Showing posts with label natural birth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label natural birth. Show all posts
Monday, November 5, 2012

Lauren + Kate (32 week twins) by Andrea

7:16 PM | | Edit Post


I am a NICU mom, a twin mom, and an AMA mom.  (that last one is Advanced Maternal age).   I was 39 when I was blessed with my twin pregnancy.  I am also an adoptive mom to my 14 year old son.  I did have complications.  Gestational diabetes, a SCH (Sub chorionic hematoma), bleeding, cramping, and throwing up for the first 27 weeks. :/

My sweet girls were born preemie at 32 weeks on the dot.  I am a former NICU nurse, and I never, ever thought I would be a NICU mama. 

I felt cramps, and ignored them.  I would later find out, it was PTL, Preterm Labor.
I am angry at myself for my girls’ early delivery.  I should clarify and say, I hated my body on that day.  It failed my girls and it failed me.  I didn’t want to have babies in the NICU…I was trained to take care of preemies …not at all prepared to be a mom on the other side of the fence.

Lauren was born vaginally and Kate was born via c-section on July 20, 2010.  I recovered on a GYN floor.  Found out later, I was on that floor instead of regular Mother/Baby unit so I would not hear babies crying.  It was too quiet and I didn’t like it at all.  I even asked why I was not on the regular mother/baby unit, and a nurse said, “we do that so you won’t get sad hearing the babies cry.”  I wanted to hear babies cry.  I was a Mom just like those “term” moms.  My babies were in the NICU, but I still was a mom.  Being on that floor away from all the other moms and babies was awful. It was hard enough being in a completely separate building from them.  And to be on a floor with a ton of old geezers in for GYN stuff was depressing.

My girls were in the hospital for 2 months.  And it was NICU hell.

I think knowing all that I did about preemies was good and not so good.  I knew too much.  And it was hard for me to be Mom, because I was used to being the nurse in the room.

I’m going to be honest:  I was not a fan of pumping breast milk.   I did it for my girls.  I knew their bowels were premature, and BM would be the best nutrition for them.  I only pumped for a total of 3 months.  I had to stop, as it was making me a stress case.  I never got much milk and I tried just about every piece of advice I was given to produce more milk.  My body was failing me again, and failing my girls. 




Lauren, my baby A was a chunk.  She was close to 5 pounds.  Kate, my baby B, had IUGR (intrauterine growth retardation) and she was 3 pounds.  Everyone always thinks the chunky babies are healthy, but Lauren was very, very sick.  She was in PPHN (persistent pulmonary hypertension) caused from her PDA and ASD.  I was forbidden to touch her or talk to her for 10 days.  It was the hardest 10 days of my life.  She never opened her eyes until the evening of day 10.  She was moments away from being placed on ECMO and they kept telling me they were doing all they could.  She was a 2:1.  (Two to one).  That means, 2 nurses to 1 baby.  She had so many things hooked to her sweet little body, she needed the care of 2 nurses and 1 respiratory therapist. 



She was on the Oscillator (high frequency ventilator)  for a long time.  Lauren also came home on oxygen, a pulse ox (pulse oximeter), and a cardiac monitor.  She needed oxygen for 3 months.  Thank God above I pushed to get her home, because I would not have survived an additional 3 months in the hospital.  I just wanted my girls at home.
In the 2 months the girls were in the NICU, I only spent 7 hours at home away from them.  My husband insisted I sleep at home, in our bed, so I would “feel better”.
 It was awful being away from them, and I just worried and could not sleep.  From that moment on, I stayed in the hospital with the girls.  I rarely saw the sun.  And I did try and take walks around the hospital and thru the courtyards to get fresh air…but honestly, I just didn’t want to be outside when my girls were sick in the hospital.  I didn’t care at that time if it was sunny and flowers blooming…

I wished I had made a journal entry about the girls shortly after they were born.  I think I was on too much overload to think about a journal.  I know I would have included more details of our NICU time.  I did learn a few things about NICU, that as a nurse, I had never experienced before.  I experienced emotions as a NICU mom, and everyone in our family seemed to not fully understand what I was going thru.  That is how I found this Preemie group on the Bump, and later, I joined them on Facebook.

