A Moment of Reflection
The story of Cleo's birth and what followed after is quite difficult to write. Not because of trauma or deep emotional issues, but because there so much to tell. And maybe a little trauma.
I thought I knew something about fear. When I had Nova, I experienced true fear for the first time in my life. It only comes when you face something that will cause inevitable and unfathomable pain. That's pretty much how giving birth feels. You have no choice in the matter, the baby will come out one way or another- and all of the ways equal lots of pain and discomfort.
Nova was born at 38 weeks because I developed preeclampsia. The doctors chose to have me induced because the only cure for preeclampsia is to give birth. It was traumatic. Not because things went wrong, they didn't, but because I had only researched how to go through natural labor. This was the complete opposite of my birth plan and I hadn't researched anything about it! I was flying blind, thus the intense fear.
When I found out I was pregnant with Cleo, I decided to remedy my original mistake of not researching ALL possible birth outcomes. I am extremely grateful for this part of my obsessive personality. But there are some things you can't research and prepare for...
The Day I Decided I Felt Weird
Cleo's story is so stuffed with miracles it's like a Thanksgiving day turkey. If you don't believe in miracles, you will after all of this.
The day after Nova's 5th birthday party, I was exhausted and had a piercing migraine. I spent the whole day in bed. Of course, I assumed it was because I pushed myself too hard during Nova's party...but that wasn't the case.
On Monday, I had a sneaking suspicion something was wrong, but pushed the feeling away. I had this intense pain radiating from my left shoulder, up the side of the neck, and into my temple. Nothing I did relieved it, so I decided to go to bed early...and promptly tossed and turned all night in the worst pain. I texted our chiropractor in the morning and set up an in-home appointment for 3:30pm.
I got up and took a hot shower, hoping to massage the pain away, but it didn't work. Mike went to school and it was time to get Nova ready for school.
It's strange how clearly I remember this morning.
I sat on Nova's bed, slowly eating a banana (hoping the potassium would ease my sudden nausea and migraine), and telling Nova "Mommy doesn't feel very good today, can you get yourself dressed?" Every bite of the banana was torture, but I told myself I needed something in my stomach.
Earlier, before Mike left for school, I told him I was going into my doctor to have my blood pressure checked. I had a feeling something was very, very wrong. Though I tried to stay optimistic, part of me knew it was happening again (the dreaded preeclampsia. I had looked up symptoms the night before and saw everything I was experiencing).
It was a miracle that I got ready for the day and managed to drive Nova to school, drop her off, and get myself home. Then, I called Mike and told him I would wait for him before going to the doctor, something he had requested. Sitting on the couch, I munched on saltines and took a drink of water...
Then I threw up into one of Nova's plastic cereal bowls sitting nearby. Glamorous, I know.
Throughout the entire pregnancy, I had NEVER gotten so nauseous that I threw up. Not once. And now, at 23 weeks, I was suddenly so sick that I couldn't even hold down a banana, saltines, and water?!
I started shaking.
Mike came home.
We went to the doctor.
My blood pressure was 200/160
They took it over and over...it never went down.
The nurses called the OB into the small exam room.
She came in, grim faced, sat down in front of me, took my hands, I started to cry, she looked directly into my eyes and said very softly, "I think you should go to labor and delivery."
The Beginning of My Worst Nightmare
"No," I sobbed. "It's too early." Mike rubbed my back silently.
My OB, Doctor Huggins, said sadly, "I know." She didn't offer much comfort. Doctors are careful. She knew the chances of things turning out okay was very low. "We can't do much for you here, go over to labor and delivery. They might be able to help your blood pressure normalize."
In shock, beginning to shake, I said, "Okay."
Mike lead me out to the car. I just kept repeating, "Not again. This can't happen again." I had flashbacks of going to the doctor at 38 weeks when I was pregnant with Nova and the same thing happening. "It's too early." That time, Nova was full term. Cleo...she was only 23 weeks. Could they even save a baby that premature? I had no idea. Everything I heard said that 24 weeks was when unborn babies reached viability. I thought that was a hard and fast rule.
Later, I would learn it wasn't.
