He's 5.

My oldest son just turned 12 and he asked about when he was born. We pulled out the scrapbooks and we were cracking up telling stories.  Remembering Adam's birth does not bring about the same feelings. The actual birth of Adam was one of the scariest experiences of my life. I was terrified.

It was Matthew's 7th birthday and I had plans to go to get my routine ultrasound (the 20 week ultrasound, which I was actually having in week 22). In the backseat of the car, I had the sprinkle-covered cupcakes, which I was going to drop off at the founding father elementary school after the ultrasound and then head to work, all before 11:30. Phew. 

During the ultrasound, I was chatty with the technician and she was friendly enough, but at a certain point, she told me that the doctor should be in soon and she left. I, of course, am instantly scared and thought how my follow up with my doctor wasn’t today. The doctor came in, but it wasn’t my doctor and my anxiety increased.

I asked him what was wrong and he replied, "We will talk in a few". I didn’t know what that meant.  A few? A few what? He then said to me, “It appears as though there are problems with the growth of the fetus. You are not leaving this hospital until the baby is born".  My only reply was, "Are you sure, I mean it's my son's birthday I'm not due until the end of August and I have cupcakes in the car". I remember this. I remember asking him if he was sure, ridiculous now. It's funny, how you respond to news. I mean it's comical now that I was so concerned about those damn cupcakes.

The next 24 hours was a blur of information. I was told that I had IUGR. This is intrauterine growth restriction. This means that there is a poor growth of the baby, and that the baby weighs less than other babies at the same gestational age. Every week of gestation and every pound makes a huge difference, decreasing the chances of problems dramatically. The baby was not getting enough oxygen and nutrition because the blood flow through my placenta was intermittent.  This was not my fault (I have to sometimes remind myself of this) There was no reason for this and later my placenta was sent to a placenta pathologist, I had no idea there were such people (eww gross) and again told, no reason discovered. 

My baby was starving.

In the next 24 hours or so I had visitors. Neonatologists. I was told that the baby had small femur bones and a few other indicators that he might have Down's Syndrome. I was told statistics that a baby born this weight, with IUGR, this early, increases chances for everything. I mean everything. It's not just that he was going to be premature, but he also had this starvation thing. He had so many chances for so many things. They went over blindness, lung issues, brain bleeds and on and on. The bottom line and number they gave us, was that he had an 85% morbidity rate.  We knew something was going to happen to this baby, He wasn’t going to be healthy and “normal”. No one could tell us what was going to be “wrong” with him, but it was going to be something- we just didn’t know what he was going to get.

The ob/gyn explained to me that it was advisable that I never have another baby. Once they deliver this baby, via c-section. The uterus would be cut vertically. This is because I was not far along at all, so the uterus wasn't stretched. I would have a vertical uterine incision that would leave scar tissue. Another pregnancy might result in the placenta possibly attaching to this scar tissue (good chance) and that would force an early delivery (another preemie see above possible scenarios), careful monitoring, and a possible ruptured uterus and a potential hysterectomy for me.

And so it was. 

This was the last baby I should give birth to and something will be wrong.

In the hospital I now had a team of specialists, high risk doctors called maternal fetal medicine expert something. (whom I humorously referred to as the MFs). Also, one of these MFs was the father of a former student of mine. Slightly awkward. They visited me each day, along with their medical students, residents and more. Each morning an ultrasound technician would come in and they would do an ultrasound. I also had an ultrasound in the afternoon. I was pretty hooked up to stuff and was told to stay on my left side as much as possible. I was in the hospital this way for 12 days. On the morning of May 16^th, the technician came in and was doing the ultrasound and noticed that things were not good. Buttons were pressed, nurses were called and we were off.

My regular ob/gyn was there in a flash and was jogging next to me along with the nurses, and we went straight into a delivery mode. I was alone and the nurse held my hand and said she wouldn’t leave. Someone called Philip, I suppose, because they said to me that he was on the way. The room was pretty crowded, I remember seeing a lot of doctors. They needed doctors and nurses for me and neonatologists and nurses for the baby, anesthesiologists and more. I remember feeling crowded. It was a C-section. It was tense. A nurse never left my side. It was stressful. Adam was taken away. Phil went with the baby. I was left alone to be stitched up, the nurse offered a few words of comfort. There was no laughter, no joy in the room. I was terrified. I knew he was alive, but that was all. I couldn’t really talk, tears rolled down softly. I was brought to a recovery area and my mother and Phil were there and I asked them if he was still alive. He was. They wheeled me to see him. I couldn’t touch him. He was hooked up and plugged in and his bed was covered with saran wrap. He weighed just over 1 pound (665 grams) and was born 16 weeks early.

In remembering this day of Adam’s birth I am reminded of the amazing abilities of all the nurses and doctors that day. After recovery I was brought to my room where the roommate had given birth to a healthy baby and the baby was there. I really couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t speak. I just was crying, but quietly crying so the woman and her family behind the curtain couldn’t hear me. I didn’t want them to ask me anything. A nurse came in and was horrified that I was placed in this room. She didn’t need me to explain, to speak. She understood and instantly made arrangements and moved me.

