Our Story

Jackson Samuel was born by C-section at 32 weeks 5 days with Transposition of the Great Arteries and severe Fetomaternal Hemorrhage. He was life flighted to St Louis Children's Hospital, where he is currently being stabilized in anticipation of open heart surgery. Jackson's life is a miracle, and we are indebted to his Creator for every minute with our precious son. Here's our story...

Tuesday, September 2nd, began like any other day. I had a scheduled routine OB appointment that morning, and decided to take our kids along with me. For about a week and a half prior to my appointment I had noticed a significant decline in Jackson's movement. I had been very active during that period so I thought maybe I had just been too busy to notice him moving. Plus, babies at 32 weeks are starting to get very cramped in their living quarters. Furthermore, though he was moving less, he was still moving. These three things combined led me to conclude that surely he was just fine, but just to be safe I would mention it to my doctor. After my very brief description of what the last week and a half had been like I was hooked up to the non stress test machine to track the baby's heart rate. My kids were still there and somehow we survived almost an hour of me laying in a recliner and them playing Minion Rush on my phone. All of my pregnancies have been normal. I fully expected the nurse practitioner to return, read the strip, and send me home. Instead she sent me to the hospital. She said she wasn't seeing accelerations in the baby's heart rate and wanted to make sure everything was okay. Once at the hospital I was hooked up again and informed that they would track the heart rate for a couple hours and hopefully I could go home after this. After a couple of hours they returned to tell me I would be able to go soon--only to leave and come back in a while later saying that No, the doctor wanted me to stay a while longer just to make sure everything was okay. A while longer turned into overnight. Not only were they not seeing accelerations, but instead they were seeing intermittent decelerations for no apparent reason.

Wednesday, September 3rd, did not begin like any other day. I was in the hospital while my sweet little Bethan began her fourth birthday without me. The presents were hidden, unwrapped, in our room; the cake wasn't ordered; the house wasn't decorated. That was all I could think about that morning. That and the fact I had a very strong and steadily growing instinct that something was wrong with our baby. Every time he moved his heart rate fell. The doctor had decided to seek a second opinion from a doctor in Columbia, MO, and said if that doctor was concerned I would be sent on to Columbia. This took a while, but by Wednesday afternoon I was on my way to Columbia via ambulance.
After arriving in Columbia I was very quickly whisked away to ultrasound, as the ultrasound main staff were getting ready to leave for the day. Another hard bed, another glob of goop, another ultrasound. But within five minutes of beginning the test, the tech asked to be excused. She said she needed the doctor to help her get a clearer picture of the baby's heart. In he came, looking just like Santa Claus except shorter, and started looking at the baby's heart. After a few minutes he stopped, turned slowly to us, and very slowly and awkwardly informed us that there was a major problem. The heart didn't form correctly, something about how it was supposed to twist at the top while forming but it didn't, surgery will be required, and holding my hand saying, "Rachel, I'm sorry." This is the point where everything became surreal. Surely I wasn't really in Columbia. Surely he wasn't talking about my baby. Surely it was just a surgery and then he would be fine. Yes, surgery is awful, but surely that was all. A very kind cardiologist with a gentle and compassionate voice sat and explained to us that Jackson had Transposition of the Great Arteries, told us a bit about the surgery, and reassured us the surgery had an almost 100% success rate. We were then whisked back up to our room and I was again hooked up to those awful monitors. Another doctor, Dr. B, came in, stating he was taking over for the previous doctor overnight. He said the heart rate strips were worrisome, but a baby with his condition would not be able to survive outside the womb. Therefore delivery was not an option. He said if Jackson's heart rate fell and stayed low, it would be just as great a risk to intervene as it would be to leave him alone. We would have to wait till he was closer to full term and then deliver. He said we would continue to watch the strips for the night and decide if it might be best to just send me home in the morning. I felt incapable of digesting any information he gave me. What was he saying? I really couldn't tell. Was he saying that even if it looked as though our baby were dying in utero there was nothing he would be able to do about it? If we were to go home, how would we ever have a moment's peace with always wondering if he were alive or not? Shortly after this his heart began to decelerate again. Starting at 150's or 160's, then 130, 112, 109, 89. The nurse asked me to roll onto my left side. Slowly it started to climb back up. The nurse nervously left the room. We were in turmoil by this point and not at all okay with how things were going. By God's grace we didn't have to wait and wonder for long. Jackson's rate continued to fall frequently, and Dr. B (and his very kind resident, Dr. W reappeared in our room. He told us he had been researching TGA for the past hour and a half and wondered if Jackson might actually be large enough according to weight to tolerate the necessary heart surgery following birth. He began communicating with St. Louis about life flighting me to St Louis Barnes Jewish for delivery, with Jackson to be transferred immediately on birth to St. Louis Children's Hospital. Dr. W came back in and did another ultrasound, especially looking for fetal movement. Jackson barely moved, and when he did his heart rate would fall. Dr. B re-entered the room, and said plans had changed. St. Louis was not willing to accept me as a transfer. They said the baby's condition was too poor and they didn't feel he would survive the flight. They immediately began preparing us for a C-Section and said they would begin as soon as the Air Evac from STL had touched down at their facility. Very shortly after this I was sitting with my legs dangling off the side of an operating table, waiting for my spinal anesthetic. The room felt cold and harsh. I didn't like the voice of the CRNA- she didn't sound like she knew what she was doing. I knew my monitors weren't watching his heart rate anymore. Had he already died? All I could do was cry out to God for help. When I was laying on the table of the first ultrasound, out of the clear blue, all of a sudden I found myself listening mentally to the words to Rich Mullins' song Hold Me Jesus. I hadn't heard that song in years.

