Post by ubu on Apr 3, 2007 21:18:17 GMT
Hi Everyone,
I had a quick scan over the other birth stories and was really surprised not to see lots from people who had premature or sick babies, if there were some there and I missed them I'm really sorry to those who posted them, I'm a bit vague at the best of times these days!
It has been a long time since I've told this story in any detail, so I fear this is going to be a long one - you may want to put up your feet (if you've got time!!) xx
My baby was very much planned and very much wanted. I'd never been so excited, I had only ever wanted to be a Mum. I felt fine, no sickness or anything but at 8 weeks I had a considerable bleed, with a big clot which was caused by a haematoma (non specific NHS terminology!). From that day on I didn't relax properly - each time I went for the loo I expected to see lots of blood, or worse.
I got married and had my honeymoon and everything seemed fine but I did start to feel quite poorly, but no symptoms you wouldn't normally associate with pregnancy: slightly dizzy, tired, funny tummy; generally under the weather. About a week or two after we returned from our holiday I had a routine antenatal appointment about which I finally felt quietly confident. Previous appointments had assured me everything was finally in order and that I was carrying quite a good sized baby.
My midwife took my blood pressure and frowned "have you been running around outside" I kind of thought it was funny at first (I was quite plump at the time and the thought of running anywhere was pretty amusing) but when I saw the concern on her face I realised it wasn't funny in the slightest. She said we'd take it again in a little while, and I was to provide a urine sample in the mean time, which I did and this too made her face fall: my urine was like syrup. I hadn't really noticed it, I thought perhaps I had cystitis or something as my waterworks didn't feel quite right but nothing more.
It turned out my BP was 185/118 (mine is usually about 100/70 and average is up to 120/80) and I had +++ protein in my urine, which is why it was like syrup. Basically it was revealed that I had preeclampsia, quite severely.
My MW told me I should go to our area hospital, 15 miles away so I happily agreed and my husband said he'd take me after work, she said that actually we should go straight away so we said we'd leave immediately. It was only when she explained that she'd called an ambulance that it sank in how much trouble we were in.
I was hooked up to some intraveinous drips in the ambulance and some more on arrival at hospital. I was threatening to have fits so they were kept at bay with magnesium sulphate. I was nil by mouth but had two types of saline solution. I just remember wanting a drink of water more than anything.
The doctors came and explained that they thought the drugs would keep things at bay but the chances were, I'd be in hospital for some weeks and it was unlikely I'd carry my baby to term. When the pregnancy is making the mother so ill, they have to weigh up the risks and the mother's life comes first. Is it better to risk a premature baby, or try to keep the pregnancy going and risk losing them both?
I was given a shot of steroids to help my baby's lungs develop and another shot 24 hours later. They like the steriods to be in as long as possible before delivery, to give sufficient surfactant to build up.
I had a scan to see how big the baby was, and they estimated it would be about 2lb 2oz, about right for my dates if a little small. But I was happy with this weight considering I was only 27 weeks pregnant. They gave her an 80% survival rate for this weight.
I was kept in bed for 2 days. On the 2nd morning I felt much, much better. I even asked if I could have a shower, such small things suddenly become profound life changing moments, I remember standing in that shower thinking it was the best experience of my life, though I could barely walk and had to be held up right.
As soon as I got back in to bed at about 10.45, I started to feel awful: worse than I'd felt before or since the pregnancy. The consultants were called and it was confirmed that I was about to start having convulsions, the baby was distressed and I was not going to be ok.
Before I knew it, I was in theatre and they were trying to explain what was happening. All I wanted to know was why was the bed I was on leaning to one side so dramatically? (It turns out it's to do with keeping the blood or pressure away from a particular nerve).
My baby was born at 11.31am on 15th September 2005. I was under a general anaesthetic so my husband wasn't permitted to be there with me. The ceasarian section was done in such a hurry I was cut quite brutally and the baby was removed breech, bottom first into the world. Apparently she tried to squeak but was intubated immediately so we'll never know if her lungs were strong enough to cry or not. She was taken straight to the NICU where she stayed for the following 2.5 months.
