We decided we were ready to have children toward the end of 1996. We had a mini-vacation between Christmas and New Years, and that is when our first baby was conceived.
However, my pregnancy had some problems from the beginning. I experienced spotting during the first four months, and at times I had more profuse bleeding. But a number of ultrasounds revealed that the pregnancy was still viable, though they never were exactly sure what caused the bleeding. At one point they believed it to be coming from the placenta, but there was really nothing they could do about it.
My AFP test results showed risk for both neural tube defect and Down's Syndrome. An amniocentesis was done, and two weeks later the results of that showed the baby to be genetically fine---what a huge relief! Also that we were having a little boy! We named him Ezra John.
About a month after that I developed a severe chest pain. I was diagnosed with an inflammation of the rib cage cartilage. The only thing I could do was take Tylenol with codeine for relief.
Around the end of June 1997, my husband Truman had some vacation time. I arranged with my employer to stop work, it was just getting too much. My doctors felt that I could use some extra rest. We got permission to travel out-of-state to visit some relatives; none of the docs had any problem with that.
A few days before the trip, I had a pre-natal check-up. My blood pressure was slightly elevated, but the doc attributed it to the chest pain I was still experiencing. I found out later that the nurse found protein in my urine, but somehow the doctor overlooked that.
During the trip, my feet swelled up horribly. They looked like small cantaloupe melons, and I couldn't bend them much at the ankle, which made walking rather difficult. We got to Truman's grandma's, and all I wanted to do was rest for the next few days. I did not know I should have reported this to my doctor.
On July 2, 1997, I awoke feeling crampy and crummy. However, the swelling in my feet was better. I thought I just needed to rest some, but Grandma was worried and insisted that I call my doctor. The doctor that took my call said I should go to the ER and be checked out---could be just a bladder infection or something.
Once we got to a hospital, I was admitted in Maternity immediately. I was shocked to find out that I was in pre-term labor, and I had something called severe pre-eclampsia. I was immediately transferred to another hospital that specialized in pre-term births. They put me on all sorts of medications through an IV, and did a lot of tests, including an ultrasound. Then a doctor came in to give us the prognosis. It was not good.
The baby was very small, much smaller than it should have been at 28 plus weeks (this is known as IUGR). The amniotic fluid was getting low, and the baby was in fetal distress---the heart rate dropped with every contraction. My blood pressure was dangerously high, and their efforts to control it were not being very effective. They suspected that the placenta was shutting down, so continuing the pregnancy was probably not going to benefit the baby. My pre-eclampsia was very advanced, and the best way to combat that was to deliver the baby. It would have to be a vaginal birth as my blood pressure was too high for a safe C-section. They did not know if the baby would survive the delivery, but when it came down to a choice, they felt it was more important to save the mother than the baby. If the baby was born alive they would do all they could to save him.
At that point, my head ached so badly, I felt I could not think straight. But I had a strong sense that the doctor was extremely capable, and we could trust him to do what was best for us. We agreed to their recommendations.
Pitocin was started to counteract the anti-labor drugs they had previously given me. I was also given pain medication. About three hours later, my water broke. Fifteen minutes after that I was ready to push. I was immediately rushed into a delivery room where a team of neonatologists were standing by.
At 3:20 pm, on July 2,1997, I gave birth to Ezra John. He weighed in at 13 1/2 oz, and measured 9 inches long! He was a bit blue, but began to breathe soon after. The team worked over him for a bit, then put him in the NICU level III. He was too small for a ventilator tube--they had never had a baby quite so small born alive. But they supplied oxygen to his nose, and he was able to take breaths of it himself!
My husband was allowed to visit Ezra in the NICU III, while I slept in a private room, continually monitored by some nurses. Arrangements were made so Truman could stay the night with me. I was very sick from the pre-eclampsia and the drugs I had to have. It took me several days to start feeling better, though my headaches continued for some time after that. They did finally get my blood pressure to stabilize, though it was several weeks before it returned to normal. Today, I feel lucky to be alive.
Once I was able to get out of bed, my husband wheeled me down to see our son. He was so unbelievably tiny---I could hardly believe that I had really given him birth! It just seemed too incredible. I almost felt like I was having a bad dream, and would wake up to find everything okay.
Upon my release from the hospital, we went back to stay with Truman's Grandma. Everyday, we went to the hospital NICU III to see Ezra. He continued to fight for life, though he had so much against him---not the least of which was his extremely small size. He faced a very long road ahead---the doctors estimated at least six months before he could come home from the hospital. There are so many problems that can beset a baby born too soon, let alone one in Ezra's somewhat unique situation. They suspected that should he survive, he would have some handicaps, though it was a bit soon to predict to what extent.
It was really hard to see my baby lying there sick, and I was powerless to make him better. Here I was, his own mother, and I could not even hold him---we did not want to risk his getting any kind of infection, as he had no working immune system. The thought would make me break down and weep. The doctors and nurses were highly trained and were doing everything possible for him. However, there was a limit to what they could do, even with the best technology. Ultimately, Ezra’s life was in God’s hands. Besides praying for him, there was only one other thing that I could do---pump my breastmilk when it came in.
