December 2023

To say 2023 was a hard year for our family would be an understatement. We lost one of our dogs on Labor day, the kids started getting sick in October and it was nonstop illness, antibiotics, fevers, exhaustion. A small tornado hit our home causing various damage (that is still being fixed to this day). Life already felt overwhelming with just thing after thing. Little did I know how small those problems were compared to what was coming. Among our various illnesses, I came down with COVID at the end of November. Not sure if being pregnant had anything to do with it, but it hit me like a freight train and knocked me off my feet for several days. After my quarantine, my OB wanted me to come in for a precautionary ultrasound to ensure baby was ok after COVID. At that ultrasound, I recall the tech staying in this one particular spot more than any other. She asked me, “Are you going to see your doctor after this?” I said no that I had already been to my appointment with her before the ultrasound. She calmly and cheerfully said “Oh ok then I am going to have you go back to the waiting room and go talk with her to make sure I got everything she wanted to see.” Still not suspecting a thing, I went and sat in the waiting room. I was scrolling social media, thinking about what to make for dinner, what I needed to get done at work that day – the normal mental load. About 20 minutes later the tech came to the waiting room and quickly motioned for me to follow her. The tech briskly walked the hallways as I sped up behind her wondering what was going on. She was looking for my OB but could not find her. The tech put me in a little room and said to wait and she would find her. My doctor walked in the room and said “so I guess you know if we brought you back to a room, it’s not the best news…” My stomach dropped. She said the tech found a vascular mass on Jack’s leg. There was a specialist from UAB maternal fetal medicine in their office that day, so she ran the ultrasound images by him. My OB said that they weren’t sure what it was – it could be a tumor or it could be something else and that the MFM doctor wanted some time to look it over. I remember asking “is it possible that this is cancer?” and she said, “yes it could be.” Everything after that sounded like a blur of noise. Like my brain couldn’t comprehend the English language anymore. I couldn’t catch my breath. She let me out a back door of the office, and that walk to my car was the longest walk of my life.

I immediately called Matt, our parents, my sister, and I just sat in that parking garage for an hour sobbing. Later that afternoon my OB called me with more information. She said that it could either be a malignant tumor or it could be a benign hemangioma. Total different ends of the spectrum. And that we wouldn’t know until he was born. I was 35 weeks at that point. Of course being panicked, my initial response was “well can we take the baby out now?” But it was too risky for lung development when statistically, this was most likely nothing too serious. So we scheduled an induction for 39 weeks, and the plan was to somehow figure out how to function until then. The anxiety and anticipation was so hard, but I focused on the likelihood that this is nothing but a big red mark on his leg, and we would someday laugh about how he almost gave his momma a heart attack. I could genuinely see us laughing for years – that being our thing. How he scared me half to death over nothing. That thought is what got me through those weeks waiting. That and the tornado, Christmas shopping, school programs and Riley’s never ending strep journey. I just tried to stay positive – it was out of my hands.

Wednesday, December 20, I went to my weekly doctor’s appointment and baby sounded great – growing right on track. I was almost 38 weeks, hospital was scheduled, bags were being packed, nursery was ready, baby swing and pack n play were set up. It was almost go time. That Friday, December 22, I woke up and the girls had come downstairs to my bed to watch a movie. Matt had left for work, and out of nowhere that awful thought popped in my head “When did I last feel Jack kick…?” I genuinely couldn’t recall. He was always such an active baby especially when I was laying down. Now, I think a lot of moms have had this thought and scare. I did with Riley a couple times, but she would eventually give me a hit to say “still here mom.” So I began pushing Jack around to get him to move, but nothing was happening. It went on for about 10 minutes and still nothing. I finally felt and found one of his little feet. I pressed it hard, and I will never forget the feeling of his foot slowly coming back to my hand. Kind of like when you put your hand down on a memory foam mattress, and it slowly rises back up. That is when I got really scared. I called my doctor’s office who instructed me to go to the L&D unit to get a non-stress test. They tried to reassure me that babies just don’t move as much this late in the pregnancy and not to worry. I got the kids and I ready for Matt to pick us up and drop them off with his mom. I kept telling myself I was overreacting and paranoid. That I was terrified for nothing. I even remember walking to the elevators in Grandview and stopping to look at the gingerbread houses that were on display in the lobby.

