My story begins like so many others
dealing with PROM. My husband and I
welcomed the news that I was pregnant
on July 26, 2004. We had been
planning for a family for 5 months so
we were overjoyed when we found out
that I was expecting. My pregnancy
was pretty uneventful: no morning
sickness, no bleeding, and no
cramping... just an easy pregnancy. I
had an ultrasound at 17 weeks and it
was confirmed that we were having a
BOY!! My husband and I were
ecstatic. The ultrasound technician
stated that everything looked
perfect: all of his organs were
growing as they should, his heart rate
was strong, and there was plenty of
amniotic fluid around the baby. We
were so blessed and couldn't wait to
share the news with our families.
Eight weeks later (24 weeks, 6 days
into the pregnancy), on December 11,
2004, my husband and I were returning
from a business trip in Dayton, OH.
During the trip a few days earlier I
wasn't feeling that well. I started
swelling in my feet and legs, was very
exhausted, and was definitely feeling
overly pregnant (even at 25 weeks).
Since this was my first pregnancy, I
chalked it up to normal side effects
of being pregnant. No big deal. Once
we were home from the trip, I
collapsed on the couch for a nap while
my husband worked on our little boy's
nursery. We eventually made our way
to bed. Little did we know that
everything was about to change.
I awoke during the wee hours of the
morning of December 12, 2004 (25
weeks) to find that my water had
broken. I frantically ran to the
bathroom fearing the worst. What was
happening?? This can't be what I
think it is!! A million thoughts ran
through my head at once and I screamed
for my husband. He raced to the
bathroom and was dumbfounded at what I
was telling him. Deep down I knew
exactly what was happening. This was
no accident in the middle of the
night; this was indeed my water
breaking. He kept asking "Are you
sure? Are you sure?" as I sobbed
hysterically. After we got ourselves
together emotionally, we got ready to
go to the emergency room. I wasn't
ready to find out what might happen to
the baby. My mind raced through
different scenarios. Would I have to
deliver the baby? If so, would he
survive? Was the baby still alive in
the womb without fluid? What do we do
and why is this happening?
We arrived at the hospital and were
immediately taken back for an exam.
The nurse found the baby's heartbeat
(which was music to my ears) and
placed me on a monitor for
contractions. Fortunately, I wasn't
having any. The doctor arrived and
confirmed that my membranes had indeed
ruptured but I didn't have to deliver
if I didn't want to. Excuse me?? I
had absolutely no idea that a baby
could survive with little or no fluid
surrounding him. These are things you
don't read in everyday pregnancy
books, magazines, and websites. He
explained all of the risks of
premature delivery for a baby with
such early gestational age and said
that it's best if the baby can stay
inside for as long as possible. I
agreed. However, if I were to go into
labor on my own, the hospital would
not try to intervene since that could
be a sign of infection and the baby
would need to be delivered. My head
was spinning with all of this new
information.
I received the first dose of steroid
shots and talked with the doctor about
being transferred to a larger hospital
with a Level III NICU. We quickly
decided that this would be best in the
event that delivery occurred sooner
than later. I was transported by
ambulance to University of Alabama -
Birmingham Hospital where I was taken
to a labor and delivery room to be
monitored for 24 hours. In the
meantime, doctors and nurses cycled in
to gather information and to prepare
me for the worst should delivery
occur. I was told that if my son were
born at 25 weeks it was highly
possible that he might be blind, deaf,
mentally retarded or have cerebral
palsy, if he survived at all. But it
was also possible for him to be
perfectly normal. I was overloaded
with facts and statistics and I
couldn't believe what I was hearing.
I prayed that I was having a nightmare
and any minute I was going to wake
up. Over and over I asked "Why"? Why
did this happen to us? We were doing
everything by the book.
For the first 24 hours I was hooked up
to every contraption imaginable:
fetal monitors, contraction monitors,
blood pressure cuffs, IVs, and yes,
the dreaded catheter. Fortunately,
everything was stable and I was moved
to a standard room in the antepartum
wing where I was to be on bedrest.
Everyday I was monitored at 6 AM for
30 minutes for a stress test. And
every 4 hours a nurse would come by
and check the baby’s heartbeat. I
received an ultrasound on the second
day which showed little fluid. They
estimated his birth weight at 25 weeks
to be between a pound and a pound and
a half. The doctors and nurses were
very encouraging and made me feel as
comfortable as possible. They
reassured me that successful outcomes
were highly possible and each day I
didn’t deliver was that much better
for baby. I began setting goals for
myself. I prayed that I would make it
one week… then 10 days… then 2 weeks…
then 4 weeks… then 6 weeks… and so
on. I got up only to use the
bathroom, shower, and take an
occasional 30 minute wheelchair ride
around the hospital. My wonderful
husband was right by my side the
entire time. He eventually had to go
back to work and would make an hour
and a half commute each way everyday.
