Titus

It was nearing Christmas, but you never would have guessed it as we drove through
sunny Florida on our way to Miami. As we crawled south on I75 I shifted in my seat.
I was at the end of my second trimester with our firstborn son. We were cut off for the
fifteenth time in the unevenly cadenced traffic. We began to slowly pass through
Titusville, Florida. “What do you think about the name Titus?” I asked my husband.
His reaction was one I never got from any other name suggestion. He loved it.
We had already chosen the name Lucas for our son but he asked me,
“Do you want to change it?” I didn’t, I was already attached to my Lucas.
That day the idea of Titus was born in me. I continued to hope for him over the
upcoming years. Always knowing that if we had a boy that would be his name.

We moved to Germany last September with no plans of becoming pregnant during
our three year tour here. In January I lost a baby very early in pregnancy. It was sad,
but it was over before it even began. I only knew I was pregnant for 4 days before it was
gone. We had a busy February but made time to be romantic and spend time together for
Valentine’s day. Then one day in March as I was finally moving the high chair from our dining
room and telling Lucas that we were leaving the baby stage, I realized that I was five days late.

Three positive pregnancy tests later and confirmed by ultrasound with reassurances of a
perfect situation, we prepared to be parents again. The news was taken much better by
Enrique this time. We both became excited to snuggle a newborn. The first trimester I was
cautiously optimistic, I kept waiting for the doctor to tell me it wasn’t going to work out.
Every ultrasound and appointment went as smooth as butter. He congratulated every time
on my perfect situation, culminating into our 15 week appointment that confirmed that we
were having a boy. I named him Titus Samuel, Tito for short. I was so excited to learn it was
him that I walked out of the doctor’s office without making my follow up appointment.
A few weeks went by with no apparent changes. The weather started to slowly become
beautiful and the forecast for weeks was sunny with high in the 80’s. I began going on
long walks. On Sunday, June 2, I remember feeling more tired than usual.
Not uncommon as Sundays are heavy extroverted ministry days. I lasted through the day,
even took my hour long walk, a normal day. That night I told Enrique, I am having so much
discharge this pregnancy. I am having to change my underwear several times a day.
I had considered it being amniotic fluid but pushed the thought away, not wanting to feed
anxiety.

Early Monday morning I woke up feeling very “wet”. I even checked the sheets to see how wet
they were. I went down the stairs to go to the bathroom and didn’t feel that anything too unusual
was going on. Then, I felt something “give” and start sliding. “What is that?” I thought, and a
dark red sac fell into my hand. I quickly, “put it back” and closed my legs. I knew then.
I knew that was really really bad. I tried to call up the stairs for Enrique, praying my kids
stayed asleep but I had heard Lucas cry out. I think God soothed him back to sleep for me.
I carefully went up the stairs and turned on the lights, saying Enrique’s name. He jumped out
of the bed in a panic. I told him, “I need to go to the hospital, I am losing the baby.”
His face fell and he said, “No!” and we began trying to quickly gather our things and make a
plan for the kids. As we were going through this, he took my face and looked in my eyes and
said, “We will get through this together.” It means so much to me now, but at the time I
remember feeling like, I need you to hurry up.

There was a young man apart of our ministry who had come to stay with us that day, but we
were unable to wake him up easily and we barely knew him. We called friends who started
towards our house as we started towards the emergency room. I felt so bad leaving my kids
without any supervision until they got there, but I thought, If he isn’t awake, he won’t be
hurting my kids.

When we arrived at the German hospital we had to be buzzed into the building and walk up
stairs to get to the ER. I explained my situation to the nurse and Enrique was assigned to
some paperwork and I just stood there. She then walked us to an elevator and gave us
instructions on how to get back to the OB/GYN ward. I walked the whole way, silently panicking.
A doctor was waiting for me and I told her what was going on. She asked me to lay down on a
table and performed an ultrasound. The baby was alive. Everything looked great. She told me
how much fluid he had around him and I sobbed. I was so relieved and I confused. I remember
saying, “So maybe it’s just vaginal prolapse?” I moved over to the classic chair with “stirrups”
and from the outside nothing was apparently wrong. I started to doubt myself completely.
Did I just have a nightmare and terrify everyone for no reason?

