lora's story
The Journey for the Blessing of Stacey Marie
by lora hollowayIt was one year ago, it seemed, before one of the saddest days of my life. Let me begin my story. It was a routine to visit my gynecologist. My exam went fine. He gave a good report, said everything was normal, no signs of pregnancy, and he would see me in six months. I was happy to hear that report because I really wanted a baby girl, and I had had a miscarriage the year before.
One week later, I passed what appeared to be a fetus. I screamed because it looked just like the baby books they had given me at the doctors' office, which showed the stages of growth for each of the nine months. All I saw was a glob with green eyes. I called my husband to the bathroom, and I told him, "I think I passed a fetus!" He picked it up off the floor and put it in the toilet. I said," Jimmie! You can't do that!" So, he took it out and put it in a jar.
One week later, I began to bleed just like it was coming from a water faucet. My husband helped wrap me in towels, and he drove me to Elmer's emergency room once again. Upon entering the hospital, I was rushed into the exam room. My gynecologist came after being called. I began to go into labor, but there was no baby. The pains came fast, one to three minutes apart; I was screaming because the pain was so severe. I suppose they took me to the labor and delivery ward, and there, I was told, they had to give me a D&E procedure. Later on, I would find out that this was because the after-birth was still inside of me. At the same time, my doctor put a cerclage in me. He told me that the procedure would help to keep me from aborting another baby.
Months later, in the same year, 1988, I began to feel sick, and I had skipped a menstrual cycle. I made an appointment with a high-risk gynecologist, and after my exam, they told me that I was pregnant. I kept the news quiet for two or more months, just praying and believing God to bring me through as I had just lost a fetus some months ago. |
I went to church service that Sunday, and the pastor called me up. He said to me, "In times past, you thought the Lord didn't desire to give you a baby, but this baby is going to be more than a blessing!" I received that prophecy. Everyone who saw me that day said I was glowing. I was so happy that day. I remember coming home and trying to do everything healthy. I listened to spiritual leaders, prayed daily, ate healthily, and came off my job for a while to be more restful
I was about a week from being six months pregnant. The Saturday after the prophecy from my pastor, my water broke. I was scared. I knew I was in danger with the baby. I called on all the saints that knew the word of prayer to stand in agreement with me that everything would be alright.
My husband rushed me to the hospital emergency ward. They brought me right back to the exam room for treatment. They kept me in the hospital and told me that I would be on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy. It was now Sunday night. I was lying in the bed at the hospital. I would hear the babies crying, and I began to cry, thinking, "would I ever hear my baby?" Monday morning came, and I went into labor. They told me that they had to get the cerclage out of me or else I would rupture and bleed to death. However, Underwood hospital did not have a neonatal ward anywhere in the facility for a premature baby. They told me that I should let the baby die. I was scared, but I was holding onto the word of God and my faith.
My husband rushed me to the hospital emergency ward. They brought me right back to the exam room for treatment. They kept me in the hospital and told me that I would be on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy. It was now Sunday night. I was lying in the bed at the hospital. I would hear the babies crying, and I began to cry, thinking, "would I ever hear my baby?" Monday morning came, and I went into labor. They told me that they had to get the cerclage out of me or else I would rupture and bleed to death. However, Underwood hospital did not have a neonatal ward anywhere in the facility for a premature baby. They told me that I should let the baby die. I was scared, but I was holding onto the word of God and my faith.
Later that Monday, my doctor came into the room and told me that I could sign myself out of Underwood against the hospital's choice of letting the baby die. He said I could go to Cooper hospital, where they have a neonatal center called Cooper NICU which may give your baby a chance at surviving. So, at that point, we tried to get an ambulance to rush us to Cooper hospital as I was in active labor. But, no ambulance would come and take me to the hospital. So we had to wait for my husband to get there. He and my cousin Lynny rushed me to Cooper hospital's emergency ward. The staff brought me right back, as they knew I was coming.
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"I was scared because the same thing had happened to me before. This time, my baby was born three months premature and weighed two pounds and four ounces"
In the exam room, there was a team of male doctors that I had never seen before. They started trying to get the cerclage out of me. It was painful, I was in labor, but they couldn't get it out. A nurse came into the exam room; I told her I had to go to the bathroom. They said I would have to use the bedpan. I tried so hard to use it, but I just could not go. I had a mental block; I was praying, "Lord, please help me to go!" They had told me that if I could not use the bedpan, they would have to catheterize me. I had that done to me before, and I knew how painful it was. I was calling on Jesus to help me. They ended up having to catheterize me. I was in so much pain, and the team of male doctors was still trying to remove the cerclage from me. I don't know whether I passed out or they gave me something to calm me, but I woke up, and I asked, "Is my baby alright? Is the baby born yet!?" They said, "No, you still have to push." Again, I don't know what happened from that point.
When I saw the nurse again, they told me they had to turn their attention off of the baby and onto me because poison was spreading in my body. The baby was born dead. I was devastated, hurt, and angry. Every emotion that you can think of was running through my mind. And, I'm ashamed to say, one was that I hated God. I didn't want anyone to say anything to me about God. I had trusted Him.
