The Maddie's Of The World

My daughter's journey through prematurity is sadly one of millions in the world. My experience is one of the reasons I am passionate about fighting to prevent prematurity. As time has gone on though, my reasons for advocacy have expanded. Prematurity now has many faces, many stories, many outcomes.

I fight for the Maddie's of the world who did not get the chance to feel the warm sun on their face while riding a bike in the park. Who's mother Heather did not get the chance to celebrate her daughter's sweet sixteen birthday and dress her up for prom. And who's father Mike did not get a chance to walk his beautiful girl down the isle on her wedding day.

When I feel the fight is too huge or I think my voice is not worth being heard, I re-read this post and remember who I am fighting for.

A Story Problem

Remember story problems in school? I was horrible at solving them. Still am. What happened next was like a story problem similar to this: a car and a bus set out at 2 p.m. from the same point, headed in the same direction. The average speed of the car is 30 mph slower than twice the speed of the bus. In two hours, the car is 20 miles ahead of the bus. Find the rate of the car. It makes my head spin.  

I thought I was getting discharged home to bedrest. I had one of two steriod shots to help her lung development and was suppose to get another one before I left. A nurse came in and said that she thought I should call my husband because they were sending down a neonatologist to talk with us. I asked her what a "neo-something" was and she explained it was a specialty doctor for the baby. Alright I thought. Must be protocol in these situations but I was a tad suspicious that something wasn't right. I called Kent and told him he better come to the hospital because a "neo-something doctor" was going to talk to us. Believe it or not, it was the first time I was really concerned the story in my head was not going to be solved the way I originally thought.

Kent arrived and not long after, my mom and brother. Story problem: if a pregnant mother has hemorrhaged less than 24 hours ago and the baby is not due for another 9 weeks, when will the baby be born?

Avoidance of Words

I have struggled to write this post for a while now. I started it a million times only to rewrite it a million more, closing the post paragraph to avoid it. It is one thing to remember something in your head but I am finding it another to see it in words.Yet the words are helping me tell our story if not for the sake of Katie, but in hopes of building a supportive network for others across the world who are traveling similar paths.

We are one family, and know we are incredibly blessed to have a spirited child who survived being born 9 weeks early. But others do not have their sweet one to hold in their arms like we do. Some children and families are experiencing a whole array of hardships because their babe was born too early. Mothers just like me have done everything right in their pregnancy but still had to experience the pain of not going home from the hospital with their baby.

I can now say having a premature baby and almost losing my life was one of the best and at the same time the worst things to have ever happened to me. What a dichotomy and a genuine wake up call most people never experience in their life.

My father taught us it didn't matter how hard you fell, but how well you got up. And now I was being tested with how well I was going to listen to my father's words.

It was now early morning and I was wide awake. Angela, my angel nurse and I talked about our families, dreams, funny stories we remembered about our crazy Italian family and my fears. She held my hand, comforted me when I was overwhelmed from the day and educated me about what she saw on the monitors.

Kent left to go home to get sleep. He worked night shifts in Alaska and did not sleep much before he got the call to hurry home. We figured one of us needed rest in order to face the next day. We had no idea what it would bring but knew bed rest was part of the equation.

The hosptial was still, the night dark and I was alone with my thoughts. The sound of her heartbeat finally lulled me to sleep. I slept for a few hours and awoke with anxiousness to learn when I could go home. What transpired throughout the next few hours changed the course of my pregnancy, my heart and my life.

I wasn't prepared to have a premature baby and I certainly wasn't prepared to almost die.

Seven and A Half

Remember when I had said there were many things that went right during a time when many things went wrong? Just when I thought I was at the brink, exhausted, stressed and really wanting to start my day over, I recognized one of the nurses taking care of me was a family friend. Angela had switched her shift and came in for a co-worker. No accident. A friendly, comforting face when I really needed one, another angel.

