Happy Birthday Miracle

I woke up Saturday morning and there were twice as many doctors at the foot of my bed than normal. They were changing over. I had been there thirty days and I was getting a new OB. I was bummed because I really liked the OB I had. They decided that if I could stay pregnant until Thanksgiving they would induce me then. I guess the dangers of staying pregnant outweigh the benefits at that point. They told me the baby might even be strong enough to go home by Thanksgiving. I was elated!

I awoke from a nap that afternoon at around 1:00 pm. My hubby was watching Lord of the Rings. I looked at him and said, "I think I am in labor." I don't remember if I buzzed the nurse or he brought her in but I explained to her that I was feeling painful cramps. She told me not to worry they were probably growing pains. I wanted her to be right but I knew she was wrong. She hooked up the fetal monitor. They had run out of extra small belly bands though. She only had large, which was huge on me. She could not get it tight enough to actually read any contractions but every time I felt one, we could see my baby's heart rate drop a little bit. She told the doctor and he ordered blood work. 

It was only about an hour before a group of people came into my room. Things started happening fast. Someone told me I had an infection and I was in labor. They had to get the baby out fast. I would be induced. I called my mom to tell her, this was it, I was having the baby tonight! I added, "You didn't say it would hurt this bad!"

"I told you it was the worst pain imaginable." She replied. I told her I didn't have as good an imagination as she thought I did. 

They rolled me over onto a stretcher. Now that I really was in labor they could not let me stand up. Gravity was not my friend. I would not have to dilate very much for my child to be delivered and they were taking no risks that I would be standing when I did. They wheeled my stretcher into the hall and I left that prison cell room forever. 

When I got to the labor and delivery room, they hooked me up to pitocin immediately. Right away my contractions started to climb, one on top of the other. They were excruciating already. The infection I had was in my uterus, which was not surprising because the amniotic sac was not protecting myself or my baby from anything. I can say this now, having had another child without an infection. It was far more painful than regular labor. 

It is amazing how big a part your nurse can play in your birth experience. I had a mean nurse. I will call her Nurse Ratchet. I had my pillow from home behind my head, I had a hospital pillow under my knees but I could not keep my legs up together. I asked for another pillow so I could have one under each knee. She snapped at me, "You can't have every pillow on the floor!" I wish I could have gotten up and slapped that woman.

I had been in the hospital for a month. Everyone knew that at anytime, I could go into labor. I asked several times if I could see a movie on childbirth or talk to a labor coach so that I would know what to do when the time came. They always shrugged me off or turned me down flat. Now, here I was laying on my back, in incredible pain and Nurse Ratchet was telling me I was breathing wrong. How was I supposed to know how to breathe!?!?! 

When she went on her break a sweet, young nurse came in. I had been laboring for probably 7 hours at that point. I was in the excruciating pain and trying to breathe through contractions that were right on top of each other. Despite the fact that they kept cranking up my dose of pitocin, I was still not dilating. The nurse was nice, she was trying to be helpful. She stood close by me and tried to talk me through a contraction. She sweetly suggest to me, "Find your focal point." WHAT!?!?! What was a focal point!?!?! I had no idea. Obviously she was young and inexperienced. She did not realize that at women in labor at 27 weeks has not had time to research "focal points". I was not nice to her. I regret that I told her where she could shove said focal point. I wanted an epidural. 

They were not going to bring me an epidural though. I was not dilated. I could not get up and move because if I did dilate suddenly... gravity. I was stuck in the most impossible situation to labor in. I nearly broke my husband's fingers and I am pretty sure I levitated off the table a few times.. during each contraction. If you have seen the exorcist, It was very similar. 

Finally around midnight my OB took pity on me. Even though I was not dilated past a fingertip, he let me have my epidural. You know you are in pain when you are begging people to shove a 9 inch needle in your back. I don't know if it is really 9 inches but it is HUGE. 

They call the epidural "the champagne of pain meds". What a truly wonderful thing it is too. My anesthesiologist must have been the best in the country because I went from wanting someone to just go ahead and saw me in half, to feeling like someone did saw me in half. I thanked him and then drifted off blissfully to sleep. 

