Showing posts with label birth story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birth story. Show all posts
Friday, August 3, 2012
Dear Cora,
The story
of the day you were born is a hard story for me to write. I wish I could write
something that was filled only with joy, expectation, and love. Those things
are all part of your story. But your birth wasn’t only a day of joy, it was
also one of the scariest days of my life because I was afraid that I would lose
you. Even now, 16 months later, its hard for me to admit that.
The night
before you were born, our lives seemed so very normal. Looking back, its bizaar
to me that there were no warnings. I went to a meeting at church, came home,
and tried to sleep. I woke up a few times that night with what I thought were
gas pains. I had experienced that before while I was pregnant so I thought it
was normal. By the morning when the gas pains had not gone away, I decided to
call the midwives just to make sure things were ok. They made me an appointment
for 10:30 that morning. I sent your dad to work and called to make sure your
Maw Maw knew I was going in. The whole time I kept reassuring everyone, including
myself, that it was not big deal, I was just being extra cautious.
I sat in
the waiting room for about 20 minutes before I got to see Theodora, one of the
midwives. She hooked me up to a monitor and it quickly became clear that I
wasn’t have gas pains, I was having real contractions. So she made arrangements
for me to be sent across the street to the hospital where they would stop the
contractions. I want you to know that at this point, no one had any idea that
you would be born a few hours later. I called your dad and asked him to come up
to the hospital to wait with me. He called your Maw Maw for me. The walk from
the midwives’ office to the hospital takes about 5 minutes. That’s how long it
took for me to go from “we will stop the contractions and send you home on
bedrest” to “we need to get some consults in here now!” I was checked into a
room at St. Lukes and things began to get scary quickly.
I was
hooked up to several monitors and given an IV. Nurses, the midwives, and an OB
who I had never seen before kept coming in the room to check me and then
walking out for a hushed conversation. The OB examined me quickly, moved to
where I could see him and said “we are taking this baby now, we cannot wait.”
It was immediately like the world had stopped. I just stared at him thinking
that he must be wrong. I was only 27 weeks pregnant. I knew you were not ready
for the world yet. But ready or not, you were coming. Your dad walked in the
room just after that moment, I was so glad to see him. He was so scared but he
tried hard to take care of us instead of himself. The nurses gave him some blue
scrubs and wheeled me out of the room to prep me for surgery. He called your
Maw Maw, who was on her way to Austin for work, to tell her what was happening.
She immediately started calling every single person she could think of. She
asked them all to pray for you, and sweet girl I know it made a difference.
Then your dad signed a stack of papers-maybe the only time in his life your
father signed documents without reading them carefully. I learned all of this
later.
I was
wheeled into an operating room, moved to a surgical table and given an
epidural. After the medicine had started working, your dad was brought into the
room and the surgery began. I don’t remember much of the surgery. I was just so
scared. You did not cry when you were born. The doctors took you quickly and
began to work on you. They helped you breathe with a ventilator, gave you IVs
for medication, and wrapped you in saran wrap to help keep you warm. At some
point in the middle of all this, Dawn, the midwife who was with us, came to
tell me that you were a girl. I remember whispering “her name is Cora.” It was
really important to me that you had a name right away, that all the doctors and
nurses working on you knew your name. Soon they called your dad over to meet
you while I lay on the table still.
Your dad
came back to tell me that you were beautiful. There were tears in his eyes when
he returned and I knew he was scared. He told me again and again how precious
you were. The TCH team was ready to move you to the NICU. They stopped on their
way out to give me a minute to meet you before taking you away. I remember
touching your itty bitty hand. You were the tiniest thing I’ve ever see. And
the most beautiful. I already loved you but in that moment I knew I loved you
more than anything else in the world. And I was terrified that something would
happen to take you away.
The next
few hours are pretty blurry for me. Your Papoo, PePaw, Pastor Kerry, and Beth
were the first people to get to the hospital. The rest of your grandparents
quickly followed. I remember calling your uncles to tell them that you were here,
how beautiful you were, and how tiny. Your dad came back to tell me that you
were doing well and settled into your new home in bed A8 of the Purple Pod. He
took your grandparents to meet you and they all came to tell me how amazing you
were.
Later I
learned that when you dad took you to the NICU, the nurses asked him if you had
a name and he said “I think its Cora, that’s what her mom said.” He was so
overwhelmed. But the nurses made you a special name plate for your isolette.
It was
after midnight before I was allowed to see you. I fought hard to be with you my
sweet girl. It was all I could think about. So as soon as I was able, your dad
pushed my wheelchair to your bedside and I was able to really see you for the
first time. You were black and blue, covered in tubes and wire, but already so
beautiful and so very strong. You had amazed the doctors already. Within hours
of your birth, you were able to breathe well enough on your own to have the
ventilator removed. I never saw you with that machine breathing for you. By the
time I saw you, you had a CPAP hat and mask helping you breathe but you were
fighting to do it yourself. I would learn quickly how determined you were. I
truly believe your inner strength helped save your life.
Cora, the
day you were born was such a scary, emotional day for me. It will always have
those memories. But it was also the day I learned that it is possible to love
someone more than you love yourself. I learned that watching your baby fight to
live can inspire the kind of love that doesn’t have words. I learned that a
tiny 2lb 10oz baby can move people around the world to prayer. And I knew that
you would bring more joy and more love to our lives than I ever thought
possible. On that day I knew that in making me your mom, God had changed my
life forever.
I love you more than words can say and I am so proud to be
your mommy.
