Save my wife or save the babySave my wife or save the baby? Or perhaps even more brutal, kill the baby or kill my wife? It’s a painful, agonizing position I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. But it’s where my wife and I have lived over the last week. It’s a dilemma reserved mostly for ethics classes and debate teams. Pro-life, pro-choice, pro-baby, pro-wife? What does it all mean, and what is the right thing to do? It’s easy to talk about in an ethics class, or at a Bible study. But when you sit staring at your wife, trying to decide whether or not to terminate a pregnancy to save her life, everything becomes very complicated. Monday morning my wife and I drove anxiously down to the St. Vincent’s Women’s Hospital in Indianapolis. We had an idea of what we were facing. Over the last week we had tried to come to grips with the reality that this little five month old baby that she was carrying had some heart complications. Our OBGYN ultrasound technician had been unable to locate all four of the heart chambers. Heart surgery in the womb, open heart surgery immediate after the baby was born, weeks of Intensive Care Unit agony at Riley Children’s Hospital? The list of painful possibilities seemed endless. We had prayed hard through the last week leading up to this visit, and we knew our God was more than able to do anything. So even through our anxiety (which we were trying anxiously to “cast” upon the Lord) we continued to ask that He would restore this baby to full health. Watching the technician operate the ultrasound is always a little puzzling. They point to blobs and squiggly lines that represent vital organs and tissue, and you smile and nod pretending to see what they are seeing. Eventually we reached the baby. The technician walked us through an overview of the little guys body. And to me, the highly trained pastor, everything looked good. In fact, when we reached the heart the technician pointed out all four heart chambers! I breathed a soft sigh of relief and quietly thanked God for His divine intervention. My wife, as anyone can tell you, can often be more perceptive than I am. Her face showed no sign of relief, and as the technician left she quietly commented, “Ultrasound technicians are so good at hiding what they really see.” I gulped. There was obviously more going on than I realized. The doctor came in and my wife and I eagerly greeted him. We quickly asked if we could be sure and find out the gender of the baby before we left the office, and although at the time it was hard to swallow, he gently responded with, “I’m actually a little more concerned about the baby’s heart failure.” Okay; I wasn’t prepared for that! Heart failure? The doctor patiently walked us through the reality that this little baby had experienced some heart failure, and there were some serious developmental issues with internal organs and tissue. He patiently walked through the ultrasound images and pointed out fluid around the lungs, the heart, the brain, in between the skin and muscles, pretty much everywhere. My wife and I sat in stunned silence. Heart problems, maybe some surgery, we were prepared to hear that. This new development was more than we had anticipated. After much discussion on what had caused this development and what possible options were available, we asked the hard question, “Is this baby going to live?” The doctor tried to be as honest and as hopeful as possible, having delivered his own son at 26 weeks, “Two to three weeks is probably as long as this baby can make it.” Wow. The baby was dying, and the reality was that we were totally helpless to do anything to stop it. Everything kind of blurred from there. He spoke about chromosome and genetic disorders, molar and partial molar pregnancies. I was trying to keep up and make sense of it all, but what he said next stopped me in my tracks. “If it was my wife, and she was facing these risks, I’d want to deliver this baby right away.” “Risks?” I immediately thought to myself, “what risks? What did I miss?” The doctor went on to describe several hypothetical scenarios that might occur. He even offered to go before the ethics committee for St. Vincent’s Hospital to get clearance to terminate the pregnancy. Our heads were spinning, and we spent several minutes trying to make sense of what all this meant. The baby was dying and now Jaime might be dying too? God what am I supposed to do with this? I was not prepared for this reality. We decided to confer with our regular OBGYN doctor before plotting a course of action. And honestly, we needed some time to pray and think. We spent the drive home in stunned silence. We were both floored. On our way back to Noblesville we called our doctor and she made room for us in her schedule for a 4:30pm meeting. With nothing to do but wait and pray, we headed home. While waiting in the OBGYN offices to meet with our doctor, we were handed a pamphlet on preeclampsia and high blood pressure. Looking for clarity everywhere we could we started to look over the brochure. My wife and I grew pale as our eyes scrolled down the pages. Bullet point one: Constant Headaches. Jaime had been enduring constant headaches for weeks, intensifying in the last 7 days. Bullet point two: Abdominal Pain on Right Side. Jaime had called me while I was in Houston the week before, and mentioned she was unable