Nurse Ratchet would check me every once in a while to see if I progressed. Nothing, nothing, nothing. That was always the answer. They had to put me on oxygen because my son was starting to show signs of distress. I had an epidural but he did not. He was still sick and hurting. They reluctantly brought me consent papers to sign. The nurse explained I was going to have a "classical section". That meant a vertical line down from my belly button, instead of the common 4 inch cut across the lower abdomen. A classical section is more dangerous. It can lead to more complications like uterine rupture and increased risk of  infection. They were hesitant to perform one on me because I had an infection already. They told me all the terrible things that could go wrong and explained that a vaginal birth would never be possible for me again. I told Nurse Ratchet  that my priority at that moment, was to save my baby.

Somewhere in my medical records you might be able to find a consent form for a classical section with my name on it. Right after I signed the paper, I felt a TERRIBLE cramp. I asked her to check me. I had finally dilated to between 3 and 4. She was so happy she ran off to tell the OB. He decided to wait for a little while on the section and see if I would progress. One more terrible pain later and I asked her to check again. The baby was at +2 station. Time to push!

The room got awful crowded, awful fast. There was a team for the baby in the corner waiting and a team for me. The OB sat between my legs and asked me if I could feel the contractions. I could not, but I remembered how bad they felt and I was scared they would turn off the epidural, so I lied. I told him I could feel them. He said, "When the next one comes, give me a little push." Lucky for me I could see the monitor out of the corner of my eye. So when I saw that line start to rise...

I had heard a lot of birth stories by then. My mom had told me that she was afraid to push me out so she just grunted a little. She called them "wimpy pushes". She warned that she spent hours faking wimpy pushes and they ended up having to pull me out with forceps. 

I did not want to wear myself out with wimpy pushes. So I pushed like I was in the Olympics and trying to win gold for childbirth. The OB and nurses all yelled "WOAH!" He said to me, "This is a little baby. Give me little pushes." and he added, "Would you like to feel the head?" 

It was only a few more little pushes before I delivered my perfectly formed but tiny little boy. 

He was a part of a cord clamping study that Brown University was doing. I had signed the consent forms for that weeks earlier. The theory was that if you hold the baby below the placenta and let all the blood flow into the baby, he might not need as may transfusions, suffer from low blood pressure, or be as jaundiced. When ever I see a "bank your baby's cord blood" ad, I think, "I already did. I banked it all on him." 

Once the cord was cut, they whisked him into another room. I never really saw him. My hubby was allowed to go in after they got him stabilized. He was supposed to take pictures but when he came back out to me, he had tears in his eyes and all he said was, "I think I broke the camera." Luckily, he didn't. He got a couple great shots of our itty bitty baby's first few minutes.

My little man was born on October 5th, 2003 at 6:48 am. He was 2 lbs 3 oz. and 14 inches long. I got to wave to his incubator as it left the room. They asked me if I could see him but it was impossible to see that tiny body in that giant incubator filled with stuff. 

It seemed that as quick as it had filled, the room was empty again. They unhooked me from all my wires; oxygen, blood pressure cuff, epidural. I had to keep my IV in though because I was getting antibiotics through it for the infection. Then they wheeled me into a new room. My hubby went out into the lobby to tell the small gathering of friends and family that our son was here. 

They did not put me on a maternity floor. They brought me to the surgery ward. We were told that maternity ward was full. We were warned not to celebrate too much because there were women in there for hysterectomies that should not here about babies being born. In hindsight, I am so glad I was put there. I think I might have been sad to hear other babies crying. To see other moms walking around with their little ones. As it was, I never thought about it. I was thrilled with my own little special delivery downstairs in the NICU. 

I went down to see him as soon as I could. They wheeled me down again just like they had done 2 1/2 weeks earlier but this time it was my son I was looking at. 

His head was swollen and looked squishy. He had strawberry blonde hair. His skin was almost see through. He was still covered in downy lanugo fur from head to toe. His foot was not near as long as my finger. His fingers were small and thin. They couldn't wrap all the way around my finger. He looked just prefect to me. 

