I feel like a tremendous weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Looking back over the past 10 months I feel like I have been holding my breath. Now I am able to take a breath and let go of some of the worry I have had. We had a good, informative appointment with the high risk OB. He was the same as we remembered and upon entering the room he asked us if we were ready for another one already. HA! We were honest with him about wanting to know what the course of action would be if we wanted another biological child and told him outright that if it was guaranteed that I would be on bed rest in the hospital again with another extremely premature baby that we would pursue adoption. I told him that summer camp at OSF was really not that much fun. He was honest with us in return and basically laid out his recommendations. While the doctor could not give us firm answers about the outcome of future pregnancies (he forgot his crystal ball). Justin and I feel so much better after talking with him and having our questions answered and diagrams drawn. He was honest about not knowing how long a pregnancy could go for me, but was pretty sure that with the interventions suggested that I could make it much further than 27 weeks. He was also unable to tell us if I would end up on hospital bed rest again. I know that no one can tell the future and I have to keep reminding myself that every pregnancy has a certain degree of risk and there are no guarantees of a healthy baby and mom in the end.
I think that I feel so much better because I was constantly wondering and running hypothetical scenarios about what the doctors would do to prolong a pregnancy for me. Now that I have this information I can let go of some of this tension that goes along with wondering what if. Any future pregnancies will not be easy relaxed affairs. He recommended that we wait until Oliver is at least 18 months old because this is when studies have shown that a woman's body has fully recovered from a previous pregnancy and there is a significant decrease in the risk of unforeseen complications such as placental abnormalities. I will first be seen by the high risk doctors between 6 to 8 weeks and then a Shirodkar cerclage will be placed between 12 to 14 weeks. This will hopefully keep my cervix closed for the pregnancy. I will also receive progesterone injections starting at week 16 and will get them every week for the remainder of the pregnancy. I will have weekly to every other week appointments with the high risk doctors in addition to seeing my regular OB. He also told us to NEVER take fertility treatments. Even Clomid which only has a 15% chance of causing twins. He told us that multiples and I would not work very well. This was something that we had never thought about, but it made sense since I struggled with only one baby two would be even worse.
Justin and I will someday have to make a decision about future children, but not right now. For now we are free to sit back a little and just enjoy watching our little boy grow up and discover the world around him.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Nerves
This week I have been a bundle of nerves. Justin and I have an appointment with the high risk OB tomorrow. I made the appointment to get some answers about the possibility of adding to our family. No, we are not planning on having another child any time soon. I am nervous about the appointment because depending on what the doctor says will determine the course we will take to our next child. I want to hear what he says and at the same time I don't. Part of me wants to go and hide under a rock but the other part of me knows that I will be more relaxed knowing the options. Since I am a planner I need to know what he is thinking so that I can research and make a decision that both Justin and I can live with. We will be meeting with the doctor who delivered Oliver, we like him and know that he will be honest with us.
I am dreading rehashing my history. I really hate discussing the horrible decision that I made in college that has lead us to this point. I know that they need to know the details of my procedures, but they have all that information from last summer. I feel like I am wearing a neon sign of shame and guilt for all to see. I mean Justin and the doctor know what happened do we really need to go over every aspect of it. I just wish I had a magic wand to make this an easy appointment. The reality is that it will not be easy or quick and ultimately we will have a difficult decision to make in the future. We know and understand that there are no guarantees with either decision that we make, which makes it all the more difficult to come to a conclusion. I think I will go and vomit now.
I am dreading rehashing my history. I really hate discussing the horrible decision that I made in college that has lead us to this point. I know that they need to know the details of my procedures, but they have all that information from last summer. I feel like I am wearing a neon sign of shame and guilt for all to see. I mean Justin and the doctor know what happened do we really need to go over every aspect of it. I just wish I had a magic wand to make this an easy appointment. The reality is that it will not be easy or quick and ultimately we will have a difficult decision to make in the future. We know and understand that there are no guarantees with either decision that we make, which makes it all the more difficult to come to a conclusion. I think I will go and vomit now.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Here Comes the Sun
Okay, lets all take a deep breath and relax after that last post. I know it was not what people were expecting to hear from me. So why would I want to share that awful time with all of you? My point in sharing it was that a lot of people assume that once a healthy preemie baby comes home that everything is rainbows and glitter. Justin and I acknowledge that Oliver was very, very lucky to come through this experience relatively unscathed. He did not have any major complications due to his extreme prematurity. We did have weekly home nursing visits for weight checks and Synagist injections, we had doctors appointments locally and back in Peoria, we had a few retina exams until Oliver's eyes matured enough to determine if there was any damage from his early arrival and the oxygen he was on. All, in all not a lot of appointments for a 27 week preemie. With that being said I felt that since Oliver was a very healthy baby that I had no right to complain about the trauma I suffered. People find it easier to accept a parent struggling to come to terms with a child who has life threatening complications.
I want to let other parents know that it is okay to give voice to your feelings, there will always be someone who has a story more tragic than yours, but your feelings are your own. You have a right and responsibility to take care of yourself, and do not compare your story with others and feel like you are any less worthy or deserving of help and support. Through this process I have learned that it is okay to feel sad and mourn the expectations that were not fufilled with the birth of my child.
I think my healing truly began when I first reached out for help. I really began to take steps to reclaiming my life around that time. I used the following strategies to help get my life back on track:
I want to let other parents know that it is okay to give voice to your feelings, there will always be someone who has a story more tragic than yours, but your feelings are your own. You have a right and responsibility to take care of yourself, and do not compare your story with others and feel like you are any less worthy or deserving of help and support. Through this process I have learned that it is okay to feel sad and mourn the expectations that were not fufilled with the birth of my child.
I think my healing truly began when I first reached out for help. I really began to take steps to reclaiming my life around that time. I used the following strategies to help get my life back on track:
- Routine One of the most basic things to do to help combat depression is to structure your days. Since Oliver had arrived home my routine went out the window. I basically lived in 3 hour chunks of time. When I wasn't feeding him or pumping I tried to sleep. Once Oliver began to sleep for longer stretches of time so did I. Most days I struggled to change into regular clothes by the time Justin came home. At the end of January or the beginning of February I began to set an alarm to wake up and get out of bed. It was a simple step but it made a huge difference for me. This alarm gave me the moments in the morning when I could eat breakfast and have a cup or three of coffee by myself. I have always needed to take some time for myself in the morning to kind of get myself together. I also worked to get Oliver on a napping and bedtime routine. Prior to this we kind of took cues from him of when he was ready for bed. I began to pay attention and noticed that he got sleepy around the same time so I decided that he would take his morning nap after he had his first bottle and then his afternoon nap at Noon. His bedtime was no later than 830. Once he was on this schedule I knew more of what to anticipate during the day. When he napped I could get some housework done and relax a bit.
- Exercise Prior to getting pregnant I had always been a fairly fit woman. I enjoyed working out and seeing what my body could do. I have run a few half marathons, I have climbed several mountains, I have gone on all day bike rides. Once I became pregnant I stopped working out because my intuition or that voice I sensed told me that I shouldn't be hopping and running around because the baby might fall out. How true that was! So, add that significantly decreased activity level with 7 weeks of bed rest and another 6 weeks of limited mobility when we spent our days sitting in the NICU and you get cottage cheese body. After my C-section I forced myself to walk from my room down to the NICU, I usually got a ride back because I was too tired. I was so sore from my incision that moving was painful and slow. Once I was discharged I slowly began to get some of my strength back and after two weeks out in the world I could walk from the car to the NICU and back. My mom usually encouraged (forced me really) to walk around the outside of the hospital everyday after lunch. I was not enjoying dealing with this weakened jiggly body, add that to the depression that was creeping up on me and my self esteem plummeted. For Christmas my parents gave me a membership to the local Y so that I could start working out again. I chose to go to some beginning aerobics classes thinking that I could handle that level of activity. Ha! I barely made it through the warm up, I didn't know how I could do the whole hour class. I basically sucked it up and told myself that it had to end at some point and all I had to do was hang on and follow along. The aerobic portion was followed by abdominal work, my incision had healed well but it sure got sore when I did abs. I also joined a mom and baby exercise class at the end of January. One of my friends had told me about it and I waited to join until Oliver was allowed to leave the house. I was hesitant to join this class since I was so out of shape. Once again I basically sucked it up and tried to complete the exercises as best I could. I slowly felt my body getting stronger over the next couple of months. Attending the Y classes and the Stroller Stride classes also help to keep me on my routine. SS classes are in the morning so I have to get up and get going. the Y classes are in the evening so I have to kind of get dinner prepped before I go. These classes give my days structure which I desperately need. I still have a long way to go to get my body back to where it was prepregnancy but it is slowly going in the right direction.
- Diet When Oliver was in the NICU we (mom and I) ate the free breakfast at the hotel. It wasn't bad we usually had oatmeal and yogurt. Lunch we usually ate at the hospital, I did not make the best food choices there. Comfort food is called that for a reason people. Dinner was always take out from one restaurant or another. A few times we made the trek across the city to the new Hy-Vee grocery store that had just opened and would get huge plates of salad, veggies, and fruit to take back to the hotel. Once Oliver was home I struggled to find the time and energy to cook dinner most evenings. Take out and pizza became a staple for us. Let me say this, eating crap makes you feel like crap and look like crap. As I have gotten on a more stable foundation I have started to clean up our diet. I cook a lot more and make healthy food for us. Does that mean that we never eat pizza and Whitey's anymore? Nope, we just eat it less often, like not everyday. Last week I was finally able to get the garden planted so that we will have some fresh veggies and I need to start going back to the farmer's market to get local produce and meat. As we have been eating better I am feeling better.
- Sharing our story I feel that part of the healing process is the ability to put words to what happened, whether it is written, spoken, or both. When Oliver was first born, I gave simple updates and didn't really disclose much about what really was going on. Part of that was the fact that I was in survival mode and was putting everything away on a shelf to deal with later. This is a normal protective response that humans do for self preservation. After Ollie was home I would tell people the abbreviated version about what went on. I remember the first time he went to the pediatrician it was 2 days after he was home. He was laying naked and screaming on the scale when a mother and her toddler daughter walked behind us and I heard the mother say "oh my what a tiny baby". It took all my strength to not turn to her and say: Hewasa27weekpreemieandIwasonbedrestinthehospitalallsummerwejustgothomeoneWednesdaynight. When Oliver was first home his size was shocking, he came home below 5 pounds. I developed a knee jerk reaction when people would comment on his size. My response was always "he is a preemie". I slowly began to share bits and pieces or give the abridged version of what happened last summer. My instructor of the basic aerobics class figured out very quickly who I was, my mom worked at the Y and had put up pictures and updates of Ollie during his time in the NICU. One of those updates was hanging up in the room where the class was taking place. The instructor had us introduce ourselves and when I said "I'm Jean", she excitedly asked me if I was the Jean with the baby in the pictures. I said that I was and she announced to the class that I was the mom of that tiny baby in the pictures at the back of the room. Some people did come up to me and ask some questions after class. As I became more comfortable with his story I also became aware that some of the details might make people uncomfortable so I just kind of gave a glossed over version of the story, especially to people I did not know. Each time I shared his story it became a little easier to get the words out. When I told one of my friends that I would be starting therapy soon, she sent me a journal. She is a writer and really feels that writing can help people heal and move through difficult times. She was right, telling our story without glossing over things for fear of making people uncomfortable has really helped me let some of this go. I have also joined a support group for families who spent time in the NICU. It is a new group but I am hopeful that it will be a good support of me and all the other people who are struggling to deal with their time in the NICU and the after effects.
- Reading I have always enjoyed reading. I love going to the library and just looking through the books and deciding what I would like to read. With the depression I found it difficult to concentrate on books, I would be reading a few books at a time because I would get bored with one and switch to a different one. My therapist started recommending books for me to read to help me deal with this depression and PTSD. The one that I found to be the most helpful was When Bad Things Happen to Good People. It really helped me look at things in a different light. The author is a Rabbi so some of his perspectives are slightly different from what I was brought up with in the Christian church. I also read Man's Search For Meaning. I liked the book but found it difficult to apply to my life. I am currently reading Expecting Adam. I really like the authors honesty and candor about what she was feeling about carrying a special needs baby. I am beginning to enjoy reading again and have incorporated it into my daily routine. I always take time before going to bed to read.
Monday, May 16, 2011
The darkest days
I have been debating about how to write this for several days. What happened after Oliver came home is not that easy to put into words. The simplest way of putting it is that things went bad, very bad. Let me begin by saying that I had studied mental health in college. I even worked on the psych unit for one of my student rotations and liked it so much that I got a job there after I had graduated. I knew the signs and symptoms of various mental illnesses. I just could not see these same signs and symptoms in myself.
I began to experience symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), shortly after Oliver was born. The day I took my first shower after having Oliver I experienced my first flashback. As I was standing in the shower letting the hot water hit my back I was suddenly right back in the delivery room experiencing all the sights, smells, and sounds. That flashback left me sobbing, shaking, and slightly disorientated. I brushed it off as it a fluke from the stress of the delivery and all the hormones. While Oliver was in the NICU I usually would have flashbacks when I took showers. I do not know why the shower would trigger these, but it was a common occurrence. I didn't really talk about them because I had rationalized them to myself and figured that they would go away once we were home and the stress decreased. Once he was home the frequency did decrease but I continued to have them. I remember one time standing in the dish soap aisle at the grocery store when I had one, it wasn't severe and only made me weepy. Nothing like trying not to cry in the grocery store to really make you feel like a freak. Usually I could not fully remember what event I had just relived and just dealt with the emotional break down that always followed. As time went by the flashbacks did begin to lessen, but I never knew when I would have one or what would trigger it.
This is also when I began to experience the anxiety and depression that would rule my life for the next 6 months. I have written about the anxiety that I experienced with any changes that occurred with Oliver. Once he was home it increased dramatically. I was also taking Reglan at this time to help my meager breast milk supply. Anxiety and depression are known side effects of this medication. My midwife had warned me about it when I was given the prescription for the medication. I began taking the medication a week before Oliver was home with no noticeable change in my anxiety level. Once Oliver was home things began to go downhill, but I thought it was normal new parent worry. I can remember laying in bed at night exhausted beyond belief and being unable to fall asleep because I was positive someone would break into the house and hurt us, or that the house was going to catch on fire. I devised elaborate escape routes for us to get out of the house. As a result of this anxiety I developed insomnia. The nights that Justin was at work were by far the hardest for me to get through because then it was only me and Oliver and I had to be awake in order to hear if something was happening in the house. All along I KNEW these thoughts were irrational and I knew that I could not voice them because I was worried that people would think that I was weak and couldn't handle things.
