Where to begin...
During our ultrasound yesterday morning, we found out that our little flower, Lillian Brooks (baby D), lost her heartbeat. We believe she had passed sometime between Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Lillian had always been the smallest of the four--hence the name Lillian, or Lil'.
There was nothing that could have been done to save her. Even if we'd known her heartbeat was slowing, the doctors would have had to face the impossible decision of taking out all four babies at 24 weeks, 5 days and risking the lives of the three to save Lilly. Instead, Lillian went quietly to heaven. Her brother and sisters stand a better chance of survival now, but we miss her all the same.
Crissie and I continue to hold it together emotionally because we know the other three need us to do so. We know that Lillian's struggles in the womb likely mean there were other issues of concern for her. She's in a better place now. We pray that her spirit will watch over and protect her brother and sisters (and her Mommy and Daddy) as we still have a ways to go.
This morning at 4am, Crissie had a membrane rupture (water broke) and we think it was Lillian's amniotic sac. This is scary because we'd hoped Lillian's sac would have held together a good bit longer, thereby limiting the others' exposure to infections. The good news is that the others' fluid levels seem to be hanging on. As I write this, I am continuing to hear 3 healthy heartbeats on the monitors and one very exhausted mother is sleeping comfortably.
Other news from yesterday's ultrasound: Garrison (Baby A) is a big boy. He's measuring 1 pound 14oz. Elena and Amelia are 1 pound 8 oz and 1 pound 6 oz. The 50th percentile for 25 weeks is roughly 1 pound 8 oz (for what that's worth). So, one of the girls is still a little small, but well within the range of normal. Bad news: Crissie's losing ground in the battle for cervical length. Her cervix has only about 3 mm left. The doctors have started her back on Motrin to help her retain what she has and they are still hopeful that she can hold out for a good while longer.
Speaking of doctors...
Painful news is not an easy thing to report. We appreciated Dr. Veillon's bedside manner in telling us something yesterday that we really didn't want to hear. He was both thoughtful and professional which must be a difficult balance to achieve in tough situations.
A word about Dr. St. Amant. If I was a doctor myself, I'd like to think I would be like Dr. St. Amant (or try at any rate). He's definitely our kind of doctor. He communicates the issues in ways we're comfortable with and he gives us confidence about the scariest scenarios. He speaks to our desire for scientific rationalization and our need for compassionate understanding. These last 36 hours have completely sucked, no question. But, Dr. Veillon and Dr. St. Amant were fighting hard for us and with us--and for that, we are grateful.
I'll try to finish this on an up note (since it's taken all day for me to write this)...
Pray for us, pray for our three little fighters and our little angel in heaven. Twenty-five weeks tomorrow!
We'll miss you Lilly. You, who was closest to your mother's heart, will remain always and forever...
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