It’s funny how the human brain has a way of shielding you from the pain. How you somehow pull it together for yourself as well as your child. I remember it like it was yesterday. Just imagine for a second a roller coaster ride of pregnancy and complications. The contractions won’t stop and neither will the bleeding. You wake up thinking you are wetting the bed only to find out that it’s blood. Imagine entering the hospital at 23 weeks to have a check up and fully expecting to go home at the end of the appointment only you are told you would not be leaving until you had the baby. That could be anywhere from a few weeks to a few months.
Your told you won’t make it to term but they would try to get you to 32 weeks. You keep telling yourself over and over that if you just make it to “X” number of weeks he’ll be fine. Imagine being hooked to IV’s and monitors for 5 weeks. Finding out that bed rest in the hospital means bedpans too. Bleeding that wont stop and it seems like no one is in a hurry. Terrified that you are going to bleed (painlessly) to death at night in the hospital bed as you bargain with God for the life of your child. Imagine Magnesium Sulfate. (Only appreciated by those that have had to endure this horrible treatment) Your unable to eat cause your “Mag” doses are too high. It is starting to affect your vision, you have little to no reflexes and you can barely move your arms or legs. This is all happening while your receiving a blood transfusion and you’re having hard contractions.
Imagine the fear that encompasses you, as you lay awake at 2am unable to sleep because you know the contractions you are having aren’t Braxton-hicks. Spending weeks at a time in the hospital as your husband and other child fend for themselves at home. Imagine getting steroid shots to develop your babies’ lungs early. Then having a doctor tell you that if your baby is born right now you have to make the decision to have him resuscitated if that time should come.
Imagine panicking when the nurse can’t find the heartbeat and the doctor looks in your eyes and tells you “This is it! There’s no turning back now!” The combined terror and elation as you realize he’ll be here TODAY! Calling your husband to tell him “It’s time!” even though your only 28 weeks. Imagine how oddly calm you are as the doctor breaks your water and you realize they don’t have time for any type of drugs cause he’s coming way to fast. So many people running in and out while you give birth naturally in the middle of it all.
Your first response is pleasure – your son is here! Next “Is he breathing??” Imagine feeling shock and relief that your baby could cry even though it’s so weak you can’t hear it from 3 feet away. Imagine the first time you see him he is in an incubator. You are stretching to see him from the table you just gave birth on but it’s just too far away to get a good look.
Imagine walking into the NICU for the first time and all the babies are in incubators except yours. He’s on a warming table cause he’s so sick and needs so much care. His head and shoulders are purple, his eyes are fused closed, he is a funny looking little creature but you can’t stop yourself from falling madly and deeply in love. Imagine looking at your nearly lifeless child fighting to live. There are needles in his head and a machine helping him breathe as you watch your baby, on a respirator, try to cry. Imagine that seeing everything though tear-blurred eyes can start to seem normal. Saying to the nurse “Can I touch him?” What a horrible thing for a mother to have to ask. Watching your son in an incubator under bili-lights, with a warmer, a feeding tube and a lot of wires, not really knowing what they were. You hold his tiny little hand in yours. He doesn’t even have enough strength to squeeze your finger.
Imagine receiving news that your baby’s heart stops often because his lungs are too tiny and he forgets to breath. Trying so hard to explain to the Neonatologist that what does not appear catastrophic to him is devastating to you. Almost a full week goes by before you are allowed to finally hold your baby. Your afraid of the ever-present alarms and wires, and afraid that you would be the one to do something to hurt him, after all, you couldn’t keep him safe inside you. Thinking “He won’t remember this right?” Wishing you could be sure, knowing you’d never forget it … wishing you could. Imagine holding him through “Kangaroo Care” Finally feeling as if your bonding with him while you hold him skin to skin against your chest, keeping him warm as you comfort him with your heartbeat. Imagine seeing his full face for the first time as tape used to hold the tubes and respirator in place are removed.
