Get over it

There has been a lot of news lately about premature births. From a Newsweek article, the average cost of a preemie is $51,000. Premature births have risen 30% and no one seems to know the cause or what to do. Bed rest does not appear to lower the rate of prematurity.

I’ve been in this heartbreaking situation. With Interuterine Growth Restriction, there was no known cause, and nothing they could do. Some doctors try using Viagra and aspirin to increase blood flow, but there are no studies on this. I was placed on bed rest. If I were to guess how to help this problem, I would suggest that scientists figure out a way to either stop placental degradation, enhance what placental function exists, or how to restart a failing placenta. As IUGR is fairly rare, there is not a lot of money to be made off of this research, so no real motivation for the drug companies to do anything about it.

I’d also like to add, that there was NOTHING I did to cause this, and nothing I could have done to prevent it. I was intensively monitored, received the steroid shots for her lungs, hung out on bed rest for months, and basically did everything I could to have a healthy pregnancy.

My sister was joking that she was going to jump over a cement pole in a parking lot. I told her go ahead, but if she breaks her pelvis, I’m not visiting her in the hospital. She would be at the same hospital as Sydney was. I don’t want to go back there for a long time. After basically living there for 6 weeks, I don’t ever want to go there again. I mentioned this to my sister, and she told me to get over it. Sydney is home, why should I dread that hospital?

Thing is, I can’t just “get over it”. I went through a life-altering event there. My life will never be the same. I went through an entire range of emotions there. My world was turned upside down there. Some of the lowest of the lows and the highest of the highs occurred there. My caesarian scar is not the only scar I carry from this experience. I am scared emotionally, physically, and mentally. Honestly, my caesarian scar was one of the easiest ones to heal.

I bear the scar of seeing my baby six hours after she was born, hooked up to tubes. I bear the scar of watching her over stimulate from my touch. I bear the scar of worrying if she will eat. I bear the scar of those 5 seconds with no crying. I bear the scar of watching her have an IV put in and a blood transfusion. I bear the scar of having to start pumping rather than breast-feeding. I bear the scar that comes when one leave their baby in the hospital. I bear the scar of being told I cannot see or hold my baby. I bear the scar of having her born early because my body failed at its most primal level.

My marriage bears these scars as well. We had some very emotional fights while Sydney was in the NICU. Our first child was born small, sick, and vulnerable. We had disagreements over her care, medical staff, and how to proceed. My husband has scars of his own. He watched me be cut open. He watched as I vomited for hours. He watched as I cried when he and I removed the bandage. He held my hands as they put the spinal in, and I admitted to him I was terrified. He had to be strong when I was weak.

I think that I will get over Sydney’s prematurity as easily as it is to “get over” the death of a loved one. For a loved one did die, that loved one being the longed for healthy fat baby. I love Sydney, but I don’t think anyone dreams of having a premature baby.

Anyway, these are my musings due to the news coverage of prematurity.