After two months I stopped taking the Reglan and my anxiety level decreased dramatically. This decrease in my anxiety allowed my depression to fully gain a strong foothold. My depression was strengthened by my sense of shame, guilt and failure about having a premature baby. At this time I was also struggling with a very negative self image. My depression took on the form of a negative voice in my head. It repeated and convinced me to believe every negative thought that I had. I eventually gave in and believed this voice, it sounded so rational and was very convincing. My depression really twisted my thinking, but I thought that I was being rational. I began to see myself as a horribly inadequate mother, I mean I couldn't even carry a baby to term. I felt like I was being punished by God for being a bad person. Let me say that this is not the image of God that I was brought up with or how I normally see God. Each time I took Oliver to the doctor I felt like he was judging me and could see just how awful of a person I was. Each time someone did something around the house to help like dishes or laundry, I felt like they thought that I was a lazy, fat, dirty, and disorganized person. What person could not put the damn dishwasher away and put the dirty dishes in it? I was after all, a stay at home mom these were the things that were expected of me I have all day to do these simple tasks. I was highly irritable and snappy mostly this was directed at Justin. Usually he did nothing to deserve this. I hated myself, I hated that I was a burden on people, I hated the fact that more often than not Justin would come home to frozen pizza or take out because I could not find the time to cook. I hated that I could not figure out how to clean my house. I hated that all my friends found it so easy to have clean houses, get back their prepregnancy bodies quickly, play with their children, and worked! I had zero energy to do any of those things. I struggled to walk around the block. I felt like I could no longer use the excuse of being on bed rest since my baby was 3 months old. I was a slug.
Once Oliver came home I knew that no one wanted to hear me whine. I mean I had a healthy beautiful baby, I shouldn't be complaining. I kept my mouth shut and put on a good show for my family and friends that things were going really well. I was also jealous of the women in my life who were pregnant and went on with their lives like it was so easy to carry an unborn baby. I felt like God was showing me that I was such a bad person that I should be surrounded by these happy, carefree women as part of my punishment.
My breaking point came when my nephew was born at the end of January. My sister in law was having a scheduled c-section so we knew the day he would be born. The week leading up to his birth I became more and more depressed, I could literally feel this black cloud descend on me. The day he was born I was this seething pit of anger, jealously, shame, and irritability. Not exactly the feelings one should feel with the birth of a new healthy baby. I was happy for them, I was glad that he was healthy and full term. That evening I locked myself in the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub and really thought about cutting myself. I had such mental and emotional pain inside that I was desperate to let it out. The rational part of my brain wrestled with my depression and eventually won, I did not cut. That was my only instance of wanting to physically harm myself. I was so ashamed that I had even thought about doing this that I did not tell anyone. I would also like to clarify that NEVER did I once think about harming Oliver. That evening was my lowest low point and I felt awful. The next morning I contacted my friend's mother who works in mental health to get a name for a therapist. Once I had taken that first step to getting help I felt this huge relief and a sense that some of the baggage I had been carrying around for the past 6 months had started to lighten. I knew things would get better.
My first appointment with my therapist I let it all out. I didn't stop crying that whole hour. My therapist did a wonderful job guiding me back to a place where I started to see the light again. She gently nudged me to try taking an antidepressant medication once she found out that I was crying everyday and felt stuck by these depressive thoughts. I was very honest about my fear of taking the medication. Many of the side effects were things I was already struggling with so I could not see the point of taking medication that would make those things worse. I was given a medication that does not have the side effects I was worried about. I wrestled with taking the medication for a few days, and eventually decided to try it. I am so glad that I made that step, the medicine gradually helped me feel better. It was not a quick change but rather a gradual change that I was not fully aware of until I realized it had been several days since I had cried. My flashbacks have disappeared since starting the medicine. I feel like the fog and spiderwebs in my brain are clearing out. I am starting to feel like myself again. The medicine is not a cure and I still have work to do on myself and my relationship with Justin. We both carry a lot of pain and sadness with us, but we are slowly figuring out how to let some of it go. For the first time since Oliver was born I am starting to feel truly happy again.
Now before you get all up in arms about why wasn't I being watched for depression. I was being watched, I was given the postpartum depression (PPD) screening tool at least 7 times in the first 3 months. I was first given the screen a few days after Oliver was born. I was given the screen by my insurance caseworker a few times. I was given the screen by Oliver's insurance caseworker a few times. I was also given the screen by my midwife. Each and every time I passed. I feel like I passed because I rationalized all the questions. Most of the questions on that screening tool end with the phrase "for no good reason". I felt like I had a very good reason that I had anxiety, or felt sad, or didn't sleep well. At this time I did not have any thoughts about self-harm. This tool also did not address the symptoms of PTSD. I know that most of the mothers in the NICU passed this test, we ALL had depression and or PTSD of varying degrees. I feel like there needs to be a different depression screening tool used for mothers who have been through a traumatic birth, or have a special needs baby. We are a population very much in need of mental health support after the birth of our children, but since the current PPD test relies heavily on self report, we fall through the cracks.
I was further able to fly under the radar since I put on a smile and acted like things were fine. I was unable to speak about my feelings to others because of my sense of shame and guilt. Deep down I knew I needed help, but I was so scared to reach out. Who really wants their family and friends to see what kind of monster they truly are. Depression is an awful and twisted thing. It so clouded my thinking that it took a major scare for me to realize that I was not dealing with this. I was also able to see that my usual coping skills of dealing with problems were not working. Sometimes taking that first step in getting help is admitting you have a problem, that step is the hardest one of all to take.
I began to experience symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), shortly after Oliver was born. The day I took my first shower after having Oliver I experienced my first flashback. As I was standing in the shower letting the hot water hit my back I was suddenly right back in the delivery room experiencing all the sights, smells, and sounds. That flashback left me sobbing, shaking, and slightly disorientated. I brushed it off as it a fluke from the stress of the delivery and all the hormones. While Oliver was in the NICU I usually would have flashbacks when I took showers. I do not know why the shower would trigger these, but it was a common occurrence. I didn't really talk about them because I had rationalized them to myself and figured that they would go away once we were home and the stress decreased. Once he was home the frequency did decrease but I continued to have them. I remember one time standing in the dish soap aisle at the grocery store when I had one, it wasn't severe and only made me weepy. Nothing like trying not to cry in the grocery store to really make you feel like a freak. Usually I could not fully remember what event I had just relived and just dealt with the emotional break down that always followed. As time went by the flashbacks did begin to lessen, but I never knew when I would have one or what would trigger it.
This is also when I began to experience the anxiety and depression that would rule my life for the next 6 months. I have written about the anxiety that I experienced with any changes that occurred with Oliver. Once he was home it increased dramatically. I was also taking Reglan at this time to help my meager breast milk supply. Anxiety and depression are known side effects of this medication. My midwife had warned me about it when I was given the prescription for the medication. I began taking the medication a week before Oliver was home with no noticeable change in my anxiety level. Once Oliver was home things began to go downhill, but I thought it was normal new parent worry. I can remember laying in bed at night exhausted beyond belief and being unable to fall asleep because I was positive someone would break into the house and hurt us, or that the house was going to catch on fire. I devised elaborate escape routes for us to get out of the house. As a result of this anxiety I developed insomnia. The nights that Justin was at work were by far the hardest for me to get through because then it was only me and Oliver and I had to be awake in order to hear if something was happening in the house. All along I KNEW these thoughts were irrational and I knew that I could not voice them because I was worried that people would think that I was weak and couldn't handle things.
After two months I stopped taking the Reglan and my anxiety level decreased dramatically. This decrease in my anxiety allowed my depression to fully gain a strong foothold. My depression was strengthened by my sense of shame, guilt and failure about having a premature baby. At this time I was also struggling with a very negative self image. My depression took on the form of a negative voice in my head. It repeated and convinced me to believe every negative thought that I had. I eventually gave in and believed this voice, it sounded so rational and was very convincing. My depression really twisted my thinking, but I thought that I was being rational. I began to see myself as a horribly inadequate mother, I mean I couldn't even carry a baby to term. I felt like I was being punished by God for being a bad person. Let me say that this is not the image of God that I was brought up with or how I normally see God. Each time I took Oliver to the doctor I felt like he was judging me and could see just how awful of a person I was. Each time someone did something around the house to help like dishes or laundry, I felt like they thought that I was a lazy, fat, dirty, and disorganized person. What person could not put the damn dishwasher away and put the dirty dishes in it? I was after all, a stay at home mom these were the things that were expected of me I have all day to do these simple tasks. I was highly irritable and snappy mostly this was directed at Justin. Usually he did nothing to deserve this. I hated myself, I hated that I was a burden on people, I hated the fact that more often than not Justin would come home to frozen pizza or take out because I could not find the time to cook. I hated that I could not figure out how to clean my house. I hated that all my friends found it so easy to have clean houses, get back their prepregnancy bodies quickly, play with their children, and worked! I had zero energy to do any of those things. I struggled to walk around the block. I felt like I could no longer use the excuse of being on bed rest since my baby was 3 months old. I was a slug.
Once Oliver came home I knew that no one wanted to hear me whine. I mean I had a healthy beautiful baby, I shouldn't be complaining. I kept my mouth shut and put on a good show for my family and friends that things were going really well. I was also jealous of the women in my life who were pregnant and went on with their lives like it was so easy to carry an unborn baby. I felt like God was showing me that I was such a bad person that I should be surrounded by these happy, carefree women as part of my punishment.
My breaking point came when my nephew was born at the end of January. My sister in law was having a scheduled c-section so we knew the day he would be born. The week leading up to his birth I became more and more depressed, I could literally feel this black cloud descend on me. The day he was born I was this seething pit of anger, jealously, shame, and irritability. Not exactly the feelings one should feel with the birth of a new healthy baby. I was happy for them, I was glad that he was healthy and full term. That evening I locked myself in the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub and really thought about cutting myself. I had such mental and emotional pain inside that I was desperate to let it out. The rational part of my brain wrestled with my depression and eventually won, I did not cut. That was my only instance of wanting to physically harm myself. I was so ashamed that I had even thought about doing this that I did not tell anyone. I would also like to clarify that NEVER did I once think about harming Oliver. That evening was my lowest low point and I felt awful. The next morning I contacted my friend's mother who works in mental health to get a name for a therapist. Once I had taken that first step to getting help I felt this huge relief and a sense that some of the baggage I had been carrying around for the past 6 months had started to lighten. I knew things would get better.
My first appointment with my therapist I let it all out. I didn't stop crying that whole hour. My therapist did a wonderful job guiding me back to a place where I started to see the light again. She gently nudged me to try taking an antidepressant medication once she found out that I was crying everyday and felt stuck by these depressive thoughts. I was very honest about my fear of taking the medication. Many of the side effects were things I was already struggling with so I could not see the point of taking medication that would make those things worse. I was given a medication that does not have the side effects I was worried about. I wrestled with taking the medication for a few days, and eventually decided to try it. I am so glad that I made that step, the medicine gradually helped me feel better. It was not a quick change but rather a gradual change that I was not fully aware of until I realized it had been several days since I had cried. My flashbacks have disappeared since starting the medicine. I feel like the fog and spiderwebs in my brain are clearing out. I am starting to feel like myself again. The medicine is not a cure and I still have work to do on myself and my relationship with Justin. We both carry a lot of pain and sadness with us, but we are slowly figuring out how to let some of it go. For the first time since Oliver was born I am starting to feel truly happy again.
Now before you get all up in arms about why wasn't I being watched for depression. I was being watched, I was given the postpartum depression (PPD) screening tool at least 7 times in the first 3 months. I was first given the screen a few days after Oliver was born. I was given the screen by my insurance caseworker a few times. I was given the screen by Oliver's insurance caseworker a few times. I was also given the screen by my midwife. Each and every time I passed. I feel like I passed because I rationalized all the questions. Most of the questions on that screening tool end with the phrase "for no good reason". I felt like I had a very good reason that I had anxiety, or felt sad, or didn't sleep well. At this time I did not have any thoughts about self-harm. This tool also did not address the symptoms of PTSD. I know that most of the mothers in the NICU passed this test, we ALL had depression and or PTSD of varying degrees. I feel like there needs to be a different depression screening tool used for mothers who have been through a traumatic birth, or have a special needs baby. We are a population very much in need of mental health support after the birth of our children, but since the current PPD test relies heavily on self report, we fall through the cracks.
I was further able to fly under the radar since I put on a smile and acted like things were fine. I was unable to speak about my feelings to others because of my sense of shame and guilt. Deep down I knew I needed help, but I was so scared to reach out. Who really wants their family and friends to see what kind of monster they truly are. Depression is an awful and twisted thing. It so clouded my thinking that it took a major scare for me to realize that I was not dealing with this. I was also able to see that my usual coping skills of dealing with problems were not working. Sometimes taking that first step in getting help is admitting you have a problem, that step is the hardest one of all to take.
Bonding
Bonding, attachment whatever you want to call it. It was my expectation that I would feel this connection with my child, I should have known better. I thought that once we were home that it would happen like snapping you fingers. I will be honest that I had kind of held myself back from developing a true bond with Oliver while he was in the NICU. I had once again let fear guide me instead of the gentle voice telling me that it would all be okay. I was so scared that he would die that I didn't want to get too attached, I thought it would hurt less if he did die. Looking back I do regret that decision to not try harder at developing that emotional bond with him.
Once Ollie was home and I became his primary caregiver I thought that I could just turn on those feelings. The whole time he was in the NICU I had lived by their rules: only holding one time a day, touching him a certain way so as not to overstimulate his developing sensory system, keeping the doors closed in his fish tank to keep the heat in. I waited to do his cares until the nurse gave me the go ahead. I did try to develop some sort of a bond with him while he was in the fish tank. I did all his cares when I was there. I kangaroo'd him every chance I got. I read to him a few times a day while he slept. I did not know if he had developed a recognition of my voice when he was in the womb, so I was desperate for him to know my voice now. Once Oliver was able to stay in an open crib I could hold him more, but I still felt fear every time I held him, worried that he would suddenly stop breathing.
When I didn't feel those feelings right away in those first few days I figured that it was due to my mental and physical exhaustion. I felt like I was going through the motions of cuddling, kissing, feeding, bathing, changing, and rocking him. I kept hoping that each morning I would wake up and feel that deep love and connection to my child that I had heard other mothers talk about, I felt affection for him but not that deep, deep connection. This added to the layers of grief, guilt, and shame that had wrapped themselves around me. I distinctly remember sitting on the couch next to Justin one evening watching television while Oliver ate. I worked up the courage and asked him "when will it not feel like we are babysitting someone's child?". I felt like a horrible person for giving voice to what I was feeling, I mean what mother feels that way about her own child? Justin turned to me, and I noticed that he looked so tired and just kind of said "I don't know". Justin was showing the strain and stress and lack of sleep over the past 3 months. He was involved in the start up of a large project at work. He would be working swing shifts for the first month that Oliver was home. I HATED this schedule, 12 hour shifts sometimes during the day and sometimes during the night. When he worked the nights it was the hardest because he would be gone all night and then come home and eat breakfast and go to bed for about 6 hours. It was so hard, but I couldn't complain because his work had been so understanding this whole summer and Justin was always able to take days at a time off without anyone saying anything.