The next few hours were a blur. I went to labor and delivery (it was about 1:30pm and Nova was in school until 3:30pm) with my horrific migraine and nausea. The nurses and doctors worked fast, hooking me up to an IV, taking blood, making sure the blood pressure machine was taking stats every 10 minutes, and giving me a blood pressure pill until the magnesium could kick in.
So. Magnesium sulfate. Ever been on the stuff? Yea. This was my second time. I really wish I wasn't a veteran at taking this junk, but here I am.
First, it's basically liquid metal entering your body. They push in a large amount in short period of time before lowering it for long-term sustained use. And it BURNS. Like hellfire. It makes you feel insanely hot all over, as if you're being burned from the inside, and on top of that it can make you super nauseous! Luckily, this time, I only felt super hot and groggy.
The wonderful part is that is lowers blood-pressure and helps keep it lowered.
I was on it for three days. You're supposed to only use it for 48 hours, but I agreed to let them use it longer to give Cleo time to develop her lungs.
That's next. On top of the mag, they gave me a steroid shot in my stomach to help Cleo's lungs develop faster. They need to do 2 shots 24 hours apart and let it circulate in my body for another 24 hours for it to really work. I could suffer through the side-effects of mag if it meant Cleo would have a higher chance of survival.
I was transferred to a regular hospital room and was officially checked in.
So during all of this, Mike had been calling EVERYONE. He called both sets of parents, our bishop, and his buddy Dennis. He also got ahold of our friend Kristen to watch Nova after school for a few hours. I'm glad he had something to do, poor guy. Most of you know Mike as a cool, calm, optimistic, cheerful guy. Seeing him scared, flustered, and stressed is a unique experience.
Before I was checked into my new swanky room, Dennis arrived. Together, he and Mike gave me the most amazing blessing.
Confession: at the time, I didn't think it was the most amazing blessing but it changed Mike's life. There are certain moments in our lives that either confirm our faith or completely shatter it...this was a moment of supreme confirmation for him.
The part I remember most, and the part we still laugh about, is when he ended it by blessing me with peace and acceptance. I opened my eyes, gave him a suspicious look and said, "Acceptance?! What does THAT mean? I don't want acceptance. I want things to be okay!"
Mike answered, "I feel like things will be okay, but acceptance is important."
I just grumbled like an ungrateful child. I know, now, that acceptance has been very important for this whole process. I was afraid it meant acceptance for things that could go terribly wrong. But Mike...from that moment onward he was calm, peaceful, and my rock. He was unshakable.
As was my amazing mother.
Meanwhile, my parents had just arrived in Vancouver for their blissful Canadian vacation. Then Mike called with the news that I was in the hospital and could have the baby any moment. It was preeclampsia again. Come as soon as possible.
We are blessed this happened in September, before the snow, when things were still warm and the airports were open. My mom went into supreme planning mode. She has this gift, where if something is a true emergency she gains this incredible clarity and becomes a force of nature.
I went into the hospital Tuesday afternoon, Virginia (Mike's mom) arrived Wednesday afternoon and my parents arrived shortly afterward. Obviously, I was in the hospital the whole time and Mike had to deal with both sets of parents on his own (plus Nova).
Virginia took care of Nova most of the time. She stayed in our guest room and was there morning, noon, and night. My mom and dad also took care of Nova and stayed at a nearby hotel.
I don't have a lot of details about their stay. There were other things I was concerned about...
The magnesium made me groggy, I faded in and out of light sleep for a long time. I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to eat. Luckily, I didn't get nauseous on the mag and since my blood pressure was stabilized quickly, the doctors okayed me to eat normal meals.
Guys, that was the best part of my hospital stay. The food. Weird, right? But I loved being able to pick each meal and have it delivered three times a day right to my bedside. And everything was very tasty. I didn't have to think hard about cooking or what to eat each day, it just happened. I miss it.
Everything was looking good for a little while. I received the second steroid shot Wednesday afternoon and took a sigh of relief. The obstetrician came to see me and said that his goal was to get me to Saturday or Sunday, if I could last four days then Cleo's chance of survival went from 10% to 50%.
By Thursday, I was on a low level of mag and they started to wean me off and gave me oral meds for my blood pressure. By Friday morning, I was completely off mag and doing well.
