Story Untitled: Part I

It was 2007. We waited to get an ultrasound because my husband and I just started new jobs and needed our insurance to kick in to go to the doctor. When I finally did, I was already five months along.

We were excited. Because of the pregnancy, we had reassessed our life and our relationship and decided that we should take that next step into marriage.  With a pretty new ring on my finger, we went to the doctor together. Knowing I was so far along, my husband could find out the gender of the baby. I didn’t care.

The radiologist called my name. Nerves kicked in. I didn’t do this with my husband last time. This time, we were going in together. I felt good. I felt happy.

The radiologist seemed to take forever taking picture after picture. Then she had me move to the right. Then I had to move to the left. A weird look came over her face. Not quite a look of worry, but questioning one. The ultrasound was taking so long. I asked what the problem was.

She was blunt. “I can’t get a good picture of his heart.” What does that mean, I wondered. She continued, “It happens sometimes when the baby isn’t turned the right way. So, let me call the doctor real quick and I’ll be right back.”

My husband looked at me worried. He’s never worried. Or least doesn’t show it. I started to get concerned.

The radiologist returned and said that she is going to schedule an appointment in a couple of weeks, because the baby will grow and turn, and likely, she will be able to get that clear picture of the heart.

My husband and I felt better. We went home with a clear conscious, ready to return another day.

I returned a couple of weeks later. My husband had something at work, so he couldn’t take the time off to come with me. The radiologist took a bunch of pictures… but not nearly as many as last time. Her face fell. She said “I still can’t get a clear picture of the heart. I have to refer you to the high risk doctor. He’s been notified of the situation and you can see him soon. I’m sorry; I can’t tell you more right now.” She seemed to know the questions running through my head.

Because of the news, my husband made sure that he could attend that next appointment. I can’t even remember how far away it was from the first one. I just know I was a wreck. I was scared. Even the term “high risk” seemed scary. I had no idea what to expect.

When the appointment arrived, even it was a blur… I just remember being told that my son had hypoplastic left heart syndrome – a congenital heart defect that means that my son was only born with the right side of his heart of normal size. The left side (in easiest terms) was underdeveloped. He explained that there’s a good chance of survival in the womb. He didn’t have to work as hard, because my body was doing most of the work.

Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome

The numbers after birth were dismal. He would have approximately three surgeries – the first within a week of his birth; the second, around the time he turned seven; and third, around he turned fourteen. Although he could receive a heart transplant, hearts don’t grow at the same rate when transplanted, like say, the liver. At each surgery, the survival rate was 25%. The eldest children with HLHS (at the time) were in their late 20s – all of them female.

Needless to say, caring a child that you knew had a high likelihood of death is challenging. With a strong heart rate internally, you always feel strong, that this child will be one of the long term survivors. But we went along with our faith in God, that His will be done.

Besides extra testing, the rest of the pregnancy was a breeze. Alexander didn’t go home after birth. He was in the NeoNatal ICU for the first week, prior to having open heart surgery. He then spent the next four weeks in the hospital healing. I was on maternity leave, but my husband continued working. My older son Matthew, who’s now 9, but was 3 at the time stayed in the Ronald McDonald house.

Since we didn’t have any family help (they lived in Rancho/Fontana, but no offer of help), I had to stay at RMH during the day until my husband returned. I went to the hospital at night, and my husband went before he went to work. I breastfed him as much as I could, but pumped most of the time.

We were excited that we could finally take him home. He spent one week at home. We played, laughed and smiled. Then on the fourth day, he started refluxing his meds. Normal, kinda, so not much to think about. Then he slept through the night – at 6 weeks old. He slept 12 hours. I loved the idea, but something seemed off. Then his breathing got real shallow. The doctor told me to take him in. I did.

He was in a couple of days and all seemed good. All stats were increasing and/or steady. I went home to get some rest in bed when they said he could go home the next day. I needed a new change of clothes for him and me.

