In March of 2010, we found out we were expecting our second child. After five years since our first son, Trent, we were thrilled! We had done all of the typical expecting parents things like pick out nursery bedding, go to all of the prenatal appointments, tell Trent all of the stories of what a good big brother he would be, narrow down our list of names, etc…
The pregnancy was relatively uneventful and in fact was much easier than our first. I have chronic high blood pressure so I did meet with a high risk doctor in Topeka to monitor my medications, but his role was expected to be minimal.
On August 11, 2010 I took the day to clean house. With an especially big work week ahead of me, I wanted our home to be comfortable and clean while I buried my head in the computer. We got a big box in the mail that day containing all of our nursery bedding. When Landon got home from work we took out the pieces and talked about how the excitement was building at 27 weeks. We knew we were having a boy and his name would be Ethan.
After I put the box away in Ethan's room, I needed to go to the grocery store for a few things. While I was there I saw several friends and told them how well the pregnancy was going. On the way home I noticed I was pretty exhausted and had some pain in my abdomen so I called Landon and asked him to get dinner ready so I could rest when I got home.
I put my feet up in the recliner and rested for a while. When he said we were ready to eat dinner, I stood from my chair to go to the table and felt a rush of water. I quietly walked into the bedroom and knew immediately that this was not normal. I told Landon that I thought something wasn't right and called the nurse on duty at our local hospital. When I told her my symptoms she told me to come immediately to the hospital.
The fear that swept through us was indescribable at that moment. We dropped off Trent at my brother's house and went to the hospital. By this time I had so much water running down my legs that my shoes were squishing.
We were immediately checked in and as soon as the nurses saw my condition, our OB was called and we could sense urgency in their voices. They tested the fluid and it was amniotic fluid. My water had broken at only 27 weeks. I had preterm prerupture of membranes (PPROM).
In the meantime I had called my parents who were eating dinner at a restaurant about 35 miles away. From the moment I told my mom that something was wrong until they walked into that hospital room, it was probably only 20 minutes.
After the doctor examined me they explained that I was grossly ruptured and needed to be at a level III trauma center. Living two hours away from any facility like that, they decided it was best that I was life-flighted to Topeka, where my high-risk doctor was located. We texted and called family and friends as fast as we could to spread the word and ask for prayer. In that moment we knew this would be life changing for us in so many ways. Some of those changes played out in those minutes and some have yet to come.
I received a steroid injection before we left that would help with Ethan's lungs in the case that he would deliver that night. That was the first moment that I realized the seriousness of what was happening….our baby could come much too early. The life-flight crew arrived and led me through step-by-step how everything would work. I was put into an ambulance and driven to the small airport just outside of town where a twin engine airplane was waiting to take me to Topeka. Landon had left the hospital to get his bag packed, stop to tell Trent what was going on, reassure him of our love, and drive to Topeka to meet me.
As we lifted off of that runway I stared out the window, crying, and wondering when would be the next time I would see my home, see my son, and what in the world was happening with my baby. I prayed harder than I've ever prayed before in my life. It was almost physically consuming, the connection I had with God in that little airplane as we flew through storms to the hospital.
We arrived in Topeka where my sister-in-law met me and stayed with me until Landon arrived. They put me in triage and immediately began a series of blood tests, question after question, and a lot of waiting. When the doctor came in he told me that I would likely deliver the baby within 24 hours.
We were admitted to the hospital and Landon stayed with me in the room. I could still feel Ethan kicking. His heartbeat was strong on the monitors.
The first full night we were there, a neonatologist from the NICU came to see us. She sat down and in blunt terms began telling us of survival rates, premature delivery complications, solutions to complications post-delivery, and we were ushered into a world that was far, far from where we were just the day before.
For 8 days I laid in that hospital room in the same condition. Aside from the agonizing pain from being away from Landon and Trent every day, nothing changed. But on the morning of August 20th, I woke up at about 4 a.m. and knew something was different. I'd been losing fluid all week and we knew there was no more surrounding the baby, but that morning he wasn't moving. They hooked me up to a monitor and checked for activity but he was just worn out. I knew it, the nurses knew it, and there was no turning back.
At 4 p.m., the doctor came in to my room to prepare me for a c-section. My parents held our hands tight before they took me to the operating room and prayed for us. This was the first experience in my life where I truly felt the power of prayer. I knew that the God that we have served for so long was right there with us. I also knew that this would open doors for us to use this opportunity to share our testimony.
