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Why I Sing
MissAmyKids - 06:51pm Apr 2, 2006 EST
Why I Sing
When my first son was born it was January 1996. I had been on bed rest for almost 3 months and the words of my doctor saying, “3% chance of survival” kept ringing in my head. Back in July of 1995 following a mid-first trimester evaluation, the prognosis was not good, and the viability of this pregnancy needed to be weighed against termination.
With the election to proceed, blind faith, hope and determination by my side, by November there were more serious problems - a leaking amniotic sack and questions of viability again. Bed rest and prayers along with good nutrition were the options left – my husband made carrot-apple-spinach juice for me everyday since July, and proceeded to equip my bedside with healthy snacks to tide me over between meals as he shuttled back-and-forth to work.
It was at this time I needed something to keep me sane. Good books and Oprah were sustaining, but did not satiate my need for hope reinforcement. As I had been a musician for years I began to write songs, singing to the audience in my belly, in hopes that someday he’d be alive to sing along. My doctor allowed me one hour a day to sit-up to play guitar.
Little did I know at that time that as my baby grew so would my need for singing.
While managing trips to the hospital during the unusually snowy winter (the famous “Blizzard of 1996”), by late January there was no waiting for full term. A critical leak was imminent. After hours of a pitocin drip and multiple (6) epidurals the monitors went berzerk. My 29 ½ week old son went into distress. An emergency caesarian section was performed at 3am , January 29th, 1996. And that is how Phillip entered this world. Weighing in at only 2 pounds 5 ounces, he was whisked immediately to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit by the vast team of professionals who had seemingly magically appeared in the delivery room. In my diary I wrote that the delivery room anestheisiologist had remarked upon hearing your first cry that you were “small but mighty”. Phillip scored a 5 on the APGAR.
As I recovered physically, the joy of having a living baby was tempered by the beeps and buzzes in the NICU and the tubes and gauze all around him. I was thrilled we had made it this far, but realized that the road to having a healthy baby at home to cuddle with was longer still.
It was during his stay at the NICU that I developed a more intense need to sing. At first we were unable to hold him. The isolette, Phillip’s new womb, was carefully covered with saran wrap and placed under a warming light. His eyes were covered to prevent damage from the light. Wires and tubes were connected to him everywhere, monitoring everything. On a ventilator for the first 3 days, Phillip’s Dad and I turn round the clock turns at being with him. Needing the physical connection, I remember how gingerly we had to reach in – just touching his tiny hand with an index finger. After a couple of days, I was released home, but not before meeting with the breastfeeding consultant. I pumped regularly and when NICU nurses finally let me hold him, it was my breast milk that was nourishing him through the feeding tube.
As I held him each day there amidst the noise and hustle of the busy NICU, soothing melodies would come to me and I would hum them as he lay with his tiny head against my chest. Hours of each day melted away. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Then finally, when he weighed four pounds, it was time for Phillip to come home. Phillip was in the NICU for 3 months and 1 day.
One more thing I must say about my experience with the NICU – never before have I witnessed a more dedicated team of professionals: doctors, nurses, clergy, consultants, and volunteers. I was particularly touched by the elderly lady volunteers who came in regularly to rock babies. They were directed by the staff to be with the babies whose parents for whatever emotional or physical reason could not. This was a big job.
Once released, my healthy little baby came home, on a monitor and with special care instructions, but he was home. As the joy of turning the corner in the success of a healthy son grew, so did he. And, it was some months later when I was with a local mom’s group that singing again became an even larger part of my direction in life.
As a stay at home mom, as many, I sought activities for my son, but also felt the need to find fulfilling activities for myself. As I sang with moms and their children at some gatherings I found I had a knack for entertaining children with many of the songs I had created. All that emotion and positive energy was coming through in the songs that I wrote to keep me focused, and the children and parents around me were urging me to sing more. Pretty soon I was asked to provide entertainment at libraries, holiday gatherings and birthday parties.
Having done theater, cabaret, “lounge lizard” and smoky bars in my musical past, here was a way that I could give back to the supportive moms and children around whom I was fated to be – and I was loving it! My husband, a musician and record producer, reinforced my new calling and before long we were performing and recording. And, today I am children’s artist “Miss Amy” with multiple Grammy® submitted CDs.
So the question is, “How Can I keep From Singing?” to use the title of the song by Robert Lowry (words) and Ira Sankey (music) 1860.
I also wish to thank the March of Dimes for the work they have done that supported the successful outcome of my son, and in turn, has re-focused my musical career to a level that has exceeded anything I could have dreamed of before my son was born!!
Create, Relate and Celebrate Who You Are!!!