I remember feeling that I had made the right decision to not return to work after having Oliver. I spent my days trying to develop a bond with my son. I found that wearing him worked the best for me. I had a Moby wrap that I would tie him to my chest with. I liked this wrap because it allowed me the flexibility of positioning him how I wanted and how he was the most comfortable. It also allowed me to position the wires from his apnea monitor without kinking them.
Nursing him also helped me to feel more attached to him. When he was in the NICU I was only allowed to nurse him one time a day. Once we got home and his doctor gave us the go ahead to feed him as much and as often as Oliver wanted, I would nurse him for most feedings and would then offer him a bottle.
The bonding did eventually happen, but it took a monumental amount of effort on my part. I had to learn to let go of the fear that was holding me back. I once again had to take another leap of faith, I had to trust that feeling telling me that Oliver would live and that he would be alright. I am so very glad that I did take that leap. I only regret that I did not do it sooner. Today I feel like I have fully bonded and developed that deep love that a mother has for her child.
Once Ollie was home and I became his primary caregiver I thought that I could just turn on those feelings. The whole time he was in the NICU I had lived by their rules: only holding one time a day, touching him a certain way so as not to overstimulate his developing sensory system, keeping the doors closed in his fish tank to keep the heat in. I waited to do his cares until the nurse gave me the go ahead. I did try to develop some sort of a bond with him while he was in the fish tank. I did all his cares when I was there. I kangaroo'd him every chance I got. I read to him a few times a day while he slept. I did not know if he had developed a recognition of my voice when he was in the womb, so I was desperate for him to know my voice now. Once Oliver was able to stay in an open crib I could hold him more, but I still felt fear every time I held him, worried that he would suddenly stop breathing.
When I didn't feel those feelings right away in those first few days I figured that it was due to my mental and physical exhaustion. I felt like I was going through the motions of cuddling, kissing, feeding, bathing, changing, and rocking him. I kept hoping that each morning I would wake up and feel that deep love and connection to my child that I had heard other mothers talk about, I felt affection for him but not that deep, deep connection. This added to the layers of grief, guilt, and shame that had wrapped themselves around me. I distinctly remember sitting on the couch next to Justin one evening watching television while Oliver ate. I worked up the courage and asked him "when will it not feel like we are babysitting someone's child?". I felt like a horrible person for giving voice to what I was feeling, I mean what mother feels that way about her own child? Justin turned to me, and I noticed that he looked so tired and just kind of said "I don't know". Justin was showing the strain and stress and lack of sleep over the past 3 months. He was involved in the start up of a large project at work. He would be working swing shifts for the first month that Oliver was home. I HATED this schedule, 12 hour shifts sometimes during the day and sometimes during the night. When he worked the nights it was the hardest because he would be gone all night and then come home and eat breakfast and go to bed for about 6 hours. It was so hard, but I couldn't complain because his work had been so understanding this whole summer and Justin was always able to take days at a time off without anyone saying anything.
I remember feeling that I had made the right decision to not return to work after having Oliver. I spent my days trying to develop a bond with my son. I found that wearing him worked the best for me. I had a Moby wrap that I would tie him to my chest with. I liked this wrap because it allowed me the flexibility of positioning him how I wanted and how he was the most comfortable. It also allowed me to position the wires from his apnea monitor without kinking them.
Nursing him also helped me to feel more attached to him. When he was in the NICU I was only allowed to nurse him one time a day. Once we got home and his doctor gave us the go ahead to feed him as much and as often as Oliver wanted, I would nurse him for most feedings and would then offer him a bottle.
The bonding did eventually happen, but it took a monumental amount of effort on my part. I had to learn to let go of the fear that was holding me back. I once again had to take another leap of faith, I had to trust that feeling telling me that Oliver would live and that he would be alright. I am so very glad that I did take that leap. I only regret that I did not do it sooner. Today I feel like I have fully bonded and developed that deep love that a mother has for her child.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Springing Oliver from the big house
The days in the NICU blended together one into the other. I much preferred the new NICU for the privacy and quiet. My days had a new routine only that I was staying much later in the room with him. Oliver was making strides and we were getting ready to go home. He was having a difficult time getting off the oxygen and his doctors were preparing us that he might come home with it. Justin and I were okay with that, we just wanted our baby home. To prepare to take Ollie home we had to complete several tasks to prove that we were worthy of this great honor. We had to take CPR, learn how to draw up and give his medicine, watch several educational movies, lean how to use his apnea monitor, and bring in the car seat for inspection. Usually the NICU makes the parents room in for 24 hours and have them complete all the cares to make sure they can do it. Since I had been there everyday since I was discharged and had been very involved in his cares we were allowed to skip this step.
Oliver had a much more difficult list of tasks to accomplish. He had to keep gaining weight, maintain his body temp in an open crib, take all his meals by mouth and finish at least 90% for a 24 hour period, be brady free for 48 hours, and pass that damn car seat test.
Thanks to a very high calorie diet Oliver was slowly gaining weight and had finally tipped the scales over 4 pounds at the beginning of September. He was finally able to maintain his temp in an open crib on the second try. He looked so tiny in that big crib. Oliver worked really hard and so did I to eat all his food by mouth. Sometimes he found it exhausting to drink his whole bottle of 30 ml's (that is slightly less than an ounce). Toward the end he threw in a brady or two just for good measure so he was restarted on caffeine. He was having some trouble with his breathing at this time too so he was given another blood transfusion to see if that would help both of these. A few days after that transfusion his chest x-ray was fuzzy so he was trialed on a diuretic to get rid of some of the extra fluid to see if that would improve his breathing. The drug worked and he was able to come off the oxygen a few days before we went home. This meant that we had two more drugs to add to his list. The day they took off his oxygen he decided to pull out his feeding tube. The pressure was on to really get him eating everything by mouth since they didn't put the tube back in. Oliver got to stay a few extra days because he could not pass the car seat or car bed tests. The test consisted of strapping him in his car seat and he had to keep his oxygen levels and heart rate up for 90 minutes without us doing anything to him. Once he failed the car seat test he was tried in the car bed and if he failed that he had to wait 24-48 hours to try again. He failed these tests a total of 7 times, it was so frustrating!
On September 15th, 2010 I went to the afternoon breastfeeding support group and Justin hung back in Oliver's room waiting to hear the results of the latest car bed test. By this point I was not overly hopeful. When I got back to Ollie's room Justin started crying and said that he had passed the test and we were going home!!! We went back to the hotel to pack up and check out of my home for the past 6 weeks. We said good bye to the wonderful staff there and headed back to the hospital to collect our child. We called our parents and told them the news they were so excited. Once we were back in the NICU his nurse had all these papers for us to sign basically saying that we were being given the correct child. We also had to sign papers agreeing to take him to the doctor appointments that had been set up for us back at home. Once that was done I put on his apnea monitor and changed him into his teeny tiny going home outfit. It was a preemie size and was baggy on him and the hat was super huge on him. His neo stopped by to say good bye and told him that he had a lot of growing to do to fit into that hat.
All ready to go home!!! Thank you OSF for taking such good care of both of us.
Yes that buckle is basically the same size as his chest. I always felt like it was shoebox with straps.
Justin went ahead with some of our things (mostly a very full bag of books) and pulled the car around to the front. A PCT carried Oliver out of the hospital and I pushed the cart loaded down with more of his stuff, for a little baby he had a lot of things. He nurse had filled bags with bottles and nipples for us and even found us a can of his formula.
We packed up the car and installed the car bed then I got to place my little baby in the car, it was glorious! We were so excited and so scared at the same time because the nurses would not be coming with us. Oliver slept the whole ride home and was pretty hungry when we got home. We basically unpacked the car and tried to get the necessary things in place in his room.
First diaper change at home. Notice all the stuff in the crib? I think everything that had been given to Ollie was in that crib.
I made up a list of all his medications and at what times they needed to be given so that we could cross it off each time he got medicine. Oliver was on a 3 hour schedule and different meds were due at different times of the day and night. Needless to say we had alarms going off round the clock for feedings and medicine. The three hour window for his feedings began when he started eating so I always said a prayer that he would eat quickly so that I could get as much sleep as possible before I had to feed him again.
Once he was home I began to notice things about myself that were different and somewhat troubling, but just kind of brushed it off thinking it was due to lack of sleep and everything that had happened over the summer. I had no idea of the very dark days ahead.
Oliver had a much more difficult list of tasks to accomplish. He had to keep gaining weight, maintain his body temp in an open crib, take all his meals by mouth and finish at least 90% for a 24 hour period, be brady free for 48 hours, and pass that damn car seat test.
Thanks to a very high calorie diet Oliver was slowly gaining weight and had finally tipped the scales over 4 pounds at the beginning of September. He was finally able to maintain his temp in an open crib on the second try. He looked so tiny in that big crib. Oliver worked really hard and so did I to eat all his food by mouth. Sometimes he found it exhausting to drink his whole bottle of 30 ml's (that is slightly less than an ounce). Toward the end he threw in a brady or two just for good measure so he was restarted on caffeine. He was having some trouble with his breathing at this time too so he was given another blood transfusion to see if that would help both of these. A few days after that transfusion his chest x-ray was fuzzy so he was trialed on a diuretic to get rid of some of the extra fluid to see if that would improve his breathing. The drug worked and he was able to come off the oxygen a few days before we went home. This meant that we had two more drugs to add to his list. The day they took off his oxygen he decided to pull out his feeding tube. The pressure was on to really get him eating everything by mouth since they didn't put the tube back in. Oliver got to stay a few extra days because he could not pass the car seat or car bed tests. The test consisted of strapping him in his car seat and he had to keep his oxygen levels and heart rate up for 90 minutes without us doing anything to him. Once he failed the car seat test he was tried in the car bed and if he failed that he had to wait 24-48 hours to try again. He failed these tests a total of 7 times, it was so frustrating!
On September 15th, 2010 I went to the afternoon breastfeeding support group and Justin hung back in Oliver's room waiting to hear the results of the latest car bed test. By this point I was not overly hopeful. When I got back to Ollie's room Justin started crying and said that he had passed the test and we were going home!!! We went back to the hotel to pack up and check out of my home for the past 6 weeks. We said good bye to the wonderful staff there and headed back to the hospital to collect our child. We called our parents and told them the news they were so excited. Once we were back in the NICU his nurse had all these papers for us to sign basically saying that we were being given the correct child. We also had to sign papers agreeing to take him to the doctor appointments that had been set up for us back at home. Once that was done I put on his apnea monitor and changed him into his teeny tiny going home outfit. It was a preemie size and was baggy on him and the hat was super huge on him. His neo stopped by to say good bye and told him that he had a lot of growing to do to fit into that hat.
Yes that buckle is basically the same size as his chest. I always felt like it was shoebox with straps.
Justin went ahead with some of our things (mostly a very full bag of books) and pulled the car around to the front. A PCT carried Oliver out of the hospital and I pushed the cart loaded down with more of his stuff, for a little baby he had a lot of things. He nurse had filled bags with bottles and nipples for us and even found us a can of his formula.
We packed up the car and installed the car bed then I got to place my little baby in the car, it was glorious! We were so excited and so scared at the same time because the nurses would not be coming with us. Oliver slept the whole ride home and was pretty hungry when we got home. We basically unpacked the car and tried to get the necessary things in place in his room.
I made up a list of all his medications and at what times they needed to be given so that we could cross it off each time he got medicine. Oliver was on a 3 hour schedule and different meds were due at different times of the day and night. Needless to say we had alarms going off round the clock for feedings and medicine. The three hour window for his feedings began when he started eating so I always said a prayer that he would eat quickly so that I could get as much sleep as possible before I had to feed him again.
Once he was home I began to notice things about myself that were different and somewhat troubling, but just kind of brushed it off thinking it was due to lack of sleep and everything that had happened over the summer. I had no idea of the very dark days ahead.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
NICU mamas
After I was discharged I began to use the lactation room when I needed to pump. I was very uncomfortable to use that room at first, because there was usually at least one other woman in there at the same time. As time went by I began to see the same women as some of us were on the same pumping schedule. We hardly knew each others first names we all knew each other by our children's names, I was known as Oliver's mom. These mothers who were all struggling with their own troubles became a great support system for me. The relationships developed in that room were different than any other I have experienced. I think mostly it was due to the nature of why we were all there and the intimacy of the lactation room. We felt safe in that small, dimly lit room to share our thoughts and feelings. We celebrated the smallest step forward and we gave support and encouragement as best we could when there were steps backward. Sometimes I would go there when I just needed a break and to be by myself. That room was always empty when I needed it to be and I am grateful for that. We helped the new mothers and gave them suggestions and told them about some of the things we had learned along the way that made life easier. You could always tell who was new. Not just by their struggle to walk and their slow careful movements. They all had the same look, the look I am positive we all wore when we were the new ones. When you looked into their eyes you could read the shock, the sadness, the asking of why, the struggle for comprehension. When I look in the eyes of a veteran NICU mom I can still see traces of these, but I also see a hardness and a sharpness that comes from seeing too much.
I have stayed in contact with some of these women who I met in that room. They continue to be a support for me. We continue to encourage and support each other and our children. We have walked, talked, laughed, and cried together. So, thank you NICU mamas for helping me navigate through these troubled waters. I know without a doubt that I could not have done it without you.
I have stayed in contact with some of these women who I met in that room. They continue to be a support for me. We continue to encourage and support each other and our children. We have walked, talked, laughed, and cried together. So, thank you NICU mamas for helping me navigate through these troubled waters. I know without a doubt that I could not have done it without you.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Ch-ch-ch-changes
The whole time Oliver was in the NICU I was so afraid of changes. Any change brought on so much anxiety for me, I didn't want to rock the boat. One morning during team meeting Oliver's doctors told Justin and I that we could have him transferred to our local NICU since he had stabilized. We didn't even look at each other, we both refused. He was doing so well we did not want to chance it. It wasn't that we didn't think he would receive good care at our local NICU, we just did not want to get used to a whole new medical team. We were also worried about him tolerating the travel.
I remember one morning when Ollie was about 2 weeks old, my mom and I arrived at the NICU at our usual time. She got scrubbed in first and went into the room where he had been since he was born. She came back out shortly and in a low voice told me that he had been moved and they were looking to see where he was. I instantly felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. What had happened during the night that they had to move him? I almost started crying. We found out shortly that he was next door in the less critical room. His nurse explained that they had gotten some new babies during the night and they had to shuffle some kids around. Ollie was kicked out of his spot because he was the most stable of the critical babies. I will be honest I HATED his new room. He was the smallest and still in his fish tank, while a lot of his neighbors were in open cribs. It was so much noisier in that room. One baby would start crying and it was a domino effect until many other babies were all crying or setting off their alarms. Oliver was much more restless in this room and would often pull at his tubes. I felt like this was the room for the teenage parents, there were so many of them. Some of them were very involved with their babies and others only came to see their children sporadically. I felt so bad for those babies who never got held by anyone other than their nurse. Some of these precious little ones were going through drug withdrawal, and were so irritable. Some days when I needed to distract myself I would wonder how these very young parents, who were children themselves, could possibly deal with all of this. I mean I have a very strong medical background and was struggling to get through this experience.
