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Birthdays
suz_weller - 01:44am Jun 14, 2012 EST
On the eve of my daughter's 3rd birthday, I can't help but simply feel grateful. Like so many others on this site, my little family experienced unexpected prematurity and just making it to each birthday feels like a celebration in and of itself.
We had a difficult pregnancy. I use the term "we" because as we had to undergo in-vitro fertilization to simply get pregnant, my husband was very involved in the process. It tied us together in a way most expectant parents don't experience; I'll never forget the time he had to give me my first short to start the process. I cried and had a meltdown and when I wasn't looking but sobbing into my shirt, he hit me with the needle. He wasn't one for being subtle.
We were blessed to get pregnant on our first attempt but our road was rocky. My pregnancy was marred with complications from the beginning but we kept such a positive outlook and figured that since we had to travel a bumpy path to get there, we knew no different than to expect a bumpy path to the finish. However, there was never a moment in my pregnancy that I thought prematurity would be our outcome. I didn't even know that could happen to moms like me: diligent, planners, eating well, following the rules, and appreciating every step along the way. I knew that my journey was tough but if I kept planning, kept controlling everything that I could- certainly our outcome would be fine. I even planned my own baby shower (though I let my mother and mother-in-law participate in the process). But starting at 29 weeks, I constantly felt sluggish. My body was tired, always tired, and I felt dizzy, nauseous, run down. I felt like I was constantly battling the flu but I hid my symptoms, chalked it up to just being pregnant, and kept working hard and focusing on trivial details: the patterns of her crib bedding, polka dots vs. stripes, you know - the big stuff.
Then, on June 11, 2009, my life forever changed. I had hid my severely swollen feet and legs from my husband and doctor for weeks. But that day, on my way to work, I simply could not fit into my 3" heels as normal. I had to wear tennis shoes. And something shifted, I felt unusually sick. But - my baby shower was that weekend, I was determined that nothing would stand in the way of the celebration of my upcoming arrival. I happened to stop in a coworker's office and she immediately noticed my demeanor and was shocked I gave up my heels for the first time. After 30 minutes of pushing, she finally convinced me to see my doctor. Literally one hour later, I was on my way to being emergency admitted into maternity of my hospital because, upon a very quick inspection and test, I had preeclampsia and what appeared to be HELLP syndrome. My body was failing, my baby was in danger, and I didn't even know what those terms truly meant. I called my husband at work, terrified, and told him to get there as soon as I could because I didn't know what was happening. This wasn't in my plan. I had lost all control. And to hear that I was so ill that my daughter that I had worked so hard for was in jeopardy was a thought that I had to continually force down to simply keep a small level of composure.
When I arrived at the hospital, they were waiting. I remember walking into the maternity area and hearing the nurses whisper "that's the one that's extremely sick, she's going to deliver tonight". It didn't register they were talking about me. Deliver tonight?! I hadn't even taken the birthing classes! I needed to get this preeclampsia thing under control so I could go to my baby shower, what are they talking about?!
But it became quickly apparent after visit after visit from physicians, specialists, nurses, that I was going nowhere. I was to remain in the hospital until she arrived or I got so sick we had no choice but to deliver. I changed rooms 5 times. I became buddies with the nursing staff. I ate like a Queen, taking advantage of the 'all you can eat" menu the hospital offered. The steroid injections to pump up my tiny daughter's lungs in utero gave me a feeling of euphoria and I no longer felt sick. I tried to bargain my way into going home ("I'll check my blood pressure daily! I'll increase my doctor's visits!"). The neonataologist came to see me and, against my wishes, gave me a tour of the NICU so that I could see babies that would be about the size of my daughter. I was still in denial this was happening, I thought that I could get better, control it, go home. I remember asking him if he truly thought I was going to have a preemie and he said "Yes. You will deliver this baby within days, you need to understand that". And he was right.