I would read peoples “siggys” on the Bump to have HOPE.  When I would see other Preemie moms had survived the NICU, and they had a preemie pic next to a current pic of their baby at age 1, I had HOPE.  It got me thru some of the hardest days in the NICU.  Having a support group of other NICU/Preemie Moms is a very healing place to go and share about all things Preemie.  I can say and share things that most full term moms will never understand.  I am so grateful for the women in the FB group. 

Here is my gripe list ;)

1.     My babies are preemie.  They are in the NICU.  They need peace and quiet.  They should still be on the inside.  Please don’t ask a NICU mom if you can come and visit.  Support her thru meals, gift cards to places that offer a carry out menu, and send her text messages.  Even a card.  But give her space and time.

2.    I hate hospitals.  (and I am a nurse) 

3.    My 1 year olds are not doing the same thing your 1 year old is doing.  Don’t point it out.  I know my little ones are delayed. 

4.    If you are carrying a baby, be grateful for every ache and pain you have.  My friends and I would give anything to have those aches and pains.  We would go thru anything to keep our babies cooking and not be in the NICU.

5.    Wash your hands.  Our preemies are more vulnerable to colds, flu’s, and any type of illness.  If you even think your throat is scratchy, STAY HOME.  And a week after you thought your throat was scratchy…I’m still going to ask you to put on a mask. 


If you are on bed rest, I wish you as much cooking time as is possible.  Remember, being on bed rest is truly a full time job.  You are growing a little human, and that is an amazing job.  Every day your LO (little one) can stay on the inside~ is less NICU time.  So do not get discouraged.  Online shop, shop, shop.  J   

If you are a preemie/Nicu mom, I wish you an uneventful stay in the NICU.  And I hope you and your sweet baby are home very, very soon.  ::Hugs for you::





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Thursday, October 11, 2012

Henry by Hayes

12:29 PM | | Edit Post


I wish I had written this sooner as I worry now that some of the details are getting a little too fuzzy, but looking back a year later it all still seems so surreal. I wasn’t strong enough till now to do this, so it just had to wait.

A little background about me, ever since I found out as a child that tiny preemies could be kept alive in safe plastic boxes, I was fascinated. I went to the library and checked out every book I could find, I poured over newspaper and People stories about every set of multiples featured and longed for more details of these mysterious NICU stays. I decided I was going to be a Neonatologist.

18 years later my dreams had almost come true. I was in my last year of Pediatric Residency, married to the man of my dreams, and finally expecting my own baby. My experiences had led me away from planning for a career in Neonatology (I had found my calling as a General Pediatrician instead), but I had loved every minute in the NICU in residency. I loved saving the day by helping a baby take those first precious breaths. I found meaning in those early am hours writing pages of medication and transfusion orders diligently trying to save a tiny patient. But nothing was better than months later when I found out they had gone home. I also witnessed loss first hand. Gut wrenching, heart breaking, sob inducing, loss. Way more loss than I knew I could handle on a daily basis. Neonatology was amazing, but not the career for me.


These experiences armed me with information but also fear of the unknown as I faced my own pregnancy knowing all too well the things that could go wrong. I put on a brave face and told my colleagues, friends, and family that I was staying positive and focusing on how well it was all going, but having faced an early loss with my first pregnancy I was not in denial about the possibility of complications.

Weeks 16-19 were blissful. Morning sickness had finally abated, my belly was growing, and my face was beaming. Residency was drawing to a close and I felt on top of the world. I began noticing tightening of my belly periodically which I attributed to early movements. Over the next few days these sensations got more rhythmic, and I started to worry. I spoke with the OB triage nurse and she sent me in for lab work. It looked like I had a UTI. A week of antibiotics later and the contractions had not abated, so I went in again. My midwife told me that she thought my cervix was shortened so they sent me over to L&D, I was about 22 weeks along.

