Wednesday, March 6, 2013
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| First time meeting Oliver. |
My first two trimesters of pregnancy were pretty normal with all the average pains and discomforts. I started getting pretty bad swelling in the middle of my second trimester. Around week 24 I even had to get an ultrasound on my left leg because they were concerned I had a blood clot. It was around that time they started drilling the symptoms of pre-e into my head, telling me to call immediately if I started to experience them. My swelling improved a little with pressure stockings and I continued on in my pregnancy. Around week 28 I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes and was warned that this also increased my risk for pre-e. But it wasn't until around week 30 that I went in for a normal check-up and my blood pressure was very high. I was sent straight to the hospital to get a Non-stress test in labor and delivery. It was scary but after laying down for about an hour my blood pressure went down to a safe place. I was sent home and the next day I did my first 24-hour collection test. I ended up in labor and delivery the next day with really high blood pressure again. This time my NST took about 6 hours while they tried different things to get the readings they wanted from my son. Eventually they gave me IV fluids (it took them 4 tries to get the IV placed!) and was released again afterwards. From there on out I was on bed rest. I had no idea what to do with myself, I went from working over 40 hours a week managing a salon which I walked to and from every day, to not even being able to walk down to my mailbox.
The next few weeks were full of marathon napping and intense boredom and loneliness. My favorite days were the 2 days each week I would go in for NST's. They told me to have my bags packed for the hospital because any appointment may end in me being sent to deliver. They did a growth ultrasound at 34 weeks and I was told my son was already 5 lbs and would likely be around 8 or 9 if I went to 40 weeks. I was put on labetalol to try and lower my blood pressure, though it just continued to rise even as we increased my dosage. I'm really glad I was able to hold out as long as I did and that my son was already so big (from the GD I guess?). I made it to week 35 before another 24 hour collection test came back showing a high level of protein in my urine. The same day the results came back my left leg had suddenly swollen a massive amount. My OB had me go in to see her and scheduled another ultrasound for my leg. When I got to my OB's office she checked me out and tested my reflexes. My reflexes were scary jumpy, she told me she was cancelling the ultrasound on my leg and would have someone do it later on in the hospital. I was sent straight to labor and delivery to get on a magnesium drip to prevent a seizure. When we got there we had to check in, I remember the lady at the desk asked me my name and when I opened my mouth to tell her I just started crying. My husband had to check me in.
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| First snuggles at 4 days old. |
So we got settled into the hospital room. Again it took the nurses a few tries to place my IV. This was the beginning of becoming a human pin cushion for the next three days. Blood draws every 3 hours, and testing my blood sugar every hour until I had delivered. They started my induction around 6pm with prostaglandin gel, later on adding pitocin to my IV. My OB was on call at her other hospital so the on-call from her practice was in charge of me for most of my labor. I had never met her before but I am so grateful for her. I really didn't want my induction to end in a c-section and I really felt like she was on my team. I labored for 12 hours before my cervix did anything. She told me before she checked it that as long as it had done something she would let me keep laboring. I was only a fingertip dilated, which she said was less than a cm, but it was a change so she would let me keep going. I had another six hours to get to 3-4cm to have my waters broken or it was off to c-section land. Well about 5 hours later my water broke on it's own (my tiny victory!). This was also when labor really started to get unpleasant. There was lots of throwing up, my IV site was throbbing, the pitocin induced contractions sans the bag of waters were more painful than I could handle. The nurse let me get into a hot bath (with the IV, monitors, blood pressure cuff and all) but it did not help as much as I had hoped it would. So I finally agreed to an epidural. I had really wanted to "go natural". But really there is nothing natural about being induced, pumped full of magnesium and pitocin, and being strapped into bed with monitors around your stomach and a blood pressure cuff squeezing the life out of your arm every 10 minutes...so...I decided the "natural" ship had sailed anyway. After the epidural I got to relax for less than an hour before the pressure on my pelvic floor was so intense I asked the nurse to check me. 10 cm and baby at station +1! They called my OB, who got someone to cover her on-call shift at the other hospital, so she could come deliver my son. She got there an hour later and we started pushing. It took awhile, and I definitely almost fainted, but finally I pushed out my 5lb 5oz little shmooshie.
I was scared, of course, when my OB told me I had to be induced. I was nervous when she explained the odds and statistics of what most babies born at 35 weeks are like. For some reason I was really optimistic, I had not really prepared myself mentally that he might not be ok.
I remember my OB placing him on my stomach with his back to me, I reached down to touch him but immediately someone from the NICU picked him up and said "I'm taking him." There was a lot of hustle and bustle around the little baby station at the other side of the room. My husband and mother watched the nurses work and I couldn't hear my baby. I was so scared, I kept asking them what was happening but no one responded to me. Finally I started hearing baby noises. At the time I thought they were good noises but later it was explained to me they were just labored grunts from my son trying to breathe. While I laid in the bed having a tear sewn up they bundled up my son, bagged him, and wheeled him out of the room. It was like I had been in a car wreck, it happened so quick and I really wasn't expecting it and then he was gone.
