EJ was
born on October 18th, 2013, at 4:32 am via emergency cesarean
section at exactly 30 weeks gestation. He was 2 lbs 7 ounces and 14.5 inches long. I had always thought that the
moment our baby was born would be the happiest moment of our lives. It wasn’t.
We were happy, don’t get me wrong, especially when we heard that first
tiny cry, but it was also terrifying.
And it was terrifying following a sleepless night of fear and worry and
complete disbelief. EJ’s premature birth
was a total shock to us. Up until that
day, I had been having a smooth, uneventful pregnancy that my doctor described
as ideal. Everything was going perfectly.
On Thursday, October 17th,
I started feeling what I thought was heartburn.
It got worse as the evening went on, and Tums weren’t helping. I couldn’t sleep through it and was getting
increasingly uncomfortable, so we decided to be safe and headed to the hospital. I was pretty sure the nurses would laugh at
me for being an overly cautious first time mom, but as long as they laughed
while handing me some extra strength Tums or something, that was fine with
me.
At the hospital, they ran some
tests and took my blood pressure, which was extremely high. We heard a nurse saying there was protein in
my urine and combined with the high BP, we knew that wasn’t good. After giving Peter instructions on what to do
if I had a seizure (do you have any idea how unsettling it is to hear a nurse instruct someone on what to do if you have a seizure?!), a nurse let us
know I was being admitted and I was moved up to labor and delivery. When we got there, one of my doctors met us
there and said something about delivering the baby.
I heard those words, and asked,
“When you say ‘deliver the baby’ you mean….?”
The doctor replied, “In 30 minutes
to an hour.”
That’s when we realized we would be
seeing our baby soon.
We went from thinking I was
overreacting to heartburn to being told our baby who wasn’t due for another 10
weeks was going to be born that night.
We were shocked. Up until that
comment from my doctor, I had been thinking maybe I’d be put on bed rest; no
one had said anything to us yet about what was wrong or what to expect. No
mention of how long I’d be there or if I’d need medication. Certainly no mention of emergency c sections.
I had developed HELLP Syndrome
almost overnight. Looking back, I had
been tired, headachey, and feeling a bit flushed for a couple of days, but I
thought I was just coming down with something, or, you know, was pregnant. It turned out that what I thought was
heartburn was pain from my liver becoming distended because my liver enzymes
were so elevated. In addition to elevated
liver enzymes, HELLP Syndrome is marked by low platelet counts and hemolysis
(the breaking down of red blood cells).
I don’t know what exactly made us decide to go to the hospital that
night, but we are so glad that we did.
If HELLP goes untreated (with the only real treatment being to deliver
the baby), mother and baby are both in serious danger.
***
They
began prepping me for a c-section and Pete suited up in his scrubs. Just as we were about to go, the doctor came
back and said the neonatologist was very concerned about the baby’s gestational
age (29 weeks and 6 days at that point) and wanted us to try to wait a few more
hours so that steroids could be administered and have time to cross the
placenta to the baby. The steroids would
help the baby’s lung development and take about 12 hours to get where they
needed to go. We would try, but we were
warned that if my doctor saw anything she didn’t like, the baby would be
delivered immediately.
I spent
the night unsuccessfully trying to sleep while feeling the baby kicking and
squirming away. It was hard to believe
something was so wrong when the baby was so active and I was no longer in
pain. I made it about five hours before
my most recent blood labs came back and my doctor said we had to deliver the
baby right away. Since I’d been prepped
for a c section hours earlier, we were on our way within minutes. It felt like everything was happening so
quickly, and I just wanted to rewind to earlier that day when everything was
fine, when we still had ten weeks to prepare, and when we weren’t scared for
our baby’s safety.
I was
so scared, but tried to keep it together and stay calm. I think I did a decent job, but when I was
sitting on the operating table getting my spinal block, I couldn’t help but cry. The baby was kicking and kicking, which I normally
loved, but this time all I could think was that this was the last time I would
ever feel the baby kick. These were the
last moments I would be pregnant. The
future was so uncertain, but we had no choice; they had to deliver the baby. Soon I would be numb, unable to feel the
baby, and then the baby would be out of me, for better or for worse.
The
procedure went by quickly for me, although I was told it would be about an hour
start to finish. There was some pressure
and some tugging, but no pain. I stared
at Pete the entire time, because I knew as long as I kept looking at him, it
would be okay. Finally, I felt some extra pressure and some back and forth
pulling and we heard a teeny, tiny cry!
They whisked the baby off to a team of waiting doctors, but Pete got a
few glimpses of flailing arms and legs.
I could see his eyes tearing up, and I’ll never forget him saying, “I’m
a daddy! I’m a daddy!” It was a very, very happy moment that was
quickly replaced by the then familiar worry.
I realized I didn’t know if the
baby was a boy or a girl just as one of the doctors asked, “Do you want to know
what you had?” It was a boy, obviously!
I think we were both sort of hoping for a boy, and we didn’t have a girl named
picked out yet, so we were excited and relieved. (I hated the idea of a little girl having
to be called nameless Baby Girl Horton until we picked something, and also
hated the idea of potential name remorse after picking quickly and under
pressure, so I was VERY relieved.) Pete
followed EJ, who had been passed through a window into a different room and
would soon be on his way to the NICU, while the doctors finished up with me. One very vivid memory I have is the loud
sound of staples on the other side of the sheet. I kept telling myself, “They’re doing paperwork. They’re
doing paperwork. They’re doing
paperwork….” It still makes me
shudder to think of it.
The next few hours seemed to take
forever for me, because I hadn’t seen my baby yet and couldn’t go see him until
the anesthesia wore off. I was wheeled
to a recovery area where I rested and willed my legs to start moving again (I
had to be able to lift and bend my legs before I could go to the NICU and then
to a private room). I felt like Uma
Thurman in Kill Bill. I was very excited
when Pete came to check on me and showed me pictures of EJ. He looked so skinny and small! I so badly wanted to go meet him! Finally,
finally, finally I could move again and they wheeled my bed to EJ’s bed in the
NICU, where I got to see him and touch his hand.
It was such a crazy mixture of
emotions; I was so happy to see him and loved him so much, but at the same
time, it was heartbreaking seeing him with tubes and wires taped to his face and body and
looking so vulnerable. It was days
before I knew what he looked like under it all.
I felt like I had let him down and failed to protect him since he had to
come out before his little body was ready.
We didn’t know what, if anything, was wrong with EJ, how long he’d be in
the hospital, or even when we could hold him.
In all the times I had pictured finally coming face to face with our
baby, I never imagined feeling scared and sad and helpless.
In spite of all these feelings, I
couldn’t help but smile through the tears as I held EJ’s tiny hand with one
hand and Pete’s with the other. It was
the first time all three of us had been together, and it was perfect.
Oh, and I was wrong earlier. EJ still kicks me all the time!
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