Then, late Friday afternoon...I got a migraine. The same exact kind I had when my blood pressure was through the roof.
This whole time, they had been taking my blood every 3 hours, then every 6, then every 12 (my arm was covered in poke marks and bruises)...they took my blood work at 5pm and at 7pm my other OB came in (I fondly thought of him as Doogie because he looked so young) and sat down. I knew...I just knew what he was about to say.
Unfortunately, I was alone at this time. Mike had gone home to eat something because I had been doing so well. My mom deeply regrets that I didn't have anyone there to hear this with me.
He said, very kindly and softly with sadness in his eyes, "It's time. I'm so sorry."
My platelets had dropped to dangerous levels and my liver enzymes spiked way too high. It was why I was feeling so incredibly uncomfortable with pain in my right side (where my liver is) and a giant migraine.
I nodded, tears forming, my throat closing. "I understand," I replied and shakily found my phone and called Mike. He answered breathless because he was outside with my dad chasing Nova around.
He said something. I didn't hear. My whole body was numb. I cleared my throat and pushed out the words, "It's time."
He said, "What?"
"IT'S TIME for the baby to come. My blood work came back. It's bad. Come back to the hospital now."
Then my doctor looked at the clock, asked when I had eaten last (about 4:30) and said, "We'll do it at 10pm." He said some other nice things, was very sincere, and left.
The nurse came back, put me back on magnesium, and gave me her condolences.
Everything the neonatologist had told me the day before came flooding back. She'd sat right where the OB had and told me EVERYTHING that could go wrong with my baby. Everything that could happen and might cause her death. It started with not being able to intubate her due to her tiny size. If they couldn't intubate, she said, "there's nothing we can do."
If they could, they would give her specific medication to help her lungs expand and accept the pressure of a ventilator. It was possible her body would reject it and...there would be nothing they could do. She told me brain bleeds are the most common complication. Or an intestinal perforation. Or an infection. Or or or or or or or or or or or.........
There was just SO MUCH that could go wrong, but I focused on one thing. Intubation. I fully believed in my heart that if they could get her intubated then it would be okay.
The doctors told me about the smallest baby who had survived their NICU, a 22 weeker who had been born 300 grams. It gave me hope. They estimated Cleo to be 400 grams. They hoped she was at least that much because it was extremely unlikely to intubate a smaller baby.
They also told me many times how lucky I was she was a girl, because girls do better in the NICU. It's a real statistic! Girls really do have a higher chance of survival.
However, Cleo's chance of survival (according to the neonatologist) was about 7%. I looked her right in the eyes and said, "She'll be okay. She's a fighter. You can do it."
I'm sure I made the neonatologist uncomfortable, but even if she was uncertain, I wasn't. Well, I was....but I wasn't at the same time. It was a weird contradictory feeling.
My parents and Mike arrived at about 7:15pm. They hustled over quick. Virginia stayed with Nova. I felt badly...Nova had visited me every day but I didn't want her here for this. My vision of having Nova in the hospital with me while her sister was born was shattered.
So many thoughts went through my head:
She's going to be okay.
How am I going to tell Nova that her sister died?
Am I going to get to hold Cleo?
What if they can't intubate her?
Can I handle holding my baby as she dies in my arms?
How can I go through this?
It's going to be okay.
Cleo's meant to be here.
This is meant to happen.
We are in for a very long road ahead...
I was scared. Terrified. Beyond fear. My whole body shook. I've never experienced that before. My whole body literally shaking as if shivering for three hours.
IT WAS THE LONGEST THREE HOURS OF MY LIFE.
From 7 to 10...I had to wait. Honestly, I just wanted it to happen. To be done. I didn't want to wait any more.
My mom held one hand and Mike held the other. I felt icky thanks to the mag entering my body again. My back hurt so bad from being in a hospital bed for three days and having an IV, blood pressure cuff, and fetal monitor on...
And because I wanted it over I felt immense guilt. The longer I could keep her where she was, the better off she would be...
Finally...
Finally...
It was time.
Cleo is Born
Mike had put a hospital gown over his clothes and was ready to go with me.
You know what I was most nervous about? The epidural. Yes, I had one with Nova but they did it when I was having insane contractions. I didn't feel it at all and I was convinced that was because my pain threshold was so high at that point. Would this time be different? Would it hurt?