With Landon sitting at my head, Ethan was delivered at 4:59 p.m. He cried when they pulled him out, which was an incredible relief to us. Though he was quickly whisked away by a NICU team, I was able to see him for a few moments. After the c-section was complete, they wheeled my entire bed into the NICU to see my baby. He looked so incredibly tiny and frail. He weighed only 2 pounds, 6 ounces, but he was all there….one beautiful little baby miracle.
In the days that followed, it seemed as if we had been drugged. We learned new terminology pertaining to the NICU. We touched Ethan's paper-thin skin through the doors of an isolette. And we prepared to leave him there as we had to return home after discharge in order to gather our thoughts and begin making the trips back and forth to the NICU.
The day we were discharged, Landon and I went to the NICU to visit Ethan first thing in the morning. I cried so hard that there were a few moments I couldn't even put one foot in front of the other. I felt like I had done this. I wanted to protect my baby boy and he was no longer in my protective caccoon.
Upon returning the second time that morning, the nurse told us that one of us could hold him. It had been four days and we had yet to put our arms around him. Holding a preemie requires a few nurses, lots of cord moving, piles of pillows, and coordination. I watched as they did their jobs to get him ready to be laid in my arms and still was overwhelmed with a sense of "this is not how this should be happening."
But in those few minutes that I was able to hold his tiny little body against mine, my heart was again softened. I knew that all babies, no matter how far along in gestation, are a gift. They deserve to breathe, cry, and live. It was my responsibility to be an advocate for my baby. And now it is my responsibility to advocate for other babies who are born too soon.
Over the next two months we traveled the 2 1/2 hour drive from our home in Independence to Topeka just about every other day. I made the trip every time. Landon would come on the weekends, and Trent would come a little less often. We juggled schedules, used video chat to see each other, stayed in the Ronald McDonald house down the street, and found our new home in the NICU.
Ethan was on a ventilator for one month before he was able to be weaned off. His brain and heart ultrasounds were returned with excellent results. He was fed through a feeding tube and stayed in an isolette for about 1 1/2 months. We only had one day where we encountered a setback when Ethan got "loops" in his digestive track. They had to stop feedings for 24 hours until those loops went away.
Our families were so kind to come visit us, call every day, and offer their full support. We needed it. Trent found refuge with grandparents, aunts and uncles, and friends while we were gone so much. He was five years old, just beginning kindergarten, going through a growth spurt, and lost his first tooth, all within a month. We knew we had a strong little preemie, but that five year old was a pillar of strength for all of us.
The week before October 15h, Ethan had one major "episode" where he stopped breathing while he was eating. This was "normal" for preemies, but nothing can prepare a mother who is feeding her baby to look down and see him go limp in her arms. No matter how many times you've been there when it happened in the NICU and no matter how much you know to help the baby begin breathing again, you don't get used to it. But that was his last episode. We knew that if he went one week without an episode and continued eating all of his bottles, we were on track to bring him home.
The day before October 15th, we arrived at the hospital with car seat in hand. We had to take some classes to prepare us to bring him home. I can't tell you most of the things we learned in those classes because we were in a state of euphoria at the thought of walking out of there one last time with Ethan in tow.
Aside from a mountain of paperwork to discharge Ethan, that morning was uneventful and seemed to drag on forever. But we were finally allowed to place his tiny body into the car seat, get a few pictures, and leave. We drove home so carefully and went immediately to the school to pick up Trent.
We arrived home to find a banner on the house welcoming his arrival and he easily fell into our routine. He got used to the loudness of our voices, the temperature of our rooms, the smells, and the comforting arms that were always surrounding him.
Ethan has not had one setback since we brought him home. Even though we have to account for his "adjusted" age and realize he doesn't reach most baby milestones until three months after the normal time, he is a perfect, healthy, "normal" baby to us.
We are lucky. Many people do not share the same experiences. Some 28 weekers thrive just like Ethan. Others have to undergo surgery after surgery, month upon month in the NICU, and will always struggle with problems associated with being a preemie. There is nothing we could have done to prevent this. There is nothing we could have done to have changed the outcome. Every baby born too soon is different, has different problems, and different outcomes. But all babies, whether they are born at 28 weeks or 40 weeks, share one common bond: they are truly little miracles from God.
One year ago today I knew nothing about preemies. Before that day prematurity was something that happened to other people, like women who treat their bodies terribly during pregnancy. I couldn't stand to see pictures of babies in hospital beds with wires coming from their tiny bodies. I would turn my head and ignore the beautiful little miracle pictured in front of me.