How He Turned Out

I haven't posted here for a long, long time.
Baby Karl is doing wonderfully - he turned 2 in August. His term date was November 2nd, so he's well and truly turned 2...
He's caught up with everything.
He walks, he talks, he falls down and bangs his head, he loves tractors and anything with wheels - he's everything a normal boy should be.
His Mum still chokes up when she sees NICU babies on TV, in fact she chokes up just by reading through this blog.

Just to finish off the story:

We stayed in the NICU for 7 weeks. Miracle Boy hardly had any setbacks during that time - he had to be fed through a tube, he had to have CPAP for quite some time (39 days), but in the last week, everything happened at once, both he and I wanted to get out of there, and after a "trial run" for a weekend where he put on weight and did everything right, we were discharged. a little over 2 weeks before he was supposed to have been born.

Since then, he's been quite the chipper little Miracle, apart from an RS infection when he was 7-8 months old.

Baby Karl - first viewing.

At 4 o'clock in the afternoon, I've had enough... We've been assured that he's as well as can be expected, one lung's collapsed and a drain had to be put in, he refused to be intubated (that's my boy), so they had to leave him with the CPAP (A mask device that's fitted in the nose, which provides oxygen). He' breathing on his own, but need extra ox.
No response to whether we can get my bed down there. So I commission a nurse, ask her to give me my pain meds (I've been saving up!!!), and sends hubby off to get a wheelchair. I'm off to see my baby, and no one's gonna stop me...

We're let in - no problem. He's so tiny, he's in the neonatal units' emergency room, one on one with a nurse, and he's hooked up to all sorts of things, it seems. Both Dad and I fold... and so are grateful for the privacy.
Seeing him for the first time - actually seeing that there's a live baby there, and he's ok, well, almost, and he's going to live... One of the most powerful moments of my life.
We can't take him out, but we can stroke him. He's in pain from the chest drain tube, but is given pain relief, and so is quite lethargic. No matter! Just keep my baby from pain, help him over these first days, let him live...

Finally!

The surgeon is one of the nice lady doctors I've been to see before. She explains the procedure - she's going to do a section along the length of the uterus, so she can take out baby and amniotic sac together. This to make it a less traumatic experience for baby. Good. I'm quite calm, just a bit apprehensive about the spinal. No problem there, the needle goes in without me feeling much. I have absolutely no doubt, at this stage, that baby is going to be fine. Don't know why - it's an absolute certainty, and I'm not overly worried. Dad is worse off than me, but has taken place at my side. A screen goes up between us and my belly as my legs "disappear" from my senses. Now that's a much more uncomfortable sensation than I thought - at one point I have to ask one of the nurses to show me my legs, just to make sure they're still there... That's what had me close to panicking... Surgery gets under way, I just feel a pulling sensation now and then. My heart starts racing, I get pains in my chest, but an adjustment of the anaesthasic puts that (almost) right. And then he's out... My body is empty, helpless and in need of stitching up, and a large team of pediatric nurses and doctors carry him off. We don't get to see him. We're told his weight, though - 1640 grammes!!! and that he's ok, but in need of care. That's it. I'm done, and wheeled off to recovery, there to await the returning use of my legs.
No word about baby.

Last Leg

29 weeks - same story: checkup, baby's fine, still leaking, but "enough" fluids 'round baby. 29 weeks 6 days. I have a checkup sheduled for the next day, but suddenly, what feels like every drop of fluid that's left in there gushes out. We call the hospital, and are told to come in. Baby's scanned and monitored in every way - he's fine, but there's hardly any fluids left. This time, I get to use my hospital bag. Hubby goes home, I get a bed and a shot of whatever they give you to help baby's lungs develop, and I'm told that if nothing happens by itself, a c-section will most likely be scheduled, since baby is in the breech position. Bless him! An uneventful, sleepless night...
Next day, baby's monitored again, everything is fine. How is that possible??? No signs of stress, nothing... I'm put in with another mother to be, a few weeks further along than me, who's also waiting to find out when her c-section is going to be. Eventually, after a long day's wait, we're both told that we'll be under the knife tomorrow morning. Hubby comes to visit, gets the news, and will be back tomorrow at 8 am. New shot of lung meds, nil by mouth after midnight. We both ask for a sleeping pill - my first ever, but it helps. We both catch a few hours rest...

Next morning, early wake-up call - I'm first... so they prep me in all sorts of unspeakable ways. I'm having a spinal, so I'll be awake during the procedure... I'm quite anxious, but happy to lay everything in the hands of professionals. I'm so, so tired of being solely responsible for the life of my baby boy... Hubby, my life support system, arrive as I'm duly prepped, and before long I'm off to theatre.

