Part I - The Birth of an Angel
My story is the same tragedy as the thousands of bereaved mothers that continue on with heavy hearts and teary eyes. Each story is different only in detail. This, however, is my story; my Aiden.
I was twenty-five (25) weeks pregnant with my second child. Caleb, my eldest, was going to be one (1) in February. Little did I know, on the day that marked my 25th week, my water would break as I sat chatting with friends over the computer.
Caleb and his father were playing in the living room, when I calmly got up and went into the bathroom. Yeah, my water had definitely broken. From the bathroom I called my, now, ex-husband’s name to tell him the news. His reply: “Yeah right, its too early.” My reply: “Well, no shit.”
So it was off to the hospital I went. Only six (6) months and some change pregnant and contracting. I was surprisingly calm, but indeed, very, very scared.
I walked into the maternity ward and the lady at the front desk asked me all sorts of questions. The norm: name, birthday, insurance, and then she asked me how far along I was. I told her twenty-five weeks. I was almost relieved, in a way, when they didn’t panic. I thought, “Wow, everything IS going to be okay.”
They took me back to a little room, where they placed my feet in stirrups and checked to make sure it was amniotic fluid that was leaking. It was. The nurse said to me that I didn’t look or feel like I was thirty-five (35) weeks pregnant. I wasn’t. I explained to her I was only twenty-five (25) weeks, and then the panic set in. I guess the lady at the front desk misheard me, or really wasn’t paying attention.
They proceeded to take me to a labor and delivery room, lay me flat on my back, instructed me not to move and called an ambulance to transport me to a hospital in downtown Baltimore where their NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) could better assist with saving the life of my unborn child. Now my panic was beginning to set in.
This wasn’t right. Everything with Caleb was perfectly normal. I quit smoking, I didn’t drink, I even gave up cheesesteaks and vowed to eat healthier. Why was this happening to me?!
I arrived downtown via ambulance. It was a dark ride there. Must have been around 9:00 p.m. or so. They took me up to labor and delivery; the contractions had begun. The doctors and nurses fussed around, pricking me with I.V.’s, shooting me with steroid shots in my thighs. I vaguely remember a neonatal doctor coming in to talk to me. I remember him explaining that I had the option to abort my child as (s)he may not live, and it may cause me serious health concerns. I was so appalled by this conversation. Are there really mothers that would choose to abort their wanted baby and not to go to the ends of the Earth to save their lives?
That’s when the magnesium treatment began. It stopped my active labor, but the side effects were horrible. From the neck down I shivered and couldn’t get warm. My vision was blurred and I could only partially see out of one eye. This went on for two (2) days and six (6) I.V.’s. I finally ended up with an I.V. in my neck. But it was worth it. I would go to the ends of the Earth, I felt like I was at the ends of the Earth.
After the magnesium treatment ended, I was moved to a regular hospital room where I was on strict bed-rest. I could not sit at more than a forty (40) degree angle. I could not stand. I could not get out of bed. The nurses would come in every morning and roll me from side to side to change my sheets, fix my leg cuffs, empty my bed pans, and give me hot water so I could bathe myself in bed.
Everyday they would take me down the hall to do sonograms to check the amount of fluid that remained. Everyday they would give me stress tests to measure the heart-rate and movement.
I was scared. I was alone. I missed Caleb. Oh, how I missed my Caleb. My first born was getting ready to have his first birthday, and I was going to miss it. When Caleb did come to visit, he didn’t understand why he couldn’t jump all over Mommy and why Mommy wasn’t coming home. I would cry for decades when he left. As the days dragged on, alone in this hospital bed, alone in this room, I found myself starting to drown in my depression. I didn’t know one day to the next if my baby was even going to make it.
I couldn’t carry a baby without failing; now I couldn’t be there for my Caleb – What kind of mother was I? Or was I even a mother at all?
The days pressed on.
January 25, 2004, I awoke; mild cramping; buzzed the nurse. The nurse came in and proceeded with the normal stress test. I had previously been told that if I were to go into active labor again, they would not stop the labor again. Because of the massive amount of missing fluid which subsequently led to less protection for the baby and the increased risk of infection, they would deliver the baby.