Whenever I remember this day and all it brought, it is easy to immediately return to that place of sadness and fear and terror. I couldn’t imagine at that moment what the next five years would bring.

If only I could go back in time and speak to myself. The future me just reaches over the curtain and speaks to me, as I lie trying to cry quietly into a pillow alone in a hospital bed, I would tell that woman, I would tell me, “There will be worse days, but it’s all going to be fine. This baby, Adam Marcus, is going to make you laugh. This child will live. He does have some imperfections, but he is going to live and you and Phil are going to be stronger than you think is even possible”

“He is going to take Karate, and ride a bike. He will sign “cheese” and later make a sign for his door saying do not enter.  He will argue with his brother, throw a ball and dance. He will learn the alphabet, blow kisses, make machine gun noises, build a sand castle. He will throw vomit-inducing tantrums and tell you he wants to be a penguin when he grows up. "

He will turn 5. 

There's a great future in plastics.

I am quirky and I certainly don't know where all my different likes and dislikes came from. Well, I don't know where most of them came from. Some I can place, for example my love of the smell of tobacco. It makes me feel safe and like a 9 year old. If I'm in a main street kind of town or shopping in a NewHope-esq place, and see a tobacco shop, I must immediately enter and hear the bell chime. Taking deep Yoga stomach protruding inhales and exhales of tobacco scent is calming. I almost always buy an empty tobacco box, as demonstrated by my boys' containers for gogos, tech techs, army dudes and baseball cards. These might not be the safest toys, but my boys really do hoard little stuff and they are great stuff holders. Also it makes me feel less freak-like for entering the store just to do some breathing poses. I know where my love for tobacco smell comes from. My grandfather, my Dziadzi, smoked a pipe. I freaking love that smell. I instantly am transported back to my grandparents' house for a Sunday dinner of roast beef and mashed potatoes.

There are two big quirks that Adam has: a love for plastic and sand crabs. Sand crabs? huh? Let me explain. When Adam was born, he was uber- tiny. Like a pound. In the beginning of his life, we weren't allowed to hold him. And in the NICU, they would place beanbags on him while he was in the little incubator, which we affectionally (and quite overwhelmed with medical bills) nicknamed his "million dollar condo".  I suppose this was to keep him feeling safe, and warm and more comfortable. He would sleep all the time and they would pose his limbs around these bendy soft tubes and place beanbags on top of him. Here's a scary looking picture of him, the heart fabric are actually beanbags on top and around him.

 

What happened as a result... well, when Adam sleeps, he must dig himself into tight spaces. In his crib, he would wedge himself in the most dangerous corners and when you held him, he would dig his arm into your side and tuck it under your shirt. As he got older, and now in his big boy bed, he sticks his legs between the mattress and the wall, often wedging his body in "the cave", this tight spot. Most nights he gets up and climbs into bed with us, often between 4 and 6 am. Once in bed with us, he wedges his limbs underneath us, I am so used to this, that in my sleep, will feel him digging into me with his foot and I will strike a modified side plank yoga pose, while he slips under my legs and my back and sometimes will dig his arms into my side so hard, I feel I will have internal bleeding. We have affectionally named this "sand crabbing". If I wake up and yell, "Ow, Adam, stop hurting mommy." He replies, "I not hurt you, I just sand kwabbing" Ok, I sigh and I place my back over his legs. On a bad night (where Phil ends up half on the night stand and I wake up horizontally across the foot of the bed), we remark while yawning, "Adam was a bad sand crabber last night".

Besides crabs, Adam also loves plastic. Again, this comes as no surprise. When he was born, as seen above, plastic was everywhere. When he got his tracheostomy he had a plastic mask that would be around his neck, pumping in humidity and oxygen. You can see him doing tummy time with his plastic mask and tube.

In that picture, it's a bit too loose, but, his tube and mask learned to crawl and walk with him. He would go to sleep, hands wrapped about that tube, which we named, not so cleverly, "tubey". He and tubey were buddies. If you moved him while he was asleep, he would clutch that tube as quickly as possible and rest his hands around tubey. Of course, it was enabling him to breathe and survive, so it's understandable. 

Adam has a few stuffed animals and blankets and such, but just today, Phil and I went on a run. Phil was pushing Adam in the jogging stroller and Adam asked if we could lower it so he could nap. He also asked if we had his batman plastic figure, so he could hold him while he slept. This is normal for him. He sleeps with a hard as..., well, hard as plastic, Buzz Lightyear and will be known to take a vehicle or two into bed. 

So, while my boys will grow up with many quirks (as we all have), I find it interesting to know exactly where these two came from and it's kind of cool to see how events directly from infancy and birth have effected him firsthand as a toddler and preschooler. That being said, I sure hope it doesn't develop into an adult love for life size mannequins that he weights down and sleeps under. Although, if it does, I'll know just where it came from and will, of course, pay for overwhelmingly high psychiatrist fees.