TRISTAN’S BIRTH STORY: Our Miracle

Quick note from me, Jules:  Remember that time I said I like reading birth stories? And remember that time I also said I have a tendency to stalk people until they write theirs for me? Haha. Well, I wasn’t lying. My second cousin (if that’s even a thing) Diane was a freaking PEACH and wrote the story of how her miracle baby Tristan entered this earth. There honestly aren’t any words to describe how strong this woman is (and her husband, of course)! I have always been attracted to her strong-willed nature (and her dry sarcasm is my absolute favorite) but this story takes it to a whole new level. Full disclosure, you might (will) cry while reading this, so just a heads up if you’re at work. 🙂 Thank you, Diane, for sharing your story and give Our Miracle a big old kiss and hug from me.

When you’re  just starting a family, you have visions and ideas of how it’s going to go. Perfectly, of course. One magical moment after another.

It took over a year and a half for us to get pregnant. We had actually met with a fertility specialist, and were set to start the first step of assistance with the next cycle. But then, our first miracle happened- we got pregnant naturally.

“Her instructions were to take it easy. I wish she had been a LOT more specific.”

It wasn’t the easiest pregnancy. There was spotting on and off, starting around week six. All was fine, the doctors said. We found out it was a boy during an ultrasound at 16 weeks. And from that point on, he was Tristan. At the 20 week ultrasound, it was one of those moments where the nurse concentrates on one area quietly, and for a seemingly long time. Then she brought the doc in who also did the same. They said they weren’t able to see an important part of his brain, the CSP, and they were sending me to CHOP for a fetal MRI. It was scheduled for a long week and a half later (during which I spent entirely too much time on Dr. Google). So as not to add to our already long story, all the testing showed he was fine. During the 20 week ultra sound, he was basically doing a headstand on my cervix and they just couldn’t get the image. Phew!

Monday, June 13, 2011: I went for a run on the boardwalk after school. Just my typical 3 miles. I think I stopped for 4 bathroom breaks in that 3 miles. I was not feeling great afterwards so I went home to lay down. I decided that was going to be my last run until after he was born.

Friday, June 17, 2011: Our local high school was holding their graduation. I had spent a big part of that school year substituting for the seniors who were graduating so I was invited to walk with the staff for the ceremony. It was a long walk in heels, cap, & gown to the field, and it was hot. By the time I got home that evening, I really wasn’t feeling well at all.

Saturday, June 18, 2011: Before leaving to go spend the weekend with friends and family in the Lehigh Valley, 2 hours away, I went to my see my OBGYN. Her instructions were to take it easy. I wish she had been a LOT more specific. My version of taking it easy that weekend was sitting down often while at BRU, completing my registry with my best friend, and then not going on any of the rides at Wild Water Kingdom. My husband was completing his SCUBA certification while we were there, and we were scheduled to pick him up at 5 and head back to NJ. When I picked him up, I quietly and calmly told him that I was in labor, and timing contractions. No one uttered a single word the entire 2 hour drive home. When we arrived, the contractions were not strong, but consistently 3 minutes apart. I laid down on my bed for a half hour to see if I was just calm with my feet up, maybe they’d stop. They didn’t.

“The word, helicopter, is what let me know that we were in trouble.”

At 10 p.m. we left for the hospital. I was checked in, hooked up to all the monitors, and had an internal that showed I was 1cm dilated. At 23 weeks and 2 days. The midwife got the head doctor from our practice who happened to be on duty that night. He called the maternal fetal medicine specialist, who advised that I be sent up to Pennsylvania Hospital immediately. They told us that the helicopter was not available so I was going via an ambulance waiting downstairs. The word, helicopter, is what let me know that we were in trouble.

I was started on an IV of magnesium sulfate. The best description I can give is that it feels like lava is coursing through your veins and you could spontaneously combust at any moment. It slows contractions, and if the baby were to be born, it would help protect the brain. I made it to PAH and was checked in and settled by 3 a.m.

Over the course of the next 24 hours, the mag sulfate was slowed and stopped. The contractions stopped. I also received 2 steroid injections 24 hours apart to speed up the development of his lungs, “just in case.” I wasn’t dilated any further. Tristan was fine. A neonatologist came in for a consultation, “just in case.” Dr. Tom Mollen came in, pulled up a chair, and kicked back to chat and review my chart. Don’t worry, he assured me, your baby is staying right where he is. Good. Cool.