As soon as she began the examination her face changed. She stopped pretty abruptly because
she did not want to manipulate or rupture anything. She re-looked at the ultrasound photos
and upon second inspection able to tell that my amniotic membrane was “hour glassing.”
She took a few swabs and then told me to lay down, and said that this was not a good situation
and the baby would probably not live. Of course, I was sobbing again. I said, “I want to see
the baby when he is born, and I do not want to feel any pain.” She then sat down and started
documenting when she turned and said, I forgot to check to see if you are leaking fluid.
I wanted to strangle her. I just told you everything that happened and told me it wasn’t true,
now you are turning around and telling me, “Oops, guess you were right.” She ran the test
and it was positive for amniotic fluid. My membranes had ruptured or more commonly,
my water had broken.

Things became more frustrating. I was admitted, placed in a bed, and told to wait. I had to use
a bedside commode. “In case anything happened.” We were having to wait for the perinatal
specialist and some other doctors to come in. Neither of us slept the rest of that night.
We waited in agony, wanting something, anything to be done to save our baby boy. I began
reaching out for prayer and trying to gather information on our situation.

When morning came, at about 8am a chief doctor and team of doctors and nurses in training
came into my room. I honestly don’t think he even said anything of importance. Enrique ended
up chasing him out of the room. We had read about a surgery called a “rescue cerclage” where
they could manipulate the membrane back inside my uterus and stitch it all back up. The doctor
said they don’t perform those here and kind of shooed us away. We were frustrated. Should we
leave? Go to Amberg? To Regensburg? Landstuhl? I started asking nurse friends back home
about the situation and it slowly became revealed that, no. My water had broken. Due to
severe risk to me, the surgery could not be performed. Finally, the perinatal specialist came into
see me. She was so kind and patient and explained things to us. She told us she had to do
something, but she would be back in about an hour to examine me.

During her examination, Titus was alive. She was examining my cervix and the second doctor
in the room standing behind her had this look of pure horror on her face. The perinatalist asked,
“So that you understand the gravity of the situation, maybe Dad should see?” Enrique did not
want to see and I don’t blame him. I had lost about 70 percent of my fluid at this point and
most of my amniotic membrane was now in the vaginal canal. We were advised by every
doctor to induce labor. That even if the baby continued living, he would have no amniotic fluid,
therefore his lungs would not develop and he would be severely handicapped. They told us,
that would be so hard on us. One doctor said, I think it might be easier to have a miscarriage
at 18 weeks then to have a handicap baby at 24 weeks. All the while, they repeated the risks
to myself of severe and life threatening infection.

When we were back in our private hospital room I told Enrique, we need to very prayerfully
make these next decisions. Who are we to say that Titus’s life was not worth living because he
would be handicapped? Are we just being told to wait because doing nothing was easier than
facing the risks? I was not prepared to be the person who pulled the switch on my son’s life
because that would be easier on me. I loved him with all of my being, I could still see his
heart beat, I could still feel him kicking. We would wait.

We did wait, about a day. When we asked to have an ultrasound to check on the baby the next
day we received a lot of opposition. I think they were trying to protect me mentally, but it was
frustrating. These were the last moments with my living child. They finally agreed after I started
to have some bleeding. They checked on him, silently and quickly. I had to strain to see the
monitor because the girl was in the way. They showed me the heart beat and I asked if I could
hear it. One girl said no, the other behind her said, yes. I think the machine was having trouble
or they could not get him in the right position, because I couldn’t hear it, only see the waves on
the monitor.

We waited another night. I was comforted by Psalm 33: 18-22. That God’s eyes were on me
while I waited and hoped. I continued to bleed and in the early morning on Wednesday have
some cramping. Both Enrique and I had been praying that the agony of the wait would not be
long. Both of us were a little shamed at this prayer. We started making decisions about how
we would handle it if he had died. We wanted to see him. I wanted pictures. How long would
we keep him with us? We also had to start talking about, would we bury him here? Could we
cremate him? Take him back home to the states? I signed surgery and anesthesia consent
forms in case I went into labor with him naturally. These conversations were hard, but what was
harder were multiple mothers reaching out to me. They had been in a situation like mine. Their
doctors had told them they had no chance. They went on to have miracle babies after weeks of
bed rest. I heard it multiple times, “Where there is a heart beat there is hope.”

