* Brandon wrote this letter during that day. I will always treasure it.
On May 20th 2018, I wrote my daughters name for the first time: Anna Christensen.
It was on her death certificate.
Earlier, my wife Alissa was complaining of pelvic pains. Nervous that she wasn’t feeling the baby move, she left to visit Urgent Care.
Soon she called me saying that since she is 34 weeks, there is nothing they could do and that she needed to go to Labor and Delivery at Summerlin Hospital. Knowing the costs of a hospital visit in the USA, we lingered on the decision. Ultimately, we decided that she should go for a ludicrously expensive piece of mind.
I must have lost track of time because when my phone rang, it was from an unfamiliar number.
“Is this Brandon Christensen?”
Confused, I confirm to the unknown voice that it was. “Your wife is unconscious and has lost a lot of blood. You need to come to the hospital immediately.”
My first thoughts went to Sawyer and Max, who were upstairs playing. Do I take them with me? How do I find someone to watch them on such short notice? Thinking about that voice on the phone, I knew it had to be the latter. Shaking, I made several phone calls and was able to find someone to come be with them. I didn’t even wait for them to arrive before I left for the hospital.
Needing to speak to someone, I called my mom and filled her in. The call was brief because my other line rang with yet another unknown number. I accepted it - it was my wife’s doctor.
He told me that Alissa was stabilized but that she had suffered a placenta abruption and said that she was being prepped for surgery. He mentioned that the baby had no heart beat but the information was rapid and it was hard to zero in on any one thing. Ultimately, it came down to them not being able to extract the baby until Alissa was stabilized because she lost so much blood she never would have survived. They were doing everything they can.
I hung up from that call not knowing if I would ever see my wife alive again.
When I entered Labor and Delivery, I could tell by the way the nurses talked to me that this was going to be difficult. The doctor was called and he came out and pulled his mask down and filled me in.
Alissa had somehow managed to drive herself to the hospital, park, and then walk up to the second floor to check in. She was pale, the nurses said, but it wasn’t until she sat down to fill out a clipboard that Alissa realized something was wrong. Her vision fading, she asked for help - dropping the clipboard as the nurses rushed to her aid.
A team of nurses worked on her and notified Alissa’s OB who was nearby attending Sunday church. He showed up in suit and tie and got to work.
Had Alissa been held at urgent care, had Alissa decided to stay home and “tough it out”, had Alissa not called her mom on the long drive to the hospital to keep her mind moving, the doctors said that she would be dead.
I finally sat with Alissa as she was forced into an emergency C Section. This one missing the excitement and wonder of the previous two, instead it was filled with the hope of hearing a child’s scream as she was born. There was no scream. There was nothing. Just me, Alissa, and a team of doctors completely aware that this was the hardest day of our lives.
When they wheeled Anna into our post-op room, it was shocking how big she was. This was a baby. Like Sawyer, like Max, this was a child I could see myself being annoyed with as it woke up screaming at 4am. Selfishly, I yearned for that wake up call. It’s the little things...
Her color was off, but her features striking and beautiful. A little more rose in the cheeks and you wouldn’t know that her heart had stopped hours before. She was my first daughter, she is my first daughter.
Now, Alissa and I wait in our room - still holding the stillborn child, waiting for the funeral services to pack her 4 pound 2 oz frame away to take for cremation. We weren’t given much time to decide on what to do with her body. We had spent 8 months planning her life, but only had hours to plan her funeral.
This will be the last time I get to see Anna, but it won’t be the last time I write her name.
I love you Anna Christensen.
with love, lissa