The First Post

I’ve been telling myself for about 2 years now that I’m going to start this blog. I hope it will serve as a form of communication between my son and I- that he’ll be able to read it someday when he’s old enough to understand just how much he changed my world and just how proud and amazed I am to be his mom.
This week, the week following the 4th of July, now carries a lot of emotion for me. I find myself in awe of how truly lucky we are. Two years ago at this time I was very sick and didn’t know it. I went through the week feeling pretty terrible, but chalking it up to typical pregnancy side-effects. The next thing I knew, the symptoms were too severe to ignore. I was driving back from a meeting in Jeff City and finally decided I had to call the doctor. It was late in the day on a Friday, so she asked me to come into Labor and Delivery just to be checked out. I was annoyed. It was Friday night. Did she really think I wanted to spend my Friday night in the hospital when likely I had some embarrassing, albeit, severe gas? I actually debated not going. Thad thought it would be best to just go so we didn’t have to worry about it all weekend, so begrudgingly I agreed. We showed up at the hospital and they got me back pretty quickly. The nurse moved even more quickly once she saw me. You know when they ask you what your pain is on a scale of 1 to 10? I hate that question. I don’t know. What if I’m a wimp and my scale is totally different than a normal person’s scale. What if a 10 to me is a 2 to someone else? Well apparently I LOOKED like I was at a 10. (The sweet nurse later advised me, “honey, for future reference, THIS is a 10.”) I did all the standard testing they do when you show up at L&D. Pee in the cup, take your blood, take your blood pressure, and monitor for contractions. The next thing I knew my doctor was there. I remember thinking it was weird that she actually came in herself. And then I saw the nurse with the results of my test come in and I knew before she ever showed them to the doctor. I could see it in her eyes. Something was wrong. My doctor looked at the report and calmly told me that she was going to have to deliver this baby now. I had severe preeclampsia which had turned into HELLP syndrome. I questioned her. Now? Really? It’s too soon. I’m only 28 weeks. He won’t make it. Can you give him steroids before you induce me? She told me there was no time for that and that it would be a c-section and that Thad needed to get changed. I asked him to call our parents and my best friend and then the room became crazy. It was like a scene from a hospital television show. There were so many people in that room talking to me and working on me. They were shaving my stomach, pulling my hair back, removing my jewelry, hooking up IV’s and who knows what else. And then I was on my way. They rushed me down the hallway to the OR. The OR was the first time it was quiet since the 10 minutes before when the doctor saw the test results. Just me, the nurse who had admitted me and the antheselogist. This was the first time I actually had time to process what was about to happen. I sat up, bending over so they could prepare my back for the spinal block; the nurse stood in front me holding my hands. And I sobbed. And she cried right along with me and promised me he would be fine. I will never forget that. Thad came in dressed in his hazmat suit and the doctor was right behind him. Our parents were on their way, but no one would make it in time. It was quick and he came out crying. Such a little fighter from the get-go. He weighed 1 lb 10 oz and he was 13.5 in. long. I asked Thad to go with him to the NICU while they finished with me. Because my body was in such bad shape from the PE and HELLP, I couldn’t have the normal dose of spinal block, and it started to wear off as they were trying to put me back together. The pain was something I wish I could forget. Thad said he could hear me screaming from another room. They ended up putting me under. When I woke up Harper had already been taken to Children’s Mercy and our family and friends had all arrived. I was so confused. I mean I knew what had happened, but the drugs were making it so hard for me to grasp what was really happening. I was hoping it was a terrible dream. Thad’s parents had gone with Harper, which eased my mind. I hated that they had to take him to a different hospital, but Thad assured me he was in the best place possible. And it was Friday, and I should be getting out on Monday, so it wasn’t the end of the world. Until Saturday came and I seemed to be getting worse. And then Sunday came and things were still not improving. They decided to do a CT scan and found that a hematoma had formed between my liver and the capsule that surrounds the liver. I had no idea this was that big of a deal. I was wrong. My nurse told me that they were going to be moving me up to ICU. I was not happy with this. After all, I’d spent the weekend getting these girls wrapped around my finger. I’d joked with them and charmed them enough that they were finally responding to my pleas for water. Not just ice chips. Real, honest to goodness water. I’m telling you, they don’t deny prisoners of war water. But get admitted to the hospital and try to bribe a nurse for water and see how far you get. They take that shit seriously.
