The only cure for preeclampsia and HELLP is delivery. So, we began the process to see if my body would go into labor on its own and started a drip of magnesium to prevent seizures due to the preeclampsia. My friend, Jenna, had had magnesium with her first pregnancy and had warned me that I would feel like I had the flu. She was right. After more than 12 hours, I had made no progress towards labor and my platelets were dropping. I was prepped and was heading in for an emergency c-section. With our last delivery, (which apparently is quite remembered on the Labor and Delivery wing) all precautions were taken to ensure both Brooks and I came out alive. Once I got prepped, we were ready to deliver. Both of my OBs were present and one of my other moms, Cookie (who works in the nursery and came in that morning just to be with us), and it was game time. And I was terrified. There was one point in the surgery where I could tell I was losing a lot of blood and immediately said my goodbyes to Lee. It wasn't what I wanted, but I knew how the odds were stacked against me. 1 in 4 cases of HELLP don't survive. And with my history of accreta, I was prepared for a lot of bleeding (with very low platelets). After, what felt like an eternity, but probably was just a quick moment, Dr. Rainey told me he was able to save my uterus and I was going to make it. The placenta wasn't accreta, but was tightly attached. Tears of relief and joy began to flow. I sent Lee to the nursery with Brooks and Cookie while they finished up on me. The anesthesiologist said, "You got lucky, Carmen." No sir, all that it is, is that God hasn't completed my story. It isn't a matter of having God on my side, because that would have been the case no matter the outcome. But, twice now, with rare life-threatening situations in delivery, God had chosen to show me that he isn't done with me.
At 9:17 on 9/17, my sweet boy was born at 36 weeks weighing 7 pounds and 9 ounces and was 19 1/2 inches long. He was perfect. The steroid shots had developed his lungs and had no signs of being a preemie. (At that weight, he may have come out walking if we had gone full term.)
At 9:17 on 9/17, my sweet boy was born at 36 weeks weighing 7 pounds and 9 ounces and was 19 1/2 inches long. He was perfect. The steroid shots had developed his lungs and had no signs of being a preemie. (At that weight, he may have come out walking if we had gone full term.)
After a day of intense nausea and vomiting (thanks, magnesium) and several days of recovery, we are home. My platelets and hemoglobin have a lot of catching up to do and my cesarean incision makes me see stars sometimes. But, we're home. I know that every nurse and doctor that we encountered in the last week was another opportunity to show the love of The Lord to these incredible people who have devoted their lives to healing. I know that this situation could have been so much worse. I know that apparently my body does not handle being pregnant well. I know that our friendship with our OB isn't a coincidence, but one to give us a peace and a confidence. But, I also know that The Lord is good. I know that His purpose for my life isn't complete yet.
Nina loves the song "The Only Name That Matters". The chorus says, "When I wake up in the land of glory, with the saints I will tell my story there will be one Name that I proclaim." I have been overwhelmed thinking about what "story" will be my children's. I know that part of my story is helping them to discover theirs.
We are a family of 4 (6, if you count the furbabies) under one roof tonight against so many odds. We are a couple who has had to say final goodbyes more times in 4 years than some couples in 40. I am a mother who cried grateful tears today when I hugged my doctor upon my discharge. I am a child of God whose story isn't done.
"... Jesus, just that Name."