November is Prematurity Awareness Month.  At this time each year my family and I contact local businesses, churches, schools, and social groups to spread the word about prematurity.  We ask locals to find ways to recognize prematurity by incorporating pink and blue into their offices, school projects, and awareness ribbons.  Prematurity isn’t just another cause to us, its a family affair that hit home on July 29, 2007.

On July 28, 2007 I attended my 7 month OB appointment.  The doctor went about things as he always had, weight, belly measurements, listening to the tiny baby inside me, he then asked about her movement.  I explained that she was such a calm baby, all I ever felt to that point were hick-ups and occasional small swishes.  His eyes popped!  He sent me home with strict orders to down a 2 liter of highly caffeinated soda within one hour then to lay still for one hour, noting any and all movements on a form.  I was then instructed to call him immediately following that hour.  I went home terrified.  I drank the soda and then settled in on the couch.  I watched as the time slipped away, minute by minute, second by second… nothing, not a hick-up, swish, or twitch.  I began to panic.  I gave it more time, 30 more minutes, until my husband returned home from duty.  He walked in and found me crying.  I was too upset to call the doctor so he did it for me.  I was immediately rushed to the local hospital where I was evaluated by my doctor once more.  He left the room without saying a word.  I was overwhelmed with fear.  A nurse walked in, she was carrying a large syringe.  I asked why I needed an injection and all she would say is “The doctor has ordered it.”  I refused until I could speak with my OB.  He came into the room immediately, sitting down on the foot of the bed he explained that my daughter was in serious trouble.  She had an extremely low fetal heartbeat and showed no movement.  Due to her gestation level he wanted to try his best to keep her in-utero for as long as possible.  The shot was steroids, to help her lungs develop as quickly as possible.  I was being admitted to the hospital until her birth.  He said he was hoping to deliver her in about a week.  I was moved upstairs.

We hadn’t planned for this.  Would she survive? Would her big brother ever have the chance to meet her? Is she going to be ok?  What would we name her?  All of these questions and more flooded my mind.  I was fitted with a fetal monitor and taken for ultra sounds every few hours.  The next morning, before the sun had peeked over the desert’s edge, the nurse woke me for my morning ultra sound.  She, like all of the technicians before her, sat silently as they rolled around my still belly.  No one would talk to me, no one would answer my questions when I asked if my baby was ok.  I was wheeled back to my room where I took a shower.  A few minutes later I came out of the restroom and found that my bag had been packed and it was sitting neatly on my bed, alongside the rest of my belongings.  A nurse was standing in the corner.  She told me I was being medivaced to New Mexico State for an emergency c-section.  The hospital that I was staying in wasn’t equipped for a preemie in such serious condition.  I panicked.  My husband had left early that morning to drive to El Paso, about 2 1/2 hours away, to pick up my mother, who had flown in from KY to care for our son. I didn’t know where he was or when he would return.  I began making calls to his Sargent, the air port, anyone I could think of.  Friends came to sit with me while we waited for the helicopter to arrive in Alamogordo, my friend’s husband, Ernie, stood by the entrance of the hospital waiting for my husband.  (this was well before we owned cell phones)  About an hour had passed, the nurse and two tech’s came into my room.  They asked me to lay on a portable stretcher so they could take me to an ambulance that was waiting downstairs.  I felt lost.  I climbed onto the stretcher fearful that my husband was going to miss the birth of our daughter.  The nurse slowly wheeled me down the hall.  As they were crossing the hospital drive my husband, son, and mother pulled in.  Ernie, ran to them explaining what was happening.  My ex had made it!  We piled into the ambulance and began the 30 minute drive back to the base for air transport.  Ernie explained to my Mom, whom had never been to New Mexico, how to make the 4 1/2 hour drive to Albuquerque.  The ambulance arrived at Holloman AFB just as the helicopter touched the tarmac.  My husband and I were transfered to a tiny area in the center of the helicopter bay, strapped in, and we took off.  The flight seemed to take forever.  When we landed I was rushed inside and prepped for surgery.  Our beautiful baby girl was born minutes later.

E didn’t make a sound as a horde of doctors and nurses surrounded her and swept her away to another room.  I was cleaned up and transfered to a room at the far end of the L&D floor.  I couldn’t get out of bed and kept calling to my nurse.  I wanted to see my baby.  The nurse reassured me, more times than I can count, that my daughter was doing well.  She promised to take me to the NICU as soon as the doctors would allow for it.  Again, time moved slowly.  After 8 hours of waiting I had enough, I tried to get out of bed on my own and fell to the floor.  The nurses ran in as I screamed to see my daughter.  I hadn’t seen her or my husband since the moments after my delivery.  I was told that my husband had gone to arrange for a place to stay with my Mom and my son as the nurses handed me a very fuzzy Polaroid of my tiny little baby girl.  While in the hospital the night before I had decided to name her E. F.  Her name means STRENGTH and TRUST.  The nurses wrote her name on the picture and promised to come back with a wheel chair as soon as the doctor’s OKed visitors for little E.

About 2 hours later they rolled me from my room at New Mexico State, down the long corridors to the NICU.  There  I washed with iodine soap and medicated nail brushes before slipping on a hair net, mask and bright yellow scrub gown.  I was SO excited to see my little girl!  I was wheeled to the back of the NICU to a warmer.  She looked so small and fragile.  There seemed to be wires and tubes coming from every part of her.  She lay there still and quiet as I was told that I could touch her.  I began to cry as I thought about the tiny life before me.  I was aloud to hold her for a few brief moments, wrapping her tiny little arms and legs snuggly in a warm blanket, being sure to leave access for all of her tubes and wires through the bottom of her wrapping.  I sat with her, singing to her, touching her, and crying over her for two hours before the nurses wheeled me back to my room.

E spent 5 weeks in the NICU.  She battled jaundice, apnea, and the inability to breathe on her own, and a myriad of other challenges.  Little E was a trooper.  To this day I am in awe of her strength.  She came so close to leaving us a number of times, but always managed to pull through.  We had daily visits from home nurses for the next 3 months while E continued with oxygen and apnea monitoring.  Every day was a challenge but also a blessing.  As she grew we learned more and more about preemie development, risks, and challenges.  E was constantly followed by developmental specialists; working with occupational therapy, physical therapy, and other such assistance.  She came along at her own pace.

Now at 12, E lives with Autism Spectrum Disorder, hyper sensitivity (Audio/Visual), Central Auditory Processing Disorder, Dyslexia, and a few other challenges.  She takes them all in stride.  She’s my perfect little angel.  The March of Dimes has been there for us from the beginning, with surfectant for her lungs, to programs to encourage her development, and now allowing her to speak on their behalf at local events so that other parents, preemies, and the local community can hear her story and know the importance of the battle against prematurity.

November is Prematurity Awareness Month, please contact your local March of Dimes office for Prematurity Awareness ribbons and tips on how you can help shine a light on prematurity.