Friday, July 20, 2012
 |
| Tony, one year. |
My birth story is a sad and scary one. I had no trouble getting pregnant, both times
conceiving in less than 2 months. But
keeping a fetus alive, proved to be a nearly impossible task for me. I had horrible morning sickness and fatigue
with my daughter. They overshadowed the
joy I felt expecting a new baby and left me feeling extremely guilty for not
enjoying her more during her albeit brief life when I delivered her, already
deceased, at 18 weeks gestation. I’ve
never known such darkness in my life.
Nothing brought me comfort.
Six weeks after delivering her, my second round of test
results were back with an almost certain cause for the late miscarriage, a
septate uterus, which had apparently corrected itself according to my MRI. So my perinatologist and OB/GYN gave me the
all-clear to attempt another pregnancy and assured me I would not experience
the same issues or be put on bed rest.
(I had asked about the bed rest because a close friend had spent several
months bed ridden with her first child.)
I was desperate to put the bad feelings behind me.
We started trying that night. I went back to work from maternity leave the
following day.
Nineteen days later, exactly two months after learning my
daughter was no longer alive inside me, I tested positive for a second
pregnancy. In sharp contrast to my first
pregnancy, I was terrified rather than elated.
Were we ready? How could I love
another baby as much as I loved my daughter?
What if this one died too? You
can’t replace a baby.
But I was happy to have a second chance. This time, I’d be a better mom.
Two weeks later, I hemorrhaged.
The on-call doctor didn’t seem to care that I was bleeding
and pregnant. “This happens
sometimes. Most of the time it is
implantation bleeding and does not cause a problem. But if it is a miscarriage, there is nothing
we can do about it,” she told me matter-of-factly, as if she were talking about
a lost book or something. I left her
office feeling helpless. But she had
prescribed pelvic rest, and that I could control. So I did my best to take it easy and wait for
the bleeding to stop.
When I followed up with my OB at my dating ultrasound the
following week, she reiterated the on-call doctor’s diagnosis and
recommendation and said to call if it happened again. It did the next day-- a week after the first
time-- and again a few days later. No
doctor seemed to care. My perinatologist
agreed with both OBs at our scheduled meeting a week later, after all, I was
only 7 weeks pregnant and miscarriages are common around that time. Three days later, it was like someone had
turned the faucet on…I bled for an hour, saturating pad after pad. The phone nurse seemed very nonchalant about
the bleeding when I called around 10:30 PM and asked me to make an ultrasound
appointment in the morning. When I
arrived, they rushed me to the perinatologist’s office for the ultrasound,
after which I was given the bad news: I had a subchorianic hemmhorage, and I
would be on strict bed rest from the time I arrived home until it healed, which
in most cases takes about 1-2 months time.
It didn’t heal.
At 13 weeks, I had been hemorrhaging less often than in my
early weeks of bed rest, so I was allowed to modify my bed rest to take the
stairs a couple times per day and take a reasonable shower. (On strict bed rest, I got 5 minutes, which
isn’t really long enough to do anything other than wash my long hair.) That Wednesday, I had the worst pain yet,
coming and going and squeezing my torso with immense strength. All I could do was scream from the pain. I called the OB because surely something was
different. My husband rushed me to the
clinic for an emergency ultrasound. The
technician was doing regular clinic hours that day, thank goodness, but she was
my high risk ultrasound technician usually.
She was surprised to see me and even more surprised by the shrieking I
was doing. (They wouldn’t even let me
sit in the lobby because I was scaring the other patients!) She had a nurse run to get the on-call doctor
shortly after beginning the exam.
This
could not be good.
The doctor did a quick pelvic exam upon arrival to the
small, dim room. All the healthcare
professionals stepped out of the room together afterward. My husband, our unborn baby, and I were alone
in the very scary ultrasound room—the same room that had brought us happiness
just seven weeks earlier at our dating ultrasound. When they returned, the OB said the words
etched in my memory, “Your placenta has abrupted. Your uterus is as hard as a rock. You will not be pregnant by the morning. I’m scheduling a D&C for tomorrow.”
“Like hell you are!”
I screamed, “His heartbeat is 156!
And I’m far enough I can labor through it, so that is what I’m going to
do. This is NOT my first miscarriage!”
“If we allow that, you will most likely bleed to death.”
“Well then, I guess I’m going to bleed to death because
you’re not taking my baby!”
“We’re not going to let that happen.” And the doctor excused himself to give us some
privacy to deal with the emotions. At
that moment, I stopped caring about the pain.
A strange calm washed over me as I resigned to bring my baby to life or
die trying. We called our pastor. And they admitted me to the hospital attached
to the clinic.
A few hours later, full of IVs and resignation, I was
approached by the same doctor. He
delivered the best news of the day, “There’s still hope.” My contractions had stopped, the bleeding had
eased, and the baby still had a strong heartbeat. When pastor arrived, we shared the good news
and prayed. I was released the following
day, prescribed strict bed rest until delivery.
As the weeks progressed, the hemorrhages happened less
frequently but more intensely. I would awaken
in a pool of my own blood some nights, so I began sleeping on a towel. We rushed to the ER several times as I
cramped violently and passed blood clots the size of my fist. When this would happen, I typically vomited,
became light-headed, and got to the floor as quickly as possible to avoid the
dangerous fall that would come if I lost consciousness. I cannot describe the terror I felt crawling
back to the toilet, plastic cooking spoon in hand (don’t worry, this was its
final purpose in our home) to scoop the clot out of the toilet and check for
gray fetal tissue. No one can ever get
used to that.
But things were looking up.
