I'm not sure I even have the capacity to know where to start. I'm writing this a few months after this occured and I can't seem to get the words out in any other way then how I felt then. I still remember in such clear detail the day when Ben was born and the days afterward. I don't know any other way to write this other than to write it as if it was the present. I haven't really confronted this memory yet so this post may be a little raw.
Two days ago I was happily, ignorantly, 33 weeks pregnant. Today I am not. Today I have a son, a beautiful, gorgeous 2 day old son on life support in the NICU at a hospital 32 miles away. What the hell am I doing here? I'm here typing this because I am too healthy to stay in the hospital and they don't have any beds that I can just borrow. I'm here because my 2 year old needs her mommy just as much as her tiny little brother does. I'm here because there's nothing I can do at the hospital. I can't touch him, I can't hold him and I'm in the way. I'm here because I need to fall apart away from the watchful eyes of the nursing staff and neonatologists.
Two days ago we were off school for the second day in a row because of 8 inches of snow that fell two nights before. Two days ago I dressed Evey up in snow pants, and a coat and helped her make a snow man. Two days ago I didn't know my baby was fighting for his life inside me. Two days ago I didn't know how close I was to losing my baby, my son.
This all started with a regular normal doctors appointment. An appointment that I almost skipped. I thought to myself more than one time, just call and reschedule, the roads might be slick still. But thank God I went. Thank God. I had a late appointment, 4:45. I was her last patient of the day. My doctor, bless her, is amazing. It's Friday and 5:15 when she finally sees me and she is still all smiles and happiness. We chat, she asks how I've been feeling, how is work going, is the baby moving around a lot (oddly, no...I hadn't felt much of anything that day, but I thought it was just a lazy day for the baby), how's the heartburn, etc. Time to check the heart beat. In an instant the world froze. There was a heartbeat but something was wrong. Really wrong. It sounded strange, almost like the whir of a helicopter, like a strange static. Suddenly countenances changed, smiles faded. My happy doctor was gone to be replaced with someone who needed to confer with another doctor - quickly. Minutes that felt like hours later she came back to say, "Jen we need to send you to the hospital next door to run some tests. The baby's heart beat is too fast, I can't count it. It's going to be okay but we need to get you over there to do an ultrasound. Is your husband close?" Oddly, I'm not panicked. I'm not scared. Okay an ultrasound. That should be okay. I call Chris and tell him we can't have dinner with Brad and Jen. They are sending me to get an ultrasound. No I don't know what's wrong but the heartbeat wasn't quite right. No I don't have details. He's on his way.
I drive across the street to the hospital and park and walk up to Labor and Delivery. Nervous but still calm. They explain that they are going to hook me up to monitors and that a perinatologist will be there soon to do an ultrasound and see what's going on. As they wrap the pink band around my belly to find the heartbeat I hear the nurse swear softly as she tells me the machine can't count the baby's heart rate, it's too fast. Contractions I didn't know I was having are 2 minutes apart. Nervousness is fading to panic. And I'm alone.
30 minutes later Chris comes in. I still have no answers to give. Tears fall from both of us. God what is happening. I can feel the contractions now. What is happening? Shortly after he arrives they wheel in the ultrasound machine and the perinatologist arrives and starts the ultra sound. I have a hard time remembering everything she said to us. I know she asked if we knew the sex. No, but I don't care about that anymore. She asked over and over did your doctor mention the baby was large? No. Did they mention the baby was too big? No. Are you sure? Yes. When was your last ultrasound? Two weeks ago. And the size of the baby was normal? Yes. Have there been any complications? No, none.
As we watch the machine, we see the heart rate register on the screen. 321 beats per minute.
She lets us know she needs to step out for a few moments to consult the on call physician and to run all the size numbers together. She will be back quickly.
Panic is slowly turning into terror. Tears fall of their own volition. Our parents arrive.
The doctor comes back in. I have no idea what she said other than "We will be able to save your baby." The sound of those words echo around in my head. "We will be able to save your baby." It's as if the last 2 hours haven't happened. "Why do you need to save my baby?" "The baby is fine."
We need to do a c-section. In a moment of what can only be considered panic induced dementia I ask, "Can you induce?" "No, honey, we have to do a c-section very soon." "We are going to be able to save your baby."
Less than an hour later I was in an operating room. I was hugging a pillow as a spinal was inserted into my back. I begged the doctor not to go into too much detail as she did the surgery so I wouldn't throw up or pass out. I laid down on the tiny table in that freezing cold room and a curtain was raised. Chris and I hid behind that curtain hanging on to the tiniest shred of hope that the baby would be okay. We talked about what to name the baby and even laughed a couple of times in our effort to regain control, to hold on to our selves. 10 minutes or was it 20 minutes later I asked if they had started. The doctor chuckled and said the baby was almost out. 5 minutes later, "It's a boy." And there was silence. Painful, wretched silence.
Chris rushed over to see our baby boy. He was silent. There was hushed whispering as the team of doctor's worked. I would learn days later that they were rushing to save his life. That his heart had stopped. That he wasn't breathing. Minutes later I heard a cry. The tiniest, smallest cry. In a rush, they wheeled him past me, stopping for mere seconds for me to see the pale blue form of my baby, and took him away. Chris paused, torn between me and the baby. "Go! Go with him. I'm okay." "What should we name him?" he asked me. "Ben, it has to be Ben," and I'm not sure why but it had to be. And they were gone.
Then the flood came. The tears that would not stop. As the doctor stitched me back up she asked, "Are you okay? Is this not what you expected?" I wish at the time I would have had the presence of mind to say something different like, "Fuck, no, this is not what I expected, you assanine bitch. I expected to be at home playing cards or watching a movie tonight. I expected to be having a healthy baby in 7 weeks. " But all I could muster was "No."
I was moved back to recovery and I was alone again. Family wasn't allowed in and I was alone. And it was almost if it hadn't happened. I could close my eyes and still feel pregnant. Still feel him fluttering around inside me. Still pretend this wasn't happening.
Soon Chris came back to see me. He was followed by his mom and my parents. They were working on the baby. He was stable for now. They had saved his life.
At 2 AM the neonatologist and the cardiologist came in to talk to us, to explain what happened. Ben has Wolfe Parkinson White Syndrome they said. This caused a condition called hydrops fetalis, life threatening edema. Ben entire body was basically full of liquid and his organs were failing one by one. But he was stable and they were working hard to rid his body of the fluid.
At 2:30 AM they wheeled my bed up to the NICU and I was able to see my baby.