"Hold me Jesus,
'cause I'm shaking like a leaf.
You have been King of my glory.
Would you be my Prince of Peace?" 

And now in the operating room (or was it first in our hospital room?) these words,

"Even when my heart is breaking
He, my comfort, helps my soul
Hallelujah what a Savior,
Hallelujah what a Friend." 

O God, help me. Help me if I lose my child. Help me as I realize one of my most horrific fears. Hold me. I'm shaking like a leaf. And, if it would please You, don't let my child die.
After what felt like an eternity, I heard a nurse announce a time, "0023". Mason was by my head, leaning his head against mine. I could feel his love and could feel his heart shaking as well. I turned as much as I could and asked him, "Is he out?" "I don't know." Then I heard a nurse say in a very sing-song and not convincing voice, "He's a cutie! Happy birthday, Jackson." and he and the nurse were gone. They had told us Mason could go with him, so why weren't they taking him? Was he already dead? But no, a few minutes later someone asked if Mason wanted to go in with Jackson. He asked me what I wanted and I told him to go. I thought with Charlie's restitching after C-section that it felt like an eternity before they were done. This felt like three. I couldn't think and didn't try to. I counted to 60 and started over and over again. Finally they were done. I was wheeled to recovery. I'm pretty sure Dr. Barrier came in while I was in recovery and told me they were still working to stabilize Jackson. He said he suspected I had had a fetal maternal hemorrhage. Shortly after this the lab tech came in and said he was drawing a lab to test for fetal maternal hemorrhage. At around 2:30 or 3 am I was in a new hospital room. The nurse was petite and blonde and seemed sweet but in control. She asked if I had gotten to see Jackson. When I said no she acted shocked and said, "She needs to see her baby before he leaves." I told her it was okay, but she insisted and before long I was being wheeled back out into the hallway. Those precious nurses stood with me in the hallway for probably 1-2 hours. The team was still working to stabilize and they wanted me to be there when he was wheeled out for transport. At first I couldn't see anything, but then someone stepped aside and I saw a little tiny, precious baby lying in a baby warmer. Mason came and showed me a close up picture of him. He was so, so cute. Mason later told me we almost lost him in that room. They had to use CPR to bring him back.
I got back to my hospital room around 4 am. Mason came in a bit later. We tried to sleep, but I couldn't stop thinking about that little boy. Our baby. I kept checking my phone to see if they had tried to call a report like they told us they would. Nothing. Around 6:15 I decided to call them. The doctor on the other end had an accent and gave a vague report. About an hour later, they called us. It was a different doctor this time. She wasn't foreign and what she had to say was very clear- she told Mason if he wanted to see our baby then he needed to come now. I think this was the first time either of us really cried. Sobs and sobs and sobs. How was it possible to love him so much? How was it possible to hurt so badly? Mason grabbed all his things, prayed with me, kissed me, and was gone. I called a few people through sobs, then turned to my only true Refuge. I read devotional after devotional. Every single one pointed me towards two things--God's power and God's willingness to hear our desperate cries. O Lord, could I ask You to heal him? I know You are able. Lord, I am looking to You in faith to miraculously preserve our child. And even if You don't...You are good.
The reports through the day were conflicting. "He's doing a little better." "They think he may be brain dead." "I don't think he's going to make it." "He's so cute, mom." "The team kept him alive using CPR for most of the flight." I don't know how I would have survived without my parents, sister, brother, and sister-in-law visiting. Even our dear cousins from Sedalia visited. They were so genuine in their love. I could feel that they were hurting with us.
By that evening my heart would drop into my stomach every time the door of my hospital room opened. I thought every doctor I saw was coming to tell me Jackson had died. But they never came. One time I thought I felt the baby move, and then remembered I wasn't pregnant any more.
Around 7pm Dr. W came in and found me crying. She sat down on the edge of my bed, held my hand, cried, and told me she wanted to let me go early so I could go see Jackson. "I can't imagine how I would feel if it were my baby and I were here." My sweet petite nurse was back and cried with me as well, then got my discharge things together quicker than any nurse I've ever seen. Sweet Lydia drove me to St. Louis. I slept almost the whole way. Finally.
By 24 hours after his birth, I was standing at Jackson's bedside. I felt stunned by how perfect he was. I've seen preemies before with monstrous heads and translucent skin. They're still babies so they're still cute, but he was just so...perfect. It had been almost two full days since his story began, but for me this was the beginning. Jackson Samuel Vann was our son. Our fragile, barely alive, perfect son. Every time I saw him I thought of this verse, "I will not die, but live and declare the works of the Lord." Psalm 118:17
O God, would You?