Up on the L&D floor, I went into a small triage room and changed into a hospital gown. The sweetest nurse came in to give me my non stress test. She hooked these belts over me and went to try and find the heartbeat, but no noise was coming out. She said that the wire didn’t sound right, and she wanted to get a different one. When she left the room to grab it, Matt and I said no words but just looked at each other. For the first time it felt like this could actually be happening. I distinctly remember thinking in that moment though, “no, no, that won’t happen to me. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.” As if in a panic state, I thought the universe would never put me through a tragedy like this. That happens to other women – not me.

The nurse returned and hooked up the new wire. All these sounds started blaring from it, and she said “There that is much better. So sorry if I scared you!” All of a sudden we heard this heartbeat, and we took a huge sigh of relief. Now, the next part was almost an out of body experience all at once, and while certain details are clear as can be, other memories seem muffled. Once she found a heartbeat, she mentioned that something sounded a little like the baby was in distress in some way. The next thing I know, there are several people in that tiny room. People at my arm trying to start an IV, a woman at the foot of the bed asking for my information to put it in their system, an ultrasound machine being wheeled in the room and the words “emergency C section” being said out loud. The on call OB came into the room to look at the ultrasound. She of course made no facial reaction, no urgent move. She calmly looked at the screen for several seconds. Then she looked at me and said “I am so sorry, but I am not seeing any cardiac activity at this time. I know that isn’t the news you want to hear.”

The heartbeat we heard was my heartbeat – not Jack’s. She then showed me on the ultrasound screen that nothing was moving. My sweet little boy was still and silent.

My body instantly went into a shock response. People in the room slowed down and stopped. This was no longer an emergency and what felt like as quickly as they came in, they quickly went out. I remember staring blankly at the wall in front of me feeling nothing. The most numb feeling and calmness I have ever experienced. I understood what she said, I understood what it meant, but my body refused to let me feel it the way I assumed it would. Matt was in hysterics, and all I could do was stare.

My OB came over from her office and held my hand. She told me that on top of this tragedy, Jack was sideways, so we would need to do a C section to deliver him. Things moved so quickly. I remember not being able to feel the IV stick when they inserted it into my arm and thinking how weird that was. Someone else was asking me if we would like a partial autopsy or a full autopsy. The anesthesiologist asking me if I wanted just a spinal or to be put fully asleep for the C section. All these moments felt surreal and that I was quickly making decision after decision. Initially I asked to be put under for the surgery because I could not bare the silence of no crying as they brought my little boy into the world. It felt haunting to even think about. But they really thought the spinal would be better to avoid breathing tubes, a longer wake up time, etc. The anesthesiologist told me he would give me some medicine that would allow me not remember much from the C section and make me loopy. The only thing I remember was looking up at Matt. He said I just kept saying “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

At 11:48am on December 22, 2023, weighing 6lbs 13oz, 18 and 3/4 inches long, Jack Jerome Savela was born sleeping. He was beautiful.

When I got back to the room and the medicine started wearing off, Matt told me that when they opened me up, there were blood and fragments of a tumor inside of me. The mass on Jack’s leg was not a benign hemangioma like we hoped – it was a tumor. A monstrous, vessel-filled tumor that started at the top of his calf and extended out and down below to the middle of his foot. The back side of it had ruptured at some point between that Wednesday after my doctor’s appointment and that Friday morning causing him to bleed out. I have never seen anything look so terrifying nor do I hope to ever see anything like it again. My little boy was taken by something so unnatural looking. Was he in pain? Did it hurt when it ruptured? What was I casually doing one day so nonchalantly while my little boy was bleeding inside of me? Was he scared? These are all thoughts as a mother, are unbearable to think about, but it was all my brain could wonder.

The next couple of days were spent loving on our Jack. Days I cherish in my mind and days I wish I could relive over and over. Holding him, singing to him, introducing him to his family, praying over him. Laying with him and telling him all the wonderful things I had planned for his life. Asking him to watch over his sisters and try to help heal his mommy and daddy’s broken heart. However, among all the sweetness are the realities of life. There had to be funeral arrangements made, more decisions about burial versus cremation. It’s very difficult to figure out in such a short time where you would like to bury your child when you have no idea where you yourself will be buried someday. We ultimately decided to cremate Jack and place him in the new columbarium at our church. The spot we chose is attached to the wall of the church, and we sit on the other side of it every week. It is as close as we can get to our entire physical family sitting together. Also my girls go to school there, so it warmed my heart knowing all my babies would be in the same place everyday.