The very next day, June 14, 2009, my white blood cell and platelet count dropped. My kidneys were failling, my liver was shutting down, and I was nearing the point of seizure. I was dying. I will never forget the look on my doctor's face when she read my blood work that morning. She was nervous. At 32 weeks, your child could be very ill or thrive, it was anyone's guess. She made me call my family, tell them I was going to deliver, and started preparations. However, she kept checking bloodwork every 2 hours to hope that it corrected. It didn't. At 9:13 that night, I delivered my 32 weeker via emergency c-section and she came out crying. It was the most beautiful sound. To hear that she had a voice gave me hope that she would be okay. I was able to see her for mere seconds before they whisked her away to the NICU. Because of the seriousness of my condition, I was placed in a semi-unconscious state with magnesium sulfate and a host of drugs and didn't see her for her first 28 hours. My husband had to report to me what was happening when I had moments of being awake.
When I was finally able to hold her, it was through a negotiation of her tubes and wires. I felt a strange disconnect, as though this wasn't truly my daughter. I didn't push her out, I never got that instant bonding other mothers had. But she was mine, she was fighting, and she was beautiful. She spent only 10 days in the NICU before coming home at 4 lbs. She ripped her feeding tube out one night and the nurses gave her the chance at bottles and she succeeded. She's been that way ever since - just let her do it, and she will. She's passionate and goofy and smart and determined.
So now, as she turns 3, I look back on those pictures. I remember relying on the monitors to tell me if she was breathing, if she was choking, I remember relying on the nurses to teach me how to raise a daughter, how to be a parent. I remember the moment the disconnected feeling I felt melted away and when I was discharged before her and went home without my sweet girl, I cried. For days, I cried. But when they finally released her, i was terrified that I would screw it up. I still live with the guilt that the diseases I had gave her a tough start. But now that Im able to be removed from the situation, I can see that they simply made her strong. And one day, she'll be as passionate as me about the March of Dimes. They gave her life, they gave me hope, they gave our family a chance. Birthdays are more than just celebrating her birth, they're celebrating her life and the difference she made in ours.
On the eve of my daughter's 3rd birthday, I can't help but simply feel grateful. Like so many others on this site, my little family experienced unexpected prematurity and just making it to each birthday feels like a celebration in and of itself.
We had a difficult pregnancy. I use the term "we" because as we had to undergo in-vitro fertilization to simply get pregnant, my husband was very involved in the process. It tied us together in a way most expectant parents don't experience; I'll never forget the time he had to give me my first short to start the process. I cried and had a meltdown and when I wasn't looking but sobbing into my shirt, he hit me with the needle. He wasn't one for being subtle.
We were blessed to get pregnant on our first attempt but our road was rocky. My pregnancy was marred with complications from the beginning but we kept such a positive outlook and figured that since we had to travel a bumpy path to get there, we knew no different than to expect a bumpy path to the finish. However, there was never a moment in my pregnancy that I thought prematurity would be our outcome. I didn't even know that could happen to moms like me: diligent, planners, eating well, following the rules, and appreciating every step along the way. I knew that my journey was tough but if I kept planning, kept controlling everything that I could- certainly our outcome would be fine. I even planned my own baby shower (though I let my mother and mother-in-law participate in the process
). But starting at 29 weeks, I constantly felt sluggish. My body was tired, always tired, and I felt dizzy, nauseous, run down. I felt like I was constantly battling the flu but I hid my symptoms, chalked it up to just being pregnant, and kept working hard and focusing on trivial details: the patterns of her crib bedding, polka dots vs. stripes, you know - the big stuff. Then, on June 11, 2009, my life forever changed. I had hid my severely swollen feet and legs from my husband and doctor for weeks. But that day, on my way to work, I simply could not fit into my 3" heels as normal. I had to wear tennis shoes. And something shifted, I felt unusually sick. But - my baby shower was that weekend, I was determined that nothing would stand in the way of the celebration of my upcoming arrival. I happened to stop in a coworker's office and she immediately noticed my demeanor and was shocked I gave up my heels for the first time. After 30 minutes of pushing, she finally convinced me to see my doctor. Literally one hour later, I was on my way to being emergency admitted into maternity of my hospital because, upon a very quick inspection and test, I had preeclampsia and what appeared to be HELLP syndrome. My body was failing, my baby was in danger, and I didn't even know what those terms truly meant. I called my husband at work, terrified, and told him to get there as soon as I could because I didn't know what was happening. This wasn't in my plan. I had lost all control. And to hear that I was so ill that my daughter that I had worked so hard for was in jeopardy was a thought that I had to continually force down to simply keep a small level of composure.