I called my husband on the walk over. I calmly explained in greater detail what I had hinted about in our discussions over the last few weeks. Our baby was pre-viable, if I went into labor now, there was little that could be done. Forever my rock, he assured me that things would be fine but that he would leave work in case. It was the longest elevator ride of my life. My thoughts raced thinking about the little wiggly being inside of me and the what-ifs. My heart was heavy thinking of all the internet friends whose stories started like this and ended in loss and heartbreak. I was one of the lucky ones. The exam had been wrong. My cervix was long and closed. They told me that this was my “new normal.” They said that if things changed with my contractions I would know and should come in.

The next few weeks were full of excitement. My belly seemed to grow by the day, my pregnancy passed that precious viability milestone, and I started a new job. I was again on top of the world. Then one afternoon the contractions picked up. I started timing them and was having them every 3-8 minutes and at least 6-7 times in an hour. I called my husband at work. He left immediately and we drove in to L&D in the city. They checked me and confirmed the regularity of my contractions. This time I was 1cm dilated. They admitted me even though I wasn’t changing my cervix to be careful.  I received steroids to help with lung maturity. They ordered the standard NICU consult. When two of my favorite neonatologists walked in I almost lost it. It was so surreal. They were sweet and supportive and told me to get back home ASAP. They went through things in detail for my husband, I wanted to make sure he heard the full talk. They tried many different meds but nothing consistently worked. I continued to contract but stayed a 1cm. Because my tracings also looked good they felt reassured and sent me home after 2 days.

I stayed on bedrest for about a week, only leaving the house one time a day for less than an hour each time. Friends covered shifts at work sending worried email encouraging me to do everything possible to keep my baby inside. I busied myself ordering things online for the nursery and using my precious daily excursion to buy things for the “Preterm Labor” bag I was getting packed, just in case. My contractions continued unchanged. At my follow up appointment we discussed the risks and benefits of bedrest and decided that going back to work while limiting standing and drinking lots of water was the plan that made the most sense. I went back to work and felt great to be moving again. My contractions remained unchanged and I was relieved. I was so exhausted from the sleepless nights and days of worrying that working again was a welcomed distraction.

On September 9th I slept in late. I slowly got ready for my afternoon shift, pausing to take a bump picture to post to my board on The Bump as I had many weeks before. Work was a little busy, but I managed to finish early. At home I changed into comfy clothes, ate dinner on the couch with my husband and turned on some mindless TV. Soon after dinner I had 3 contractions in a row that seemed different. I was breathing though each one and they were concentrated lower than any of my contractions before.  I told my husband to start timing them. After an hour of contracting every five minutes I got up to go to the bathroom and get myself ready to possibly go in. I was bleeding… a lot. I screamed for James to grab the bag and camera and threw on clothes.

The drive in felt like it took hours. I was cursing every red light and praying for my little guy to move and let me know he was ok. We rushed in to triage and they seemed a lot less concerned this time. They confirmed my contraction pattern and did an ultrasound. My cervix was long and my little man was moving like crazy. They said they were going to send me home. Just before I started to get ready to put my clothes back on the resident returned and said, “I want to do a pelvic exam just to confirm, is that ok.” She lingered a while and finally looked at me and said, “You’re 3 cm dilated. I think we’re going to keep you.” After a long discussion that I could last many weeks at 3 cm they transferred me to an antepartum room. They started magnesium, which they never had with my first admission since I was never in labor.

The contractions got steadily stronger and closer together. They checked me again and I was still 3cm but more effaced. This confirmed labor, but the team was still hopeful. The NICU attending came and talked with us, reassuring us that 29 weeks was much better than 27 weeks but still prepared us for a rocky start and lifetime risks of cerebral palsy, learning disabilities, and other problems. My husband stayed by my side squeezing my wrist to try to distract me from my contractions. I wanted to walk, scream, move, anything to make the contractions bearable but I was chained to my bed by the monitors and web of IV tubing. They flooded me with fluids and I dreaded to get up to go to the bathroom because every time there was more blood. I passed huge clots and panicked, my nurses tried to be reassuring.

