It was early 2017. This pregnancy was so different than the first. My wife Amanda was so sick, it felt like this pregnancy would never end. At the end of January, Amanda began experiencing unbearable pressure on her pelvis. The hospital told us it was nothing to worry about. It didn’t feel right, but who were we to question what a doctor says?
On February 11, Amanda was having some mild cramping and googling what this could mean. It was either normal or a bad sign, but we decided to err on the side of positivity. Then Amanda started bleeding. We went to the hospital. She was in labour.
At 23 weeks, even if the baby did survive, the chances of thriving were even slimmer. We couldn’t watch our baby suffer; we had seen the stresses a disabled child goes through. We didn’t want him to be in pain. We chose not to resuscitate.
In the early hours of February 12, Amanda went through a normal labour. Mason was born and lived for an hour. We got to hold him and kiss him and love him. Our son was born, he was alive, he was loved more than you can imagine. And then he was gone.
Waiting on Sunrise 