Your Brother's Birth

My Dearest Avery,

As I mentioned in the last post, I don't know if you'll ever get to see these blogs but I do know that I've found some relief in sharing so for now, that's what I'll do.

As we got closer and closer to Alex's due date and his heart remained beating strong, we also found that the fluid in his abdomen was lessening, while the fluid in his brain was increasing. The doctors indicated there wasn't much they could tell us regarding a change in prognosis, so we prepared for either option. This was actually the only time during the entire wait that I began to become hopeful. I thought our lives might be different than the average family's but I began to envision what it would be like to have two children. He was such a fighter - we were calling him "Alexander the Great" because of the strength he'd shown.

Throughout our many trips to the doctor's office, there was one technician who was really great to us. She was the only one to offer us photos of little Alex while inside the womb. Here he is:

At one point the doctor had indicated that Alex would have significant facial deformities so this picture was something that your dad and I cherished very much.

Now for your brother's birth story: on Friday, February 12, I started feeling light contractions every 15-30 minutes apart. They weren't very strong and they were very irregular so we weren't sure if they were Braxton Hicks or if they were the beginning of labor. You and dad still went to soccer Saturday morning because they were still very irregular and some were more painful than others, but that was irregular as well. Saturday afternoon the contractions still hadn't subsided and after you woke up from your nap, they started to get more and more intense.

We went straight from 10 minutes apart to strong contractions every 2-3 minutes apart. I'm sorry to say that it was frightening for you - you didn't like seeing your mom in that much pain. Your dad and I had thought we'd have much more time to make it to the hospital so he rushed around to get things in the car while you and I suffered through each contraction together (I tried to hold it together for you but that just wasn't happening).

Grandma Gail was on her way from New Mexico, thankfully, and we had a friend meet us at the hospital to help you pass the time while we waited for Grandma to get there. As soon as I got to the triage room at the hospital I was begging for an epidural. The room had been quiet and calm before I got there but I guarantee I shook things up for a bit. I also bit your dad as I was getting through a contraction in there - don't think he'll ever let me live that one down. It turns out I was measuring between a 7 and an 8 upon arrival. The staff members were unsure if they'd have time to give me an epidural (meantime I was certain I should've chosen another C-section). Thankfully, I was able to get an epidural before they officially admitted me (they probably just wanted to shut me up). Before the epidural, your brother was still moving - I could feel him so I knew he was still alive.

After the epidural, things slowed down a bit. I kept having strong contractions but got to rest a bit while we waited for full dilation. I also got to see you one more time before you went off to bed - I think it was good for you to close out the day by seeing me in a more relaxed state than earlier. It was good for me too :)

I didn't fully thin out and and feel the urge to push until the wee hours of Sunday, February 14. Around 1:30, the nurse came in and I told her I felt the urge so we started pushing to move Alex lower. It was such a different environment than when you were born. When you came in the OR, there were tons of people there and the lights were bright and the room was cold. When pushing for Alex, we turned the lights down low and turned off the tv. At first it was just your dad, me and the nurse. The doctor soon came in, who thankfully actually wound up being my OB (so she knew our history - I am positive that was no coincidence). She sat down to work with me on pushing. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Although Alex had been in birthing position for weeks, he apparently turned sunny side up during labor, which made it harder to push him past my pelvis. I'm sure any other doctor would've taken me to the OR for a repeat C-section, but Dr Stevens knew how much I wanted to birth your brother vaginally (so I'd have as much time to hold him as possible) so she stuck with me. I pushed with each contraction for over two hours. It's six days later and I still don't have feeling back in my right hand from holding my legs while pushing. If it weren't for the doctor's encouragement, I don't know how or when I would've made it through.

When Alex finally did arrive, at 3:42 am, Dr Stevens immediately put him on my chest. They checked him three times, but he had no heartbeat. His forehead was a dark purple and his body was very yellow, with one arm blue. There were three times when he made a little noise - a slight sound - maybe so slight that I was the only one who could hear him, but that was it. He was so soft - his skin was just like any other baby's to the touch. He had a lot of hair, even some down his back. His little clubbed feet were purple but so small and sweet to hold. And his belly was wrinkly from all the fluid that had built up in there over the course of the past half year. His nose was smushed and his lips looked like your Grandpa Dave's.

Alex was 7 pounds, 2 ounces, and 18 inches long. We got to hold him, bathe him, dress him, and take pictures of him all morning. I will never forget the sweet way he smelled or the way he felt on my chest. I couldn't stop kissing him.