Around 2am my husband hit his breaking point. He could no longer keep pressure on my wrist to distract me because his fingers were numb. He knew that my contractions were more frequent and lasting longer and he was worried. “They’re not doing anything. How long do they expect us to go on like this. I can’t take it.” We spoke to my nurse and she sent the team in. “You’re 6 cm dilated now” they told us, “there’s nothing we can do. Your baby is going to be born today.” I decided to get some pain meds and eventually an epidural so we could rest. They transferred me from antepartum to LDR. Reality hit.

We cried. We called our parents and asked for prayers. My dad and his wife promised to be on a plane within the next 24 hours. We slept.

I woke up with increasing pressure around 12:30pm. They checked me and I was 8cm. I cried some more. As I calmed I realized there was no changing the moment, no going back to the bliss of thinking this could all be stopped, that this wouldn’t be our story. I became resolved. I told my husband that we needed to cheer up and focus on our baby, this was his birthday after all. We talked to him, telling that he had to come out and be a NICU rockstar not a wimpy white boy (white males in the NICU have the worst outcomes). We told him how excited we were to meet him even though it was earlier than we had planned.

I stayed at 9-9.5cm for several hours. My water hadn’t broken and that was slowing my labor. I had lots of pressure and was freaked out that the delivery might happen quickly without the right people assembled. I had been to emergencies in the LDR rooms before and knew that they never went as well as when sick babies were greeted by a fully assembled NICU team in the safety of the resuscitation room that adjoined the ORs. My doctors agreed to move me into the OR and break my water there.
As they wheeled me down the hall, I yelled, “let’s go have a birthday party” and joked with the nurses about my “birth plan.” “I want immediate skin to skin, no bath for 24 hours, and exclusive rooming in. This ugly surgical cap was NOT part of the plan!” I knew if I wasn’t laughing I would be crying. As we settled into the OR, my thoughts raced to crash c-section I knew they were preparing for. I eyed the surgical tech in the corner of the room and willed her to stay put. They broke my water and his heartrate stayed up!

The pediatric team came in to say hi. The senior resident, who had been the year behind me in residency and the fellow, who had been my classmate, looked worried. “It’s ok guys!” I reassured them, “This little guy is going to be a rockstar!” The OBs told them to go and they would call them when delivery was more imminent, “We’re not going anywhere!” The senior resident said. I was immensely grateful. I knew how the minutes could drag by standing around waiting for a delivery while your mind raced to all the orders and notes waiting for you in the NICU, but their presence was reassuring. I trusted them.




The shrill ring of monitor alarms brought the OBs to their feet. My little guy’s heartrate had dropped as he was pushed further down the birth canal by my contractions.  “Time to push!” the high risk OB told me. As I pushed, the alarms sounded again, I backed off. “Harder” they yelled, and the contraction passed. This repeated 3 more times. Then they asked, “is there some reason you’re not pushing very hard? He’s very little, you should be able to get him out easily. He needs to come out now.” “But his heartrate keeps dropping” my voice quivered, “I feel like I’m going to kill him.” A look of recognition spread across their faces, they were treating a fellow healthcare professional who knew all too well what those alarms meant. “We’ll turn the sound off. We won’t let you kill him. Push with all your might and we’ll tell you when to back off.”

A few pushes later I felt his tiny body slip from mine. I looked down and my son, Henry Oliver, stared right back at me and then let out a scream. “Oh my God,” I cried, “He’s beautiful.” He let out one more tiny cry and was passed off through a window to the waiting NICU team.

The next few hours were some of the longest of my life. The NICU team worked to stabilize Henry.  He needed to be intubated and his blood pressures were low. James went to see him and came back with pictures. I was jealous. I went down to the NICU as soon as I was physically able, but the team was putting in umbilical lines so Henry was draped. I sat in my wheelchair for a while watching the numbers on his monitor go up and down, listenting to the familiar whoosh of the ventilator breaths, willing something, someone to tell me he was going to be alright. Heartbroken, I asked to be taken back to my room. I got there and broke down sobbing. He didn’t feel like mine, my baby. It felt like I was watching over another tiny patient.