to sleep unless she laid on her left side. Her right side, for some reason, had begun experiencing intense pain. (A test later that night confirmed an elevation in Jaime’s liver enzymes.) Bullet point three: Vision Problems. A couple weeks ago Jaime had started seeing spots in her vision, but didn’t think much of it at the time. Bullet point four: Protein in Your Urine. Jaime hadn’t been producing much urine the last few days, and when she did it was much darker than usual. (A test that afternoon confirmed a high protein level in her urine.). Bullet point five: Edema/Swelling/Rapid Weight Gain. We hadn’t noticed much of that, but later that night when Jaime took off her shoes and socks her feet and legs were extremely swollen. As we waited for our doctor, our eyes reluctantly moved to the “Dangers of Preeclampsia.” We read in shock as we listed off kidney failure, seizures, stroke, other organ damage (including heart failure). I tried to swallow but I couldn’t. This was an unimaginable nightmare. There was no way this could be real. No way this could be happening to us. These pamphlets are for those rare extreme cases that only happen in third world countries with limited medical treatment. These are things that Hollywood producers make up to scare audiences and entice interest in their afternoon soap operas. I couldn’t even speak. We reached for the High Blood Pressure During Pregnancy pamphlet. The risks associated with high blood pressure were almost identical: stroke, seizures, heart damage, major organ damage, eye damage and even brain damage. Jaime had always been below average in her blood pressure, but sure enough the nurse’s numbers that evening showed her lower number (diastolic) at 110. For Jaime that was really high! We sat in stunned silence (we’d been doing that a lot this day). I know I was praying. It was a really profound and deep prayer. It went something like this, “Oh God, what do we do?” That was pretty much all I could muster. Our OBGYN doctor finished up with her other patients, and sat down with us. We talked through the whole scenario. She helped us make sense of what we were really facing. The general consensus between the two doctors was that we had a triploidy baby that caused a molar pregnancy that caused preeclampsia (chromosome testing will determine definitively). After much debate and questioning, we prayed with our doctor and plotted an action plan. We would await the liver test results, which would be back in about 12 hours, return home for the night, and pray a lot. Driving out of the parking lot was one of the scariest times of my life. I tried to mask my fear to be strong and encouraging to my wife, but as we drove away I felt sick to my stomach. “God, help us make it through this night.” I silently prayed as I drove. We spent the evening praying and sitting together as a family. My four (and a half) year old son was underfoot, eager to play and have fun, while my wife and I both fought through all the fear and worry that bombarded our spirits. Later that night, my extended family came and prayed over my wife, and emotionally spent we eventually went to bed. To say I slept well would be a lie. My mind raced back and forth; playing through countless scenarios. How to tell Josiah his mommy wasn’t coming back from the hospital, how to stare down a doctor terminating the life of our pre-mature child as it emerged from the womb, was this the last time I’d be able to roll over and hold my wife in bed, could I ever sleep again with the knowledge that I’d decided to kill our little baby. “God, what should I do? Josiah needs his mom…You know I need his mom.” I prayed.. Somewhere along the line I quit praying pointlessly and started to ask specifically that God would take our dying little baby to heaven. I prayed that God would take this little guy who had little to no chance of every surviving outside his mother’s womb and bring him into eternal peace and rest. I must have prayed myself to sleep, clinging to the hope that He would carry us through. I awoke the next morning, leaning quickly over to see if my wife was still with me. She awoke and smiled (okay, it might have been a frown, but anything felt like a smile at that point). In my spirit I knew what we had to do. I knew that today something had to be done. I felt like we were working with hours, not days. Our doctor scheduled us to come in during the lunch break. There were no openings all morning. Irritated, I pressed for something sooner and they promised to call if there were any cancellations, but were booked solid until noon. Feeling unsatisfied I contacted the St. Vincent’s Women’s Hospital, and was thrilled to find out that the doctor we had seen the previous day had already met with the St. Vincent’s Ethics Committee. We gave him some up to date information, and he said he’s contact the Head of the Ethics Committee and get right back to us. He called within twenty minutes with approval to terminate the pregnancy and go ahead with the delivery, because of the great risk to the mother. They were at our disposal any time we were ready. I breathed the first sigh of relief in the last twenty-four hours. We had an option that would save Jaime’s life, but it would require ending the baby’s. Could I live with that? Jaime and I talked, and talked, and talked, and talked. We analyzed. We analyzed.
