Emotions Running High

It has been an emotional 24 hours. Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones, perhaps it is my reflection on where we were in Precious Miracle's pregnancy, or the rush of feeling Prematurity Awareness Day brought upon me, but learning that one of Precious Miracle's classmates was diagnosed with Lymphoma sent me into a crying frenzy last night that I just couldn't shake.

Reading posts on Abbyloppers and catching a glimpse of a Today Show story about a little girl who suffered a terrible shaking at the hands of her nanny, leaving her brain damaged, caused an instantaneous flow of tears. Maybe those tears are for me, not me now, but the person I was when I was 24w 1d pregnant with My Girl. Maybe those tears are for the families, currently living something awful. Maybe those tears are for thanksgiving, the daily prayer offered to God that my daughter has grown into the amazing little person she is today in spite of the crazy odds stacked against her. I think the tears are for all.

It is days like this that I choose to remember in the midst of patience-trying moments. Hubby is the same way. It is days like this that put it all into perspective: what matters and what doesn't. And when I go upstairs for the third time after putting My Girl to nap only to discover her standing on the other side of the gate totally naked, room scattered about, I can only smile, thankful and so blessed that she is alive and able to do such things. The spilled milk on my couch, crayon on the wall, slow housing market, what does it matter? I have my family and for that I am forever grateful.

Today, 24w 1d, or Friday, July 21, 2006, I woke as though it were any other ordinary morning. I sat at my kitchen island and had a bowl of cereal. The act of standing up forever changed my life, for as I pushed the chair away with my rising body, felt something drip onto my upper left thigh. Quick to examine the wet substance, I knew I needed to call the doctor. I explained to Nurse Barb that blood-tinged mucus had fallen out onto my leg. She told me to come in to the office.

What was wrong with me? I showered, took my time getting dressed and got in the car. I hopped on the turnpike, driving myself to my own hospital admission. I remember arriving at the doctors' office and using the restroom before my exam. How lucky I was that My Girl didn't fall out at that moment. I went back to the same ultrasound room I use for my current pregnancy's weekly scans. Dr. G did a regular ultrasound and we saw the heartbeat. He then went to examine my cervix and inserted a speculum. His monotone words that followed are forever part of my being, "Your membranes are budging. You are not leaving this hospital until you deliver, could be 12 hours, 12 days or 12 weeks."

That moment I went into shock. I needed this baby. I wanted this baby. I loved this baby and she had to survive. I knew pregnancy lasted 40 weeks for a reason and here I was just a day beyond 24, that's just over half way. What was happening? What did this mean? My mind went into a tailspin as I recalled that my pregnancy book at home indicated that my baby was now, "viable". Viable, I had no idea what that meant in terms of all the intervention required. I would soon learn.

I called Hubby and just blubbered into the phone. I don't know what I said or what he said. Nurse Barb said to get dressed. I was afraid to stand up. She came back with a wheel chair and out the back entrance of the office she took me, clutching my tissue and wishing I would wake up from this nightmare. Through the back halls of the hospital we went until we finally came to an elevator. To my left and behind me, tucked behind a wing-wall of sorts, was the Morgue. I lost it. Crazy thoughts about my unborn daughter ending up in there circled my mind. What do you do when a baby dies? Do you have a funeral? Oh, God, NO! Sitting at home was a personalized burp cloth I ordered on sale at Pottery Barn Kids. Hubby and I were set on her name weeks ago. She had a name, she was my baby and I needed her to live. I began praying, over and over and over and over. Between my Hail Mary's I started reciting the words to Diana Ross' song, "I'm Coming Out". It was a song that when I heard it during my pregnancy, associated it with the day my daughter was going to be born - a now's the time kinda thing. It was just not supposed to be this day, but a day more than 15 weeks away. But as strange as it was, I hung onto the words, finding comfort in various lines that I repeated over and over, again between Hail Mary's. (Her NICU video is actually set to that song. There is a link in my post dated November 12.)