I was so fortunate to have someone
like him with me.
I received ultrasounds every 3 weeks
and each time they showed little
fluid. However, the baby was growing
at a normal rate. At 28 weeks, he was
estimated to weigh over 3 pounds and
at 31 weeks he was estimated to be 4
pounds 4 ounces. As each day and week
passed, we became more optimistic. I
was beginning to think I was never
going to have this baby!! The doctors
decided to test his lung maturity at
32 weeks by taking a sample of the
amniotic fluid and looking for a
certain hormone. We were told that if
his lungs were ready the hormone would
be present and I would be induced.
Unfortunately, the test came back
negative so we waited a few more
days. Another test also came back
negative. The doctors told me they
would definitely induce at 34 weeks
should I make it that far. But our
little one had other plans…
Saturday, February 5th 2005 began like
any other day. I was awakened at 6 AM
for my daily stress test, received
another “delicious” hospital
breakfast, had my shower, visited with
family, watched the doctors and nurses
cycle through on their rounds… the
usual stuff that happens in hospitals
while on bedrest. That evening I felt
like walking (bedrest will do that to
you). After a short walk around the
hospital, I eventually made it back to
my room and rested. I went to sleep a
few hours later.
During the middle of the night I woke
up to go to the bathroom. I suddenly
noticed that I was extremely cold so I
yelled for my husband. He brought me
some warmer clothes and I climbed back
into bed hoping to warm up. Nothing
helped. I soon noticed that I was
cramping slightly. I called for the
nurses. They put me on the monitors
and lo and behold, I was having
contractions. They checked my
temperature, which was a startling 103
degrees. I was developing an
infection. I was hooked to IVs and
taken to a labor and delivery room. I
was only dilated one centimeter and my
contractions were coming hard and fast
(every 2 minutes) thanks to the
Pitocin. The doctors were trying to
get my fever under control with
Tylenol but it remained at 103. They
brought in bags of ice for me to lie
in but nothing worked. Our baby’s
heart rate was skyrocketing but the
doctors wanted to try for a vaginal
delivery instead of a C-section. I
was eventually given an epidural which
helped tremendously. After another
hour and no dilation, the doctors made
the decision to take him by C-
section.
After 8 long weeks of bedrest (33
weeks), Logan Christopher was
introduced to the world on February
6th 2005 at 6:59 AM. He weighed in at
5 pounds 5 ounces, measured 18 inches
long and let out a very weak cry that
was music to my ears. The operating
room was buzzing with neonatal
doctors, surgeons, nurses and
anesthesiologists. I think my husband
counted 14 specialists in the room.
The doctors held him over the curtain
for me to see and then swept him away
to examine him. Everything was a blur
but my husband assured me that he
could hear Logan crying. I got one
last look at him before they wheeled
him to the NICU and he opened his eyes
for the first time. It was so
surreal. I couldn’t believe that this
tiny person was finally here. I
didn’t know what road lay ahead of him
here at the hospital and beyond. The
thoughts and questions were
overwhelming.
After the surgery, I was taken to a
recovery room for monitoring. My
fever was still high and I couldn’t go
to my permanent recovery room until I
could move my toes. Eventually the
fever broke and I was given a morphine
drip for the pain. Believe me… it
didn’t even attempt to ease the pain.
I was given 3 shots in my legs for
pain which took the edge off. I later
discovered that the surgeons had
cracked a rib(s) during the surgery
trying to pull Logan out. After a few
hours, my husband came by to report
how Logan was doing. I was crushed to
learn that he had to be put on a
ventilator after struggling with
CPAP. He was diagnosed with pulmonary
hypoplasia and was receiving doses of
surfactant. I was finally able to see
him in the NICU for the first time
approximately 8 hours after surgery.
I was relieved to see that all of his
limbs were intact and his vitals were
stable. I drifted in and out of
consciousness due to the morphine and
after a long visit, made my way back
to my room to rest.
The second day wasn’t so uneventful.
