The week of Emerson Claire’s birthday haunts me every year as I can’t help but walk through the days that of my panic as my body failed to stay pregnant and our little miracle entered the world as my soul was paralyzed with fear yet enlightened with the only thing I could do…hope. As many NICU moms can relate, every year while planning to celebrate, a shadow casts over me as I recall the blood, uncertainty and helplessness we felt as I lost my fight to stay pregnant. The smokey California skies this weekend didn’t help me escape again this year...
Every year I walk through November 2015 day-by-day, with the PTSD temporarily creeping back into the aches of my heart that have healed with Emerson’s smile and progress but still hurt
November 11- finally 28 weeks, home from weeks of hospitalized bed rest, finally reunited with my Grace but living temporarily at my parents while the house we had just purchased is remodeled.
November 12th- picking out stains for our new hardwood floors when sudden excruciating pains overtake my abdomen. I call the doctor and they say I am probably fine but see me. They think it’s my body adjusting to being upright again. Tiny bones break in my feet having used them for the first time in months.
November 13th- I start bleeding and can’t get out of bed but too sheepish to go back to the doctor as they said I was fine yesterday…right?
November 14th evening- Blood and tissue is passing and I send a text to my MFM who tells me to rush to the ER. I am admitted and I get hooked up to dreadfully painful magnesium drip to prevent brain bleeds in Emery, meds to slow contractions while we try to get two rounds of steroids in for her lungs. Panic overwhelms the physical space as everyone rushes by with uncertain looks. I’m facing a placental abruption and my waters are leaking. I just remember so much tissue and blood, so much pain, and panic.
November 15th- The neonatologist comes in and what may be one of the scariest moments of my life (and Grant’s, my parent’s and Grants’ mom who are gathered in the tiny delivery room.) She unemotionally rattles off all of our odds- for survival, for serious handicaps, and forewarns of the arduous NICU journey. We nod and try not to look at each other and hold it together. Tears well on the inside. Seconds later I can’t help it, I scream and the NICU team assembles in mere second, its truly marvelous Grant and I recall, a fluid team working together. They tell me to hold her in for 2 more minutes, and literally mean to stay pregnant for another 120 seconds. At 90 seconds I tell them I can’t anymore, holding my breath with my heart racing as I battle being unable to keep her in and protected anymore.
The next 10 minutes are a blur as Grant and everyone hovers over her teeny limp, purple body- but I couldn’t see her then. Grant and the neonatologists whisk her to the NICU and I’m left alone in a bed of blood realizing that the nightmare I tried so hard to avoid all those weeks on hospitalized bed rest was happening- I was living the nightmare. And oddly - all alone.
Grant was with the NICU team with my phone in his pocket, so no one came by to tell me if my 29 weeker was alive. May not sound like terribly long, but those 4 hours not knowing are etched in every ounce of my body with fear and guilt running through my blood of bringing a little girl into the world 11 weeks too early. It would be days before I could hold her, and when I finally saw her, my first thought was she looked like an uncooked purple pork tenderloin. Who thinks that the first time they see their child?
With Emery overcoming her 6th battle of pneumonia of 2018 this week, its a reminder how a few extra weeks in the womb would have protected her and let those lungs and immune system grow.
With so many beautiful congratulations as we announced the pregnancy of our little boy last week, many inquisitive friends also asked how this pregnancy would go with my history and if I’d be blogging. Between working on my doctorate and the two little girls at home, I wasn’t planning on it, but felt compelled to share at least the milestones of this journey.
So here is the irony: this week, the week that washes over me like a cloud of inescapable soot, I have to have a fairly invasive surgery to stay pregnant... ironic that it’s the same week 3 years ago my body failed to do so. It could very well be the same day.
We go in for pre-op tomorrow, Tuesday, November 13th up in San Francisco with Dr. Michael Katz- a lauded MFM who has some of the highest success rates in the world and will schedule the surgery for sometime the following 72 hours... which encompasses Emerson’s birthday. With this preventative TVCIV cerclage, timing is of the essence as they have to move my bladder and other internal organs to stitch up while keeping the growing baby’s sac small and safe from incision.
I remind my self we have a happy ending with Emerson and live life to the fullest each and every day. This week, while we celebrate our sweet miracle baby’s third birthday and try to forget how we lost our battle to stay pregnant longer, we are taking literally the biggest steps we can to stay pregnant this time around with our little boy to complete our family. Wish us luck!