A few hours passed, more cramping. I was moved to labor and delivery again. I was only twenty-seven (27) weeks and three (3) days; its still too soon. They pumped me full of I.V. fluids as sometimes dehydration can cause labor. The contractions became increasingly painful; more painful than I remember with my Caleb. They gave me non-narcotic pain relievers and did sonogram after sonogram. The pain relievers did nothing and the sonogram technician seemed to press down every time a contraction would come through. There was something wrong. Something was seriously wrong.
The doctor came in and explained that they were going to prep me for an emergency C-Section as the baby was breach. Next thing I know, I’m in the O.R., drinking nasty fluid, getting needles stuck in my backside (spinal), and oxygen masks are going over my face. My mother was there. Standing over me, trying to look over the sheet. I was out of it. I remember not being able to feel like I could breathe. My chest was heavy and tears kept flowing. I couldn’t wipe my face, because my arms were heavy.
Tug, pull, yank; pressure, lots of pressure. And then there he was. I saw him for a split second as the nurse sprinted to the other side of the E.R. I remember saying to my Mother, “Gosh, he’s dark.” She patted me on my head and nodded as though she was agreeing with me. Later, she would tell me, he wasn’t dark – he was blue.
I wanted to see Aiden. Aiden, the name I had scribbled over and over again while sitting in that hospital room at a forty (40) degree angle. Aiden Noah. I love that name.
They made me sit in recovery for an hour. I was determined to go see my son, my Aiden. Staples or not, they weren’t going to stop me.
When they finally returned me to my room, staples and all, I was told I couldn’t go to the NICU until the next morning to see him. That was unacceptable. I needed to see him. I waited in my room until the wee morning hours and when the nurses refused to wheel me down, I walked. I made it slowly, but I walked all the way to the NICU. When the NICU nurses saw me, they grabbed a chair and wheeled me to Aiden’s bedside. All two (2) pounds of him was there, incubated with tubes and wires and alarms. He was on a respirator, unable to breathe on his own. He had little shades on to protect his eyes from the phototherapy they were administering because of the jaundice. He had an IV coming from his belly button. He wore the teeniest diaper I had ever seen. He was beautiful, so beautiful. I loved him. I love him.
I was twenty-five (25) weeks pregnant with my second child. Caleb, my eldest, was going to be one (1) in February. Little did I know, on the day that marked my 25th week, my water would break as I sat chatting with friends over the computer.
Caleb and his father were playing in the living room, when I calmly got up and went into the bathroom. Yeah, my water had definitely broken. From the bathroom I called my, now, ex-husband’s name to tell him the news. His reply: “Yeah right, its too early.” My reply: “Well, no shit.”
So it was off to the hospital I went. Only six (6) months and some change pregnant and contracting. I was surprisingly calm, but indeed, very, very scared.
I walked into the maternity ward and the lady at the front desk asked me all sorts of questions. The norm: name, birthday, insurance, and then she asked me how far along I was. I told her twenty-five weeks. I was almost relieved, in a way, when they didn’t panic. I thought, “Wow, everything IS going to be okay.”
They took me back to a little room, where they placed my feet in stirrups and checked to make sure it was amniotic fluid that was leaking. It was. The nurse said to me that I didn’t look or feel like I was thirty-five (35) weeks pregnant. I wasn’t. I explained to her I was only twenty-five (25) weeks, and then the panic set in. I guess the lady at the front desk misheard me, or really wasn’t paying attention.
They proceeded to take me to a labor and delivery room, lay me flat on my back, instructed me not to move and called an ambulance to transport me to a hospital in downtown Baltimore where their NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) could better assist with saving the life of my unborn child. Now my panic was beginning to set in.
This wasn’t right. Everything with Caleb was perfectly normal. I quit smoking, I didn’t drink, I even gave up cheesesteaks and vowed to eat healthier. Why was this happening to me?!
I arrived downtown via ambulance. It was a dark ride there. Must have been around 9:00 p.m. or so. They took me up to labor and delivery; the contractions had begun. The doctors and nurses fussed around, pricking me with I.V.’s, shooting me with steroid shots in my thighs. I vaguely remember a neonatal doctor coming in to talk to me. I remember him explaining that I had the option to abort my child as (s)he may not live, and it may cause me serious health concerns. I was so appalled by this conversation. Are there really mothers that would choose to abort their wanted baby and not to go to the ends of the Earth to save their lives?
