His first day home

http://www.candidsbykate.com/joshyale/josh.exe

Coming Home

When we arrived, we did everything for the last time. We parked in that awful parking deck. We scrubbed in for the last time. We tied the last yellow plastic gown over our clothes. We dressed Josh in his outfit to come home. We took every lead off his body and kissed the spots where they had been. The nurses gathered around and said their goodbyes and gave us our instructions.

They loaded us down with diapers and formula. I thanked each one for their love and help.
But before we left, Dr. X had to sign his release. She came in alone. She smiled at Josh in his outfit. She made sure we had no questions and signed his release forms. We stood there for a moment and I broke the silence. I thanked her for all she had done to make Josh well. I told her that it was not an easy job she had and that I knew that what she did for Josh was the best thing. She smiled and said "You're welcome. Take care of that little guy."

We piled all our belongings on a huge cart. We put Josh in his carseat. He looked so very tiny, all packed in with blankets. His preemie outfit was swimming on him. We went upstairs to show him off to the nurses who had cared for me on the 9th floor. There was much to celebrate and they fawned all over him. And then as simply as people did, we left. We took our son, after thirty three long days. We walked out the front door and never looked back again.

I do not ever ask myself why it all happened. I never ask 'why us?" I already know the answer. Life has a way of making sure you are appreciating exactly what you have. I could wonder why my water broke, but even my OB could not tell me the answer to that question. I can only form my own opinion. I think it happened to change me. The Friday before my water broke, Matt and I were on a date. At dinner I said to him, "I think that something about having Josh is going to change me forever." I do not know why I said it, but I know that I was right.

Without this event I may never have understood how much Matt loved me. I will always have the memory of him walking in my hospital room on my fifth day of bed rest. He had brought the pajamas he had laundered on his way to work. He had taken Ryan to school that morning and had walked in "mommy's shoes" for almost a week. He came in the room and said, "I don't care what ever happens between us. I don't care what you do, I don't even care if you cheat on me, we are NEVER getting divorced." He said it with such passion that all I could do was laugh. Not everyone comes through something like this stronger for it. We were very lucky that we did.

Josh is now a very healthy and bossy one year-old. He is smaller than some, but average size. He can eat anyone out of house and home. He has a huge smile and everyone who he meets becomes a fan, even if they do not know the story of his long struggle. Although he was never cognizant of it, he survived a month away from his parents long before he was ready for college. He is well and it is thanks to all of those who kept him alive. He is also lucky to have a big brother and family who love him to pieces.

We were blessed to have my parents in town and able to help us as much as they did. Their love for us got us through and we will be eternally grateful for all they did. My Mom was at the NICU almost every day. My Dad could not handle the pain of seeing Josh so tiny and in the NICU. He only went a couple of times, but when we were home he was overwhelmed by his love for Josh, as we all were. Not being in the NICU allowed us to love Josh with all our hearts, without fear. It consumed me how much I loved him. He was and always will be my hero.

I learned so much going through what we went through. I learned where rock bottom is in my heart. I learned how to let go a little, but the biggest lesson I learned was how to receive. Over the time we spent at the NICU, my friends poured love down on me. They picked me up when I fell, they hugged me when I could not breathe. They counselled me when I was lost. After spending a life being a giver, I was on the other end. I did not feel guilt, I felt loved. I felt full of their love.

When my friends came to the NICU and saw Josh in his isolet, their love for him surged, as did my love for them. I will never forget Tracy crying when she saw him. I will always remember each of them seeing him for the first time. I asked Tracy to be Josh's Godmother. Although she would never own up to how much she helped, I was able to get through it because of her, he was able to get through it because of me. It is the reason I made it through, the love that my family and friends had for us. Our friends became our family through their love and generosity and they will be in our hearts forever.

PCN 2

That weekend we enjoyed the idea that was slowly becoming a reality. Josh was getting better. When Dr. H stopped by to check in that Saturday, we were delighted to share that Josh had no had one brady. He put the order in for Josh to start having only bottles and to have the feeding tube removed completely. We were elated.

We also took our CPR class that day. All parents from the NICU are required to take a CPR class. They do not come right out and say "in case your child stops breathing" but you know why you are there. It is the first step you take when you are almost ready to go home. Josh would need to be circumcised, pass a car seat check (that would make sure he could breathe well in his seat while he was still on monitors) and get his Hep B shot. There were many ways to tell a baby was getting ready to leave, but a carseat by your bed was a sure sign. When Dr. H came by on Sunday, he told us we could bring our seat in.

Mike and Leigh were so excited to bring Andrew home as well. He was their first and only, so they spent a great deal more time at the NICU than we could. Leigh came in all dressed up that Sunday, having been at her baby shower. She told us how weird it was to be there, not being pregnant, not having the baby. The four of us sat around that night talking about nurseries and how much we hated being in the PCN.

Mike and Matt were feeding their sons bottles and we were watching the monitors like hawks. Nothing would prevent us from bringing our little men home that week and we were sure to watch their stats for any dip. When Andrew didn't finish the last little bit in his bottle, we all knew what that meant:it would have to go in the tube. Mike simply popped it in the trash can. At first we were shocked until we realized how brilliant the plan was. We would simply lie. Who cared if they didn't get that last sip? The two of them were almost six pounds. They were getting plenty to eat. We would cheat the system. We would get them home.

Andrew's nurse practitioner began talking about the possibility of him going home on a monitor. The monitor would connect with a lead on Andrew's chest and make sure he did not have a brady while he slept. We all thought this sounded like a great idea. Anything with the word home in the title seemed like a great idea.

The next day when I arrived, the nurse was dressing Andrew in his outfit for pictures. Mike and Matt called it a dress, Leigh and I called it adorable. He was whisked away for photos. The nurses were all in wonderful moods and we sat around talking about the Grey's Anatomy episode the night before. By that afternoon Andrew was getting his shots and passing his carseat check. The old men in the room were making their way towards the door.

That night we watched Mike and Leigh give Andrew a bath. We were too afraid to ask our nurse, as she was the one that told us on the first night that they did not DO baths in the PCN. We got them snuggled in and sat watching the monitors. A calm had fallen over the PCN. There were only seven babies. The nurses remarked how weird it was. It was the slowest time that they could remember.

I looked over at the new isolet that had been brought in that day. I was in the habit of talking to all the new parents and introducing myself. A beautiful young African American woman sat in a chair peering into the isolet. I went over to the woman and touched her shoulder. She jumped at the contact and turned around. I knelt down next to her and introduced myself. I looked in at her tiny daughter, Amber, who had been born at only 29 weeks. She is was so tiny and so gorgeous. When I looked back at her Mom and told her that, her eyes filled with tears. I explained that we had all been there. We had all seen the PCN, heard the roar of it. We had all been dropped into this place after the NICU, but I promised her that tomorrow would be better. Before I had even thought to do it, I was holding her as she wept.

