#nicumiracle

Chapter One: And So Our Story Begins…

It’s been almost 9 months since I was admitted into the hospital for a threatened miscarriage. I still remember that morning as if it was just yesterday, it was one of the hardest and scariest days of my life. A day, never in my life I imagined would come to pass, but it did. On October 17th, 2017 my sister took me to the labor & delivery ER at UMC Hospital for bleeding, I was 21 weeks and 6 days…

But I wasn’t.

As I said before my nurse asked me to keep track of my “cramps” and let her know if they started to come more frequently. Once they did, the doctors were called in and they did an ultrasound which showed Scarlett’s positioning and that I was now dilated to a 3.

Now here is where my story gets a little crazier.

At this point, my mom, sister, and in-laws were with me, and BJ was hauling butt all the way from home in Andrews to get there. They were all praying Scarlett wouldn’t come but preparing themselves just in case she did.

For whatever reason, most likely because my doctors just did not WANT me to be in labor (as if I did…) they told me I was probably just experiencing Braxton Hicks. So they gave me some medication to help me sleep. They told me to “just try to relax and get some rest.”

Yeah right!!

Ladies (for those of you who’ve had children) did any of you get ANY sleep during LABOR??

Ha, I didn’t think so. Neither did I.

Several hours later, my contractions began to increase in frequency and intensity. By now, all of the grandparents had gone home to rest, thinking Scarlett wasn’t going to make her debut after all.

It was just me, BJ, and my sister.

Whatever medicine they gave me DID NOT WORK. Because it felt like my body was being ripped wide open. And the pressure…oh my gosh!! Never in my life, had I felt so much pressure. It honestly felt like I had to take the biggest poop of my life!!

I literally kept yelling (because I was extremely pissed off at this point), “I JUST NEED TO POOP!!” I swore if only they would let me poop everything was going to feel better. Scarlett was going to be okay, she wasn’t going to come out. I just needed to poop. Which had been hard to do (you know, with the whole…doing it while having to lay down). But nope. My sister kept telling me “DON’T POOP!”

By now, my nurse had been checking on me frequently and the doctors said they were monitoring my progress outside.

I just felt so angry. I felt like no one was listening to me. No one wanted to believe I was in labor. No one did anything about the pain I was in. AND no one wanted to let me poop!

Finally!

All at once, people swarmed the room, literally. There were at LEAST twenty people in there. NICU was called and they had a team set up and ready for Scarlett. As I lay there, pissed off, in pain and with 20+ people staring at my lady bits, I remember looking to BJ. He was so calm, but you could see the worry and concern in his face. He held my hand and (I think knew better) stayed very quiet.

At last.

One of the doctors told me it was time, I could finally push.

One push – that was all it took.

Instantly, that pressure was gone.

Everything after that happened super fast.

I remember looking down and seeing the doctor cup his hands and hand Scarlett off, I didn’t even get to see her. BJ held my hand, I looked up at him and he said, “ You did so good babe. You did good.”

I looked to my sister next, she had been standing behind BJ but was now hovering over the NICU team and watching Scarlett. I just kept staring in that corner. When she finally caught my eye, she nodded, hands held tightly in front of her, and said, “She’s good. She’s okay.” She had the biggest smile on her face.

I don’t remember anything else after that. BJ traded places with my sister to see his daughter for the first time and Monica came to my side. Apparently, when Scarlett came out she was packed and ready to go. She brought everything with her. My water never even broke, when she came out she was still in the bag and the placenta came with her. They had to break it to get her out. BJ & my sister say she looked like a little football.

Scarlett also has ninja skills. Remember those stitches they used to sew my cervix? They were still intact. All seven of them. The doctor who delivered Scarlett had to cut them out afterward. Somehow, she managed to wiggle herself and all her “baggage” over them.

Crazy right?

So there you have it.

On October 31st, 2017 at 1:58 a.m., weighing in at 1 pound 3 ounces and 10 inches long,

Scarlett Rain Riojas made her grand entrance into the world. (And none of the grandmas were there to witness it lol)

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Within the first couple of days, Scarlett became extremely sick. Almost immediately she had developed an infection in her bloodstream that could have very easily taken her life. But our girl is a fighter and it helped that the doctors began antibiotics even before her test results were back. (Which I’ve learned is pretty standard care for any preemie) I spent every moment I could with her. I wanted to soak up every tiny detail of her I could because I never knew if the last time I saw her would be my last time to see her alive.

