By Kristy, Auburn, AL USA
PROM at 25 weeksDelivery at 33 weeks.
Story added: 2006-04-25

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.