Then we overanalyzed. One thing we both were certain of; we needed to resolve
this dangerous situation today. We could not let this go any longer. We needed
God to deliver. And we needed Him to deliver now. Within in moments the nurse popped her head in and led us to the ultrasound room. We waited eagerly for our doctor. When she arrived she said, “Let’s see if God has taken this decision out of our hands.” She flipped on the monitor and busily went to work. We all stared intently at the screen. Slowly the image of the baby appeared. He had nestled soflty down on his mommy’s plecenta and died. There was no heartbeat. Only moments earlier, when we were sitting alone in the room Jaime had felt him move. Jaime had been resting her hand on top of her tummy. And no one will ever convince me of anything but this: that little guy slowly made his way up to his mommy’s hand, reached out and touched her to say good-by, and went to be with Jesus. It was very bittersweet. We all felt a collective sigh of relief, and yet knew we were staring at a little baby that we would never meet, never tickle, never hug. Jaime said it best, “Well, this is what we were praying for. That Jesus would take that little guy home.” It feels wrong to move quickly ahead with the story. It feels like somehow, little David Cheer Waite (he can thank his brother later for the name) is discarded or unimportant. But we weren’t out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. My attention moved now to my wife. I immediately said to our doctor, “Okay, what do we do now?” She gave us an option for a DNC, which would be a shorter recovery time, but would require about twenty-four hours for Jaime to dilate enough to have the procedure. The other option was a C-section. I looked at my wife. I knew what I wanted to do, but I didn’t want her to feel pushed or pressured by me. She told the doctor that even though it would be a harder recovery, she’d prefer to have this taken care of today. “Okay,” our doctor said. We followed our doctor to her nurse’s station and began to go over paperwork. She ordered the surgery and began to walk us through the pre-op disclaimers and consent forms. During the process she said that we needed to get a chest x-ray done right away prior to surgery because of possible metastasizing of cells in Jaime’s body. My ears perked up and I asked for clarification. She told us that in this instance there was a possibility that because of the triploidy baby, rapidly growing cells could metastasize in Jaime’s lungs and brain; essentially becoming a cancer. If Jaime had already contracted cancer from this difficult pregnancy she would have to undergo chemotherapy immediately following surgery. WHOA! My wife might have brain and lung cancer? Are you kidding me? Chemotherapy! There is no way to describe, unless you’ve lived it, the feeling that washes over you when your doctor tells you that its possible your wife could develop brain cancer. (she quickly clarified that this type of cancer has proven 100% treatable by radiation). So there we sat, hours ago we had a baby with a little heart problem and now the baby is dead and my wife is in danger of stoke, seizures, kidney failure, liver failure, heart failure and brain or lung cancer! This was becoming an unbelievable nightmare. My wife and I gulped down the scary news and headed toward the hospital. (We also made a few strategic phone calls to update the prayer chains and get people to help pray us through the next hurdle) My wife and I signed in at the radiation department of the hospital and took a seat next to the 42-inch LCD television on the wall. It was some random daytime soap opera and as we were sitting down we overheard one of the actors who was portraying a doctor say to another actor, “The baby’s in danger, we might loose it. But, that’s not the worst of it. It looks like we’re losing the mom.” My wife and I looked at each other and laughed. It was almost becoming hilarious how crazy things were becoming. I got up and changed the channel, but the irony and insanity still lingered. “This is crazy,” Jaime simply said. After getting our x-rays, we walked down to the surgery center to await admittance. We were a couple hours early, but we had no where to go and just sitting