Giving birth is supposed to be a happy occasion. You deliver a baby, people send flowers, you receive visitors, then you go home with your baby in a carefully selected outfit. Today you may document the moment on Facebook live or with tons of photos on Instagram for friends and followers to see.
Twelve years ago, my daughter’s birth story was an intimate and private moment that was one of the saddest and scariest of my life.
I went into labor November 17th, six weeks before her due date and coincidentally the same day as World Prematurity Day.
My pregnancy was not the easiest of pregnancies. As with my first, I was a high-risk patient. I had gone into pre-term labor several times and early in the pregnancy. I was prescribed Terbutaline, a medicine taken to stop preterm labor. Eventually the effectiveness of the drug wears off over time.
I was still practicing law and working because I was committed to “doing it all” and being a strong woman.
My Water Broke 6 Weeks Early
Back to November 17th. The day I went into labor was supposed to be my last day at the firm. My doctor had finally put his foot down and ordered me to full bedrest. I was “part-time” but still working a full-time schedule even if half my hours were being billed from bed.
I was stressed out that day. Since I was not scheduled to return until the baby was 8 weeks old, and the following year, my last official act was my annual review with my supervising attorney. I sat in the partner’s office holding my belly. I was having contractions. I had already taken my medicine but it was not working. It was obvious I was uncomfortable as we reviewed how many hours I had (not) billed that year and outcomes of past cases/assignments. The partner knew I was about to pop at any moment but we got the review done.
I went straight to labor and delivery where for several hours I was given stronger meds to stop labor. I was sent home and ordered to do nothing but stare at the ceiling for the next several weeks. No walking, no working, no thinking about anything except letting my baby bake some more.
We got home and I as I stepped out of my clothes to change, my water broke.
Although we were six weeks away from my due date, I was secretly relieved. The back and forth to the doctors and all the medicine, the stress of counting each week and determining what that meant for the growth of the baby was now over.
For four days the doctors did what they could to delay delivery. I was on heavy meds and my daughter had an entire team of Perinatologists making sure she was doing well. On Sunday, after some routine tests, the doctors came in and said it was time to deliver and immediately.
She’s Suddenly Here
After a failed attempt at a VBAC, I had a quick c-section and she was born that evening. Before my husband or I could hold her in our arms, the doctors whisked her away to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). We were confused because she was a healthy weight for her gestational age (6 pounds, 4 oz.). Then they told us the concern, “her head was deformed.”
Before we could ask questions, she was gone and I was moved to recovery.
For hours we saw and heard nothing. I was in and out of sleep due to the anesthesia from the surgery. My husband and mom were in and out of the room but no one was telling me anything. The looks on their faces told me it was bad. I learned later that, one of neonatal doctors had taken my husband aside to show him a Polaroid picture of my daughter. The picture caused him to burst into tears.
I was naïve as to the situation. All I could think about was my baby. I kept reminding the nurses that I was going to breastfeed. “Do not introduce a bottle.”
Your Baby is Sick
Her head was enlarged, out of shape, and indeed deformed. On one side it was much larger than the other. Both were indications of several possible conditions of the brain that could have resulted in life-long physical and mental disabilities. Also, her lower organs were enlarged. Her platelet levels were low. This was day one. The next few days her condition grew worse; her platelet levels dropped daily and she was losing weight. She was on a feeding tube. She was having tests administered daily but everything was coming back negative. Water in the brain was a possibility. A serious health issue with potential life long consequences.
The NICU
Each day we were permitted 30 minute visits in the NICU every 3 hours. And I went around the clock despite the nurses begging me to sleep at night. Each day, friends, family, or someone from church came to visit. We all prayed. It was all a blur. I felt a sadness that overwhelmed me. I couldn’t think of anything except wanting my baby with me and for her to be okay. I was in total shock as to what was happening and felt devastated for my daughter.
We Left Her in the Hospital
The day I was dreading came, I was released from the hospital on day four, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. My daughter was going to stay behind. Even though the brain scan came back and confirmed that she did NOT have water in the brain we were not in the clear. (They attributed her “deformed” shape to her position in my uterus.)
