My Preemie Birth Story: The Quiet Before the Storm

My journey to motherhood wasn’t all glitter and glam. It wasn’t like how the movies make it look, but then again, is it ever? I didn’t expect it to be picture perfect, but I did expect the things that typically come with pregnancy and birth. The big belly, maternity photos, holding my baby skin to skin right after delivery, and all the little milestones in between. For me, pregnancy went fast, only 25 weeks to be exact.

After such a long journey, I am finally able to sit down and write about it nearly three years later. That first year was incredibly emotional, and to be honest, I am still nervous about sharing my story. I didn’t have an easy birthing experience. I wouldn’t call it completely positive or completely negative because it held both. There were moments of fear and sadness, but also moments of joy and bravery. I feel that people don’t talk enough about how birth can be both at the same time, or what happens when it comes sooner than expected.

Birthing my son was a unique experience, and even with everything that came with it, I wouldn’t change it for the world. It is our journey, and in its uniqueness I’ve found peace and happiness. With that being said, here’s where it all began.

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Pregnancy: 

Before we get into my pregnancy experience I just want to be transparent with you guys and say that it is really hard for me to go into details because I feel like everything happened so fast. Even now, three years later, I struggle with this because I don’t feel like I ever had the chance to truly enjoy it.

When I found out that I was pregnant, I was so excited to become a mother. Since I was a little girl, I always wanted to be a mom one day and I knew I would be a good one. One of the main things I was nervous about during my pregnancy was delivery since I did not know what to expect. I often thought about the pain, wondering if I would be able to handle it. I envisioned my birth story in my head many times. I reminded myself that every woman’s body is different and that I would be able to handle this.

In the early weeks of my pregnancy, my symptoms were pretty mild. I didn’t deal with morning sickness, though I was constantly tired. Every morning I craved orange juice, and it quickly became my little ritual. I would go to burger king to get me an orange juice. I don't way but i specifically wanted it from there. Since my due date wasn’t until September 26th, I thought I had plenty of time to figure out all the other details, including a birth plan, so I didn’t feel the need to rush.

At 20 weeks, we had a gender reveal and found that we were having a baby boy. I was so happy when we found out. I had a strong feeling all along that it was a boy. I quickly began getting things ready, like picking out items for the baby registry, looking into locations for the baby shower, and planning maternity photos. Over the next few weeks I focused on going to my checkup appointments. Each appointment with my doctor brought reassurance that everything was going well, and I felt confident as I waited for his arrival. Still, there were no signs or tests that could have prepared us for what was to come.

I remember the blissful moments when it was just me and my son in my belly. I would do

anything to go back to that feeling. It was like the quiet before the storm. What I thought would be months of waiting and preparing turned into an unexpected journey that began much sooner than I ever imagined.

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Hospital Stay Before birth:

It was 23 weeks into my pregnancy, and we had just moved into our new apartment, ready for what we thought would be a regular day. I remember soaking my feet before bed because it had been a long day. Not that I moved a single box myself since my husband and brother practically did all the heavy lifting but moving is exhausting even when you are just micromanaging. I went to bed around 11 o’clock, and an hour later I woke up with the urge to use the bathroom.

Holy crap! A gush of fluid and blood came out in the toilet. I immediately panicked and started screaming for my husband. I knew something was wrong.

I called labor and delivery and explained what happened. The woman on the phone calmly told us to come in. I remember feeling confused. Why was she so calm? Isn’t this an emergency? At least that's what I thought when you hear that a woman’s water breaks especially this early in pregnancy. In complete panic, we rushed to the hospital.

Every step I took to labor and delivery, more fluid gushed out. You can only imagine how scared I felt. I kept thinking, I am only 23 weeks pregnant. This cannot be good. At that point, I didn’t have any pain or other signs of labor. What if this baby is coming now? I thought. My stomach began to no longer feel as hard as it had before. Instead, it felt like a slowly deflating basketball. As I continued to walk toward the labor and delivery sign, I held my stomach tightly, repeating in my mind, I just hope my baby is okay. I truly didn’t know what to expect especially because this was my first baby. 

A nurse came in to check my vitals and asked me to undress into a hospital gown. I pulled down my underwear and shorts, now completely soaked in blood and fluid.

Another woman introduced herself as the doctor covering labor and delivery. She told me they were going to check on the baby. I was anxious to find out if he was okay. The doctor returned with the ultrasound machine. While my legs were positioned, she began the exam. The room was hushed like a secret as she looked at the screen. I nervously waited for the moment of truth.

The doctor confirmed that there was little to no fluid around the baby. I officially had a PPROM (preterm premature rupture of membranes). PPROM happens in about three percent of pregnancies, so it is actually quite rare. She informed me that neither the baby or I caused this to happen. It just occurs naturally and is not guaranteed to happen again.

After checking everything, the doctor told me I would have to stay in the hospital until I gave birth. With little fluid around the baby, both of us were at risk for infection. As long as I showed no signs of infection, labor, or distress, it was best to keep him inside as long as possible to continue growing. Every single day made a difference for his outcome.

I was in complete shock, worried, and devastated. How could this happen? I've done everything right. I didn’t understand how my baby could be in there with so little fluid. The doctor reassured me that he was fine. She explained that some women can hold a baby with little fluid up to 34 weeks. Thirty-four weeks? I remember thinking I would love to make it to 34 weeks, but that was 11 weeks away. I also couldn’t imagine spending 11 weeks in the hospital. Boy, I was in for a rude awakening.