"There's a new me coming out, And I just had to live, And I wanna give, I'm completely positive. I think this time around I am gonna do it, Like you never do it, Like you never knew it, Ooh, I'll make it through" ... "I've got to show the world, All that I wanna be, And all my abilities, There's so much more to me. Somehow I have to make them, Just understand I got it well in hand And, oh, how I've planned. I'm spreadin' love, There's no need to fear..."

The Antepartum unit I was originally slated for was full so I was wheeled to Labor and Delivery. They needed to get a room ready and in the mean time, had me get on a gurney in the hall. My right side was against the wall. Nurse Barb left me and a new nurse came over. I was shaking at this point. Shaking, praying and reciting my song. I told the nurse I had the urge to pee but did not want to use a bedpan. My fear was the action of doing so would cause my baby to dislodge. It was a strong feeling I had that I needed a catheter. An IV was started and I was moved to what I was hoping was my home for the next 15 weeks. I was prepared to do whatever I had to do to keep my baby inside where she belonged.

I was hooked up to monitors and learned that I was having contractions. I was given magnesium sulfate to stop the contractions, received my first steroid shot to boost my baby's lung development and also antibiotics, if I'm not mistaken. My bed was placed in a Trendelenburg position, meaning my feet were higher than my head. My catheter was placed and somehow in the midst of all this, I changed into a hospital gown.

The fog began. I don't remember when Hubby arrived but know he didn't leave me waiting long. Other family members came by including my mom, Hubby's mom and my brother. It was not how I planned on asking him, but in that moment seemed necessary to let him know we would like him to be God-Father of our child.

My room was a circus of medical professionals. I didn't know my group all that well and ended up meeting new people who appeared stumped as to what to do with me. A doctor from the NICU came in to let us know what we were facing. He determined that our daughter was 24w 1d from my last menstrual period and seemed quite relieved that I was 24 weeks and not 23. He went through a whole list of terrifying words, explaining the risks that could potentially affect our baby. Hubby and I sobbed as we had no choice but to listen:

"Bleeding in the brain, mental retardation, cerebral palsy, blindness, deafness, digestive issues, inability to oxygenate, feeding problems, chronic lung disease, long-term breathing issues requiring permanent ventilation, learning disabilities, infections, the need for blood transfusions, asthma and a 50% chance of death." We were told there was a chance that our daughter could be non-functioning, unable to walk and talk. It was just the most devastating words you could ever imagine having to take in.

Hearing the seriousness of all that was said, I felt I needed to cling to one thing, that it would be impossible to escape this with nothing. I wanted asthma. I wanted my unborn daughter to have asthma and I prayed to God, right then and there to give my baby girl asthma and only asthma. My mom has asthma and my baby can live with asthma too. God, please give us asthma.

The visions that entered my mind are too painful to articulate. Hubby and I just sobbed together. This was a defining moment in our marriage, in our relationship. We clung to each other and from that moment forward, our relationship strengthened in ways only a life-altering situation such as this can cause.

The doctors sent in the anesthesiologist for a consult. They wanted to be prepared in the event I needed an emergency c-section. I don't think I've mentioned previously, but my daughter's feet were hanging through my cervix and into the birth canal. She was classified as a "footling breech" and therefore, would require a Cesarean delivery.

Since the doctors were unsure how things would play out or even how they wanted to proceed, I was restricted to IV fluids one minute and then offered a tray of food the next. There was not a great deal of consistency with the orders as each doctor had their own take on the situation.

My wonderful husband didn't leave my side. My brother stopped at our house to collect my glasses and contact supplies. I also had him get my rosary beads that had once been my maternal grandmothers, whose name is my daughter's middle name (and mine too). My brother found my car in the parking garage and took it home. My uncle took our dogs. The family pulled together. Hubby called some friends who spread the word that we needed prayers. The prayers poured in and while we had yet to know, a miracle was in the works.