The whole time Oliver was in this room my anxiety was increased significantly. I just wanted to go back to his other room where it was quieter and I knew the nurses better. At the same time Oliver made some big strides in this room: he started wearing clothes, and began oral feedings. These events are huge in the life of a preemie.
Another huge source of anxiety for me was the looming date of the "big move". OSF had recently completed the construction of a new children's hospital and the NICU would be moving. I didn't know how I would handle it if I couldn't deal with him moving 50 feet to a new room. The parents were prepped for the move and given tours of the new NICU to help set our minds at ease. A big concern for everyone including the staff, was that we were all going to be in private rooms. The babies were currently in a big room and there were about 4 nurses in each room so if your nurse was busy you could simply ask another nurse for help.
The night before the move we were informed that Ollie would be in the first wave of babies moved, so we needed to be at the hospital by 730 when the move would start. Thankfully the move day was one that Justin had off so he got up extra early and drove down to be there for the move. The morning of the move my mom and I arrived at his bed and saw a large sign on his fish tank with his new address, he was going to the Airplane neighborhood. Justin got there about a half an hour before Oliver was moved. We could see some of the very critical babies being rolled down the hall with a team of staff, it was about a 10 minute walk to the new NICU. When Oliver's time came he was transported with 4 nurses and 1 respiratory therapist. We walked with him to the elevator and said good bye and then we were escorted to a different elevator and shown how to get to the new NICU. When we arrived we were given ID's in order to get on the unit. After scanning in we found his room and gave a sigh of relief that he had made the trip and was in his room safe and sound. Once we were settled in we loved the new unit. Everything ran smoothly and there was not a problem of not having help when you needed it.
All the babies got shirts for the move. Ollie's nurse thought he should wear his that day and we agreed, one must dress for the occasion. To put his size in perspective that shirt is a newborn size and it went down to his knees and past his elbows.
His moving crew packing him up.
He made it!!!
Each room had a couch that folded out into a bed and a rocking chair. It was so much easier to pump in the room, I loved it.
I remember one morning when Ollie was about 2 weeks old, my mom and I arrived at the NICU at our usual time. She got scrubbed in first and went into the room where he had been since he was born. She came back out shortly and in a low voice told me that he had been moved and they were looking to see where he was. I instantly felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. What had happened during the night that they had to move him? I almost started crying. We found out shortly that he was next door in the less critical room. His nurse explained that they had gotten some new babies during the night and they had to shuffle some kids around. Ollie was kicked out of his spot because he was the most stable of the critical babies. I will be honest I HATED his new room. He was the smallest and still in his fish tank, while a lot of his neighbors were in open cribs. It was so much noisier in that room. One baby would start crying and it was a domino effect until many other babies were all crying or setting off their alarms. Oliver was much more restless in this room and would often pull at his tubes. I felt like this was the room for the teenage parents, there were so many of them. Some of them were very involved with their babies and others only came to see their children sporadically. I felt so bad for those babies who never got held by anyone other than their nurse. Some of these precious little ones were going through drug withdrawal, and were so irritable. Some days when I needed to distract myself I would wonder how these very young parents, who were children themselves, could possibly deal with all of this. I mean I have a very strong medical background and was struggling to get through this experience.
The whole time Oliver was in this room my anxiety was increased significantly. I just wanted to go back to his other room where it was quieter and I knew the nurses better. At the same time Oliver made some big strides in this room: he started wearing clothes, and began oral feedings. These events are huge in the life of a preemie.
Another huge source of anxiety for me was the looming date of the "big move". OSF had recently completed the construction of a new children's hospital and the NICU would be moving. I didn't know how I would handle it if I couldn't deal with him moving 50 feet to a new room. The parents were prepped for the move and given tours of the new NICU to help set our minds at ease. A big concern for everyone including the staff, was that we were all going to be in private rooms. The babies were currently in a big room and there were about 4 nurses in each room so if your nurse was busy you could simply ask another nurse for help.
The night before the move we were informed that Ollie would be in the first wave of babies moved, so we needed to be at the hospital by 730 when the move would start. Thankfully the move day was one that Justin had off so he got up extra early and drove down to be there for the move. The morning of the move my mom and I arrived at his bed and saw a large sign on his fish tank with his new address, he was going to the Airplane neighborhood. Justin got there about a half an hour before Oliver was moved. We could see some of the very critical babies being rolled down the hall with a team of staff, it was about a 10 minute walk to the new NICU. When Oliver's time came he was transported with 4 nurses and 1 respiratory therapist. We walked with him to the elevator and said good bye and then we were escorted to a different elevator and shown how to get to the new NICU. When we arrived we were given ID's in order to get on the unit. After scanning in we found his room and gave a sigh of relief that he had made the trip and was in his room safe and sound. Once we were settled in we loved the new unit. Everything ran smoothly and there was not a problem of not having help when you needed it.
A's and B's
Unfortunately I am not talking about grades. As Oliver's need for respiratory support lessened he began to have episodes of apnea and bradycardia, basically he would stop breathing and or his heart rate would drop drastically. The apnea was caused by three things, his brain, his trachea, and reflux. Since Ollie was so early his brain was not quite ready to keep all his systems going at the same time. He simply would stop breathing, without intervention he would die. His nurses explained to us that the cartilage his trachea was super flimsy so it was like a bendy straw and would sometimes get kinked. They showed us how floppy his ears were and said that his ears and trachea would firm up at the same rate. So the fact that you could bend his ear in half and it would stay that way was not a good thing.
His brady episodes were directly related to his apnea episodes. We would get him breathing again and seconds later he would alarm for low heart rate and we would once again have to stimulate him to get him going again. Somedays he would have several cycles of these, I hated those days.
To counteract the A's and B's he was started on caffeine. We made jokes about him being a Starbucks junkie and how I would have to get him his morning coffee along with mine. In the early days when he would set off his alarms nurses would quickly pop open the portals in his fish tank and shake him to try and trigger his brain to breathe. As he got older they would wait a few seconds to see if he could "self correct". They would watch the numbers on his monitor and if they continued to go down then they would stimulate him. I hated sitting there and resisting the urge to reach in there and flick his foot to get him to take a breath.
Once Ollie was stable enough to start kangaroo care with us he had apnea each time we held him. Kangaroo care was where Justin or I would hold him skin to skin for as long as he would tolerate it. We could only hold him one time a day so we would take turns and on the days Justin was visiting he got to do it. I loved it and was scared @%$&less at the same time. I knew that it was just a matter of time before he had an episode. Usually it was because his head was too far back or too far forward, we would try and gently reposition his head to realign his trachea. That act in itself was scary too since he was so premature his skull bones were so thin and fragile and you could feel them shift slightly under your fingers, ugh. I found it very difficult to relax and enjoy kangarooing with him. I was afraid that if I shifted the wrong way or moved too much that he would stop breathing.
Justin and Oliver's first time kangarooing.
My first time kangarooing the day after Justin. Yep doing it during a mealtime.
Once Oliver started having larger meals he started to have reflux. His reflux was due to the feeding tube that was put into his stomach that did not allow the valve that connects his esophagus and stomach to fully close. The reflux was also caused by him being a preemie with lower muscle tone. Each time he had a reflux episode he would spit up and stop breathing. The first solution was to place him on his tummy when he was being fed. That worked for a few days. When that stopped working they took him off gravity feeds and his milk was pumped in over an hour. This was how he was fed until he could nipple all his meals. After he was eating by bottle if he refluxed his eyes would roll in the back of his head and he would turn blue and pass out. Then it would happen again a few seconds later when he would have a brady. He did eventually outgrow the bradys while he was in the NICU. He had to be brady free for 48 hours before being allowed to go home.
Each morning when I arrived at his fish tank I would ask how his night had been and how many episodes he had had overnight. I basically spent my days holding my breath waiting for when he would stop breathing and how long it would take to get him back on track. There was so much anxiety around holding him and feeding him, that I approached each with a sense of dread, but forced myself to do them.
As we got close to discharge we were told that since Oliver was still about a month away from his due date that he would be sent home with a monitor and caffeine. Studies had been done that showed that most babies stopped having apnea by the time they were 44 weeks gestation, so we were looking at a minimum of 2 months with a monitor. Oliver had his for 3.5 months and it was so very scary to turn it in. The monitor gave me a sense of security so that I could sleep, knowing that it would alarm if he stopped breathing.
His brady episodes were directly related to his apnea episodes. We would get him breathing again and seconds later he would alarm for low heart rate and we would once again have to stimulate him to get him going again. Somedays he would have several cycles of these, I hated those days.
To counteract the A's and B's he was started on caffeine. We made jokes about him being a Starbucks junkie and how I would have to get him his morning coffee along with mine. In the early days when he would set off his alarms nurses would quickly pop open the portals in his fish tank and shake him to try and trigger his brain to breathe. As he got older they would wait a few seconds to see if he could "self correct". They would watch the numbers on his monitor and if they continued to go down then they would stimulate him. I hated sitting there and resisting the urge to reach in there and flick his foot to get him to take a breath.
Once Ollie was stable enough to start kangaroo care with us he had apnea each time we held him. Kangaroo care was where Justin or I would hold him skin to skin for as long as he would tolerate it. We could only hold him one time a day so we would take turns and on the days Justin was visiting he got to do it. I loved it and was scared @%$&less at the same time. I knew that it was just a matter of time before he had an episode. Usually it was because his head was too far back or too far forward, we would try and gently reposition his head to realign his trachea. That act in itself was scary too since he was so premature his skull bones were so thin and fragile and you could feel them shift slightly under your fingers, ugh. I found it very difficult to relax and enjoy kangarooing with him. I was afraid that if I shifted the wrong way or moved too much that he would stop breathing.
Once Oliver started having larger meals he started to have reflux. His reflux was due to the feeding tube that was put into his stomach that did not allow the valve that connects his esophagus and stomach to fully close. The reflux was also caused by him being a preemie with lower muscle tone. Each time he had a reflux episode he would spit up and stop breathing. The first solution was to place him on his tummy when he was being fed. That worked for a few days. When that stopped working they took him off gravity feeds and his milk was pumped in over an hour. This was how he was fed until he could nipple all his meals. After he was eating by bottle if he refluxed his eyes would roll in the back of his head and he would turn blue and pass out. Then it would happen again a few seconds later when he would have a brady. He did eventually outgrow the bradys while he was in the NICU. He had to be brady free for 48 hours before being allowed to go home.
Each morning when I arrived at his fish tank I would ask how his night had been and how many episodes he had had overnight. I basically spent my days holding my breath waiting for when he would stop breathing and how long it would take to get him back on track. There was so much anxiety around holding him and feeding him, that I approached each with a sense of dread, but forced myself to do them.
As we got close to discharge we were told that since Oliver was still about a month away from his due date that he would be sent home with a monitor and caffeine. Studies had been done that showed that most babies stopped having apnea by the time they were 44 weeks gestation, so we were looking at a minimum of 2 months with a monitor. Oliver had his for 3.5 months and it was so very scary to turn it in. The monitor gave me a sense of security so that I could sleep, knowing that it would alarm if he stopped breathing.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Our support system
I can honestly say, and I know Justin would agree with me, that there is no way we would have made it through this nightmare without all the support we were given. There were many times that we needed others to hold us up when we were too exhausted or discouraged to keep going.
Family: Our families were amazing during this. As you know several relatives came and sat with me when I was in the hospital. My mom basically gave up her whole summer to sit with me and then she sat with me and Oliver. She took a leave from her job and made it home on the weekends to see my dad. My dad we nicknamed the zookeeper. He would take in our two dogs and our special needs cat every weekend, and those weeks that Justin stayed in Peoria after each crisis. The dogs ate a few pairs of his shorts during their time visiting. Our cat loved my dad, I mean loved him. Buzz would sleep with my dad and my dad even made a space for Buzz on a table next to the couch so they could watch tv together. Buzz had diabetes and that summer he became insulin resistant so he was getting pretty wacko. He would wake my dad up sometime between 3 or 4 am to feed him. Sometimes Buzz would stand on my dad's clock radio and turn it on in the middle of the night. Dad got a little cranky about that. My aunt, uncle, and cousin would come and visit me as well, although I think my cousin was only there for the student nurses. They and my parents stripped and stained our back deck. It was a horrible project and took a lot of work. They also helped to put together the nursery and my uncle did some plaster work in our bathroom. Justin's mom came and visited a few times and she and his sister also helped around the house and with the nursery. Once Ollie was here they basically purchased his wardrobe. Members of both of our families sent care packages to both myself and to Ollie. Oliver got a lot of mail while he was in the NICU.
After Oliver was home our families continued to help us. Mostly they were an extra pair of arms so that we could sleep or take showers or put the dishwasher away.
Friends: Our friends kept tabs on us. Our neighbors mowed our grass and watched the house. We got a lot of emails and phone calls from friends along with come care packages. Many of my former clients kept in contact with me or called my work to check on me and the baby. I felt awful leaving everyone in a lurch when I was admitted. Those families that I once helped now turned around and helped me. Some of the mothers of my clients had gone through similar situations and understood all to well what it was like. Some of my former clients are part of a support group that I now attend.
The first week I was admitted I met a nun who worked for pastoral care. She explained that if I wanted she would stop in once a week and visit with me and pray for me and my baby. I enjoyed her visits, she was this tiny woman from the Philippines. She would talk with me and who ever was my visitor that day then she would pull out her prayer book and recite a prayer. The morning after I delivered I saw her on the mother baby unit. She told me that she had already been to the NICU to see Ollie. I asked her how she had known that he was down there and she told me that she was given a printout of who was in what room and that my name was now in the mother baby unit so she figured the baby was in the NICU. It gave me some peace that she had been one of the first to see him and that she prayed for him. She would continue to see Ollie once a week while he was in the NICU. She is on our Christmas card list and we send her updates every now and then.
Church: Justin and I belong to a wonderful church. Several of the ministries became involved with us when I was first admitted. I was put on the prayer list and received many cards from other members. My pastor visited me before Oliver was born. I also was visited by other members. Some meals were made for Justin so that he didn't have to eat take out all the time. The morning after Oliver was born his birth was announced during the service. He was put on the prayer list as well. The church started the "prayer bear" for him. It was a great idea, basically there was a stuffed bear with a backpack placed on a table during coffee hour and people would write Oliver or us notes and put them in the bear. Each week we would receive an envelope containing several notes of well wishing. Pictures of Oliver, one of his tiny diapers, and a note on his progress were placed next to the bear. Oliver also received visits from our pastor and some other dear friends of ours. Once we were home we received some meals and Oliver continued to be on the prayer list. I strongly feel that all of the prayers and positive thoughts for Oliver made a huge difference for him. Justin and I and most people who know us feel that God smiled on our child.