The following day I spent with Ryan at home. Both boys were fairing pretty well, considering neither one really had a mother. I wanted to spend some time with him before Josh came home. He and I played and I called in to check on Josh who was doing very well. That night when Matt and I walked in, Mike, Leigh and Andrews were gone.

I cannot express what it felt like to walk around that corner and see the empty space where his bed had been. We just stood there and stared at it. I was consumed by envy and sadness. They were gone. For a month they had been our best friends, our closest allies. Andrew was home. Leigh and Mike had their son home. A warmth spread through my as I thought about them tucking him into his crib at home. I no longer felt bitter, I was only thrilled that they were experiencing what normal parents felt in bringing their baby home for the first time. Our nurse informed us that there was a note from our "partners in crime" by Josh's bed. It was from Leigh and gave us their contact information. I was determined to follow in their footsteps.

That night, the unthinkable happened. Josh had a brady. It was around 2am. When I came in the next morning, the nurses gave me the news. I was crushed. I wanted the details, but as she was about to provide them, I heard what I didn't want to hear. I heard Dr. X. The long weekend was over. She was back and I was very ready.

With her fledgling flock of residents around her, she was presented Josh's stats. He was on all bottles. He was on no caffeine. He was to have his eye exam the following day. He was to have his Hep B later that day. And then the moment that I had been waiting for. The young intern said "Patient's HMF has been discontinued." Dr. X looked at me, I stared hard back. She drew a breath in and asked how he had been doing. I was more than happy to tell her that despite one brady the night before, he had NONE since I had last seen her. There was a pause so long that the residents shifted in their shoes. "Well, that's what we want, isn't it?" she asked. "I am going to put him on an on demand feeding schedule so he can eat when he is hungry." "When can he go home?" I asked he, impatiently.

She explained that because of his brady and because whether or not he needed stimulation to come out of that brady was not documented on his chart, he would need to stay another seven days. My heart sank and then lurched. It was all I could do not to grab his chart and bash her in the head with it. I asked about going home on a monitor and she simply refused. Check and checkmate. She was the boss and she made sure I knew it. I might have gone behind her back to get the HMF out, but she would be damned if I was winning that hand. I felt like I could cry.
The next days dragged by.

Without Leigh and Mike, it seemed endless. I was excited and bitter all at once. I wanted to go home on a monitor too. When I passed Dr. H in the hall one afternoon, I begged him to come back. He gently explained that it would be okay, Dr. X did know what she was doing. I hated to disagree with him, so I just nodded my head. They came in to take his picture. He wore a little blue velvet outfit from Stacey. He looked so tiny to be in such a fancy outfit. He had fulfilled all the requirements to go home and we were simply waiting to go. Amber had been moved into a bed and her Mom had begun giving her bottles. I was starting to think that she just might make it out before we would.

I called Leigh to complain about Dr. X and see how they were doing. I was in no way prepared for what she would say. She was practically in tears. She told me that Andrew had been having bradys all the time at night. The machine that got them out of the hospital also kept them up and worried all night. She could not sleep. She was so scared of what would happen to Andrew. She told me that she wished so much that they were back in the PCN with us. She wished that they had never left. I was stunned. Could she really be telling me that they would rather be in the PCN than home? She urged me to stay there and get Josh all the way well before coming home.

I do not remember the days leading up to us leaving feeling much different than all the rest. I made huge baskets of muffins for the NICU nurses and PCN and wrote countless thank you cards. I bought picture frames for his best nurses and put a picture of Josh inside. We got everything ready at home. The night before he left, we gave him his first tub bath. We were so excited to come in the next morning.

PCN

After twelve long days of being in the NICU, Josh was transferred down the hall to the PCN during shift change and Matt and I looked forward that night to seeing his new digs. We made the very unfortunate mistake of being too excited too soon. If the NICU had been a quiet vessel in which Josh grew, he was being thrown into the very deep end of the ocean.

We happened to be in the NICU and PCN during a very slow time. The babies were spread out over the four wings of the NICU, but in the PCN, the simply closed half of it and clustered the babies together. We walked in, scrubbed in and went about the business of finding our son. He was in a tiny wing with five other babies. The other babies were in open cribs, draped by quilts. Josh was still in his isolet until he could maintain his temperature outside of it on his own.

The sheer volume of the place is what throws you. The machines that quietly beeped and hummed in the NICU are turned up in the PCN, as the ratio from baby to nurse went from 2 to1 to four to one. Because they had to watch the babies for signs of distress, the machines constantly beeped. The phone that the parents caledl their nurses on was from the 60's. The shrill ring of it was enough to startle you out of your chair, if you were lucky enough to find a chair. Because of the space and the number of parents, there just was not any room. In the corner across from us was a metal crib and in it a baby who looked to be about six months old. She was screaming.

We looked around like victims of an accident, shaken with the shock of it all. We had not even spoken to his nurse and we had been there for twenty minutes. We had no idea what was happening or what to expect. When she finally came over to us, pushing the scale to get his night time vital signs, she was cold and abrupt. We asked if we could give him his bath and she gave us a look that made us understand that in here, we were not in charge. "We don’t do baths in here," she replied. That was the end of that conversation.

We walked to the car and drove home in silence. The only sound from either of us was the occasional sniffle, as we both cried the whole way home. Picking up our oldest son, we could not even explain to my parents what had happened as we could not understand it ourselves. We put our son to bed, poured a drink, and just lay on the couch together. As hard as I tried, I could not imagine how I would have the strength to go in the next day.

Being in a situation like this makes your faith in God and fate grow. You have to believe there is a reason for it all or you would go insane. After the baby dying in the NICU and having seen the PCN, the sanity bus I was riding was making a stop at post partum and terrible depression. I could feel the weight of it all in my heart. I could feel my ability to pretend that I was holding it all together slipping. I sobbed like a baby on the phone with Tracy and Melissa on my drive to the hospital. I had to find way to get through it. I just did not know how it would be possible.
Daylight brought a new warmth to the PCN and my morning nurse greeted me as I scrubbed in. She was cheerful and led me to Josh’s corner, where he was asleep in a tiny little plastic bed. He looked so small, so perfect. I could touch him without opening a door. He finally seemed like a real baby. I was so taken with his in his new home, and I did not have the chance to notice that the baby in the "cage" was no longer there. In our room there were six small beds, all the babies sleeping soundly. The relief that flooded through me came pouring out as I sat in the pumping room and sobbed.

I liked to tell people that Josh is a tough little cookie and that he has been trouble since the moment that the pregnancy test turned positive. The one thing I clearly understood when I was pregnant with him was that he was the boss. His gorgeous smile and gentle face hide a very ornery young man, so when he decided something would be a certain way, it was going to be that way. Immediately that morning I noticed things he was just not happy about.

His tube was back in his mouth, which caused him to gag constantly. I asked the nurse to move it to his nose and she said to ask the Dr.X when rounds began. He was now sleeping on his back instead of his stomach and was wrapped so tightly that burritos would be jealous. In the NICU he slept on his stomach, his tiny right hand next to his mouth. In the PCN he was swaddled to a nearly paralyzed state with his arms down by his sides to keep him from pulling his feeding tube out. When tDr. X and her residents came in that morning I was ready.