My perinatologist felt that by 19 weeks, I did not need to be seen every
week anymore. I dropped from weekly
ultrasounds to every 3 weeks because baby was growing and developing
nicely. When Viability Day came at 24
weeks, we celebrated with sparkling grape juice.
The morning of my 25 week appointment, I awoke in the early
morning as a large clot punched through my cervix. “I’ll be admitted today,” I told my husband
as I returned to bed. So he made
arrangements to take me to my afternoon ultrasound. We were in the perinatologist’s office all of
a minute after the ultrasound. We had
discussed this possibility before, so all he had to do was reiterate what was
happening.
My hospital room was clinical and lonely, but it was a
single room, something I’m eternally grateful for. I know that I could not have handled a happy
nursing mother bedding next to me; I could barely handle hearing the healthy
babies cry in the hallway. We had a
lovely nurse at check-in who made a deal with me, “As long as you stay
pregnant, you get cheesecake.” I was
once again hooked up to IVs and monitors, and I received a round of steroid
shots preparing for imminent delivery in the next few days.
Three weeks later, I was still pregnant and still in my
hospital room, the closest room to the OR.
By now, I had decorated and befriended many members of the hospital
staff. A “chain of love” in green, cream,
and pink (the only colors available on the craft cart for some reason)
festooned my walls, one link per day of bed rest so far and one link for each
day I hoped to stay pregnant. I looked
forward to my hot lunches, since I’d spent most of the last few months eating
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cereal.
Don’t get me wrong, I had plenty of days I was angry and did not want to
talk to the staff or visitors, but I did my best to stay positive. The pet therapy program helped a lot. I would get random visits from various dogs
during my stay. But I kept holding out
to meet the pony—that’s right, I said pony!
 |
| "...that's right, I said a pony!" |
Now at 28 weeks, I’d been complaining that the blood didn’t
seem like blood anymore, too clear and too constantly gushy. So my nurse did a test for my water being
broken. (I’d battled low fluid for a
long time, so no one was concerned before this.) Barely a minute into the test, which is
supposed to take several, she confirmed that I was leaking amniotic fluid
pretty heavily. So I got more IVs, more
steroids, and more scared.
Again, I avoided having the baby when everyone thought I
would. After a week, my perinatologist
let me have the IV ports out again until necessary and gave me the best news
I’d had in a while, “If you are still pregnant a week after your water breaks
without infection, there is a good chance you can make it to 34 weeks. That is as far as I will let you go, though
because at that point the potential detriment will outweigh the potential good
of staying pregnant.” So we continued.
Three weeks later, my husband brought me Olive Garden
takeout to celebrate our second anniversary.
I turned down my hospital dinner, including the cheesecake that was to
be my dessert. That night, I went to
sleep with some nasty indigestion and a loving husband kissing me goodnight and
heading home.
In the morning, I still had the indigestion when I woke up,
so I waddled to the bathroom. That
brought me no relief, so I called the nurse.
It was early, about 2 hours before shift change, so she got there fairly
quickly. “Let’s put you on the monitor,”
she suggested. After about an hour, she
came back to check on me and said she wasn’t concerned because she didn’t see
any contractions. But I felt worse, so I
asked if the on-call OB could stop by.
He had just finished a delivery, so he came in a little while
later. I stayed on the monitor while I
waited.
He had come to be one of my favorite on-calls because on
weekends, he would sometimes bring in his terrier, a spunky little pooch with a
skull-and-cross-bones scarf. I think the
dog was as excited to see me as I was him.
He did not have his dog with him that day, though; it was a
Tuesday. He put his hand on my belly and
watched the monitor. Soon I was crying
from the pain; then it eased. Again
crying, then eased. “You are having
contractions,” he said, “I don’t know why they are not registering on the
monitor.”
“Am I in labor, then?”
I asked. I had been texting my
husband since I woke with pain, and I needed to text him soon if I was in labor
because otherwise he would leave for work.
“It’s almost shift change.
I’ll let the next on-call check for labor. He should be here in a few minutes.”
I texted my husband who had already taken off work because
he was so concerned by my messages. He
was there before the next OB arrived.
Sure enough, when the next OB did a pelvic exam, I was 4 cm dilated and
90% effaced. “You’re in labor,” he said.
“Give me some drugs,” I said, “I’m having a cesarean because
baby is breech and want to be in as little pain as possible.”
He made me wait while he got an ultrasound machine to
double-check baby’s position. Yes, baby
was still frank breech, as if to stop my body’s numerous attempts to end the
pregnancy early.
Soon, I was shaved, prepped with IV ports, and briefed on
what would happen in surgery. My OB met
us in the OR. I was grateful for the
release from my bed prison, despite my concerns for my baby’s health and
well-being as a 31 week preemie. The
surgery went quickly. My husband almost
didn’t make it into the room in time for the actual birth.
My son, Tony’s
cries were the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard! Many preemies don’t cry right away because
their lungs aren’t fully developed, so I was a little surprised and extremely
grateful he came out crying. His weren’t
fully developed either, but the steroid shots helped to mature them as much as
possible. “Tony, be brave! I need you to be brave! I love you!” I called to him. He was attended to by a team of neonatal
specialists who showed him to me momentarily before whisking him away to the
NICU while my doctors stitched me up and sent me to post-op for a few hours.
 |
| Tony at birth with his new friend, Pooh. |
Waiting to see him was hard.
My husband followed him to the NICU and took some pictures until the
NICU staff asked him to leave the room while they intubated the baby. He came back to visit me and show me
pictures, answering all my questions about how he looked and smelled as well as
what was happening down the hall in the NICU.