down helped make the world stop spinning. We prayed to ourselves. We prayed out loud. We thanked God for taking the baby and getting us this far, and we asked Him to please be merciful just a little while longer. Brain cancer, kidney failure, seizures, heart failure; the words kept pounding in my head. I pushed them aside, only to be bombarded again and again. “God, please carry us through this.” Those next few hours seemed to go by quickly. I just sat holding my wife in the waiting room, hoping and believing (or at least trying with all my heart to believe) that it wouldn’t be the last time I held her. Eventually they brought us back to a pre-op room. This was it. This was real. “God please show up.” The nurse we were assigned was more than sensitive. She was a red-headed woman with an 0-negative blood type who had a C-section delivery. Perfect. This was my wife’s first surgery, and for an anxious red-headed, 0-negative woman about to undergo a C-section God saw to it that we had a veteran to coach her through. Not long into our conversation another familiar face, a daughter of one of the ladies from our church, stepped into the room. She had scrubbed in to be our nurse in surgery. Soon word trickled down that one of my wife’s best friend’s mother had rearranged her schedule to be the nurse overseeing Jaime through her first night at the hospital. It was beginning to appear like God was setting the table for us. With each new and encouraging development we quietly gave thanks to the Lord for His mercy. Our spirits were particularly overjoyed when we heard that the x-ray had come back negative, no lung cancer. That was a huge hurdle overcome. “Thanks God.” Soon family members (both physical and spiritual) started to arrive. We prayed together over Jaime and entrusted her to God’s mighty hand. My wife was courageous. I knew the fear that was bombarding her, but she stood her ground and hung on to her faith that her God was mighty to save. My wife’s parents had been in Tennessee for the weekend and actually made it to the pre-op room just as we were preparing to wheel Jaime out for surgery. We all kissed her and watched her head down the hallway. “Okay God, she’s in your hands now.” Out in the waiting room family and friends sat visiting. Anxiously passing the time. No one seemed too worried or concerned. We were all too shocked or too lost in disbelief that things were really happening. The whole event was so surreal. I was thankful for the conversation. Anything to keep my mind from wandering. I’m not sure I made complete sentences. I was praying in my mind as I carried on conversation. The surgery had begun at 5:15 pm and around 6:30 pm a nurse emerged and summoned me back. She said the surgery had gone well, and they had set up a special room for me to hold the little baby. I stepped into the room and waited. A kind nurse came through the door holding a small knitted cloth wrapped around a tiny little body. She smiled and gently held the small baby out to me. I took the tiny bundle in my hands and looked at the little figure before me. He had fluid between his skin and tissue so his body was blood red, but there was no mistaking him. Though small and imperfect, this was a little life. He had all ten fingers and all ten toes. His little nose, with its perfect little nostrils was white, as were his little lips which were perched open ever so slightly. His hand was pressed against the side of his face, almost like he had rolled over on his hand to drift off to sleep. The grandparents came in and had a chance to see the little guy. (all but Jaime’s dad, who had a chance to see the little guy later that evening. He was busy dutifully keeping the other 4 ½ year old grandkid out of trouble). Our doctor came through the door, and I quickly asked about Jaime. She told
me Jaime had done wonderful. Everything looked great. While she was opened
up the doctor had checked the live and other organs for any signs of metastasizing
and everything looked great. She told me she checked everything and Jaime was
in beautiful shape. Trying to fight back tears I handed the little baby to
one of the grandmothers and stood up, embraced my wife’s little OBGYN
doctor and cried. We stood there for several minutes just crying. What a day.