I once again argued against the HMF in the breast milk. He seemed to be having reflux. I believed it was causing him to have the bradys. Dr. X vetoed that. I asked if he could have his little hand so he could sleep. No. I very quickly began to understand that she was in charge. I must have looked ready to fight because she said the one thing she could that would change our stand off. Would I like to feed him his first bottle that afternoon? As much as I hated her, I could have hugged her.

My Mom arrived just in time to watch me feed Josh for the first time. There is about an ounce of breast milk in the tiny bottle, as Josh’s appetite had grown. His feeding tube was still in his nose, taped to his face. Until he was able to eat every bottle on his own, they would continue to feed him through the tubes. We were starting a one bottle day and working our way towards eight. Once he was eating well, we could go home. He chugged his bottle like a pro, but my eyes only rarely left the screen that monitored his vitals. With each suck his heart rate dropped, when he really started chugging, he forgot to breathe. When the bottle was done he was exhausted and a moment later he has a brady. The alarms went off, the nurse came and we patted Josh on the back to make him remember that every time his heart stopped, so did his Mom’s.

Almost all preemies have to learn how to drink and breathe at the same time. Caucasian male babies have a harder time than any other babies. In the NICU they called it "wimpy white boy syndrome." The girls flew in and out of the PCN. They staredt drinking and they never stopped. You could not help but be bitter when someone else went home. It was hard enough to fight the rest of the emotions, but jealousy was one that you simply indulged. I was jealous of my friends who were still pregnant, jealous when someone went home, jealous that other people did not have to cry themselves to sleep every night.

Fourteen days had passed since Josh was born. He had only been in the PCN for two days and everything was changing. Babies were becoming well enough to leave. Matt and I had almost adjusted to the PCN when we were given the best gift we would could have been given in there, the gift of friendship.

I do not know how Andrew’s bed came to be across from our bed in this tiny little room, but the second night as Matt and I showed up to spend time with Josh, there sat Leigh and Mike. We had seen them all through the NICU process, I had passed by Leigh in the breast pumping room, we had said hello to them. It was not until tiny Andrew made the scene that I found the smallest spot of brightness before the darkest days began. When we saw Leigh and Mike, introduced ourselves and started talking, I really knew that fate had brought my OB in on that late night to tell me about Andrew’s birth.

Although he was a week older than Josh, Andrew was a little guy. Starting life under the three-pound mark had not stopped his progress and we were so glad to have another family to share the experience with. Each night we would walk into the PCN to find them there, having saved some chairs for us. We called it "cocktail hour" because the PCN opened the doors at 7:30 and we would all meet in the back, ready to see our boys. Leigh and I would often be at the hospital together during the day, trading early labor stories and checking out the boy’s charts from the night before.

Andrew was followed by the nurse practitioner, which made it harder to accept that Dr. X was in charge of Josh. While Andrew was allowed to have three bottles, we were stuck at two. I was complaining to Leigh on our 16th day about how mad I was at the slow pace and the HMF in his bottles when all the alarms sounded in our corner. Josh, who had fallen asleep on my chest after his bottle, was having a brady. His heart rate fell to less than 60 beats per minute and his pulse oxygen plummeted. Leigh and I knew this happened when we weren’t there, but seeing it was terrible. With a little bouncing he was fine again, but over the next couple of hours we sat staring at his monitor, watching him have three more episodes. They gave him more caffeine, which he was already taking daily to prevent such attacks and that seemed to help.

Something in my head just snapped. It was almost as if I heard it. I was not leaving. I did not care about anything else. I was not going home. I was not picking up Ryan. I was never leaving the hospital again. The thoughts that kept me grounded, the ones that made me put one foot in front of the other vanished. I called my Mom to tell her that I was not leaving the hospital and to please get Ryan. I did not leave the hospital until 10:00 that night and even then, I think Matt had to practically drag me.

I had been wading in the dark water for many weeks. I did it with a smile. I very rarely allowed myself to think too much about what was happening or how it was all working. I could handle it. If my son could handle sleeping in a box surrounded by crying babies, loud nurses, alarms going off and wanting his Mom, than the least I could do is handle the stress on my end. Each day I moved like a machine. I would be getting Ryan ready for school, pumping, packing the diaper bag with the midnight feeding of breast milk, packing Ryan’s lunch, taking him to school, driving to the NICU, the nightmare of parking, the long travel in, scrubbing in, spending a couple of hours at peace starting at Josh, off to the pump room to pump, a quick goodbye and then off to pick up Ryan, put him down for nap, handle laundry and bill-paying and all the chores of daily life only then to face the long wait until Matt came home so that we could drop Ryan off and head back to the hospital. I could handle it all, but when the bradys came, the world just came crashing down.

No one could continue at a pace like that, being that scared for that long. When I was at home, all I could do was thinking about being with Josh. I would clean anything in sight just to have my mind off of it. When the bradys started happening with some regularity, it was all I could do not to call the hospital every fifteen minutes to check on him. I felt like being could stop it from happening. Although I was told by every nurse and Doctor that this was a completely normal stage of development for a preemie, I could not be reassured. I started to think he would never come home.

They call it the "H word" when you are in the PCN. Home was never something you said out loud. Home was not a thought you should have until someone says it to you first, but it is the only thing you think about. When I woke up that Sunday morning, his 17th day of life, I couldn’t move. I was terrified all the time. I would wake up in the night just to call in to see how he was. I was always terrified that they would tell me he stopped breathing, that they moved him back to the NICU or something far worse. Fear engulfed me. With shaking hands I would dial the phone, each second longer than the last until I would get his nurse who told me that morning that Josh had five bradys the night before.

I could not move off the couch on that Sunday. I curled into a little ball and wept. Nothing could make me move. I didn’t pump. I didn’t call the hospital. I refused to go in. I knew the truth. Josh was never coming home. He would never see his nursery. He would never leave the hospital. I did not think he was going to die, but the finite time frame I had in my mind was crushed by his bardycardia attacks. I just did not feel as though I had the ability to continue. My parents went in that night instead of us. Matt’s focus all day had been to get me to stop repeating one sentence. "He is never coming home." My hope was gone.

I drove like a maniac on Monday morning after dropping Ryan off. I had gone an entire day without seeing him. Everyone was saying it was a good thing to take a break for a day, but I knew the lie. I could not ask Josh to deal with his harsh world if I could not. With that in mind, I simply checked back into sanity. I imagine that I didn’t seem that sane, as when the Grump appeared like Santa and her elves, handing out her permission for one more bottle a day, I pounced on her. I wanted him off the HMF. I had done a bit of research and found that with some babies HMF causes reflux which causes the bradys. She didn’t agree, but I fought harder. I had been against it from the beginning, but since he was packing on two ounces a day, she fought back. Furious, I left shortly thereafter.