Pumping became my solace, the one thing I could do, but even that was mostly discouraging. The next morning brought good news. Henry was doing better and would be extubated. Hours after being extubated his nurse lifted his tiny fragile body out of the protection of his isolette and placed him on my bare chest. As he wiggled into a position of comfort, I cradled his tiny bottom in my hand. Our heartrates both slowed and I knew it, he was mine. These were the tiny feet that kicked my ribs and this tiny bum was unmistakably the one that had been dancing inside me for months. I was his mom.

Update: After 38 days in the NICU, Henry came home. He has grown and thrived since and our lives couldn’t be better. Tomorrow we will celebrate his 1st birthday.

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Thursday, December 15, 2011

Amanda + Grayson

6:11 PM | | Edit Post
 
Grayson had a lot of obstacles from conception. He is my third child and since both of my other two boys were preterm and tempted very early preterm labor, my physician decided to give me the progesterone shots to "prevent" him from making an entrance too soon. I am a single mother and so between work and stress from Grayson's father it was a stressful pregnancy.
At about 18 weeks I noticed I had started to feel some contractions but the doctor kept telling me that while early they were Braxton Hicks contractions. We just kept chugging along with weekly injections and check ups for my blood pressure until the day of 09/10/11; Grayson's very early birthday. He wasn't susposed to be here until November 5th and I kept telling myself this fact over and over but it wasn't changing Grayson's plans. It was about 12:30 when my water broke while I was taking a nap; I was exactly 32 weeks. I woke up and realized what had happend, called my mom and she kept asking "are you sure your water just broke?!" I told her yes to come up and get the boys because in my mind I was driving myself to the hosptial! I decided while I was waiting for her to shower and kept thinking that I really needed to shave my legs! By the time she got there I still wasn't contracting too much and felt pretty good and CALM! She had my dad take the boys and she and I headed for the hosptial.

Once we got there and explained what was happening things started to speed up a little bit. I wasn't dialted yet but 75% effaced. The doctor came that was on call that weekend told me that he was going to try to stop the contractions what were now 4 minutes apart (I wasn't really feeling them yet). After two failed attempts at stopping the contractions it was determined that I couldn't stay at the hosptial I was in because there was no NICU. The closest NICU was an hour away and there were NO ambulances to take me. That weekend there was a motorcycyle rally in my town and in the larger city where I needed to go was a college football game. Both events were taking up all the ambulances until later that evening which I would not last that long. The only other option was a Medflight to the larger city. 

At about 2:30pm I was checked again and still not dialted but fully effaced. The contractions were getting stronger and they couldn't give me an epidural because of the helicopter ride I was about to have and I wasn't dialted yet. By 4:30 they checked me again because the helicopter had arrived and I was a 6-7. BIG JUMP! By now I was in a lot of pain and I was given some stardoyl to help take the edge off. It really didn't help at all. I am alergic to morphine and Demerol so I could not have any other pain meds. They get me in the helicopter and we start our 20 minute flight to the new hospital. My Medflight nurse was Lyssy. I loved her! She was amazing and supportive and kept reassuring me it was going to be ok. But I as still CALM, other than the pain of the contractions,I was so go with the flow which is not like me at all! By the time I got to the hosptial and check into the delivery room and such it was approaching 5:30pm. The Dr that would deliver me came in and said he wanted to know exactly what we were looking at as far as baby size and when he looked he was right on what he thought and what my growth ultrasound had shown not two days before--Approximatley 3lbs. By the time he checked me I was a 7-8 and he promised that I was still going to get the epidural. About 15 minutes later he checked again because there started to be a LOT of pressure and he said "oops no time for an epidural now hes coming!"
Grayson was born at 6:57pm on 09/10/2011 weighing in at 3lbs 11 oz and 16inches long. He scored 9s on both APGAR tests. He was taken to the NICU where he was on the nasal cannual for about two days and then was just "in" as a grower and a feeder. The nurses kept telling me how strong he was that he just didn't want to be in there and was jumping hurdles like nobodys business! He got to come home 3 weeks later and is doing amazingly well now. He's my little miracle!!

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Precious and priceless so lovable too, the world’s sweetest littlest miracle is, a baby like you.

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