I was knowledgeable during my 25th week of gravidity that my baby was experiencing intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR). My husband Hal and I received a overwhelming diagnosis and a bleak projection. The doctors informed us that our baby girl might not make it through the pregnancy or delivery. Without attainment a weight of at least 500 grams (slightly more than one pound), she could not be intubated and would not be thought viable. It felt as if our world had come to a stop.
Thanks to God’s grace, we have touched the third trimester. Our daughter Everly Jade was born on January 3, 2018, at 31 weeks and 3 days development. She was born finished a cesarean section, considering 570 grams equivalent to just one pound and four ounces
Even though she was very minor, she entered the world with a kick, demonstrating the same forte that would characterize her brief but impactful life. Surprisingly, the first three days in the NICU went well. Everly transitioned from an opening to a CPAP machine, and then to a nasal cannula. Hope full us.
However, on January 6, conditions shifted. Everly’s condition unexpectedly deteriorated. The healthcare specialists labored without rest, and by what can only be described as a miracle, they succeeded in stabilizing her disorder. We liked her presence for a few more days. In the early hours of January 9, her small body started to fail again. At about 2 a.m., we conventional the feared call that all parents fear—we had to come back right away. Her heart rate had decreased into the 60s prior to our arrival. Her oxygen fullness was unmeasurable, and she had no blood pressure.
The moment we walked into the room, an amazing thing occurred. My father had guided everyone, including doctors and nurses, in prayer for Everly. We managed to hold her, kiss her, and share a few invaluable instants as a group
her frail body was unable to continue the battle. She slid away peacefully, enveloped in love. Everly’s life, though she was with us for just six days, was an extraordinary phenomenon.
After her loss, my body was ignorant of what my heart had already understood. It was as though she were still here, since I was still producing milk. The idea of it being discarded shattered me, as I had spoken and saved milk for her in the NICU fridge. When I inquired with my doula about what I could do with it, she recommended that I donate it. She mentioned another mother named Dianne, whose offspring Merrytt was having a hard time with RSV. Dianne was powerless to provide sufficient milk for her daughter’s needs.
I found out that Dianne and I went to the same church, although we had never met. Our introduction occurred via a group communication, marking the start of our friendship. The subsequent Monday, I delivered to her all the milk I had solid. Meeting Merrytt was a beautiful and healing knowledge. I even had the opportunity to feed her a bottle myself. It brought peace to my grieving heart to see her grow and know she was flourishing on the milk I had produced for Everly. Dianne often sends photos and informs, and each one serves as a reminder that Everly’s brief life had an impact.
Though giving milk in grief isn’t appropriate for everyone, it became a means of worship my daughter for me.
Dianne states that Everly is referred to as “Merrytt’s guardian angel.” Since birth, her daughter faced problems with feeding and weight gain. The formulation was unbecoming for her, and not spite of Dianne’s attempts, her supply fell short of her needs. As she requested for help, a friend touched out to inform her about me: “Jenny Rogers wants to deliver you with her breast milk.”
The gift linked two mas via love, faith, and loss. My milk fed another child, but more essentially, it helped heal my heart. Though I will always miss Everly, it comforts me to know that her life endures to impact others in ways I never predictable.