For days I felt like I was wading just above the surface of the water. I went back and forth, continued to struggle with pumping, thought of little else but Josh. At night I would lie on the couch with my hands on my empty womb. There was no baby, but there was also no baby in our nursery. Something had to happen. I was on the verge of losing it once again,
And then, like a ray of light, Dr. H. appeared. He was taking over rounds from the Grump for the long weekend and I very nearly kissed him when he appeared at Josh’s bed. I begged him to take Josh off the HMF. While I was talking he was reading his chart. I explained about his bradys, how I felt they were caused by the HMF and the reflux it could bring. I asked him to let me give him breastmilk for 24 hours. If the plan did not work, they could put it back in. He smiled and agreed. He also took him off the caffeine and bumped his up to four bottles a day.

I was estatic. I told the nurse the new orders and I left for the day. When I called to check in that afternoon, he had not had one brady. When we arrived that night, Leigh and Mike were there and delighted in our news. Andrew was progressing along so well that they were not monitoring his pulse oxygen anymore. This was big news, as we spent the majority of our time staring at the monitors and one less thing to look at was always a good sign. We laughed and got the boys out of their beds for their nightly routine.

We would change their diapers, take their tempatures and then get their bottles ready. The nurse would bring our bottles and the four of us would rock and talk and watch our monitors and each other’s. They were our partners in crime. They were the only people who could understand what we were going through.

That night I slept like I had not since the sleeping pill. I did not wake up at 3am to call the hospital. In the morning when I called I knew what they would tell me and I was not disappointed. Josh had no bradys. With his weight at five pounds, he just needed to go seven days without a brady and he could come home. When we saw Dr. H today I was careful not to gloat. He just smiled and said, "Sometimes Moms know best." It was February 8th. Josh was three weeks old.

nicu

By day nine in the NICU, Josh was off the nose canuals, breathing on his own and alert and happy. The permanent IV called a PIC line that ran directly from his leg into his heart had been removed. His first bottle had not gone well and Dr. X was completely angry with me for the whole thing, as if it was my fault for having the bottle in the first place. She lectured me one day on not rushing Josh. He was about to graduate to a whole new place, the Progressive Care Unit.

Dr. X ordered for my breast milk to be fortified with HMF which adds calories to the breast milk. That night when we left, I was so excited to come in the next day to move our son to the PCN. Arriving that morning, I was immediately informed that Josh would be going nowhere. During the night he had spit up large amounts and had several bradys. This was the first time I heard about any episodes he was having and I was very shaken. I was also cruelly disappointed that he was to remain in the NICU. While it was a frightening to take him out of the NICU and way from Andrea, the PCN meant moving forward, moving closer to home. I noticed that Andrew’s spot was empty as was the spot of another baby we knew. They left, but we remained. It was the very first argument I started with Dr. X, but it would in no way be the last.

That night I brought a gift for Andrea and a letter. It read as follows.

Dear Andrea,

Words cannot begin to express to you our gratitude for the care you have given Josh these past twelve days. It was so lucky that we happened to meet you that first night. We can’t begin to imagine what our time in the NICU would have been like without you. Whenever we speak of you to others, we like to say that having you there is like leaving Josh with one of our trusted friends and not in the care of a nurse. Josh loves you such much and will miss you as he takes this next step closer to home. He knows that you will visit him in the NPCN and we know he’ll be looking forward to seeing your smiling face. We hope that you know that you are so welcome to visit him any time here in our home as well!! Bath time just won’t be the same now. We have so enjoyed sharing with you the happy times and the sad. You’ve been such a source of comfort and trust to us and a source of strength for Josh. We know that his moving on has more to do with your care than anything else. We know that your love helped him to grow. When people have never been through an experience like this, they can’t understand how quickly you bond with people who are taking care of you or taking care of your child. We hope that you know that you are much more than a nurse to us. You’ve become a very good friend. Please promise you’ll always stay in touch. You know we won’t let Josh leave without telling you goodbye, but we wanted to say goodbye ourselves in a small way, to let you know how much you have meant to our family during this difficult and joyous time.

With our love and thanks,

Matt and Kelly

more nicu...

When residents and rounds change, in comes the new guard. The Doctor we loved had moved into a new group and we had a new one, Dr. X. At first, I could just tell we were not going to be friends. She was distant in the way that people who deal with the sickness and death of tiny babies must get. It was our 5th day there and I was prepared for the rounds. They discussed how much he ate, what his air was set to, all of his vitals. Each day as Josh had become stronger, they weaned his oxygen down. Dr. X was a turtle. She believed in the slow and steady pace. She knew what she was doing, but she was my enemy from the word go then.

Each day I would stay with Josh in the mornings until I had to pick up my son from school. I would leave and pass by Andrew’s parents, sitting and watching their baby, the way we all did. I always wanted to say something to them, but you just never knew how. Each day new babies would come in, some babies would stay a day, others became permanent residents like us. My Mom would go to the hospital from 1:00-4:00pm each day. I would stay home and when my husband came home we would drop our oldest off to my parents and drive the thirty minutes back to the hospital.

We were so very lucky. We had amazing help from my parents. Without them, nothing would have been possible and Matt would have had to take a leave from work. I would never have been able to function. I was also so blessed to have my friends. They organized dinners every other night. I never had to cook. There would be a different friend at the door holding gifts and dinner, ready with a hug. They took my calls at all hours, listened to me tell them the medical jargon. They came to the NICU and cried over Josh and smiled down at him. They were my backbone, my salvation in a time when I felt so lost.

We had been there a week when my Mom called with her afternoon report. A new baby had come in the NICU, but did not tell me that they moved Josh. That night I walked in to find Josh gone. My blood ran cold and a nurse came flying toward me, pointing to the back, where Josh’s isolet stood alone in the best seat in the house. He had taken over “the suite”. Josh had a spot in the back all alone which gave us the best “room” in the place. No one was around us so it felt like a private room My brother was coming up with me that night to give his new Godson a bath and he was so excited to see him again.

We had just started the process of getting Josh ready for a bath and Josh loved it. He loved giving us smiles. The Doctors would tell us that is called Involuntary Infant Response, but we knew the truth. Josh smiled all the time. We had taken Josh’s clothes off, taken his temperature and were weighing him when we heard a nurse coming toward Andrea saying “We need to clear the NICU, now!” Andrea turned to us and took Josh and told us we would have to leave. She told us to come back in a half an hour.

We did not look up. Our eyes were glued to the new baby they brought in. He was surrounded by Doctors and nurses. Machines were going crazy. Something was very wrong. I willed my legs to move, but my eyes never left the scene. We passed Andrew’s bewildered parents as we walked out. Familiar strangers, we asked one another what could be happening. My brother and I headed down to the cafeteria for a soda and to wait.

We returned a half an hour later to find the East NICU closed. We had never seen it closed before. Whatever had happened, I had a very bad feeling that the baby had died. We got our coats and started the long walk back to the elevators. We turned the corner and far in the distance the elevator’s doors opened and the very worst moment in my life was awaiting me.