I found the pumping machine to be frustrating, but I would do anything that might help my baby. So I pumped my milk, and the nurses tried to give Ezra a few drops; they hoped he would benefit from the antibodies it contained. The rest was frozen for later use. We formed a bit of a routine, pumping my milk in between visiting Ezra, talking with the doctors, nurses, and a social worker, and trying to make arrangements for various details. It was harder, because we were out-of-state, a very long way from home, and it would be a long time before they could consider transferring Ezra to a hospital close to our home.
We had friends and family calling us daily to offer love, prayers, and support. I don't think we could have made it with out them. I remember waking up one morning, and feeling surrounded by love and prayers---it was so real, I thought I could touch it, wrapping around me like a "blanket". Later I asked Truman if he felt it too; when he said yes, I knew that I was not imagining it. I knew it was God’s way of reassuring us that He was with us every step of the way. I Corinthians 10:13 is His promise to us: ”…God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide you a way out, so that you can stand up under it.” (NIV)
Truman’s Uncle Dan and Aunt Bennie also lived nearby, and they bent over backwards to help us---we will be forever in their debt. I had barely met them, but they treated me like their own daughter. They did so much for us, everything from filling my prescription to developing our photos, to making toll phone calls for us and buying us lunch, and so much more. They took time off from their jobs, and refused repayment for anything. They simply wanted to help us out in our time of need, and I know God will reward them for it.
When Ezra was about a week old, he began to go "downhill". He had been doing so well, considering everything, but now he needed to go on a ventilator---somehow they improvised a tube small enough for him. He had problems with his blood, and though we gave permission for him to have a transfusion, it didn't seem to help him much. The doctor thought he was bleeding internally, so they did a lot of tests--ultrasound, x-ray, etc---but they weren't able to do much for him. He was far too small for surgery. They were able to keep him stable for a few days more.
On Friday morning, July 11, 1997, the phone rang at grandma's house just as we were finishing breakfast. The nurse told us to come immediately. We skipped our shower, dressed hurriedly, and drove frantically to the hospital. We had trouble finding a place to park our car, which was aggravating, but a security guard finally showed us a place.
We rushed inside, and up to the NICU III. A nurse showed us into a private waiting room. Soon the doctor came. She explained that Ezra's heart had stopped and they could not get it going again. If we wanted him taken off the ventilator, they would bring him in for us to hold him for a while, to say good-bye. We numbly nodded yes.
We knew he was gone to Heaven; we had been saying in the car that maybe we just needed to tell him that it was okay for him to go Home.
They wrapped him in a tiny preemie outfit which was still way too large for him. We held him and hugged him and kissed him and cried over him. He was so small, it felt more like holding a kitten than a human baby. The social worker came, and took photos for us, which we are so grateful to have. A doctor came in to talk with us about what had happened.
In a strange way, we felt relief. Relief that Ezra's struggle was over. Relief that he wouldn't suffer any more. Relief that he would no longer have to go through all the trials and complications which many premies endure to survive. Relief that the seemingly impossible decisions that faced us about the months ahead, were suddenly resolved. Not to be callous, but it seemed that it was for the best that he had passed on.
At the same time we were very grieved. Why did this happen? What went wrong? Why did we have to lose our first child, whom we wanted so very much? Why couldn't we have had a normal pregnancy and a normal, healthy child? Would we ever be able to have a healthy child? Would we be able to have any more children?
Another doctor who came to see us explained that on examination, the root of the problem seemed to be that the placenta did not function properly. It bled and clotted, which restricted blood-flow/nutrition to the baby, hence he was so tiny. Had my doctors figured this out sooner, there was still nothing they could have done to fix it. The only thing that might have been a little different would have been if they had caught the pre-eclampsia before it developed as severely as it did---this would have been better for me, but not really made a difference for the baby. The amazing thing was that the baby survived as long as it did, considering that the placenta was mal-functioning. As a new placenta is formed with each pregnancy, he believed that it was a unique problem which would probably not re-occur in another pregnancy.
He recommended an autopsy, just to make sure there was nothing wrong that would be considered congenital. We readily agreed. Also we signed papers to have the body cremated afterwards. We would be returning home soon, and they would send the cremains to us once everything was done. We could make further arrangements at home, for a service, etc.
Once back in our home-town, we visited the funeral home to buy an urn. We decided not to bury it, but keep it on our bedroom with Ezra's other mementos. We chose a little gold-colored one, with cherub angels on the front, and we had Ezra's name and dates engraved on it. The man at the funeral home sealed the cremains inside once we received them.
