8 minute read
Phoebe’s NICU Journey
FEATURE PHOEBE’S NICU JOURNEY
As told by Mum, Kirsty
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I’ll never forget the words, “You’re going to have this baby in the next 48 hours, but probably tonight.” It had all been trucking along nicely; easy conception, no morning sickness, and barely any weight gain. A pretty smooth pregnancy. The gender reveal was planned; I was super excited for the baby shower, couldn’t wait for antenatal classes, I had slowly been purchasing cute cloth nappies and was eyeing up furniture. I had a Due Date group on Facebook and spent every spare minute googling everything and anything to do with pregnancy. My 22 week old baby was the size of a mango, how cute! Finally, I started experiencing some discomfort – pain under my ribs on the right hand side. My husband and I concluded that it was about time my body started to acknowledge this baby other than my bladder needing to be emptied 20 times in the night! Except the pain was pretty bad and I was struggling to sleep. I suspected preeclampsia but no, it was round ligament pain according to both Google and my midwife. This carried on for two weeks and then stopped. A week later Covid hit so my midwife appointment was cancelled. Lockdown didn’t bother me at all – perfect for taking naps and organising the house before the baby came! Except three days in the pain returned with a vengeance! I couldn’t sleep at night and I could barely walk. On the second day it was so unbearable I called Health Line, my GP and my midwife – she was at a delivery so her midwife partner answered. All three told me that because of Covid going to the emergency room was too dangerous, that it was still a bit early for preeclampsia and that it was likely still round ligament pain. By 3pm the pain was excruciating – thankfully my midwife answered this time and told me to go to ED. Level 4 meant no husband allowed, so I went in alone. The waiting room was empty! I was ushered straight through. Urine test revealed HELLP syndrome. “I’m sorry to tell you that you’re going to have this baby in the next 48 hours, most likely tonight. You’ll be flying to Wellington as soon as they get here. We’ll transfer you to the delivery suite in the next couple of hours and then your husband can join you.” I had a friend who had a 24 weeker and 25 weeker boys who were now 4 and 6 and they were doing great so while I was freaking out and in tears, I was naively reassuring myself that everything was going to be fine. Text from husband a few minutes later: “Where’s the spag bol sauce?” “Top shelf in cupboard.” ….no point in telling him yet, I thought, wait until you can tell him to come to the delivery suite.
The next few hours were spent in shock. I can remember every detail of what happened right up until the cesarean but not how I felt. Drew was sent home twice by my midwife to repack, not realising at the time that we’d be in Wellington for months. Seven months! We arrived in Wellington at 1am where they were able to stabilize my blood pressure. At 3:06am on March 29, 2020 our little 525g girl was born. Some gender reveal. Wheeled away in a plastic bag and a little green hat, or so I was told – I wouldn’t see her for another 9 hours. I could have gone earlier but I didn’t want to, I’m still not sure why. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a breast pump!” I said to my hospital midwife as she hand expressed colostrum for me in the delivery suite. Little did I know at that point I would spend a decent part of the following 516 days attached to one. Drew and I were told that we’d be able to see her together once and then he wouldn’t be able to see her again at minimum until we were out of Level 4. I was both irate and confused. We pushed our anger aside and went
to see our little girl where we would call her by her name together for the first time - ‘Phoebe Romine McLeod’. I was so enchanted by her – I fell in love. For some reason I saw past all the tubes and wires and just saw her as our cute little button with a fair amount of orange hair. Even though she was so scrawny she really was cute. Drew was a mess, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see her again for an unidentified amount of time. It was heart-wrenching. For the next 4 weeks, Drew would be staring at the 4 walls of a motel room over the road – his days filled with a few short video calls from NICU, washing pump parts, waiting in line at the supermarket, and writing prayer updates for our family and friends. I was completely exhausted, pumping around the clock, recovering from a cesarean, trying to spend as much time with Phoebe as I could, attempting to understand all the NICU jargon and then relaying it all to Drew the next time I saw him. Phoebe’s first month of life was as to be expected for a micro prem; her first two weeks were great before she was hit
with a few infections, scariest of all, NEC, which thankfully cleared with antibiotics. Level 4 was really isolating. Mums weren’t encouraged to meet, there was no parents lunch, we smiled sheepishly as we passed each other in the corridor and there was very little conversation. I desperately wanted to connect with the mums who were there whose babies had started out as small as Phoebe but were close to discharge, I felt so alone. When Phoebe was 26 days old, Level 3 came and with it some relief for me. Drew could now visit Phoebe, though we couldn’t visit together. While it was hard not seeing her together, it was also a huge relief. I could finally take some legitimate rest while Drew was in the NICU. Phoebe trucked along, and was steadily gaining weight. On Day 45, Level 2 finally arrived! I could see my parents! I think not being able to see my mum during the hardest time of my life was the most difficult part of having a baby in NICU during lock down. I desperately wanted them close by, and I really wanted them to be able to meet their first grandchild. I’d been through much longer stints without seeing them but this was definitely the most tearful reunion! Level 2 also meant that Drew and I could now see Phoebe together. We’d been saving a lot of moments – we (tearfully) read her Earlybird together, prayed for her together, sang to her, and finally spent time together as a family. We also realised that we’d been doing cares totally differently when Drew had the audacity to correct my nappy changing system! We’d finally hit our stride – Phoebe was 8 weeks old and I remember thinking that hopefully from here on it would just be a case of getting her onto high flow oxygen and feeding at the breast and then home sometime around her due date in July. We thought we were about half way there. Phoebe then developed a serious infection in her belly, it happened so quickly yet the days seemed to drag on. Surgery was inevitable as the antibiotics weren’t working this time. I had final cuddles in case she didn’t make it. They got her ready, then wheeled off in the early afternoon. I basically cried the entire time she was down there. Thankfully, my parents and brother had driven down to be with us for a few days to get us through. She made it through the surgery but the next 48 hours were touch and go. That night I purchased a onesie online in newborn size which said, “For this child we have prayed”. It took a lot of faith to believe that she would survive and be able to wear it one day. We were also told that a home date of July was off the cards and that we should be thinking more along the lines of October. Sigh. At Day 71, Level 1 finally came and my parents as well as other
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