There is a club that I never really knew existed until I became part of it. The 26 weeker mom's club... I became a member of this club very suddenly, and it took me a long time to accept the reality of my membership. One day everything was fine. I was at work, going about my routine, and then in a split second my life was turned upside down. As soon as I started bleeding I knew something was very wrong. After being monitored for a few hours, everything looked fine. Phew! False alarm. And then I saw the face of the nurse who had just come back with the test results to make sure my water hadn't broken. "I'm so sorry, but it came back positive. Your water broke." Instantly, my stomach dropped and I began sobbing. When? When did my water break? I had so little fluid that it had likely ruptured some time ago. How? How could I not know that my own water had broken? How could my doctor not have known? Why wasn't I more persistent when expressing concerns to him? Maybe then I could have gone on bed rest and kept my baby inside me a little longer.
All of a sudden, the contractions begin. As did preparations for an ambulance to take me from my hospital to one with a level three NICU that is prepared to take tiny babies born at 26 weeks. Then I'm lying in an ambulance, trying to make small talk with medics who are doing their best to keep me calm. All the while I'm thinking "This is some kind of a joke. My water can't be broken. I'm not going on bed rest, I'm only 26 weeks along! I had a plan! It's too early!" And although I'd already made a spreadsheet of everything to pack in my hospital bag, that bag was not packed and I had nothing with me except the clothes I had been wearing when I arrived at the hospital.
I arrive at IMC and am giving numerous shots and medications to stop labor and help my baby's brain should I deliver in the next 48 hours. The contractions are becoming more intense, and they check me again and see that in the last few hours I have dilated to a 7 and they can see hair. A neonatalogist comes in to tell Taylor and me that our baby is coming tonight, and the odds aren't good. If he survives, he will have to overcome many obstacles and is high-risk for long-term issues.
Finally around 4:15 AM I knew he was coming. The doctor checked me again, and I was at a 10. As they wheeled me back to a stark white operating room, Taylor and I looked at each other incredulously. This was not what we had planned. After 15 minutes of pushing, I was no longer pregnant. I didn't get more than a split-second glimpse of my tiny baby before he was being passed from the delivery team to the waiting NICU team. There was no feeling of immense relief or joy. There was no placing him on my chest and soaking up his first moments in the world while meeting my first child for the first time. There were no photos of Taylor sitting on my hospital bed while I held our baby, the first time as a family of three. Instead, there was me, Taylor, and the doctors assisting in my delivery looking at me with pity in their eyes as I finished delivering. Meanwhile, our tiny son was being resuscitated because he wasn't breathing for the first 30 seconds of his life.
It was several hours before the neonatologist had Cooper stabilized and I was allowed to see him. They let me reach into his isolette and touch his finger, and I sobbed. The entire night had been a horrible, fast-paced blur but the reality of the situation finally hit me as I saw my tiny baby, covered in a sheet of clear plastic to protect his very fragile skin. He was perfect.
The first two days of his life I felt like I was in a daze. After word got around that I had delivered, people were so sweet and kind, but many didn't know what to say. I had quite a few visitors in the hospital, but it was not the way I had envisioned the first few days of my baby's life. There was no baby sitting next to me to introduce to everyone. Instead, he was downstairs, secure in the NICU. People asked me how I was doing and what had happened, and I tried to be strong, while also experiencing the hardest moments of my entire life.
I will never forget the kind nurses who took care of me while I was recovering in the hospital. They were each so sensitive and compassionate. One time while a nurse was assisting me, another nurse poked her head in my room and told the nurse that the baby next door was ready to go back to the nursery. The nurse then looked at me quickly with sympathy in her eyes. When she left the room I cried and cried as I wished that my baby was safely next to me instead of downstairs in the NICU hooked up to a ventilator that was breathing for him. Each of the nurses that took care of me were amazing, and made those difficult days easier.
Taylor and I were told that the NICU would be a rollercoaster, with lots of highs and lows throughout Cooper's stay. That was the best way to describe the joy you would feel when your baby took a step forward, and then the extreme sorrow you felt when he went three steps back. When Cooper was born 14 weeks early, my world was suddenly upside down. I remember scrolling through Instagram in my recovery room a few hours after Cooper was born, and feeling so sick to my stomach as I looked at pictures of what people were eating for lunch, beautiful maternity photos accompanied by captions complaining about the discomfort of full-term pregnancy, and people enjoying a fancy vacation while I sat in a hospital room, unsure if my two pound baby was going to survive. I had to largely ignore social media while Cooper was in the NICU because I couldn't stomach complaints on Facebook about delayed flights and babies blowing out of their diapers while my baby was fighting to survive. I will forever be grateful for the lesson and perspective Cooper's birth has given me, because it truly has changed me and helped me to focus on what matters and not get caught up in things that don't.
Anyway, I remember as I was scrolling through Instagram that day and just wanting to tell everyone "Don't you know my life is in shambles? How can you keep posting about frivolous things?" It wasn't a logical emotion, because most people had no idea I had gone into extremely pre-term labor for no reason and that I was no longer pregnant. And even after we announced that Cooper was born, of course people kept living their lives (as they should). Friends from high school that I hadn't seen in a few years weren't going to not share fun vacation pictures simply because my life felt so out of control. As Cooper grew, became stronger, and it became evident that he was going to come home someday, I was able to make peace with social media (although it took months) and accept that everyone is doing the best they can and we all face trials that are unseen by many.
For most parents who have a baby that spends time in the NICU, it is typically just a few days or weeks, depending on how premature the baby was or what conditions were present at the time of delivery. When Cooper was born at 26 weeks on July 7th, everyone told us to plan on him coming home around his due date. 3 months (14 weeks) later on October 12th. I couldn't fathom how we would ever survive the ominous journey before us... but we did it. One day at a time.
The NICU became our new home. Life as we knew it completely stopped. I stopped working, and would spend about 12 hours each day at the NICU with Cooper. Taylor still had classes a few days a week, but he would come to the NICU on the days he didn't work/have class and would come every evening on the days he was in Provo. Each day in the NICU felt like a lifetime, but slowly, Cooper began to grow. He faced many setbacks and challenges, but he given the best care at Primary Children's Hospital.
I experienced a lot of tender emotions during the 96 days Cooper was in the NICU, but now that a year has passed and Cooper is now a healthy 17 pound baby, the traumatic memories are fading and above all I feel gratitude for Cooper's life and the refining experience the first three months were.
One of my favorite scriptures is Alma 26:12, and it echoes my feelings about Cooper's birth. Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things; yea, behold, many mighty miracles we have wrought in this land, for which we will praise his name forever.
