Our sweet Maggie, named after her Nana Pom, was Baby A. She had had ruptured membranes since 15 weeks gestation. This meant that her lungs had very little opportunity to grow. Moreover, at our 24 week appointment we had decided not to have steroids, which help lung development, in hopes that the pregnancy would continue and that they would be more effective later in the pregnancy. This decision, although based on fair information at the time and unlikely to have changed the outcome, will be one that I dwell on for years to come, I am sure.
Once I was stabilized we asked to see our children. It was at that time that a member of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) team informed us that both babies were still being tended to and that Maggie did not appear to be responding to their attempts. I was helped into a wheelchair and we were taken to the small table where Maggie was. The doctor quietly explained that they had administered several doses of medications to help her lungs but to no avail. She indicated that she was concerned that after two hours of attempts to save Maggie, that she would have sustained brain damage. We decided to end the doctors' attempts. Maggie was placed into my arms, nestled against my chest, where she died. I have never known such sorrow or heartache. She was wrapped up in a receiving blanket that we had purchased for her while I was pregnant and we gave her a small stuffed bunny toy. We spent quite a bit of time with her in my hospital room. She was held by her aunt Laleah and by her honourary aunt Christie. I sang her our goodnight song. I tried my hardest to memorize every inch of her body and the feel of her tiny body - about 400g - against my own. I knew at that moment that I would never be the same person again, nor would our family every be what it was prior to such a loss.
I have no words to explain how I feel when I think of my Maggie. I physically ache through my body for her. I will love her forever.
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