Coming out of the elevators was the saddest group of people I had ever seen. A woman was in a wheelchair, her pink gown proving to me she was the mother of the baby. She was sobbing. Her cry cut through my soul. It was much more of a howl than a cry. Her husband was pushing her and their parents were walking behind him. Next to her, holding her hand, was the kind neonatalogist we had just been joking with a couple of hours before. Her baby had died.

Each step toward her was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. We were at least one hundred feet from one another. The sound of her wailing made me feel as though I wanted to die. The sheer amount of guilt made it difficult to breathe. I was drowning in it. I knew if I looked up, I would fall to my knees in front of her, wrap my arms around her, beg her forgiveness for having a baby that had survived. Once she had mercifully passed, I broke down. It was the beginning of a very bad time for me and that moment had simply unlocked the door.

That night I could not stop the voices of doubt in my head. I saw tiny coffins. I wondered where you bought them. Did they have preemie coffins? Where was his body? The morbid thoughts would not stop slamming through my head. I had to take a pain pill just to sleep, but the dread was alive and well in me. The next day I stopped on the 9th floor to see my old nurses. I told them what happened, but they already knew. They could not say anything about a patient, but it was in their eyes and I knew instantly she had been up there with me. She could have been in the next room. We could have talked if we had been able to leave our beds. She could have been me. The odds were that one of our babies would not survive. Why was she chosen? That could have been my son.

Walking into the NICU that day, seeing his empty space, it was almost more than I could bear. Josh’s sweet smile brought my heart some joy. He ate every three hours through a feeding tube that run through his nostril, down his throat and into his stomach. The tubes usually run through the mouth, but Josh made sure that we all knew just how much he hated in his mouth. Requesting that it not be in his mouth was one of the very few things I could control as his mother. Decisions about Josh were all up to Dr. X.. Eager to feed him a bottle, I asked one day during rounds if she thought he could have one. She said no. He had to be off all antibiotics and able to breathe without any support before she would give him the green light, even though other patients who were followed by nurse practitioners were having bottles. I watched with envy as Andrew’s parents fed him a bottle.

That night when Josh’s stomach felt strange to Andrea, she called the nurse practitioner over to feel it and they discussed his readiness for a bottle. The NP said to give it a try. We were so excited, but Josh promptly threw most of it up and that night began to have episodes we would know as bradys. Bradycardia is the heart rate of the baby dropping. This is usually in combination what is known as de saturation of oxygen, which is when the baby essentially stops breathing. When the pulse ox falls and the heart slows, alarms go off to notify the nurse that the baby is in trouble. Some stimulation is often required to startle the baby into breathing again. In bad situations, the baby may turn blue and require oxygen. I am lucky enough to not know if this was ever the case with Josh.

The first few days...

The rest of that day is a blur to me. People came and went. My parents came to see the baby. I slept for much of the day. I awoke that afternoon and was greeted by my new best friend, the breast pump. Because Josh was not able to nurse, I was forced to pump my milk. It went well and when I was through I had a big doser full of breast milk to take down to the NICU with me.

When I went down to see Josh that evening with Matt, the neonatalogist, Dr. H, greeted us with the news that they were putting Josh on a CPAP machine and taking him off the ventilator. The CPAP machine would blow air into Josh’s nose and give him a certain amount of oxygen. Each day the “push” would be turned lower, as would the oxygen. Dr. H was a ray of light from which we drew strength. When I presented the tube of breast milk he instructed the nurse to start the feeding tube right away. Against all odds, we felt hope.

The NICU is shaped like an oval, with beds on the inner and outer rings. There are counters in the middle and on along the outer walls. Machines are everywhere. Even in a NICU of this kind, the highest rated one around, it is a scary place to be. We were there for hours at a time, and we got used to the humming and beeping of the machines. As much as we tried not to, we looked around. Most of the isolets were covered by blankets that kept the babies warm and dark. They tried to make it as much like the womb as possible. There were parents never left their baby’s side and those whose parents live hours away. We tried to smile at people, but it really was not a happy place.

When Josh was one day old, I was able to hold him for the first time. I had ten wires pulling and beeping at me, a nurse standing guard and I had to hold him on my plastic gown. It was an impersonal event. It was great to feel him in my arms though. He felt like nothing. His entire torso fit inside the O made by my thumbs and pointer fingers. His head fit in the palm of my hand. But his heart was bigger and stronger than the heart of a lion and I knew that first day that I was a goner, I loved him more than life itself.

Love was a scary thing to have in the NICU. I found that most Moms went about their routine of holding the baby, talking to or bathing the baby and then putting them back in, wires and all, into their isolets. There was love, but it was just a guarded love. No one really knows what will happen. Those babies were all miracles and not one of them came with a guarantee. I would sit by Josh’s side for hours. By the second day I was walking down those enormous hallways to see him, my heart so glad to move my legs to see my son. But I did not feel close to him. I could not sing to him. I could not even hum. There was so much emotion that I had to hold back because of the fear. If I really stepped back, looked from another person’s eyes, I would see myself crumbling.

We were beyond lucky to have had Andrea as our nurse on our second day. When we would enter the NICU each day, we would get mini reports on what Josh ate and how he was doing from the nurse on duty. I walked into the NICU carrying my trusty breast milk and was greeted by this beautiful, young nurse. Her smile was real. I felt like I knew her at once, like she was family. When we spoke, I found out that she grew up only 10 miles or so from where I did in Ohio. We were given such a gift in Andrea. Even though I was still at the hospital, leaving Josh was hard, even to go up one floor. When he was with Andrea, I felt totally at peace, like I was leaving him with a friend. She became his primary nurse and was with him almost every day.

Matt and I visited the NICU together that nght.. We marveled at the parents sitting around us, we wondered what their stories were. We watched in horror as a baby next to us was hit on the back with a rubber mallet to clear its lungs of mucus. Matt cried. I tried to wish us anywhere but where we were, to still be pregnant, to have all of it a bad dream. Some babies would stop breathing and alarms would sound. The nurse would come over, open the isolet and rub the baby. Josh stopped breathing sometimes as well. His central nervous system was not developed, so when he would fall asleep, he really fell asleep. He would have to be shaken to remember to breathe. They were kind enough not to inform us of that until much later in our stay.

Andrea let us give him baths. She loved for the babies to have new beds and clean pajamas. Since Josh had a fabulous preemie wardrobe courtesy of my friends, he was always styling in his isolet. His hat and outfit always matched, his blankets were always color coordinated. When I tucked him in the night I left the hospital and handed him off to Andrea, I actually felt fine. I dreaded feeling like I would not be able to do it, but I was okay. I had cried harder at the thought of leaving the room I had occupied for two weeks and the nurses I had grown to love. I was safe there. I had Josh just downstairs and now I was leaving? My nurse came to me and told me that they would board me there. I could stay in my room and everything would be as it was, but I would have to get my prescriptions filled. I could stay for free.