I could not hold him. I just rubbed him softly with my fingertip. I watched him wiggle his little body every time I cooed his name. I told him, "I love you." over and over. He smelled so good. I felt like I was being washed over with waves of love. It is a feeling that only a mother knows on the day she meets her child. There is no other way to describe it. 

My mom, dad, and brother flew up from Florida as soon as they could. They were in my room not long after I was. We took them down one at a time to meet the baby. My mom took my Dad in and got the most amazing picture of him meeting his grandson. I cherish it to this day.

Happy 8th Birthday to my amazing miracle baby. 

I know God has great things in store for you.

I am so blessed that he chose me to be your mommy!

Part 2 of My Miracle

The ride to Providence was bumpy. Being pregnant with no amniotic fluid, I could feel everything. My son felt like a wiggling bag of bones. When they wheeled my stretcher into the admitting area, my baby was wide awake and moving some part of his body up and down around my belly button. Because I was laying flat on my back, I could see him pushing up against the blanket. My belly was flat except for this elbow or foot sticking up. It looked like a scene from a Sci-fi movie. I kept trying to push him back down because I thought people would see it and expect an alien to burst out of my belly at any second. 

When we got to the elevator one EMT asked the other, "Do you remember the code for the elevator?" He answered, "Ya, 1516, the average age of mothers in this hospital." They both looked at me and laughed. I guess I should have taken it as a compliment that they seemed to think I was a teenager. It would not be the last time I was mistaken for a teen mom either. The woman who changed my sheets everyday was real huffy when I first arrived. She used to frump and grump around the room as she worked. I would try to make pleasant conversation but she was short with me. Whenever I would mention my husband, she would try to correct me, "Your boyfriend." she would say. It puzzled me until the day she finally asked me, "How old are you anyway?" When I told her I was 23, she tried to argue with me. I asked her if she would like to see my license. She decided to take my word for it and after that was much more pleasant company. 

The room I was put in was TINY!!! I mean my bed was in there diagonal because there was no way anyone could get past my feet if the bed was straight from the wall. It was about the size of a little doctor's office room. TINY! Next to my bed was a little chair that would become my husband's bed for the remainder of my stay. A doctor came in and told me to meet her down in another room. My mom asked, "How is she supposed to get there if she can't walk?" "She can walk." She replied. We tried to explain to her the dire situation I was in and that I was told to lay completely flat on my back. She laughed and told me I could walk. 

Walking for the first time in 2 weeks, I felt like Grandpa Joe in Charlie and a Chocolate Factory. My legs were tingly, my muscles did not react, my bones felt like Jelly. My mom had to hold me up the whole walk to the doctor's office. The doctor gave me an exam. I had not actually leaked fluid in a few days up to that point and we were hoping that it had been a small tear, that healed. She sent me back to my room. 

She came back with a group of doctors and all agreed that I did not need antibiotics anymore. After 2 weeks, they were not effective anyway. They also agreed that if I could make it to a certain date without leaking, I could go home. It was GREAT news!!!!

Much to my dismay, two days later I awoke to a GUSH! I cried and cried. The doctor tried to keep me calm. He explained that the baby may have been laying in a position that prevented any leaking and then moved. He told me, "We knew this could happen. This is why you are here." Then he told me to expect to be there for the rest of the pregnancy. 

My due date had been January 6. It was now mid September and I was told if I could make it to October 7, the baby would have the best shot at surviving. I spent the following weeks laying in a hospital bed watching TV. My Mom had flown back to Florida on September 11th. My husband had to work everyday in Newport. He came to the hospital every night but he could not use my shower, so he had to go home early to shower and change every morning. He had an hour commute both ways. He usually got to the hospital around dinner time. By then I was so starved for human interaction, I would talk his ears off. 

One day I spent the whole day watching a special on prisons. I distinctly remember comparing my room to a jail cell. I laid in that bed looking longingly out my window to the parking lot below thinking, "Those lucky prisoners, they get to go outside and break rocks everyday!!!! I am stuck inside!!! I cried and cried over my imprisonment. 

