Print
Email
SaveLosing a Child After Birth
When their baby daughter was born at 23 weeks, these parents were faced with an unimaginable decision. Could they let her face a lifetime of crippling health problems, or should they let her go?
It was raining that Thanksgiving weekend, and as I looked out the window of our new house, I remember noticing the aspen trees. Stark and bare, their leaves littering the ground, they looked so desolate and sad -- a sharp contrast to life inside our home, where we had lots to celebrate. We'd just moved from California into a beautiful area of Spokane. My husband, Charlie, and I were excited about being back in the Northwest, where we both had grown up; my sons, John and Henry, were looking forward to a white Christmas; and I was 23 weeks pregnant with our third child -- a girl. The cheerlessness of the aspens didn't seem to match our mood at all. I wished that the previous homeowners had planted pines, so they would be green all year long.
That Sunday night, after we said our goodbyes to the last of a houseful of relatives, I read the boys a chapter of a Harry Potter book while they stretched out on either side of me, hands on my stomach, marveling at their sister's kicks. My back hurt after the weekend's festivities, and I had an upset stomach, so I decided to go to bed early. As I was getting ready, I was struck by wave after wave of nausea. I went into the bathroom and discovered I was bleeding. Not a great gush of blood -- nothing that soaked my clothes or pooled on the floor. That's what I'd envisioned when I'd heard about a friend of a friend who began bleeding and went into labor in her 27th week.
By the time Charlie and I arrived at the hospital, I could no longer pretend that my labor pains were just indigestion. As I fumbled into a gown, the night nurse asked me questions.
"How far along are you?"
"Almost 24 weeks."
"How sure of the dates are you?"
"Very."
"Do you use drugs, alcohol, or cigarettes?"
"No, no, no."
"Have you suffered any recent injuries?" She glanced at my husband. Maybe she was trying to decide whether he looked like a wife beater.
"I slipped and fell on the sidewalk three or four weeks ago."
She dismissed this. "Too long ago. Amniocentesis results?"
"Everything's normal."
"Do you know the sex of your baby?"
"It's a girl."
"Oh, how nice. Two boys and girl. I bet they'll spoil her rotten."