What a nightmare. And it looked like it was finally over. God, the great deliverer
of His people, had shone Himself mighty. We were eventually taken up to her hospital room where she would be spending the next few days. Her face was so alive. I had been married to a dying women for weeks, and we never knew it. We just thought it was a hard pregnancy. She smiled when she spoke, and even though the drugs might have helped, she was almost giddy. Actually we were both giddy. That night Jaime was able to hold the baby. Josiah had long been pushing for “David” if it was a boy. The whole David and Goliath thing ranks pretty high in his book, so we went with it. His last idea for a girl name was “Cheer.” We thought it was kind of fun, so we went with that too. So that night we had a brief prayer of dedication for David Cheer Waite. Long after everyone left for the night we just kept looking at each other a breaking into this goofy grin. We had walked through a lot in the last two days. God had seen us through. It was all so unbelievable. But here we were; together. And both of us knew how much of a gift it was. I spent the night on the couch in her room. She wouldn’t let me leave and I wouldn’t have left if she’d tried to make me. I drifted off to sleep thanking God over and over for His mercy and grace. I didn’t deserve to still have my wife. But He saw fit to protect her and allow me to still have her. I have never know gratefulness like the gratefulness I knew that night. “Something’s not quite right.” I thought that’s what I heard. Looking at the clock it was around 4:00 am. The nurse, our good friend’s mom, was leaning over the urine collection bag and speaking calmly, but seriously, about the significant lack of urine. Jaime was asking questions, I was wiping sleep from my eyes trying to understand. I overheard or assumed (I’m not quite sure) something about kidneys. My eyes shot wide open. Kidney failure was a real danger yesterday. Was it possible we had acted too late? Was it possible Jaime’s kidneys were already too far gone to save? My mind filled with worry. I tried to brush away the thoughts, reminding myself how God had delivered. We tried to just sleep and be patient and see what happened over the next few hours. I told Jaime to just rest. I told her I’d go back to sleep if she would. I laid back down, closed my eyes, but wasn’t about to sleep. “God, show Yourself mighty. Please! Don’t bring her this far only to let her kidneys fail!” I prayed over and over. Eventually I just repeated, “Please, please, please, please, please…” The morning wore on. Two blood tests and two hours later had yielded a couple doctor’s visits, a few different speculations, but very little fluid from my wife’s body. They began double-timing the IVs in her arms. They added protein to the mixture to try to hydrate her body. One thing was becoming clear. The kidneys were not functioning. Would this nightmare ever end? Last night I went to bed the happiest, most thankful man alive, and now I’m looking at losing my wife all over again. Dialysis machines, kidney transplants, death, the fears mounted and my heart began to sink. “God, please.” As the morning turned to afternoon, Jaime began to produce more urine. Each hour they continued to check her production level. More blood tests followed. More doctors popped in to give their opinions. Someone mentioned elevated potassium in her blood level. On nurse mentioned Jaime’s falling blood count. We received word that a kidney specialist would be in around 6:00 pm. We waited. We prayed. The specialist arrived and asked a variety of questions. She analyzed the
data from the nurse’s station. We were desperate for answers. In the
process of conversation she noticed Jaime’s Bible by her bedside. “Oh,
I like your Bible,” said the specialist, “If you’ve got that
then you’re going to be in good shape.” Something about that statement
put us both at ease. She explained that her assessment was that Jaime’s
body was in severe dehydration, due largely to two weeks of intense vomiting
and inability to hold down much food. That reality coupled with a full day
of no food or water (requirements for surgery) had left Jaime’s kidneys
dried out. She told us it was likely that time and liquids would reinvigorate
the kidneys. That was the first optimistic news we’d heard all day. And
we clung to it…at least for a couple of seconds until she said that
the other concern was Jaime’s blood count. 13 was what the specialist
preferred to see. 10 was acceptable. But Jaime’s blood count stood at
