Pre-Me

In my early 20’s, I was young, immature, and manipulative. I made terrible financial decisions and thought the world revolved around me. I thought I was the only one who knew the real story to everything. Frankly, I’m surprised someone didn’t stick me in a trunk and push the car off of a cliff.

When I was 24, I finally started to realize that maybe…just maybe…there was more to life than me. Imagine that! I finally landed a stable job with a real salary and rented my own apartment. I was determined to right all of the wrongs I had done. I went back to school. In two years, I earned an associate’s degree in business, which, by today’s standards, doesn’t amount to much more than a high school diploma on a resume. Still, there is no way I’d let a $13,000 piece of paper go unframed and hidden in a drawer! No! I had that sucker framed and proudly displayed on my wall.

In the middle of gaining knowledge of banks in Japan that I’ll never visit, I met the man of my dreams. We got married and moved into our very own house. I was a real adult! I was officially a grown-up! What was the next logical step? Children.

One Saturday in April 2007, I was showing signs of not being pregnant. I decided to take a test anyway. Negative. Bummer. I even held it up to the light, turned it in every direction…wait, is that a line? No. I took it apart and held the little pee soaked stick over the light bulb until I wasn’t able to see even an imaginary line through all the spots in front of my eyes. I was sad. Since I wasn’t pregnant, my husband and I decided to get the tattoos we were wanting that day. I sadly checked the box next to “No” when the form asked me if I was pregnant.

Monday morning. I had one test left in the box. Being the crazy pee-stick addict I was, I decided to just take the stupid test and get it out of my drawer so it didn’t call to me every time I had to pee. Almost immediately there was a faint line. With shaking hands, I somehow managed to call the doctors office and scheduled a test for that afternoon. The doctor announced those holy words, ‘Yep, it’s positive’. I was pregnant. I called my husband and told him over the phone. Yes, I told him over the phone because I knew I wasn’t able to keep it a secret from all of the people I would see that day and I wanted him to be the first one to know. He was flabbergasted and excited! And yes, I told everyone that I encountered that day whether they cared or not.

The pregnancy was normal. My weight was normal. My blood pressure was normal. Our baby was normal. Up until his birth, the only thing exciting that happened was a bit of food poisoning at 20 weeks: the exact same day of the “big ultrasound”. They didn’t see any problems with our baby and that was the day we found out “it” was going to be our little boy. The due date was still set for January 16, 2008. I had no reason to think what was going to happen would happen.

Saturday, December 1st, my water broke. I was 33 weeks and 3 days pregnant. We packed my suitcase and went into Labor & Delivery. I was having a few contractions, but nothing that indicated “real” labor so they admitted me and said we’ll just wait it out. If I didn’t give birth by Wednesday, they were going to induce me. The doctor told me that the baby would probably be around 2-3 pounds and wouldn’t be able to breathe on his own. She said that he would need a ventilator and that he may not cry when he’s first born until she can get him suctioned out. She also said he’d be in the hospital until his due date. Luckily, the Vicodin induced stupor they kept me in helped to soften the blow of what was going to happen to my baby.

Monday, December 3rd, the labor pains started up again around 2pm and after many fiascos with IV’s and monitors not picking up contractions and a doctor that didn’t believe I was in labor until she checked me herself at 5pm…our son was born at 7:06pm at 33 weeks and 5 days gestation. He was 5 lbs 10 oz and took his first breath on his own. Baby – 1, Doctor – 0.

His lungs weren’t completely mature yet and he was working hard to breathe. He used a CPAP machine, but he did the work. The following 20 days were the hardest days of our lives. The absolute worst day was December 6th, or “that Thursday”. We couldn’t touch him. We couldn’t hold him. We could only pray and watch as our little boy set his monitors blinking like Christmas lights every 10 minutes because he forgot to breathe. Nothing can prepare you for the helplessness and horror that fills your heart when your child is struggling and all you can do is watch and pray.

On December 17th, we took a class to learn how to use an apnea monitor and to do CPR on an infant. We were informed by his doctor that we couldn’t take our son home because he wasn’t eating as much as she thought he should. That was the worst Monday in the history of Monday’s.

Two days later, on December 19th, his doctor went on Christmas break and the new doctor said he was well enough to come home. This new doctor didn’t understand why the first doctor wanted our little baby to eat so much! We brought our son home, but the onslaught of spitting up and monitor beeps scared us too much so we brought him back to the NICU.

He came home with us for good on Sunday, December 23rd. Our Christmas miracle. He spent the next 4 months on medication, in a danny sling and sleeping wedge in his crib, and strapped to a monitor. Poor kid had wires coming out of everywhere. He looked like an electroshock therapy patient and always drew stares from children and looks of pity from parents. Slowly, he grew stronger and bigger and we received the ok from the doctor to rid him of the monitor, medication, and danny sling.

Today, he is a happy, healthy 2 ½ year old that thinks that all bugs are going to “git me” and all dirt is “icky gross”. Most boys can’t wait to get outside and dig in the dirt and track mud all over the kitchen. Not my kid. My kid will squeal like a little school girl if a bug gets near him or if a tiny bit of dirt sticks to his knee. Perhaps I was a little too overprotective of him.

My life changed the moment I heard that tiny cry. Without him, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I now know the value of one day of pregnancy. I now know that the will of a child to live is stronger than any science. I now know that even when life seems hopeless there is still a reason to live. That reason looks at me every morning at breakfast with milk dripping down his chin and Fruit Loops on my kitchen floor. My preemie made me what I am today. I am who I am supposed to be. I am Mama.

I am finally me.