Angela, the other nurses and doctor jumped right into gear. Instantly hooked up to monitors, I felt  relief when I heard my daughter's steady heartbeat. Oxygen and seeing my husband calmed my breathing. The doctor talked to us about our situations, the contractions and options. The contractions were a concern and based on the last few hours, we had no real prediction on what was going to happen. Our last resort to stop the contractions was a  magnesium sulfate drip. I really didn't want that option because the side affects are similar to a nasty hangover. I don't like a hangover on a good day and this certainly wasn't even close to one.

Once stabilized, I was transferred to a labor and delivery room with Angela right by my side. As a precaution they gave me a steroid shot to strengthen our daughter's lungs in case she arrived early. I am here to tell you, that shot hurt. And I needed another one in 24 hours. In my lack of knowledge, I didn't realize a mother gets a steriod shot if there is chance her child will arrive prematurely. A babies lungs are one of the last things to develop. Time in the womb is what a baby needs, there is a definite reason and process for why we carry a baby nine months. I was seven and a half months along.

I remember thinking all was ok. The contractions were going to stop, I was going to get some rest and I was sure I would be released home the next day, on bed rest for the rest of my pregnancy.

Relief

“I need to push!” I screamed. A few other choice words to the youngster sitting next to me and he suddenly turned ghost white and moved to the front of the cab where he quickly called the hospital. The driver turned on the sirens and picked up speed. “Thank you gentlemen,” I thought to myself.

In labor and delivery at Swedish Hospital, I started to cry the ugly cry. A huge sense of relief came over me that I was now in the hands of people I knew, people who could take care of the two of us, and people who had dealt with and understood the scary day we had just lived through.

As the doctor and nurses gathered around me, checking us out and hooking us up, I caught sight of the face I had longed to see every second of the last 24-hours. Ray, my husband had arrived right when we got there. All was ok. We were all going to be ok.

Note

It was almost midnight and very dark out with no traffic. As I looked out the back window of the transporter, I had a sense of where we were and how much longer we had until arriving in Seattle. My inner clock told me half an hour.

My contractions picked up. I kept thinking, “This isn’t happening.” Again, thank goodness I had already delivered another baby so I knew how to breathe through my contractions as well as time them. I looked at the young gentleman sitting next to me. I could tell was nervous about transporting a pregnant lady. I asked him if he thought I should time my contractions. He stuttered and said, “Yes.” As we counted together, all I could say to myself was, "This isn’t happening. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.” My pain was increasing and the contractions were coming faster and closer together. I was beginning to hyperventilate as my imagination finally connected the dots and began to run through the scenario of not making it to the hospital in time. I knew we would both die if I delivered without a C-section. I would be damned if my daughter and I were going to die in the back of a transporter after everything we had been through with a young, nervous paramedic watching us go. We weren’t going to die. Period.

Longest Day

October 4, 2007 was the longest day of my life. An unexpected life circumstance had tested my internal strength and faith and reminded me I was not in control. It would seem to be one thing to face that with yourself but when you have an unborn, helpless child growing inside of you, it takes the learning curve to a whole new level.

The nurses started to prep me for the hour drive to Seattle. As they unhooked the monitors that allowed me to hear my baby’s heartbeat, my calm began to dissolve. Mixed emotions flew out of control. I was scared. I was looking forward to arriving at Swedish Hospital but dreading the long transporter ride. I had made it this far and felt as safe as I could under the circumstances. Was the decision to move the right one? Was I putting my baby at risk? Dee Dee and her husband waited with me until the transporter came. My contractions were still hovering and manageable but I had been unhooked from the medication for 45 minutes before they came to pick me up.

Phew! Finally, I was loaded and ready to go. On the road, I was able to talk to my husband who had landed from Anchorage and would meet me at Swedish Hospital. We were on our way. There were two young gentlemen transporting me. One drove, the other sat in back trying to make small talk with me. At that moment, I wondered if he had never been with a laboring woman. Kind as he was, making small talk was not something I was interested in.