My daughter Aja decided that she couldn’t wait to meet our family, and she wasn’t going to let a little thing called a due date stand in the way of our introduction. Perhaps she didn’t like the idea of being born so close to Thanksgiving that prompted her decision to move things along. It was a Thursday in late August, and I was just 26 weeks pregnant when I realized that I was bleeding.
I was already in the car so there didn’t seem to be any other choice but to drive myself to the hospital. A million things went through my mind—the first being, should I call my friend Jane, who I had just left at the park, to have her come get my daughter Jocelyn? That decision could get complicated and take time. I figured that hospitals were used to these sorts of emergencies and they would be able to deal with her until my husband or mom arrived. Besides, I told myself, this couldn’t really be that serious. I kept thinking over and over, there is no way I’m having a baby today. I was so focused on the logistics of Jocelyn that I almost didn’t notice the pressure in my belly had turned to cramping. Twenty minutes later, as I pulled into the parking garage, the cramps got worse. I recognized that feeling; I was having contractions. And at that moment my life changed forever.
Following an emergency c-section, I was told that I had experienced a placental abruption. That’s the what of what happened. The why remains a mystery. And although thoughts of why still creep in between my morning coffee and changing diapers, the only way I could stand to get out of bed each morning was to put the questions aside, accept the situation as it was, and move forward.
Aja weighed 1 pound, 15 ounces when she was born. The doctor said to expect that she would remain in the hospital until her original due date, which was three months away. What else we could expect would change from day-to-day. “One step forward, two steps back.” This was said to us again and again. I think at that moment I was still in shock, and all I really wanted to do was see my baby girl. I had been able to see her for just a moment when she was whisked by me in the operating room. I saw her again a few hours later in the NICU—her new home.
When you spend as much time in the NICU as my husband and I did, it quickly changes from a terrifying place to a place of comfort. It started out as a world in a state of complete unrest, with beeps and alarms, and constant poking and prodding. The first time I saw a nurse handle my daughter I was horrified at how rough she flipped her over. Soon I realized that Aja was stronger than she looked. There were days, in the beginning, that I could barely stand to be there. In truth, I continued to visit because I thought that it would look bad if I wasn’t there. For nearly a month I couldn’t hold her; at most, I could touch her hand. Her skin was so translucent when she was born that you could see all the veins under her red-stained skin. They told us not to rub her skin because it would be painful for her, and we needed to just touch her gently. The whole thing was hard to watch. Looking around at other babies in the room, all bigger than my daughter, it seemed as though she would never grow.
It was not long before we encountered complications. Aja had to have heart surgery to tie up an open vessel, and she did get an infection, separate from the surgery. These events happened within the first month and a half. They were terrifying, but we were prepared for the bumps along the way. At least that’s what we told ourselves to get through the days. And then we slowly started to see real progress. The nurses and doctors talk about the benefits of holding your baby, and once I was able to hold her the improvement in her overall health got better each day.
I know that we had it luckier than some of the other parents. We live within five minutes of the hospital, and my mother had just recently retired and was able to be there whenever I needed help. Yet there were times at the hospital when I felt entirely alone. The NICU had a mom’s group that met each week, where NICU moms could get together and talk. I avoided it at first, and then after a few meetings I stopped going. They were mothers of preemies, yes, but of babies born at 34 or 35 weeks. Or they had a full-term baby with some complications. For a lot of them, it was their first child, so many of their questions or concerns were about what to expect in those first days at home with their baby. I had been through that experience already. When we first arrived each meeting we would go around the table and introduce ourselves and talk about our little ones. Each time I said Aja’s birth weight people would gasp or sigh. We could all empathize with one another, but I could not relate to them.
Through all the stress I think that it was my daughter Jocelyn that saved me from falling apart. She was so young at the time—just 13 months old—and she had no idea what was going on. And that is what allowed for some bit of normalcy at home. Jocelyn woke up each morning and needed to be fed and changed. She wanted to play and have fun, just as she had the morning that Aja was born. I had to keep her days ordinary, and in return she kept me smiling and laughing.