Tony weighted a whopping 3 lbs. 11 oz. and was just shy of 16 inches
long. I did not get to visit him for an
eternity—ok, a couple of hours of post-op—and I when I did, I was wheeled to
the NICU still in my bed as the epidural wore off. He was beautiful! And he knew my touch.
I could only stay with him for a short time because he
needed his sleep, and I needed to pump.
While I was in between visits with Anthony, the pony came for pet
therapy, as if she’d waited to meet me, so she could celebrate with me.
Having a baby in the NICU was tough. After 6 months of bed rest, my muscles had
atrophied. Any mother who’s had a
cesarean can attest that the first few days are full of intense pain at the
surgery site, but I could barely walk 100 feet before the surgery. My nurses encouraged me to walk my wheelchair
down to the NICU to regain strength. I
would walk as far as I could and get a push the rest of the way.
I held Tony for the first time on his third day of
life. He was only on the ventilator for
2 days, which was the main reason we were not able to hold him the first 2
days. Holding him was incredible! But I cramped up really badly from the
oxytocin release and had to stop after only about 15 minutes. My husband held him that night.
Over the next six weeks, we had our share of ups and downs
but mostly positives. We tried
breastfeeding around two weeks old (33 weeks gestational age), which was a mix
of emotions. Tony knew exactly where his
mouth should go, I’ll always remember the sweet look on his face as he looked
up at me, mouth agape, as if to say, “I’ve got my mouth in the right spot;
where’s my milk?” Alas, he just could
not get enough suction. We had some help
from nurses and lactation consultants, but he just did not get the hang of
it. After about 2 weeks of trying, we
decided to try a bottle so that we could take him home when he got the hang of
eating. He did much better with the
synthetic nipple, though he was able to suckle my breast for a few minutes
before we left the NICU. He did not
successfully nurse without a nipple shield until he was 3.5 months old (1.5
months adjusted age).
He was put on CPAP after the ventilator for a few days
before going to a nasal cannula that stayed until he was 6 months old (4 months
adjusted age). He hated the tubes
attached to his face and would try to pull them off. He did this until the cannula came off. I hated having to put it on him.
He spent about two days under the phototherapy lights
because his bilirubin levels were too high.
He had an orangey color. And he
wore a little eye mask that made him look like a movie star tanning while he
was under the light. He was in an
isolette at the time to reduce the amount of stimuli around him to help him
sleep.
He had lots of tests to make sure he was healthy. He had ultrasounds on his head to check for
bleeding; thank God there was none!
Several times, the respiratory therapists tried to take him off oxygen,
but his blood oxygen levels always dropped.
And he had a chest ultrasound because of a heart murmur. His hearing test came back normal, and he
passed his car seat test.
Near the end of his NICU stay, he had an eye exam, which was
horrible! I was asked to leave the room
while the ophthalmologist did the exam because he cried so much. When I came back, Tony was limp and
unresponsive. He had had his
circumcision and the chest ultrasound that day as well. The neonatal team tried to assure me he was
just tired, but he was not acting like he normally did, even tired. This is probably my worst memory of the
NICU. I picked him up and held him while
the nurse jabbered at me about who knows what.
I was angry that he was so unresponsive—what had they done to my sweet
little boy?! “Please leave us,” I
implored the nurse. I held him close and
kissed him. When the doctors came in, I
was still pretty upset. They had
scheduled too much for my little guy.
And he would not eat, which was our last big hurdle before he came
home. I did not want this to set him
back. His feeding tube had been removed,
and now they were threatening to replace it for a few days. I was devastated and angry, so I told the
doctors why I was upset. They said that
they’d do what they could to make sure Tony could come home as soon as
possible. And the home health nurse
brought us our oxygen concentrator and taught us how to use it and our apnea
monitor.
The next day, we were able to room in with Tony. It was a long night, since the apnea monitor
we had received turned out to be faulty and false-alarmed numerous times
throughout the night. Within a few
hours, we had to disconnect it and use a hospital monitor because the alarms
were so frequent. My husband and I were
so scared every time. But otherwise, the
room-in went well, and we received a new monitor the next morning.
We stayed until early afternoon that day, a Saturday in
mid-August. We filled out our paperwork,
said farewell to the nurses, doctor, and other staff, and packed up all the
stuff we got to take home. It was
emotional taking him home for the first time.
We were happy to have him close to us but very scared to bring him home
in less than perfect health. The first
night, no one really slept in our house.
We were too nervous, and Tony was in the newborn phase, waking to eat
every few hours. But we eventually found
our groove and learned how to care for him calmly and rationally.
 |
| The chain of love around Tony's room. |
As a one year old, he is still behind on some things
developmentally, but he is happy and well-adjusted. He pulls himself to standing, communicates
his needs and wants, and loves to watch the monkeys at the zoo. He even blows raspberries on my legs, like I
do to his belly. This sends us both into
fits of laughter. And I don’t know that
I would change our story as awful as the memories are because I know I’d
appreciate him very differently without all the difficulty in getting him here. Our chain of love now bedecks his bedroom, a
daily reminder of how far we’ve come.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Birth Story One - Norah
My first daughter, Norah, was born at 34w2d due to severe
pre-eclampsia. I had a fairly uneventful pregnancy. Around 30 weeks I
began to have a lot of swelling in my hands and legs, but figured it
was part of being pregnant in the summer. At my 34-week appointment, I
was surprised to discover that my blood pressure was elevated and I
had protein in my urine. My OB sent me to the hospital for monitoring.