And yes, I was afraid about the c-section itself. But not as much as the epidural. Weird, I know.
They wheeled me into the OR and I met the anesthesiologist (a nice young guy who reminded me of a hipster). He was like, "I'll be giving you all the good drugs."
And dude. He was RIGHT!
First, the epidural was done. I was shaking. The amazing nurse held my hands and let me rest my forehead on her shoulder. They did the numbing shot first (barely felt it) then did the epidural.
I didn't feel it AT ALL!!
Then I became numb from the chest down.
I won't go into detail about the c-section, but the drug-guy had been right. He gave me some cocktail of anti-anxiety meds and anti-nausea meds and whatever else that made me feel calm and floaty.
My OB came in, gave me a kind smile, and then Mike was holding my hand.
The c-section was quick. I went in at 10pm and Cleo was born at 10:21pm.
She let out two tiny, wonderful, sweet, strong, cries. Mike and I both teared up and I said, "That was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard." Mike said, "Me too." Then I told him to go...go to the NICU and be there for Cleo.
They handed my tiny baby through a window into the NICU and a team of 15 worked on intubating her and administering the breathing medication and keeping her stable.
As they worked, the wonderful techs worked on closing me up. I was still on happy meds and just laid there feeling so unbelievably peaceful. I'm very grateful for the drug-guy. Otherwise I wouldn't been a basket case.
I also believe my peace came from God. It was a double dose of anti-anxiety meds- one from an IV and the other from the Divine.
Mike came back into the OR and I asked "Did they intubate her?"
"Yes."
"Are the meds working?"
"Yes."
"How much does she weigh?"
"Exactly 400 grams."
And from that moment...I knew everything would be okay.
It had taken 12 minutes and 3 tries before the neonatologist managed to intubate my little girl. But she did it. Just as I told her. She saved Cleo. She never gave up. She is my hero.
I remember them wheeling me into the recovery area to monitor my stats closely after the surgery. The nurse was amazing. She was upbeat, funny, genuine, and I think we could've been best friends. Mike went to tell my parents (in the waiting room) that everything had gone well.
Then he came and dutifully fed me ice chips. I would open my mouth like a baby bird and he would spoon in some wonderful ice. It was heaven.
My baby was okay. The c-section was over. The danger had passed.
Now it was time for the recovery.
And it was a BEAST.
(Side Note: Her name. We were very lucky to have had a name picked out by the time I was 18 weeks pregnant. We took three names to the hospital with Nova and still had a hard time after she was born. But not with Cleo. I made a list, Mike instantly loved Cleo the most. I kinda liked it...then each day it sat in my heart it grew and grew. Until she just was Cleo...without a doubt. It means Glory and her middle name, Evangeline, means Bringer of Good News.)
Recovery and the New Normal
Okay guys.
Because I had to deliver so early, they had to do a very "special" kind of c-section. Both a vertical and horizontal incision. On the outside, it's the normal horizontal bikini incision. But on the inside...on my actual uterus (tmi?) is a vertical incision.
That means my recovery was twice as hard and twice as long...it means for any future pregnancies I cannot go past 37 weeks or the incisions could rupture.
Fun fun.
I remember when the nurse came into my hospital room, a few hours after my surgery and the numbness had worn off (luckily, they gave me very good pain meds) and said, "Do you want to try and get up and walk around?"
I guffawed (because you can't laugh directly following a c-section or you will DIE), "You're kidding, right?"
The first time I did get up, it was because I had to pee. Still being hooked up to an IV means I had to go to the bathroom often. It wasn't not optional.
I have never...ever...experienced pain so acutely. It was like a hot knife being stabbed into my side and twisted. I hobbled like an old lady for weeks. But you know what? The doctors were right. Each time I got up, it got a tiny bit easier. The pain hung around for a long time, though. The first week was brutal. But it took about six weeks for me to walk normally again.
Part of me is grateful Cleo wasn't home during that time. I don't know how other new moms do it. Take care of a newborn, another kid, AND heal from birth.