Thursday, September 4 we met with an entire team of physicians. I felt so blessed that Mason's parents, my parents, and my sister Lydia could all be there with us for this meeting. The doctor's reports were grim. Probable severe brain damage, kidney damage, liver damage. Definitely way too sick for surgery. If he could make it through 48 hours without seizures it would be a good sign. If his creatinine levels started tracking back down it would be a good sign. If his blood pressure would stay up it would be a good sign. If his lactate levels came down it would be a good sign. And one doctor who stopped, looked at me, and said, "I hope you know this is not your fault." Then more sobs. God was so near. I could feel His peace. I could feel Him holding me. I've never felt so weak in my life.
Mason and I exchanged encouragements we had received either from God or from those around us. "I was thinking about how God knows what it feels like to lose a son," I told him.

Friday, September 5 in the afternoon Mason drove home to Kirksville to collect some of our things. I went to the motel and took a shower. I thought it would help but all I could do was cry.
That night we decided to stay the night in the motel to attempt a better night's rest. Mason called me as he was driving home. It was such an awful conversation but so wonderful. Our hearts were one in everything we spoke of. He told me about rivers of tears upon going back into our home, then about how he realized he couldn't close himself off to the hurt. That if he did he would miss out on his son's life. I told him how I walked around and around Target trying to keep from buying the things I would need for nursing if the baby lived. I couldn't hardly bear to pick them up. What if he died? I didn't want things around to remind. I didn't want anything around to remind me. How would I bear the hurt? How could I with all these associations? But then the Lord came and showed us (separately! but the same thing!) that those thoughts were a snare and falsehood. Even if our worst fears came true, we realized we wouldn't want to forget. 
These days and moments are a gift from God. His life, each breath, is a celebration of God's grace and love. Praise the Lord for His truth that turns our thinking upside down and gives us the keys of hope and peace. "God is our refuge and strength, an ever present help in trouble." Psalm 46:1 

"Even when my heart is breaking He, my comfort, helps my soul."