful, intentional, and considerate. That I'm producing more than I'm consuming; that I'm pouring into each one of these beautiful people that God has given me to raise. Thank you, Jesus, for life!
