I still remember that appointment I thought was going to be normal. My blood pressure was high and I gained about 30 pounds in water weight (I looked so good). All of the sudden they wanted to see me weekly. This was at 24 weeks. I was terrified. Fast forward a week and I was having a hard time breathing and my chest felt heavy. I attributed it to having a cold. So did the doctors. As a bonus, my blood pressure was higher. Bed rest it was. Little did I know, what I was feeling in my chest was pulmonary edema. Fast forward 5 days when I went to the ER because of my breathing and BP being even higher. I am so thankful for that ER doctor as he was the one that discovered the water in my lungs. Little did we all know that that is a very rare symptom of preeclampsia. All of the sudden, I am put on magnesium and whisked away to the birthing center. There the doctor on duty called me “interesting” and assured me I did not want to be considered interesting. They then told me they were going to transfer me to a hospital that had a NICU that could handle 26 weekers. I looked at him in shock and asked if I would have to deliver that day. He said I probably had a week. In my mind I thought: a week!?!? I am just now mentally preparing to be a mom. I have nothing ready. I am a single mom, I can’t do this!” But. Away they whisked me to the U of M Masonic Childrens Hospital where I could be monitored and my baby would be in good hands when he was delivered early.

I get there and meet the doctor and prepare myself to settle in for about a week. My wonderful doctor immediately got the ultrasound to check on my son and initially said they would observe me overnight and see where I am in the AM. I felt ok about that. But 15 minutes later, they realized that my BP was not getting better with the meds they were giving me and my oxygen needs were increasing which indicated the fluid in my lungs was getting worse. My body was fighting too hard to stay alive and it was neglecting giving my son the nutrition he needed. So it went from, we will observe you overnight to, we will deliver now naturally to nope! Emergency c-section and I will have to be put under. And I was...and they kept me under for 12 hours as the fluid in my lungs got worse after he was delivered. But! On July 3rd, at 26 and 5 weeks, weighing 1 pound 15 ounces and a mighty 12.5 inches long, my son was born. I was told he came out kicked and screaming...a good sign that he had fight in him, which is what he would need for the journey ahead.

12 hours later I woke up and was told my son was alive and doing what he should be for his age. 20 hours later I was finally able to lay eyes on my son. My mind couldn’t really grasp what was going on. A. I was still pretty drugged. And 2. You just go into go mode when you enter the NICU and you process as you go. They say life in the NICU is up and down. And I would agree with that. You try to get into routine, but you never know what the day is going to hold. You just do the best you can and prepare yourself for the worst and at the same time, and in the same breath, pray and hope for the best.

My son was intubated for a little over a month. In that time he had two infections, a couple blood transfusions, on too many medications to count, more IVs then I wished to ever see in his tiny body and the hardest part was, he self extubated himself which was the scariest moment of my NICU journey. Our nurse that day was wonderful. She hit the call button, and all of the sudden our doctor and about 27 nurses rushed in to our room. All I could do is stand there and watch my son turn blue while they did their best to get the tube back in. After about 15 minutes they got it, and the pink started to return to his tiny, little body. I have never felt more terrified and also comforted at the same time then in those moments. Terrified for my son, but comforted that all those people dropped what they were doing to come see if they could help. And knowing he was in that type of care, brought so much reassurance to me.

After that month of him being intubated, he was on CPAP for about three weeks or so. And that was also an up-and-down journey. Doctors were never able to wean him unless he had steroids. Which broke my heart, because he got roid rage from them. And to see a tiny body have roidrage is heartbreaking. But I knew in the end it will be worth it because he needed to breathe without the support of a tube or CPAP. Eventually we got to high flow, then to low flow, and then to just oxygen, which he is still on.

When you were in the NICU, so many people give you advice: ‘Take time away from the hospital. Make sure you take care of yourself. Get some good sleep. Make sure you still have fun.’ All that being said with such good hearts involved. But what I learned is that you have to do what you know is right for you and your child. For me, I needed to be with him every day for as long as I could. I did get out every once in awhile, but my place, my spot, was sitting right next to his isolette and doing whatever I could to let him know I was there for him. And taking care of myself meant knowing if I should talk to someone, or sit in my chair and just cry out my motions for that day, or go on meds, orgo talk to my friend who is also a NICU mom. It was learning to read my body, and learn more about myself how I handle things to be able to make it through all the beeping, all the changes in ventilators, all the septic work ups, all the questions, all the fears, and all the unknowns. That itself helped me more then anything deal with every day life in the NICU.

However, the best piece of advice, or really rather wisdom, came from my favorite doctor. As I sat in rounds every day, overcome with emotion because of everything they were talking about, she would look at me and say: “Mandy. Think of this as bonus time with your son. You have the blessing of knowing him a little bit longer than other parents get to know their kids at this age. I thought she was nuts. Until the day we came home, and I realized how right she was (obviously). We came home, and I didn’t have to learn who my son was. I knew him already. I knew his cries, I knew he liked, I knew how he slept, I knew his routine, and the best part was, is he knew me. And I mean, he really knew me. And that was so special to recognize and understand.

One thing I learned right away in the journey is that I got robbed of a lot of beautiful things that come with natural childbirth. I’m still grieving the loss of those things, but they also made me not take for granted a lot of things that parents do take for granted. And I would’ve taken them for granted as well if I would’ve had a normal child birth. But from that, I learned to focus on the joys that you get from being able to have firsts with your child. The first time you get to hold them, which for me was nine days after he was born. The first time you see their eyes. The first time you hear that little cry, which was a month and a week after he was born. The first time you can actually bathe them in a tub. The first time you see them in a crib, which for him was a month and a half after he was born. For the first time you can pick them up without asking permission. The first time you see their face without anything obstructing it. Those moments me all the world to me. And are more beautiful because of their significance.

Words cannot express how grateful I am to all the doctors and nurses that helped save my sons life. Especially our primary nurses: Jana, Ashley, Alaina, and Jess. They hold the most sacred place in my heart and I am forever in their debt for what they did for my son. Nurses are amazing people. And watching them work with the tiniest of humans is astounding. It takes a special person to do with they do, and I am honored to be able to call them family now.

My son and I have been home for a little over a month now. He is 20.5 inches long and weighs 10 pounds. He is quite the chunker and I have never been more in love. I am so grateful to live in a country where such incredible medicine is so readily available. And that we have the means to access them easily. I don’t take that for granted and I’ll be forever grateful and thankful for the U of M Masonic Children’s Hospital for how they are always striving to be better and more successful at saving premature babies lives. My son will forever be living proof of that.