When I arrived at the hospital, they were waiting. I remember walking into the maternity area and hearing the nurses whisper "that's the one that's extremely sick, she's going to deliver tonight". It didn't register they were talking about me. Deliver tonight?! I hadn't even taken the birthing classes! I needed to get this preeclampsia thing under control so I could go to my baby shower, what are they talking about?!
But it became quickly apparent after visit after visit from physicians, specialists, nurses, that I was going nowhere. I was to remain in the hospital until she arrived or I got so sick we had no choice but to deliver. I changed rooms 5 times. I became buddies with the nursing staff. I ate like a Queen, taking advantage of the 'all you can eat" menu the hospital offered. The steroid injections to pump up my tiny daughter's lungs in utero gave me a feeling of euphoria and I no longer felt sick. I tried to bargain my way into going home ("I'll check my blood pressure daily! I'll increase my doctor's visits!"). The neonataologist came to see me and, against my wishes, gave me a tour of the NICU so that I could see babies that would be about the size of my daughter. I was still in denial this was happening, I thought that I could get better, control it, go home. I remember asking him if he truly thought I was going to have a preemie and he said "Yes. You will deliver this baby within days, you need to understand that". And he was right.
The very next day, June 14, 2009, my white blood cell and platelet count dropped. My kidneys were failling, my liver was shutting down, and I was nearing the point of seizure. I was dying. I will never forget the look on my doctor's face when she read my blood work that morning. She was nervous. At 32 weeks, your child could be very ill or thrive, it was anyone's guess. She made me call my family, tell them I was going to deliver, and started preparations. However, she kept checking bloodwork every 2 hours to hope that it corrected. It didn't. At 9:13 that night, I delivered my 32 weeker via emergency c-section and she came out crying. It was the most beautiful sound. To hear that she had a voice gave me hope that she would be okay. I was able to see her for mere seconds before they whisked her away to the NICU. Because of the seriousness of my condition, I was placed in a semi-unconscious state with magnesium sulfate and a host of drugs and didn't see her for her first 28 hours. My husband had to report to me what was happening when I had moments of being awake.
When I was finally able to hold her, it was through a negotiation of her tubes and wires. I felt a strange disconnect, as though this wasn't truly my daughter. I didn't push her out, I never got that instant bonding other mothers had. But she was mine, she was fighting, and she was beautiful. She spent only 10 days in the NICU before coming home at 4 lbs. She ripped her feeding tube out one night and the nurses gave her the chance at bottles and she succeeded. She's been that way ever since - just let her do it, and she will. She's passionate and goofy and smart and determined.
So now, as she turns 3, I look back on those pictures. I remember relying on the monitors to tell me if she was breathing, if she was choking, I remember relying on the nurses to teach me how to raise a daughter, how to be a parent. I remember the moment the disconnected feeling I felt melted away and when I was discharged before her and went home without my sweet girl, I cried. For days, I cried. But when they finally released her, i was terrified that I would screw it up. I still live with the guilt that the diseases I had gave her a tough start. But now that Im able to be removed from the situation, I can see that they simply made her strong. And one day, she'll be as passionate as me about the March of Dimes. They gave her life, they gave me hope, they gave our family a chance. Birthdays are more than just celebrating her birth, they're celebrating her life and the difference she made in ours.
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