I also cried over the food! Oh man, was it AWFUL!!!! I used to call my mom crying about the food I had to eat. Being pregnant, nothing looked good to me anyway, but hospital food was just unpalatable. We could not afford to spend a lot of money on food though. Not with how much we were spending on gas for hubby to drive back and forth to Providence every day. Many days I would call him up on his way home and beg him to bring me some fast food. Then I made him eat my nasty hospital food. 

It was all for a good cause though. I was a human incubator. There was no better place in the whole world for my baby to be, than in my tummy. Every morning a group of doctors would come in my room, stand at the foot of my bed, and discuss how I was doing. I made it a routine to sing, "A Very Merry Unbirthday" every morning too. Everyone joined in. It made the them all smile. 

At each shift change, the nurses still came in and put me on the fetal monitor. My son got pretty good at evading them though. If they did not get a good enough reading, they would make me stay on the machine for a few hours more. I got really good at operating that machine and chasing down my baby so that they could measure his heart rate. 

When I reached 25 weeks, they started me on steroid shots to mature his lungs. After the first shot, the baby pushed the monitor off of himself. We joked that he was pumping iron. 

I was also able to request a trip down to the NICU at that point. We scheduled a time and day so that both my hubby and I could go. They brought me down in a wheel chair and pushed me up in front of an incubator with a 25 week baby inside. It was a little boy. I was surprised at how well he looked to me. I suppose I was prepared for the worst and so, I was okay with what I saw. He was tiny. His skin was see-through. His head, though tiny, was large for his body. He was wrapped up in a blanket. He had wires coming out all over the place. He had a breathing tube and I could see it pushing the air into his lungs. His chest vibrated from the high settings on the ventilator.

I think the nurses and doctors expected to have a complete basket case on their hands. In fact the hospital psychiatrist was there during the visit. I think, I even expected that I would feel differently when I saw a real preemie up close and personal. The truth is, I felt relieved. Four weeks earlier I was told to plan my son's funeral. Now, I saw that he could survive. His death sentence put every other diagnosis he would ever be given into perspective. 

The psychiatrist started to come check on me pretty regularly after that. She would ask me how I was feeling, how I was handling things. Blah blah blah... Sorry to sound so negative but it always seemed like she wanted me to be depressed. One day I was watching, A Baby Story or Special Delivery on TV when she came in. She gave me a lecture about how it was dangerous for me to watch shows like that because my birth would not be like that. She then told all my doctors and nurses that I was not allowed to watch baby programs. She explained that her own birth experience had been a let down and she was still mourning it. Maybe she thought I was delusional because I remained optimistic.

I finally asked for the chaplain to come see me instead. I wanted someone to talk to who understood where my optimism came from. She and I had happy talks together. She did not mind if I watched baby shows on TV. Most importantly, she prayed with me every visit. It never hurts to have just one more person praying for you! 

To be continued... 

My Little Novel, About My Little Boy

We are not schooling this week. I decided to take a break. This week is just too busy! I have family moving in next door and that alone would have been enough excitement for me to cancel school last year. On Wednesday my 7yo will become an 8yo!!!! Thursday our homeschool group is having a yard sale. Friday we have co-op as usual. Saturday I am hosting a Mother daughter tea party for the girls and daughters at church. Finally, Sunday I have to sing a solo which always makes me nervous, stressed, and kinda want to die. AHHH!!!! 

Today I don't really have anything to do. I really should be baking a cake though... maybe later. I have been wanting to tell the story of my 7yo's birth though and well, now seems like the best time.... Grab the tissues... Or maybe I am the only one who will need them. 

Chapter one.... Yes, I need chapters. It's a long story. 

In summer 2003, I was finishing up my last semester of college in Jacksonville, Florida. My hubby, who was active duty in the Navy at the time, had received orders to Newport, Rhode Island back in April and had been living there since we conceived our baby. It was hard being so far apart. When I went to doctors appointments, I always called him right afterward to tell him how things went. The first time I hear the heartbeat I called him and left it as a message on his cell phone. He told me he listened to it from time to time when he needed a boost. I had a sonogram at 16 weeks and found out we were having a boy. We named him right away. I videotaped the sonogram and sent a copy to hubby along with some still prints. We were both excited and in love with our new baby.