Imagine getting a call at 4am and it’s the Neonatologist, telling you in his soft reassuring voice that your son had to go back on the high frequency oscillating ventilator because he was not breathing well enough on his own. (100% oxygen is a scary thing) Your heart starts to break every time the phone rings because you are afraid it is the hospital calling to tell you something else is wrong. Imagine you stop flinching and just say, “Okay explain the procedure!” After all you are a NICU parent and it takes a lot more then that to shake you. That’s when it really hits you how together you really are in all of this.
Imagine getting a phone call at work from your primary nurse saying your son extibated himself today. After spending hours at the hospital your husband finally talks you into going home to get some sleep. You call when you get home so they can comfort you again by telling you he’s still okay and that they will call you if things get worse. Imagine feeding your son for the first time through a feeding tube that goes through his nose and to his stomach because he hasn’t learned to suck and he can’t handle formula yet. Imagine hearing an all too familiar monitor going off and realizing it is coming from your child because his heart stopped again.
Normal is completely redefined when a good day is one in which you look at his progress sheet and you are happy seeing that his heart only stopped twice instead of five times. You beg your husband to get an apnea monitor to keep until he’s ten. Picture the wide eyed look on your face as your trying to be so careful with this fragile little miracle and his nurse comes up and grabs him like he’s a child’s toy because she is so used to preemies.
Imagine constantly turning his head so that one side of his face isn’t flatter then the other. The doctors and nurses start to pay little attention to your baby because he’s so “healthy” and you are trying to derive some comfort from that. He’s been in the hospital so long now that they start to call him the “Bull Ensign”
Imagine being told that your baby is going home and you were going to have to learn CPR – praying to God you could keep your head long enough if the time to use CPR ever occurred. Imagine finally dressing your son for the first time in “Civvies” even though you lose him in them because they are so big. Your smile doesn’t fade as you pack his bag and put him in the car seat.
Imagine the first night he is home he sleeps on your chest and you don’t sleep a wink for fear that he may stop breathing and he isn’t hooked to a monitor. Imagine he comes home only eating 30cc’s of formula – at least it isn’t through a feeding tube. Imagine a 5-month-old premature baby looking like a healthy newborn. Imagine never knowing how to answer when strangers ask you “How old is he?” The simplest of questions most parents are asked and you hesitate. You look forward to the day when you can introduce your son with out having to say “But he was premature so…”
Imagine the day you realize all the fear and anxiety you went through in the NICU was worth it as you see your son roll over all by himself for the first time and you can’t stop crying. Imagine development that is slow and each milestone means just as much as the one before. You never take his accomplishments for granted. Imagine seeing your two-year-old son running to you (with chocolate all over his face) just so he can give you a kiss. Imagine the first time you hear him call you Mommy.
Imagine…having a preemie.
I never realized that my heart was so willing to share so much love with a stranger so small and needy. He didn’t arrive with instructions, it was strictly learn as you go but my child will always be the precious miracle I gave birth to that day. He was worth every minute of pain I endured.
Back to Today!!!
This year, I made him cupcakes for his class just like I do every year. His favorite is Chocolate cupcakes with either chocolate or white icing - it all depends on the mood.
Genie, Jolene, and Megan were here for a visit and wanted to come with me to the school when I took them to him. Unfortunately Genie learned a valuable lesson about leaving cupcakes unattended when a toddler is running around!
Here we are RE-icing the cupcakes...
When we got to the school Matt's teacher said he wasn't feeling good and the nurse was sending him home! He had a headache and a fever.
Later that evening his temperature was gone and he was feeling fine so we took him to dinner. My Aunt Colleen and Uncle Tom were in town so we went with them to Uno's pizza in Pacific Beach.
Unfortunately Matt's temperature came back and he went straight upstairs to bed when he got home without opening any gifts. I KNEW he must be sick if he didn't want to go downstairs to get gifts. So I brought them all up to him.
Caders had no sympathy for her big brother. She took that opportunity to swing like a monkey and kick him in the back.
My poor baby...
1 comment:
That was so beautiful and heartfelt. becky you are such a good writer. You have a gift that you should really think about sharing. I am so glad that you are my friend and I am going to miss you so much. I love you girl
Amiee
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