- Miss Amy
Why I Sing
When my first son was born it was January 1996. I had been on bed rest for almost 3 months and the words of my doctor saying, “3% chance of survival” kept ringing in my head. Back in July of 1995 following a mid-first trimester evaluation, the prognosis was not good, and the viability of this pregnancy needed to be weighed against termination.
With the election to proceed, blind faith, hope and determination by my side, by November there were more serious problems - a leaking amniotic sack and questions of viability again. Bed rest and prayers along with good nutrition were the options left – my husband made carrot-apple-spinach juice for me everyday since July, and proceeded to equip my bedside with healthy snacks to tide me over between meals as he shuttled back-and-forth to work.
It was at this time I needed something to keep me sane. Good books and Oprah were sustaining, but did not satiate my need for hope reinforcement. As I had been a musician for years I began to write songs, singing to the audience in my belly, in hopes that someday he’d be alive to sing along. My doctor allowed me one hour a day to sit-up to play guitar.
Little did I know at that time that as my baby grew so would my need for singing.
While managing trips to the hospital during the unusually snowy winter (the famous “Blizzard of 1996”), by late January there was no waiting for full term. A critical leak was imminent. After hours of a pitocin drip and multiple (6) epidurals the monitors went berzerk. My 29 ½ week old son went into distress. An emergency caesarian section was performed at 3am , January 29th, 1996. And that is how Phillip entered this world. Weighing in at only 2 pounds 5 ounces, he was whisked immediately to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit by the vast team of professionals who had seemingly magically appeared in the delivery room. In my diary I wrote that the delivery room anestheisiologist had remarked upon hearing your first cry that you were “small but mighty”. Phillip scored a 5 on the APGAR.
As I recovered physically, the joy of having a living baby was tempered by the beeps and buzzes in the NICU and the tubes and gauze all around him. I was thrilled we had made it this far, but realized that the road to having a healthy baby at home to cuddle with was longer still.
It was during his stay at the NICU that I developed a more intense need to sing. At first we were unable to hold him. The isolette, Phillip’s new womb, was carefully covered with saran wrap and placed under a warming light. His eyes were covered to prevent damage from the light. Wires and tubes were connected to him everywhere, monitoring everything. On a ventilator for the first 3 days, Phillip’s Dad and I turn round the clock turns at being with him. Needing the physical connection, I remember how gingerly we had to reach in – just touching his tiny hand with an index finger. After a couple of days, I was released home, but not before meeting with the breastfeeding consultant. I pumped regularly and when NICU nurses finally let me hold him, it was my breast milk that was nourishing him through the feeding tube.
As I held him each day there amidst the noise and hustle of the busy NICU, soothing melodies would come to me and I would hum them as he lay with his tiny head against my chest. Hours of each day melted away. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Then finally, when he weighed four pounds, it was time for Phillip to come home. Phillip was in the NICU for 3 months and 1 day.
One more thing I must say about my experience with the NICU – never before have I witnessed a more dedicated team of professionals: doctors, nurses, clergy, consultants, and volunteers. I was particularly touched by the elderly lady volunteers who came in regularly to rock babies. They were directed by the staff to be with the babies whose parents for whatever emotional or physical reason could not. This was a big job.
Once released, my healthy little baby came home, on a monitor and with special care instructions, but he was home. As the joy of turning the corner in the success of a healthy son grew, so did he. And, it was some months later when I was with a local mom’s group that singing again became an even larger part of my direction in life.
As a stay at home mom, as many, I sought activities for my son, but also felt the need to find fulfilling activities for myself. As I sang with moms and their children at some gatherings I found I had a knack for entertaining children with many of the songs I had created. All that emotion and positive energy was coming through in the songs that I wrote to keep me focused, and the children and parents around me were urging me to sing more. Pretty soon I was asked to provide entertainment at libraries, holiday gatherings and birthday parties.
Having done theater, cabaret, “lounge lizard” and smoky bars in my musical past, here was a way that I could give back to the supportive moms and children around whom I was fated to be – and I was loving it! My husband, a musician and record producer, reinforced my new calling and before long we were performing and recording. And, today I am children’s artist “Miss Amy” with multiple Grammy® submitted CDs.
So the question is, “How Can I keep From Singing?” to use the title of the song by Robert Lowry (words) and Ira Sankey (music) 1860.
I also wish to thank the March of Dimes for the work they have done that supported the successful outcome of my son, and in turn, has re-focused my musical career to a level that has exceeded anything I could have dreamed of before my son was born!!
Create, Relate and Celebrate Who You Are!!!
- Miss Amy
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