I was diagnosed with severe pre-eclampsia and was induced the next
day.
The induction was far from the birth scenario I'd envisioned. Instead
of walking around and keeping myself distracted, I was stuck in bed
(mostly on my left side) and told to minimize stimulation to keep my
blood pressure low. I had wanted a natural birth, but the only part of
that plan that happened was no epidural. After 11 hours of Pitocin, my
OB said Norah wasn't handling contractions well and we'd need to do a
c-section. She left the room to arrange it, but Norah had other plans!
I felt a quick change from painful contractions to a strong need to
push. She was born after only 10 minutes (approx 3 contractions) of
pushing. She was 4lbs 11oz and 17.5 inches. I got to hold her for a
minute before she was taken to the NICU. Unfortunately I had issues
with retained placenta and had to have an emergency D&C under general
anesthesia, so I wasn't able to see her again until the following
afternoon. My husband, who was amazing through labor, was able to be
with her. It was very hard emotionally to be separated from my sweet
baby. My blood pressure remained high while I was in the hospital, so
I had to take it easy. I nearly laughed when (months later) I noticed
that my discharge instructions said "home to bedrest with bathroom
privileges." Not exactly feasible when you have a NICU baby!
Our 23-day NICU stay was uneventful - no breathing issues, jaundice,
or serious health concerns. Norah just took her time figuring out how
to eat so she was fed through a tube that went through her nose into
her stomach. I had no idea that the suck-swallow-breathe instinct
isn't developed until around 37 weeks. Sure enough, that's right about
when she caught on. We gave her bottles to get her home faster and she
never looked back, so I pumped for 8 months.
Now Norah is a vibrant, curious girl of nearly 3. She loves to read,
dance, and pretend to be a princess. She has always been small for her
age, but otherwise you'd never know about her rocky start to life!
Birth Story Two - Emily
As a stark contrast to the first time around where I conceived immediately, it took 14 months to conceive our second child, Emily. I was watched more closely from the beginning, but felt confident in my odds of having a full-term pregnancy since my OB estimated I had a 20% chance of pre-eclampsia again. We found out during my first pregnancy that I have a bicornuate uterus (heart-shaped), so I knew I had some risk of pre-term labor and a breech baby, but I wasn't terribly concerned.
Once again, I had a rather easy pregnancy during my first two trimesters. We were excited to find out that Norah would have a baby sister! At 30 weeks, I had a scheduled ultrasound to check baby's growth. This is when things started to fall apart. We were shocked to learn that baby was measuring about 3 weeks behind, particularly since her measurements were right on track at 20 weeks. In addition, she was breech and my amniotic fluid level was at 7 (8 and above is normal). I was put on strict bedrest and was referred to a maternal fetal medicine specialist. Over the next 5 weeks, I continued on modified bedrest and had weekly biophysical profile ultrasounds. My fluid levels improved and stayed in the 8-9 range. Emily passed every BPP with flying colors, but didn't grow very much and changed from SGA (small for gestational age) to IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction). Bedrest was a huge challenge, particularly with a toddler! I would get sore from laying on my side and felt quite lonely since I was used to being on the go and seeing friends often.
On a Friday around 34 1/2 weeks, my blood pressure began to creep up so I was sent to labor and delivery for monitoring. It improved when I was resting on my left side, so I was sent home on strict bedrest for the weekend. When I saw my OB on Monday, my blood pressure was better but my fluid levels had dropped to 6.7. I was sent home but told to come back the next day with packed bags. On Tuesday, my blood pressure was up again, I had protein in my urine, and my fluid level had dropped to 5, so I was sent to the hospital to be induced that afternoon. My OB thought conditions were favorable for induction/vaginal delivery since I was already dilated to 2cm and Emily had flipped to head-down the previous week. However, after a few hours of Pitocin, Emily wasn't doing well with contractions - experiencing elevated heart rate between contractions and decelerations during contractions. My OB recommended a c-section and we agreed that was the best option. A short time later, Emily was born, all 3lbs 8oz / 16.75 inches of her!
Despite some anxiety about the c-section experience, Emily's birth was much less traumatic than Norah's birth. Part of this I attribute to lots of prayer and lots of confidence in my OB's judgement. I also think my previous preemie/NICU experience helped me to be a better advocate for myself. And even though she was tiny, Emily acted every bit of her 35 weeks gestational age! She began looking for food right away and my OB asked the NICU staff to allow me to breastfeed in recovery. This was an amazing experience and she did so well!
Emily's NICU stay lasted 14 days and was uncomplicated. Like her big sister, she was a feeder/grower the whole time. We worked on breastfeeding, but decided early on to focus on bottle feeding to get home sooner. Again, the NICU was a very hard place to be. With a child at home, I always felt guilty for being away from one of my children. My husband and I have amazing parents and siblings who pitched in to help with our toddler while I spent time with Emily in the NICU. I definitely had at least one NICU meltdown after a failed attempt at breastfeeding. I'll never forget the kind nurse who noticed and brought me a box of kleenex.
Once Emily came home, we began to work more on breastfeeding. Our lactation consultant used to be a NICU nurse and she was an invaluable resource as Emily and I learned to be patient with one another and finally (around 8 weeks old!) succeeded in breastfeeding! I'll always be proud of both of us for sticking with it!
Now Emily is 3 months old and is a very happy, laid-back baby. She melts my heart when she finishes nursing and looks up at me with a smile on her face! And even though she started at a mere 3.5 pounds, she has some cute little rolls on her thighs!