When can I go back home? The bargaining started. I promised that if they let me go home, I’d stay in bed. Tim assured them I most definitely would NOT. The problem was that the contractions caused bleeding, and it wasn’t stopping. No one could tell me if the contractions caused the bleeding or if the bleeding caused the contractions. Either way, I wasn’t allowed to leave until the bleeding stopped. I had to tell them every time I went to the bathroom so they could check…

Monday, June 20, 2011: I was moved into a room with a roommate. She was nice. It gave me someone to talk to at least. I spent most of the time trying to find someone to say I could go home and working on my registry online.

“I pulled the ‘OH SHIT’ cord that hangs on the walls of hospital bathrooms.”

Wednesday, June 22, 2011: Still bleeding. A room was freed up so I could have my own space. I was moved in after dinner. I had another internal- all good. It was time for bed, so they hooked me up to the monitors for the night. I told Tim all was quiet, and I’d see him the next day. I couldn’t fall asleep. I felt like I had to go to the bathroom so I called the nurse to unhook me. She said she’d be back in a bit to hook me back up. This is where it gets a little TMI. I sat down on the toilet and passed a blood clot the size of golf ball. And all of the sudden, contractions came out of nowhere- fast and STRONG. I pulled the ‘OH SHIT’ cord that hangs on the walls of hospital bathrooms. I couldn’t stand up or breath. I heard feet running down the hall to my room. They got me into bed. A doctor came in to check me, and in a 10 minute span, I had dilated to 4 centimeters.

“Call the OR and tell them we’re on our way. Call the ICN.” (Intensive Care Nursery)

As I was wheeled down the hallway, I called Tim. “Something happened, he’s coming now. You have to get here.”

The operating room was organized chaos. There were people everywhere. Everyone was already in scrubs and masks so I couldn’t see any faces. People kept asking me questions, I don’t remember about what. I may have signed something for the anesthesiologist. There were two nurses who stayed close to me and took turns holding my hand the entire time. At this point, I was close to hemorrhaging. They were going to put me under. I have never been more terrified in my life. I had no idea what I was going to wake up to, or if I was going to wake up at all. I kept hearing them refer to “the baby.” Before the anesthesiologist put the mask over me, I grabbed his wrist, and said, his name is Tristan. He put the mask on, monitors started beeping, and the last thing I remember hearing is, “It has to be right now.”  

“This tiny little hand came up and covered the tip of my index finger. He was telling me he was ok.”

I woke in recovery two hours later. My placenta was 40% abrupted- torn away from the wall of the uterus. I was told Tim walked through the doors of the operating room right as they pulled Tristan out of me. Tim went with Tristan into the next room while the neonatologists worked with the baby. His initial APGAR score was a zero. My parents and best friend were there too. They told me Tristan was stable and already in the ICN. When I was lucid enough, the nurses wheeled my bed onto the elevator, down to the ICN, and right up to the side of his isolette. They opened one of the little doors so I could put my hand in. This tiny little hand came up and covered the tip of my index finger. He was telling me he was ok.

Tristan Andrew was born at 12:14 a.m. on Thursday, June 23, 2011, at 24 weeks. He weighed 1lb, 6.5oz, and was 11” long. Our journey in the Intensive Care Nursery was 118 days long. He came home 6 days after his due date, weighing 6 lbs, 6 oz. He was diagnosed with Bronchopulmonary Dysplasia (BPD), a form of Chronic Lung Disease, but came home without any extras- no oxygen, no feeding tube, no monitors. They call the ICN experience a roller coaster ride because of the highs and lows. I disagree. Roller coasters are supposed to be fun. We definitely had really amazing moments, and many really challenging moments that tested us. ICN nurses are angels on Earth, and I’m still in touch with several of them to this day. But the ICN is a whole other story…

Our miracle is 7 years old now, and enjoying 1st grade. He loves trucks, Legos, Star Wars, and Nerf guns. He loves swimming and boogie boarding so much that I sometimes wonder if he has hidden gills somewhere.

It was obviously not the magical birth I had envisioned, and over time (with a good therapist), I dealt with the loss of the perfect birth. The whole experience was life-altering. My kid, my whole heart, was a warrior from the first moment, and I’m still amazed by him every day.