It was August 2003. I was done with school. I was ready to go to RI. Hubby had picked out a house for us. I was excited. I had grown up in Newport, so it was like coming home. Since I was moving away, my friends and family threw me a baby shower. I got everything I would need for the baby, from bottles and diapers, to crib and changing table. It was fun and exciting. My hubby picked me up and we loaded a truck full of things for our new life in RI. It was pretty obvious that the baby had more stuff than either of us. 

I was so excited when we got to RI, that I had hubby build the crib right away. I was having a ball decorating the house, especially the baby's room even though, I was only 19 weeks pregnant. 

When I was 20 weeks, I met my midwife. She was really nice and gave us another ultrasound in her office. It was pretty obvious that we were having a boy. He was proud of his boy parts. It was a lot of fun to see him wiggle and squirm in his comfy womb. My belly had just started to pop. I really did not even need to wear maternity clothes yet. I did anyway though because it made me feel more like a mommy. 

I believe it was a Sunday morning. My husband worked with a reserve unit and it was drill weekend. Just before he left for work, I went to the bathroom and felt a gush of fluid. I thought it was just some new embarrassing pregnancy symptom. I did not want to tell him about it. I went and laid back down. When I got up again to tell him goodbye, I got another gush. I will never forget, I could not use the upstairs bathroom and I leaked all the way downstairs to the other bathroom. I sat there in the bathroom trying to understand what was happening. I waitied until hubby left for work and then I got out my pregnancy book, What to Expect When You're Expecting. I can't remember how I found it but somewhere in that book it said PROM- premature rupture of membranes. It said that if you think your water may have broke before 38 weeks to call your doctor. 

I called the hospital I think. They told me to get to the maternity ward right away! Honestly, the doctor on call scared me. I had no idea it was so serious. I called my hubby and through sobs I managed to tell him to come home now, there was something wrong with the baby, we had to go to the hospital. He says he never drove so fast in his life. If you know my hubby.. I have no idea how he made it back to pick me up in one piece. 

When I got to the maternity ward they hooked me up to the fetal monitor and left me there for an hour. I had to see the OB that worked with my midwife. Apparently he was having breakfast and in no hurry to see me. I remember at one point I had to pee really bad. I asked a nurse and she let me go into the bathroom but as soon as I sat down she came running in there picked me up and put me back on the bed. She said she didn't realize I was in premature labor. She informed me that I could deliver the baby in the toilet!!! Well, I didn't realize I was in premature labor either!!!!  Wasn't labor supposed to hurt? I remember my hubby looked excited and smiled at me, "This could be the day." I frowned back. "The baby can't survive this early." I was only 21 weeks pregnant! It may sound strange but I thought of the nursery at home, full of adorable baby things. The thought of going home without my baby was devastating! 

When the OB finally came in, he said to me real smartly, "We have a lottery going on how many women pee themselves and think their water broke." I told him, "I hope I did pee myself." It is sad when you actually are wishing that! He started a sonogram over my belly and his smug face changed fast. I will never in my life forget how the mood in the room changed. He shouted out for a PROM kit! They swabbed me and got a positive. My water had broke. They gave me a catheter because there was no way the OB was going to let me get up to pee now. 

Everything else was a blur. I recall at some point the OB told us something along the lines of, "You are having what we call 'a late miscarriage'. I expect you to go into labor in the next 48 hours. I can't do anything to stop the labor and we can't resuscitate a baby born before 23 weeks. We can let you hold him until he dies though" My heart shattered, not broke, SHATTERED!!!!! I could still feel my son moving inside me! How could we be talking about his death! I felt like I had failed at my first job as a mother. I couldn't even keep my baby safe in my womb. I thought, "If we lose this baby, how will my marriage ever survive? Why would anyone want to be with someone who can't have a healthy baby." All I could do was pray... 

I was in a state of shock. I was terrified of losing my son but I also felt comforted. It is a difficult thing to explain. When I prayed, the answer came so quickly and so clearly, I knew my baby would be okay. I know that I was, without a doubt, completely wrapped in my Father's arms during that first painful day. 