The scan had been wrong, she wasn't 2lb 2oz but she was 1lb 9oz, over half a pound lighter than we had prepared for. 717 grammes. 3/4 of a bag of sugar.
I mourned the baby that I had carried in my belly. I cried and I wailed and I questioned the very existence of any kind of life and whether or not it was worth carrying on. The baby I carried died in my heart and in my head.
Everyone had told me that she was much more feisty than they had expected and that she looked like a real but tiny baby. However, 2 days later, when I was strong enough to go and see her, I was horrified at what I saw. She was small, smaller than you'd imagine. She was intubated so we couldn't even see her little face. Her skin was a dark orange/brown because of the jaundice. She was on morphine to keep her calm.
She stayed intubated for 4 days and then came off morphine and on to caffeine to give her the energy to breathe. She had CPAP (constant positive airway pressure) but after only a week or so they started trying her without it and she did quite well but had to stay on it for some weeks. CPAP involves having plastic prongs up the nostrils, alternated with a mask over the nose. The prongs made her nose really sore and she lost the front 1/2 cm of her septum, one nostril is also markedly larger than the other - but (apart from being tiny) it's the only physical scar from such traumatic beginnings: not a high price to pay in the grand scheme of things.
I was discharged after 10 days but made the trip to the hospital at least twice a day until she was discharged in the November. It was exhausting and demanding.
I insisted on breastfeeding as it seemed like the only positive, natural thing I could do for her. So I had to express milk every 4 hours for 2 months to ensure I'd have enough for her when the time came to feed her properly. She was given my milk (with boosters and meds) through her nasogastric tube initially, which was the only maternal thing which happened until we were able to get her out of her incubator for her first cuddle, at about 2 weeks.
The first time she had my milk, they put in 1ml and it took about 15 minutes to filter into her tiny tummy. It was such a milestone.
She had problems with her blood oxygen and had to be very closely monitored as she was desaturating down to 17% at one stage, apparently it was "shunting" where the valve between the heart and lungs doesn't close properly and so the blood gets shunted about all over the place... something like that.
But she never got ill in the way we were told to expect, she's a strong girl.
I was basically a nurse for 3 months. I hated it, it was so unnatural but I felt obliged and I wanted to be there for this baby I was learning to love, remember: I mourned the baby that was in my belly a long time before.
When we got her home, we were so relieved: we'd done it. What I didn't realise was that my journey of despair was really only just begining. We had been sharing her care with all the nurses and doctors in the NICU. Suddenly we were alone, with only a weekly HV appointment to look forward to.
That first night at home must have been the second most scary experience of my life after finding out I was going to have a premature baby.
She was ok for a while, but got bronchiolitis in the February and had to spend a week in hospital, in and out of an oxygen tent. It was horrid and I was back where I'd started in November, emotionally.
Since then she's gone from strength to strength with only one other trip to hospital which turned out to be nothing.
I have so much to be grateful for and I love that child more than life. But the bond is weak, perhaps I blame her for my pain and fear somehow? Perhaps I need to go over my birth experience more often to remind myself that she's still the baby I conceived all those months ago and isn't some imposter who took my baby's place.
She's a great kid... full of beans, interested in everything and she's evidently a bright child. But she's still in 9month clothing at the age of 18 months, she doesn't talk (not even Mummy and Daddy) and she has been crawling for 6 months, the worries are far from over but she's here. So am I...
And that's my story. I could go on but I have just seen how much I've written and you must be tired of reading by now. If you've read this far, thank you for taking time for me.
If anyone is interested in promoting mental health services for the parents of sick or premature babies, let me know what you think we can do about it. When your baby is in NICU, you're living day to day - you can't think about how you feel there and then let alone how you might cope in the future once all the exicitement has died down. There needs to be more support at the time, not years later when it feels like it's too late.