I got to meet my son about an hour later (I think?) down in the nicu. He was born in respiratory distress and had some fluid retention in his lungs. The first few days were scary and confusing, the cpap was a bit of a roller coaster. People kept assuring me he was fine but then alarms kept going off and they would increase his oxygen. It took a few days but he finally got over the desats. When they switched him to the high flow nasal cannula at 4 days old I finally got to hold him. His IV came out after 6 days and he spent the rest of his nicu stay learning how to eat, a few tries at the breast but mostly the bottle. He was in the nicu for a total of 13 days.
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| Oliver's Graduation Day, unplugged and ready to peace out! |
Monday, February 11, 2013
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| Born at 25 weeks - Virginia |
Its been a year since our parenting journey started on this wild ride. The crisp mornings and early sunsets that make September different from August in the Northeast are such instinctual reminders of this time last year. It was in that month before her birth that I realized how precious life is, how important faith is, what a truly amazing husband I have, and what an incredible support system of friends and family we have.
Until 20 weeks I had a perfectly normal pregnancy. I had been working out 5-6 days a week, eating (mostly) healthy, and had perfect checkups and ultrasounds. Around 20 weeks I started to notice my tummy occasionally getting hard while I was working out or sitting for a long period of time. Initially I thought it was the baby rolling, but then realized that it was likely braxton hicks contractions. Dr. Google told me that it was normal to have them that early but it still made me nervous. I had previously had a uterine surgery (septoplasty) that I knew put me a slightly higher risk for pre-term labor and cervical issues. Because of my history I had made a plan with my OB at the first appointment to have monthly ultrasounds to monitor for any cervical changes. Once I started noticing sporadic braxton hicks contractions I called my OB and asked that we move up my scheduled ultrasound from 23 weeks to 21 weeks. He agreed and also eased my concerns stating that serious complications would be rare even with my history, but it was worth being cautious.
I was convinced that everything was fine, but was glad that I would have piece of mind after the ultrasound. Unfortunately I knew something was definitely wrong as soon as I saw the ultrasound image on the screen mounted to the wall in front of me... the baby's tiny feet were slipped down into what looked like a funnel. This is definitely not what my weekly "your baby is this big" email from babycenter.com looked like. In an instant my heart sank, my hands shook, and my mind went blank. My cervix was funneling and measuring 2.2 cm. A full 1 cm shorter than the measurement at my ultrasound 3 weeks prior. Again, my doctor put me at ease. He explained that while my cervix was effacing much earlier than normal it did not mean that I couldn't continue to have a healthy pregnancy, albeit one spent on bedrest. I felt better, composed myself and left the office determined to do everything I could do to keep the baby cooking. We canceled all of our plans for traveling to our niece's baptism and babymoon in Montauk and set up a new routine at home. I was ready to spend the next 4ish months alternating between my bed and the couch. My first week of bedrest went really well. I hardly had any braxton hicks contractions, I was able to get quite a bit of work done from home, my spirits were high, and we already had so much support. It was a week later and a week closer to a healthy baby.
Again, I walked into my OB's office pretty confident that things would be ok. I thought for sure that the measurements would either be the same or maybe even better. Afterall I had gone from being very active (including long runs and workouts) to laying around and doing nothing for a week. This time I had no idea what I was looking at when the image came up on the screen. I didn't need to though, the look on the ultrasound technician's face was an unmistakable look of sympathy. There was basically nothing left to measure and they sent me right over to the hospital for observation, testing and a possible cerclage the next morning.
The two days that followed were the hardest of our lives. We had consultations with many doctors. We were hopeful that a cerclage to stitch my cervix shut could be done, but didn't meet a single doctor willing to recommend the procedure because of the risk of sending me into immediate labor. Even the doctors that suggested that our baby had very little chance of making it to viability were unwilling to perform a cerclage. It was unbelievably confusing, scary and heartbreaking. Over those 2 days, My Husband and I talked about things that no expectant parents should have to discuss. Would we name the baby? Would we baptize the baby? Would we want to be alone? It was a relief to discuss and decide on the unimaginable and move on so we wouldn't have to make these decisions at even more emotional and stressful moments. From then on we only accepted hope and despite all the grim statistics we decided to believe that we would be okay.
We counted days, days that felt like years. Somehow days turned into a week and then another week and suddenly we had reached viability. I received steroids to help the baby's lungs mature and was moved from the general gynecology floor to the antepartum maternity floor where they were better equipped to monitor my condition. We went from desperation veiled as hope to so much hope. My first ultrasound in 2 weeks revealed that everything was the same. I was still fully effaced but was not dilated. It seemed like I had stabilized! My doctors were equally surprised and confident that it meant that I could remain pregnant for much longer than anyone expected. I was even given a discharge date of December 10th (32 weeks).
