I think all parents have big dreams for their baby. They share with excitement their big news of a little bouncing, bundle of joy that will be joining their family. They pick the perfect name. They talk about their hopes and dreams for the baby. They plan parties and celebrations. They look forward to seeing their baby's ultrasound. They wonder what their baby will be like, who they'll look like, what they'll grow up to be. They plan the perfect birth.
But sometimes...sometimes those dreams don't turn out the way you think they will. Our fairy tale changed; it's still changing. Here is the beginning of our fairy tale:
Once upon a time, early in 2012, we found out we were expecting a baby! We were excited and began to make plans. We picked out names and planned on a baby shower. We had some bumps along the way, but after several scary weeks and bed rest, the pregnancy progressed with no further issues. We enjoyed going to doctors visits, hearing the baby's heartbeat, anticipated our ultrasound to find out if we'd be having a boy or girl. Things were wonderful and we were tremendously happy.
At 20 weeks, we had an ultrasound to measure baby's progress and find out the gender of our little one. The ultrasound was fun and baby turned out to be a little boy! We already knew what we were going to name him. As soon as we left the ultrasound, we both started calling family to let them know the baby's gender and name. We posted pictures online. We were so excited! We even started to finally plan out X's room. Life was good. We were happy. X and Mommy were both healthy and doing well. It seemed like everything was perfect!
Just 5 short weeks later, while I was at work, I began to feel...strange. Something was different. I called the doctor and told her what I feeling. She thought it would be wise for me to go to Labor & Delivery and get checked out. So, my wonderful hubby picked me up at work, and off we went. I don't think either of us thought too much about it. After all, we were only barely 25 weeks into a 40 week pregnancy. We both thought that at the worst, I might be admitted for a day or two for observation.
Once at the hospital, they sent me to triage and monitored me and baby X for a few hours. Everything seemed fine. They finally determined that I was probably just dehydrated and told me to take the next 2 days off work (the weekend) and then see my regular doctor on Monday. They told me to be sure to drink plenty of water and stay off my feet for the bulk of the weekend. It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but I was willing to do anything I had to for X to be ok. So, I went home, made myself comfortable on the couch, drank lots of water and watched movies for a few hours.
Very rapidly, I went from being fine to being in full blown labor. Something was DEFINITELY wrong, so I called my doctor again and told her that I was having time-able contractions. She sent me back to the hospital. The hospital we'd planned on delivering at was a 40 minute drive from our house. When we left, contractions were 10 minutes apart. By the time we go to the hospital, they were only 3 minutes apart.
We still thought I would probably just be admitted and this time probably given fluids and medication to stop the contractions. We were wrong. When I got to Labor & Delivery, the nurse took one look at me and realized I was in full blown labor. She asked how many weeks I was. When I said, "I'm 25 weeks and 1 day today", she looked sort of panicked. She quickly took me to triage and started getting information.
After she got me settled in and checked me, all the color drained from her face. She did, however, manage to keep her composure and said that she wanted to have the charge nurse come in and check me as well just to get another opinion. I still wasn't panicked at this point, but I was becoming suspicious that what we THOUGHT was going to happen and what would ACTUALLY happen were probably no longer the same thing.
The charge nurse came in and the entire process repeated itself down to her losing the color in her face. Then she said, "We're having this baby tonight. Now. He's coming. I can already feel his feet. There's no stopping it. We'll get you to a room. Things are going to get really busy really fast, but I'll be here with you." I remember turning to my husband, bursting into tears, and saying, "This isn't supposed to happen! It's too soon!"
Everyone jumped into action. I was taken to the biggest delivery room because it was directly across from the resuscitation room . I remember hearing hearing two doctors being paged to L&D for an emergency delivery. I knew it was for me, but it was still very surreal. Things WERE happening quickly. I was given an iv, medication, shots, and flipped on my head at an incredibly rapid pace.
You might be asking why I was flipped onto my head when the nurse had just told us baby X was on his way. You see, it turned out the hospital we were at didn't have a NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). We hadn't thought to ask about it, because I don't think ANY parent plans on needing a NICU for their baby! It wasn't something that had ever crossed our minds. So, I was flipped on my head to slow down X's delivery as long as possible while LifeFlight was dispatched from another hospital a few miles away. It was a 12 minute flight once they were able to take off.
As I lay there, holding my hubby's hand, my room was suddenly filled with 5 or 6 nurses, a neonatologist, a pharmacist, 3 members of the respiratory team, and the two doctors who had been previously paged. Withing minutes, the sound of LifeFlight landing on the helipad just outside my room shook the windows. Then the already crowded room was joined by an anesthesiologist (just in the event we needed to do a c-section). Then, the flight crew (2 ICU nurses and the pilot) also joined us along with my doctor's practice partner who was able to get there faster than my own doctor could. That room was CROWDED.