Family: Our families were amazing during this. As you know several relatives came and sat with me when I was in the hospital. My mom basically gave up her whole summer to sit with me and then she sat with me and Oliver. She took a leave from her job and made it home on the weekends to see my dad. My dad we nicknamed the zookeeper. He would take in our two dogs and our special needs cat every weekend, and those weeks that Justin stayed in Peoria after each crisis. The dogs ate a few pairs of his shorts during their time visiting. Our cat loved my dad, I mean loved him. Buzz would sleep with my dad and my dad even made a space for Buzz on a table next to the couch so they could watch tv together. Buzz had diabetes and that summer he became insulin resistant so he was getting pretty wacko. He would wake my dad up sometime between 3 or 4 am to feed him. Sometimes Buzz would stand on my dad's clock radio and turn it on in the middle of the night. Dad got a little cranky about that. My aunt, uncle, and cousin would come and visit me as well, although I think my cousin was only there for the student nurses. They and my parents stripped and stained our back deck. It was a horrible project and took a lot of work. They also helped to put together the nursery and my uncle did some plaster work in our bathroom. Justin's mom came and visited a few times and she and his sister also helped around the house and with the nursery. Once Ollie was here they basically purchased his wardrobe. Members of both of our families sent care packages to both myself and to Ollie. Oliver got a lot of mail while he was in the NICU.
After Oliver was home our families continued to help us. Mostly they were an extra pair of arms so that we could sleep or take showers or put the dishwasher away.
Friends: Our friends kept tabs on us. Our neighbors mowed our grass and watched the house. We got a lot of emails and phone calls from friends along with come care packages. Many of my former clients kept in contact with me or called my work to check on me and the baby. I felt awful leaving everyone in a lurch when I was admitted. Those families that I once helped now turned around and helped me. Some of the mothers of my clients had gone through similar situations and understood all to well what it was like. Some of my former clients are part of a support group that I now attend.
The first week I was admitted I met a nun who worked for pastoral care. She explained that if I wanted she would stop in once a week and visit with me and pray for me and my baby. I enjoyed her visits, she was this tiny woman from the Philippines. She would talk with me and who ever was my visitor that day then she would pull out her prayer book and recite a prayer. The morning after I delivered I saw her on the mother baby unit. She told me that she had already been to the NICU to see Ollie. I asked her how she had known that he was down there and she told me that she was given a printout of who was in what room and that my name was now in the mother baby unit so she figured the baby was in the NICU. It gave me some peace that she had been one of the first to see him and that she prayed for him. She would continue to see Ollie once a week while he was in the NICU. She is on our Christmas card list and we send her updates every now and then.
Church: Justin and I belong to a wonderful church. Several of the ministries became involved with us when I was first admitted. I was put on the prayer list and received many cards from other members. My pastor visited me before Oliver was born. I also was visited by other members. Some meals were made for Justin so that he didn't have to eat take out all the time. The morning after Oliver was born his birth was announced during the service. He was put on the prayer list as well. The church started the "prayer bear" for him. It was a great idea, basically there was a stuffed bear with a backpack placed on a table during coffee hour and people would write Oliver or us notes and put them in the bear. Each week we would receive an envelope containing several notes of well wishing. Pictures of Oliver, one of his tiny diapers, and a note on his progress were placed next to the bear. Oliver also received visits from our pastor and some other dear friends of ours. Once we were home we received some meals and Oliver continued to be on the prayer list. I strongly feel that all of the prayers and positive thoughts for Oliver made a huge difference for him. Justin and I and most people who know us feel that God smiled on our child.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Grief
My body was slowly healing, but my heart was breaking. I was unprepared for the feelings of grief that would wash over me. I was so very sad at the loss of my pregnancy and was in mourning for it. I did not fully understand these feelings for a few weeks. I thought I was crazy for feeling so sad at the loss of the pregnancy, after all my baby was alive. How can you mourn something like a pregnancy it isn't a living thing. What helped me to realize that I was not a freak for feeling this way was the Dr. Sears book "The Premature Baby Book". It was sent to me by my good friend Katie, and I think it helped to save my sanity. I learned that it is very common for mothers of premature babies to grieve for the early loss of the pregnancy. It was normal to feel so sad, and angry at the same time.
Every time I saw a pregnant woman I wanted to cry and sometimes I did. There were times I wanted to walk up to these women and try and tell them just how very lucky they were to still be pregnant. I avoided talking to and seeing my friends who were pregnant, I couldn't deal with that. Other times when I would overhear pregnant women complaining about being pregnant and just wanting the baby to be delivered now so what if it was a few months early, I would be so angry at them to not appreciate how the pregnancy was keeping their baby safe. I still have to take a deep breath and force myself to relax so that I do not reach out and slap or shake these women who will complain about their pregnancy to me. I know that there is no way to convey to others the horror of watching your premature baby fight to live. It is something that you can never truly understand unless you have been through it. No one should have to see their child on life support.
Night time was difficult for me as I would lay there in bed I so desperately wanted to feel my baby floating and poking around in my belly. I was so sad that I never got to experience the full pregnancy. My belly did not get very big. I was only just starting to really feel my baby move right before he was delivered. I wanted people to look at me and know that I was pregnant. I did not get to experience all the plans that go along with being pregnant. I did not get to set up my child's nursery. I did not get to wash all the clothes and put them away so they were ready for the arrival of the baby. I did not have a baby shower before he was born. I am still sensitive about people who complain about not getting something they really wanted at their shower. I want to grab them and through gritted teeth tell them how my husband and mother in law spent a whole evening shopping to get EVERYTHING we needed for our baby. He gave up time with his child to do this, so do not ever bitch to me or any parent of a preemie, about how you didn't get your swing or stroller, or that you ONLY had 3 baby showers. At times like these my grief is as sharp and painful as a razor and I physically ache inside.
Grieving takes time, time to work through the feelings and emotions. Time to dull the pain, but knowing that it will never fully go away. I know now that I will always feel a little sad about losing this pregnancy so early and that is okay. There is sadness in my heart when I see the scars on my body and the scars on my son's body.
I see the world differently now. My husband and I are different people now, different than we were before all of this. Once you take off your rose-colored glasses, you can never, ever put them back on, no matter how hard you try.
Every time I saw a pregnant woman I wanted to cry and sometimes I did. There were times I wanted to walk up to these women and try and tell them just how very lucky they were to still be pregnant. I avoided talking to and seeing my friends who were pregnant, I couldn't deal with that. Other times when I would overhear pregnant women complaining about being pregnant and just wanting the baby to be delivered now so what if it was a few months early, I would be so angry at them to not appreciate how the pregnancy was keeping their baby safe. I still have to take a deep breath and force myself to relax so that I do not reach out and slap or shake these women who will complain about their pregnancy to me. I know that there is no way to convey to others the horror of watching your premature baby fight to live. It is something that you can never truly understand unless you have been through it. No one should have to see their child on life support.
Night time was difficult for me as I would lay there in bed I so desperately wanted to feel my baby floating and poking around in my belly. I was so sad that I never got to experience the full pregnancy. My belly did not get very big. I was only just starting to really feel my baby move right before he was delivered. I wanted people to look at me and know that I was pregnant. I did not get to experience all the plans that go along with being pregnant. I did not get to set up my child's nursery. I did not get to wash all the clothes and put them away so they were ready for the arrival of the baby. I did not have a baby shower before he was born. I am still sensitive about people who complain about not getting something they really wanted at their shower. I want to grab them and through gritted teeth tell them how my husband and mother in law spent a whole evening shopping to get EVERYTHING we needed for our baby. He gave up time with his child to do this, so do not ever bitch to me or any parent of a preemie, about how you didn't get your swing or stroller, or that you ONLY had 3 baby showers. At times like these my grief is as sharp and painful as a razor and I physically ache inside.
Grieving takes time, time to work through the feelings and emotions. Time to dull the pain, but knowing that it will never fully go away. I know now that I will always feel a little sad about losing this pregnancy so early and that is okay. There is sadness in my heart when I see the scars on my body and the scars on my son's body.
I see the world differently now. My husband and I are different people now, different than we were before all of this. Once you take off your rose-colored glasses, you can never, ever put them back on, no matter how hard you try.
Freedom
The day finally arrived that I was discharged. It was so very bittersweet, I was glad to be leaving the hospital but I was leaving my child there. There was no congratulation fanfare like the other new parents. There were no balloons, there was no baby in my arms, there was one bunch of flowers from my work. My husband had gone home for a day to get me some clothes instead of pajamas. It was so emotional leaving the place I had called home for over 6 weeks, I felt safe there.
It had been decided earlier in the week that my mom and I would be moving into a local hotel so that I could stay close to Ollie. With the help of my aunt, uncle, and Justin we moved into our new "home". I had my own room and mom had an adjoining room. I was weepy that whole evening. I had planned on going back to the NICU that night but was too tired to make the trip. Justin went home after dinner because he had to work the next day. My mom and I spent the evening sitting on the couch watching TV and I would pump every few hours. I moved like a little old lady, hunched over and slow walking. It hurt too much to stand up fully.
Over the next few days we got into our routine. Wake up at 7:30, pump, get dressed, get to breakfast by 9, back to room, finish getting ready, pump again, pack up pumping supplies and milk and get to NICU a little after 10. We would spend the days sitting next to Oliver's fish tank watching him. I would go to his team meetings if I was there to see what the plans were for him and to ask my questions of his doctors. My mom was sewing bibs for him to keep herself occupied. I could not focus enough to do that. Every three hours I would do his cares. I would slowly waddle to the pumping room every few hours and give his nurse the milk I had pumped for him. Mom and I would get lunch in the cafeteria or at Subway. She encouraged me to eat outside in the sun, just to get out of the building for a bit. The afternoons were the same as the mornings. We would typically leave the NICU around 5 or 6 and get some dinner on the way home. We would eat dinner and I would pump while we watched TV or talked on the phone to various people. I would try and stay awake until 11 or midnight so that I would only have to get up once during the night. I did this every day he was in the NICU. Only change was who took me to the NICU, on Wednesday and the weekends it was Justin. My mom was there the other days. Also once we were in the new NICU, we would stay until 8 or 9 at night. This was our life now.
This is what a typical night looked like for us. That is my pump in the lower left corner. We usually watched Chelsea Lately while I power pumped.
It had been decided earlier in the week that my mom and I would be moving into a local hotel so that I could stay close to Ollie. With the help of my aunt, uncle, and Justin we moved into our new "home". I had my own room and mom had an adjoining room. I was weepy that whole evening. I had planned on going back to the NICU that night but was too tired to make the trip. Justin went home after dinner because he had to work the next day. My mom and I spent the evening sitting on the couch watching TV and I would pump every few hours. I moved like a little old lady, hunched over and slow walking. It hurt too much to stand up fully.
Over the next few days we got into our routine. Wake up at 7:30, pump, get dressed, get to breakfast by 9, back to room, finish getting ready, pump again, pack up pumping supplies and milk and get to NICU a little after 10. We would spend the days sitting next to Oliver's fish tank watching him. I would go to his team meetings if I was there to see what the plans were for him and to ask my questions of his doctors. My mom was sewing bibs for him to keep herself occupied. I could not focus enough to do that. Every three hours I would do his cares. I would slowly waddle to the pumping room every few hours and give his nurse the milk I had pumped for him. Mom and I would get lunch in the cafeteria or at Subway. She encouraged me to eat outside in the sun, just to get out of the building for a bit. The afternoons were the same as the mornings. We would typically leave the NICU around 5 or 6 and get some dinner on the way home. We would eat dinner and I would pump while we watched TV or talked on the phone to various people. I would try and stay awake until 11 or midnight so that I would only have to get up once during the night. I did this every day he was in the NICU. Only change was who took me to the NICU, on Wednesday and the weekends it was Justin. My mom was there the other days. Also once we were in the new NICU, we would stay until 8 or 9 at night. This was our life now.
The days after
The next morning Justin and I headed back down to the NICU to see Oliver. We were greeted by a surprise, Oliver was no longer on the vent! He had just been transitioned to CPAP earlier that morning. He now looked like a fighter pilot, or Darth Vader without the black helmet. His hair was all gooey and his neo told us that he had had his first brain ultrasound. I held my breath while Justin asked what the results were. There was a "spot" but they were not for sure that it was a bleed because the straps from the CPAP prevented them from getting a better look. I asked where the spot was, as in what area of the brain. In my brain, I was wondering what area could potentially be involved: motor, speech, cognitive, vision. These all tumbled around my brain in the second it took her to answer me with the right side. I calmly asked what area of the right side. The light blub clicked on for her and she said "that's right you are an OT. It's in the parietal lobe." I thought good thing I am an OT who has worked with children who have sensory integration and coordination issues. It also made me want to cry.
My perinatologist came and found us in the NICU - he was rounding and I wasn't in my room. He asked us how Oliver was doing, and we were happy that he was off the vent. My doctor asked me how I was feeling, my abdomen was still numb but the rest of me felt like I had been hit by a truck. He explained that during the surgery he tried to get Oliver out with the usual horizontal incision on my uterus, but that he was too stuck and he didn't want to hurt him. He ended up having to also make a vertical incision to allow for more room to maneuver Oliver. I though that it was rather ironic that this tiny baby needed an extra large incision to get him out. It was further explained that since I had this vertical incision that any further pregnancies would require a section and a VBAC was not recommended due to an increased risk of rupture. All I could think was with these words was "there is NO way we are doing this again!!!!"
We returned to my room shortly after my doctor left. It was time for pain meds for me. I got back in bed and took a nap. My parents came to visit and Justin took them down to see Ollie. When my mom came back from the NICU I told her that I was cold and she put another blanket on me. I slept awhile longer until the PCT came in to take my vitals. I was freezing and shivering while she took my temp. She informed me that I had a fever of 100. I thought that was not possible since I was so cold. I went back to sleep. My nurse came in with some needles and three large glass bottles. She informed me that my doctor wanted some blood to see what kind of infection I had and to see what kinds of antibiotics it was sensitive to. She explained that she had to fill each of these bottles half way full. Let the bloodletting begin. She left once she got enough blood and returned with a small bag of IV antibiotics. She explained that the doctor wanted me on 3 different antibiotics to try and get rid of the infection while they waited for the results to come back from the blood cultures which would take at least 2 days. Since I had a temp I was not allowed to go to the NICU until I had been fever free for 24 hours.
