Today marks the eight year anniversary of when I brought my son home. One month and one day from the day he was born. He did not have an easy beginning.
I was 32 weeks pregnant. I had never been so bloated and uncomfortable in my life. I will remember the day for as long as I live. I had been complaining to my brother-in-law at work earlier in the day that I was sure they had been wrong about my due date and that I was actually due any day. Those words would haunt me for a long time afterwards.
I was going to a pregnancy class led by my Doctor later that day. The first thing that we did when we arrived was take our own blood pressure and weight. I was the first one there so I began by taking my blood pressure. When I tried it was getting painfully tight, so I took it off and tried again. I tried it at least three times before I decided that something must be wrong with the machine because it hurt so much that I had to keep taking it off. I went over to get my weight instead. When I stood on the scale it said that I had gained 20 pounds since the previous week. I knew that couldn’t be right so I stepped off and back on again. The reading didn’t change. One of the nurses came in and I told her that I thought that something must be wrong with the scale because it said that I had gained more than I possibly could have in just one week. Her face went deathly pale and she asked what my blood pressure was. I let her know that I couldn’t take it because it felt like it was cutting off my circulation because it was getting so tight. She turned whiter and told me that she understood that it hurt but that it was very important that we take it anyway. It was close to double what it normally was. She told me that I needed to have my urine tested. I did. It was full of protein. I didn’t understand what that meant. That’s because I had skipped the sections in my pregnancy books that related to preeclampsia. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might get it. But that is exactly what happened.
I was brought into a hospital room. I was alone and terrified. I tried calling my husband but I had to call from the hospital phone because my cell phone was left in my car during class. He didn’t answer. I called my mother and she answered. She couldn’t understand me because I was crying so hard. I was finally able to get out that I was being admitted into the hospital and couldn’t reach my husband and I needed her to try to get ahold of him. She said of course she would.
My parents and sister reached the hospital first. I can imagine that I looked like a lost and terrified child when they saw me. I couldn’t understand why this was happening. I had done everything right. We prayed. My Doctor and the on-call Doctor came in- they hadn’t decided yet what to do. They were debating about transferring me to a hospital that was better equipped to handle a premature baby. I cried and said that it was too soon. He wasn’t ready to be born yet. It was decided in the end that the safest thing was to transfer me. I was given shots to help my son’s lungs develop faster. I was put in an ambulance- my family following. My husband was going to go home and pack a bag for me. One of the nurses rode with me in the ambulance since a member of my family was not allowed. I will be forever grateful that she did. Her shift should have already ended, but she didn’t want to leave me alone.
The next few days were a whirlwind. I was put in a room and examined. My family sat with me for hours. My husband slept in a chair. I was woken up every 15-20 minutes so that they could take my blood pressure. If it got too high I could begin having seizures. The nurses kept telling me that I should try to get some sleep. How could I possibly sleep? My baby was in danger and I was helpless to do anything. One of the Doctors told me that they couldn’t all agree on what the best course of action was. They were trying to get me through the next few days until I was at 33 weeks to have my baby. This would give him more time to grow and develop. I was admitted on a Thursday. I would be 33 weeks on Sunday. He scared me with all of the information that he threw at me. I was not a big fan of his- I felt like he was cold and disengaged. I saw him in the NICU after I had my son. He told me that I had given him a big scare and he hadn’t known what the right thing to do was. I understood then the issue was not that he had a bad bedside manner, but that he was worried about the decisions that they were making.
Saturday night they induced me. They wanted me to have him naturally if possible. It was a painful process. I woke up having contractions early Sunday morning and was informed that they had stopped the process. My son’s heart rate was dropping when I had contractions so they deemed it unsafe. I was going to have an emergency C-section. The other section of the books that I hadn’t read. There was only one Operating Room available and there was another woman that needed a C-section as well. They kept going back and forth about which of us would be first. She ended up going first because she was in labor and couldn’t wait.
It was the scariest experience of my life. I was brought in. My husband beside me. When they told me that I would feel a little bit of pressure I was not expecting to have it feel like someone had reached inside of me and was nailing the skin of my back to the table. It was not painful (the numbing ensured that) but a horrible feeling nonetheless. He was out. As they wheeled him out of the room they lifted him up so that I could see him. The smallest person I had ever seen wearing a bright yellow knit hat. I will never forget that moment.
