In 2004, just before Halloween, my husband and I were shocked to find out that we were going to have a baby. We were married in July of the summer that had just passed and we weren't planning to have children for at least a couple of years. The idea took some adjusting to, but once that happened, our growing little miracle became the biggest joy of our lives... Our hopes and dreams grew day by day and the anticipation of parenthood, of getting to know our little boy was mounting with each moment.

My pregnancy was totally healthy – completely. Exactly six days before I delivered, I had a check-up and the doctor said “he's a very happy baby... ready to come, in the right position, heartbeat beautiful during the whole pregnancy...” No signs of anything wrong. I had only one ultrasound at 19 weeks because they said there's no reason to have another. The doctor did mention that I had a low-lying placenta but at a later appointment she said it had moved out of the way (though I never had a second ultrasound to prove that so I don’t know how she knew. But I trusted my doctor, what did I know? I was no expert).

Mark was due July 7th, 2005 and the evening of the 5th I was feeling a lot of pressure, but he was kicking and hiccuping. He's my first so I didn't know what to expect. We went to bed at about 12:30 that night. At 2 am I woke up, like I had been used to, feeling like I had to go to the washroom. I got in there and saw blood on my underpants – I thought this was normal – the mucous plug or whatever... then all of a sudden, I was bleeding like crazy, not like menstrual bleeding, just fresh red blood pouring down... needless to say it was the most horrifying experience. I knew this wasn't normal. I was on the toilet and this blood was gushing, I managed to get up to the bedroom to wake my husband and blood was leaking all over the place. He called 911 and they told me to lie down. The bleeding eased up and the paramedics were at my house in about 15 minutes. They checked me and said I'm ok and took me to the hospital.

They hooked me up to the fetal monitors and Mark’s heart rate was fine, in the 140s. I was at the hospital by 3 am. The doctor said that this happens sometimes and not to worry. She thought that maybe I hadn't lost so much blood and that maybe it was just my water breaking. She checked and yes, there was no amniotic fluid left. So they said “relax, you have a long labour ahead, try to get some sleep”. And I tried; with my husband at my side, we thought things were going be fine. At 5 in the morning, the nurse came and took me off the monitor and told me to walk around for a bit to get labour going. My contractions were 8 minutes apart and not really painful at all. So I did. I went to the bathroom and came back.

I told her to put the monitor back on and she said that it's not really necessary because things have been fine. At 6 am she came back and put the monitor on and couldn't get a good heart rate. She told me to turn around; it was still very low – in the 70s. So she called in the doctor who told me that we better do a c-section because the baby isn't “tolerating labour”. There was no time to give me an epidural. They quickly wheeled me in the operating room and put me to sleep telling me that it was quicker and they couldn't waste time. I was so afraid of general anaesthesia, I'd never had surgery before and was terrified.

Mark was born at 6:45 am. When I woke up, it was probably around 7:15. I woke up screaming, feeling so much pain in my stomach. I felt like I was on drugs or dreaming. A nurse came and told me she'd give me something for the pain. I kept asking about my baby and she said “don't worry”. Then my husband came in to see me with the most horrible look on his face, tears in his eyes. I asked him if Mark had died and he said “no”. I asked him again and he said “no” and I believed him, but I knew something was very wrong. They told me Mark had lost a lot of blood and that a team was on their way from the children's hospital. Mark would be given a blood transfusion and he'd probably spend about a week at the children's hospital. I wanted to see him so badly so they wheeled me in to the NICU, still sleepy from the drugs but all I wanted was to see my little angel (little did I know the meaning of the word “angel” at that point). He was intubated, hooked up to all sorts of things, but he was the most beautiful little baby. He looked nothing like I expected him to. I thought he would look like his father, but he looked so much like me. My husband said that he had been kicking and that he squeezed his finger earlier. A few minutes after, a nurse told me I had to go and rest a bit while we waited for the children's team to arrive. They said Mark would be ok and took me to my room (what precious time was wasted that I could have spent with him).

In about half an hour I heard a code pink in the NICU. I knew it was Mark. I had no idea what code pink was at the time (I later found out that it means cardiac arrest for a child) but I just knew something had happened to him. I heard a rush of nurses and people outside my door. Then they were telling me I should go spend some time with my baby. They said that the children's team had arrived and right before they were to give him a blood transfusion, his heart got weak and he went into cardiac arrest. They told me that it's the machines keeping him alive and that even if he lived he'd be severely brain damaged. They said they’d keep him on the machines as long as we wanted, but that it's not good to let him suffer.

My whole family was there. I held Mark, my husband held him, and then I held him and prayed and prayed and prayed for a miracle. We baptized him. Then my little angel opened his eyes and looked at me and then he closed them and then my husband held him and he opened his eyes for his daddy. I can't tell you how amazing it was that he opened his eyes for us. I thought maybe he'd survive if we just have faith. We prayed and prayed, but he didn't open them again. They said there's nothing they could do. It was just a matter of time. He wasn't breathing on his own. We took the heart wrenching decision to take him off the machines.

They took me to my room while they took him off the machines and brought him to me. I figured if he's meant to live, then he will without any machines. He wasn't breathing when they brought him to me, but his little heart was still beating. I held him in my arms with my husband by my side and my parents and sister and brother and so many others in the room. At 12:45 pm, six hours after he was born, his heart beat for the last time and Mark died in my arms...

Our lives were forever changed. We will never be the same – but in many ways, we've changed for the better. Mark is a blessing and if we could do this all over again knowing that we'd only share such a short time with him, we wouldn't hesitate. Just seeing his angelic face was worth every tear.

Because I’d had a c-section, my doctor said I needed to wait at least 10 months to start trying again for a second child and that was unbearable to me. It took a few months for the pathology report to get back to us and confirm that it was vasa previa. Why hadn’t the doctor recognized this when I got to the hospital? Why did they make me wait hours before they gave me a c-section? Why did they wait till his heart almost stopped beating before intervening? How could we have known... We just know Mark wasn’t meant to grow up like other children. Mark was made to be an angel.

The grieving process was ... I can’t even describe it. The fourth anniversary for Mark is coming up in July... so much has happened since. I’m thankful and blessed to say that the long process of grieving, the lowest and most painful moments of our lives up to this point are behind us. Our angel Mark became our hope... We prayed and asked him to pray for us and to ask God to bless us with another child. Mark’s sister, Mikah, was born 14 months after him (we planned for a natural delivery, but ended up having another c-section). We are now expecting our third in a few weeks with a scheduled c-section (another little sister named Mariam). I worry about Mikah and Mariam. I’m a bit paranoid. I am always careful not to talk definitively about the future as we had done when I was pregnant with Mark. I know nothing is guaranteed. I worry about this pregnancy and we just can’t wait to have this new little one in our arms. But of course, we are afraid. But I guess fear and faith can go together. I know that Mark watches over his little sisters and that gives me comfort.

Thank you for allowing me the space to write about Mark and for reading our story.

Nelly and Michael Malek