I'm grateful for a hospital staff that followed everything on our birth plan. I'm grateful for having my OB, perinatologist, and neonatologist there. I'm grateful to have held Alex for so long when he was still warm and nimble in my arms. I'm grateful he didn't have to feel any pain associated with poking or prodding by doctors and nurses. No matter how grateful I am, I still wish he were here. I wish I were losing sleep from having to nurse him all the time instead of from mourning. And I wish more than anything that he were here to be your little brother and playmate.

In an effort to protect your brother from becoming a subject for the internet world to take over, I'm just going to post a few subtle pictures here. Of course, we have more for our own private viewing.

His outfit had a baseball on it (dad picked it out). And it said "little champ".

Your dad holding Alex in his old baby blanket.

All my love,
Mom

Your Brother's Journey

My Dearest Avery,

I know it's been a long time since I've written. It's not for a lack of activity, that's for sure. I'm not sure when I'll share the fact that this blog exists with you, but I know it won't be for years to come. In fact, I may remove this post before you get to see it but for now I want to dedicate some space to your little brother, Alexander - I imagine you won't mind ;)

My last post to you was in September. Back then, we were anxiously awaiting a visit from Grandma and Pop Wadsworth, and dad and I were looking forward to our 20-week ultrasound to find out if you were going to be a big sister to a boy or a girl.

That ultrasound was October 8, and we were the first appointment of the day. We'd already dropped you off at daycare because those are usually long scans. Ours was actually cut short. Soon after the scan started, the technician said she had seen several things that were not right and left to go get the doctor. We were left alone for a long time. We knew that was bad because it happened with you - you had choroid plexus cysts in your brain that ultimately healed without any issues - but that was a scare we received at your 20-week scan.

When the doctor first came into the room, he didn't say much to us at all. He worked with the technician to confirm what he was seeing, as he was in disbelief that it hadn't been detected at the 12-week scan. He took a deep breath and put his hand on my shoulder and told your dad and me that the baby's condition was "not compatible with life". He told us he was going to spare us the details but said there were so many things wrong with the baby that there was no chance of survival and he would give him/her (they couldn't see which it was) 1-2 more weeks to live in my womb before passing. We found out about something called hydrops fetalis, which we now know more about than we ever wanted to know, and he indicated we could do an amniocentesis to learn more about the cause. He also offered that we might want to consider abortion. We left through a back door that day.

The following days evolved into weeks and then months. We learned a lot in that time: your younger sibling was a boy, he had massive ascites (fluid in his abdomen), edema around his head and neck, bilateral clubfoot, and a small amount of fluid in his chest and around his heart. Another doctor gave him 1 month to live in my womb before passing. We did an amnio, but everything turned out perfect, with no cause for his condition. We did blood work to see if there was an infection, but resulted in nothing there as well. And while we value the ability to choose, we chose not to abort (as you will probably know by the time you read this, your dad and I prefer to let nature take its course).

As the time passed and your brother, named Alexander Vaughn by then, defied all doctor predictions by staying with us with a strong heartbeat, we visited a pediatric cardiologist to see what was wrong with the heart, as that was the leading theory for a cause. He indicated the heart looked perfect, except the fluid around it. With no answers related to the cause, the doctors were unable to do anything to treat him. We also found out that the edema had subsided but he had fluid building in his brain, which likely impacted brain development (at the 20-week scan, we were told that his brain was perfect).

We then started discussions about caring for him should he survive. We had been having sleepless night after sleepless night, trying to digest what it would mean to have a stillborn child. And then all of a sudden the doctors wanted to talk about survival! It was truly a shock and it made me really question what was best for your brother. The possible outcomes were so varied: he could pass, he could survive for a short time, he could be in a vegetative state, he could survive with severe physical and mental disabilities, he could survive and merely be slightly delayed.

Dr. Google was no help but we learned a lot about other people's stories. Some were amazing miracles and some were heartbreaking. In all honesty, the doctors we were seeing weren't much help either, other than providing status updates. To their credit, they were doing the best they could with the information they had. Unfortunately there's not much research on hydrops. Some say that's because of the high fetus mortality rate, but I believe it's because of the 80-90% of people in this situation who choose to abort.

For me personally, the worst part was seeing people's reactions when I told them our situation. I found that people generally want to hear that things are going well and move on with their day so I let them. As a result of his condition, my belly got bigger a lot faster than it normally would have, so I looked like I was due earlier. I think that sparked more conversation than normal but I still couldn't find the words to explain what was going on, especially since we didn't know what the outcome would be.

You're so young right now that you didn't understand there was a baby in my belly. I believe that is a blessing for us; I may not feel that same way when the day comes that we tell you about Alex, but for now I'm happy that you don't have to try to process this confusion or grief.

I think that's enough for one blog. I'll dedicate another one to Alex's arrival.
All my love,
Mom

Link to Alex's arrival here.