This Wasn’t How It Was Supposed To Be – A Premature Birth Story

Friday, January 20th, 2017. It was Inauguration Day for the new President. I was feeling good, walking around my maternity room a little, took a shower, and shampooed my hair. Momma was looking scary after a week of being laid up in the hospital. Once I finished my shower, I twisted my kinky-curly hair into a style to look more presentable. Hubby left and would return later that evening.

I gave my Grandma Dee a buzz, and while on the phone, I felt a tightening in my belly that was very similar to Braxton’s Hicks. I quickly finished my conversation with Grandma and went into the bathroom. As I was using the toilet, blood was dripping.

I had another tightening feeling in my belly. I wiped again, there was a lot of blood, and I also felt a medium-sized bump hanging from my vagina’s opening. I immediately knew it was my sac bulging, and this baby was coming whether I was ready or not! I was 24weeks pregnant.

I jumped up from the toilet

Waddled to the bedside phone and paged the nurse’s station. I yelled: “I think my baby is coming; the sac is bulging.”

My hands are shaking as I maneuver myself back onto the hospital bed to wait for the nurse. Seconds later, two nurses rushed in, and I spoke faster than I ever have in my entire life. I explain that I was using the restroom, and when I went to wipe, I felt my sac bulging. They instructed me to lie on my back so they could check for themselves, and when the nurses looked, they could see that I was in active labor.

While the nurses immediately called upon the help of more nurses to transfer me to the labor and delivery unit, I am on the phone calling hubby to tell him what happened. With urgency, I say: “the baby is coming, you must get back here.” It had been less than an hour since he left. He was at his place of business.

I am shaking and trembling

But I manage to call my mother; I have no idea what she was in the middle of doing. I just yelled out: “Ma! The baby is coming I am being prepped for surgery, I’ve already called Omar, and he is on his way back.” She tries to ask more questions, but I could not focus, and I hung up on her.

At this point, I am crying tears of fear and nervousness while I call my sister. Honestly, I do not remember if I texted or called her. So much was happening all at once. The staff tells me it’s time to go back to the OR for an emergency c-section, and we couldn’t wait any longer!

I am laying on the OR table; I kept thinking: This cannot be the end; we did not come this far to lose this baby. I sent a message to my baby. “Hang on, son; everything will be okay.”

I awakened to the faces I love most in the recovery room, my husband, sister, mom, and dad. I remember my first words being, “Is he alive, did he survive?” I asked them. The tears streamed down my cheeks and into my ears. I never knew this level of emotion.

I do not remember everyone’s reply; only recall them saying, “He will be okay, don’t worry.” The surgeon came in to tell us that the c-section went well and that my baby boy was in the NICU. I was relieved, thinking, “Okay, he must be alive.” I remember little of the conversation in the post-op space we were in since I was still coming down from the anesthesia.

The next thing I call to mind is hubby and my sister going to the NICU to see Jr for the first time. I can only imagine what Omar Sr must have felt—seeing his son for the first time, so delicate, fragile, and unable to control what happens next. My heart truly ached for him.

Upon their return to my post-op room, my sister comes in, and she tells me, “Mo, he is so little, and he has so much hair!” I do not remember hubby saying a lot. I think he was still in shock. He kept repeating, “I just left you, not even an hour ago.“

More time passed, and I was allowed to visit the NICU for the first time.

I was not allowed to walk yet and was taken in the post-op bed. The nurse explained the sensitivity of a micro preemie’s delicate skin and immature nervous system. She stated that it is painful when stroked or rubbed.

When touching him, I should rest my finger gently on his chest or allow him to hold my finger. She opened one door to his incubator, and I gently placed my forefinger from my right hand onto his little chest in the center. I feel my fingers move up and down as he breathed with the help of an oscillating machine. I say to him, “Hi, Omar, it’s your mommy.“

Our son spent his first one-hundred and twenty-nine days in the NICU, four whole months. I never imagined after four years of infertility, and after finally getting our big fat positive, that this would be our birth story.

It often seems as if things are happening to us to be a test. I will not have it any other way if it means being the mother to the highly intelligent, curious, and beautiful boy I have today. You are more than capable of beating the odds and making your way through what seems like a never-ending storm momma.

Follow Monique and her beautiful family on Instagram @infertilityandmepodcast.