Please click on the graphic above to vote for Sean's Story in
The Top 100 Special Kids, Special Sites.
First, I would like to thank you for your interest in my story!
On this page, my mommy is going to tell our story in her own words. This will be a "work in progress" for a while, as this is going to be an emotional thing for mommy. Please be patient and stop back often to read any new additions.
For the most part of my pregnancy, things went fairly well. There was some concern about my weight, as I was a bit under-weight to start out with. But as far as the general health of myself and our son, things went pretty well. At approximately 9 weeks, we did have a pretty bad scare, though. I was sitting on the couch watching TV one afternoon, and suddenly started bleeding - BAD!!! Up to that point, I'd never been so scared in my life! I grabbed the phone, called my doctor, and said I was coming right in - something was wrong with the baby! I got to the clinic (took all of 5 minutes - one again thankful we live so close!) and my doctor checked me over. It turned out everything was fine with the baby, it was me personally who was bleeding. He said that around the general 9 week area is when the baby is getting a "good grip" in the uterus. Occasionally the baby will get such a "good grip" that it will tear one of the mother's blood vessels, causing some temporary bleeding. I was told to just take it easy for a couple days, get plenty of rest. Thankfully, he was right. Within a day or two the bleeding stopped, and all was well again.
The remainder of my pregnancy went pretty well again. I did have quite a few bouts of "Braxton Hicks Contractions", which I also had fairly frequently with my previous pregnancy. So, we didn't see this as a big concern. Everything pretty much went right on schedule. First heartbeat, first movement, everything. I had an ultrasound done, and we were pretty much positive it was a boy from that (which, as I'd said, I already knew he was). By the time I had reached about my 20th week or so, I was pretty confident that everything was going to be okay. That's where I was wrong.
When I was around 22/23 weeks, I began to leak fluid. At first, we didn't know what was going on. It was only happening at night during my sleep, and I was also having contractions at the same time. I assumed that my bladder was getting too full, irritating my uterus, causing the contractions, and that the contractions were putting pressure on my bladder, causing it to leak. I called my doctor, and he figured the same thing.
It wasn't until I was about 23.5 weeks that I realized there was a serious problem. Jon and I were lying in bed one night, and suddenly I had a HUGE gush of fluid!!!!!! This was accompanied by a whole mess of contractions, pretty much right on top of each other. I hurt so badly I couldn't get out of bed. Jon called the hospital and told them we were coming in and why. Well, by the time I was able to get out of bed and get to the hospital, and by the time they got done farting around and got me admitted, my contractions had pretty much stopped. I was put on the fetal heart monitor so they could record Sean's heartrate and my contractions. They had finally attempted to test my fluid with the litmus strips, but by this time the remaining fluid had dried up, and there was nothing for them to test. My doctor was called and given a report of the facts that a) I had to fluid to test, and b) no contractions to speak of, so I was sent back home with strict orders to TAKE IT EASY. This meant I was to basically do NOTHING.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1998 - Two days later, I was once again sitting on the couch, and was able to feel something getting ready to leak out. This time, I was able to get a "sample" for them to test. I took it straight to the clinic. My amniotic fluid was brown and thick, rather than clear and thin as it should have been. I had also begun to notice those past few days that whenever Sean moved, it was painful for me. Well, the fluid tested positive as being amniotic, and an immediate ultrasound was ordered. By this time I was getting VERY nervous (to put it mildly). During the ultrasound, it was discovered that I had leaked out nearly all of my fluid, which was the reason for my pain during Sean's movement - no more cushioning. I had "Premature Rupture of Membranes" or "PROM".
When the doctor came in to give us the ultrasound results, we immediately knew it was bad. He's been a long-time friend of our family, and he walked into the room withtears in his eyes. He said it was amazing that I hadn't already acquired a uterine infection, since we had no real clue as to exactly how long I'd been ruptured. I had to be sent to a specialist, and would most likely be admitted to the hospital until either Sean was born, or until I was far enough along to safely give birth to him at our home hospital (we were praying daily for the second). An appointment was made for me to see the new doctor the next morning.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 1998 - The new hospital (with one of the top rated Neonatal Intensive Care Units in the country) was an hour and a half from my home. The doctor admitted me immediately. He also told me that from that point on, there was no way that he or anyone else was going to do a pelvic exam on me, due to the extreme risk of infection. (This fact will be important later on.) He said that a uterine infection would risk not only the baby's life, but my life, too. I was to spend the next undetermined amount of time on almost strict bedrest. Away from my friends ... away from my family ... away from my beautiful 4 year old little girl ... away from all the people I needed most at this time.
The staff was wonderful! They took excellent care of me, and I couldn't have asked for better treatment. Jon was encouraged to spend the night with me whenever possible, which was nearly every night. We were given the largest room in the Maternity Ward at the end of the hallway. They pushed the two beds together, so Jon and I could lay next to each other. They also brought in a small fridge, so he could keep soda in it, and snacks for me. He was given vouchers to use in the cafeteria to get food. And, as long as I was doing well enough, I was allowed one ride in the wheelchair to go outside each day.