I was laying in the Trendelenburg position and trying to drink tons of water to keep fluid for baby
Titus. I felt so guilty every time I got up to pee. I even sneezed once and wanted to throttle
myself.I was having blood drawn every eight hours and receiving multiple injections. They put
me on contact precautions and antibiotics because I had MRSA of the nares. (I rolled my eyes
so hard. Almost everyone has some MRSA somewhere, didn’t we have bigger problems?)
When I began bleeding and cramping more, I told Enrique, “I think things are going to happen
sooner rather than later.” Later that morning the flock of doctors entered my room and the head
hancho said we would check on baby.

They wheeled in the ultrasound machine and another doctor began to look. The monitor was
empty. She couldn’t find the baby. She made a call and they moved me to another room with
another doctor and another ultrasound machine. The only part of Titus left inside my uterus was
his head. Titus was dead.

We agreed to induce labor. She gave me two small pills. She said that if I did not have
contractions in the next four hours that she would give me another dose. She asked me if I
wanted a midwife. I asked, “Do I need one?” At that point I was hoping for less people around
me. The doctor said it was just for me if I wanted it. I ended up saying yes because I wasn’t
sure and I wanted that doctor to leave. Enrique went downstairs to the car to look for a hair
tie for me, telling me to call him if anything started happening. I was alone for a little bit.
The janitor knocked on my door and I really wanted to tell her not to come in, but she barely
spoke English and she was just trying to do her job. She began cleaning the room, it felt like
as slowly as possible. I started hurting. I texted Enrique to come back. I rang the nurse for pain
medicine and she hung tylenol to go into my IV. The pain picked up quickly. I was holding onto
the bed rails, texting Enrique and ringing the nurse. I tried calling Enrique but for whatever
reason the call would not go through. The nurse came back in, and I tried to communicate to
her with her bad English and my terrible German that I needed heavier pain medicine. I was angry.
I asked for two things. No pain. See my baby. The janitor stopped and asked me in a heavy
accent, “Pain?” I said yes and thought, "I am about to push out this dead baby and scar her for
life."

By the grace of God Enrique came back in the room. He was holding flowers and chocolates
because that day was our four year anniversary. I was hurting pretty badly. He tried to rub on
me and I said, I’m sorry and just brushed him off of me. I was bleeding heavily, Enrique was
afraid and called the nurse. A doctor and a midwife rushed in and finally a different pain
medicine was hung. The midwife told me to push when I had a contraction, but what I was
feeling didn’t feel like the contractions I had with my previous babies. So, I just started pushing.
I asked Enrique to count so I knew how long. After two pushes, he came out.

This was my first experience with a vaginal birth. What some call a “normal” birth. I would have
a thousand c-sections over it. It was so not normal. He was lifeless. Enrique cut the umbilical
cord. They put him on a cloth in a small green basket and gave him to me. Enrique said,
“He is so peaceful.” He was. He was so beautiful with his hands crossed on his chest. He had
little fingernails. He had Enrique’s nose. He had the sweetest tiny little feet. He had the
beginning of ears. His skin was almost see through. His belly was big, the umbilical cord
taking up most of the space. I sobbed. I told him that I was so sorry. I told him I loved him.
I mainly just looked at him and cried. He was born at 10:31am. He was 18 cm long and
weighed 125 grams. He was just a little bigger than the palm of my hand.

After a short period they needed to prep me for surgery. The midwife took Titus and assured me
I could have him back whenever I wanted. She told me he was so cute. She was so gentle
when she handled him and she promised me she would take pictures.

They gave me medication, I don’t know what it was, but the nurse said it would make me calm.
She didn’t actually say that because she didn’t know the word, but she gestured it. I was
wheeled back to the OR and they were so kind to me. We did spinal anesthesia because I
had eaten breakfast that morning. I began to pass out while they gave it to me but they were
able to get it in quickly and lay me down. The spinal began working but I could feel them
prepping me. I begged the sweet anesthesiologist to put me to sleep. She promised she would,
she told me don’t worry.

I remember fighting against waking up. I could hear them talking and see the OR lights and I
was afraid I was waking up during the surgery. They asked me my name and birthday. I asked,
“Are we done or are we waiting to start?” We were done. It had gone well. They took me back
to the room. Enrique wasn’t there which was fine. I was very groggy. Enrique came back and
a nurse came into check on me. I guess I was losing a lot of blood which I couldn’t feel because
of the spinal block. I tried to stand with Enrique helping me to let her clean me and the bed up,
but had to get back down very quickly because I started to pass out. She gave me oxytocin to
contract my uterus and I told Enrique not to leave because I was afraid I would bleed out.
The bleeding slowed and I started feeling better.