My husband called our families while they admitted me into a room. 

I don't really remember seeing the OB again. I know I was put on STRICT bed rest. That meant I could not sit up, stand up, nothing. I had to lay flat on my back. The nurse started me on IV antibiotics, ampicillin and gentamicin to prevent an infection. 

Every time a new nurse would come in, they made my husband leave and they would ask me if he beat me.... They would say things like, "This is a safe place," "You can tell me." I guess they just wanted to find a reason why my water would break out of no where. 

At some point my mom came in the room with my Nana. I don't remember it taking very long for them to get there but I know it had to be a long time. My Nana lives in Daytona and my Mom lived in Jacksonville. The OB had told my Mom that she needed to get here fast because I was losing the baby. She got there fast! Even if she had jumped on a plane as soon as she heard, it is 2 hours from Daytona to Jacksonville another hour to the airport, and a 4-6 hour flight to Providence, Rhode Island. Then an hour drive from Providence to Newport! Either I was completely out of it, or they hit a worm hole. Somehow they got there fast.

My mom told me for many years that she had dreamed that I would have 2 boys. It seemed, God promised this to her. When she got on the plane to RI, she sat down and prayed for me and my son. As the plane lifted into the air, a book slid under the seat in front of her and hit her foot. It was Bringing Up Boys by James Dobson. She knew then, that her prayers were answered. 

When my mom walked into the room that evening, she walked right back out. The belly I had when I left Florida, was gone. I was lying flat on my back and you could not tell I was pregnant at all. She had to cry in the hallway before she came in. I was so glad to see her though. There is something about having your mommy there, that makes it seem like everything will be okay. 

I did not know this until later but my OB had ordered that a picture of a maple leaf with a drop of water in it be hung from my door knob. It meant, "This mother has lost her baby, enter the room solemnly." My Mom overheard one of the nurses reaming him out. She took the leaf off the door and told him, "THAT BABY STILL HAS A HEARTBEAT!"

And he certainly did. I remember being scared every time that they put on the fetal monitor. I was afraid they would not find his heartbeat and make me deliver him. They kept checking me every shift change. He was still alive and I was not going into labor. 

I woke up one morning, my mom had been on the cot in my room. There was a giant digital clock on the wall. She looked at it and said, "It has been 48 hours and you have not gone into labor!!!" We celebrated. I felt like I could breath again! My OB came in and told us that if I could make it to 23 weeks without going into labor, he would send me to Providence Women and Infants Hospital. They have one of the best NICUs in the country! They would admit me there and they could do whatever needed to be done to save my baby when I delivered him.

Of course, it would be out of character for him to have only brought good news. He reminded me that I was still at risk of delivering early. He listed off a bunch of statistics. He told us about all the things that could go wrong. He told us the chances that my son would be blind, deaf, paralyzed, brain damaged, etc.. He asked me if I had considered my son's quality of life. My mom told him, "I don't doubt my God." I will give him credit though, he never asked me to abort my son. I have learned since, that many OBs would have asked me to. 

I spent a week on the maternity floor until it was too full of women in labor. So they moved me downstairs to the pediatric floor. That was great. The bed was so much more comfortable. I was one of only 2 patients so I got a lot of attention. Also, the room was cheery and there was an extra bed for my mom or hubby to sleep in.  I still could not sit up. That made eating, drinking, and going to the bathroom an event. I mostly had to be fed because I could not even see over the hospital tray. Going to the bathroom was humiliating. I had to use a bed pan. I had to have someone to help obviously. The nurses were all great. They took care of me without complaint.

When I reached 23 weeks my mom made rice crispie treats for the hospital staff! We sang "A Very Merry Unbirthday" to my belly! There were smiles all around. We had finally reached viability! The OB came down to my room and stood at the foot of my bed. He said, "You made it." My Mom said to him, "She had a lot of people praying for her, Southern baptists, Methodists," "Presbyterians and Catholics" I added. My OB looked up from my chart and said, "And I am Episcopalian." God is good!

To be continued...