That’s when the magnesium treatment began. It stopped my active labor, but the side effects were horrible. From the neck down I shivered and couldn’t get warm. My vision was blurred and I could only partially see out of one eye. This went on for two (2) days and six (6) I.V.’s. I finally ended up with an I.V. in my neck. But it was worth it. I would go to the ends of the Earth, I felt like I was at the ends of the Earth.
After the magnesium treatment ended, I was moved to a regular hospital room where I was on strict bed-rest. I could not sit at more than a forty (40) degree angle. I could not stand. I could not get out of bed. The nurses would come in every morning and roll me from side to side to change my sheets, fix my leg cuffs, empty my bed pans, and give me hot water so I could bathe myself in bed.
Everyday they would take me down the hall to do sonograms to check the amount of fluid that remained. Everyday they would give me stress tests to measure the heart-rate and movement.
I was scared. I was alone. I missed Caleb. Oh, how I missed my Caleb. My first born was getting ready to have his first birthday, and I was going to miss it. When Caleb did come to visit, he didn’t understand why he couldn’t jump all over Mommy and why Mommy wasn’t coming home. I would cry for decades when he left. As the days dragged on, alone in this hospital bed, alone in this room, I found myself starting to drown in my depression. I didn’t know one day to the next if my baby was even going to make it.
I couldn’t carry a baby without failing; now I couldn’t be there for my Caleb – What kind of mother was I? Or was I even a mother at all?
The days pressed on.
January 25, 2004, I awoke; mild cramping; buzzed the nurse. The nurse came in and proceeded with the normal stress test. I had previously been told that if I were to go into active labor again, they would not stop the labor again. Because of the massive amount of missing fluid which subsequently led to less protection for the baby and the increased risk of infection, they would deliver the baby.
A few hours passed, more cramping. I was moved to labor and delivery again. I was only twenty-seven (27) weeks and three (3) days; its still too soon. They pumped me full of I.V. fluids as sometimes dehydration can cause labor. The contractions became increasingly painful; more painful than I remember with my Caleb. They gave me non-narcotic pain relievers and did sonogram after sonogram. The pain relievers did nothing and the sonogram technician seemed to press down every time a contraction would come through. There was something wrong. Something was seriously wrong.
The doctor came in and explained that they were going to prep me for an emergency C-Section as the baby was breach. Next thing I know, I’m in the O.R., drinking nasty fluid, getting needles stuck in my backside (spinal), and oxygen masks are going over my face. My mother was there. Standing over me, trying to look over the sheet. I was out of it. I remember not being able to feel like I could breathe. My chest was heavy and tears kept flowing. I couldn’t wipe my face, because my arms were heavy.
Tug, pull, yank; pressure, lots of pressure. And then there he was. I saw him for a split second as the nurse sprinted to the other side of the E.R. I remember saying to my Mother, “Gosh, he’s dark.” She patted me on my head and nodded as though she was agreeing with me. Later, she would tell me, he wasn’t dark – he was blue.
I wanted to see Aiden. Aiden, the name I had scribbled over and over again while sitting in that hospital room at a forty (40) degree angle. Aiden Noah. I love that name.
They made me sit in recovery for an hour. I was determined to go see my son, my Aiden. Staples or not, they weren’t going to stop me.
When they finally returned me to my room, staples and all, I was told I couldn’t go to the NICU until the next morning to see him. That was unacceptable. I needed to see him. I waited in my room until the wee morning hours and when the nurses refused to wheel me down, I walked. I made it slowly, but I walked all the way to the NICU. When the NICU nurses saw me, they grabbed a chair and wheeled me to Aiden’s bedside. All two (2) pounds of him was there, incubated with tubes and wires and alarms. He was on a respirator, unable to breathe on his own. He had little shades on to protect his eyes from the phototherapy they were administering because of the jaundice. He had an IV coming from his belly button. He wore the teeniest diaper I had ever seen. He was beautiful, so beautiful. I loved him. I love him.
