Oliver at 7 months old, 4 months “adjusted”
Oct 15, 2014. I was 26 weeks, 6 days pregnant and was literally strapped down to a hospital bed being monitored 24/7 with a fetal monitor. My head was pounding. My blood pressure was being taken every 15 minutes.
Rounds were starting and the top dog and all of the other Drs came in surrounding my bed. Top dog looked a bit like Billy Bob Thorton and that’s actually how I referred to him when I spoke with the nurses.
“We’re going to have to deliver.”
To this day, over 7 months later, I still get choked up when I recall those words.
NO! This is not what I planned. I’m supposed to have a home birth… at FULL term. I’m not supposed to be strapped to a bed in a hospital. I am not supposed to be presented with this choice of do I induce or just go straight into a c-section.
My baby is under 27 weeks and MEASURING SMALL.
NO! That is screaming through my already pounding head as I blankly start going through the motions of preparing myself for a c-section. There is no way I am going to try and induce. This baby has been having heart rate drops without the stress of induction, we would never make it through that.
The doctors try and reassure me that all will be ok. They expect to have a baby with a strong cry at delivery.
The baby has to come out today. When? I’m first on the line up. “For your health and the baby’s.”
We roll in to the operating room just about 11:30am. Transfer over to the table. Stick that cold needle in my back. Wait for the numbness to set in.
Baby’s heart rate drops again… Start of surgery 11:44am. Baby delivered 11:44am. Where was that strong cry?? No cry. I don’t see my baby, he is whisked off. Dad is given the option of staying with me or going with the baby… of course I send him off to be with the baby.
It seems like it takes hours to get me sewn back up. I’m sure it was less than 30 minutes. I still haven’t seen my baby. And won’t until I am out of recovery.
The minutes tick by. The nurse brings me to the recovery area. I end up being given pitocin to slow the bleeding but that adds minutes, hours, to me getting to the NICU to see my baby.
Finally. I am given the go ahead to leave the recovery area. The nurse wheels me through the halls. My other kids, who haven’t seen me in 5 days are in the waiting area and come to me as I am being slowly rolled by. I tell myself I have to smile.
Hugs and kisses as I roll away, again.
Through those double doors. Into a lobby which, little did I know then, would be the entrance to my second home for the next 165 days.
Into a world that most parents know exists, but have never ventured. The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Where these tiny humans are fighting for their lives. Miniature Super Heroes.
This little man, weighing just 1lb 10oz and 13 inches long, had changed my life forever.
There is no turning back, you are in it for the long haul. I’m not going to lie, it’s not an easy ride. Definitely not for the faint of heart. It is not that I am strong. It is that I had no choice BUT to be strong. There were tears, long hot showers where I sobbed. There were infections, PICC lines, IVs, daily pokes, intubations, the crash cart was even called at one point (story for another day). I learned all about ng tubes, ventilators, infectious diseases in the NICU, de-sats, bradys, steroids, g-tubes, MRSA, BPD, CLD and just about every type of respiratory assistance that could be used on a baby. There were incredible nurses, respiratory therapists and doctors I came to love like family.
Life as we knew it was pretty much turned upside down. Life doesn’t go back to ‘normal’ when you leave the NICU. You find a new normal.
But that smile up top… it’s worth it.
(Keep your eye out for more of our NICU adventures and insight on how to make it through a NICU stay. Coming soon.)
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