I spent the day in bed with a cold wash cloth over my eyes and an ice pack on my abdomen. I know that Justin's parents came that day to meet their newest grandchild. My aunt, uncle, and cousin also came to see Oliver. Justin spent the whole day taking them all to visit Ollie. Only one visitor at a time could go into the NICU, so everyone had to take turns. During the next day, Justin and I decided on Oliver's middle name: "Steven". We named him after his grandfather, Justin's dad. I do not remember much of those two days as I became sicker and sicker. My fever peaked at 105.8, around 4 AM about 36 hours after the section. I was pretty scared at that point, I was worried that I would have a seizure or my brain would boil. I have never felt so hot and miserable in my life. I was given ice packs to help cool me down, I have never had the desire to snuggle with ice packs but it felt so good to have something cold touch my skin. The Percocet I was taking for pain helped to bring my fever down for a few hours but each time it was time for a new dose my fever was back. All in all I spent 9 days in the hospital after Ollie was born fighting this infection that would not go away. I was released with instructions to take an oral antibiotic for 14 more days. Needless to say my GI system was out of whack for a looong time after all those antibiotics.
During those 9 days, Oliver continued to improve and after 4 days on CPAP, he was moved to the high flow nasal canula. I clearly remember the day I walked into the NICU and saw that he was off the CPAP. His nurse was doing some cares for him at that time so the bili lights were off and his goggles were off his face. It was the first time I got to see most of his face, it was overwhelming to see what he looked like. I teared up and sniffled as I stared at him taking in all his features. His nose was from my mom's side of the family, his eyes were Justin's, and his lips were mine. He had lost 5 ounces by this day so he was below 2 pounds and did not look very good. He actually looked like a wrinkled monkey. His nurse went and got the unit's camera and took some pictures of Ollie for us. Then she told me to hold out my hands and placed my tiny child in them! I was terrified that I would hurt him he was so fragile and tiny. I couldn't help myself and just started bawling. His nurse told me to hold him close to my body and to smile as she took a picture of the two of us. It is the most awkward looking picture of the two of us but I treasure it. I am crying and he is all skinny arms and legs with all these tubes coming off his body. His nurse that day told me that one of the three bili lights was turned off and the humidity in his fish tank was lowered.
Oliver on day 4. He would often grab the oxygen tubing at the back of his head. His head is slightly misshapen above his goggles due to the pressure of the CPAP mask. It did eventually pop back into shape.
Trying to warm up after having a heart and head ultrasound. Both were clear, woo hoo!
I was able to see him 5 of the 9 days I was in the hospital due to the fevers. I began to hear that voice telling me that Oliver would live. I was too afraid to fully believe that voice, the cold hand of fear had wrapped itself around my heart and mind. I just had to let go of the fear and trust that God would carry us through this. It was kind of like standing on the edge of a very tall cliff and looking down to see a very soft spot to land in. God is telling you that it is okay to jump, he will catch you and keep you from hitting the jagged rocks on the way down.
Justin and I learned how to participate in Ollie's cares. Every three hours we were able to take his temp and change his diaper. We memorized his milk account # and recited it to the nurses for each feeding we were present at. Oliver was on TPN through his PICC line, it is IV nutrition. His stomach was primed for 5 days to prepare it for eating. Basically his priming schedule was started at 1 ml of milk every 3 hours and increased slightly every 5th feed as long as he was tolerating it. He was watched closely for signs of NEC during this as he had developed distended loops of bowel. Basically you could see his intestines through his skin and this is one of the signs that the intestines might be dying. NEC is devastating and can be fatal in babies. Preemies have a much higher risk of developing this infection than term babies. Things eventually settled down with his intestines and he made it through his priming schedule and began regular feeds. He was too young to know how to suck from a nipple so he was fed through a tube that went from his mouth to his stomach. We were fast becoming NICU veterans and spoke in the NICU vocabulary.
My perinatologist came and found us in the NICU - he was rounding and I wasn't in my room. He asked us how Oliver was doing, and we were happy that he was off the vent. My doctor asked me how I was feeling, my abdomen was still numb but the rest of me felt like I had been hit by a truck. He explained that during the surgery he tried to get Oliver out with the usual horizontal incision on my uterus, but that he was too stuck and he didn't want to hurt him. He ended up having to also make a vertical incision to allow for more room to maneuver Oliver. I though that it was rather ironic that this tiny baby needed an extra large incision to get him out. It was further explained that since I had this vertical incision that any further pregnancies would require a section and a VBAC was not recommended due to an increased risk of rupture. All I could think was with these words was "there is NO way we are doing this again!!!!"
We returned to my room shortly after my doctor left. It was time for pain meds for me. I got back in bed and took a nap. My parents came to visit and Justin took them down to see Ollie. When my mom came back from the NICU I told her that I was cold and she put another blanket on me. I slept awhile longer until the PCT came in to take my vitals. I was freezing and shivering while she took my temp. She informed me that I had a fever of 100. I thought that was not possible since I was so cold. I went back to sleep. My nurse came in with some needles and three large glass bottles. She informed me that my doctor wanted some blood to see what kind of infection I had and to see what kinds of antibiotics it was sensitive to. She explained that she had to fill each of these bottles half way full. Let the bloodletting begin. She left once she got enough blood and returned with a small bag of IV antibiotics. She explained that the doctor wanted me on 3 different antibiotics to try and get rid of the infection while they waited for the results to come back from the blood cultures which would take at least 2 days. Since I had a temp I was not allowed to go to the NICU until I had been fever free for 24 hours.
I spent the day in bed with a cold wash cloth over my eyes and an ice pack on my abdomen. I know that Justin's parents came that day to meet their newest grandchild. My aunt, uncle, and cousin also came to see Oliver. Justin spent the whole day taking them all to visit Ollie. Only one visitor at a time could go into the NICU, so everyone had to take turns. During the next day, Justin and I decided on Oliver's middle name: "Steven". We named him after his grandfather, Justin's dad. I do not remember much of those two days as I became sicker and sicker. My fever peaked at 105.8, around 4 AM about 36 hours after the section. I was pretty scared at that point, I was worried that I would have a seizure or my brain would boil. I have never felt so hot and miserable in my life. I was given ice packs to help cool me down, I have never had the desire to snuggle with ice packs but it felt so good to have something cold touch my skin. The Percocet I was taking for pain helped to bring my fever down for a few hours but each time it was time for a new dose my fever was back. All in all I spent 9 days in the hospital after Ollie was born fighting this infection that would not go away. I was released with instructions to take an oral antibiotic for 14 more days. Needless to say my GI system was out of whack for a looong time after all those antibiotics.
During those 9 days, Oliver continued to improve and after 4 days on CPAP, he was moved to the high flow nasal canula. I clearly remember the day I walked into the NICU and saw that he was off the CPAP. His nurse was doing some cares for him at that time so the bili lights were off and his goggles were off his face. It was the first time I got to see most of his face, it was overwhelming to see what he looked like. I teared up and sniffled as I stared at him taking in all his features. His nose was from my mom's side of the family, his eyes were Justin's, and his lips were mine. He had lost 5 ounces by this day so he was below 2 pounds and did not look very good. He actually looked like a wrinkled monkey. His nurse went and got the unit's camera and took some pictures of Ollie for us. Then she told me to hold out my hands and placed my tiny child in them! I was terrified that I would hurt him he was so fragile and tiny. I couldn't help myself and just started bawling. His nurse told me to hold him close to my body and to smile as she took a picture of the two of us. It is the most awkward looking picture of the two of us but I treasure it. I am crying and he is all skinny arms and legs with all these tubes coming off his body. His nurse that day told me that one of the three bili lights was turned off and the humidity in his fish tank was lowered.
I was able to see him 5 of the 9 days I was in the hospital due to the fevers. I began to hear that voice telling me that Oliver would live. I was too afraid to fully believe that voice, the cold hand of fear had wrapped itself around my heart and mind. I just had to let go of the fear and trust that God would carry us through this. It was kind of like standing on the edge of a very tall cliff and looking down to see a very soft spot to land in. God is telling you that it is okay to jump, he will catch you and keep you from hitting the jagged rocks on the way down.
Justin and I learned how to participate in Ollie's cares. Every three hours we were able to take his temp and change his diaper. We memorized his milk account # and recited it to the nurses for each feeding we were present at. Oliver was on TPN through his PICC line, it is IV nutrition. His stomach was primed for 5 days to prepare it for eating. Basically his priming schedule was started at 1 ml of milk every 3 hours and increased slightly every 5th feed as long as he was tolerating it. He was watched closely for signs of NEC during this as he had developed distended loops of bowel. Basically you could see his intestines through his skin and this is one of the signs that the intestines might be dying. NEC is devastating and can be fatal in babies. Preemies have a much higher risk of developing this infection than term babies. Things eventually settled down with his intestines and he made it through his priming schedule and began regular feeds. He was too young to know how to suck from a nipple so he was fed through a tube that went from his mouth to his stomach. We were fast becoming NICU veterans and spoke in the NICU vocabulary.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Allow me to introduce myself
After a sufficient amount of time in recovery I was moved to the mother baby unit. I was and still am so very thankful for the Duramorph that was injected into my spine during the section. My abdomen was numb and would remain so for about 24 hours.
My nurse came in and told me about the unit. My vitals were taken by the PCT. The area around my incision was briefly looked at. I had a large bandage over the area so they were basically making sure I wasn't bleeding through the bandage. My nurse asked me if I planned on breastfeeding and explained that it was very important for preemies to receive breast milk. I told her that I did want to breastfeed. She brought in the pumping supplies and pulled the pump out from the corner. She showed my mom and I how to hook up the equipment, then she and my mom propped me up as best they could and I started my first pumping session. After it was done my nurse explained how I had to label my milk bottles to make sure my baby got my milk. She wrote down all the medications that I had taken in the past 24 hours on my white board. She gave me my son's 8 digit milk account number. My husband and I can still recite that number in our sleep. Once I had pumped, someone had to take the milk down to the nursery where they would keep it in the refrigerator until we went down to the NICU.
The neonatology resident came to my room and we began signing medical consents for various medical procedures that needed to be done on our tiny baby. We asked him when we could go down and see Oliver. He told us that once they got the PICC line and IV's in place then they would call our nurse and let us know we could come down. He also told us that once Oliver was in the NICU he started to have trouble breathing and had to be intubated. He quickly left our room and jogged down the hallway.
So we sat in my room and waited for the call. We were is such a state of shock and I was hardly able to move thanks to the incision that sliced through my abdominal muscles. The PCT came back after an hour and a half and told us that she would be taking us down to the NICU. I was hauled into a wheelchair and my catheter bag was hung on the wheelchair and I held onto the IV pole. I was anxious and very nervous to see Oliver. Once we arrived at the NICU, which was conveniently one floor below my room, we were introduced to the scrub in procedure. Since I had an IV in my hand I was not allowed to scrub and instead was given gobs of hand sanitizer gel to rub into my hands. Justin had to do the full on scrub. He had to scrub in for 2 minutes up to his elbows and had to remove his watch. Once we were "clean" we were taken to the back room to our baby. I do not mean to be callus about what I am about to say but it was my first reaction; I looked at Oliver and felt no wave of maternal feelings. You could have shown me any baby and told me that it was my child and I would have said okay and believed you.
The child who had been cut from me 4 hours before was in a plastic box (we called it the fish tank) that was steamed over from the high level of humidity the inside of the tank was set at to protect his skin. He had on a very tiny diaper that was about the size of a panty liner. His body was wrinkled and a deep purple and I could see some traces of the bruises on his back. Due to his prematurity and the large bruise he had 3 bili lights (two shining on him and one he was laying on) to keep him from developing severe jaundice. Since he was under the lights his eyes were covered. He was on an oscillating ventilator, meaning that it gave him very short bursts of air very quickly. His whole body was vibrating from this. He had a PICC line in his upper arm and lines coming out of his umbilical cord. He also had teeny tiny blood pressure cuff wrapped around one leg. One of his feet had the pulse ox wrapped around it. His head was positioned in neutral with a funny shaped beanbag. This was my baby and I still did not know what he looked like. I got pretty teary looking at him and thinking that his first experiences were filled with pain. I felt like a horrible person.
Oliver's nurse explained what was happening and how he was doing. She was very nice and answered all our questions. I don't remember what we asked her. I kept looking around the room where there were 8 other babies and 5 nurses. We were told that we could come back and visit whenever we wanted. We left after seeing him for a few minutes as I needed to lay down.
Our first meeting with our son was not the quiet, exciting experience that we had planned on. We were so very scared for this little baby who weighed about the same as 9 sticks of butter. Once again I did not know what would happen and I did not know if he would live or if he did, what kind of life would he have. Justin and I had been thrown into the trenches and were now at war against the forces that would harm or kill our child. Welcome to parenthood, it is never what you expect it to be.
My nurse came in and told me about the unit. My vitals were taken by the PCT. The area around my incision was briefly looked at. I had a large bandage over the area so they were basically making sure I wasn't bleeding through the bandage. My nurse asked me if I planned on breastfeeding and explained that it was very important for preemies to receive breast milk. I told her that I did want to breastfeed. She brought in the pumping supplies and pulled the pump out from the corner. She showed my mom and I how to hook up the equipment, then she and my mom propped me up as best they could and I started my first pumping session. After it was done my nurse explained how I had to label my milk bottles to make sure my baby got my milk. She wrote down all the medications that I had taken in the past 24 hours on my white board. She gave me my son's 8 digit milk account number. My husband and I can still recite that number in our sleep. Once I had pumped, someone had to take the milk down to the nursery where they would keep it in the refrigerator until we went down to the NICU.
The neonatology resident came to my room and we began signing medical consents for various medical procedures that needed to be done on our tiny baby. We asked him when we could go down and see Oliver. He told us that once they got the PICC line and IV's in place then they would call our nurse and let us know we could come down. He also told us that once Oliver was in the NICU he started to have trouble breathing and had to be intubated. He quickly left our room and jogged down the hallway.
So we sat in my room and waited for the call. We were is such a state of shock and I was hardly able to move thanks to the incision that sliced through my abdominal muscles. The PCT came back after an hour and a half and told us that she would be taking us down to the NICU. I was hauled into a wheelchair and my catheter bag was hung on the wheelchair and I held onto the IV pole. I was anxious and very nervous to see Oliver. Once we arrived at the NICU, which was conveniently one floor below my room, we were introduced to the scrub in procedure. Since I had an IV in my hand I was not allowed to scrub and instead was given gobs of hand sanitizer gel to rub into my hands. Justin had to do the full on scrub. He had to scrub in for 2 minutes up to his elbows and had to remove his watch. Once we were "clean" we were taken to the back room to our baby. I do not mean to be callus about what I am about to say but it was my first reaction; I looked at Oliver and felt no wave of maternal feelings. You could have shown me any baby and told me that it was my child and I would have said okay and believed you.
The child who had been cut from me 4 hours before was in a plastic box (we called it the fish tank) that was steamed over from the high level of humidity the inside of the tank was set at to protect his skin. He had on a very tiny diaper that was about the size of a panty liner. His body was wrinkled and a deep purple and I could see some traces of the bruises on his back. Due to his prematurity and the large bruise he had 3 bili lights (two shining on him and one he was laying on) to keep him from developing severe jaundice. Since he was under the lights his eyes were covered. He was on an oscillating ventilator, meaning that it gave him very short bursts of air very quickly. His whole body was vibrating from this. He had a PICC line in his upper arm and lines coming out of his umbilical cord. He also had teeny tiny blood pressure cuff wrapped around one leg. One of his feet had the pulse ox wrapped around it. His head was positioned in neutral with a funny shaped beanbag. This was my baby and I still did not know what he looked like. I got pretty teary looking at him and thinking that his first experiences were filled with pain. I felt like a horrible person.
