Plans may Fail, but God doesn't

I have decided to not go in to much depth about the passing of Sadler, but I do want to write about it. Writing is very healing for me.

The following blog speaks of infant death, please only read at your discretion.

Sadler's tiny body reacted negatively to the surfactant that was administered to him to help with the maturity of his lungs. His vitals were stable, until he was given the first dose of those steroids.

The first call to come down to the NICU was terrifying. What's even more terrifying is walking in to the nursing staff and the neonatologist reviving your child. Chest compressions and intubation. Stats dropping to a low, low. Loud noises from machines going off. Sitting there, unable to do anything as your child lays there helpless and lifeless.

The hospital chaplain approaches and asks if we would like to pray, and of course being a family of faith we do. We cry, and we pray. We pray, and we cry. I text my best friend, Shannon, and asked that she please pray for Sadler. 

Our boy was sick from the beginning. His lungs were very immature, his heart was tiny and weak, and his blood pressure remained low almost at all times.

He was stabilized, and an echo cardiogram was performed to check on both his heart and his lungs.

We thought we were in the clear, so we went back up to our room, and got in touch with some family who wanted to meet our handsome little miracle.

I had planned on being there until Monday. That was the plan, had Sadler remained stable after his birth. I wanted to remain in the hospital with his for as long as I could.

A few hours later, maybe 2, we were called to rush back down. I knew he was leaving us, but no way could I have ever prepared for that. His doctor approached us, and explained she has done all that she could have possibly done, and she thought it best we hold our son. 

The first time we held him, he was dying. 

Nothing but his intubation was keeping him barely holding on. Just enough oxygen to barely keep his tiny heart beating. I held him, kissed him, whispered “I’m sorry, I love you, it’s ok, you can go”, and then chad took his turn. 

We wept together like we never have before, and a few moments later, we were ready to let him be with Jesus. At 11:30am, on February 17, 2018 our son took his last little breath, ultimately passing away from pulmonary hemorrhaging. 

While the remainder of his wires were removed, we were wheeled down the hall to a private room where we awaited being reunited with our tiny, lifeless baby boy. Immediate family as well as our preacher and my best friend were called, and came to visit and hold our sweet baby boy. We took the only photos we have with our baby, and shortly after we said our final goodbyes before handing him over to the NICU staff. 

After his passing, I was ready to leave. My son was downstairs in the hospital morgue, instead of being cared for by NICU staff, and it was haunting me.

I remember the staff coming in from vital records AFTER we came back upstairs from saying goodbye to our son. "Although he has passed, we still have to fill out the paperwork for a birth certificate". It hurt, and hit like a ton of bricks.

NICU staff came up and brought us all of Sadler's things from the NICU in a bag. His blood pressure cuff, pieces of his hair, his hand and feet prints, his small crocheted outfit, and a small bracelet with his name on it..just to name a few things.

On the day of our discharge, we had some of the best staff. One of my favorite nurses was my lead nurse, and she reassured me that I would be ok. It would be a long road, but we would be happy again. She shared with us the story of her son who she lost, and we hugged. 

Chad and I had began packing things the night before I was to be discharged, but I still had so much left. This had been my home for 5 weeks, and I had absolutely made myself at home. 

The beautiful roses that chad had brought me 2 days prior for Valentines Day were left at the nurses station for all the nurses who had cared for me. 

I had a bag full of preemie things that I pulled up the courage to stop and drop off at the NICU nurses station. I left that floor feeling like I could barely breathe. I would have given anything to have my son in there, and leave knowing I would be able to come and see him anytime I chose. 

Chad slowly helped me climb into the truck, and loaded the last bit of things into the truck while I sat and cried. 

Halfway down the road, Chad told me how he had dreamt of Sadler the night before, and we looked at one another and just cried. The hospital called me when we had made it about 10 mins away. Some of the staff had gotten molds of Sadler’s feet, and had just missed us to get them to us. We turned around, and my stomach dropped as we pulled back up to the hospital. It’s so hard. Leaving, knowing that your child is down in the morgue and not in the hands of doctors being the warrior that they fought to be their whole lives in utero. 

I can’t explain what it is like to lose a child. I never thought I would be in these shoes.

I’ve never been through so much pain in my whole entire life. 

If I didn’t have our Heavenly Father to lean to, and my husband as a backbone, I’m not sure this is something I would have been able to recover from in such a healthy way. 

I want to thank everyone who has called, text, or messaged us. Thank you to everyone who has come by, and thank you to those of you who have stuck by our sides through this. 

One of my closest friendships was shattered through all of this, and it seems as though it was for the best. We never really know the value of a true friendship until it has been tested.
Chad and I have been blessed with amazing friends and family. We literally can not thank everyone enough for all that has been done for us since our son passed away.
Please....continue to speak his name to us.

To talk to us about him.