We also put together a "Memory Box". It contains almost everything we have that pertains to Ezra, from the little plastic "keepsake" that shows the positive pregnancy test to copies of his birth and death certificates. There is his name/statistic card which was taped above his isolet, and my hospital id bracelets. We have his little crib toys, and a few small gifts people gave us for him. We saved the ribbons and cards from the flowers people sent us. I even dried the three red roses which my mom sent us when he passed away. There are the "get-well" cards and the "sympathy" cards, a program sheet and a cassette tape recording from his Memorial service. We have a smaller quilted box that holds the outfit and blanket that he wore when we held him for the last time.
While he was alive, I had written a card to him, telling him how much we loved him and wanted him to get well and grow big and strong. After he passed away, I wrote another card, telling him how much we missed him, but that we knew he was healthy and safe and happy in Heaven with Jesus. I put these cards in his memory box, and from time to time I write another card to him and place it with the rest.
I put together a small photo album, a convenient size to carry with us at times. Included are the ultrasound pictures, pictures of Ezra in his NICU isolet, and pictures of us holding him after he passed away. There are his tiny handprints and footprints (1 3/8 inches long!). And clippings of his obituary from the local newspapers. A few pictures of the beautiful Memorial Service done by the pastor of our church, and the family and friends who came to pay their respects.
Last but not least, I made some personalized Christmas ornaments in Ezra’s memory. This idea was suggested to us by the social worker from the hospital in Florida. She said if we wanted to, we could send her an ornament to be hung on their Christmas tree in his memory. They offer this to every parent who has a baby spend time in the NICU III, whether the baby survives or not (and they now need six large Christmas trees to hold all of the ornaments!). I loved the idea. Being a creative person, I made my own ornament. I made a star, and put Ezra’s photo in the center, then I decorated around it with press-dried flowers from my garden, and laminated over the top. I put on the back “In Loving Memory of Ezra John Howard, July 2 -- 11, 1997” and signed our names. It came out so nice that I made three more, one for our own tree, and one for each of Ezra’s grandparents.
For a number of weeks, it seemed that our lives were returning to normal. Truman resumed work, and I took the summer off, as I did not have a job to return to---I had planned to be a stay-at-home-mom once our first child was born. I kept busy fixing things around the house, working in my garden, and doing various projects. I seemed to be coping well enough, until shortly after Labor Day weekend. Then one day I just seemed to go to pieces. It suddenly hit me that I was no longer pregnant, and we were not having a baby anymore (Ezra’s due-date had been September 21). But our baby had already come---and passed away. I couldn’t seem to stop crying; I grieved and grieved for days and days. My doctor suggested some counseling. I think that helped a little, but I knew I had to have another child to feel whole again. Not that I could ever replace Ezra, but another child would help fill my empty arms and bring me healing for the hole left in my heart.
Christmas-time that year was exceptionally hard. I had previously dreamed of bringing our baby to the Howard family Christmas party, and having everyone ooh and ahh over him. Now that was not to be. Things were made harder by the fact that Truman’s parents were not coping well and were literally blaming us for “causing” Ezra’s death. We knew it was not our fault, but no one could convince them. We stayed home from the party.
For months I had been afraid to get pregnant again. Now I wanted to be pregnant so desperately. I asked my doctor what we could do to prepare my body physically for a healthy pregnancy. I didn’t want anything to go wrong that could possibly be avoided. She recommended taking prenatal vitamins for three months before attempting to conceive. She also suggested we switch to a non-hormone type of birth control, to allow my system time to readjust before getting pregnant again. We also made arrangements for a consultation with some obstetricians who specialized in high-risk pregnancies.
About nine months after we lost Ezra, we conceived again. . We prayed continually for a good pregnancy and a healthy baby. I saw the team of “high-risk” obstetricians for prenatal care, and they kept a close eye on me. Though it was a highly emotional time, my second pregnancy went very well-nothing went wrong this time, praise be to God! When I reached about 8 months, I knew we were in the home stretch, and I was finally able to relax and enjoy it.
On November 13, 1998, some of my lady friends from our church threw me a baby shower and luncheon. It was about five weeks before my due date. I had a great time, and was enjoying the party thoroughly. I noticed a few contractions, but assumed they were just more Braxton-Hicks contractions, a normal part of pregnancy, especially near term. Later that afternoon, however, the contractions became stronger and closer together…. Eric Truman Howard was born at 9:26 pm, weighing in at a healthy 5 pounds even, and measuring 18 ˝ inches long. He was a beautiful healthy baby, and though he arrived just a little early, he did not need any special care.
We thank the Lord daily for our beautiful healthy son Eric, but we have a special place in our hearts for our first-born Ezra John. From time to time, and especially on anniversary dates, I get out Ezra’s Memory Box, and spend time looking through his things and remembering him. I also write more cards to him, telling him about his new siblings, and how things are going with his family. We plan to tell each of his siblings all about their special older brother Ezra, as soon as they are old enough to understand.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28 (NIV)
We miss Ezra dearly, but we know he is in Heaven with Jesus, where there is no more death, sorrow, crying, or pain. And we hold fast to the hope that we shall see him again one day, when we get there too.
Miscarried sibling
Miscarried sibling
Stillborn brother
Miscarried sibling