Two weeks between checkups

I guess that's a good thing... So I take the 2 youngest kids off to our mountain cabin for a few days - well, it's really a small house, and you can drive up to the front door, so there'll be no physical strain. I check that I can get help at the local hospital before we leave, and we can. Great to get away from (almost) everything, think about something else (nothing much to think about up there, really...)
When we return, it becomes clear that 2 weeks between hospital checkups is too much for me - mentally. It's too long to be alone with the responsability. I try to listen to my body and to Baby in there, try to interpret the signs, and after a week, I have to go in to the emergency room, because I feel that the leaking has increased. A very young doctor this time, very thorough, asks a supervisor for advice, and I'm sent home knowing that the fluid levels are pretty much the same.

The weeks pass... I have blood tests made between checkups, and I'm heard when I ask to be seen every week - I can't take the 2 week lapse.

The summer holidays are upon us, and the kids are being wonderful. Everyone understands that we can't go anywhere, and we try to compensate with little treats here and there.

I recieve a letter (!) telling me that I have a Gardnerella infection, together with a prescription for suppositories. Woaaa! Next checkup, and all is well.

Weeks 24, 25, 26, 27... All the time leaking, fluid levels still stable or rising slightly.
We want to take the whole family to the cabin, but are advised against it. Stay with the bacteria you're familiar with, they say, and don't go further that 1 hour's drive from Oslo (Which is where premature births before 28 weeks go). We stay at home.

All the time, I've been very active on a mother & baby forum on the 'Net. That is so helpful, and the ladies are so incredibly supportive. At one point, I recieve more than 100 replies to a post, and everyone is worrying with me, and rooting for me. In many ways, these ladies kept me sane... Together with my husband, they carried me through!

Week 27, yet another doctor. Finally, I'm far enough gone to have a weight assessment of Baby. 1200 grammes! More or less, of course, but what wonderful news! Normal growth, even a little above the average weight for his age!!! We're ecstatic (as ecstatic as you can get under the circumstances). We're told that birth will be induced by week 32 - that's normal procedure, before if need be. Baby is in breech position, and if that doesn't change, I'll have a c-section.
I ask to have a c-section anyway - my last birth was touch and go, and that was a healthy baby that came to term.
They can't say yes or no, only that they'll have to assess what's best for the baby when the time comes.

I have a very strong feeling that I just can not go through with a normal birth, I'd be terrified for the little one, and not able to either enjoy it, or give it my best. But we just have to hope that he stays in breech!!

He's alive and kicking, and at 28 weeks has a good chance of survival, but the survival rate increases for every day he stays where he is... So I keep my legs together and squeeze!
1200 grammes!
But we're not out of the woods yet.

Almost 22 weeks. Decision time.

Once again, in for checkup. As every time, I bring a hospital bag - this time, I'm almost certain I'm going to need it.

New Doctor. Our age or younger, a specialist on premature births, she's certainly very knowledgeable.
No mention of termination.
A total respect for our judgment.
And a professional opinion that leaves room for hope.

She sets goals for our progress, and tags them: 1st goal: 24 weeks; when it will be treated as a birth, not a miscarriage (i.e. the baby will be helped)
2nd goal: 26 weeks, then 28, chances of survival increasing every day.

After much thought, she gives me a prescription for antibiotics to be taken as a precaution. The fact that there's still no infection impresses her, and though it's really too early to intervene, she caves in to me. Oh, Bliss! If anything is lurking in my body, I'm able to fight it off... one more week.

Baby's alive and kicking, and the fluid pockets are measured to being close to the nether normal range.

We leave in a state of careful elation... Dad has regained some hope - he now believes that it can be done... And is 100% behind me.

I'm still leaking, but baby is doing a grand job, and is replacing the fluids slightly quicker than I'm losing them...
You and me, Babe - we'll get there in the end - just hang in there!

June passes. Weeks 20, 21, 22.

Weekly checkups now, with blood tests in between. I search the 'web for all I can find on Oligoamnon (Too little amniotic fluid), possible complications, prognosis for prematurely ruptured membranes, and it's not very uplifting.
Also all I can find on extremely premature births. Again - very little hope - at best, all sorts of complications and possible defects.

What to do? In Norway, the absolute limit for the parents to decide for themselves is 22 weeks. (that's when something is wrong. the abortion limit is 12 weeks). After 22 weeks, the foetus (baby) has its own legal rights, and the pregnancy can't be terminated unless there are extremely good reasons to do so.
So we have to decide whether to risk it before 22 weeks. Dad's afraid to lose me. The doctors (including my father, who is one too) stress the possible risk to my life in the event of an infection. Potentially lethal, and very quick off the mark. He's also afraid that we'll have an extremely challenged child, which was the reason we had an amniocentesis in the first place. I'm with him on all that - intellectually.
But I can't bring my heart to go along with it, and we reach a compromise. The check-up in week 21 is to be the decisive one. We'll ask all the pertinent questions, and if there's not a marked improvement, we have to reach a decision.
I feel myself becoming a Lioness... ready to protect her child from anything... But I've got to listen to my brain, as well.
Decision time is approaching.