Lots of love
Ubu
xxx
I had a quick scan over the other birth stories and was really surprised not to see lots from people who had premature or sick babies, if there were some there and I missed them I'm really sorry to those who posted them, I'm a bit vague at the best of times these days!
It has been a long time since I've told this story in any detail, so I fear this is going to be a long one - you may want to put up your feet (if you've got time!!) xx
My baby was very much planned and very much wanted. I'd never been so excited, I had only ever wanted to be a Mum. I felt fine, no sickness or anything but at 8 weeks I had a considerable bleed, with a big clot which was caused by a haematoma (non specific NHS terminology!). From that day on I didn't relax properly - each time I went for the loo I expected to see lots of blood, or worse.
I got married and had my honeymoon and everything seemed fine but I did start to feel quite poorly, but no symptoms you wouldn't normally associate with pregnancy: slightly dizzy, tired, funny tummy; generally under the weather. About a week or two after we returned from our holiday I had a routine antenatal appointment about which I finally felt quietly confident. Previous appointments had assured me everything was finally in order and that I was carrying quite a good sized baby.
My midwife took my blood pressure and frowned "have you been running around outside" I kind of thought it was funny at first (I was quite plump at the time and the thought of running anywhere was pretty amusing) but when I saw the concern on her face I realised it wasn't funny in the slightest. She said we'd take it again in a little while, and I was to provide a urine sample in the mean time, which I did and this too made her face fall: my urine was like syrup. I hadn't really noticed it, I thought perhaps I had cystitis or something as my waterworks didn't feel quite right but nothing more.
It turned out my BP was 185/118 (mine is usually about 100/70 and average is up to 120/80) and I had +++ protein in my urine, which is why it was like syrup. Basically it was revealed that I had preeclampsia, quite severely.
My MW told me I should go to our area hospital, 15 miles away so I happily agreed and my husband said he'd take me after work, she said that actually we should go straight away so we said we'd leave immediately. It was only when she explained that she'd called an ambulance that it sank in how much trouble we were in.
I was hooked up to some intraveinous drips in the ambulance and some more on arrival at hospital. I was threatening to have fits so they were kept at bay with magnesium sulphate. I was nil by mouth but had two types of saline solution. I just remember wanting a drink of water more than anything.
The doctors came and explained that they thought the drugs would keep things at bay but the chances were, I'd be in hospital for some weeks and it was unlikely I'd carry my baby to term. When the pregnancy is making the mother so ill, they have to weigh up the risks and the mother's life comes first. Is it better to risk a premature baby, or try to keep the pregnancy going and risk losing them both?
I was given a shot of steroids to help my baby's lungs develop and another shot 24 hours later. They like the steriods to be in as long as possible before delivery, to give sufficient surfactant to build up.
I had a scan to see how big the baby was, and they estimated it would be about 2lb 2oz, about right for my dates if a little small. But I was happy with this weight considering I was only 27 weeks pregnant. They gave her an 80% survival rate for this weight.
I was kept in bed for 2 days. On the 2nd morning I felt much, much better. I even asked if I could have a shower, such small things suddenly become profound life changing moments, I remember standing in that shower thinking it was the best experience of my life, though I could barely walk and had to be held up right.
As soon as I got back in to bed at about 10.45, I started to feel awful: worse than I'd felt before or since the pregnancy. The consultants were called and it was confirmed that I was about to start having convulsions, the baby was distressed and I was not going to be ok.
Before I knew it, I was in theatre and they were trying to explain what was happening. All I wanted to know was why was the bed I was on leaning to one side so dramatically? (It turns out it's to do with keeping the blood or pressure away from a particular nerve).
My baby was born at 11.31am on 15th September 2005. I was under a general anaesthetic so my husband wasn't permitted to be there with me. The ceasarian section was done in such a hurry I was cut quite brutally and the baby was removed breech, bottom first into the world. Apparently she tried to squeak but was intubated immediately so we'll never know if her lungs were strong enough to cry or not. She was taken straight to the NICU where she stayed for the following 2.5 months.
