To be fair, I suppose no one can be "prepared" for a premature baby. In my case, it was 1981; on my birthday, in fact, when I started to have contractions. My General Practice Doctor turned me over to a specialist, who put me on some medication and sent me home to rest. Unfortunately, I did not tolerate it well, becoming nauseous and headachy. After about a week of ups and downs trying to stay home on the drug, I was admitted to the local hospital; the same place I had borne my oldest son 19 months before.
A relatively small hospital, I was on the same floor with women's surgery and maternity. I was placed in a corner room; surgery patients to my left, and the labor rooms to my right. Day and night, I listened to women coming and going-some with great noise- on the labor side. As for me, I was hooked up to an IV, not allowed out of bed for any reason, where I played rollercoaster- they'd turn up the IV, the contractions would stop, I'd get sick, they'd turn it down, I would feel better, and the contractions would start again. My husband and parents would bring my son to see me every few days, and the TV had four channels, so I did not get much in the way of entertainment. No other visitors were allowed. I read books and magazines whenever I felt well enough. Tests showed that my son was doing well, but the big question was whether his lungs were mature enough for life outside the womb. With the first amniocentisis, they were not. Two weeks later, the results were "barely". I held out a few more days, had a serious talk with my Dr, and asked them to pull the IV and see what would happen.
Three hours later, I was in labor again. Personally, I wasn't ever not in labor; they just managed to hold delivery in abeyance for a month! Over the course of the afternoon and evening, I had sporatic contractions- I am pretty sure my poor body was seriously confused at this point. Sometime after midnight they got stronger, and we decided I was really going to have him this time. We let our family know, and in the early morning of February 28, my son entered the world. He shot out so quickly that I watched the Dr. fumble and almost drop him, but he looked healthy and strong, and didn't have any trouble breathing. Six weeks early he was, small- 4 lbs 11 oz- but I was thrilled to have made it and hold a healthy child.
He had to be kept warm. The second day after delivery, the nurses explained that they had to keep him under lights and in an incubator for warmth and jaundice. He had lost precious ounces of weight, so they began to gavage feed him instead of letting me nurse. I was totally unprepared to be sent home the next day without my child; my husband literally dragged me, weeping, out of the hospital. I could not fathom leaving him there. My plan was to return three times a day to pump breast milk so he could be fed. I did, but I was not allowed to nurse him or hold him for very long. I felt like I was abandoning my child, and no one really explained anything to me, or what I might expect. Information came in the moment; as in, "here, you have to go home now", and as I stood outside the nursery I watched them apply the eye pads and put him under the bilirubin lights.
As I have reflected over my experience with the hospital these past 33 years, I have come to realize that the nurses were just doing their job. There weren't any support staff to explain to a young mother what was or could happen, how to prepare, or how to deal with my sense of isolation and fear. Every day when I came to the hospital I had no idea what to expect. I rarely saw the Pediatrician there. We did not have meetings or progress reports, no one but my husband or I was allowed to see or hold our child. Parents and friends didn't even see him until he came home at 2 weeks old. In the grand scheme of things, that's not so long- only half the time I had spent trying to forestall his arrival- but for me, every day was excruciating. Every question I was asked I had to answer, "I don't know", because I didn't, and as far as I knew, no one else did, either.
Today when preemies are born it seems a whole army goes to work. Other mothers I have known with premature infants have had a lot more support, information and inclusion into the treatment and care of their children. There are groups, and home visits, follow up and mostly, information, that simply wasn't available or given to me when my son was born. The day he reached 5 lbs we brought him home. He saw the Pediatrician like any other child. His growth was relatively normal and he had no defects or significant delays; a little smaller and a little slower to develop than other babies his age, but he caught up to all that within the first two years. It's just that I had no idea what to expect; and I did spend time worrying over silly little things like when he walked and talked, and how much he was eating.
Parenthood is such an intense experience. As a mother, I was faced with emotions that I never knew were within me. There were unexpected and unintended consequences to so many things! Little things, big things, some days my world was just a spinning carousel of trying to figure out which way to turn and what I needed to do for myself and my children. Nine months after Alma's birth, we took custody of two half sisters from my husband's first marriage; his daughter and her younger sister. About the same time, I discovered I was pregnant again. That pregnancy involved moves, surgeries for my son, dealing with an integrating family, doubling the children in my home overnight, loss and mourning for the girls and for my boys who had to move away from their maternal grandparents, several job changes, and ultimately, a daughter who we thought was being born two weeks overdue, but who I came to understand was really two weeks early. Not a preemie in the strict sense, but over time it became apparent that she was not fully ready to be born, and she paid the price for an "overdue induction".
I am not bitter about my experiences. It was a different time technologically, and people's expectations and understanding of the world were different. I have had to learn how to ask questions, how to assert myself as the mother of an ill child, what to do when something unexpected happens, and how to listen to and follow my gut. It's all a process. I am grateful that mothers today are afforded the help of so many people, that they don't have to wander alone in fear and trepidation along the path of motherhood. Doctors are, by and large, much more aware of the need for parents to be informed and have a say. Hospitals are set up to include the family and make the scary days less scary. Preemie is not the terrifying word it used to be; still not comfortable, expected or desirable, but much more manageable and the outcomes are better. All in all, that's a good thing.
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