I woke up 2 years ago on this day and was tired of being
told not to move, not to walk, not to worry, not to, not to….. I spent much of the previous day in tears
because I was tired of being on bed rest, stuck in a hospital room and away from
my daughter. Her tears made mine
worse. Frankly, I couldn’t believe that
my water had broke so soon. But, I guess
one should have assumed that something like this would have happened given the
history of my second pregnancy. It’s
probably safe to say that I was mildly depressed about this event, because I
thought I was out of the woods with difficulties, troubles, problems, worries-
you get my drift.
As I attempted to start my daily routine that I had going
for myself, I started praying my rosary, ordered my breakfast, countless fetal
checks, and eventually a shower, I started to feel optimistic about my
situation. The nurse that day was so
friendly, caring and really brightened my day.
As she helped me, along with Steve’s help, get ready to shower, I kept
wondering what this next specialist was going to tell us. The several neonatologists and other fetal
specialist shared some pretty scary stuff with us. We listened intently, asked all the right
questions, prayed a lot, and appeared to be the most prepared couple in the
hospital for this bundle of joy about to enter our lives, of course believing
it’s all going to be completely perfect.
They shared some scary statistics with us for white, male babies. We had another appointment that morning in
the hospital at 9 AM with the fetal specialist from University of Cincinnati,
Dr. Evans. It was protocol, as were the
countless other visits from specialists of all sorts for premature babies. Worried….at this point, not so much. I was confident that I prayed hard enough,
did what the Dr’s told me to do during my pregnancy, I figured they were just
following their protocol of keeping parents informed of potential outcomes or
possibilities.
They wheeled me to another room with “important equipment”,
and an ultrasound tech along with Dr. Evans met Steve and I in the room. Our baby looked perfect. She looked amazing. Her hair was floating in fluid, she was
active, and looked happier than ever. I
was convinced our baby was a girl….and white girl odds are much better than
white boys odds. Our 45 minute
appointment with him was enjoyable, especially when they had nothing but great
things to say about the development of our baby, and how healthy she looked. Steve and I enjoyed another look at our
baby. As much as we enjoyed our 45
minute appointment, the final minute of our appointment with him created much
anxiety. Dr. Evans was clear on his
medical recommendation. Our baby had to
be delivered today. We didn’t have a
choice. We weren’t expecting that, but
the risks of keeping our baby in the womb were just too detrimental to their
health. Of course, doing what any great
parent would do, we followed their directives.
Thankfully, I only ordered breakfast…I never was able to eat it.
Suddenly, my mindset changed. I couldn’t get it out of my head. This sweet baby girl was going to be
born. Steve and I prayed together, made
many phone calls to make sure we had arrangements for our sweet 6 year old to
meet her new sibling, and for family to be present for this wonderful
event. We prayed more. Steve and I discussed our girl name again; we
both weren’t agreeing on the same name.
As the day went on, my anxiety rose.
I worried. I worried a lot. I worried that my C-Section wouldn’t go as
planned. I worried that I wouldn’t walk
again after my surgery. I worried that
Madeline wouldn’t make it in time to be there for Daddy to come tell her about
her new sibling as soon as they were born.
I worried that our little baby might experience some of the THOUSANDS of
issues they shared with us numerous times on the days leading to today. The only way I could relieve my worry was to
pray and cry. I cried. I cried a lot. I was scared.
Very scared. As the day went on,
the nurse continued to be that foundation that I needed. As she prepped me for surgery, she promised
to be there for me while getting my spinal.
I cried through it. I hugged her. She knew I was scared. She was there for me when my husband couldn’t
be. She reassured me of my amazing Dr.,
and the amazing team of Dr.’s that were present in the delivery room because
our baby was premature. It was
overwhelming to see so many people in there.
Happy to see everyone there just for MY baby, but a very clear reminder
that something could go very bad.
Surgery started, I was still crying, worried out of my
mind. Having Steve by my side was the
most comforting thing I could have had.
Seeing him smile at me as I lay helpless reminded me of just how special
he is to me, my daughter, and the strength we need right now, literally. He rubbed my tears, kissed my cheek and gave
me the strength I needed to pull myself together. We couldn’t wait to meet our baby girl.
At 6:00 P.M sharp, our baby was born. Dr. Aichholz tugged, pulled, shifted and
tugged some more to get our baby out.
She was in no rush to get out. We
heard a nice squeal from our new baby.
And Dr. Aichholz announced , “IT’S A BOY!” I laid there in SHOCK! What!