Those days in the hospital were long and short and painful in ways I could never describe unless you lived it. Our brains are not wired to understand the death of a baby. The first night in the hospital, Matt was snoring so loud and I thought “he has got to be quiet or he is going to wake Jack.” Or when a photographer let us keep a tiny bunny she used in his pictures, and Matt placed the bunny in the cot with Jack. I said out loud, “you’re going to get in trouble. You know better than to put a stuffed animal in with a sleeping baby…” We just aren’t wired for a baby to be in our arms and not be alive. We shouldn’t have to hold our baby in our arms and watch their bodies deteriorate before our eyes. We shouldn’t have to think about putting our child on ice packs before picking them up to hold them again. It is brutal. But, I had the most amazing nurse, Amber, taking care of us through it all. Her patience and care for both me and Jack were beyond words. Everyone at Grandview L&D was just outstanding and are forever considered family in my heart for what they helped me get through those days. The dignity they showed us in this dark time did not go unnoticed. They put me in a room further away where I never had to hear a baby cry that was just born. Even leaving the hospital, I was wheeled away without so much as seeing another soul on that floor. Things I never even thought about, but I know Amber did.

I was set to be discharged on Sunday – Christmas Eve. How was I going to let Jack go? How was I going to leave here without him? When the time came, Matt and I held him and listened to O Holy Night. I said a long prayer, and we just cried our hearts out. Amber came in the room and asked me if I wanted to change his clothes so I could take home what he had been wearing. It was a beautiful silky ivory gown with a cross on the front. I of course said yes and she asked of the other clothes she had, which I would prefer to change him into. I remember saying “I guess it doesn’t matter – whichever.” She immediately said “no, it does matter. it does.” That is when I knew that even though I had to leave him, he would be in the best hands. We changed him, and I held him one more time not thinking I could let go. I kept pleading with God not to take my baby from me. Eventually, Matt picked him up from my arms and laid him in his bassinet. Amber asked if we wanted him to stay in the room while we left and I said “no. As his mother, I cannot leave him. He has to leave me.” Forever in my head will be the last image of his sweet dark hair being taken out of the room. It was hands down the most excruciatingly difficult experience of my life and took everything in me not to run after him. Amber came back and wheeled me down to our car. I remember looking at her and begging her “please, please don’t leave my little boy alone. Please don’t leave him in a room by himself. I have to know he won’t be alone.” The thought of him in a room by himself can still bring me to my knees today.

I somehow mustered up enough strength to celebrate Christmas with my girls. Any parent would understand how protective we want to be of our children and how happy we want them to be in their life. I know my girls didn’t understand the magnitude of what just happened, but I knew I wanted them to still have Christmas.

Jack’s tumor fragments, tissue samples and my placenta were sent to Grandview Pathology who decided to instead send it to UAB for testing. Upon looking at the tumor, the pathologist did not think it was cancerous – just a very large mass full of tiny vessels. Scary sure – but not cancerous. After waiting several long weeks, we heard back from UAB on February 15th, and it was confirmed to be cancer. The report also informed that the tumor did not explode but that it was connected to my placenta and/or uterus and actually tore off. This news felt like it sent me back to square one. Like my grief was reset back to zero – start over. In some poetic way, it broke my heart as a mother that we were connected by this awful monster, and that I lost my son when we tore apart.

Though risk is relatively low, I will be monitored through the next couple of years with various CT scans to ensure none of Jack’s cancer mutated on to me. A baby in utero that gets cancer is very rare, so it brings me no comfort to hear statistics on my own risk exposure. And it is daunting to think that this nightmare won’t be put to rest for quite sometime, even if everything goes perfect from here on out. Matt and I will also be getting some blood testing done to check for any issues we have that could have caused this which of course only makes me fear for my girls. As nice as “ignorance is bliss” sounds, as a mother, I have to know and I have to try and protect all of our family with as much knowledge as we can gain from this tragedy. My hope is that I remain cancer free, our blood tests come back clear, and that this tumor just was a random occurrence of bad luck. My first CT scan will be March 22nd, so please keep us in your prayers as we continue this journey of healing and discovery.

My doctors and I have gone over the various scenarios multiple times based on the facts we now know, and I have peace in knowing that due to these insanely rare circumstances, Jack was not meant to live outside of me. I could not save him. But I know he still has so much purpose. As parents we are so proud of our children when they make a good grade, are nice to a friend at school, clean their rooms. We are proud when they spread kindness and love out into the world. While I am not able to witness Jack do these things the same way I am my girls, I could not be more proud of him. I am proud of him for making parents hug their kids a little tighter. I am proud of him for making people pray a little harder. And I will always be proud that God chose me to be his mother.

Thank you all for your love for my son and your prayers for my family. I simply cannot repay you all for the support you have given me.

All my love,

Jack’s mom