A soft knock came on the open door to my room, and a woman in her mid-forties with stylish blond hair and a doctor’s coat came in. She introduced herself as Dr. Clark, part of the OB/GYN team that my regular OB was on. She was on call that night, and she wanted to discuss some important things we needed to know about premature births. The shock rippled through me as she gently told us that if our baby was born that night, he or she would only have a 10% chance of survival. The baby was so tiny. The ultrasound the ER nurses took when I first arrived showed our little peanut only weighing 1 lb., 1 oz. and only 9 inches long!
And then the big bomb was dropped - Dr. Clark wanted us to know that because this situation was so high risk to the baby that we had the option of terminating the pregnancy. Our mouths both dropped open at the same time. Casey and I knew each other’s stance on abortion. I mentally took inventory of my past struggles with what constituted a “good” reason for an abortion. Now that I was a follower of Christ, now that this “decision” was placed in my lap, our laps, the answer was more clear than ever before.
“There is no option,” I said firmly, as I stared her down. “We will not be terminating this pregnancy!”
She accepted the answer, and assured us that she just wanted us to “know all our options.” She left just as quietly as she came in, and we were left alone again. But now I was all worked up again. How dare she suggest killing my baby?! Doesn’t she know how excited we are about our first child? Casey calmly talked me down, the voice of reason, even though he was just as scared and angry as I was.
Our minds reeled with all the information coming at us. I was so overwhelmed that as I lay there trying to process what was happening, I dozed off to sleep without realizing it. At some point, Casey must have settled himself on the cot they had brought him because the next I remember is being woken up as the door quietly opened and the Graveyard Shift nurse came in to check my vitals.
After four days of round the clock care, checking vitals every two hours, adjusting meds, and watching the contraction monitor with utmost scrutiny, the doctors felt certain that things were stabilizing and they took me off the Magnesium Sulfate. Over the course of the four days, we continued to meet our team of doctors who would be keeping a close eye on me - our one and only goal being to keep our baby inside where he or she belongs! This conversation ultimately resulted in the realization that we were in the hospital for the long-haul - however long it takes - weeks, months…
This was my new home...my BED was my new home...I still wasn’t allowed to get out of bed for any reason. So, as a result, they moved me from the Labor and Delivery room to a long-care room on the same floor. Over the next few weeks, the room would begin to resemble more of a bedroom, dotted with my own personal effects, including a giant wall calendar that Casey brought from work, so we could count down the days we had successfully made it through, contraction-free. Each day slowly crept towards our initial goal of 32 weeks - a period when our baby had a much better chance of surviving outside the womb.