How could this be!? I wasn’t
upset, I was thrilled, but immediately, I had a WHOLE new set of worries. And
then, I looked at Steve and knew right away things were not good. I couldn’t hear our new baby boy screaming
anymore. I could only hear rumbles of
medical professionals working behind me, but no one was saying anything. After what seemed like an eternity, a nurse
shared with us that our little guy was having some troubles. He was doing EXACTLY what those countless
Dr’s told us that would happen. She
shared that they were doing respirations for our baby….he quit breathing. He needed help. After doing CPR, they knew that he needed to
get some help. They took him quickly to
the Special Care Nursery at Christ Hospital.
There, he immediately was put on oxygen.
Dr. Melton, the neonatologist, was in charge of his care. We were impressed with her during our
meetings with her, and we were confident should would take care of our baby to
get him healthy as quickly as possible. Steve
followed our baby boy, Jack, to make sure we knew what his medical needs
were.
I laid on the operating table filled with worry, and again
was alone. The nurse was my foundation
while my husband was gone. I needed
somebody now, more than ever, but my son needed someone now more than ever, for
the sake of his health.
After several hours of being in the special care nursery, he
was stabilized with the support of a
CPAP machine. I was so sick after my
delivery, I wasn’t able to visit him that evening. It devastated me, even while I was
vomiting. I had to take Steve’s word
that he looked ok and was acting ok. My nurses didn’t even know how he was doing since he was with a whole different
crew. Steve shared pictures of Jack with
me from his phone. When I saw the first
picture, I cried. I kept praying. The tubes looked scary. This isn’t what I dreamed would happen. I found myself in a place of disbelief, a
horrible nightmare. But, sadly, this was as easy as life was going to be for
Baby Jack for a couple of weeks. As I
was working so hard to pump to try to give Baby Jack “liquid gold”, I was
filled with fears. I didn’t know what to
be scared of, but I did know that my little baby wasn’t alright. I tried to sleep, but the alarm that went off every 3 hours on my phone so I could pump was really hindering my attempts at a
good night’s rest. We didn’t hear anything
through the night from the special care nursery and we thought and hoped that this meant Jack started to
show improvements.
As we started the day on the Tuesday morning, Steve went
right to see Jack. He came in and
nothing had changed, with the exception that Baby Jack was struggling more than
he had the night before. Steve’s eyes
showed his fears, but his shoulders showed me that he was confident he was in
good hands. We decided that even though
I was feeling lousy, extremely nauseated, it would be best for me to get in a
wheelchair and see my bundle of joy. It
was a terribly painful ride after my C-Section and my nausea was pretty
intense. My pale skin was evident of
that and the nurses in the special care nursery took notice right away. They let me see Jack. I cried.
I cried a lot. My mind started
wandering in all directions because I was so worried. I could see his poor little lungs just
laboring to work for him. I took a
picture because I was so happy to see him, but seconds after I had to
leave. The nausea overcame my body and I
vomited several times. I was so upset
because I just wanted to sit next to my baby, but they wouldn’t let me. They knew my body needed some time to recover
and I needed to rest. It ripped me apart
inside to have to leave my baby. Being
wheeled back to my room, my emotions took over and I couldn’t control my
worries. I was overcome with tears. Loud crying, bawling might be an appropriate
term.
After getting settled back in my room, 30 minutes later Dr.
Melton came to talk to me. She had a
confident composure about herself. But,
she had glossy eyes. I could almost see
what was coming. At 11 AM, I didn’t want
to hear this. I didn’t EVER want to hear
this. EVER, NEVER! Jack had something
terribly wrong. They had to perform a procedure
that they were hoping was going to work.
We didn’t have a choice, it HAD to be done to keep him safe from more
damage. She was going to perform the
procedure and report back to us after they could tell if there was a
change. Jack had developed a
pneumothorax. He now had air escaping
his lungs and into his chest cavity because of holes in his lungs. No one told us this could happen. Shortly after she performed this procedure
and having x-rays done every 5 minutes, it seemed, Jack was showing no signs of
improvement. We now had much more to
worry about. After performing a
procedure 3 times, he needed some intensive support. This came several hours later, and Dr. Melton
told us we had 30 minutes to get him to Children’s Hospital before something
life altering could happen. The clock
started. She made phone calls as we
panicked and made frantic, desperate calls for help from our family. We needed support because we were
crumbling. The thought of our baby not
making it wasn’t a possibility EVER, but now we were told that they are going
to make every effort to keep him alive.
Our fears turned into nightmares.
The clock was still ticking. 10
minutes after Dr. Melton told us to get prepared to tell our Baby Jack good
bye, she said that the Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Center Neonatal
Intensive Care Mobile Transport team was on its way. She told us what to expect and told us we
would be overwhelmed because of the amount of members that would be traveling
with Jack just a few short miles up the road.
