One year ago today was the best and worst day of my life.
It was a Sunday. Two days prior, on Friday, I had been put into the hospital suddenly because my pregnancy-induced hypertension was getting increasingly worse by the day and they wanted to keep an eye on me. I had ultrasound after ultrasound, blood tests, urine samples, steroid injections, you name it.
Friday night, my doctor came to see me with the high-risk obstetrician. They told me that even though my baby wasn’t due until March 9, 2002, she would most definitely be born long before then because of the pre-eclampsia. They explained that even now, my life and hers were both in danger from my increasing blood pressure. Their plan, they told me, was to keep me on complete bed rest, easing the strain on my body and hers for as long as possible—they were aiming for late January. She would be premature but it was the best they could hope for. Both Steven and I were scared but what could we do? We set about making plans for me to spend the next couple of months in the hospital.
The next morning, Saturday, the doctors came back and told us that based on the results of some of the late tests from the day before, we were now shooting for keeping the baby in utero until New Year’s Day. The pre-eclampsia was getting worse and they didn’t think they could safely hold off much longer than that. All day long I had a nurse beside me trying to keep a monitor on me to measure the baby’s heartbeat. The baby was so small and so active that they couldn’t just strap on a fetal monitor like they usually do—someone had to hold and move the probe continuously. So I lay in bed all day with a nurse pressing on my stomach in different places. I had breaks from the fetal heart monitor—when I had tests. They measured my urine output, took vial after vial of blood, gave me numerous steroid injections to help the baby’s lung production and performed dozens of ultrasounds and all sorts of high tech tests.
That night before bed, they came in to tell me that the new plan was to keep the baby in until Christmas. Steven went home that night to spend some time with the dog and to get some decent sleep since he hadn’t really slept that well since I had been admitted. I, on the other hand, didn’t get much sleep due to the continuous fetal heartbeat monitoring.
The next morning at 7am, the physicians came in again giving me the current estimate as one week. Just one week until my baby would be born severely prematurely. I was extremely upset. I don’t cry in front of strangers but that morning, I had a really hard time keeping it in. I called and woke Steven up and told him the news. He got up and said he was on his way. In the meantime, a neonatal nurse and doctor came down to talk to me about the kinds of problems the baby would probably have—should she survive beyond delivery. I couldn’t really comprehend what they were saying. It wasn’t the medical jargon and diagnoses such as “hydrocephaly”, “cerebral palsy”, “profound retardation” and “short term mortality” that I couldn’t understand—I just couldn’t absorb everything. It was too much.
Around 11:15am, they brought my lunch. I ate very little because I was still in shock. They took my lunch tray at about 11:40.
At 11:45, the physicians were back. This time there were a lot more of them and their faces looked grim. They began telling Steven and I about how at any moment the baby could die in utero. They told us how at any moment, I could begin to have seizures. Severe seizures, they said. Seizures that could lead to me having a stroke. A stroke that could at best disfigure me for life, at worst kill me and the baby—if she was still alive by that point.
They said they were taking the baby today because it would probably save my life and that we’d just have to rely on technology and luck to save hers. Trying very hard to comprehend that at any time he could lose both his wife and his child, Steven asked if it would be that afternoon. No, he was told—it will be right now.
I was whisked off to surgery. Steven was told they would attempt to do a very quick spinal epidural but if it did not take sufficient effect in five to eight minutes, I would be put completely under and he would not be allowed in the room. Luckily, the epidural worked and at 12:15pm, my darling Emma Katheryn was born at 11 ¼’ long and weighing 14.8oz—slightly more than a can of Coke.
She was born with the cord wrapped twice around her neck and she wasn’t breathing. The neonatal team was right there to grab her, resuscitate her and check her out. They immediately put her in an incubator and prepared to take her to the NICU. They stopped by my head to let me see her. No one in the room expected I’d ever get another chance to see my baby alive.
I looked at her. She was miniature! So tiny and transparent! She had one eye open and one closed. That’s exactly what I was doing in my first hospital picture after birth so I took that as a good sign.
They hurried her out and took her up to the NICU. After she was there and stabilized, a nurse made her hand and footprints for us so we’d at least have something to take home and remember her by. I didn’t see her again until the next day when I could stand up tall enough to look into her warmer. At that point, she had already lived a lot longer than anyone expected. Soon after, Emmy’s godfather, Weirddave updated the SDMB as to what was going on with us.
During her three month stay in the unit, she had jaundice, ROP requiring surgery, a MRSA infection, several pneumothoraxes, seven chest tube placements, a feeding tube, apnea, bradycardia, and a foreign object lodged in her chest.
That was then.
Since then, a lot has happened. Emmy is now a happy, healthy one year old little girl. She weighs almost 16 pounds and is over two feet long. She says, “Mama”, “Dada”, “Okay” and “Hi”. She is on no medication (except the occasional dose of Zyrtec for allergies) and no equipment. The oxygen tanks and apnea monitor have been returned to the medical supply company. She has had one post-NICU surgery to repair two inguinal hernias (bad timing—right at Dave and Gingy’s wedding!) and came through just fine. She crawls like a champ, can pull herself up to standing and is always laughing. She is the happiest baby I have ever seen. She’s also the most beautiful–according to me!
I know I have posted this before but you guys have no idea how much your positive thoughts and comments meant to me during that time. Euty’s heartbreakingly beautiful on-line baby book still stands as the most amazing gift I have ever been given. He’ll always have a very special place in my heart—and Emmy’s. She’ll know all about this amazingly sweet man. Weirddave’s calls and updates were very helpful and very, very much appreciated. And they still are! Love ya, Dave! Scotticher has been the most thoughtful and loving aunt a child could ask for—she even made Emmy’s adorable Halloween costume this year! rocking chair has been wonderful, sending Emmy her very first hat (actually her very first clothes if a hat counts as clothes!) and always asking for updates. Baker sent a wonderful and caring letter. I know there are many, many more and I’m sorry for leaving people out. I am horrible at thanking people so I apologize now. Everyone has just been wonderful. I know some people got tired of hearing about this little miracle baby and to them I apologize. But I appreciate no one saying anything publicly.
I have pics of Emmy over the past year but as I am completely technologically illiterate I have no idea how to get them on-line. If someone could help me with this, I would be very much appreciative, as would many people who have been wanting pics of her. You can see how healthy and wonderful she is doing by her pictures. I truly believe that while the doctors and nurses did amazing work and Emmy’s incredible strength and spirit helped pull her through, the miracle in all this is that so many wonderful people sent so many beautiful, thoughtful and selfless thoughts to a little tiny baby they had never, and would probably never, see in the flesh. I know those positive thoughts from so many different types of people from all religions, races and cultures couldn’t help but help Emmy heal. And she did. She’s perfect. Thank you.
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