I try to stay positive in this blog. I don't want to look back on these memories and see post after post of negative rants or sadness. And even with Ellie being born early, there was (and still is) so much to be positive about. We've had a great outcome so far. But I never really shared the whole story of Ellie's birth, with all the fear and anxiety it produced.
My water broke early that morning and even as I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, dread and fear gripped me. I'd heard of women thinking their water had broken only to find that they actually hadn't, but I knew that was not what had happened. In my mind, I scrambled to remember how far along I was. 33 weeks and 6 days. I didn't have a bag packed. Her nursery wasn't completed. The car seat wasn't even installed. I was scared that my water had broken, but I couldn't even mentally make the connection that Ellie was coming soon. We called the midwife and I could barely get the words out. I knew my water had broken, but when I called I was questioning, I wanted her to tell me I was wrong and that everything was all right. My pregnancy had been going so well, how could my water break so early?
The midwife said to go to the hospital and to take our time, we were in no rush. I fumbled around in a blind panic, looking for sweatpants while Tom shoved some clothes in a suitcase. We didn't take anything for the baby, but if I had even thought she'd be born that day I would have realized nothing would fit her anyway, nor would she be coming home with us. I called both sets of parents on the way to the hospital, but I didn't really know what to tell them. I could not believe what was happening.
When we got to the hospital, we were brought to a triage area and I was dressed in the standard hospital gown. The intake nurse was very sweet, but we had to wait for the midwife to arrive before we'd know anything. In the meantime, we were hooked up to a fetal monitor and we tried to ignore the heartbeats that were coming too fast. I was terrified and Tom was doing his best to stay strong and calm. He really did remarkably well, one of his best features is his ability to stay cool in a crisis. Finally the midwife came in and told us what we already knew: my water was broken. She said they may try and buy us some more time, a week or two, for the baby to grow. She said the heartrate was a bit fast, but it could be because the baby was moving around. But Ellie really wasn't moving at all.
I was admitted to a suite, not the standard labor and delivery room, but a room they put women in when they think they'll be there a while. Little did we know Ellie'd be born just hours later and I'd never see the inside of a labor and delivery room, just the cold operating room. The midwife came back to my room later with the OB who had provided a consult. He told us that at that point in the pregnancy, it would be better to deliver a healthy baby early than a sick baby too late. She'd be coming that day or the next. They assured us we'd have an opportunity to speak with the neonatologist before Ellie was born, so we'd know what to expect.
Around that time, Ellie's heart rate kept fluctuating. It would go way, way down then shoot back up too high. The nurse helped me move into a position on my left side that seemed to help, but moving me was now out of the question so the ultrasound machine had to be brought to us, and urgently. Once the ultrasound techs had arrived, I was in for nearly an hour of poking and prodding and while I'm no expert even I could tell it wasn't good. They kept talking about how there was no measurable fluids and how the baby wasn't taking any practice breaths or moving. I had no idea how bad it actually was; I recently made the mistake of looking up what a 0 score on a biophysical profile means and it's pretty bad. A score of zero occurs in only 1 out of every 1000 biophysical profiles and the rate of perinatal death at that point is 483/1000. So our odds were nearly 50/50 of losing her. Thinking about that even now with Ellie sleeping quietly behind me just terrifies me. There was also some question as to whether or not we had the right due date - Ellie was measuring very small. The team went over every single one of my ultrasounds before determining that we had the right due date, but a very small baby.
Within minutes of completing the biophysical profile, the room was suddenly filled with people. An oxygen mask was put over my face and that was the final bit that broke me and I started crying. We were told we'd be delivering immediately, as soon as the operating room was cleaned up from the last patient. I finally met the neonatologist in the operating room as I was being prepped and he told me Ellie would be brought straight to the NICU when she was born, but that 33 weekers generally do very well and won't have to stay too long. Everything went so fast and my memories of the delivery are a blur. I remember being introduced to a nurse and thinking of how strange it was to have polite introductions when things were going so wrong. I remember the midwife's hands holding my face and telling me it'd be all right as the anesthesiologist put the epidural in my spine. But I don't remember when Tom appeared, or what we said to each other. And I don't remember where my hands and arms were, or what was happening beneath the sheet under my neck. Or what they announced when Ellie was finally pulled from me.
But thank God I remember her cry. It was high and loud and beautiful. Since there wasn't any time for steroid shots or any other therapies that could have helped her breathe, we weren't sure what to expect when Ellie was born. But things were better than could have been imagined: she could breathe on her own, was alert and pink, and scored an 8 and a 9 on her Apgars. Tom was able to hold her briefly and I could see him cry. They put her round little face next to mine and I was able to kiss her.
Then, suddenly, she was gone and Tom with her and I was alone. The doctors closed me up and I was wheeled out of the operating room to a recovery area where I tried to wrap my head around everything that had just happened. I was there for over an hour and I was scared the whole time. Finally the neonatologist came back to fill me in on how Ellie was doing. She was doing great and didn't need any oxygen at all. He said he thought she'd be home in a week or two.
I wanted to see her so badly. The tiny glimpse in the operating room wasn't enough. I wanted to be sure she was all right, I wanted to count her fingers and toes and see what color her eyes were and just hold her. But she was in the NICU getting well and I was stuck in my room with an IV and a catheter thanks to the C-section. Tom's parents arrived and they all went to see the baby. I'm glad they could meet her and honestly would not have it any other way, but it does strike me sometimes that they were all able to see my baby before I could. Finally one of the evening nurses relented and I was able to see Ellie for the first time.
In the first few days we weren't able to hold her, couldn't even pet her. The nurses told us the babies liked firm touches. I couldn't breastfeed her, she was fed formula through a tube in her nose. And those damn monitors. It was a love/hate relationship with those things. Love because you could see that they were the close eyes on each baby that the nurses couldn't be, but hate because of what they signaled. Every time one would go off, we'd first glance up to make sure it wasn't our baby, then sigh and say "Oh, it's Sam." "Oh, it's Elizabeth." "Oh, it's Brooke." We were fortunate to have very few episodes, and only ever when she was eating. But to know that sometimes babies forget to breathe, to see it happen, was terrifying. And the times when I was feeding Ellie and her monitor would start to alarm, and then to see the color drain from her face - I really can't describe it. It's kind of a slow panic, where first you're sure the monitor is just wrong - again - and then you know it's not and you look for a nurse, not sure what to do on your own. Our first night with her, still in the hospital, but without the monitors, I slept with my arm in her bassinet nearly all night, just trying to keep feeling her breath.
I truly believe that God has a plan, and that everything that happened that day and every day since has been a part of it, but there still remains the questions for me. Why did my water break? Why was Ellie so small when she was born? And not just "why us"; why are so many other babies born early? One in eight babies are born too early, before 37 weeks gestation. The March of Dimes is working to solve these puzzles and to provide better prenatal care during pregnancy and neonatal care after.
2 comments:
Huge hugs to you guys!
Right back at ya, Trish! I so look up to you, and am so proud of all the progress Robbie's made.
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