For a moment, my heart leapt out of my chest. I could stay. I could make it work. And then I thought of my four-year-old at home, my husband, my parents who had done so much. Much like the cartoon of an angel and a devil on your shoulders, I sat thinking it over. I could feel myself freaking out inside. I knew that I had the ability to completely flip out. What if I just refused to go? I could not leave, could I? My job was to pull it together. I packed my things and made my way home.

There was a bizarre disconnect when I actually arrived home. My parents had so graciously done the entire nursery for us. It was gorgeous. I was in awe of how much they did. I walked in and my Mom was so scared that I would break down, but I could not do that to them. I did not want anyone to know what was happening inside. No one needed the situation to be harder than it already was. That night as I lay on the couch, pumping for a baby that I could not see, hands on a womb that no longer contained that baby, it just felt as though he had never existed at all.

When you have another child, you cannot lock yourself in the NICU. You have to go home. You have to take them to school and pack their lunch and get gas in your car. Life outside was normal, even if I felt like an inmate on my first day out. Now four days post partum I was up and pumping, packing, taking my son to school and then driving 20 minutes to the NICU where I bring my milk and sit next to my other son and watch the monitors. They tell you not to watch them, but you have to. You are glued to them. Your eyes watch for any signs of problems. Had I known my biggest problem would come in the form of my new neonatalogist, I would have been watching for her.

More from the Josh story

A full week had passed and on that Sunday afternoon, the hospital arranged for Matt and I to tour the NICU. I must have looked so silly being wheeled down in my velvet pajamas, hair brushed and make up on. I was a diva in denial to be sure. We scrubbed in and were taken right to the East nursery. We were shown the smallest baby who was under lights in an isolet. It brought tears to my eyes. This baby, the nurse explained, was only 2 pounds and 13 ounces when he was born. I peered into see the baby my Doctor had told me about delivering. His name was Andrew. Even though the NICU was the best in the city and wonderfully peaceful, neither of Matt nor I left with a feeling of peace.

On my tenth day in the hospital, having just bid farewell to my favorite nurse Lindsey, my friend Stacey came by and brought lunch. One of the OBs popped her head in the door and asked if I wanted a C section or a VBAC. For a moment we just all froze. After days of nothingness, I was surprised to be asked anything at all about birthing options. As it happened, the L&D was full of patients from my practice and the OB just wanted to make sure that if anything happened, she would be prepared for me. I told her that I was having another C section and she left us in a state of confusion.

That day marked the ninth anniversary of my husband and my first date, January 18th. He brought Chinese food to the hospital to celebrate before heading home. After he left I felt strange. It was the same kind of feeling that I had the weekend before my water broke, the same feeling that had me writing emails at 3am about how much I had to do to get ready for the baby (two hours before my water broke) and the very same feeling that I had when I heard that music box. When they hooked PITA to the monitor, his heartbeat was all over the place. As I tried to chase him around my belly with the monitor, a sharp pain went through my side. The nurse thought it was gas, assured me that the baby was fine, reattached the monitor and went back to the desk to monitor him. She was back in about five minutes.

The baby must have been in distress for them to have come in so quickly. They told me we were going to Labor and Delivery for observation. After so much monitoring, I was hardly excited by the news. As they wheeled me, I grabbed my cell phone, just in case. Erin, one of my favorite nurses, was reassuring on the way to the elevator. I was having pains in my side, small contractions, but nothing more. My OB met us at the elevator and when I asked her if I should call my husband, her answered could not have shocked me more. She said yes.

He had not been gone for more than two hours when I called him to come back. The sound in his voice was something I had never heard there before. It was sheer and undeniable panic. It was 11:00 p.m. when they wheeled me into the observation room. My nurse was a wonderful woman from Ohio. We laughed and talked and I was as calm as a Hindu cow. I did not actually believe that I was in labor.

Matt arrived as they were prepping me for the operating room and the look on his face made the hair on my arms stand up. I had never seen him so scared. There I was, my blood pressure lower than it had been when we were upstairs and there was Matt, clutching his scrubs and looking very much like he was going to be sick. I tried to tell him it would all be okay, but I don’t know that he heard a single word I said.

I walked into the OR, a very strange sight indeed. My last C section had been an emergency after 14 hours of grueling back labor. I had not really seen my surroundings. This was another experience entirely. The room looked more like something you would see in a sci-fi film. I sat on the table and smiled at the techs who were attaching monitors to me and asking me questions. I braced myself for the spinal, as my fear of needles was horrible. I managed to sit quietly and calmly while they did it. I believed the calm came from knowing that somehow the baby would be okay. I think much closer to the truth is that I felt a deep denial that I would not be taking my baby home with me.

The C section went well, with everyone chatting and me remaining very calm. At one point they actually checked to make sure I was okay, as my breathing was so steady. Matt, on the other hand, had terror in his eyes. Even though we had gone to the NICU a few nights before to prepare him for the size of the baby, I do not think anyone is ever ready for their own child to be so small and helpless. My heart just went out to him. I wished so much that I could make him believe, as I did, that it really was going to be alright.

I had teased with my OB that a baby like PITA would come out screaming. She highly doubted that his lungs would handle that, but at 2:18am, Joshua Scott screamed his way into this world. Though the NICU team stood by, ready to whisk him away, there was no sense of urgency once he arrived. His APGAR scores were eight and nine. He was pink and doing really well. They let us see him, his squishy little face barely visible between the blanket and the knitted hat. He looked tiny, but amazing. He weighed 4 pounds and 3 ounces. He was sixteen and a half inches long.

Everyone was in good spirits having just delivered a healthy baby and as I made my way to recovery only one thing mattered to me, being with my son. I had already been warned that the only way in the NICU was in a wheelchair and I was determined to get there as quickly as I could. I was going to be fine. I would not shake from the morphine like I had with my first son. I held everything inside and did not shake. My nurse had stayed with me and kept urging me just to let go and shake. It was the only thing I had control over and I was not about to lose that. When my Mom and Matt knew I would be okay, they went down to the NICU to see Josh. The nurse touched my arm once they had left and said, “Let go” and just like unzipping your pants after Thanksgiving dinner, I let out a deep breath and shook from head to toe. It would be the first of countless times that I would hold in a storm so those around me would feel as though things were fine. I was about to find out just how insignificant a part of the equation my recovery was.

As I concentrated on moving the big toe on my right foot and checked the clock to find it at 4:00 in the morning, the door opened and there stood my Mom and Matt. Had you told me that the entire city of Charlotte burned to the ground just by judging from the looks on their face, I would have believed it. Matt’s face was paralyzed with the fear that came pouring out of him the moment he began to speak. Together they told me that Josh was not breathing on his own, but was on a ventilator. His nurse had been very thorough in preparing them for the road ahead. They did not want any false hope. Josh would probably be staying in the NICU for the next two months.

