For our first edition here, let’s just get acquainted. In whatever format you choose, write a post sharing who you are, the basics of your child’s story and one thing that really stood out to you from your child’s first major hospital or medical experience and why. (For carnival rules and information click here.)
Jacqui’s Story
So much was riding on that one day — all of our dreams, years of heartbroken prayers, hopes still fragile from years of infertility and repetitive miscarriage. It was all coming down to this one sunny day in September, and we wondered as we drove to the hospital that morning how it would end. We cried through the entire thirty minute drive to the hospital, not knowing if we were going to be saying hello or goodbye. Would we hear her cry? Would she need to have a trach? Would she breathe at all? Would we get to hold her? What if…? But I couldn’t bear to finish the thought of my worst fear.
Months earlier we had learned the devastating news on an early ultrasound. Our baby had a large mass on the right side of her face and neck. Opinions were mixed on the actual diagnosis. Originally we were told that we would likely miscarry, that she probably had Turner’s Syndrome. That she might have Down’s Syndrome, Trisomy 18, or a host of other complications that we lost much sleep over. Later we were told that the mass was a teratoma and that she would likely die at birth or during a surgery to attempt to secure an airway. We were pressed to consider ‘termination’ or at the very least, an amnio. We adamantly refused both. We began fighting to find a perinatologist who cared whether she survived and found one a three hour drive away. A complex birth plan and monitoring system was put into place to give her the best odds possible for her survival. A modified EXIT procedure would be performed in an attempt to make sure she had a secure airway throughout the birth.
In the OR suite, I lost count of the number of medical personnel in the room at somewhere over twenty. There was the perinatologist’s team, a surgical team, an ENT surgeon and his team, a respiratory therapy team, a NICU team… and probably others. I felt conflicting emotions of resentment over the number of people in the room (mostly because this birth was so different than we had hoped) and overwhelming gratitude that so many people were there to help try and keep our baby safe. And I started to quietly cry when they told me they were starting the delivery, wishing I could keep her safe just a little longer, hoping — praying that she wasn’t about to die.
I remember hearing a funny little squeak, and wondering what it was. I looked up from my white knuckles to Ken’s awestruck face that suddenly burst into a mile-wide grin. That sound had been our baby’s first beautiful cry. Her second attempt was loud and long. They held her up for a moment for me to get my first glimpse of her. I laughed as tears rained down my cheeks and Ken joyously whooped, “Do you hear her, honey? She made it! She’s OK!”
Then the room was a bustle of serious, purposeful activity. I watched from an aching distance while they intubated her as a precaution, and started an IV. Ken whispered reassuringly in her newborn ears as she tightly gripped his finger. They wheeled her over for a moment and I got to stare into her bottomless ocean-blue eyes and whisper, “I love you, Jacqui…” before they whisked her off to the NICU.
Much of the rest of our hospital stay was a blur. Back and forth trips to the NICU, several floors away from my room. Waiting for what seemed like forever as she endured a CT scan and an MRI before we learned that her mass was a lymphatic malformation, and something that we would not be able to medically address until she was at least six months old. The moment of elation when they took her off of the ventilator and she breathed on her own. Struggling through the paradox of being told we couldn’t remove her from the NICU until she could eat on her own while the nurses stuffed her with tube feedings under medical orders. Worrying over her very scary breathing pattern.
Her breathing. That is the one thing that stood out to me more than anything during that first hospital experience. It was so labored sounding. She snored and often stopped breathing all together, resuming only after she was jostled. I was afraid to leave her in the NICU, but they did have her hooked up to a cardiac monitor. I asked the attending physician about it and he told me there was no cause for worry. That newborns often sounded like that. She was just “junky” from the birth and it would clear up in a few days. A dark cloud of doubt gathered in my heart as I cautiously sat back to watch and wait.