To say that I prayed every single day would be an understatement. I feel like I was constantly talking with God. After all, he is the one who narrates our stories, we’re just along for the ride. But let me back up here really quick. During my hospital stay, my spirit was tested. I was fighting a constant battle with fear and I have/had an ongoing battle with anxiety (I’ll talk more about that later). To make a long story short, I have since learned that we don’t get to know why things happen. We just have to have FAITH, and trust in the Lord. As much as I wanted to have full-term & healthy pregnancy, that wasn’t in my story. Will it ever be? Only God knows. But as of that moment, it wasn’t. So instead of letting all of these “what if’s” and “why me’s” eat at me. I chose to believe that there was a lesson to be learned in what was my “here and now”.

Now, that Scarlett was here, a new chapter in my life was starting and I needed to be prepared. And what better way to prepare myself, than to make sure I was in an open conversation with God. So as tired as I was, what with the getting used to pumping every 2 to 3 hours, making sure I was getting rest, and getting myself to the hospital every day (while also getting used to walking around again); I made sure to be with Scarlett as soon as I could. BJ & I tried to be there for every Touch Time and I spent all of my free time at the hospital.

By the grace of God, Scarlett’s infection cleared up but she was still extremely fragile and it took a lot out of her. As I mentioned previously, the NICU can be a pretty intimidating place. Even though BJ & I were the parents, we had to do what the nurses and doctors told us and follow their rules. At first, every day I went in I would get an update from whoever was her nurse that day. They would tell me how her night went and what medications she was on and all of that. I didn’t really understand a whole lot of what they would say. Until one day (I’ll never forget), this little Filipino lady came into the room and started barking orders at everyone. (She was one out four of Scarlett’s Nurse Practitioners) She was doing her rounds for the day and came in to check on Scarlett. When she was done she asked me if I had any questions; I was a little afraid to answer her (if I’m being honest), but I asked her what few questions I had. She then did me a huge favor and explained everything to me in detail. From Scarlett’s condition to what her plan of care was and everything I had wanted to know (but been too afraid to ask). Then she gave me the best piece of advice anyone had ever given me.

SPEAK UP & never be afraid to ask questions.

She said, “This is your child, we are just her doctors. We are helping to keep her alive but at the end of the day she belongs to you. You will be with her everyday,  you will get to know how she responds to things and you will know what she needs. So it’s up to you to help her. She’s just a baby, she can’t tell us what she needs. So you need to advocate for her. If there is something we do and you don’t understand why we are doing it. Then ask us. If you feel like we are doing something wrong don’t be afraid to speak up and tell us.”

I have thanked God a million times for that woman.

After that, I started becoming more involved in Scarlett’s care. I made sure to be there and listen in every day during rounds and asked a lot of questions.

Scarlett was on a lot of medications and needed several blood transfusions. In the beginning, they had lines in her umbilical cord to give her all of this; after about a week that fell out and was no good. They tried to insert a PICC line but because Scarlett’s veins were so tiny they had a really hard time making it work and finding veins for IV’s was difficult and didn’t last very long. So she had to have one surgically put in through her jugular vein. I’ll never forget how dangerous that sounded and I remember not being able to see her for a long time because of it. I was a nervous wreck, she was only 10 days old and already she had to have surgery. But the hospital we were in has the BEST NICU Staff and they took such great care of her. The love I have for those people is more than I can express. The surgeon was extremely careful with her and one (out of four) of her doctors watched over her and made sure she was safe the entire time. (God placed some amazing people in that unit I tell ya) They were able to put it through her vein but the line was sewn it into her skin in order to make sure that it wouldn’t fall out. These marked her first big battle scars of many more to come.

At fifteen days old, Scarlett had her first bath. This was also my very first time to “hold” Scarlett. (Crazy right? 15 days old before I was able to hold her) I was so unbelievably excited and more than a little apprehensive. She had put on a little more weight but I still couldn’t believe how tiny she was, she looked like a little frog, haha. I loved the nurse who helped us that day, she was amazing. She explained exactly what we needed to do and how we would do it. I gave Scarlett a really quick sponge bath; I only did parts of her because I was too afraid of hurting her, so I let her nurse do the majority of the work instead. When we were finished we had to switch out Scarlett’s isolette; she was still intubated (and would be for a while) and on a High-Frequency Oscillator at this point. We needed a lot of help and extra hands to get the job done. This was the most exciting part for me because while the staff switched out the isolette, I held Scarlett! She was all bundled up in her nest, and I couldn’t exactly snuggle her to my chest but, still, I held her in my arms!!

In NICU, even though there are a lot of scary and sad things that happen. There are also a lot of really good and amazing things that happen too. So there are these things we call NICU milestones, and to any other parent, they may not seem like much. Honestly, if you aren’t paying close enough attention you might miss them. But, they’re a big deal. So we celebrate them! We celebrate the little things, because for these tiny fighters, they are big victories.

And this was the most exciting day yet.

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For those of you who read this, sorry it’s been a while since my last post! With Connor being HOME and becoming a celebrity ;), it’s been extremely busy! 