I cried horribly the whole way home. I did not want to leave her. None of this was supposed to happen. We had only positive reports at each milestone in my pregnancy despite issues with pre-term labor. Delivering a sick baby was not supposed to happen.
My Soul Was Crushed
The day we left, my soul was crushed. It also felt like someone had stepped on my heart. On Thanksgiving, I had a category 10+ meltdown in the garage. I stayed behind with my husband while the rest of the family went to the in-laws.
I was so overwhelmed with what was happening to my daughter, that I was not paying attention to my own body. I had chest pains but thought it from stress. I was running out of breath even though I was not doing anything but sitting at home – crying. This went on for a few days. At night I propped myself up on pillows because I could not breathe lying down. Each day everything got worse. But each day, we went to the hospital and sat around waiting for our 30-minute visits in three hour increments.
My Heart Was Broken
My condition grew worse over the next few days. My skin was pale, I was incredibly swollen, I could hardly breathe, my chest hurt more. My dad, a physician, insisted I call my doctor. One of the NICU nurses told me she was concerned. Monday morning came, I went to my doctor’s office escorted by my mom. My doctor took one look at me and sent me to the ER. I was admitted immediately. The shortness of breath, the chest pains, the weakness, I was drowning in my own body. I had congestive heart failure.
I needed blood transfusions because my blood had become so watered down. I remember laying in the bed just wanting to die. The sadness I felt and how scared I was was unbearable. I couldn’t think about either outcome anymore.
I felt better within a few days but my daughter’s condition was not improving. It was time to do some serious tests and procedures that included a spinal tap and platelet transfusion.
A Miracle
The morning of her scheduled tests the doctors came in to tell us that overnight, her condition had slightly improved. Her platelet levels had surprisingly gone up. No explanation. They decided to wait until the next day before moving forward.
The next day, same report.
Day three same thing. We could not believe what we were hearing. The doctors couldn’t explain it what was happening. They could only tell us she was improving. One used the world “miracle.”
On day 13, they removed the feeding tubes and we were able to bottle feed her my breastmilk that I had been faithfully pumping between visits.
On day 15, we received the news. We were both going home. On the way home, we picked up our oldest son from pre-school early and he was able to touch his baby sis for the first time.
She is perfection
Her first year, she was tiny and suffered terribly from reflux as a result of her prematurity. She was on heavy medication that helped her. As long as she had her medicine, she was fine.
She was not at all a cranky or fussy baby. In fact, she was my easiest baby. Slept very well, ate little but consistently. Never made a milestone at any doctor visit but we anticipated that due to her prematurity. I remember at one visit she was at 5% on the growth chart. I didn’t care. She was wearing 3-6 month clothes when she was 9 months. I didn’t care. She was healthy.
People in the mall, at restaurants, always commented on how tiny she was when they asked her age. Yes, we knew. I didn’t care.
As a toddler, she started to catch-up. When she was three her teacher told us she was concerned because her drawings were not “on track” developmentally. We knew, but she was going to be just fine. We didn’t care.
Her 12th Year as my BFF
Today, she is days from her 12th birthday and perfect in every way. She started 6th grade this year, is in honors classes, (got six As and two Bs on her first report card!). She is my best friend, my favorite GNO girl, my sushi date, and my reminder that prayer and faith can overcome anything.
For years I wanted to share my daughter’s prematurity story. I actually wrote it two years ago. It was such a painful, scary experience for me that I hesitated to share it. I know that there are many moms whose babies have been or are in the NICU. Approximately 15 million babies are born preterm each year, accounting for about one in 10 of all babies born worldwide. Each of us have a story with many different endings. Who may feel devastated or hopeless in the moment. Or who just needed to hear from another mom that experienced something similar.
As we observe World Prematurity Day today, I hope that my story can help or inspire another family as they cope with their own. Thank you to March of Dimes for recognizing World Prematurity Day and using November to draw attention to the lifesaving research and treatments to give every baby a fighting chance.
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