When it was time to go home, her breathing hadn’t improved. She scared me. I was afraid I would fall asleep and she would stop breathing and never wake up. I asked the attending to send her home with an apnea monitor. He refused. Flat out emphatically refused. Even when I tried to press the matter. Said she was fine and that she didn’t need one. I asked if the lymphatic malformation could swell up like lymph nodes do if she caught a cold. He shook his head no. Told me I was worrying too much, but something in his eyes as he said it unsettled me. He left and I tried to pinpoint what it was about the conversation that bothered me. The substance of it flitted just out of reach from my sleep-deprived brain. In my arms, Jacqui sputtered and stopped breathing for the hundredth time. I jostled her and she inhaled raggedly. “What if…,” my heart whispered, “What if he’s sending her home with you to die?” I went cold. Numb with fear. Then I flashed white hot with determination. Not if I could help it.
After we got home, we took shifts sitting up with Jacqui keeping her breathing until our appointment with her pediatrician the next day. As we walked into the office the next morning I whispered to Ken, “We come home with an apnea monitor, or not at all.” We got our apnea monitor.
One week later, that apnea monitor saved her life. Jacqui caught her first cold virus. In the middle of the night, her lymphatic malformation began rapidly swelling and shutting off her airway, just as I had feared it might. Her heart rate monitor alerted us and we got her to the local ER just in time to intubate her before her airway was completely shut off by the swelling.
Jacqui spent the next nine weeks in the NICU. Six weeks on a ventilator. She had a tracheostomy. A G-tube placement. MRI’s, CT scans, IV and PICC line placements, CT guided injection therapy of her lymphatic malformation. A host of heroic and horrific experiences that no newborn should ever have to endure. That no parent should ever have to watch.
And it was just beginning.
Jacqui is five now. She’s been under anesthesia for various surgeries and procedures twenty-five times now. Twenty-five, and I know in my heart there will be more. And it never gets easier. And I worry. I worry whether we have made the right choices for her, whether tomorrow will bring some new hardship for her to endure.
But mostly I’m grateful. Grateful that for some reason that I still fail to comprehend, God chose us. For some reason, He believed we were the right parents for this amazing little girl. It humbles me. Inspires me to live up to that sacred trust we have been given. Because of her, our life is filled with a joy all the more precious for the sorrow we have known through her. And in those moments where I long to completely give up, I remember that she was a gift. A gift that I was entrusted with. She is counting on me and I refuse to fail her.
What About You? Tell Me Your Child’s Story…
parenting children lymphatic malformation tracheostomy G-tube sclerotherapy motherhood Finding Courage Through Sharing Blog Carnival Finding Courage Through Sharing NICU medically fragile blog carnival
It all sounds so frightening! I applaud you and your husband’s determination to get that apnea monitor! Thank God that you did! I couldn’t imagine a world without Jacqui! I hope she never has to endure another surgery.
April 24th, 2008 at 4:54 am
I knew Jacqui’s story…but I never fail to be inspired and blessed by reading it.
Hey, I know apnea/heart monitors.
My post is up. I cheated…you know, due to a certain special needs child’s current mode…but HAD to participate and spread the word. Looking forward to reading through the links.
April 24th, 2008 at 6:12 am
My heart goes out to you. I don’t have a story as dramatic as yours; my daughter developed mental illness in her teens and has never gotten any better. I think that no matter their age, you worry and fret and wish you could take all of their pain away.
I wish you and your family well, my friend - D
April 24th, 2008 at 11:53 am
I can’t believe they gave you trouble taking home a monitor. I would have been upset about that as well. Such a simple thing.
April 24th, 2008 at 2:10 pm
What a ton of courage it takes to post about this part of parenting,yet you do it with love and care.~(of course)
I know that you only just skimmed the surface of all the tough stuff– but the tears I cry while reading– make way for the Rainbows of Life–
It’s nice to know that Jacqui has always been a fighter!
April 24th, 2008 at 3:45 pm
Joining the carnival….or is it a circus?
April 24th, 2008 at 4:40 pm
I guess no matter how many times I read about Jacqui, I can’t help but be utterly amazed at your strength to get through it all. And like I’ve told you before, you are the reason why Jacqui perseveres-you have been such a role model for strength and courage and wisdom to her.
Yet another humbled reader. My entry was an old post from 2 weeks ago. Hope that’s ok. Hopefully the next carnival will have me in better spirits.
April 24th, 2008 at 5:29 pm
“And in those moments where I long to completely give up, I remember that she was a gift. A gift that I was entrusted with. She is counting on me and I refuse to fail her.”