After having 2 preemies, I'm almost entirely certain that our family is complete. This definitely brings feelings of sadness since I never got to have a normal 3rd trimester and childbirth experience. I'll never know what it's like to think "this is it - I'm in labor!" I'll never get the excitement of being discharged from the hospital on the same day as my baby. Instead I have a special set of skills. I can change a tiny diaper of a baby through the holes in an isolette while keeping the attached wires out of the poop. I can speak in terms of cc's and mLs. I have weighed diapers, taken countless temperature readings, and charted food intake for months on end. I love my girls fiercely and know they are a gift from God. Being a preemie mom is hard, but I hope it's given me more empathy for other moms and patience for my children.
I had a really great pregnancy without any morning sickness or the usual complaints. I was loving feeling my little guy kicking all the time and had just had my baby shower and we were so excited. I went in to a regular checkup on Monday, May 23, 2011, and was sent to the hospital because my blood pressure was higher than normal and I had protein in my urine. I had just had a really hard weekend, my husband had an emergency appendectomy and his mom was being horrible to me, so I felt the stress all weekend. So I wasn't terribly shocked about having high bp, in fact I had a feeling when I went that morning that something was off. I remember trying so hard not to cry in the doctors office, I was trying to act like it was okay and everything would be fine, but as soon as I got out to my car I lost it. My husband was at home sleeping off his surgery, so I called my sister who had gotten preeclampsia with her first daughter at 35 weeks. Then I called my mom because I needed her to drive us to the hospital (my husband was on pain medicine and couldn't drive, and I was in no condition to drive).
We went to the hospital and they set me up to monitor my bp, hoping it would calm down, but it didn't. I was only 31 weeks and 4 days, so I had to be transferred by ambulance to another hospital with a level 3 NICU. They had started a magnesium drip before we left and I felt like I was on fire, so that drive made me sick. The new hospital was beautiful, the room was HUGE and everything was brand new, so I was happy to be there. I was having contractions but since they didn't hurt I didn't realize they were contractions until they hooked the baby up to a monitor and told me.
We were visited by a lot of doctors that first night, including the parinatologist and neonatologist who went over what was going on and what we could expect having our son that early. The lab came in every 2-3 hours to take blood, and the nurse came in every hour to check my bp. I don't remember sleeping more than a couple of hours that night, or any night while I was there. I was on the magnesium until Wednesday, then moved out of labor and delivery into an antipartum room, and finally allowed to eat something. Then Thursday, at 32 weeks, I just knew that was the day. All week I just kept telling myself "I have to make it to Thursday, he'll be okay if he's 32 weeks", and Thursday I felt different. I saw stars, and my reflexes were crazy. So Thursday night I had an emergency c section, and Liam Parker was born at 3lbs 4oz and 15.35" long.
The operating room was really strange for me and I was shaking uncontrollably the entire time. I felt them pull him out of me and he didn't cry right away, which scared me. As soon as he cried I threw up. They wheeled him by us quickly and he looked exactly like my husband, then took him to the NICU. Since my bp was still not controlled they continued the magnesium drip and took me back to my room. A few hours went by before the doctor came in to tell us how our son was doing. They had to intubate him, but he was stable.
I didn't get to visit my son until Saturday. That was the hardest part of it all for me because our family got to see him before I did, which to this day breaks my heart. I stayed in the hospital until the following Wednesday because they couldn't find a medicine to control my bp and heart rate. When they finally released me I knew my bp was still high, I could feel it, but I so badly wanted to sleep in my own bed. I cried when we left because I felt so awful having to leave my son. I was supposed to take it easy but I had to keep busy to keep from crying, so if I wasn't at the NICU I was spending time with my 5 month old and 3 year old nieces.
The day after I was released we went to the NICU and found out that Liam's heart rate was too high and they didn't know why. On top of that I was breaking out in a rash, presumably from one of the medicines they had given me. I was barely getting any sleep, waking up every 3 hours to pump and not being able to turn my brain off. I had my husband call the NICU every night because I was too afraid to call and get bad news. They gave Liam medicine that lowered his heart rate, and then found out that his calcium level was really high. That led to genetic testing, which all came back negative but scared us.
For some reason Liam just couldn't handle being off of oxygen. He was intubated for 1 day, on CPAP for 3 days, then had the nasal canulla for most of the remaining 37 day stay. They tried many times and he'd do great, and then we'd go back the next day and it'd be back on. That was sooo hard. It was also really hard to see other babies come and go quicker than Liam. It wasn't until a 26 weeker came in that I realized how lucky we were, and I tried to be positive from that day on.
Today Liam is almost 13 months, he's 21.5lbs and 30" tall. He's almost walking and can stand independently with a little trickery on our part. You would never know he was early unless we told you, and the entire experience has made me a much stronger person. It made things clear to me, and although I would never wish it on anyone I also know that it has made us who we are today.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
My pregnancy was a surprise. While my husband and I knew we wanted children our original plan was to wait a few more years. When my birth control pill failed we were shocked but still excited that we were going to be parents. My first and second trimester went great. No complications whatsoever. At the beginning of my third trimester I started noticing minor swelling in my feet and legs. It was the weekend when I noticed so I contacted the on call nurse. She told me not to worry that swelling was normal. So I put it out of my mind.
Everything went downhill at my 31 (almost 32 week) appointment. I felt fine and I was excited because it was a Friday and I got to leave work early to go to my appointment. The following day my husband and I would be heading out on our “babymoon” We would be traveling up north over five hours away. I sat down in the doctor’s office and my doctors nurse asked me how things were going. When I told her I felt great other than some swelling. She had a look of concern on her face and said, “swelling already? At 32 weeks?” She checked my blood pressure and said, “have you ever had high blood pressure before?” I said, “never” She rushed out of the room because she wanted to check the protein in my urine. She came back in. My urine was fine. My blood pressure was checked three more times and only dropped when I laid down.