ICU was a whole different ballgame. I had a tiny room, so my family had to take turns with who could be with me and it was just in general, not a single bit of fun. I was in more pain than I can even describe. I had more teams of doctors treating me than I could even keep track of. OB, GI, Surgical, and who knows what else. They were debating transferring me to KU Med, where a more specialized surgical team could treat me. One morning after I’d been in ICU for a few days my surgeon showed up for rounds. I was by myself and he told me that I needed to understand the severity of my condition. This was life threatening. I was so groggy and sedated that I couldn’t quite process it. I knew what he was saying, but I couldn’t respond. I asked him if he would please have this conversation with my family because I wasn’t clear enough to explain to them what he was telling me. I think about that exchange often. I wish I would have told him that he needed to change his attitude and that he clearly didn’t know me. I had a brand new son who was across town fighting for his life, and I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to be there for him. But I didn’t. I just nodded my head and asked him to talk to my family. He ended up being my favorite doctor, by the way. He’s an amazing, kind man. We just got off on the wrong foot.
The whole time I was getting daily updates from family on Harper and how he was doing, which was beautifully. He was amazing everyone with how well he was progressing. I had Polaroid pictures of him taped to my hospital bed. A reminder to me and everyone who was treating me just how important it was to get me better and out of that hospital.
Finally after 13 days, Thad and I were taking a walk down the hallway. I had been moved to the mother/baby floor several days before. I heard what was inevitable. A baby crying. And that was it for me. I hadn’t cried since the day Harper was born, but I had hit my limit. It was so unfair that I was still in this hospital and my son was nearly 2 weeks old and I’d yet to see him. Thad got me to a waiting room where I cried the tears that I’d been holding back. The loud, ugly, this isn’t fair tears. And to my advantage, this episode of being dramatic was timed perfectly. That same surgeon who’d told me just a week before that I was in critical, life-threatening condition, walked past on his way to my room. He stopped in and sat with us. He asked me what was wrong and I told him simply that I needed to GO. I NEEDED to see my son. He agreed. Within minutes we could hear the other doctors assigned to my case being paged. He was takin’ care of business. I was released within hours. We stopped at home so I could shower and then went directly to Children’s. They let my parents stay back with us so they got to see me see my boy for the first time. I don’t even remember thinking he was that small. I just knew he was perfect and I was in love. This was the first day he was held. They saved that privilege for me.
Harper went on to spend 2 more months in the NICU, but he breezed through. Just grew and got stronger and stronger. Today you’d never know that he was a preemie. You’d never know that he and I both scared the crap out of everyone who loves us. But I know. I know how lucky we are. I thank God every night that he granted us with this outcome when so many other outcomes were completely possible.
And so that is why this week makes me emotional. I think about the pain that I suffered. I think about Harper in an isolette in the NICU. That he was born with his eyes still fused. That no one held him for the first 2 weeks of his life. But mostly I think about Thad. I think about the fear that was present in his eyes. The fatigue that showed on his face. I hate that he suffered more than Harper or I could ever imagine. I think about my parents driving like crazy people to get to Kansas City. And how my mom blamed herself because she had this gut feeling something was wrong for weeks but never said anything because she didn’t want to upset or worry me. But mostly I think about how very, very lucky we are. How incredibly we’ve been blessed. And how much I love this little boy.
And so that is why I go overboard for his birthday. Thad tells me I’m crazy. I think secretly he loves it just as much as I do. Every parent has something incredible to celebrate on their children’s birthdays. But, I feel like we know more than most just how incredible that day is, and how lucky we are to be able to celebrate it each year. And so it is. Harper’s 2nd birthday will be a circus theme. He proudly announces that he’s 2 and giggles with glee when we tell him his party is this weekend. It’s gonna be great!