I have wanted to start this a million times, I would write part of it, look at the words and erase them. Seeing the truth of them, watching the story unfold in words was just too painful. The reality of what occurred seems almost too real and I feel that I am putting out something in the universe that I cannot bare to have there. Will it come back to me? Or worse…her?
It’s amazing how a memory can be both blurred and crystal clear at the same time. I was on bed rest for an entire month in the hospital prior to E.V. being born. Excessive amniotic fluid which made my frame look like I was carrying twins and incited complete strangers in HomeGoods ask me way too personal questions brought me in at 26 weeks. The goal from the beginning was for me to be able to give birth at the very least at 30 weeks and if I could make it to 32-24 would be even better (obviously more for E.V. than myself). I have said it once and I will say it a thousand times over, the nurses made my entire stay. The nurses would often just hang out with me to provide some much needed company and a reason for me not to conjure up an imaginary friend, they figured out ways for me to get as much sleep as humanly possible in between tests, they comforted me when I was going stir crazy, regaled me with stories, and reminded me that I wasn’t my doctors typical patient (they were shocked that I was from his office at all). I made friends with anyone that came into that room right down to the individuals that cleaned it (bless them).
Externally I was composed, cracked jokes, and had my hair brushed as much as possible. Internally, I was a mess, I felt broken, my spirit curled inward and it was difficult to breathe. I have the attention span of a fly so to be cooped up in a small room, hooked up to monitors and needles for any amount of time after two days is pretty much impossible for someone like myself. I am a doctoral student, so all my research lay around me and if anything the hospital stay provided me the much needed time to focus on my school work. My mother on her trips to Target literally took pictures to see if there was anything I wanted as she didn’t want me going through withdrawals from my simple pleasures from the outside world (#truestory).
Is it just me or do a lot of these posts focus around Target (#sorrynotsorry)?
I had done it! I had made it to 30 weeks…sigh…how was I going to make it another 4…
My mother had just left for the day and Sean was on his way to the hospital from work, so I was using the time to work on some homework and watch one of the many HGTV shows that I had already seen about a dozen times already. I had an echocardiogram done the day before where fluid (unrelated to my own mind you) seemed to have accumulated in E.V.’s lungs. The cardiologist didn’t seem to be too concerned, so now having my perinatologist enter my hospital room did not bode well for me. He started off the conversation with “the baby is fine” and then came the longest dramatic pause of my life, the ‘but’ was just hanging there…mocking me slowly. “It looks like the fluid is continuing to accumulate….(again drawn out pause)….the c-section is scheduled for tomorrow.” I felt like I was in a Peanuts cartoon and no longer hearing properly what was being explained to me. Dumbfounded, I asked “so what does that mean?” He explained to me that the fluid that was in her lungs was increasing steadily and that a C-section would need to be done right away. Her being 3o weeks was a blessing and from what I was gathering from the man speaking gibberish in front of me was that everything about her looked good and they weren’t expecting complications. I felt that I was nodding like a bobblehead, but unable to wrap my brain around anything that was happening.
When he left the room, I felt cold and more in shock than I had while he was explaining things to me. What was happening? Why was this happening to me after everything we had already been through? What did this mean? My hands fumbled for the phone as I dialed the husband quickly and tried to think how I was even going to tell him what was just told to me. Especially, since what little I was remembering was quickly vanishing. At this point, I just wanted to curl on the bed and pretend like none of this was happening.
This is when the blur set in. The husband getting explained everything, the nurses letting me know at 3am I would get prepped, putting on my pajamas and staring at the ceiling till 3am, husband of course sleeping soundly (#bitterpartyofone). It was a whirlwind with the exception of the catheter which was literally the worst pain of my life (I would have preferred to have been backed over by a tractor) well at least until the epidural was administered and then I felt pretty darn great.
At one point I had forgotten that I had excessive amniotic fluid, so when the c section began (let’s just paint the image that it was a lot like being at Niagra Falls) I murmured to Sean “oh my God, I am bleeding out” only to hear the entire room crack up (apparently the murmuring part was in my head…darn epidural). I had been wheeled into delivery at 8, prepped by 8:10, and my mini-me entered this world at 8:36am on February 8th. I’ll spare you the picture that the husband took and then proceeded to send to anyone who we have ever known (#proudpapa #luckilynotthingwasshowing #luckyforhim)
We will just fast forward since there was a lot of vomiting, sleeping, visitors and more vomiting that commenced.
Although I remember distinctly the husband muttering more than once how exhausted HE was (#yourkiddingright #younappedtwice #ifyouwerentsuchagreatsupportidsendyouforicecream). I had been told by several doctors and specialists that flitted out of the room to prepare myself and that she was very sick. I am embarrassed to say that I was worried to see her and I didn’t know if I was strong enough to handle what I was going to see, so I waited. It felt like everyone else went to visit her and I couldn’t stomach the thought, and waited some more. I pushed it off until I couldn’t bear not to see her and I heard the Gastroenterologist was there and wanted to meet with me. Down the road I would warmly refer to him as Dr. Death (#sorrynotsorry #hesnotwarmandfuzzyatall).
This is what I gazed upon and the amount of love and fear that gripped me at this moment, I didn’t even know was possible to ever feel.
Dr. Death explained to me that she had Chylothorax a lung disorder that 1 in 5,000 children can have and VERY rarely is a child born with it. The scariest part of this word was the fact that there was barely ANYTHING on it (research or Google wise), and certainly none of the comforting warm and fuzzy mama blogs that I could take comfort in knowing my daughter would pull through.
Literally not one WhatToExpect or BabyCenter…it was complete and utter crickets. For a girl going for her Ed.D and having no real research other than the terrifying kind, I was completely out of my element and a 100% helpless. It was at that moment that I knew that if anything happened to her, I would have to be committed, I was not strong enough to lose her (even writing this out makes me shudder). I will let you read the information about the disorder on your own since this post is getting out of control and I have probably put a majority of you to sleep at this point.
It is a hundred percent up to you on whether to take the next bit of advice and you will have individuals that are on the fence or will not agree with me at all, however…Do Your Research. Yes Google can be terrifying and the journal articles that you might read may make no sense (hullo dictionary.com) or not relate a 100% to your issue, but you never know what bits of information will be useful or what trials that are out there that could help you become more informed for yourself and your child.
Choose your sources carefully, but do your research, familiarize yourself with the jargon, and see what has worked with other children in similar situations because they will find it hard to believe, but doctors DO NOT know everything.
At the end of the day (the longest couple months of my life), with amazing doctors care, a nursing team that is beyond compare, tubes, antibiotics, time and the strength of an amazing rockstar of a little girl, she came out of it…all on her own…with no residual and it disappeared like it was never there. They are not even sure what caused it to begin with, which I am not sure is a blessing or a curse. All I can say is that I never knew it was possible to have a role model who hasn’t even said her first word yet…but here she is, in all her divine glory. This is the day she got home. All of my NICU mama friends told me that it was going to be a world of difference when she got home and thankfully enough, boy were they right!
