#26weeker

When I was thinking about writing about our journey, I kept trying to think of a starting point. The more I thought about my experiences, the more I realized the beginning of this journey started almost two decades ago. 

When I was eleven, I was having issues that other eleven year-old girls didn’t have to deal with. I was going through puberty very early, and my hormones were going crazy. I had terrible acne, hair growing where it shouldn’t, and a host of other issues that are difficult to handle while trying to fit in with middle school girls. While trying to figure out what was causing all of these changes at such a young age, I broke a bone while horseback riding. When the doctors examined my x-rays, they noticed that my growth plates were already fused - I was done growing at eleven years-old. 

After seeing countless doctors and being poked and prodded for numerous tests, it was finally determined that I had polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS). I didn’t really know much about it at the time, and I didn’t really care what was causing my symptoms as long as I could take something to make them stop. When I was thirteen, I was prescribed birth control pills to help decrease the severity of my PCOS symptoms (hair growth, acne, irregular cycles, etc.) Although my bones were already fused, at least I could do something for the rest of my body. At such a young age, I didn’t spend time worrying about my fertility. It was mentioned to me and my family that having a child would be difficult, if not impossible. At the time, my mindset was, “I’ll deal with that when I get there.” 

PLEASE HELP MY SON

Premature birth is the number one killer of young children worldwide.

Despite the expectation of a hopeful and joyful pregnancy, things don’t always go according to plan. Sometimes the overwhelming wonder of having a new baby is reduced to just wondering if the baby will survive. Sometimes the hope a parent feels for their child’s success, happiness, and future turns into simply hoping the baby will be able to leave the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). Sometimes the dream of possibilities turns into a nightmare.

My son Julian was born September 10, 2016, at only 26 weeks gestation. He weighed 2 pounds 2 ounces and was 13.75 inches long. As a result, he will spend over three months in the NICU to help him grow and stay alive. 

After almost 3 months in the hospital, Julian is soon to be discharged and Andrew and I are looking forward to finally bringing him home. While we don’t have a clear picture of what Julian’s future may hold, we do know one thing — Julian’s medical bills will be expensive: estimated to be at least $3000 a day.

Please consider donating to help offset Julian’s medical costs. Please share this post with friends and family to spread awareness of not only our story but of premature babies everywhere.

Thank you! 

Please help spread the word!