Hours after lying in bed, the nurse or someone from the hospital staff came in and asked me or suggested that I see the baby. I was so hurt and scared. The baby was dead; they brought her to me, and the nurse said, "Look at all that hair, look at those nails." I glimpsed, but I could not fully look at her. She was just what I had prayed for, a baby girl. I told the nurse or whoever they were to take her away.
Hours after lying in bed, the nurse or someone from the hospital staff came in and asked me or suggested that I see the baby. I was so hurt and scared. The baby was dead; they brought her to me, and the nurse said, "Look at all that hair, look at those nails." I glimpsed, but I could not fully look at her. She was just what I had prayed for, a baby girl. I told the nurse or whoever they were to take her away.
I spent a week in the hospital getting high doses of medication for the infection; needles were in every part of both my arms. One of those days, they told me they would have to put needles in my foot, and I said, "NO! I don't care anymore!" Grief counselors came in to talk to me; I didn't want to hear them. I just wanted to get out of the hospital.
I came home empty in my soul; I hated God. After being home for a day, I had a few visitors to see me. They couldn't understand the way I felt about God at that time. They said things like, "Who do you think you are to question God?" I was hurting inside and angry for all I had to go through. I couldn't hear anything they had to say. Months went by as I tried to understand why this happened to me. It wasn't just because the baby died; it was because I trusted in Him…God. I had to go through so much pain that day. Through all the things that happened to me that day, I was praying to God, and I felt like he didn't hear me!
I came home empty in my soul; I hated God. After being home for a day, I had a few visitors to see me. They couldn't understand the way I felt about God at that time. They said things like, "Who do you think you are to question God?" I was hurting inside and angry for all I had to go through. I couldn't hear anything they had to say. Months went by as I tried to understand why this happened to me. It wasn't just because the baby died; it was because I trusted in Him…God. I had to go through so much pain that day. Through all the things that happened to me that day, I was praying to God, and I felt like he didn't hear me!
part two
About March of 1989, I started feeling a little morning sickness and my menstrual cycle was not on time again. So, I made an appointment again with a high-risk gynecologist. That visit was shocking to me because they told me that I was about three months pregnant with another baby already. After that, I was extra careful with what I ate--- resting and doing what the doctor ordered. I was seeing my gynecologist regularly; everything looked good.
On Saturday, July 8, 1989, my water broke. I was so scared again, but this time an ambulance would take me to Cooper hospital, where they had a NICU center. Upon arrival, I was immediately rushed into Labor and Delivery. I was scared because the same thing had happened to me before. This time, my baby was born three months premature and weighed two pounds and four ounces. When I was allowed to see her, she was like the size of the palm of my hand. She had no butt, no nipples, or eyebrows, and you could see her organs through her skin. Her skin was so transparent that you could see through it as she lay naked in her little isolette.
On Saturday, July 8, 1989, my water broke. I was so scared again, but this time an ambulance would take me to Cooper hospital, where they had a NICU center. Upon arrival, I was immediately rushed into Labor and Delivery. I was scared because the same thing had happened to me before. This time, my baby was born three months premature and weighed two pounds and four ounces. When I was allowed to see her, she was like the size of the palm of my hand. She had no butt, no nipples, or eyebrows, and you could see her organs through her skin. Her skin was so transparent that you could see through it as she lay naked in her little isolette.
The next day her weight dropped to one and a half pounds. She had a fight as she began her life; alarms sounded off frequently to let you know that her heart rate was dropping. The nurses knew what to do. I was scared, but God gave me the strength and the courage to drive to Cooper NICU every day, sometimes twice a day, to pray and visit Stacey Marie Holloway. That is what we named her sister, who was born dead on November 8, 1988. This is the name I chose for my little girl.
Every day was hard to go to the hospital NICU and leave her there, but God was my strength. Anyone who knows me knows I don't drive on highway route 42. God gave me the strength and the courage to go every day and pray and read to Stacey from the word, even though she was too little to understand anything. God was healing her and bringing her out of the NICU. |
It took seventy-nine days and nights before Stacey would come home. God brought her through needles in her head and almost everywhere on her little body. She had to learn to suck before she could stop being fed intravenously and learn to latch on to my breast before she could come home. She was breastfed for seventeen months after coming home. It was a very scary time in my life, but God never left me. He showed me strength in Him; He was and is my strength. In addition to this, my mother died two weeks before Stacey came home from the hospital.
Stacey was so tiny; she couldn't even stay in her car seat, which was a law to come home. She was so tiny. The hospital staff let her come home at two pounds and four ounces, along with a machine that kept track of her heart rate and would sound off frequently. We had to learn what to do. |
That was a hard time in my life, but God showed me that He had never left me through it all. God was right by my side the whole time, even though it didn't seem like it. God was working on my behalf, and after years, I know and believe He was there when my baby died. God knew, and He knew my desire and what I was able to withstand. So, what the devil meant to rob and destroy me with, God made right for my good. It took time for me to understand, but He showed me His promise is true. So, I forever praise Him. GLORY TO GOD!
Stacey is now thirty-two years old and more than a blessing to our family.
Stacey is now thirty-two years old and more than a blessing to our family.