The scan had been wrong, she wasn't 2lb 2oz but she was 1lb 9oz, over half a pound lighter than we had prepared for. 717 grammes. 3/4 of a bag of sugar.
I mourned the baby that I had carried in my belly. I cried and I wailed and I questioned the very existence of any kind of life and whether or not it was worth carrying on. The baby I carried died in my heart and in my head.
Everyone had told me that she was much more feisty than they had expected and that she looked like a real but tiny baby. However, 2 days later, when I was strong enough to go and see her, I was horrified at what I saw. She was small, smaller than you'd imagine. She was intubated so we couldn't even see her little face. Her skin was a dark orange/brown because of the jaundice. She was on morphine to keep her calm.
She stayed intubated for 4 days and then came off morphine and on to caffeine to give her the energy to breathe. She had CPAP (constant positive airway pressure) but after only a week or so they started trying her without it and she did quite well but had to stay on it for some weeks. CPAP involves having plastic prongs up the nostrils, alternated with a mask over the nose. The prongs made her nose really sore and she lost the front 1/2 cm of her septum, one nostril is also markedly larger than the other - but (apart from being tiny) it's the only physical scar from such traumatic beginnings: not a high price to pay in the grand scheme of things.
I was discharged after 10 days but made the trip to the hospital at least twice a day until she was discharged in the November. It was exhausting and demanding.
I insisted on breastfeeding as it seemed like the only positive, natural thing I could do for her. So I had to express milk every 4 hours for 2 months to ensure I'd have enough for her when the time came to feed her properly. She was given my milk (with boosters and meds) through her nasogastric tube initially, which was the only maternal thing which happened until we were able to get her out of her incubator for her first cuddle, at about 2 weeks.
The first time she had my milk, they put in 1ml and it took about 15 minutes to filter into her tiny tummy. It was such a milestone.
She had problems with her blood oxygen and had to be very closely monitored as she was desaturating down to 17% at one stage, apparently it was "shunting" where the valve between the heart and lungs doesn't close properly and so the blood gets shunted about all over the place... something like that.
But she never got ill in the way we were told to expect, she's a strong girl.
I was basically a nurse for 3 months. I hated it, it was so unnatural but I felt obliged and I wanted to be there for this baby I was learning to love, remember: I mourned the baby that was in my belly a long time before.
When we got her home, we were so relieved: we'd done it. What I didn't realise was that my journey of despair was really only just begining. We had been sharing her care with all the nurses and doctors in the NICU. Suddenly we were alone, with only a weekly HV appointment to look forward to.
That first night at home must have been the second most scary experience of my life after finding out I was going to have a premature baby.
She was ok for a while, but got bronchiolitis in the February and had to spend a week in hospital, in and out of an oxygen tent. It was horrid and I was back where I'd started in November, emotionally.
Since then she's gone from strength to strength with only one other trip to hospital which turned out to be nothing.
I have so much to be grateful for and I love that child more than life. But the bond is weak, perhaps I blame her for my pain and fear somehow? Perhaps I need to go over my birth experience more often to remind myself that she's still the baby I conceived all those months ago and isn't some imposter who took my baby's place.
She's a great kid... full of beans, interested in everything and she's evidently a bright child. But she's still in 9month clothing at the age of 18 months, she doesn't talk (not even Mummy and Daddy) and she has been crawling for 6 months, the worries are far from over but she's here. So am I...
And that's my story. I could go on but I have just seen how much I've written and you must be tired of reading by now. If you've read this far, thank you for taking time for me.
If anyone is interested in promoting mental health services for the parents of sick or premature babies, let me know what you think we can do about it. When your baby is in NICU, you're living day to day - you can't think about how you feel there and then let alone how you might cope in the future once all the exicitement has died down. There needs to be more support at the time, not years later when it feels like it's too late.
Lots of love
Ubu
xxx