I was finally taken to my hospital room in the antepartum unit, the section of labor and delivery for mothers waiting to deliver. I was immediately put on magnesium to help protect the baby’s brain. I did not like the feeling of being on magnesium, it made me feel dizzy. I was also given steroids to speed up lung development. The doctors wanted to protect him as much as possible for the best outcome.

After a scan with the fetal medicine specialist, it was determined that I had a placenta previa. However, my OB believed it was artificial. A scan three weeks prior had not shown it. She thought that once my water broke, my sac collapsed, covering the opening to my cervix. Either way, vaginal delivery was not an option, and I knew from the start that I would have to deliver via C-section. I wasn’t thrilled about it because I didn't have a choice. I am thankful that the hospital made the experience as comfortable as possible. I was even able to tour the operating room to help ease my anxiety.

Once I settled into my new normal, my days began to blur together. Each morning started the same: nurses checking my vitals, listening to the baby’s heartbeat, and asking if I had any new symptoms. I spent my days with the fetal monitoring band strapped around my belly. Most days felt like a waiting game as I spent hours lying in bed, watching TV, scrolling through my phone, and staring out the window, praying we made it through another day.

I would sing Sam Smith’s “One Day at a Time” to my baby every morning. Those moments, just him and me, were precious. Every new day was a reminder that he was still growing and still fighting. But it was exhausting physically, mentally, and emotionally. I hated being stuck in the same four walls with no real sense of time or change. I craved interaction, any kind of connection to the outside world. This went on for the next two weeks. 

I was able to take walks, accompanied by a nurse. I especially loved visiting the NICU garden. It wasn’t much, but that little garden became my escape. Just smelling the trees and feeling the breeze made me appreciate the small things in a way I never had before. Occasionally, I could go to the front entrance of the hospital, which also became a favorite spot. One day I must have done too much walking to the waterfall because later that night I had bleeding. The staff feared I would deliver that night. They prepared the OR, but luckily the bleeding stopped and the baby was fine. At that time, I was 24 weeks pregnant.

Through it all, I was still constantly leaking fluid. Every movement brought another gush, like a never-ending waterfall. As soon as the baby produced more fluid, it would leak out. It was uncomfortable, constant, and a reminder of just how fragile everything was. But as hard as it was, every day he stayed inside was a small victory, and I held onto that with everything I had. On the whiteboard in my hospital room, I would literally count the days. At this point, I was just starting to really feel him moving. Even with little fluid, he moved so much. Every time the nurse tried to hear his heartbeat, there he was, moving away from the machine. He was constantly on a move. I remember the doctor saying there was no way he could turn around with so little fluid. However, that didn’t stop him, He managed to turn around. It is unbelievable what these babies are capable of.

The day before I gave birth, one of my favorite nurses came into the room with a smile. She said there was a room next door with an open window. She knew how much I craved fresh air. The room had a Victorian feel, with old decor and a sofa bench under the window. We moved my belongings there, and I was so happy to finally sit by the window with the fresh air. It was the very first thing I did. As the night progressed I began to experience bleeding again. The plan was the same as last time which was to monitor and as long as the baby was fine, we would hold off on delivery. The night went on into the early morning hours and the baby became stressed so at around 6 o clock in the morning, I was rushed to the operating room. 

Looking back now, I realize that moving into that room marked the beginning of the end of my pregnancy journey. After weeks of waiting, monitoring, and hoping, the moment to finally meet my son had arrived at 25 weeks.

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The birth:

There was no time to waste, the nurses quickly began preparing me for surgery. As soon as the needle went into my back, my legs went numb. They laid me down on the table, and although I tried to stay composed, inside I was panicking. The numbness crept from my chest down, and the loss of control over my body was terrifying. I hated that feeling.

Within minutes, I was told he was out. A little after 7 o’clock in the morning on June 15th, Alexios made his arrival. A team of NICU doctors were already waiting to care for him, and he had to be taken right away to the NICU. I didn’t get the chance to see him. Once the baby was delivered, the doctor finished the procedure, and I was taken to recovery for two hours.

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Meeting him for the first time:

After I recovered, they wheeled me down on a stretcher so I could meet him. I was overwhelmed with excitement. When I laid eyes on him, I couldn’t believe how tiny he was, just 1 pound 12 ounces. He laid there with wires attached to his tiny body, wearing the smallest diaper I had ever seen. I was in shock at how little he was.

I slipped my arm through the port on the side of his incubator to hold his hand, and his entire hand wrapped around just the tip of my finger. In that moment, holding his hand was all I could do but that was enough. I was simply grateful he was okay. You might think the wires would have frightened me, but the truth is, I looked right past them. All I could feel was relief and gratitude that my baby was alive.

What I didn’t know then was that this was just the start of a 376 day NICU journey. I’ll be sharing more about Alexios’s time in the NICU. I’m also working on writing a book about our experience. There’s so much more to tell that I can't do in a blog post, and I hope you’ll continue with me on this journey.

To the mama who had to give birth sooner than expected: I know the fear, the uncertainty, and the way it feels like your world has been turned upside down. I also see the strength, courage, and bravery it took to bring your little one into this world. Hold on to hope, trust your heart, and remember you are stronger than you know, and your love is more powerful than any challenge.