My doctor came in and explained that high blood pressure can happen in pregnancy sometimes. He didn’t seem too concerned but he wanted to do an ultrasound to check fluid levels and Isaac’s growth. The ultra sound showed normal fluid levels and he was measuring on the small side but not to the point of worry. I of course was freaking out. Isaac had always measured larger. In fact he was always measuring a few days ahead and now he was measuring a few days behind. My doctor reassured me that everything looked fine and sent me in for blood work. When the blood work came back everything looked great so I was given the ok to go on vacation as long as I took it easy (which was the plan anyway). We had to be back in a week for another check up. My doctor mentioned that at 35 weeks we’d do another growth check and if the baby hadn’t grown we might have to him out.
Once I was back from vacation I continued to be monitored. They had me coming in twice a week. My blood pressure sneaked back up when I went back to work so I was put on a low dose of medication. We’d also do NST’s (non stress tests) and ultrasounds to check fluids. They had me do a 24 hour urine collection. The day I was doing this I started to have blurry vision. I called right away and they told me to not to back to work until I had my results. The results confirmed I had pre-eclampisa. I was officially put on bedrest.
At week 34 my doctor was on vacation. It was the longest week of my life. I had decreased movement which scared me. I kept calling the nurses and they kept telling me things were fine. Baby was also passing the NST’s. Fluids looked good. I couldn’t wait until my doctor was back.
My mom went with me to my 35 week appointment and my husband made the 1.5 hour drive to work. I was the first appointment of the day. While the doctor had mentioned the possibility of an early delivery I never thought I’d be admitted the same day I had my appointment. So I told my husband to go to work. We did an NST, which Isaac failed. They tried everything to wake him up with no luck. The decided that they’d do the growth scan and then try the NST again. Before the growth scan started my doctor said he would like to see Isaac measuring at least 5 pounds. Our biggest fear came true. There had not been any growth since the last scan. Isaac was measuring at 3 pounds 12 ounces. He had something called IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction). There would be no need to do an NST and I burst into tears when I was told that he was going to be born that day. My mom called my husband and a few other family members and I was admitted the hospital.
The original plan was to have me take a drug to prepare my body for labor, then induce me the follow day. My son had other plans though and as soon as I was hooked up they noticed he was in distress. I had a c-section a few hours later. He was born weighing 3 pounds 4.5 ounces. He was 17.75 inches long. He needed a little oxygen at first and it was determined that he needed a NICU. Unfortunately, the hospital we were at didn’t have one so he was airlifted to the nearest one (1.5 hrs away). I was able to hold him and see him for about 10-15 minutes. I was after all still recovering from major surgery.
I took his leaving surprisingly well. It’s something that I look back on and can’t believe how strong I was on that day. I still had to be closely monitored. My blood pressure was through the roof. I had to be put on magnesium. After about 24 hours I was finally off the mag and moved into new room. That’s when the emotions of the whole experience hit me. For some reason the hospital staff found it logical to put me, a mother separated from her newborn, in the same hallway with other mothers who just had their babies. All night long I heard babies crying. It was hard.
I finally made it to the NICU three days later. Isaac had been breathing on his own pretty much since he got there. He was seen as a feeder/grower. His doctors made jokes several times that he was the most boring baby in the NICU because all he needed to do was learn to eat and grow. I really wanted to breastfed Isaac. I had been pumping every two hours (and every 3-4 at night) since his birth. It was a week after Isaac was born that we decided to try breastfeeding. It went okay. We continued to work at it though and whenever he’d have a great day we’d add another nursing session. We’d have our good days and tough days with it. It is extremely challenging to teach a preemie how to breastfeed because they get really tired really quick. Breastfeeding requires a lot of energy. While it was both mentally and physically exhausting I refused to give up. Once he was nursing five times a day my husband and I “roomed in” and Isaac was discharged the following day. We spent 21 days in the NICU. He left weighing 4 pounds.
Isaac is now 3.5 months old (the photo is from when he turned 3 months old) and he weighs 10 pounds 12 ounces. He smiles all the time and loves “talking” to us. I still struggle emotionally sometimes with the whole experience of how he was born and the milestones he has yet to reach that others the same age or younger have met. I have a hard time when I think about other milestones like sitting up, crawling or walking and how he will likely be behind in these things too. I think the story of his birth will be something I carry with me for the rest of my life. I feel that the emotions will always be raw. In the end I have a healthy little boy and I love him to pieces and I wouldn’t change my experience for anything. It has made me a stronger mother, woman and wife.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
 |
| Aiden and Ryan today! |
It all started on April 30th,
2011, when I POAS and saw that magic word “Pregnant”. I had been so used to seeing “Not Pregnant”
that my heart literally jumped out of my throat. We had been trying for nine months, ever
since our trip to Europe in August 2009 where we visited Ireland, England,
Poland and Italy. I remember running
down to the basement where DH was cooking (we had construction going on at the
time so we were using the basement kitchen).
I showed him the pregnancy test and started crying immediately. We embraced and stood there hugging for what
seemed like an eternity. I was supposed
to run a half marathon the next morning with my sister, but opted out of it. I knew I was only 4 weeks along so I didn’t
want to risk anything happening to this tiny being growing inside of me.
