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One Mum's Story: Rhonda & Rachel
Rachel was due around 01/02/08. Instead, she was born on 14/10/07 at 24 weeks + 2 days weighing 669 grams with a head circumference of 22.4cm. Our journey accelerated on Thursday October 11 when I woke with heavier than normal clot bleeding. The pregnancy had been punctuated with little bleeds and I was beginning to get blasè to them, tired of going all the way into the hospital to be told that nothing was wrong, but to ring them if I have concerns. But this bleed seemed different... The nearest hospital does not have a maternity section, so after a brief introduction with the one doctor attending I was assigned a nurse whilst they tried to find a hospital that could treat me. I was transported to the closest level 2 hospital via ambulance. The nurse that escorted me used to be a midwife, and had prem babies of her own. During the hour long ambulance ride, she gently told me of her experiences and her recounts introduced me to the world of prems. At the time I was not overly concerned. I had had bleeds in the past and I expected that I would be examined, maybe scanned and sent home to put my feet up for a few days. We reached the level 2 hospital and I bid farewell to the nurse, and she wished me luck. Well, I was examined by the same doctor that had seen me with previous bleeds. But his jovial face changed as he calmly called my husband over to show him my bulging membranes (and I was 4cm dilated). Now all the words that the nurse had tutored me on in the ambulance were in use. I requested the steroid shots and the pills to slow my labour. These were administered whilst I was being prepped for transport to the level 3 hospital and my husband was trying to get directions to meet us there. I was thankful that I had had a brief tutorial on prem labour. We landed at the level 3 hospital that evening. I was examined and found to be 6cm dilated, but the bleeding had slowed. By the time my husband found me I was on nil by mouth and being counselled on prem statistics and caesareans and asked if I wanted to see a priest. "No, just give me more steroids and those red labour stopping pills." After hearing the stats on babies less than 24 weeks I was determined to hold on with everything I had. The night was uneventful. I awoke Friday morning checking my belly for baby kicks. It was now the magical 24 week mark. Then I was sent for a scan. The radiographer was chatty, then gave me a look that I recognised - carefully calm and speaking slowly and deliberately she rang for the maternity staff to come and get me now as it appeared I was fully dilated. Rachel was footling breech. Back to the delivery suite. And more counselling. And the priest. And more stats. And questions from the Neonatal doctors like, "With such a high risk of permanent damage, what do you want us to do?" I was angry. I felt like I was being asked to give up on my baby. I answered, "Well, I am positive that she will survive delivery, so every effort is to be made to assist her with that. After that, Rachel (yes - we had already named her) will let me know what is best." The doctor gave the social worker a look as if to say, "Please prepare this one. She doesn't understand." But I did understand. I knew that Rachel would survive birth, and I knew that somehow everything was going to be okay. I stopped looking at the stats. I stopped listening to the predictions. Rachel was telling me she wanted to live and that's all that mattered to me. My job was to hang on for as long as possible. So when the anaesthetist came to interview me, just to get some prep info, I sent him away and told him that I wouldn't be needing him. Once again the social worker was sent in to try and talk sense to me, even suggesting that I could use the baby bonus for funeral costs. I was angry, but I knew Rachel would be okay. I awoke Saturday and did the belly check. Yes, all there! I then negotiated to be taken off nil by mouth and get some breakfast. I was starving after 2 days of nothing. The bleeding seemed to have stopped and I wasn't feeling any labour pain. I was transferred to the maternity ward later that day. When I entered the double room I was warmed with a wave of peace. My room mate was another mum ordered to lie down, put her feet up and hang on. I am sure that she was administered angel like qualities. That afternoon, it was discovered that I hadn't stopped bleeding, it was just pooling up inside from the feet up instruction. So back down to the delivery suite for another night. Sunday morning I once again did the belly check. All there and all good. I was sent back upstairs to the maternity ward where I had a relaxing day beginning with breakfast in bed and pretending I was in a luxury hotel being waited on hand and foot. My room mate and I got to know each other and chatted about everything except why we were there. It was a good chance for my husband to catch up on his sleep. Late that afternoon labour began with another rushing bleed. So it was back down to the delivery suite. This time I knew that I wasn't leaving the suite until I gave birth. The big give away was the midwife examining me and then going over to begin a new baby folder/chart. The doctor came in. "Rhonda, you're still here! I thought you'd deliver Thursday night!" Another quick examination and the doctor left. Rachel still seemed to be breech. My husband rubbed my belly and said, "Rachel, if you want to survive this, you need to turn around." "My waters broke... and the baby is coming NOW NOW NOW!" is the next thing I remember saying only a few minutes after the doctor left the room. Then I heard a tiny little kitten noise. Rachel was crying! Rachel had turned and was born head first, face up seeming to pull herself out with her hands. "Baby is out!" called the midwife to the hallway. "She's small but she's beautiful," sobbed my husband as Rachel was whisked away for attention. A couple of hours later I was wheeled in to see Rachel. I couldn't hear her anymore as she was ventilated. I remember the surreal feeling. Knowing that there was a room full of parents and nurses and babies, but all I was aware of was Rachel, lying there looking helpless, but feeling courageous. The next week is still a bit of a blur, all muddled up with feelings of shock and failure and sorry that I couldn't present my husband with a "regular" baby. But Rachel is so much more than regular. I feel it a privilege to have her. Her courage and her spirit. Her will to live and thrive. Her determination to be her. It is hard to explain. But look into her eyes and you are met with an old soul and a wisdom that is humbling. We brought Rachel home on day 121 and have been home for 3 months now. I am privileged every day with her smiles and her talking and her unspoken communication.
We don't expect any ongoing problems. She is on only a whiff of oxygen and has a heart condition that doesn't seem to be affecting her and she is expected to grow out of. Rachel had no brain bleeds. Had no digestive problems. Only had two transfusions and required insulin for only a week. Rachel is truly our little miracle. She defied all the stats. Rachel is now 4510 grams and 6 months old. Today Rachel smiles up at me and says, "Thank you Mummy. Thank you for believing in me."
If you are a Mum who has a story to tell or you know of one, email your story to admin@mumzone.com.au. If you have a photo feel free to include it in your email. |
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