Congratulations It’s a Girl and She Weighs One Pound!

We had just gotten back from vacation and it was the start of a new year. I hadn’t gotten my period in quite a while, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for me. But something was just not quite right, so I went to see my doctor.

“Could it be possible that you’re pregnant?” he asks.

Well, it could be possible, but highly unlikely. I had been told by this same doctor that I may not be able to have children, and that was okay with me. I didn’t want children anyway.

He ordered some bloodwork to check a few different things, and told me he would follow me closely over the next little while, my hormones were probably out of whack and we would work to get things straightened out.

The next day I got a phone call from the doctor’s office. They wanted to see me as soon as possible regarding the bloodwork.

Oh God. I called Andy, my boyfriend of five years saying, “What if I’m pregnant?”

“Oh you can’t be. You can’t have kids, you know that. They probably just figured out whatever is going on with your hormones. Don’t worry. Call me after. I love you.”

Well, I called him after. And I was pregnant.

But the levels weren’t quite adding up with how far along the doctor thought I was, so maybe I had already miscarried. An ultrasound was ordered for a few days later.

You want to talk about an emotional rollercoaster? What was I going to do? I didn’t want kids. But did I want to terminate the pregnancy? No, I didn’t want to do that. But maybe we already lost the baby. Would I be relieved if we did? Maybe I wanted this baby afterall. I didn’t know what to feel.

Ultrasound day came. I was terrified. I didn’t know what we were going to hear. Were we about to have a baby or not?

“There is a baby in there! About nine and a half weeks gestation!”

Oh my God.

We talked it over. It’s okay. We're going to have a baby. We started getting excited. We're going to have a baby! We told our family and friends. They were excited. We're going to have a baby!

So it began. No more drinking. Time to quit smoking. You are no longer in charge of your body, your baby is. New house better suited for a baby. Baby names. Baby clothes. Baby furniture. Wow, it’s expensive to have a baby. Baby, baby, baby.

Then it happened. About eight weeks later. Blood. A lot of blood. Oh no. This can’t be happening.

Off to our local hospital. They see me right away, the doctor in emerge tries to do a pelvic exam but my pelvic floor is contracted so much, he can’t see anything. He calls in my OB-GYN.

“You have a complete placenta previa. This is very critical. If we cannot get you to stop bleeding we will need to perform an emergency C-section to save your life, and unfortunately the baby will not make it.”

This can’t be happening.

I was admitted to hospital and luckily the bleeding stopped. Most staff at the hospital had never seen a complete placenta previa case before, and the ones who had seen it, it was years ago. A little unnerving I must admit. I was sent home but put off work immediately and was not to do much other than lay on the couch and watch Netflix.

Another bleeding episode happened about a week later. Back to the hospital. My routine 20-week ultrasound was scheduled for early the following week, so they kept me until then.

The ultrasound revealed I did not have placenta previa at all. Good news right? We thought so.

“We would like to send you to Halifax for an ultrasound just to have a better idea of what is going on. It is not previa, so that’s good, but there are some things we should get checked out.”

The bleeding had stopped again but it was back to the couch for a couple weeks until my appointment in Halifax.

The morning of my appointment I wake up and go to the bathroom. Blood. Oh no, not again.

They checked me out in Halifax, and I was told I would not be able to go home. I was able to stay with family who lived right beside the hospital, so that made it a bit more comfortable. This baby was going to arrive early, and we had to try and keep it in my belly as long as possible. I was just shy of 22 weeks along, and the chances of the baby surviving at that stage were basically non-existent.

“You need to make it to AT LEAST 24 weeks for your baby to have any sort of chance. 28 weeks or longer would be much better!”

Okay six weeks. I could hold on for six more weeks, right?

Wrong.

One week later I had a sharp pain in my side. It didn’t feel like what I imagined contractions would feel like, but I thought I better go get checked out anyway.

While I was waiting to be checked out the pain was getting worse. The doctor finally arrived.

“You’re about three centimeters dilated, we have to get you upstairs, this baby is coming tonight!”

TONIGHT?! No, it can’t be tonight! Andy is home on PEI, three hours away. My mom is there too. I’m not even 23 weeks until tomorrow. Oh no, no, no.

Then almost three hours later, at 2:30 AM, 23 weeks on the dot, after a lot of crying, a lot of meds, about twenty minutes of actual labour, a few choice words, and a lot of work by the extremely talented Neonatal Team... I hear the words, “Congratulations! It’s a girl!! And she weighs one pound...and she’s alive and fighting.”

Follow along with me for more stories on life in the NICU, and the incredible strength and determination shown by our miracle baby.