In any other circumstance I may have spent hours on the Internet searching for information. This situation was very different, and after one simple search it was clear that there is too much information out there—scenarios that could inflict a sense of fear in me that would be hard to shake. I have never thought of myself as an overly positive person, but my method of survival was positive denial. I never imagined that Aja wouldn’t come home, and I had to be happy and strong for her when I visited. I also couldn’t think beyond her homecoming, for the myriad of issues that may pop up in the future.
Aja came home three months to the day after being born. She is now 10 months old and she’s doing great. Her milestones are smaller than other babies her age, like the moment she stopped clenching her fists, or the night she first slept with her head turned to the left rather than the right. There have been numerous doctor appointments, to check her eyes, her kidneys, and her overall health. We have regular physical therapy appointments to work on her torticollis (stiff neck) and general motor skills. Currently the focus has been getting her to roll, which she now does with no problems (she’s like a human pin ball machine rolling back and forth across the living room floor). Next up: crawling and sitting. Crawling seems to be in our near future, hopefully by her birthday. Sitting, well, she wants nothing to do with that. I’ve tried propping pillows, sitting her in the high chair, or just holding her straight up on my lap. Within minutes she’s squirming and wiggling to lie down. We’ll get there, eventually.
There could be cognitive problems in the future that we have yet to encounter, but Aja constantly amazes me. She now weighs almost 15 pounds, and she smiles constantly. She doesn’t laugh easily, which doesn’t mean that the effort isn’t there. It just comes out as a snort, unless you really tickle her. But I find her snorts endearing. She is the toughest person I have ever met, and she has taught me to be a stronger and more dedicated mother to both my girls.
I was already in the car so there didn’t seem to be any other choice but to drive myself to the hospital. A million things went through my mind—the first being, should I call my friend Jane, who I had just left at the park, to have her come get my daughter Jocelyn? That decision could get complicated and take time. I figured that hospitals were used to these sorts of emergencies and they would be able to deal with her until my husband or mom arrived. Besides, I told myself, this couldn’t really be that serious. I kept thinking over and over, there is no way I’m having a baby today. I was so focused on the logistics of Jocelyn that I almost didn’t notice the pressure in my belly had turned to cramping. Twenty minutes later, as I pulled into the parking garage, the cramps got worse. I recognized that feeling; I was having contractions. And at that moment my life changed forever.
Following an emergency c-section, I was told that I had experienced a placental abruption. That’s the what of what happened. The why remains a mystery. And although thoughts of why still creep in between my morning coffee and changing diapers, the only way I could stand to get out of bed each morning was to put the questions aside, accept the situation as it was, and move forward.
Aja weighed 1 pound, 15 ounces when she was born. The doctor said to expect that she would remain in the hospital until her original due date, which was three months away. What else we could expect would change from day-to-day. “One step forward, two steps back.” This was said to us again and again. I think at that moment I was still in shock, and all I really wanted to do was see my baby girl. I had been able to see her for just a moment when she was whisked by me in the operating room. I saw her again a few hours later in the NICU—her new home.
When you spend as much time in the NICU as my husband and I did, it quickly changes from a terrifying place to a place of comfort. It started out as a world in a state of complete unrest, with beeps and alarms, and constant poking and prodding. The first time I saw a nurse handle my daughter I was horrified at how rough she flipped her over. Soon I realized that Aja was stronger than she looked. There were days, in the beginning, that I could barely stand to be there. In truth, I continued to visit because I thought that it would look bad if I wasn’t there. For nearly a month I couldn’t hold her; at most, I could touch her hand. Her skin was so translucent when she was born that you could see all the veins under her red-stained skin. They told us not to rub her skin because it would be painful for her, and we needed to just touch her gently. The whole thing was hard to watch. Looking around at other babies in the room, all bigger than my daughter, it seemed as though she would never grow.
It was not long before we encountered complications. Aja had to have heart surgery to tie up an open vessel, and she did get an infection, separate from the surgery. These events happened within the first month and a half. They were terrifying, but we were prepared for the bumps along the way. At least that’s what we told ourselves to get through the days. And then we slowly started to see real progress. The nurses and doctors talk about the benefits of holding your baby, and once I was able to hold her the improvement in her overall health got better each day.