My husband asked me if I wanted him to stay with me or go with our son. I said that he should go with him- I didn’t want him to be alone. I wasn’t going to be allowed to see or hold him for at least 24 hours. Everything that I cared about had just left the room. I have never felt as alone as I did in that moment. I was surrounded by people. I had lost count of how many medical professionals were there, but here I was feeling like I had been left behind. Out of the side of my eye (I was still staring at the now-empty doorway) I noticed that the Anesthesiologist was running around hastily looking at all of the equipment. Then he looked at me and said “are you holding your breath?” I realized that I was. He said “Please don’t do that! I thought that you had stopped breathing!”. How could I be breathing normally? For the first time in seven months I was completely alone.
When I was brought back to my room my nurse asked me what pain reliever I was going to want once the numbing started to wear off. I said that just some Tylenol would be fine. She laughed a little and said “Oh honey- they just cut through eight layers of your abdomen. You’re going to want something stronger than that!”. She said that she would start me out with something that wasn’t too strong. I was distraught. The last thing that I was concerned about was the pain I might feel in a little while. Shortly after the numbing wore off I was pushing the button for her to give me something stronger, though. My poor brother and sister-in-law came in with my iPad to show me the video that my husband had taken of my son. I lost it. I said “they took him away from me”. I couldn’t stop crying. I can’t describe how empty I felt. There is no closeness that compares to being pregnant. It is the beginning of an unbreakable bond. My son had literally been a part of me and I felt as though my most important limb was missing.
Twenty-four hours felt like a lifetime. Finally it was time for me to actually meet my son in person. I cried as I held him for the first time. It was the greatest moment of my life. Unfortunately it didn’t last long enough- the NICU was very warm and I was very dizzy and they were worried if I stayed too long that I might pass out.
I spent eleven days at the hospital. It took a long time to get me on the right combination of medications to keep my blood pressure at a healthier level. I would need to give myself shots several times a day to make sure that I did not get any blood clots. I stayed at the Ronald McDonald house once I was released. I wouldn’t be able to drive for a couple of weeks and wanted to make sure that I could see my son every day. I wanted to be as close to him as possible. I was in the NICU with him from morning until night. Some of the nurses would tell me it was okay to take a break- they said that I was there more than the other parents and it was okay if I needed to have some time away. Where else could I possibly want to be? I left my heart behind every time that I left his side.
It was a hard month. I would set an alarm to get up every hour to pump (he was so early that my milk had not come in yet and I wanted to make sure that I was able to feed him). I called the hospital around midnight every night to check on him and make sure that he was doing okay. The reports were generally good. We did go through some very scary times while he was there, though. He had some digestive issues which caused him to start losing weight instead of gaining. He was born at only 3.14 pounds, so losing weight was not an option. Not if we wanted him to come home quickly. He was so small that they ran out of places to give him IV’s- they ended up having to use his feet and then his head. It was terrifying. The staff was fantastic though. We were so blessed to be somewhere that was full of such wonderful and supportive Doctors and Nurses.
The day finally arrived when we got to bring him home. A Nurse walked him and I down to my car and inspected the car seat. I don’t think that I have ever driven so slowly. I didn’t take him home though. I brought him straight to my parents house. Our family hadn’t yet met him in person. They had only ever seen him through the NICU glass. It was great to be able to introduce him to everyone. It was scary to bring him home. Even cars come with a manual. But when you have a baby they just send you on your way to figure it out on your own. We have done our best with a lot of help along the way.
I am so grateful for everyone that helped us keep our baby safe and alive when he was brought into the world sooner than he should have been. He is the best part of me. He started out on a difficult road, and I am sad to say that it hasn’t gotten much easier. He is the most precious boy, though, and I love him more than anything. Every year on this day I remember his beginning. I cry. I hug him even tighter than usual. I thank God that he has blessed me with getting to be his mother. It is the best gift that I have ever been given and I will always remember the day that we welcomed him home.