The next two weeks went by without
a hitch. I had an u/s scheduled for my
ninth week to date the pregnancy and meet my new OB. At 6 weeks I experienced some bleeding. We went in for an early u/s expecting to be
told that I miscarried. When my OB
started the u/s he told me to relax and that it was likely that nothing was
wrong. The next words that came out of
his mouth would change our lives forever.
He said, “Do you have a good heart?”
I said “yea, why?” He said,
“Well, you’re having twins!” I never
laughed and cried so hard in my entire life.
I immediately bought Dr. Luke’s
book about carrying multiples. I spent
the next few days reading through the chapters and getting myself anxious. I read all about PTL and other complications
that are common with twin pregnancies.
At one point, DH told me to put the book down and stop making myself
crazy. So I put the book down and never
turned back. I spent the next few months
taking it pretty easy. I did a lot of
lying down after work but I also did my fair share of tidying up after the
construction going on in our house. And
I was seeing my OB every three weeks.
On September 12 I was put on bed
rest due to a shortening cervix. I went
to the hospital with DH for a routine growth scan and a cervical check. When they measured my cervix it was at
1.2cm. The cutoff for bed rest is
3cm. I was monitored for contractions (I
wasn’t having any) and my OB was called to come a check on me. She checked my cervix again and gave me the
bed rest talk. I cried. But mostly because I was nervous about not
being able to work, and how we would afford our mortgage for the next 4 months,
not because I was nervous about carrying to full term. I convinced myself that I would be in bed
until I was 38 weeks.
Exactly one week later we went in
for another cervix check, and much to my surprise my cervix was no longer
measurable. The technician who measured
it didn’t say anything at first. She
simply put the wand down and left the room.
I knew something was really wrong.
She came back with the doctor, who checked me again, and they
immediately told me I was being admitted to L&D. While I was waiting for a bed, I heard them
say I had a bulging bag. I never heard
this term before, but I knew what it meant.
I was admitted to triage and hooked
up to a mag drip and IV antibiotics and three monitors – one for each baby and
one for me. I spent the next 24 hours
there not able to eat or drink anything for fear that they would have to
perform an emergency C-section. I was
contracting the whole time, every minute or two, but I didn’t feel the
contractions. A neonatologist came to my
bedside and explained to me and my husband all the complications our children
were faced if they were born now, in a week, in two weeks, etc. I felt like I was living a dream.
The next day I was moved to
antepartum because I was no longer contracting.
DH went home and brought me my laptop, some magazines and books, a
hairbrush, my toothbrush and anything else he thought I needed. We were ready to live in the hospital for the
next 3.5 months. I wasn’t allowed to get
up to go to the bathroom and the doctors were no longer checking my cervix for
fear of breaking my water. I was told to
inform my nurse of any contractions, bleeding or discharge. DH stayed with me every night and went to
work in the morning. Five days later, I
convinced him to go home and sleep in our bed.
He needed it. He didn’t have work
the next day so he would be able to sleep in.
He went home and I played on my computer. I stumbled upon the Preemie page on TB and
opened a post where everyone wrote about how their LO’s are doing now. It gave me so much hope. I grew tired and went to sleep.
At 4:30am I awoke to some
bleeding. I immediately called my nurse
who came with the resident on call. She
checked me with a speculum, and immediately told me there is too much blood and
she has to take me to L&D. I asked
her if I should call my husband. She
said yes. When they moved me onto a
stretcher, I looked over at my bed and saw the blood. I said “Oh fuck!” when I saw how much there
was. As they wheeled me to L&D, I
remember feeling very calm but a million thoughts were racing through my
head. I have no clue what they
were. The Drs performed an u/s to see
the babies’ postioning, and the whole time I felt this urge to pee. I knew it had to be the pressure of the
babies on my cervix.
I was moved to the OR and I
remember it being so cold. The
anesthesiologist was so nice, he kept telling me not to worry, that they will
take care of me. As they prepped me for
surgery I made my mind slow down because I wanted to remember everything. I felt like I was in a movie. All I saw were these faces with masks
on. I couldn’t even recognize my own OB,
they had to point him out. I later found
out that he made it to the hospital in 12 minutes. Seconds before they put me under (there was
no time for an epidural so they have to knock me out), I was told my husband
had made it to the hospital. I was so happy.
I woke up in recovery and
immediately started crying. It was Sept.
25, 2011, and I just kept repeating to myself that today was my children’s
birthday. And instead of it being the
happiest day of my life, it was the saddest.
DH told me the boys were ok, he hadn’t seen them yet but they were
alive. Then the recovery nurse asked us
what their names were. We always had the
name Aiden picked out for Baby A, but Baby B was a tough one. We narrowed it down to Paul and Ryan, so I
let DH pick. He picked Ryan.
At some point DH left, maybe to eat
or see the boys, I’m not sure, but my dad stayed with me. I cried the entire time and he just held my
hand. I will never forget it. I later found out that the bleeding was
caused by a placental abruption, and that Aiden’s feet were hanging out of me
by the time I was put on the operating table.
From the time I called my nurse, to the time the boys were born, only 45
minutes has passed.
In many ways this isn’t a birth
story at all, because I wasn’t awake for any part of the boys’ birth. I often think about why this happened to us,
and I try to understand the very difficult decision God made to put us in this
situation. My simple answer is
this: God put me in the hospital to save
Aiden. If I was at home when the
bleeding started, we never would have gotten to the hospital in time, and we
would’ve lost him, and possibly Ryan. I
thank God every day for making this decision for us.
 |
| Aiden, 3 weeks old |
 |
| Ryan, 3 weeks old |
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