Ellie

Ellie Alexandra Crawford was born on June 24th, 2008 and died on July 1, 2008. She lived for seven days. She truly was a miracle and we are thankful for every moment she was with us. She was smaller than her sister by only one ounce and started out strong. We were impressed with her from the start. Despite having severely underdeveloped lungs she was trying to take breaths on her own and her respirator was on the lowest setting. All good signs for a such a small baby.

The doctors warned us however that the first two days usually go well as the babies have a lot of adrenaline in their systems and that we should expect things to take a downward turn on day three or four. Premature babies are at risk for all kinds of problems, one of the most serious being hemorrhaging in their brains because the damage is permanent and devastating. Kirk was convinced from the start that everything was going to be okay with our girls. That although it might be a long haul for them and months in the NICU, they were going to make it and we were all going to stay a family. His confidence was so reassuring to me. I did not share his same certainty, but when I woke up on the morning of day three, I felt hopeful, and for the first time I allowed myself to believe that our girls would be okay.

That afternoon however, we received devastating news that both girls had experienced bleeding in their brains during the night, Ellie's being the most severe. The severity of a brain hemorrhage is graded on a scale of 0-4, zero being no bleeding and four being the most severe. Ellie had a grade 3 hemorrhage on one side of her brain and a grade 4 on the other, including bleeding into her brain stem. It was a devastating injury and she was facing severe cerebral palsy and retardation. She would most likely never walk or talk and would not be able to breath without a breathing tube or eat without a feeding tube. Kirk and I were crushed. We wanted her to live so badly but now we questioned what kind of life that would be. All we could do was pray that God would give us clear direction regarding her treatment. We wanted to give her every chance to live but we also did not want our selfishness to force her to live in such a degraded state. We were confused and torn. After conferencing with the neonatologist and a neurologist about what was in store for Ellie we decided to continue with her treatment until she was well enough to get an MRI so that we could have a better understanding of what damage was really done to her brain and how severe the reprocussions would be. Kirk and I were so worried about her. We were worried about both our girls, but for the days following we were preoccupied with what the future held for Ellie and what decisions we might have to make regarding her care. I didn't even know how to pray. I didn't even know how to feel. We cried a lot and hoped for a miracle.



Kirk and I went to visit the girls every day, often more than once. I would look at Ellie through the incubator glass and beg God to work a miracle in her life. She looked so sick and small. I also noticed that her right hand had become clawed, a clear symptom of her severe brain damage. But I loved her regardless. I know Kirk did too. One day the nurse took the top off the incubator so that Kirk and I could help change her bedding. I held her in my hands and lifted her up as Kirk changed the blanket underneath her. It was the first time I got to hold her since her birth. And even though it was only for a moment it was wonderful. I continued to talk to her and tell her how much I loved her. Kirk talked to her as well. When we spoke she waved her little left hand. It was confirmation that she knew our voices. She knew her mom and dad were there with her. It was a precious moment that I will never forget. It was our own special time that I have tucked away in my heart. I think about it often to comfort me when I am sad. I am so thankful for such a special memory.

On Tuesday, July 1st, Kirk and I received a phone call that Ellie's intestine perforated. When we got to the hospital we were told that only surgery could fix her intestine, but that surgery was risky, but without it she would die. We could see that she was very sick. Her belly was distended and had turned blue. It was very likely that she would not survive the surgery in her fragile state. Kirk and I did not want her to die on an operating table all alone. If she was going to die, we wanted her to pass away with us, in our arms, telling her how much we love her and how much we will miss her. We decided that God had made clear what we should do. Her body was failing. She couldn't fight anymore. It was time to remove her from life support and let her go to heaven. Kirk and I spent time with her on the respirator, holding her and kissing her. Then we asked the doctor to remove life support and we took Ellie over to see Aubrey. It was the first time they had been together since they were born. After that we took Ellie to a private room and Kirk and I took turns holding her and kissing her until she passed away. She lasted for about 40 minutes. And then she was gone. Kirk carried her back to her bed in the NICU and laid her down. It was heart wrenching. We were completely devastated.

That night when I went to bed I didn't even cry. I think Kirk and I had cried out all the tears we had. We were numb. We knew she was gone but the pain was too much to bear. The pain of losing a child is unimaginable. The only comfort we have is knowing Ellie is whole and perfect in heaven. She is no longer suffering. She is with Jesus and we will see her again someday. We long for that day.