By Christie, Napa, CA United States
PROM at 30 weeksDelivery at 32 weeks + 4 days.
Story added: 2014-03-17

This is for moms who need to read insight from someone who has been through it and is now at the light at the end of the tunnel. We just celebrated Jacob's 4th birthday on 2/25, he is a bright, happy, social and energetic boy, and the only medical concern now is his asthma (which is significant, but managed with medication). The day before Valentines day I woke up with soaked sheets, I was 30 weeks pregnant. My baby's father rushed me to the ER. I was told that my water broke, I wasn't ready and I was told my baby wasn't either. I was told by the ER doctor that I had a 75% chance of giving birth within 24 hours. I was also told that they would test me for infection, if I had one, in order for the baby to survive they would do an emergency C-section for him to survive. I went on a 2.5 hour ambulance ride to a hospital in a town I had never heard of. I was told by the first nurse that I would likely give birth within 24 hours and that my baby, being born so early, would likely have significant health concerns. She proceeded to begin to explain the likely scenarios at this stage - guaranteed respiratory problems & weeks in the NICU, possible brain hemorrhage, much more likely cerebral palsy than the general population, almost guaranteed developmental delays, and I actually interrupted her and told her that I didn't want to hear anymore. I turned on the travel channel and literally had no idea when day or night was, but I did ask the nurse to draw a line on the whiteboard for each day that passed and each day I celebrated and actually imagined the baby safe and growing. Each day was literally a triumph, the doctor told me at this stage, one day in me = 1 week less in the NICU. I pretended I was in a spa and that it was a calm, safe place. I did sometimes go on the internet, only to blogs that had stories about premature babies who were doing well, were celebrating birthdays happily. I was told to have as few visitors as possible and if anyone was ill, they were absolutely not to come near me, because if I got sick my baby could die. I was I was told that if I had to shower, it had to be quick because if the umbilical chord slipped out or was pushed, the baby could have severe brain damage or death due to oxygen deprivation. My one trip out of the room was because the doctor insisted on an ultrasound, they did it and the ultrasound tech said "I'm sorry, your baby is smaller than he is supposed to be, I'd estimate him to be about 3 pounds, he should be around 4 pounds by now. Nothing that can be done, but you should know." I don't think I even responded to her, I was so angry that she even told me that. What the fuck was I supposed to do about it? That night the contractions I had been having for over a week were becoming strong enough that the baby would be born. On the 18th day, Jacob was born at 1:41pm and he was 4lbs 1oz, 17 inches long. He cried and I do remember being so grateful, he looked perfect. I expected him to be some sort of skin and bones national geographic baby, but he looked like a perfect little baby boy, flawless, chubby little arms and legs, beautiful. I contemplated complaining about the ultrasound tech's ignorance (and inaccuracy) but didn't have one minute to give to anyone but Jacob. Finally I could read about it. I read everything I could, medical journals, books, etc. I had several meetings with the NICU director about the noise and light level in the NICU to keep the babies calm. I was either sleeping in the RV (they wouldn't let me sleep in the NICU, but I went in every 2 hours at night to provide milk) or at his bedside. He spend most of his time either on my chest or on Jeries', all of the time monitors strapped all over his body and a tube down his throat, but at least he was alive and beautiful. And so it went on in the NICU, jaundice, countless IVs, feeding tubes, pumping (I was told to not even bother, but I kept it up for 6 months), a hole in the heart (check back in a year, if it's not healed, he'll likely need heart surgery), germ-phobia, a severe hemorrhoid...I finally got to take him home. We were told to do our best to "recreate the womb" - no bright lights, loud noises, carry him as much as possible. Jacob would be awake at night for hours screaming, one night he was crying for 8 hours straight. When he had weigh ins and grew, it was a celebration. I can't even count how many ER visits, feeding therapy visits (had severe GERD), weigh-ins, etc. there were to follow. But I'll tell you, Jacob has beat the odds time and again. Medicine, when needed, has saved his life. I don't think things would be how they are if I hadn't had what I have now, fear, stubbornness when I have a say, acceptance/love when I don't. Now I can love that that's his story, that he is strong and beats the odds, and that the doctors/nurses were wrong about him - he's stronger and more beautiful than they gave him credit for, that's it.