I came back the next day. I walked in the door. Said, “Hi, baby”, all his stats went to zero. No heart rate, no breaths, just buzzing came from all of the machines. The doctors and nurses rushed in, put a barrier up around him and ushered me and my mother in law to a private room. Where we waited. It seemed like an eternity. Someone came to check in with us every few minutes. With each person, I felt a glimmer of hope. There were times of revival, before he crashed again.

Until a half an hour later. His doctor came in. He said they could keep going, but after this long, even if there was a chance of survival, there would be extreme brain damage.

They stopped. They removed all the wires. The nurse ushered us into a room, where friends came and we sat with him for over three hours. Another nurse came in to offer to stamp hand prints and foot prints for me. I spent the entire time holding him.

It wasn’t until the nurse told us that he needed to get to the morgue to be processed if we were having an open casket that he would need to go that I even considered letting him go.

22 thoughts on “Story Untitled: Part I”

  1. Thank you for sharing your story. As a mother, I can feel all the emotions within me as I am reading this. My heart is heavy for you. Thanks, again for sharing this @ The Show Off Blog Party.


  2. OMG … I'm crying. What a heart wrenching story. Such strength you have as a mother having gone through this. I can't wait to read more about it.

    Thank you for linking to Raising Imperfection.
    Please come back Friday to see if you were featured. 🙂

    (¸¤ Lanaya | xoxo

  3. Can't believe I missed this last week and thank you so much fro sharing your story here. I honestly have no words and from one mother to another am just so sorry that you went through this.

    1. I've always wanted to write my autobiography. I've led a very interesting life… and it's still going!

  4. Oh sweetie. I am so very sorry. So very, very sorry. To bring him and be so hopeful. For things to go so well and then be taken away. My heart hurts for you. You are not alone. Thank you for sharing your story with us today at the Bereaved Mother's Day linkup! xoxo

  5. Oh, April, this just breaks my heart. I'm always amazed at the strength of women who have had to go through something like this. Thank you for sharing what I can only imagine was a terribly difficult story to share.

    1. It took me a long to write, and then publish this story. I've taken a long time to heal, but I think I'm there. Thank you for commenting.

  6. Vashti Quiroz-Vega

    Wow April. I'm so sorry you went through this heart-wrenching experience. You moved me to tears with your account. I'm so touched I'm a registered diagnostic medical sonographer, so I've been in that radiologist's shoes and it isn't easy. Some medical people get desensitized, but it always takes an emotional toll on me when I see something like this. Thank you for sharing your story. Perhaps it will open the eyes of some doctors, nurses and techs. I know how incredibly painful it is. I'm sure Alexander (beautiful name) is looking down on you from Heaven. He's a little angel now.

    1. Thank you, Vashti. It was really a difficult time, that still has it's hangups. I'm glad I get to remember him every year though.

  7. What a hard thing for you to go through. It must have been hard both knowing beforehand that your baby had a problem and of course that he didn't survive. I saw on your 'about' post that you felt you learned so much from him and I can understand that. My second daughter was born very prematurely, and a few times came close to death. I remember once thinking that even if she didn't survive she had taught me so much in such a short time.
    I'm glad you are healing now.

    1. Yes, he changed y life. I would be a full-time working mother right now had it not been for him. I didn't understand what it meant to be a stay at home mom or why any woman would want to be that. No judgement, I just didn't get it. Life is so short and so precious, I want to be there for all of it now, the good and the bad.

  8. Oh April. I knew you’d lost a son but didn’t know the details. What a scary and hopeful and awful time for you. I’m so so very sorry for your loss and thank you for sharing your story. I know that your words will help other mothers in similar situations feel less alone and know that they can get through. Still, tears, friend. I wish so much that his story had a different outcome. xxoo

  9. Oh April, my heart goes out to you and your husband ((((( hugs ))))) I know that time has passed, yet for this kind of heartache and loss, no amount of time will ever cure xxxx

  10. Pingback: My Little Superheroes - April Noelle

  11. Pingback: Blessings through a Pregnancy Story - April Noelle

  12. Pingback: Cruising to a Life Together | #FTSF - April Noelle

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.