I could see them standing there, Matt’s devastated face, my Mom with the look she always had on her face when she was scared to tell us something that would hurt us. I could hear the words they were saying, but it went through me. They did not know anything. I would go down. I would talk to them. We would be in the hospital a week, tops. I just watched my toe and willed it to move. The NICU was open at 7:30 and I planned to be the first one in the door. My nurse asked if I wanted a suite on the 8th floor and I thanked her, but I knew I wanted my room back upstairs and I knew my nurses were waiting for me.

I was back in my room at 5:30am. I told Lindsey that I would need a wheelchair at 7:15. Having just witnessed me getting in my bed from the stretcher, doubt crawled across her face. I was insistent and she was just as insistent that I get some rest. I waited in the dark for a sleep that would never come. I listened to the steady breathing from my Mom and from Matt and watched as the minute hand dragged itself around and around the clock.

At 7:00 I woke everyone up. I called my friends to tell them that Josh was born. I called my family. I buzzed Lindsey to bring the wheelchair. She appeared, her smiling, teasing manner of nursing would fail. She reminded me that I had given birth just five hours ago, as if I could forget. She urged sleep and I repeated my request for the wheelchair. She brought it in.
With every ounce of strength that I had, I pulled myself out of that bed. The force of a mother’s love welled within and though it took almost 40 minutes, I was in that wheelchair. When she saw the pool of blood next to the wheelchair, Lindsey said nothing, she just cleaned it up and smiled at me. She knew I was not to be deterred. I was off to the NICU.

There was a maze of endless hallways that lead to the NICU. Once we arrived at the door, a video camera scanned us and we were buzzed in after announcing who we were.. To the right are sinks and we had to scrub our hands with hot water and soap and pull a yellow, plastic gown over our clothes. In all the times that I went through this process, never once was it bearable. The anxiety and excitement that I felt almost consumed me. Finally, clean and ready, we were ready to make our way into the nursery.

The east nursery has automatic doors that swing open. We had seen the NICU at night, so the brightness og the morning caught me off guard at first. There were nurses everywhere and as I was wheeled past baby after baby, lilliputian in their tiny hats. I stopped in front of Josh’s bed, and took my first real look at my son.

He was laying on his back under a heat lamp, wearing only a diaper. A piece of tape held the ventilator in his mouth. On his chest were “leads” that fed his temperature, respiratory rate, and heart beat into his monitor. His precious left wrist had an enormous identity bracelet around it and his right arm had an IV in it. A clip held his tiny umbilical cord and his big right toe glowed with a red light from his pulse oxygen cord. I was not stunned or scared. I just put my hand on his head and told him that he was going to be just fine.

I called Tracy next. Tracy had rapidly become my closest friend in Charlotte. When our AFP test results had come back positive for Downs Syndrome, she was my first call. She was logical and calm, a good balance for me and I knew she would know just what to say. True to herself, she did just that. I was irrational, crying and excited at once. She made perfect sense. By the time we were finished talking, I felt at peace. When we said goodbye, she told me she loved me. It was not what she said, but that she had said it. I knew the situations that you tell your friends you love them. She understood the path that would lie ahead for us. For some reason that morning, I could not see it until that very moment.

By the time we reached the hospital, having gone through rush hour traffic, my pants were soaked. I was glad I had worn a long sweater to cover them. The Doctor saw us immediately. Much to my horror, it was the older male Doctor I liked least in the group. Ironically, three years before when my water broke at 37 weeks, he was the same one that tested me. He actually ended up breaking my water during the test. This time, his face and voice were very grave. He was sending me to the hopsital. I was to head over to the Labor and Delivery at once, after I had a quick ultrasound to determine the baby’s approximate size.

I called several people on the drive over. I was scared, but for some naive reason I could not get over the excitement and shock that I was going to have a baby. In my career as an infant nanny, I had cared for a set of newborn triplets. They had been four pounds each. My Mom had volunteered in the NICU when I was in highschool and I volunteered on the baby floor. I was not nervous to see a tiny baby. I was completely prepared for the NICU. Even my husband seemed excited. By the time we entered the hospital, my Mom had also arrived.

On the 8th floor, we were assigned a tiny monitoring room where I was to remain until they knew when my labor would begin. I was given a lovely backless gown and the nurse handed me the largest pad in history. I started rifling through the bag I had packed, only then realizing how truly out of my mind I had been that morning. The bag was full of items that I did not need, including three pairs of thong underwear. I held one up along with the pad and we all had a good laugh. It was clearly not going to work. The nurse kindly handed me a pair of thin, stretchy hospital panties that must have doubled as sails in their off duty time.

Happy to be dry, if not too terribly stylish, I was poked and prodded and asked a million questions by dozens of people streamed in and out of the room. I was given a steroid to open the baby’s lungs. They hooked me up to a fetal monitor and a contraction monitor and we began the first round of a game we would all soon know as Waiting for PITA.

Baby “PITA” (or Pain in the Ass) got his nickname because he was fond of making trouble. Already in my pregnancy he had given me quite a run for my money. His latest and greatest trick had been sitting on my tail bone, which brought me miserable pain for Christmas. He also enjoyed moving around and kicking me with all his might. He would prove to be no easier on the nursing staff. The monitor would beep, then would fall silent. A nurse would come in, readjust, and leave once more. This would happen about every ten minutes. The nurses would jokingly tell him to hold still, stop moving around so much, but it was as if he knew what they wanted and would be having no part of it.

After the nurses had decided that PITA was not making his way out any time soon, I was sent to the 9th floor where the high risk OB patients reside. I was assigned a small, bright room that was eight feet by eight feet in size. Within the hour, my room began to fill with flowers from my wonderful friends who had spent the morning discussing everything from making meals for my family to painting my nursery. After a while though it became apparent how worried everyone was when we ran out of room for the deliveries. That didn’t stop my friends from piling in my tiny room that night, arms full of bags of the tiniest clothes from my friend Stacey. She had cleaned out everything marked PREEMIE at the mall. It was all so overwhelming and sweet. It made me feel so good to open all the tiny outfits, but it was so scary as well.

The first night felt like I was on a secret getaway at a hotel. I watched Seinfeld until I fell asleep. When I woke, I was in a giant puddle. I called in the nurse and she was matter of fact; that was just what happened when your water broke. She asked if I would like a sleeping pill. I declined. I did not want a sleeping pill, I wanted more dry pajamas and for someone to tell me why I was leaking so much fluid! She assured me the Doctor would be in later that morning. The truth was, no one had answers. At first I was told to lie down so it would not leak, but lying down made it worse. They assured me that the baby made more fluid with his urine, but unless he was having a kegger in utero, no four-pound baby could make as much fluid as I was leaking. No one could tell me why things happen were happening, they could only assure me that things were okay. I was beginning to understand that nothing was going to happen any time soon.

The next morning I was greeted by a plate of something that the hospital called eggs. I was pretty certain that they had not come from a chicken. My phone rang off the hook with well wishers and I spent my day rather bored. That night the nurse really pushed the sleeping pills. I told her that I would take only one. Something as small as that pill should not have knocked me out cold, but it did. Nothing stopped the leaking though and I was up twice that night changing my pajamas.