Again we were confident. No contractions, the baby was growing well, I felt good, I had a steady stream of visitors, and we were prepared to spend the next 8 weeks in the hospital. Just a few days later, late in the night on a Tuesday things deteriorated, I felt different and knew something was wrong. I will never forget the fear as I waited for the chief resident to come to my room. I shook like a leaf; fear and disbelief once again took over. The resident determined that I was 3cm dilated and my membranes were in the birth canal. In a matter of minutes they were inserting IVs into my arm and wheeling me to the labor and delivery floor. I called my Husband, who didnt hear any of the phone calls. We have no family and the area, so I ultimately had to call the police to go knock on our door to awake my husband. It must have been the scariest night of his life too, he walked into the hospital not knowing if I had already delivered. During the wee hours of the night, while in the haze and overwhelming heat of magnesium, there were ultrasounds showing that the baby was in the least favorable position of feet down, we met with anesthesiologists, met with my on call OB, met with the on call MFM and most sobering of all we met with the neonatoligist. We were once again given the statistics; survival statistics and disability statistics for a baby born at 24.5 weeks. She also attempted to prepare us for what we would see and how they would attempt to help our baby. Hours turned into shifts and then days and somehow things stabilized again. I desperately wanted to get back to my room on the antepartum floor and desperately wanted to be able eat again (I was NPO for several days while on magnesium). I felt like a ticking time bomb on the labor and delivery floor (I was) and wanted to go back to "my" room where I hoped to turn days into weeks again.
After 3.5 days in a labor and delivery room on strict bedrest (otherwise known as the the 7th level of bedrest hell where catheters, bedpans and sponge baths are very much a reality) my doctor agreed to let me go back to "my" room on strict bedrest. I told him I was ready to last another few weeks and for the first time he didn't share the same optimism. He gave it to us real. It was Friday afternoon. He was on call all weekend and said he wouldn't be going home all weekend. He didn't think I would still be pregnant when he signed off to the next OB on Sunday night and wanted to be sure he was "in house" for what would likely be an emergency situation. He anticipated that my water would break and had us prepared for a crash c-section and a very frantic but well rehearsed series of events.
By dinnertime on Friday the 21st I was back in "my" room and more importantly back in "my" bed which was far more comfortable than the beds on labor and delivery which were very clearly made for birthing babies and not for sleeping. In hindsight I was very much preparing for Virginia's immanent birth while putting on a face of strength and hope. We narrowed down names to 2 boys names and 2 girls names, something that we hadn't discussed since the series of unfathomable conversations that Heath and I had during those first 2 days in the hospital. By the next morning I knew I was going to give birth that day. I tried to convince myself otherwise, but even my favorite Resident's prediction that I would prove my OB wrong and make it to Thanksgiving was not enough to distract me from what I already knew. I called my nurse a few times and she said they weren't picking up any contractions on the monitor belts that had been strapped to my belly for the last few weeks. I called her again and asked her to page my doctor. I was right. I was 7cm dilated, as scary thought since she was still breech and a baby so small can be delivered before being the full 10cm dilated. I thankfully skipped my breakfast knowing that I would need a c-section and was soon back down in the same Labor and Delivery room.
If you have to give birth to a baby 15 weeks early, you want it to be under the most controlled and ideal circumstances. Somehow I had avoided infection and somehow my water had not broken. We were down in Labor and Delivery under fairly calm conditions. There was definite tension in the air as micropreemie births are not an every day occurrence even in the best of hospitals. The calm erupted into controlled chaos when they thought the baby was going into distress. Suddenly seconds felt like hours until I was in the OR and they confirmed that the baby was fine. Things calmed down and instead of being put under general anesthesia I held my OB's hand as they tried and tried and tried and finally succeeded at giving me a spinal. It was all so surreal- it still is. My most distinct memory of that day is laying flat on the cold operating table and looking down at my bare belly before they put up the blue screen. I could see the tips of my toes, the little pregnant belly I had in the days prior was mostly gone because the baby was so far down in my pelvis. It was so unsettling, so surreal. Heath joined me in the OR as they started the operation. He sat on the left side of my head and held my hand. Within minutes the baby was out. 11:11am. Absent was a cry that we wouldn't hear for another 8 weeks. 10 or 15 minutes later they announced it was a girl and let us know that she was successfully intubated.
The rest was hazy and none of it mattered. It was a new fight, a fight that I unfortunately could no longer fight for Virginia. We could only hope, pray and BELIEVE that she would fight. This is the end of this story and the beginning of the most amazing story I have ever known.
You can read Alyssa's full account of her birth story on her blog.
Monday, January 7, 2013
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| Click here for MORE NICU bedside Printables! |
Seriously, how cute are these? Cheer up your spot, thanks to the Canadian NICU Support Foundation!
Monday, November 5, 2012
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::
Thursday, October 11, 2012
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.
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 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.
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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