Not long after I got married back in 2011, I started being sick all the time. I had a cough that wouldn't go away and shortness of breath. I went to the doctor over and over for different medicines and shots. Each time I got the same answer - bronchitis. Around Thanksgiving that year, I ended up in the hospital and was told I had asthma. I had never had asthma problems prior to that time. I followed up with a pulmonologist (lung doctor) and started a regimen of medicines and inhalers. The problem was none of them, no matter how high the strength, ever helped me. I tried practically ever inhaler on the market at the highest dose. I did allergy testing. I took allergy shots. I took several different pills every day for the asthma. Nothing made me feel any better. I stayed in and out of doctor's offices and emergency rooms always with the same symptoms - coughing, wheezing, and shortness of breath.
Nobody ever checked my heart. I guess that's not something you typically check on twenty-something-year-old people. They treated me for an asthma attack, prescribed lots of steroids, and sent me home.
Around October of 2016, I found out that was I expecting a baby. Having already had Grayson, who was three at the time, I was thrilled at the thought of him getting to be a big brother. I had an ultrasound and was excitedly planning for Baby #2. At a routine visit with my pulmonologist, she became concerned that I could have something pulmonary hypertension - a condition that would be both fatal to me and the baby - and she referred me to a different cardiologist. I went for a consultation with the new cardiologist, and he wanted to do an echocardiogram (an ultrasound of the heart) to rule out the pulmonary hypertention. He did agree with the pulmonolgist - if I had this condition, it would kill me and my baby because my heart wouldn't be able to handle the pregnancy.
On the day of the echocardiogram, Mama and Grayson went with me. I had the test, and as I was walking out of the room, the doctor stopped me. He had already read the results, and he came to me and said that I did, in fact, have pulmonary hypertension. I asked him how bad it was. He replied, "severe," and then he handed me tissues because I couldn't stop the tears from flowing. He didn't have to explain what that meant. I already know what it meant for my baby. Mama and I took Grayson to Andrew and Daddy's work, and they took him home to Aunt Melonie. Later that afternoon, with tears brimming in his eyes, that sweet doctor told me that he had never before had to do anything like that, but it was his recommendation for me to end my pregnancy. I had no choice. I could choose to carry the baby, and the baby and I would both die. There was no "maybe" about it. Having a four-year-old at home, I couldn't take that risk.
My heart was broken - in more ways than one.
We went to see my OB/GYN, who took Mama and I in her office and recommended a place to go to in New Orleans. She had already made me an appointment. I was so naive because I thought that because this was a medical emergency and a life or death situation that it could be done at the hospital, but apparently not there in Slidell. I was being sent to an abortion clinic...the horror of that place and the memories there still haunt me.
Aunt Mary drove Mama and I to New Orleans for the appointment. My stomach hurt all the way there. We pulled up at this place, and I prayed and begged God for another way. This place was in an old house in a not-so-nice-looking neighborhood in New Orleans. It was the kind of place that had bars on the windows and an armed security-guard. One step at a time, we walked down the sidewalk, straight into an abortion clinic...a place I never thought I'd find myself. The waiting room was filled. Another waiting room off to the side was filled as well. There was standing room only. Disbelief filled my mind as I realized, "Every one of these women is here to give up her child. Every single one." Every woman present in that waiting room that day represented a baby that would die. My heart ached even more because at that moment, I felt grief and guilt all at the same time. We were told that due to my situation, we would not have to wait in the waiting room with the others and would get taken back right away to meet with the doctor, but that wasn't the case. We had to stand up and fill out paperwork while we waited. When they called me back, they wouldn't let Mama come with me. Here I was, a 30-year-old woman, crying and wanting my Mama to come with me, but it was something I had to face on my own. They drew my blood and did an ultrasound of the baby. They asked if I wanted to see, and I said yes, of course. The doctor then explained the procedure. I was horrified at the whole process, and it was not something I wanted to put my baby or myself through. I kept asking her, "Are you sure this is the only way?" Over and over that day, I just kept thinking, "There has GOT to be a better way." We set up an appointment to come back later that week.