Oliver's nurse explained what was happening and how he was doing. She was very nice and answered all our questions. I don't remember what we asked her. I kept looking around the room where there were 8 other babies and 5 nurses. We were told that we could come back and visit whenever we wanted. We left after seeing him for a few minutes as I needed to lay down.
Our first meeting with our son was not the quiet, exciting experience that we had planned on. We were so very scared for this little baby who weighed about the same as 9 sticks of butter. Once again I did not know what would happen and I did not know if he would live or if he did, what kind of life would he have. Justin and I had been thrown into the trenches and were now at war against the forces that would harm or kill our child. Welcome to parenthood, it is never what you expect it to be.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Waves
July 23, 2010 was a Friday. It was the day my doctor turned off the mag. It was discussed that I had been on the mag longer than was the usual protocol after PROMing. I was 27 weeks and 3 days and it was 11 days after I ruptured. The doctors did not want the mag to mask any signs that I might be developing an infection. He also explained that if I went into labor due to an infection that I would "break through the mag". Basically, the mag only worked to a point and that point being an infection in my uterus. So my nurse came into my room later that morning to disconnect me from the IV. She kept the IV in my wrist "just in case". She took down the two bags of fluids and all the IV lines were thrown away. I took my first unattached shower in over 6 weeks. It felt so strange. One of my aunts came to visit me. She was going to be in the QC for the weekend. One of my cousins was pregnant and the next day was her baby shower. The rest of the day was so uneventful that I don't remember any details.
The next day was Saturday and Justin was hoping to be at the hospital by Noon as he had to do a few things around the house. Kathy was my nurse for the day and I liked her. She had been my nurse several times during my stay. That morning I felt a few cramps over about two hours. I ate my breakfast and told Kathy about the cramps when she came in to hook me up to the monitor for my morning session. She asked about pain and intensity and how many I had had. I told her that it had only been a few and they didn't hurt and were only a few seconds, I told her that it was "no big deal". My monitoring session was uneventful and I was unhooked around 9. Shortly after I was unhooked I felt more cramps and noticed that they happened about every 30 minutes. Around 1030 or 11 I began to feel a slight pressure with each cramp. I stupidly thought this would pass and tried to relax by watching TV. I went to the bathroom around 1130 and noticed a little bit of blood on my pad. I told myself this was no big deal. I told Kathy about the new developments when she came in to check for heart tones when I returned to bed. She asked me again if there was any pain and I told her that there was not really any pain but that with each cramp I felt pressure. She left my room and returned shortly carrying the Rubbermaid tote and that damn bedpan. She told me that the doctor wanted to take a look to see if I was dilating. He came in and visually checked me and said that I was not dilated and that I should just plan on staying pregnant a little longer.
Justin arrived right about Noon, shortly after the exam was done. He noticed that I winced a few times and asked what was wrong. I told him that "it was just a few cramps and no big deal". I told him that the doctor had just been in to check me and said that there was no dilation. He didn't really react to this news and since I had told him it was not a big deal he did not worry about it. Shortly after this conversation things picked up speed. I told Kathy that the cramps were getting stronger and that I could feel them coming. She asked Justin to time them and I was once again hooked up to the monitor to see if it was true contractions. As soon as she asked Justin to start timing them he understood what was happening and what I was too afraid to say. I could not say the word "contraction" out loud because that would mean that I was in labor and thus I would have this baby way, way too soon and I was not going to have a preemie this early. I had plans to make it to 34 weeks when I would have a c-section since Bean was breech. Since I knew that I would be having a section I did no mental preparation for dealing with labor and the pain. I also knew that today was my cousin's baby shower and I didn't want to mess it up for her.
I told Justin each time a wave started and when it ended. I had heard contractions described as waves and that is a very accurate description. The monitor was not picking up the contractions and Kathy came in to readjust the sensor and she took a blood sample from me. Justin informed her that I was contracting every 10 minutes for about 1 minute each time. They were starting to hurt but I could manage with deep breathing. Shortly after Kathy left the OB resident came into my room to see about the contractions. Let me tell you it is NEVER a good thing when the resident pulls up a rocking chair and sits in your room for almost an hour. He palpated my lower abdomen each time I had a contraction since the monitor was not really picking them up. He told me that I was being transferred to L&D. I arrived on that unit at 300. The contractions were now about 4 minutes apart and coming quicker and quicker. They were getting very painful. I asked for some pain medication and the nurse informed me that since the pain was that bad she called the doctor and he was on his way in. Justin called my mom at some point. She made it there in record time, and I was now contracting every 3-2 minutes. My doctor came in and said since things had changed so much since he had seen me at Noon that it was time to have a baby. I burst into tears and all I could think was that I was only 27 weeks, this baby was too early, I didn't want this to be happening. He left to go and inform the NICU and to gather the surgical team. The nurses tried to prep me for surgery. Justin was given a set of scrubs to change into. The doctor came back into the room and grabbed the foot of my bed and started rolling it out of the room saying that he was not going to deliver a breech 27 weeker in this room. I was screaming and sobbing now with each wave of pain and fear. I had absolutely no control over this situation and that was so very scary. I was wheeled into the operating room and was transferred to the surgical bed. My doctor explained what was about to happen. All I could do was sob and repeat "okay" over and over, I screamed it with each contraction. I was rolled onto my side and my doctor stayed right in front of me talking to me to try and calm me down while the spinal was administered. He left then to go and scrub in. I was hooked up to an IV and my body was draped. The anesthesiologist was very nice and answered all my questions about what drugs he was injecting into my IV. He also put a nasal canula on me to give me some extra oxygen. Justin was finally allowed into the room and was given a seat beside my head. The spinal took effect very quickly and the release from the pain helped to calm me down. I looked around the very white and very bright room. There were so many people in the room. The NICU team was on one side of the room waiting for the arrival of Bean. No one but the anesthesiologist talked to me as they were all running around getting things ready as quickly as they could. Justin held my hand when the doctor told me that they were going to start, I felt nothing. I was in such shock and panic about all of this happening. At 519 I heard the doctor say "hello friend". Bean had arrived and the NICU team was busy working. I couldn't see anything but their backs. I asked what we had, and my doctor told me he was sorry he hadn't looked. Finally after asking a few more times what sex the baby was a nurse came over and told us that we had had a boy. Justin and I cried. We were told that he was breathing on his own and Justin was allowed to go over and see him while they got ready to leave for the NICU. I felt a wave of relief wash over me that he was breathing, Justin told me that he was crying but I couldn't hear it. From behind the drape my doctor told me that the baby was badly bruised from his shoulder blades to the back of his knees. He said it was caused from not having any fluid for the past week and a half and that he had been sucked into the top of my cervix by the contractions. As soon as he was delivered I began to shake and was informed that this was normal. The isolette was pushed close to me so I could see my child before he left the room, I saw one of his eyes and his nose. I told Justin to go with him. I was glad that he left when he did, I started vomiting then. My doctor told me that it was because he was "shifting things around and putting things back in their place." After what seemed like forever I was finally sewn up and a binder was wrapped around my middle. I was wheeled to a L&D room for recovery, my mom and dad were waiting for me. No matter how old you are, sometimes you just need your parents. I was groggy from pain meds and shaking badly. I was hooked up to the IV pump once again and was informed that I was being given antibiotics, I had developed an infection and this had caused me to go into labor. My mom and dad told me that they were able to see the baby as he was being wheeled down the hallway. Justin asked them to stop so the grandparents could see him. My mom told me that he had huge eyes and was very wrinkled. Justin arrived back from the NICU after about an hour. We discussed what we should name our son, he pulled out the lists we had put together. We decided on "Oliver", it seemed to suit him. We embarked on our next leg of this journey, preemie parenthood. Neither of us were prepared for this and had no idea the course our lives would take.
The next day was Saturday and Justin was hoping to be at the hospital by Noon as he had to do a few things around the house. Kathy was my nurse for the day and I liked her. She had been my nurse several times during my stay. That morning I felt a few cramps over about two hours. I ate my breakfast and told Kathy about the cramps when she came in to hook me up to the monitor for my morning session. She asked about pain and intensity and how many I had had. I told her that it had only been a few and they didn't hurt and were only a few seconds, I told her that it was "no big deal". My monitoring session was uneventful and I was unhooked around 9. Shortly after I was unhooked I felt more cramps and noticed that they happened about every 30 minutes. Around 1030 or 11 I began to feel a slight pressure with each cramp. I stupidly thought this would pass and tried to relax by watching TV. I went to the bathroom around 1130 and noticed a little bit of blood on my pad. I told myself this was no big deal. I told Kathy about the new developments when she came in to check for heart tones when I returned to bed. She asked me again if there was any pain and I told her that there was not really any pain but that with each cramp I felt pressure. She left my room and returned shortly carrying the Rubbermaid tote and that damn bedpan. She told me that the doctor wanted to take a look to see if I was dilating. He came in and visually checked me and said that I was not dilated and that I should just plan on staying pregnant a little longer.
Justin arrived right about Noon, shortly after the exam was done. He noticed that I winced a few times and asked what was wrong. I told him that "it was just a few cramps and no big deal". I told him that the doctor had just been in to check me and said that there was no dilation. He didn't really react to this news and since I had told him it was not a big deal he did not worry about it. Shortly after this conversation things picked up speed. I told Kathy that the cramps were getting stronger and that I could feel them coming. She asked Justin to time them and I was once again hooked up to the monitor to see if it was true contractions. As soon as she asked Justin to start timing them he understood what was happening and what I was too afraid to say. I could not say the word "contraction" out loud because that would mean that I was in labor and thus I would have this baby way, way too soon and I was not going to have a preemie this early. I had plans to make it to 34 weeks when I would have a c-section since Bean was breech. Since I knew that I would be having a section I did no mental preparation for dealing with labor and the pain. I also knew that today was my cousin's baby shower and I didn't want to mess it up for her.
I told Justin each time a wave started and when it ended. I had heard contractions described as waves and that is a very accurate description. The monitor was not picking up the contractions and Kathy came in to readjust the sensor and she took a blood sample from me. Justin informed her that I was contracting every 10 minutes for about 1 minute each time. They were starting to hurt but I could manage with deep breathing. Shortly after Kathy left the OB resident came into my room to see about the contractions. Let me tell you it is NEVER a good thing when the resident pulls up a rocking chair and sits in your room for almost an hour. He palpated my lower abdomen each time I had a contraction since the monitor was not really picking them up. He told me that I was being transferred to L&D. I arrived on that unit at 300. The contractions were now about 4 minutes apart and coming quicker and quicker. They were getting very painful. I asked for some pain medication and the nurse informed me that since the pain was that bad she called the doctor and he was on his way in. Justin called my mom at some point. She made it there in record time, and I was now contracting every 3-2 minutes. My doctor came in and said since things had changed so much since he had seen me at Noon that it was time to have a baby. I burst into tears and all I could think was that I was only 27 weeks, this baby was too early, I didn't want this to be happening. He left to go and inform the NICU and to gather the surgical team. The nurses tried to prep me for surgery. Justin was given a set of scrubs to change into. The doctor came back into the room and grabbed the foot of my bed and started rolling it out of the room saying that he was not going to deliver a breech 27 weeker in this room. I was screaming and sobbing now with each wave of pain and fear. I had absolutely no control over this situation and that was so very scary. I was wheeled into the operating room and was transferred to the surgical bed. My doctor explained what was about to happen. All I could do was sob and repeat "okay" over and over, I screamed it with each contraction. I was rolled onto my side and my doctor stayed right in front of me talking to me to try and calm me down while the spinal was administered. He left then to go and scrub in. I was hooked up to an IV and my body was draped. The anesthesiologist was very nice and answered all my questions about what drugs he was injecting into my IV. He also put a nasal canula on me to give me some extra oxygen. Justin was finally allowed into the room and was given a seat beside my head. The spinal took effect very quickly and the release from the pain helped to calm me down. I looked around the very white and very bright room. There were so many people in the room. The NICU team was on one side of the room waiting for the arrival of Bean. No one but the anesthesiologist talked to me as they were all running around getting things ready as quickly as they could. Justin held my hand when the doctor told me that they were going to start, I felt nothing. I was in such shock and panic about all of this happening. At 519 I heard the doctor say "hello friend". Bean had arrived and the NICU team was busy working. I couldn't see anything but their backs. I asked what we had, and my doctor told me he was sorry he hadn't looked. Finally after asking a few more times what sex the baby was a nurse came over and told us that we had had a boy. Justin and I cried. We were told that he was breathing on his own and Justin was allowed to go over and see him while they got ready to leave for the NICU. I felt a wave of relief wash over me that he was breathing, Justin told me that he was crying but I couldn't hear it. From behind the drape my doctor told me that the baby was badly bruised from his shoulder blades to the back of his knees. He said it was caused from not having any fluid for the past week and a half and that he had been sucked into the top of my cervix by the contractions. As soon as he was delivered I began to shake and was informed that this was normal. The isolette was pushed close to me so I could see my child before he left the room, I saw one of his eyes and his nose. I told Justin to go with him. I was glad that he left when he did, I started vomiting then. My doctor told me that it was because he was "shifting things around and putting things back in their place." After what seemed like forever I was finally sewn up and a binder was wrapped around my middle. I was wheeled to a L&D room for recovery, my mom and dad were waiting for me. No matter how old you are, sometimes you just need your parents. I was groggy from pain meds and shaking badly. I was hooked up to the IV pump once again and was informed that I was being given antibiotics, I had developed an infection and this had caused me to go into labor. My mom and dad told me that they were able to see the baby as he was being wheeled down the hallway. Justin asked them to stop so the grandparents could see him. My mom told me that he had huge eyes and was very wrinkled. Justin arrived back from the NICU after about an hour. We discussed what we should name our son, he pulled out the lists we had put together. We decided on "Oliver", it seemed to suit him. We embarked on our next leg of this journey, preemie parenthood. Neither of us were prepared for this and had no idea the course our lives would take.
Friday, May 6, 2011
When the swimming pool emptied
I adapted to my new schedule and life on antepartum. I knew who was working each day. There was still the under current of fear that things could go bad at anytime. The week I made it to 24 weeks I remember meeting the NICU parent pathfinder who showed up in my room one day. She told me about the NICU and wanted to set up a time for me to come and visit the NICU and to meet with one of the neonatologists. She explained that a lot of the mothers on this unit would have premature babies that would need to be in the NICU. I refused the tour and the meeting. I was very firm in my belief that I was NOT going to have this baby early. I was going to beat the odds. I told my nurses and my family that I was not going to go and see the NICU. I knew that if I did that it would mean admitting defeat.
