It’s been seventeen years since that day, and no matter how far we’ve come, this day is a sucker-punch every single year.
The minute we found out we were pregnant with Big Man, after more than 18 months of trying, a year of fertility treatments, and one early miscarriage, I started dreaming and imagining. I knew exactly how it would go…..I never thought anything would go wrong. That just wasn’t even on my radar, not for one second. I firmly believed once we were past the first trimester, we were in the clear and it would be smooth sailing from there until the day my newborn was laid upon my chest.
That moment, on September 6, 2000, when I looked down into a toilet full of blood, my dreams were shattered….dreams of a picture-perfect, full-term pregnancy and birth. Those dreams were gone forever, replaced by fear, guilt, the possibility of death for my child as well as myself…..reality became steroid shots to help my baby’s lungs develop sooner than later, multiple ultrasounds, strict hospital bedrest, being away from home for who knew how long, and the lovely effects of magnesium sulfate. Reality became long, lonely hours in a hospital room. Reality became odds and percentages. Reality became praying every day for one more day. Reality became the knowledge that our baby was likely going to come too soon, too small. Reality became knowing I would never, ever take pregnancy for granted again…not for myself, nor for anyone else.
My son is here, seventeen years later. It was a battle, but he’s here. And prematurity does not end when you leave the NICU. His physical scars are minimal. My emotional scars are forever. I know exactly the fight my brave boy has inside of him because I watched him fight every single day. I know just how stubborn he is, because it’s been his timeline from day one for every single milestone. I know how tender-hearted and caring he is because I see the hugs he gives everyone, how he connects and relates to people. I truly believe that comes from him being handled by so many caring, loving nurses for three months. I know his eyes don’t close all the way when he sleeps, and I know he holds his hands in loose fists, with his thumb out, because I spent 93 days watching him intently, especially as he slept. I know the long, narrow shape of his head is due to him laying on one side or the other in his isolette and then crib for months on end (and is a common look for preemies who do extended NICU time). I know more medical terms than most lay-people, because we lived in the medical world for a long time.
September 6th, especially when it falls on a Wednesday, will always be a pitfall for me. It will always bring back the worst of the memories. It marks the beginning of a journey……