The day before New Year's Eve, I was gasping for air, so Mama and Daddy took me to the emergency room in Slidell. They admitted me to ICU that night. The next morning, my pulmonologist just happened to stop in the ICU to visit other patients and saw my name on the patient board. Okay, so we know that wasn't coincidence...that was God because when she got in there, things started happening. She asked me about the baby, and I told her what was planned. She said that was unacceptable and that with my condition, I needed to be at Ochsner. After getting a central line in my neck and an arterial line as well, they transferred me by ambulance to Ochsner Medical Center in New Orleans. There I was in the Cardiac ICU. I stayed in the CICU for a few days while a number of doctors studied my case, including a high-risk OB/GYN. They wanted to make sure their diagnosis agreed with the diagnosis of my other doctors. After doing another ultrasound, another echocardiogram, etc., they concluded that I did, indeed, have severe pulmonary function, and my life was very much at risk. I remember the day my doctor sat down by my bedside and told me that he had never recommended ending a pregnancy to anyone, but if I was his own daughter, he would have told me to do the same thing. This wasn't something that I or any of the doctors took lightly. I appreciated that about all of my doctors. They knew how much I was hurting and how much our baby was already wanted and loved. Everyone treated me with sympathy and kindness at a time when I had to do the hardest thing I had ever done. I have always been pro-life. I still am. However, I know that I did what was right at the time. At first, I worried what all my family and friends would think of me. Then I realized that all the people that knew and loved me fully supported me, and the ones that didn't...well, their opinion didn't matter.
The next day I was given medication to make my body go into labor. I turned off my phone because I didn't want to talk to anyone at all. Mama and Daddy stayed with me all day. At 9:00 p.m. on January 5, my sweet baby was born. I don't know if it was a boy or a girl, but I do know that even at 13 weeks, it had the form of a baby, with a head, a body, arms and legs...even little fingers. Y'all, I don't know how anyone could ever say a baby in the womb is not a life because my baby is proof that it is. Mama and I got to see the baby before they took it away. I'll never forget that. The OB came, and they took me to the operating room to do a D&C. I know that God was with me through that entire experience because I begged to not have to give my baby up in that awful place we had went to. When I went in that OR, I not only had an OB there and a full staff of nurses, anesthesiologist, etc., but there was a cardiologist as well. I was well-taken care of, as would not have been the case elsewhere. I know that my baby opened his or her eyes, and the first thing it saw was the face of Jesus. I know my baby rests in Heaven with my loved ones. As for children, I was asked often if I would try to have another baby. I can't. I absolutely cannot have another child. However, my life is so blessed with Grayson; he's my joy.
I was able to go home the next day. I took some time off work, and then I went back and submerged myself in teaching to try and keep my mind off the grief that filled my heart and mind. I cried almost every day on my way to work. There were times I had to pull over because the tears would cloud my eyes. For months, I was just not okay. I tried to hide it. I did a lot of crying in private. I felt guilty if I grieved that whole process and the loss of the baby because I felt like I wasn't being grateful for the child I had. If I didn't grieve, then I felt guilty about that, too. It took a long time for me to get back to a place where my emotions were controlled.
I've been following up with the cardiologist that saw me in the hospital ever since January. He is amazing. He has tried to control the heart failure with medication, but my heart's just not improving, unfortunately, and that's how this all got started. After years of misdiagnoses, feeling weak, tired, short of breath, etc., we finally know that my heart is failing, but my will is not. There is a purpose for all of this. There's a reason for my pain. I may not know it yet, but that's why I'm sharing my story. I'm being humble, and real, and strong, and I pray that someone gets a blessing out of my journey.
There were photographs I wanted to take.
Things I wanted to show you.
Sing sweet lullabies.
Wipe your teary eyes.
Who could love you like this?
People say that I am brave, but I'm not.
Truth is, I'm barely hanging on.
There's a greater story...
written long me
because He loves you like this.
I will praise the One who's chosen me to carry you.
Such a short time,
such a long road.
All this madness, but I know
that the silence has brought me to His voice.
That song has always made me cry. Someday you will be able to see your baby again
ReplyDeleteI am so sorry for your pain Candace.I will be praying for you in this journey. That God will be glorified through your story.
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