The first time I saw Cleo was about 2 hours after giving birth to her, but I didn't see her again for about 24 hours. It was so painful to just walk to my little private bathroom, I couldn't imagine sitting in a wheel chair and going all the way to the NICU. They wheeled me in on my hospital bed the first time. I couldn't really see her, she was so tiny and had all these things around her body to keep her from accidentally pulling all the tubes out. I remember seeing her tiny foot first.
After a day or so, I got in the wheelchair and made my way over to the NICU. Each time I went, I only stayed for about 10 minutes. I felt...overwhelmed. And painful.
Her diapers, did you know they made "micro preemie" size?
They still had to fold them over.
I have to say, through all of this, Mike was AMAZING. He was the most long-suffering person ever. He helped me hobble to the bathroom, he stayed with Cleo when I couldn't, he made sure Nova felt loved, he spent the night in a horrible hospital chair/bed thingy, he took care of me.
And I looked atrocious the whole time. My hair was like a giant bird nest of knots, I was extremely puffy from the IV fluid + magnesium (a common side effect, apparently), and was completely exhausted. Ever try to sleep when they have to take your blood every 3 hours? Or with a fetal monitor strapped to your belly and a wiggly baby that keeps moving and making the nurses come in to readjust it every 10 minutes? Or a brand new c-section incision? Freaking impossible.
The hospital provided a special "Stork Dinner" as a congratulations for having a baby. We chose steak, green beans, potatoes, and cheesecake with sparkling cider.
Here I am in all my postpartum glory. I can't believe I'm sharing this atrocious photo.
It was a weird celebration. Yay, you had a baby! But she's in the NICU...for a very long time.
They kept me in the hospital until Tuesday evening. So from the beginning- being admitted to Labor and Delivery- to the end, it was a full week of intense non-stop stress.
I haven't slept in a weeeeeeeek or showered! Smile!
In the car, on the way home, I cried for the first time. When I had been in the hospital, a few hallways away from Cleo, everything felt okay. But going home without her was too much. I was leaving my little tiny baby behind. She had been taken from her safe, warm, happy home and placed in a harsh place with needles and medicine and ventilators.
I felt immense guilt. Preeclampsia wasn't my fault but I was supposed to keep Cleo safe. I was supposed to provide nothing but love and comfort for nine months. So I cried.
At home, Virginia had made an amazing meal (my appetite stayed strong though all of the craziness), but all I could do was sit on the couch and cry. I waved it off as hormones, which is was, but I also had to begin mourning what would never be...the loss of those last 4 months of pregnancy. The loss of the quintessential newborn stage.
But Cleo survived...
And Sunny was happy to see me.
Never leave me again!
Everything Changes
Two days later, on Thursday, I get a call from the NICU at 9:15am. Here's the thing to know. They don't do rounds in the NICU until 10am and they will only call if there is a change or news. Otherwise, they will call during odd hours if something serious has happened. Getting a call from them so early was unusual and I knew before answering that something was wrong.
The doctor said she had an intestinal perforation, they're common, but that doesn't mean they aren't very serious. They were getting her ready right then to be life-flighted down to Salt Lake City to Primary Children's Hospital. She most likely would need surgery. There was a 50/50 chance of survival. It could lead to an infection, or having part of her bowel removed, or worse. Sepsis.
In a fog, my mom and dad agreed to stay with Nova (who was already in school for a full-day because it was picture day) and our pets. Virginia had a flight leaving at noon from the Idaho Falls airport. We packed so incredibly fast, I had no idea how long we would be in Salt Lake (a few days? A week? Months?) or where we would be staying while down there, or if we would pick up Nova early from school, or what we would do with out pets....
We first stopped at the hospital to say "See you later, Cleo" and sign some consent forms. Then we said good-bye to my parents and left. On the way down to Utah, I made a video for Nova telling her why we had to leave, that I loved her so much, and would see her soon.
My poor Nova. When Nana and Papa picked her up from school and played my video, she cried and cried. I had finally come home from the hospital and then....I was gone again. I called her, she cried on the phone to me, I felt my heart ripped in two shredded pieces.
But I had to concentrate on Cleo. Mike and I prayed and immediately felt, very clearly, that everything was going to be okay. I was still very scared, but I had peace, too.