a 7.2 this morning and had fallen to a 6.7. She was recommending a blood transfusion
in 24 hours. By this time we weren’t entirely surprised to see this roller
coaster of agony take yet another turn. But man, we were really getting anxious
to get off. Later that night our OBGYN doctor stopped in and reviewed everything with us. She was able to check on Jaime’s previous pregnancy files and discover that Jaime’s blood count had been very low with Josiah, and that if she were able to walk around and function without dizziness or growing faint, we might be able to avoid the blood transfusion. We determined that an evaluation the next morning would determine where we would go with things. Sleep came easily that night. The roller coaster had at least slowed down for the evening and I was anxious for the break. Our doctor arrived mid-moring the next day (on her day off no less) and said the early morning blood test had shown a steady blood count and the potassium and sodium levels were back to normal. If Jaime could get around comfortably today, we were out of the woods. Hallelujah! As I sit typing this story, it is currently 12:19 am on Friday morning. We’ve
spent the whole work week battling through this nightmare, later this morning,
we anticipate clearance to take Jaime back home. Our God has not abandoned
us. Quite to the contrary, He has walked with us every step. We weren’t
scheduled to see our OBGYN doctor until next Monday, three days from now. While
I was gone last week she snuck in to hear a heart beat. The baby hadn’t
moved as much, and she was just wanting a little reassurance. That visit proved
to be divinely inspired. Knowing my wife, she would have toughed out the last
few days, chalking them up to life in a difficult pregnancy. Had we not gone
in until next Monday, my wife’s body may have been to far gone to do
anything. Knowing what I know now about preeclampsyia and molar pregnancies,
I am left with no doubt but that God spared her life. Why? Because of His great
mercy I imagine. Definitely not because of anything Jaime or I have done to
deserve it. And I believe in part because of His saints all over this country
who lifted her up in prayer; people in Oregon, Texas, Alabama, Georgia, North
Carolina, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, and many other places I can’t
recall at this late hour. What I do know is this: God hears the prayers of
His people. I will never be able to thank every single person who prayed for
my family. I will never be able to look them in the eye while trying not to
choke up and express to them how much it means to me that they would pound
at the doors of heaven asking God to spare the life of my wife. But if you’re
reading this story and you happen to be one of those people who prayed to the
Lord on our behalf. I just want you to know that because of your prayers this
31 year old pastor still has his dream team ministry partner and closest friend,
and my four (and a half) year old son still has the most incredible mommy this
world has ever seen. And the body of Christ that exists on this earth gets
to hang on for a little while longer to one of the most gracious, compassionate,
sensitive, giving and loving women to ever walk the face of the earth. Thank
you. Addendum for Friday morning: We just met with our OBGYN doctor. Everything looks good, and we are cleared to go home. We are scheduled to meet with her Monday morning for removal of stitches and to check Jaime’s HCG levels. Our doctor told us that she has had patients before who had a high mark in the 600,000 range. That sounded high…until she told us that Jaime’s level before surgery was 1,296,000. As long as Jaime’s HCG level continues to drop, we’re good to go. If the level plateaus or rises, we will have to begin immediate chemotherapy. So, the rollercoaster tries once more That thing just doesn’t want to stop. But hey, our God is far bigger and far stronger than a 1,296,000 HCG level. He’s carried us this far, and I don’t believe He will abandon us now. Thanks for taking the time to read this long story…I’m sure it felt like it would never end (that’s probably a little taste of what it’s really been like these last few days). But God is good. He will bring good from all this. He is faithful and worthy of my trust, even when it feels like the walls are caving in. I’m grateful to my loving Heavenly Father for His grace and His kindness that He didn’t have to show to me…but He did. And I’m grateful to you, my friends, who have carried us with your prayers. Thanks Jesus. Pastor Andy Waite |