The next morning I could not move. I felt like I had been in a coma. As hard as I tried, I could not make my brain function. I knew that would be my last sleeping pill. I was taken via wheelchair to the other wing of the hospital where I was to have another ultrasound to check on Josh. While they were monitoring his heart rate twice a day, the fluid I was leaking made them worry. I was worried as well. Josh had not moved that day. I assumed he was in a sleeping pill coma as well. When I saw him on the ultrasound screen, he looked healthy and out of room. He had three tiny pockets of fluid around him.

Over the next few days I began to understand that I would not be leaving the hospital. My wonderful nurses began telling me about other woman on the floor with me, how many were thirty weeks as well. None of us would be leaving. We were there until we had our babies. Each morning when one of the OBs would check in, I would pepper them with questions that I knew they had heard a million times from other Moms in my condition. I tried to convince them that I could go home.

I did not know how I would survive ten weeks in that room away from my family. Already my parents and my friends were taking care of my oldest son. I missed him. He needed me. I could not get out of bed except to go to the bathroom. For someone like me, as busy as I was, it was impossible to imagine a life in a bed.

Rationalizing became my favorite past time. I imagined the baby was fine. We knew he was at least four to five pounds. My OB and I always differed on his conception date. I could have been 33 weeks along for all we knew. I felt the guilt of asking so much of so many people. I knew that my husband was exhausted from running back and forth to work, the hospital, and then back to our son. I knew my parents were under the strain of having our little guy there so much. I felt helpless, bored and ready.

It had been a few days since I was hospitalized and the stream of wonderful friends never slowed. They came with arms filled with snacks, books, magazines, movies and gifts. Without their love and kindness, the days would have been endless. Tracy and Melissa called every day, as many of them did. My Mom checked in at least three times a day and visited when she did not have Ryan. The nurses referred to my room as” Grand Central Station.” Twice a day they would hook PITA up to monitor him, twice a day the nurse would come back, sighing and laughing and sit on my bed to chase him around my belly. I was not having contractions and the odds of me staying for the next two months in that bed were increasing.

One night as I was about to dose off, the Doctor from the office visit came in my room. Since the OBs typically round in the morning, I was surprised to see him standing there in his scrubs. He gave me a stern look and said, “I just delivered a baby weighing two pounds, thirteen ounces. His Mom was 31 weeks, just like you. You need to stay put and keep that baby in there.” And then he was gone. I was chilled by the idea of a baby that small, but naively confident because I knew my baby was at least twice that size.

One year ago tonight

One year ago tonight my water broke. That year just flew by. The following is the article I wrote on what happened. It is very long, so I am posting it in pages in the days leading to Josh's first birthday. I will also have pictures of him in the NICU, so be prepared.



When your eyes snap open from the deepest sleep, you know instantly that you are either waking up from a nightmare or worse, waking up to one. When my eyes opened in my dark bedroom on an early January morning in 2006, I knew something was very wrong. I was seven months pregnant with my second son, but life was about to change dramatically.

At first I was confused. Why I was awake? Did I hear something? Did the baby kick me? Everything was dark and still. I figured I might as well go to the bathroom, as that trip was inevitable at some point in the next hour or so. When I stood, a trickle of liquid ran down my leg and I knew my water was breaking.

The mind is a funny thing. My denial was so strong that I actually convinced myself that it wasn’t happening. I looked at the clock. 5:30am. I thought if I could just crawl back under the covers, the whole thing would have been a dream. I lay there awake, reasoning with myself that there was no way this was happening. I tried to remember how far along I was. During your first pregnancy you know to the day what age your baby is, but I could only remember that I was around thirty weeks.

At 6:00am the alarm clock rang out and my husband, Matt woke up. He headed for the shower. As he walked away, I called out to him, "I think my water might have broke." He was surprised and worried, but I did a good job convincing him, as I had convinced myself, that there had to be another reason. I called my Mom. I told her what was happening. It was only a little bit of fluid, I explained to both of them.

My Mom thought I should call the Doctor immediately. She began telling me of a friend whose water broke in the car and she had the baby hours later. As she spoke, I heard a sound coming from the hall. I told her to hold on, leaned toward the door and listened .Music. It was not just any music but music from a box in the nursery. I crept into the hall and stared into the dark room. My blood ran cold. I told my Mom I was calling the Doctor at once.

The OB’s office did very little to feed the doubt I had built in my head. Every question the nurse asked me, I had to answer honestly. Her growing concern unnerved me. She said she would call the Doctor and call us back. We waited. Matt kept dressing for work. I stared at the clock. It took her four minutes to call back. "He wants to see you right away. Come to the office at the hospital." Then she said the words I would never forget, "Pack a bag."

A bag? Just the idea of it caused my mind to go blank. I started running around the room in a circle, like a dog chasing its tail. Matt stood watching me for a moment before clearing his throat and telling me to sit down, that he would get my bag. I know now that I was in shock. I was incapable of rational thought for the most part. I threw a bunch of things in the bag, got dressed and waited. My Mom was on her way to stay with our oldest son, Ryan, who was still asleep.

We managed to get out of the house by 7:15am and I began calling my best friends to tell them where I was and what was happening. I called Melissa first. She and I were pregnant together. She was due a few weeks after me. Her first son was a preemie and she had spent this pregnancy worried that her daughter would arrive early. She cried at the news and I cried too, worried more for her getting upset than I was about me. She was so worried that it made me not worry about myself for a little while.

Gorgeous in January??

The boys loved the 72 degree day yesterday! We had a great lunch out with Greg and Shannon and their kids and then took them to Freedom Park. It was absolutely GLORIOUS outside. But 72?? In January??

We had a delicious dinner at Grandma and Grandpa's house tonight and met Scott's new girlfriend, Heather. She seems like a really great girl. About damn time Uncle Scott! :)

The litte drummer boy

He loves playing with the drums he got for Christmas. He is also a very sweet brother with Josh.

Howdy partner!

Ah, young love

What is better than hanging out with your girlfriend? Josh and Emmie, sitting in a tree...

Best of 2006

We had a crazy 2006. We went through Josh's drama of being born. I stopped working. We had a great year as a family.

My favorite part of 2006 was our friends. At the age of 31 I have finally managed to figure out what true friendship is all about. I am blessed to have so many incredible friends in my life.

In very sad news

Please keep Matt's Uncle Jim and his family in your prayers. Last night Jim lost his wife to cancer. She was so young. We attended their wedding last May and the love between them was amazing. We are so sad today.

Crazy muffins!

New Years Eve

Let's just say that Mommy and Daddy had a REALLY good time with their friends. We went to the pre-game party at Shannon and Greg's house where her wonderful parents were there to watch all our little gremlins. Brian and Stacey had a limo pick us all up and the party was so much fun!!

There are more pictures...stay tuned!!!

Two teeth!

Josh is cutting FOUR teeth and got one on the bottom and one on the top for 2007. He is VERY grumpy about the entire idea.