Darien and Grace Oborn

Thursday, July 28, 2011

A New Chapter

As you can tell, a lot of time has passed since I've kept up this journal. Since I last wrote Darien and Grace have grown up to become beautiful, sweet, adorable children. They are both almost 6 years old - going to start Kindergarten next month. They love playing together, riding bikes, and they can't get enough of theme parks and carnivals. I'm so proud of them each and every day and Debbie is an absolute gem of a mother to them.

Over the past year Debbie and I have tried to replicate our success with Darien and Grace by having more children. As we did the first time, we paid Dr. David Richards (infertility specialist) a visit so that he could help us get to first base with mother nature, since Debbie doesn't ovulate on her own. In March 2010 we implanted 3 embyos ... none of them took. We got the news while I was away in Las Vegas attending a trade show (I'm the VP of Marketing, so it was my Super Bowl of activities). I missed the phone call from Debbie letting me know about the sad news, which compounded the heartache. Note to self - NEVER be away from your wife when life-changing news is going to be delivered.

We took some time to recover emotionally and financially to prepare for the next round, which we did in the Spring of this year (2011). This time we did a few things differently: Debbie had a D&C a few months prior to make sure everything was ship-shape inside, we let the embryos go to 5 days instead of 3 like last time, ensuring we were able to implant the "fittest of the fittest", and everything we swimmingly well. On May 5, 2011 the 2 embyos were transferred to Debbie and, like clockwork, the little ones went to work growing and creating a new home for themselves.

We monitored their growth about every 2 weeks with out-of-pocket ultrasound techs to make extra sure things were going according to plan. Sure enough, the two fetuses were measuring exactly as they should. 6 weeks into the pregnancy the two were measuring just 1 day apart from each other. We were really excited about the progress they were making; every time we were able to sneak a peak at them they were very active - I called them my little break-dancers!

Everything was going really well - minus the intense nausea Debbie experienced on a daily basis - until July 9, 2011. Debbie had just given a talk in Church, mentioning the blessing of the pregnancy several times in her sermon, when she noticed she was bleeding. We rushed her straight from church to the hospital. We did an emergency ultrasound and found the two little guys just hanging out, no problems, but a sub-corneal hematoma was discovered. A few days later, on a foll0w-up visit to Dr. Young, the stand-in OBGYN, we learned that where was some bleeding under then placenta but that it didn't look like it would cause any more problems.

Day after day, the slow trickle of blood refused to relent, and Debbie and I grew more and more worried. Finally, on July 25, 2011, the bleeding intensified, accompanied with shard cramping (ie: labor pains). Not good. We took Debbie back to the E.R. where they pumped her full of morphine and other major pain killers to numb the labor pain, but to no avail. We did an emergency ultrasound at 6:30 PM and found only one baby (who still appeared to be doing just fine, with a regular heart beat, etc.). Baby A - which we later named Kent, had been passed down to the cervix. Not good.

Off to the labor/delivery ward we went. No sooner had we arrived, Debbie began the most intense contractions yet. As things started to exit her body, the back-up OBGYN (Dr. Allen) arrived. (It was Pioneer Day in Utah, so all of our regular doctors were not available) With just a few soft touches he delivered Kent, who had apparently passed away an hour or so earlier. At that time, our attention turned to Baby B, which we'll call Ron. The OB turned on the ultrasound in the room and .... no sign of Ron. A minute later, Ron followed his brother Kent, who fought the eventual outcome for almost a minute after being born far, far too early.

They were both so beautiful. Perfect. Babies. We didn't even know the sex yet, but now it was clear: 2 boys.

Dr. Allen and Aubry, the nurse, just looked up and said "I'm so sorry .... I'm so sorry." I was in shock. Words escaped me. Debbie was still riving in pain, and her work was not yet done. She had to finish the labor, so pitocin was added to her IV so that she could pass the after-birth, which she did about 30 minutes later. I couldn't watch -- my wife was losing lots of blood, my two little boys lay lifeless in the little plastic bin .... horror.

Eventually, with lots of IV fluid and pain killers, Debbie was stable again. She almost needed a blood transfusion she had lost so much blood. From my vantage point, she was remarkably stable (emotionally), asking the doctors pointed questions -- very clinical-like. I, on the other had, was a wreck. I retreated to bed next door (behind the blinds) and just melted down. I texted a few friends and family members to let them know what happened, and with each passing keystroke another tear fell from my eyes. Calls started to come in; I couldn't bear to answer them. I was still trying, in my own feeble way, to process the shock my body was in.

We stayed the night in the hospital, in that labor/delivery room meant for new mothers to bring new life into the world. All I felt was cold .... death ... broken heart ... broken dream. I couldn't sleep -- it all felt like a bad, bad dream. Debbie was on pain meds non-stop, which I think numbed some of the shock she must have been going through. I can't believe what a trooper she was.

Eventually, morning came and we were awakened by the ultrasound tech who peered into Debbie to make sure everything had been evacuated from her uterus. An hour later Dr. Young arrived and let us know that everything looked good - well, good enough to go home - and that his clinical opinion on the event was just "bad luck". He assured Debbie that nothing she did caused this to happen, no lack of vitamins, pre-natal supplements, bed-rest, etc. I'm not sure if we believed it or not, but is was re-assuring to hear.

A few days have now passed since this horrific event in our lives, and we're still trying to figure out what happened. Trying to process the grief. Trying to re-focus on the future. Trying to learn whatever lessons God has for us in this. At this point, just putting the story to paper has been somewhat therapeutic. It ensures that we'll never forget the details. We'll never forget the emotions. And most importantly, we'll never forget you Ron and Kent. Never. Never.

Until we meet in heaven.

Love, your dad.