She also shared that they would
be bringing Jack to my room in his isolette once the team had him stabilized so
we could say our goodbyes. There aren’t
any words to describe this moment. The
intensity of this moment was clear with the raw emotions that Steve, Madeline
and myself were experiencing, along with my mother. No longer in shock because we couldn’t be, we
continued to cry and prayed together for a good amount of time.
Steve wasn’t allowed to arrive on the NICU floor at Children’s
for about 2 hours after Jack left us because they needed to make sure that Jack
was stable before anyone was with him.
Those 2 hours were terribly painful because we didn’t know anything. Scared doesn’t describe our emotions, nor
does panicked, worried, frustrated, angry, sad, or mad. It’s a moment I NEVER want to live
again. We didn’t know if we did the
right thing by having our 6 year old daughter there for that moment, but we
knew that we couldn’t live with ourselves if she weren’t there if something
terrible were to happen and she didn’t get to say good bye to her brother. Hindsight, I wouldn’t change our
decision. It’s not what our 6 year old at
the time needed to see, but our life had changed so drastically in 24 hours
that we needed to do what was best for our family. And, in reality, what she saw was nothing
compared to what she was about to experience in the coming weeks with her
little baby brother.
Steve left us to be with Jack. His mother came to be with me at the hospital
while Madeline went back to sleep at home with my mother. I again was alone. I said goodbye to my newborn baby boy and
just sent my daughter home with my mother.
I wanted nothing more than for her to sleep next to me in my
uncomfortable, padless bed in the hospital room, but I knew that she couldn’t
function the next day if I did that. So,
I cried all night long. Steve finally
called around 11 PM. He had a shaky,
shaky voice as he were choked up about something. I knew then it wasn’t good. Jack quit breathing. He coded.
And Steve had to watch it. After
holding back his tears over the phone to communicate with me, he was able to
tell me that Jack was finally resting peacefully and they had finally had
success intubating him, and his chest tube was in place. The machines were keeping him alive at this
point, but Steve said he couldn’t believe how much better he looked already
because his body could finally relax. I
wanted Steve to send a picture but he told me he couldn’t. He didn’t want me to see a picture of Jack
like this without standing by me.
I went to bed that night praying. I don’t think I slept that night at all. I couldn’t believe Jack was having such
difficulties and wanted to take ALL of his pain away. The next day Jack struggled with his chest
tube and there weren’t any signs of improvement. They were now talking about permanent damage
to his lungs and the possibility of damaging all of his organs, including his
heart, in his chest cavity because of the pressure. I didn’t think things could get worse. Another reminder from God that we’re not in
charge. Over the course of the next 3
days I was at Christ Hospital while my
baby was in Children’s Hospital. These
days required God to give me strength to get through each day because it was
obvious I had no control over this situation.
It was all in God’s hands. I prayed
HOURS each day in hopes of just receiving 1 phone call from Children’s with
good news. It didn’t happen. Finally, on the 4th day I was
going to be discharged. Two hours before
I was discharged we received yet another phone call from the Dr. that Jack had
developed another pneumothorax in his chest cavity, this time from his right lung and they
had to perform another procedure. I
cried, screamed, hugged my husband in hopes of burying my worries in his chest,
but nothing relieved my fears. I begged
the nurses to make my discharge quick. I
couldn’t take another minute of being away from my very sick baby. I was convinced that if I arrived soon, Jack
would show signs of improvement. By 12
p.m., I was discharged and Steve drove me straight to Children’s.
Beyond the fear of the triple door entrance to getting to my
son, I had to put my “STRONG MOM” cap on.
I needed it to be on for my newborn baby. Steve steered me in the wheelchair to his pod-
D, space 2. And there he lay,
sleeping. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of
him. He was beautiful. More than I even remembered from the 3
minutes that I had with him up to this point. But the constant beeping, wires coming from
every direction of his body and machines that decorated his bedside were
overwhelming. My "STRONG MOM" cap must have fell off somewhere. They scared me. He looked like a baby, but a really sick,
sick baby. I leaned over his bed, held
his hand until I couldn’t stand anymore, and cried. This isn’t what I was expecting at all. I didn’t think he was this sick. Clearly, the monitors all over his area said
otherwise.
1 month later our baby Jack was finally discharged from
Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Center.
He has taught us so much in his 2 years and we can’t wait to learn from
him in the many years to come. The countless lessons that can be taken away
from this are big and small, but if there’s one thing that I know for certain,
God is in control. We have been blessed
with Jack and his very mild health concerns now, but if there’s something we
remember each day, it’s that every single being on Earth is important and that
each person is so special.
Jack- Happy 2nd Birthday! You’re a special little boy. Your smile makes us giggle, your words make
us chuckle, and your rising chest while sleeping reminds us just how fragile
life is. We love you!