When we arrived in Salt Lake, we got a call saying Cleo had made it safely and had been stable the whole trip. She was settled into her new space in the NICU.
By the way, I hadn't changed out of my pajamas. I had a c-section less than a week prior, the only clothes that were comfortable were my pajamas and maternity shirts. I looked a hot mess. Fondly, I think of myself as "skelator" during that time. The puffy side-effects of the mag and IV fluids had finally left my body and the lack of sleep started to show. I had huge dark circles under my eyes and my cheekbones stuck out sharply. My eyes had a permanent startled look about them.
Frankly, I didn't recognize myself.
The nurses and doctors at Primary Children's kept asking me if I was okay, if I needed anything, and offered many hugs.
The surgeons were not optimistic. She was so tiny, they didn't often operate on babies as tiny as Cleo. They told us everything that could go wrong. They could graze the liver and she would bleed out. There would be nothing they could do to stop it. She could get an infection (that's always a risk with preemies) or because she had to be on IV nutrition for weeks during her bowel recovery it meant possibly developing serious neurological issues.
Then he said the worst thing. It was horrible because it was just routine. "I need to make sure you are aware of what this could mean for her future. She could develop serious neurological problems that would be a great burden on you. I have to ask if you still want to move forward with this procedure."
Confused, I looked at Mike, and said, "Of course we do."
Then it hit me. He was telling me...he was saying...some parents choose to take their preemies off support. Some choose to let them pass naturally.
The thought made me angry, but not at the surgeons. I was angry that anyone made that choice. There are many ethical questions out there surrounding babies born as early as Cleo. Is it ethical to do so much intervention to keep them alive? When there is a huge possibility of life-long repercussions? Is it ethical to make that choice?
As the mother I say F*** YES.
By this point, Cleo had also developed the typical brain bleed expected from a preemie her age and size. We prayed that it wouldn't get bad enough to need surgery...or if it did, please let her grow big enough for surgery.
Then, in the middle of our conversation about her perforation surgery, the surgeon paused. He looked pensive for a moment and his whole demeanor changed.
He said, "We should try a drain." It was revelation. I know it. God had whispered in his ear. "It's a relatively new procedure, but it gives her a chance to heal on her own without invasive surgery. Since she's so small, it's really her best option. We can do it right there at her bedside, we don't have to prep an operation room. It'll take us about 30 minutes."
"That's what we want. Yes. Do that," I said.
We waited in that little private room for 30 minutes. Then the neonatologist came back and told us it had gone perfectly. I let out a few tears of disbelief, prayed my thanks, and then reality hit us.
Where were we going to sleep that night?
The Ronald McDonald Room/House
I never knew about the RMHC (Ronald McDonald House Charities) until our experience in Utah. The Children's hospital had a Ronald McDonald Room equipped with a kitchen, large lounging areas, a room full of phone chargers, 4 large bathrooms with showers, AND four small bedrooms with twin beds.
The social worker got us signed up for one night and put us on the waiting list for the Ronald McDonald House down the road.
We slept in the hospital but had no idea if we would get into the RMH for the next night. There were 15 people ahead of us on the waitlist, they said it was a slim chance we would get in Friday night. We didn't know what we would do, or where we would sleep. They typically only let people use the room in the hospital for one night.
But we got the call at 6:15pm on Friday that a room was open and it was ours!
Meanwhile, my amazing parents were driving Nova from Idaho to join us.
We got to the House at 7:15pm and my parents (with Nova) arrived after 9pm.
She was SO HAPPY to see us! We were united once again!
My parents went back to Idaho, we found friends to take care of Sunny and my parents took Scout back the California. Oh man, were they stressed about flying with her. But they did it. I am so happy she was in a safe and familiar place. It was one less thing to worry about.
And that's where the story kinda ends...
We stayed at the RMH for 10 weeks. We made life-long friends. It was an amazing and humbling experience. Nova had a chance to be around some truly unique people and learn about diversity. Some people are in wheelchairs, some only have one leg, some need feeding tubes, some have no hair. We loved them all.
Some of our best friends and experiences:
Mike and his good friend Edgar (one of his closest friends, now). They understood each other. Who am I kidding, he's one of my close friends too.