Immediately before the doctors delivered baby X, the entire room became quiet as one of the doctors asked if we would mind him praying before the baby arrived. Of course I didn't mind. With this extremely early birth and the possible complications our baby would now face, I knew little X needed every bit of help he could get. This sweet doctor said a quick, but sincere prayer for me, for my hubby, and most especially for little X. It was the sweetest thing I think anyone has ever done. It's a gesture of kindness and sincerity I will never forget.
Moments later, little X came rushing into the world. They immediately took him to the resuscitation room. He never made a sound. The huge group of people in our room literally ran with him. The room became eerily quiet with only me, my husband, my doctor's partner, one nurse and the delivering doctor remaining behind.
Then, we waited. For over an hour we waited for news. We kept asking for updates, but weren't really told much. All I knew was that the longer it took, at least X had a fighting chance. A nurse appeared briefly to tell us that although X was VERY sick and in distress, he was "beating up the nurses" and that his willingness to fight was a good sign!
While we waited, we sent out urgent text messages, made urgent phone calls and made one fast but direct post on social media: "X was born at 10:53pm. He's a very sick little boy. Prayers are appreciated. We will update when we can.". Immediately our phones begin to constantly buzz and ding with incoming text messages and notices from social media sites. We read every message, but we were so overwhelmed and so concerned, I don't think we ever responded to any of them.
Another hour ticked by incredibly slowly. It felt like time had almost stopped. Finally the door to my room opened, and a nurse came in. She said they would be bringing little X in for a quick visit before he was taken to another hospital. Moments later, a gurney with a little isolette on it that held our tiny, newborn son was wheeled in. Everyone except the flight nurses and the pharmacist left to let us see this tiny little boy for the first time.
I stared at this beautiful little baby. It was almost surreal because I couldn't hold him. His tiny body was barely visible under all the wires and tubes he was connected to just to keep him alive. He was wrapped in plastic to keep his delicate skin from drying out and to help him stay warm enough. The flight nurse asked the hospital staff for the camera from their nursery and then asked if we'd like to touch little X. She carefully opened up the isolette and we were able to stick our hands inside and touch him. He immediately grasped his Daddy's finger and held on SO tightly.
I finally managed to ask how much he weighed and
how long he was. It was still so hard to wrap my head around the scene in front of me. I was told he weighed 1 pound, 12 ounces and was 13 1/2 inches long. Had I not seen my tiny, little son for myself, I wouldn't be able to fathom what that would be like to see a baby so tiny. If you have a new, unopened bag of powdered sugar laying around, I'll give you a way to visualize this. That unopened bag of powdered sugar is roughly the same length as baby X was. He was a little over half as wide as the bag. And that little bag of sugar weighs 1/4 of a pound MORE than he did. He was tiny...so, so tiny.
Someone brought in the camera. The flight nurses took pictures for us, gave us a LifeFlight t-shirt and then sat down with us for a moment. They explained how sick little X really was. They weren't even sure they could put him on the helicopter. He was very unstable. He was septic. He was having a lot of trouble keeping his blood pressure up. He was on a ventilator and would need an oscillator if he had any chance at survival. The nurse went on to explain that babies born as early as X had been often had many complications. She told us that one of the main risks for him would be brain bleeds, and that flying with him could make those bleeds worse because of the pressure changes on his already incredibly delicate blood vessels. She told us that caring for such a critically ill baby would be expensive - at least $1 million if he made it do his due date.
We looked at each other, looked at X, and finally looked back at the nurse. We told her to do whatever they needed to do. Cost didn't matter. We would figure that out. We told her we understood the risk of flying him but knew that without that flight, his 3% chance of survival became 0. We understood what we were agreeing to. They finally were able to stabilize X just enough to meet the bare minimum requirements to be able to fly with him. They quickly closed up the isolette and headed down to the helipad. My hubby walked out with them and the baby.
The charge nurse had come back in so that I wouldn't be alone in my room during this. Even with her there, I felt incredibly alone as I sat in my bed. I stared out the window into the dark night at the helipad. I watched as the medical team loaded our sweet baby onto the waiting helicopter. The doctors and my hubby walked back inside the hospital and then LifeFlight slowly took off with our precious, tiny, newborn baby inside. I sat there, watching them fly away and crying quietly. That was the hardest moment out of the entire experience for me. At that moment, I didn't know if I would ever see my little X alive again. I didn't know if I'd just said goodbye to him for the first and last time. I didn't know who would be there to take care of him at the other hospital. I couldn't yet go with him and I cried because I wanted desperately to be able to hold and comfort this little baby...and I couldn't. I hoped and prayed that he was ok, that he understood, and that he knew we hadn't left him...that we'd be there with him as soon as we could. I was scared for just a moment as reality sank in. Then, I knew I had to be strong for X, because this was now HIS "Once Upon A Time".
No comments:
Post a Comment