Hospital Monitoring / Predelivery

Monday I was admitted to the hospital for preeclampia at 23 weeks.

They drugged me up and hooked me up to monitors and said "Stay pregnant" 😐

I met with lots of people. The neonatologist came down to have some real words with me. He wasn't there to comfort me but I did feel comforted by his honesty. He said many things regarding whether or not my son had a real chance of living but after all of it, he said "If you want to try, we will try [everything in our power to keep your baby alive]"

Shortly after, a NICU nurse came and gave my husband and I a tour of the NICU.

THAT. For me it was that kind gesture that really got to me. We can talk life and death and statistic and numbers all day but actually seeing the inside of the NICU. It finally hit me. They aren't talking if. They are talking when. They are saying stay pregnant because they believe I will; they are hoping against the odds and experience that I will. They are showing me the NICU now, because it is inevitable. I cried when the extremely kind nurse finished the tour. I told her thank you, but I never wanted to see the inside of a NICU. No parent does.

Thursday was bad. It was a bad day. I still consider it the actual worst day of the whole pregnancy and NICU stay. I had all the big checkup appointments with all the specialists and repeat visits from neonatology, etc, etc. My dad stopped by to hopefully intersect with a few other doctors to get the real (not emotionally pregnant) 411. And, of course, be my great supportive dad. My mom came to visit in time for the ultrasound; it was good news / bad news. Baby stopped growing and was a mere 390g (baby should have been closer to 800g). BUT, there was no indication of stress on the baby besides that. As long as there was still positive cord flow, he was set to keep cooking.

Then. The perinatologist comes in. With her big fake eyelashes, sits down on my bed and looks at me like a lamb headed to slaughter. She said the baby was too small to survive, I might as well go home and have a miscarriage, everybody has a pet story about a preemie that survives but it's not gonna happen, yadda yadda yadda. SHE WAS THE WORST.

(MEANWHILE: my mom is freaked and texts my husband, who is in school, because she knows I need REAL emotional support. She says "Come to the hospital now. Sorry" Aaaaaand he thought I was dead. 😅)

Then there was the constant barrage of "stay pregnant til 26 weeks, I'll be back from vacation by then" "Stay pregnant til 27 weeks, I'll be on call every day that week" Those ones hurt. By then, I knew in my heart I would never make it that long.

On a happy note, Thursday night we had a visit from our Bishop and his wife. To be honest, I couldn't tell you nearly anything about that visit except that it was extremely comforting. My bishop and husband gave me a blessing. I remember it said "I bless you to know when to ask for help."

And I did.


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