Nova and her wonderful friend Naomi (the Pratt family became life-long friends). We plan to visit their farm in southern Utah when Cleo is stable enough to travel.
Nova and Arrietty (besties forever!) These girls LOVE each other! We plan to visit her family in Georgia once Mike graduates. Seriously some of the coolest people I've ever known.
The House had amazing crafts and activities EVERY night!
Cookies and Stories with Johnathan (such a genuinely kind and compassionate person). He came every Thursday.
Trick or Treating at the Hospital!
A Carnival at the House to celebrate 30 years!
Santa at the NICU which only happens at Children's Hospitals, we couldn't have done this in Idaho.
Our favorite Nurse, Pat. She was amazing.
Amazing Lessons Learned
This whole experience has changed me forever, but I'm also still Laurel.
I don't honestly think I can write out everything I've experienced, learned, and dealt with...
But I can say that I never knew how strong I could be until this whole thing happened.
My doctor asked me "What made you come in that day and get your blood pressure checked?" All I could think of to say was, "I just felt weird. I knew something was wrong."
It saved my life. Not only did I have preeclampsia, but it became so bad it turned into HELLP Syndrome. A very serious and life-threatening illness that can affect you even after birth. I had to stay on meds for 6 weeks afterwards. It was really scary for a little while.
My amazing OB, Doogie (Dr. Venesky), saved my life. He made a tough call and it worked out. I saw him recently, and my other OB who told me, so compassionately, to go to Labor and Delivery. They are so happy Cleo and I are doing well.
Dr. Huggins (she's wonderful) checking up on Cleo.
I'm really grateful for this craziness. I'm so grateful for good friends who stepped up and helped us so much. The Pursers who watched Sunny for 2.5 months, Kristin who helped too many times to count and also had a micro-preemie. She and I have bonded over this unique commonality. She watched Nova for me when I need to go to the hospital and Mike is in Utah. She helped take Scout outside to poop when my parents delivered Nova to us in Utah. She helped bring Sunny to the Pursers. She was there when I needed someone to vent to about the NICU and the mom-guilt. She is my personal angel.
It's strange. I loved the Ronald McDonald House. I love the people we met. The whole Utah experience was unbelievable. We kind of want to go back...
Miracles
One nurse told us that in her 35 years working in the NICU she had
never seen a baby heal from a perforation without needing surgery. But Cleo did heal herself without needing surgery.
A few nurses told us they had
never seen an insurance company approve a life-flight back home. But ours did.
A neonatologist they had
never seen a 400 gram baby look so healthy and have zero serious complications, like Cleo.
Another neonatologist was amazed that Cleo's brain bleed
never became serious enough for surgery and didn't seem to cause any lasting damage.
Neurologically, she's healthy. (though we would be perfectly fine if she wasn't).
Her eyes are clear and barely have signs of ROP even though she's been on oxygen for over 100 days.
She
never got an infection, something that is so incredibly common for preemies. Especially ones on IV nutrition for as long as Cleo.
She had her IV out before she was 2 lbs.
We are so
unbelievably blessed.
Epilogue
One more thing that assured us the whole time that angels were watching...
Mike has this thing with the number 1. When he's going through a hard time (like, really hard) he noticed that the number 1 (or more specifically multiple ones in a row) tend to pop up.
It started years ago, he noticed he was waking up in the middle of the night, every night, at 1:11am. Then he would look at the clock during the day and always see 11:11 or 1:11. It happened so frequently that he looked it up. Google!
It means a couple things in numerology: that change was coming and if you stay positive, it will be positive change. But if you're negative, then it will be negative. Not so crazy.
But, more specifically, 111 is called "The Angel Number". It means a spiritual presence is with you.
We believe it's one of God's ways of telling us "I'm with you, it will be okay."
My hospital room was 111
Cleo's room in the Idaho NICU was 1
Our room at the Ronald McDonald House was 111
She was born on 9/21 at 10:21pm (not the same, but ones are present).
Room 111 at the RMH
It was just one of those things that kept following us around. We felt reassured by it and if I was paying closer attention, I probably could have spotted more around me. I have definitely never felt closer to God than in these last few months.
Here is why...
My fierce warrior miracle baby
The first day I was born, I looked like this!
I have a double chin, now. Celebrate.
