It was the night before Abby was born. We had been told that day that she would need to be born as soon as possible the following morning. Perhaps you can imagine the emotions this brought to the surface. Writing about that night and the following day is difficult even now for me. Some emotions are so indescribable that they are hard to put into words and others are just painful to talk about. Even all these years later I can picture in my mind almost step by step how the rest of that night went. Profound experiences have a way of etching themselves permanently in our memories. This night was made up of many of those.
A medical team's job is to explain the risks to a patient. In situations like ours they have to give us the worse case scenario. This was the case that night. I don't remember everyone that was involved. I am pretty sure it was a resident on the floor, a nurse and a social worker that came into the room to talk to us. It was also Dr. Shapiro, one of the amazing doctors that run the NICU at Deaconess. They had come to talk about Abby. I remember sitting in bed with Aaron nearby being given a paper with statistics on it. It was a spreadsheet containing the rate of survival for infants born prematurely at Deaconess. The statistics on infant mortality, long-term brain damage, eye problems, etc. These statistics were laid out by gestational week. Statistics for babies that were Abby's week gestation had about an 75% chance of survival but because of her small size they were not sure how this would affect her chances.
I was grateful for the information but I didn't like hearing anything about it. For a hormone-charged mom about to give birth to a very premature baby, the last thing in the world I wanted to think about was my baby's chance of survival. But I knew that our doctors had a job to do and it was necessary. They also explained that there would a team from the NICU there in the operating room to assist Abby when she came out. They explained that she would probably need a ventilator right away and that she would probably not cry. They would have to take her directly into the NICU to get her stabilized.
The social worker explained that any baby 2 pounds or less was automatically placed on Social Security Disability Insurance because of the immense amount of problems that they tend to have and the frequency with which they have developmental, physical and cognitive problems. The social worker started the paperwork for that right away. She would receive $30 a month while she was in the hospital and it would also allow her medical expenses to be paid for by the Medicaid program. We were very grateful that this was in place. The cost for her care would be astronomical and far beyond our ability to pay out of pocket. It was also another indication that Abby's size would be a factor in her overall chances. We felt very blessed to live in a country where this help was available.
We were taken on a tour of the NICU. It's hard to explain a place like that. I loved it and hated it at the same time. I really believe that only the most caring and professional doctors and nurses choose to specialize in the care of these little ones. Every person we worked with in the NICU was amazing. A nurse named Lisa was the one to take us on a tour. She showed us around. The rooms in the NICU are enclosed in glass. Each room usually housed four beds. Lisa showed us Abby's bed that was already laid out and ready for her. It was open to the air and flat and wide much like the warming bed that babies are placed on after birth. There is a cushioned area in the center where the baby lies with blankets covering the padding. She showed us the monitors. I looked around at the other babies and saw how small some of them were. When I inquired about the size of the babies I asked Lisa if there were any that were Abby's size. She told us that because of privacy reasons she couldn't take us around and show us the babies but that Abby would be smaller than any of the babies that were currently in the NICU. Seeing how little the other babies were and realizing that Abby would be the smallest of them all was very sobering.
We went back to our room and talked to each other about everything. My brother Matt came to help Aaron with another priesthood blessing. I remember little about what was said but I remember how I felt. I was filled with a profound sense of peace even deeper than the night before. I knew that the Lord was watching over us. I knew that He loved me and our family. After Aaron finished and we were alone, he told me that he was confident that Abby was going to be okay, in fact he absolutely insisted on it. I admired his insistence and drew a lot of comfort from it but I was still unsure.
My nurse gave me a sleeping pill to see if it would help me sleep. I fell asleep for a little while but awoke to hear Aaron sleeping and the room dark. It was about 2 in the morning and I could see the numbers from the monitors that were attached to me recording Abby's tiny heartbeat. I had many emotions and thoughts running through my head and sleep eluded me. I felt very at peace and felt that all was well. I prayed many prayers that night, asking for a good outcome if it was His will.
I whispered to Abby in the night, talking to her like she was there with me. I told her that she was going to be born the next day and apologized to her for not being able to carry her any longer. I knew that she would go from a world of protection and warmth to one in which she would be poked and prodded constantly. Where she would have to breathe through a tube and not be able to be held by us for a long time. I felt very sad for her and for me.
This wasn't the way things were supposed to happen. Birth should be an exciting and happy time. I heard quite a few laboring moms in the darkness, working to bring their babies into the world. What those moms were going through was so normal, so natural. It all felt wrong. I didn't really look pregnant yet and in the morning I would be delivering my daughter. Even with the sleeping pill, my sleep the rest of the night was random. I would wake up in the dark again and repeat the same pattern. I wished for the morning to come so that I would just know.
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