My mom who had arrived from the states came in. We called and asked to see Titus again and they
brought him to us. My mom told me he was perfect and we looked over him, and had him near
to us for a while. Enrique and my mom left to go be with my children at home and feed them
dinner and get them into bed. Titus went back with the midwife and she told me I could have
him anytime I wanted him.

I don’t remember what I did next. I know I asked for a sleeping pill. I know I woke up very early
and the nurse brought me peppermint tea. I don’t remember what I was thinking or feeling.
Other than I wanted Titus back, but I wasn’t sure if I should be spending so much time with his
body. I know I put on worship music, and my worship was feeble. All I hung onto was one lyric,
“I’m going to sing in the middle of the storm, louder and louder you’re going to hear my praises
roar.” I did not sing.

The next day we prepared to go home. We had to go see the midwife on the labor and delivery
ward to make decisions about his burial. We waited on a couch in a birthing room. There was a
station where they would have brought a newborn baby to be checked out across from me.
We were unable to bring his body back to the states because the cost was enormous and the
Army wouldn’t pay for that service because Enrique is civilian. We could not have him cremated
because he did not meet the weight requirement. (½ pound). We decided to have the hospital
bury him in a shared grave. We will be able to attend the funeral. The midwife asked me if I
wanted to see him again and I did. I held him. I again told him how sorry I was, how much I
loved him. The perinatal specialist came in and sat with me and she cried with me. I asked her,
“Do you know why this happened?” She said normally it was from infection but that I did not
have one. I had none of precursors for having an incompetent cervix. It just happened. I said my
last goodbye to Titus. I told him I would see him in heaven. I left my baby boy behind and went
home.

The support of the community around me has been enormous. It has been such a blessing to
not have to worry about anything going on at home. I came home to two happy healthy and
living children. I am so grateful for my mother being here, because functioning without her
would be very hard.

I am grieving hard. I have trouble sleeping. I walk around feeling like I am looking for something
or missing something. I want to talk about Titus but I can’t without crying. That can make people
uncomfortable. I have wanted to show our very few visitors his picture, but it doesn’t seem
appropriate. People will ask me how I am feeling, the honest answer is very sad. I hold a stuffed
lion we bought for him at night, because it just feels good to hold something. This makes me
feel kind of like a crazy old lady, and I will put it away someday soon. I folded and boxed up the
few clothes I bought for him. I have the basket and tiny blanket that he laid in after he was
born. His ultrasound pictures are still on my fridge. I don’t know what to with them. I don’t want
for everything to be put away and to forget. I want Titus.

After all the praying and begging God for his life, it is hard not to be angry. While I was in the
hospital the babysitter and Gracie found a nest of baby birds in a bush in our backyard. Enrique
showed them to me yesterday and I thought of the verse Matthew 10:29 and I wanted to
scream. YOU LET HIM FALL. YOU SAID YOU WOULD MOVE MOUNTAINS FOR ME AND
YOU DID NOTHING. But you kept the fucking birds.

Titus’s name means honor. So, while I am raging at God, I am also seeking some purpose to all
of it. There is sadness, there is rage, but there is also peace. How can I bring honor to God and
give Titus a meaningful legacy? If you had asked me before all of this happen to let Titus go to
save any number of people I would have told you no. I wasn’t even willing to let him go to save
myself. The doctors told me that there were no treatments that made sense. That seeing him
on the ultrasound didn’t make sense. That keeping him inside of me for as long as possible didn’t
make sense. It doesn’t. None of it did, but my crazy mama love could not let that baby go. But
God did. He gave up a pure and blameless son so that might be saved. To have eternal life.
A concept to me that at the moment seems so abstract and is not bringing a lot of comfort.
But I have to tell you. I promised that I would never quit on God. Never stop on all the Jesus stuff
no matter what I did and no matter what happened. I promised to honor God, and to honor Titus
whether he lived or died. Even now, I am not beyond redemption and God can handle my anger.
I am trusting that He is taking good care of my baby. I am praying that his story will bring you
closer to God, that you will experience crazy mama love through Him. That you will experience
love and peace that doesn’t make sense.