I know that we had it luckier than some of the other parents. We live within five minutes of the hospital, and my mother had just recently retired and was able to be there whenever I needed help. Yet there were times at the hospital when I felt entirely alone. The NICU had a mom’s group that met each week, where NICU moms could get together and talk. I avoided it at first, and then after a few meetings I stopped going. They were mothers of preemies, yes, but of babies born at 34 or 35 weeks. Or they had a full-term baby with some complications. For a lot of them, it was their first child, so many of their questions or concerns were about what to expect in those first days at home with their baby. I had been through that experience already. When we first arrived each meeting we would go around the table and introduce ourselves and talk about our little ones. Each time I said Aja’s birth weight people would gasp or sigh. We could all empathize with one another, but I could not relate to them.
Through all the stress I think that it was my daughter Jocelyn that saved me from falling apart. She was so young at the time—just 13 months old—and she had no idea what was going on. And that is what allowed for some bit of normalcy at home. Jocelyn woke up each morning and needed to be fed and changed. She wanted to play and have fun, just as she had the morning that Aja was born. I had to keep her days ordinary, and in return she kept me smiling and laughing.
In any other circumstance I may have spent hours on the Internet searching for information. This situation was very different, and after one simple search it was clear that there is too much information out there—scenarios that could inflict a sense of fear in me that would be hard to shake. I have never thought of myself as an overly positive person, but my method of survival was positive denial. I never imagined that Aja wouldn’t come home, and I had to be happy and strong for her when I visited. I also couldn’t think beyond her homecoming, for the myriad of issues that may pop up in the future.
Aja came home three months to the day after being born. She is now 10 months old and she’s doing great. Her milestones are smaller than other babies her age, like the moment she stopped clenching her fists, or the night she first slept with her head turned to the left rather than the right. There have been numerous doctor appointments, to check her eyes, her kidneys, and her overall health. We have regular physical therapy appointments to work on her torticollis (stiff neck) and general motor skills. Currently the focus has been getting her to roll, which she now does with no problems (she’s like a human pin ball machine rolling back and forth across the living room floor). Next up: crawling and sitting. Crawling seems to be in our near future, hopefully by her birthday. Sitting, well, she wants nothing to do with that. I’ve tried propping pillows, sitting her in the high chair, or just holding her straight up on my lap. Within minutes she’s squirming and wiggling to lie down. We’ll get there, eventually.
There could be cognitive problems in the future that we have yet to encounter, but Aja constantly amazes me. She now weighs almost 15 pounds, and she smiles constantly. She doesn’t laugh easily, which doesn’t mean that the effort isn’t there. It just comes out as a snort, unless you really tickle her. But I find her snorts endearing. She is the toughest person I have ever met, and she has taught me to be a stronger and more dedicated mother to both my girls.
What a perfect and well written synopsis of what had to have been the most difficult experience of your life.
I'm so glad that she's a fighter and made it and is thriving.
One of my dearest friends had her baby at 25 or 26 weeks. It was terrifying. But, that baby is now 8 years old and fully functional and perfect in every way. She doesn't seem to have any long term or lasting cognitive issues at all. I hope the same for you.
I'm glad I found your blog through SITS, i like your writing style a lot.
Posted by: Allyson | 09/14/2010 at 12:04 AM
My first son was born at 34 weeks and he frightened me because he was so tiny and on oxygen. But, as you say, 34 weeks must have seemed like full-term when compared to your little girl! Hope she is well now.
Posted by: saretta | 02/05/2011 at 11:07 AM
I'm here via SITS. I'm an adult preemie, and love to read about preemie parenting. I can understand that you're still affected by your daughter's premature birth. It is a scary experience for the mother. You are however a very great mom I can tell from this blog.
Posted by: Astrid | 02/05/2011 at 12:54 PM
I can tell from reading the birth story that you are a woman to be reckoned with. Your daughter is going to grow up to be strong, bright and a jewel!
Posted by: Teresha@ Marlie and Me | 02/06/2011 at 06:00 AM
You did a wonderful job writing your daughter's birth story. What a strong little girl! You must feel so blessed!
I'm here from SITS... I hope you had a great day in the spotlight!
Posted by: Jenny | 02/06/2011 at 07:09 PM
God bless you and Aja! What an amazing experience! Well, amazing and scary!
Posted by: theprincessblogger | 02/06/2011 at 07:12 PM