It actually feels painstaking to go back in time to almost a year ago when it was getting very close to Connor’s grand entrance. I’m dying to jump ahead and let his stories and our hospital stories steal the show, but as I’ve said before - I go into the excruciating detail of the pregnancy itself so that other pregnant women in my shoes know they’re not alone. 

Last I left off, I was 22 weeks pregnant, had every test done in the book, and was praying that our baby would miraculously have a growth spurt and make it until at least 24 weeks before he had to be delivered (and weigh at least a pound). 

At every ultrasound I would hold my breath until we heard a heartbeat. Then, after the initial relief of the “thump-thump-thump” we would hear, my anxiety would return while waiting for the baby’s measurements that day. If there was a tiny amount of growth, we had to consider it a win. We kept waiting for the baby to reach the one pound mark, but we were still far from it each time we went in.

At 23 weeks, I was not in a good place. The baby was measuring at well below a pound, and the hospital we were planning to deliver at told us they couldn’t resuscitate a baby less than 750 grams (more than a pound). Our doctors were encouraging us to deliver at Colombia in NYC when the time came. They assured us that they would be the most capable to handle a baby as tiny as ours. I just didn’t have a good feeling about delivering a baby that would clearly need months of care so far from home, especially in an area where finding a place to stay nearby would not be easy. 

I started researching every NICU nearby, reading previous cases of micro-preemies and where they were delivered, and calling NICUs to see if they had a weight limit to resuscitate a baby. Finally, I found a story about a baby girl weighing only about 10 ounces delivered at Maria Fareri Children’s Hospital at Westchester Medical Center. I was shocked to read of a baby similar in size to Connor surviving, and I just felt compelled to deliver Connor at that hospital. However, that would mean switching doctors, finding an entirely new practice, and convincing my husband that this would be a good idea. Westchester Medical Center hasn’t always had the greatest reputation, but if I could deliver there, the baby could be easily whisked away to their Level IV NICU (the highest level) at the connected Children’s Hospital in minutes. 

I was warned by our doctors at the time not to deliver there. They promised that Colombia would be our best possible option. They seemed flabbergasted that I would choose to deliver anywhere but Colombia, nevermind a hospital with a less than stellar reputation. My gut told me I needed to do it. I would be closer to home, closer to family, and closer to the best NICU in the tri-state area. Not to say that Colombia’s NICU wouldn’t be amazing, but even they told us that to resuscitate a baby, he would need to be at least 500 grams, which our baby was not. 

I ended up making an appointment for a few weeks from then to meet with their doctors and at least get an in with the practice in case we decided we wanted to deliver at that hospital. For the time being, nothing was urgent, but I knew I had a ticking time bomb in my belly. 

I had a growth ultrasound at 23 weeks and 6 days, and everything was status quo - the baby was small, the heartbeat was strong, blood flow through the umbilical cord was normal, and amniotic fluid levels were still in normal range. It seemed like we would just truck along like this for the next sixteen weeks - if the baby could gain an ounce every week or every two weeks, he’d at least be over a pound at full term! 

The next day, at 24 weeks exactly, the maternal-fetal-medicine doctor called and said that I would need to get steroid shots in case we needed to deliver the baby in the near future. I immediately got nervous and assumed that he saw something the day before that made him think steroid shots were a necessity. He assured us that the steroid shots were just a precaution. The goal of the steroids is to mature the baby’s lungs faster so that in the case of extreme prematurity, the lungs would at least give the baby a fighting chance. 

The steroid shots are no joke - I still remember the searing pain from the first one (of four) that I got while pregnant. The nurse asked me where I wanted it, and I just assumed like most other shots, I should get it in my arm. As soon as the shot was injected, it felt like someone had both stabbed my arm and punched it HARD. The pain was so strong that it shot down all the way to my fingertips and rendered my arm basically useless. I remember telling him that it was a good thing he drove, because there was no way I’d be able to move my arm enough. 

Despite the pain, I was hopeful. I had read accounts of women whose babies were suffering from IUGR that upon receiving the steroid shots experienced a growth spurt. I also felt like our baby had finally reached one checkmark of viability. He had made it to 24 weeks, which made him technically viable. WIth the steroids on board, he had a fighting chance. For the first time in my pregnancy, I didn’t feel helpless. Two days later, I received the second dose of steroids. I hoped and prayed that they were giving our little peanut the boost he needed to make it to a pound. 

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.” 

Hi everyone! I’ve been thinking of using writing as a way to handle my anxiety and overthinking for a long time, and I think I’m ready to start pouring out all my feelings. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Jaimie. On July 13, 2018, I became a mom of a miracle. My baby boy, Connor, was born at 26 weeks gestation and weighed in at only 310 grams (10.9 oz)! We later came to learn that he was the smallest baby boy our Level 4 NICU had ever had, and he was the second smallest baby ever treated there.