My husband and I got to hold Logan for
the first time which was difficult due
to the endless amounts of wires, tubes
and monitors hooked to him. We
cherished that moment and I didn’t
want to ever let him go. However, we
noticed there were lots of doctors and
nurses standing around his bed
monitoring the situation. They
assured us that everything was fine;
it was that some of his vitals didn’t
look perfect. He was beginning to
desat and his blood pressure was
high. I handed him over to the
doctors and they began to tweak some
of his ventilator settings. Nothing
worked. They told us that he was
fighting the ventilator by not letting
it breathe for him properly. Logan
began violently shaking his arms so
they gave him a sedative to calm him
in hopes that he would relax and let
the ventilator do the work. That
didn’t help either. Eventually, they
had to paralyze him. My husband and I
sat there helpless as we watched our
little boy struggle. We soon learned
that he had developed pulmonary
hypertension (high blood pressure of
the lungs) and they would have to put
him on a high-frequency ventilator.
This was a very serious condition and
we were told that he might not make
it. We were devastated. Instead of
making progress, we were taking steps
backward. I felt so guilty for
holding him… had it been too soon?
The doctors assured us that it wasn’t
our fault and that they had their
suspicions that it might happen, hence
all of the specialists around him
while we were holding him. I later
discovered that they let us hold him
while we had the chance since they
knew it would be a long time before we
would have that chance again.
My husband and I grudgingly made our
way back to our room and wept
uncontrollably. We were the two
people that wanted to help him the
most, yet we were the two people that
could help him the least. We spent
the majority of the night praying for
a miracle. I apologized to God for
being so selfish in wanting Logan to
have a chance at life, but I couldn’t
help it. I wanted him here with me.
I needed him here with me.
We called our out of town family and
informed them that the outlook was
bleak and if they wanted to see Logan,
now was the time. They rushed across
the country expecting the worst. But
Logan had other plans. He was a
fighter. Merely 24 hours later he was
taken off the paralyzing drugs and
back on a standard ventilator. He
remained stable and after another day
he was downgraded to CPAP. He was
only on CPAP for a few hours and then
on supplemental oxygen. 3 days after
the darkest day of my life, Logan was
breathing room air. We had truly been
blessed by the grace of God. We were
amazed at how he recovered and can
only describe it as a miracle.
After my stay at the hospital, my
husband and I moved temporarily into
the Ronald McDonald House where we
would stay until Logan was ready to go
home. What a wonderful organization.
I just can’t say enough about them and
what they do for families of sick
children. They welcomed us
wholeheartedly and made us feel as
comfortable as possible during our
stay. You never know when you may
need someone like this in such
situations and we were truly grateful
for their hospitality.
A couple of days later Logan was
maintaining his own temperature and
eventually made his way to the
Continuing Care Nursery one week after
he was born. He learned to feed on
his own by taking a bottle first and
then trying the breast. He spent
quite a few days under the bili lights
for jaundice but we knew that would
take care of itself with time. We
were also told that there was some
sort of cyst or clot in his brain
where the spinal fluid is produced.
They wouldn’t know for sure what it
was until a CT scan or MRI was
performed. However, we were told that
it might dissolve on its own and we
were assured that it was in a place
that wouldn’t hinder his
development.
13 days after his birth we were
shocked to find out that we could take
him home. We couldn’t believe it! It
was all happening so fast! But we
welcomed the news with open arms and
gratefully packed up our little bundle
of joy and headed home. Home… a place
I hadn’t seen for 10 whole weeks. It
was so incredible. I finally realized
that my sacrifice of 8 weeks of
bedrest had paid off and Logan was
going to have a chance at life.
Once home, he grew so fast. At his
first well-baby visit he was in the
5th percentile for height and weight.
By 3 months, he was in the 50th
percentile and by 6 months the 75th
percentile. At 4 months, we took him
to have a CT scan to check out the
cyst/clot that I mentioned above. It
turns out, the mysterious cyst/clot
was no longer there and the
radiologists said his brain looked
perfectly normal. Once again, a
miracle. At 7 months, he was able to
sit on his own and got his first
tooth. As of today, he is 14 months
old and is developing as he should.
Logan is so full of life and has such
a great personality. We are
constantly in awe of him, amazed at
the new things he learns each day. He
is such a blessing to our family and
we thank God everyday for giving him a
chance.
In closing, to all the mothers out
there going through a difficult time,
please remember: miracles do happen.
Keep your chin up and know that all of
the bedrest and sacrifice will soon
pay off. It’s the hardest job you
will ever have, but the rewards are so
precious.
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