The first two days I was in the hospital, I received a steroid shot in my rear each day (which I did not enjoy in the least). Jon was able to stay there with me for the first few days. The nurses were in and out every 8 hours to put me on the fetal monitor, every 4 hours to check my stats, and every hour or more to see if I needed anything. I couldn't have asked for more attention!! That part of things was great. Not to mention the fact that I was eating 3 full meals a day plus snacks (which I wasn't doing at home, 'cuz I was too lazy to cook!)
I'd had to call my employer to let them know I wouldn't be back to work, and why. As soon as they found out what was going on, I started receiving a load of flowers and cards from my co-workers and bosses. A couple co-workers managed to get to my hospital to visit me. My boss also put me on "lay-off" so my family could receive unemployment for me (luckily my job does get slower around that time of year, so she was able to get away with it). They even left me on "laid-off" status until I was ready to come back to work. I was given my actual maternity leave when Sean came home from the hospital. My mother was able to come up a couple times and bring my daughter and sisters.
It was so nice to see my little girl. I could tell, however, that she was really worried about me and the baby. She asked me if "our" baby (she insisted the baby was hers, too, which we thought was cute) was going to die like Auntie Gwen's did (my best friend of the past 19 years, who had had a miscarriage a year earlier). I told her the truth - that we didn't know. I told her that the baby was too little to be born and still be healthy. I also told her that even though the doctors were going to do everything they could to save our baby and keep him alive, there was a chance he could die. She asked me if our baby did die, would he go be with Grandma Joyce? I told her of course he would, and that made her feel much better. Sh thought that wouldn't be so bad, and at least he'd be taken care of, and not be sick.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 1998 - The afternoon of Feb. 10, someone from the accounts office (or somewhere like that) came in and said that there had been a problem with my main health insurance provider. That they did not cover the hospital I was at. They would pay for any charges I had accrued to that date - only if I transferred to the other hospital in the same town which they did cover. If I refused to be transferred that day, they would pay for nothing. My secondary carrier would only cover me where my primary did. So, I - being so high risk that I had to beg to be allowed to use the toilet rather than a bedpan - had to be transferred to the other hospital.
Now, I had never heard much about this hospital in the way of its NICU or much else. However, my husband's brother is an intensive care surgeon, and when he found out I was in the hospital, the first thing he said was that he hoped I was NOT at (hospital #2) because they will do whatever they have to do in order to save the baby, even if that means letting the mother die. This I didn't care much about, but it made Jon furious. (I had my "mommy instinct" in over-drive - I didn't care what had to be done, as long as my son survived.) Anyway, putting this problem with the hospital aside, there was the fact that the wonderful treatment I had been receiving suddenly changed dramatically!! My stats were taken every 8 hours, they checked up on me about every 4-6 hours, and put me on the fetal monitor every 12 hours. Not to mention we had a heck of a time getting them to let Jon stay there with me. I was in this place (which I have since named "hell") for a total of 36 hours. I cried - literally - the entire time I was there. Luckily, a wonderful lady from the hospital's social servcies department took a liking to me, and she spent every spare minute she could working on trying to get my primary insurance carrier dropped so I could go back to my original hospital.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 1998 - Approximately 7:30 am, I received the best news I had gotten over the past 8 days!! The kind social services lady had managed to get my insurance stuff straightened out. My primary carrier was dropped effective February 1, making my secondary my new primary, and they would cover me anywhere. I was free to go back to my wonderful first hospital where I felt so safe and at home and well-taken care of. One problem ... the doctor who was in charge of me at hospital B refused to allow me to be transferred until he did a pelvic exam on me. Once that was done, I was transferred back to hospital A, after spending a terrible 36 hours in misery.
Once I was done being transferred and got settled in, my husband left to go home and get a few things done, check on my daughter, etc. However, that didn't last long. By 4:00 that afternoon, I realized soemthing was wrong. I'd been having contractions most of the morning, and had twice been given medication to stop them. Both attempts failed. My cousin had called me to see how I was feeling. While we were on the phone, I had the most terrible pain of my life. It was one huge long contraction that lasted about 3 minutes. I couldn't even breathe, it hurt so bad. I pushed the call button, and the nurse came to see what was wrong. They checked the fetal monitor, and realized they'd better check my white count again. It was twice the level it had been that morning. My baby was going to be born that day, one way or another. I had what we had hoped to ward off for as long as possible - a uterine infection. My cousin called my husband, and let him know what was happening, and made sure he was on his way.
I have never been so terrified as I was that entire evening. I had been sure sure the whole time I was there that everything would be okay. I kept telling myself I'd be there for weeks, and that I may even be able to deliver my baby at home. I knew in my head that I could deliver any time, but my heart wouldn't let me see it. I had to face the truth, and I had to face it NOW.
I just couldn't believe that there was any way this baby would live being born so soon!!! And if he did, what kind of life would he have? The statistics the doctors had given me kept running through my mind ... blindness ... brain damage ... vents ... brain bleeds ... deafness ... CP ... what would I do? Could I take care of a baby with these problems? Was I strong enough to handle it? And what if my baby didn't make it? How was I supposed to handle that? What would I do if my baby died? The baby that Jon and I had been so happy about ... the baby that we'd talked about ... dreamed about ... the baby that we loved so much ... the son we'd hoped and prayed for. All these thoughts kept running through my head. I didn't know what I would do. I was asked by one of the nurses if she should call anyone for me. I knew Jon was on his way - I told her to call my mom.
TO BE CONTINUED . . . . . . . .