We've been out of town, so I just got a chance to return to this thread tonight...
First off, Holly, a gentle
to you. I've posted for years on a message board for preeclampsia, and too many mamas there have lost their babies in NICU; it makes my heart ache unbearably.
My DD Hanna developed NEC, and it was really touch-and-go for about a week before we knew she'd pull through; it was a dark time. I am so sorry for your loss.
I've been thinking about this thread while I've been gone, going over my own history and births and reliving it all again, as well as giving thought to what I did to heal and cope. You all are so right, these experiences never go away, they shape us forever, and, if we can conquer the worst of the pain, they ultimately make us stronger, more compassionate, more empathetic women.
My first preemie experience was over 7 1/2 yrs. ago (33-wkr. due to PROM) and it is still incredibly fresh. What I remember most was how loud and bright and out of control and busy my delivery room was -- there were probably about 10 people in there when Kieran crowned -- and then, only mins. afterwards -- I was completely alone, but for one nurse who stayed behind to monitor my vitals. It was totally surreal. I had just given birth, but I had no baby, and no husband (I had sent him to be w/Kieran), no one at all to celebrate with. My arms felt so empty. I was very, very sad.
My first contact with my son was a polaroid snapshot that a NICU nurse sent to my room. A blurry picture of a tiny, pale blob buried under tubes and wires. That's all I was given to bond with.
Hanna was my second preemie, a 31-wkr. induced due to eclampsia. I was so ill I didn't even see her until she was 4 days old. Her birth was much harder on me, partly b/c I almost died (although I didn't allow myself to even admit that for a full year after she was born), but mostly b/c, when I was wheeled into the NICU to see her for the first time, I now knew EXACTLY what we were in for. In a way, my ignorance about preemies w/my firstborn was bliss; with Hanna, I knew what to fear, and I suffered tremendous guilt for putting another sweet baby through an early birth and subsequent NICU stay. I felt completely betrayed by my body, and terrified to ever go through another pregnancy. My DH, who almost lost his wife and child, was thoroughly traumatized, as well. We were done.
Except that I just couldn't let it go. I needed to understand WHY, why had this happened to me? Could it be prevented? How? Thus entered my research phase, lol. I posted on message boards, seeking others' experiences, I voraciously read medical journal articles and abstracts, I emailed and telephoned with leading researchers in the field.
My research phase ultimately accomplished two important things: it made me feel empowered, like I had some control over my reproductive destiny, and it gave me hope that I was not doomed to repeat my two premature births. However, it did absolutely nothing to heal me from the emotional trauma I'd been through.
I'm not proud to say that I did a really good job at just totally repressing my emotions about my birth experiences (not a healthy response, I know, but one we often choose b/c other concerns, like our children, are simply far more pressing) until DH and I made the decision to TTC baby #3. Then, quite simply, I fell apart. I couldn't sleep, and when I did, I would have terrible, terrible dreams, dreams of death, mine or my childrens', dreams of needles and incredible pain. I became extremely anxious, and would cry at the drop of a hat or lash out in anger without provocation. I desperately wanted to be pregnant. But I was terrified of getting pregnant.
So, finally, I bit the bullet and went to see a therapist. I was diagnosed with PTSD, (no big surprise, there) and did a combination of guided imagery and EMDR therapy over the course of 3 mos. I felt dramatically better after therapy; in particular, we worked on helping me deal with my memories of having an eclamptic seizure and of the many, many IVs I'd had between the two births, of which I had subsequently become completely terrified.
I spent my third and fourth pregnancies in a state of intense medical scrutiny with lots of close calls/dire warnings that all turned out just fine in the end, but were very stressful to deal with at the time. The births were far more "medical" than I wanted, but were otherwise normal. And at the time, I felt I had no right to complain about anything, since at least Cameron and Charlotte weren't preemies.
From the very beginning, I planned my fifth and last baby to be the "healing" pregnancy and birth -- this was going to be my ultimate do-over, the one where I would do everything right from the very start. I engaged a fabulous homebirth MW and prepared for a home waterbirth. I read Birthing from Within and met with its author, who lives in my town, to further process my fears about birth. I spent a lot of time giving conscious thought and planning to my pregnancy and birth, how to make it as natural and comfortable and fulfilling an experience as I could manage. My other children were so excited to share in the birth; they made birthing candles and a welcome banner for the baby. I found myself actually, *gasp*, looking forward to labor, b/c I had finally arrived at a good, safe place, physically and emotionally.
Until, one day, Sophie stopped moving, and only an hour later, I was in an operating room, having my first-ever surgery, listening to the neo and nurses trying desperately to resuscitate her.
: This time around, the NICU experience hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. I never thought I'd have to see the inside of one again, and my easy familiarity with the jargon, the procedures, the protocols brought me no comfort. I was back to the club of bradys, O2 sats, NG tubes, leads and endless alarms, and all I wanted to do was shout, "I'm not IN this club, darn it! I paid my dues and cancelled my membership, years ago! I don't want to BE in this club anymore!"
:
Now, three months later, I have two predominant feelings: that Sophia must have been given to me b/c I had certain lessons to learn, and she will be my guide as I learn them; and that I STILL want my "do-over" birth, darn it! I really want another child, even though I know I won't have one and that wanting one is total folly. But the longing runs deep. I totally understand where you mamas are coming from with those feelings.
Guin
