RedBoxIdeaShop

Some claim I should have PTSD. But I don’t. I’ve been told I should have struggled to cope. But I have. Folks have questioned how I managed. I just did. It’s not a complex explanation. My girl did the hard part. She survived and thrived. I just became a preemie Mom. And while it may have felt like it at the time, I’m far from alone.

I was nine weeks into my pregnancy when I found out things were going to get complicated. I’ll never forget the eerie silence in the room as the tech glided the transducer around my belly and stared at the monitor. It was my first ultrasound and I thought to myself, “She hasn’t said a word since ‘hello.’ Is it always like this?” A few minutes later, I thought, “Something’s not quite right here.” And then she said curtly, “I’ll be right back,” and slipped out of the room. She was going to get my OB. As they stared at the tiny version of my girl on the screen, they found a cystic hygroma. This one event touched off months of tests and close monitoring through my OB’s office and that of a fetal maternal specialist. This pregnancy was nothing like the brochure.

Weeks later, she was diagnosed with a bowel obstruction that would require surgery immediately after birth, and a couple weeks after that we would learn our baby probably had a heart defect. We wouldn’t be able to confirm it until 30 weeks, but we never got that far. No one anticipated premature labor, but it came. No one told me to plan for that, so I didn’t. And yet, at just the very start of my third trimester, I found myself hooked up to a fetal monitor, dosed up with magnesium sulfate in an attempt to stop the contractions, and prepped for transport to Massachusetts General Hospital, where we knew I had to deliver, but for which we hadn’t yet gotten around to planning.

I was in labor for five and a half days, desperately trying to stay pregnant. And then it happened. I instantly knew when I felt the warm flood below my sheets that things were about to dramatically change. They reacted fast, and my girl was taken from my belly…gray from the blood loss, struggling, but alive. I was unconscious and would be for hours, while she was taken to the NICU and introduced to the physicians, nurses, devices and monitors that would help keep her alive. That’s also where she met her Daddy, who slipped his wedding band on her wrist for her very first photo…and that’s how I would first meet my girl, unable to physically visit her until the next morning.

The reality is, I survived too, and I drew strength from her strength. It took some time to heal physically, but the mental struggle is often harder. A staggering 40% of mothers with premature babies develop postpartum depression, but I was fortunate to avoid that fate. Others struggle with PTSD, or harbor feelings of guilt or anxiety. Prematurity deals you both a tremendous physical and psychological challenge at a time when your world is already forever changed.

Earlier, I said “just became a preemie Mom,” and you should know by now that I don’t take that role lightly for one second. Some say being a Mom is the hardest, most rewarding job in the world. I wouldn’t disagree. Bringing a preemie into the world is a very different experience than most will know, and it often comes with a vast set of challenges that can mean days, weeks, years or a lifetime of medical, psychological and financial difficulty. Yes, don’t forget about the finances of prematurity. Preemies cost ten times more than healthy babies, to the tune of more than $26 billion a year. As if it weren’t hard enough!

While premature birth is the leading killer of newborns, we’re among the lucky ones. Out of the 543,000 premature babies born each year, mine made it, and she’s a healthy and happy 4-year-old today. She had her struggles, and several surgeries, but she’s come through with flying colors. Like the scars on her little body, the experience made its mark on me and my family. My healing probably took a backseat to my girl’s, and I recognize that I still have some work to do, but her triumphs make me see clearly that mine is a very reachable goal.

But so many others are facing the toughest battle now. With the rate of premature birth rising by 30 percent since 1981, we need more research, more answers, more understanding, and more positive action. But for now, many of us unite to share our stories, raise awareness, and ask for help. One in eight babies is born too soon…that’s 1,400 every day. You rarely expect it, but it CAN happen to you or someone you love. And we can ALL take simple steps to help. November is Prematurity Awareness Month, the second time I’ve blogged to raise awareness for prematurity. Please visit the March of Dimes to learn more and follow the discussion on Twitter with the hashtag, #fight4preemies. We fight because babies shouldn’t have to. Take any simple step you can to join us.