Thank you for sharing this beautiful story and for expressing all the conflicting emotions you felt. You give us all strength to endure the trials we have been given. Your kids are more than blessed to have you as their mother. God knew what He was doing when He sent them to your home!
April 24th, 2008 at 5:46 pm
So glad to see you all here!
Melody - You silly girl! You didn’t cheat… getting up a post with three busy kiddos deserves a round of applause!
DP - So glad to see you here again! And just so you know, you’re welcome to join in any time. Your daughter’s story is just as important as anyone else’s and I know your lovely heart would be an inspiration to anyone reading.
Ursula - Your post is LOVELY and it’s just fine to post one from archives - so glad you joined in!
Hope you all enjoy reading the entries as they come in… I’m really looking forward to getting to know everybody better!
April 24th, 2008 at 5:49 pm
I have known much of Jacqui’s story from other posts, but every time you share it, you bring new insight and strength to it. She is such a delightful little girl.
April 24th, 2008 at 6:25 pm
Every time I read about what you’ve been through with Jacqui (and what she’s been through!), I am in awe of your strength and determination. She is such a beautiful soul - it’s hard to imagine that the world could’ve missed out on having her in it.
April 24th, 2008 at 6:44 pm
you just have to stop making me cry at work. they are on to me…….
thank you for sharing your story.
April 24th, 2008 at 8:35 pm
Crying here…….lovely, you, here, the writing, all of it.
April 24th, 2008 at 9:13 pm
Hi, you don’t know me yet; my name is Holly. I’m a friend of Becky and I got to your blog through hers when she posted to request prayer for Jacqui. I’ve been praying for your daughter and checking back to see how she’s doing and subsequently saw your blog carnival announcement. I have a special needs daughter and I’ve decided to join the carnival…hope you don’t mind a stranger.
Come see me; I left my link in the Mr. Linky box.
April 25th, 2008 at 12:50 am
Congrats on the first edition of Finding Courage Through Sharing. I love this idea and enjoy feeling “Unique But Not Alone” even more with this blog carnival.
The beginning of your story is eloquent as ever…
Jen
April 25th, 2008 at 3:35 am
Wow. What an incredible story. I am touched and moved beyond words. Such strength and faith - in you AND Jacqui!
April 25th, 2008 at 5:10 am
I knew a little of Jacqui’s story and I am in awe of this miracle. I am always inspired and blessed by reading it and I cannot imagine the strength you and your husband had to have to bless Jacqui with life.
April 25th, 2008 at 11:07 am
Wow, I’m so impressed at all of you reading through this even when it’s a topic that might be a little foreign — you’re amazing!
And Holly -No such thing as strangers here
I am so very touched to learn you have been praying for Jacqui and so very glad you joined in. Your little Su’s story is just amazing, and I’m looking forward to learning more about your lovely family. Welcome!
April 25th, 2008 at 3:59 pm
Thank you for the warm welcome…I was a little nervous about stepping out to announce my presence and join the group.
I have to say I am really touched by all the stories that were shared here as part of the carnival. It really is encouraging to be reminded that even though my own daughter’s story has different details we all share a similar struggle and the endurance of others inspires perseverance. Thank you all for sharing; and an extra thank you to our thoughtful hostess!
April 25th, 2008 at 4:15 pm
You don’t need to wonder why you were chosen. Just reading this shows that He knew you would do what was neccessary to bring Jaqui through it all.
I got the same cold shiver as you described the careless doctor. This was fascinating to read from beginning to end.
April 25th, 2008 at 8:36 pm
It was a wonderful read to be let into the courageous journey that is Jackie. Thank you for your candor. I may join you at another time.
April 29th, 2008 at 4:14 am
I have been meaning to stop by and comment. What a great story. You and Ken are real inspirations in courage and dedication. How many people in this world would have given into the doctor’s recommendation of termination or amnio?
And now, five years later, you have a beautiful daughter, just as God wanted it to be.
Thank you for sharing your story and inspriing others to share theirs. I think your blog carnival is going to be a great success.
Thomas
April 29th, 2008 at 12:54 pm