Mallorie died early this morning. Somewhere between 4 and 5 AM. My mom is trying to catch up on sleep (she hasn't slept much in too long) and she doesn't have the heart or energy to post this right now. I'll let her revise or delete this and write her own when she's ready, but I think a lot, if not all, of you would like to know.
She was admitted yesterday morning to our local hospital by Dr. B. (God BLESS her) after an appointment where her blood-oxygen levels were very low. She had pneumonia, it turns out. Again.
Things went down hill this morning. The staff at our hospital worked so hard to get her heart beating, even doing what some would consider "extraordinary measures." They weren't just going to let her die. It was when my mom knew that she was gone that they stopped. No one gave up on her. Not one. The staff loved that sweet baby and treated her like any other. They are such a blessing to us.
In October 2006, we went for an ultrasound for our fifth child, and were told that our daughter probably had a chromosomal defect. We were urged to get an amniocentesis so that genetic testing could be done, “so the doctors will know what decisions to make.” The specialist told us that he suspected Trisomy 13 or 18, and if he was correct, then no OB would do a c-section because it wouldn’t make a difference for the end outcome. Besides, no surgeon would operate on her back (she had a meningocele – spina bifida), because “Trisomy 18 and 13 are what are called lethal conditions. They are incompatible with life.”
That’s how our story with her began, but it is most certainly not the end. As her amazing pediatrician said about examining her at birth, “I looked into her eyes, and she looked back at me and said, I’m here for the long haul, chick.”