1. About 13% of babies in the United States are born prematurely (that's more than 500,000 a year), up 36% since the early 1980s.
2. The March of Dimes has concerns that a rise in late preterm births could be because of elective inductions, either for the "convenience" of mother or her doctor (ie- without true medical justification).
3. Prematurity can cause a huge laundry list of problems for babies. Some of these problems may not present themselves until childhood.
(Source: March of Dimes)
Prematurity is not a cause that I have always championed. Once upon a time, I was quite oblivious to all things preemie. I knew there were babies that were born too soon, but because I wasn't directly involved it wasn't something I thought about.
The whole world flipped upside down for me on March 16, 2005. At 20 weeks pregnant, my water broke. Not a leak. Not a trickle. A flood.
When I got to the hospital, they couldn't even get a good reading on Spencer's heart rate because he was too small and still had so much room to maneuver.
"What happens now?" I had asked.
The answer was: we wait. Wait for an infection. Wait for labor. Wait for general fetal demise. Should I develop an infection, we deliver the baby. Should I go into labor, they would not stop its progression. Should fetal demise occur, well... But regardless, until I was 24 weeks pregnant, almost a month away, the NICU couldn't even do anything for him if he was born.
So wait I did, for many long weeks. Jake called me in the hospital daily to fill me in on what they were up to in Iraq. Mom, my grandmother, stopped by with frappuccinos from the Starbucks downstairs. Dara, my sister, stopped in frequently, bringing pictures of the cats, bills, and, at least once a week, some dinner from beyond the hospital cafeteria.
With every week brought my new perinatologist, his ultrasound machine, and a bit of encouragement. Spencer was growing. His body was growing at an appropriate rate, which led us to believe his lungs were developing despite the lack of fluid.
By the time we reached the end of May, I was finally beginning to go stir crazy (my nurses said it usually happened in the 2nd week of hospital bedrest, LOL). I had reached the huge milestone of 30 weeks pregnant, 2 weeks past what my OB and perinatologist had wanted. So when I developed a small placental abruption, the decision was made to proceed with delivery (which was a c-section due to breech presentation).
Spencer was a robust 2 pounds and 14 ounces, a full 10 ounces bigger than estimated via ultrasound, and 15 inches long. He cried in the operating room, but quickly became strained so they intubated him.
This began our NICU journey. Suffice it to say that it felt like 7 years rather than 7 weeks.
Spencer's lungs were underdeveloped and the NICU team had a terrible time keeping his blood oxygen level where it should have been. They had to put him on an oscillating ventilator with nitric oxide (different from nitrous oxide like at the dentist), which can cause brain bleeds. However, things began to move in a positive direction at that point. Three days later, he was able to move to the conventional ventilator and get off the nitric. A mere 2 days after that he was put on the nasal cannula.
Then, something funny happened. At the same time they began feeding him, his tummy just kept getting bigger and bigger. The doctors feared it was necrotizing enterocolitis (NEC), which is a very serious problem with the bowels. He was rushed from Baptist Hospital to Children's, where emergency surgery was preformed.
Turns out it wasn't NEC after all, but that his nurse had poked a hole in his stomach with his feeding tube. I think I should have been upset about that, but the gratitude I felt in the fact that he didn't have NEC outweighed it all.
From this point, Spencer's stay in the NICU was fairly uneventful. He grew and grew, almost doubling his birth weight by the time he was discharged in July. When I took him home, he was 4 pounds and 5.5 ounces.
Every time I look at him, I am reminded of how fortunate I am that he is alive. Every time I think I'm going to go crazy if I hear him tell me about his trains one more time, I think about how many mothers of premature babies didn't get to take their children home.
Because regardless of what the television shows us, prematurity doesn't mean that a baby is simply small. Prematurity is complex and frequently devastating. Simply getting big doesn't solve their problems. And I am grateful for Spencer. Every day.
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