So, July 12th, 2010 was just another day. I was 25 weeks and 6 days. I went about my day of laying in bed and visiting with my mom and the nurses. Justin had spent the weekend with me and it was nice to see him. He was back at work until Wednesday when he would come back and visit for the day. There was nothing unusual that went on that day, I didn't even take a shower. It was coming up to 6:30 in the evening and my mom and I were talking with one of my nurses about the chickens she has at her house. I was thinking that I should decide what I want for dinner since I had to order it before 7. So, as we were talking I all of a sudden felt a trickle of liquid on one of my legs (my right leg actually since I was laying on that side). I felt my pants and there was a wet spot. My adrenaline started dumping in my system and that cold knot of fear seated itself back in my stomach. I told my nurse that my pants were wet. She told me to go to the bathroom and empty my bladder, it might have just been a bladder spasm. I asked her that if it was a spasm shouldn't I have felt something. She didn't really answer me just told me to go to the bathroom and to call her if I started leaking more. I went to the bathroom and remember sitting on the toilet shaking because of all the adrenaline I just tried to take some deep breaths to calm myself down. I got back to bed and my mom and I were silent waiting to see what happened. I knew from the nurses that if I had broken my water that the possibility existed that I could stay pregnant, but I didn't really want to find out. Exactly 5 minutes after returning from the bathroom I felt more liquid come out and told my mom to push the call button. All. Hell. Broke. Loose. It was shift change so there were double the number of nurses in my room. Towels were brought in and put between my legs and more and more and more fluid came out. I was put on the monitor to see how Bean was and to check for contractions. Blood tubing was hung on my IV to prepare for the possibility of delivery. I was put into a gown and my mom rinsed out my clothes that were soaked. My mom went into the bathroom and cried as she called Justin to tell him what had just happened. I kept soaking the towels and a pile was growing in the corner as they kept giving me new ones. I was hanging onto the bed rails like that would somehow stop this from happening. I was trying so hard not to cry but I couldn't help it. A test strip was placed in my vagina to see if it was truly amniotic fluid, with the amount that had come out how could it be anything but. I remember looking into the faces of some of these nurses and PCT's who had become my friends and they all looked so sad. By this point I was full into the ugly cry and couldn't catch my breath. I kept doing those stutter breaths that happen when you have really cried. I did notice my mom, who is a stress eater, grab a handful of lifesavers and start chomping away.
As the activity in my room slowed down slightly, as in two of the five left. The OB resident came into my room to tell me that the test was positive for amniotic fluid. He also informed me that I was being transferred to labor and delivery because I was having contractions. I was wheeled down the hallway in my bed by the night nurses. My mom grabbed her purse and followed me, she called Justin back and told him that I was being moved. I was transferred laying down to a L&D bed and hooked up once again to the monitor. Bean was so little that if I moved they would lose his heart rate on the monitor and the process of finding it would take several minutes. Justin arrived by 9 and ran into the room where I was. Once he got there the OB resident came back in with an ultrasound machine to check the position of Bean and to see how much fluid was left. He was breech and there was no fluid left. It was so awful to see the images on that screen. The doctor told me that my contractions were starting to spread out but I would be kept in L&D in case they did not stop and I went into labor. It was another very, very, very long night. Justin spent hours sitting next to me staring at the monitor screen behind my head. My mom was on the other side of the bed eating the lifesavers and calling my dad who needed to go to our house and get our dogs and cat. She also called one of my aunts to tell her what happened and to have her call everyone else on the list.
After a few hours mom and Justin got comfortable, my mom stretched out on the couch and Justin was in a recliner, I think. The bed I was on was so hard and uncomfortable that I had to keep changing positions and each time I felt so bad that the nurse had to come in and try and find Bean's heart rate yet again. The staff had also upped the flow of my IV to try and keep me hydrated, so with the increase of fluid in my system I eventually had to pee. The doctor would not let me get up and go to the bathroom and a bedpan was brought in. The nurse positioned it under me and told me to go ahead and go. Easier said than done lady, first off I have never been a public pee'er so everyone left the room. The second issue was that with the position of my hips I could not make that first step to start peeing. Finally after about 20 minutes my mom asked the nurse if I could be sat up a little bit, that did the trick. Sweet relief.
At 5 A.M. I was told that since my contractions had stopped that I would be transferred back to antepartum.
The nurses who had sent me over to L&D that night were there to welcome me back. I was given the new rules now that I had PROM'd (premature rupture of membranes). The first was that I had lost my clothing privileges, and would need to wear the gowns from here on out. I also got to wear those stylish net panties with a horse pad in them as I continued to leak fluid. Every time I got back from using the bathroom I had to call the nurse to have them check Bean's heart tones. I wore the leg squeezers all the time now that I was not moving as much and would not be sitting up unless it was to go to the bathroom. I had to tell them if I peed out anything funny. The most important one was if I felt anything hanging out of me or about to hang out of me I needed to tell them ASAP. Now that there was no fluid there was a big risk of Bean laying on the cord and cutting off the blood supply.
The three of us closed the blinds and turned off the lights in my room to try and get some sleep. My mom also asked that a note be put on my door to ask that food service or housekeeping not come in. We tried to get some sleep. I didn't really sleep as all I could think about was that I had failed and now my baby was in danger every time I moved. I felt like the worst person in the world. After a few hours the perinatologist came in for rounds. She told me that I would be going for an ultrasound later that morning.
The nurses came to get me and wheeled me up to the ultrasound room. The scan began and I could hardly look at the images once again. Tears were flowing and all this guilt kept washing over me. I heard the voice in my head that if I had been a better person, if I had lived a better life, if I had just tried a little harder, then this wouldn't have happened. It was all my fault. I remember asking about the lung development since there was no more fluid for Bean to "breathe" in. She told me that it was a good thing that I did not PROM earlier and was basically classifying me as rupturing at 26 weeks. PROMing before 26 weeks causes the lungs to be stiffer and those babies tend to have a much more difficult time breathing. She felt that since I had been given the Beta shots 3 weeks ago and that I did not PROM earlier that Bean's lungs would be more flexible. She also informed me that I would no longer have transvaginal ultrasounds and I would not be given the suppositories. Basically, hands off! She told me that I would continue to get the mag and would be getting antibiotics for the next few days to hold off infection. As long as I stayed infection free then I could stay pregnant as long as the baby was tolerating not having fluid. I would eventually develop an infection, it was just a question of when. The nurse who pushed me back down to my room told me that she was so proud of me for making it this far. That I was a good mom and was doing the best that I could. I know her words were meant to give comfort but I could not see that if I was truly a good person why this would happen. I was so worried that the baby was being squished without the cushion of fluid. I also envisioned Bean falling from one side of my uterus to the other when I rolled over.
I had just started to really get that firm, round pregnant belly before my water broke. Afterward, I no longer looked pregnant and had lost 5.5 pounds of fluid.
Rose was the charge nurse that day and came into my room to tell me that sometimes breaking your water can actually be a good thing. I asked her what good could possibly come from this. She told me that when the baby is squished that it essentially makes its own steroid to speed up development of the body systems. She also said that sometimes when the pressure of the amniotic fluid pushing on the cervix is released that it can allow the cervix to close up and lengthen a bit. Rose also said that as long as I was leaking fluid it would help to flush the bacteria down away from my uterus.
So began our new life of multiple heart tone checks each day. Each time I stood up I held my breath to make sure nothing fell out of me. Even fewer and shorter showers. I felt like I was one big ball of stress and I had a cold knot of fear in my stomach every day. It was the beginning of the end of my pregnancy.
So, July 12th, 2010 was just another day. I was 25 weeks and 6 days. I went about my day of laying in bed and visiting with my mom and the nurses. Justin had spent the weekend with me and it was nice to see him. He was back at work until Wednesday when he would come back and visit for the day. There was nothing unusual that went on that day, I didn't even take a shower. It was coming up to 6:30 in the evening and my mom and I were talking with one of my nurses about the chickens she has at her house. I was thinking that I should decide what I want for dinner since I had to order it before 7. So, as we were talking I all of a sudden felt a trickle of liquid on one of my legs (my right leg actually since I was laying on that side). I felt my pants and there was a wet spot. My adrenaline started dumping in my system and that cold knot of fear seated itself back in my stomach. I told my nurse that my pants were wet. She told me to go to the bathroom and empty my bladder, it might have just been a bladder spasm. I asked her that if it was a spasm shouldn't I have felt something. She didn't really answer me just told me to go to the bathroom and to call her if I started leaking more. I went to the bathroom and remember sitting on the toilet shaking because of all the adrenaline I just tried to take some deep breaths to calm myself down. I got back to bed and my mom and I were silent waiting to see what happened. I knew from the nurses that if I had broken my water that the possibility existed that I could stay pregnant, but I didn't really want to find out. Exactly 5 minutes after returning from the bathroom I felt more liquid come out and told my mom to push the call button. All. Hell. Broke. Loose. It was shift change so there were double the number of nurses in my room. Towels were brought in and put between my legs and more and more and more fluid came out. I was put on the monitor to see how Bean was and to check for contractions. Blood tubing was hung on my IV to prepare for the possibility of delivery. I was put into a gown and my mom rinsed out my clothes that were soaked. My mom went into the bathroom and cried as she called Justin to tell him what had just happened. I kept soaking the towels and a pile was growing in the corner as they kept giving me new ones. I was hanging onto the bed rails like that would somehow stop this from happening. I was trying so hard not to cry but I couldn't help it. A test strip was placed in my vagina to see if it was truly amniotic fluid, with the amount that had come out how could it be anything but. I remember looking into the faces of some of these nurses and PCT's who had become my friends and they all looked so sad. By this point I was full into the ugly cry and couldn't catch my breath. I kept doing those stutter breaths that happen when you have really cried. I did notice my mom, who is a stress eater, grab a handful of lifesavers and start chomping away.
As the activity in my room slowed down slightly, as in two of the five left. The OB resident came into my room to tell me that the test was positive for amniotic fluid. He also informed me that I was being transferred to labor and delivery because I was having contractions. I was wheeled down the hallway in my bed by the night nurses. My mom grabbed her purse and followed me, she called Justin back and told him that I was being moved. I was transferred laying down to a L&D bed and hooked up once again to the monitor. Bean was so little that if I moved they would lose his heart rate on the monitor and the process of finding it would take several minutes. Justin arrived by 9 and ran into the room where I was. Once he got there the OB resident came back in with an ultrasound machine to check the position of Bean and to see how much fluid was left. He was breech and there was no fluid left. It was so awful to see the images on that screen. The doctor told me that my contractions were starting to spread out but I would be kept in L&D in case they did not stop and I went into labor. It was another very, very, very long night. Justin spent hours sitting next to me staring at the monitor screen behind my head. My mom was on the other side of the bed eating the lifesavers and calling my dad who needed to go to our house and get our dogs and cat. She also called one of my aunts to tell her what happened and to have her call everyone else on the list.
After a few hours mom and Justin got comfortable, my mom stretched out on the couch and Justin was in a recliner, I think. The bed I was on was so hard and uncomfortable that I had to keep changing positions and each time I felt so bad that the nurse had to come in and try and find Bean's heart rate yet again. The staff had also upped the flow of my IV to try and keep me hydrated, so with the increase of fluid in my system I eventually had to pee. The doctor would not let me get up and go to the bathroom and a bedpan was brought in. The nurse positioned it under me and told me to go ahead and go. Easier said than done lady, first off I have never been a public pee'er so everyone left the room. The second issue was that with the position of my hips I could not make that first step to start peeing. Finally after about 20 minutes my mom asked the nurse if I could be sat up a little bit, that did the trick. Sweet relief.
At 5 A.M. I was told that since my contractions had stopped that I would be transferred back to antepartum.
The nurses who had sent me over to L&D that night were there to welcome me back. I was given the new rules now that I had PROM'd (premature rupture of membranes). The first was that I had lost my clothing privileges, and would need to wear the gowns from here on out. I also got to wear those stylish net panties with a horse pad in them as I continued to leak fluid. Every time I got back from using the bathroom I had to call the nurse to have them check Bean's heart tones. I wore the leg squeezers all the time now that I was not moving as much and would not be sitting up unless it was to go to the bathroom. I had to tell them if I peed out anything funny. The most important one was if I felt anything hanging out of me or about to hang out of me I needed to tell them ASAP. Now that there was no fluid there was a big risk of Bean laying on the cord and cutting off the blood supply.
The three of us closed the blinds and turned off the lights in my room to try and get some sleep. My mom also asked that a note be put on my door to ask that food service or housekeeping not come in. We tried to get some sleep. I didn't really sleep as all I could think about was that I had failed and now my baby was in danger every time I moved. I felt like the worst person in the world. After a few hours the perinatologist came in for rounds. She told me that I would be going for an ultrasound later that morning.
The nurses came to get me and wheeled me up to the ultrasound room. The scan began and I could hardly look at the images once again. Tears were flowing and all this guilt kept washing over me. I heard the voice in my head that if I had been a better person, if I had lived a better life, if I had just tried a little harder, then this wouldn't have happened. It was all my fault. I remember asking about the lung development since there was no more fluid for Bean to "breathe" in. She told me that it was a good thing that I did not PROM earlier and was basically classifying me as rupturing at 26 weeks. PROMing before 26 weeks causes the lungs to be stiffer and those babies tend to have a much more difficult time breathing. She felt that since I had been given the Beta shots 3 weeks ago and that I did not PROM earlier that Bean's lungs would be more flexible. She also informed me that I would no longer have transvaginal ultrasounds and I would not be given the suppositories. Basically, hands off! She told me that I would continue to get the mag and would be getting antibiotics for the next few days to hold off infection. As long as I stayed infection free then I could stay pregnant as long as the baby was tolerating not having fluid. I would eventually develop an infection, it was just a question of when. The nurse who pushed me back down to my room told me that she was so proud of me for making it this far. That I was a good mom and was doing the best that I could. I know her words were meant to give comfort but I could not see that if I was truly a good person why this would happen. I was so worried that the baby was being squished without the cushion of fluid. I also envisioned Bean falling from one side of my uterus to the other when I rolled over.
I had just started to really get that firm, round pregnant belly before my water broke. Afterward, I no longer looked pregnant and had lost 5.5 pounds of fluid.
Rose was the charge nurse that day and came into my room to tell me that sometimes breaking your water can actually be a good thing. I asked her what good could possibly come from this. She told me that when the baby is squished that it essentially makes its own steroid to speed up development of the body systems. She also said that sometimes when the pressure of the amniotic fluid pushing on the cervix is released that it can allow the cervix to close up and lengthen a bit. Rose also said that as long as I was leaking fluid it would help to flush the bacteria down away from my uterus.
So began our new life of multiple heart tone checks each day. Each time I stood up I held my breath to make sure nothing fell out of me. Even fewer and shorter showers. I felt like I was one big ball of stress and I had a cold knot of fear in my stomach every day. It was the beginning of the end of my pregnancy.
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