I Need Your Prayers Now...

After getting over the initial shock of being pregnant at age 43… and then getting to what we thought was a safe zone before telling most of our friends… we’ve suffered quite the set back. On Saturday, May 30th, I was admitted to the hospital (St. Luke’s downtown Boise) with some pretty major complications. In my layman’s interpretation… it seems my placenta has ripped from the left wall and my amniotic fluid is down to just ten percent of where it should be. The good news is I’ve made it a few days without any more major setbacks. We’ve had a few blips but that is to be expected. As of today I’m 25 weeks. I’m hopeful (with moments of utter despair), but overall, hanging in there. When we came in Friday, the doctors/perinatologist/neo-natologist all told us we were looking at a 40 percent survival rate (that’s not including health issues). But every day the percentages go up. If I can make it two more weeks (which is what would probably be considered my best case scenario), the chances go up to 80 to 90 percent survival.

I’m flat on my back with the big excitement for me being the periodic chances I get up to go to the bathroom. My bishop from church came by and talked with me and gave both Byron and I blessings—and it has made all of the difference. Much of my fear has melted away. Oh, I’m still an emotional wreck but its all relative.

So now we are in the midst of a dance—hoping to keep this little boy inside me to let him grow for as long as possible—but knowing the time is limited. As he grows, my failing placenta will not be enough to support him. As I said, the doctor figures I have 2 weeks if all goes perfectly. Just so you know, I’m planning on three and then going from there. I’m counting on some miracles here.