The story of Maggie

As many of you know, Maggie was born under rather dramatic circumstances.  It was a surprise to say the least, because the start of my pregnancy was perfect; my symptoms few and very mild.  I couldn’t even really say I had morning “sickness” because it consisted only of nausea for a few minutes, a couple of times. 

Little seedlings of fear occasionally popped into my head during the pregnancy, which I think is common for any mother-to-be.  Is the baby going to be healthy? Am I going to successfully carry her?

As the first trimester came and went, I started to relax a little.  Knowing the first trimester is the most important for growth and viability, I felt that the scariest, or rather “most fragile” part was over.  My belly did get bigger but not overwhelmingly so.  My pants no longer fit and my baggy t-shirts did get snug.  I noticed, though, that my face and limbs were filling out significantly, but I chalked that up to “well, this is just my body when it gets pregnant.”  My feet and legs were like tree trunks, swelling well over my shoes.  Again, I thought this was just pregnant Caitlin.

I had a blood pressure cuff at home and I monitored it every once in a while at my doctor’s request.  More and more I found my blood pressure higher than I would have liked, but nothing to seriously worry about.  At my doctor’s appointments, they would take my blood pressure and weigh me as part of the routine check-up, and my doctor felt the same.  She certainly didn’t like my blood pressure or my rapid weight gain (the worst was 20 lbs in 2 weeks), so she said we needed to watch it carefully.

Here's how I looked at the beginning of the pregnancy.

Here's how I looked about two weeks before I had her.

At this point I suppose I was a little bit in denial about my health.  I was fairly well-informed to the symptoms of pregnancy, but in retrospect I think I tried to fit certain symptoms into the realm of “normal” pregnancy that truly did not fit.

Monday morning on June 16, while walking my normal 1.5 mile route, I felt very odd.  I was run-down and exhausted, but it was definitely not typical.  I knew something was wrong but again, I deluded myself into thinking everything was fine.  When I returned home, I was worried enough to call my mother.  I remember sitting on the floor of my bedroom with my back against the wall because I was too tired to stand.  I had the blood pressure cuff on the floor next to me, plugged into the outlet.  Of course, my blood pressure was very high, and my mother told me to get to the doctor.  I reassured her that I was fine and that I had an appointment later that day.  I would bring it up to the doctor when I visited.

I drove to the routine appointment and simply by chance, Greg and I made plans to meet there so he could go over some insurance related paperwork with one of the staff members so he joined me at the appointment.  In the waiting room, I told Greg that I didn’t feel right but quickly followed it up with rationalizations.  They weighed me, took my blood pressure, which had skyrocketed and did a urine test.  I remember sitting on the exam chair with Greg next to me when the doctor came in.  She cut right to the chase and told me I needed to be admitted immediately because my blood pressure was at a dangerous level and there was protein in my urine (a bad sign).  She also said she may have to deliver the baby today but she wasn’t sure.  My heart sank and I immediately started crying but nodded and grabbed my purse to go to the hospital.  I was 29 weeks and 6 days along at that point.

Of the dozens of thoughts racing through my mind, it always came back to one: Is my baby going to make it?

I was admitted to the hospital and escorted to a room.  The nurse asked me to change into a hospital gown and as I went to the bathroom to change, I sobbed.  I kept thinking that it shouldn’t be this way.  After a few minutes, I pulled myself together and got in the hospital bed.  I didn’t get out of that bed for over four days, not even to use the bathroom. I was on a magnesium sulfate drip, which keeps the blood pressure down but also caused me to be very loopy and confused.

Trying to make the best of it.

Thursday morning, I had a dull ache in my abdomen, just under my right rib. By noon, the pain had escalated to almost unbearable.  It was difficult to speak and all I could do was try to focus on unraveling my constricted body, which by this point was curled into a tight fetal position.  I remember trying to almost meditate to try to handle the pain.  It was the most intense pain I had ever felt.  I truly thought I was dying.  It turned out that my liver was distending, a symptom of HELLP syndrome.  A blood test showed that my liver enzymes were off the chart and my platelets were dropping near the point of a blood transfusion.  The only cure to save my life and Maggie’s was immediate delivery.

Despite the pain pulling at most of my attention, I remember the nurse saying it was time to prep me for delivery.  I remember looking at Greg in a panic.  He was so wonderful, saying it was going to be okay and smiling, but I knew he was scared too.  While most of me dreaded the idea of delivering Maggie early, a small part was relieved at the idea that the pain would be coming to an end soon.

This was a photo Greg sent to his family right before going in to the OR. Game face!
Look at his eyes, to me they look worried.

They struggled to find a vein because my limbs had swelled like balloons.  The nurses couldn’t find a vein (though they kept trying, poking me incessantly with the needles), then the charge nurse tried (and failed), and then the anesthesiologist.  Finally, after maybe 9 or 10 failed attempts to start a pic line, the anesthesiologist found a vein, with the help of a machine that shows veins under the skin.

Some of the damage on one of my arms, days later, from trying to find a vein.

They wheeled me into the OR and as soon as the anesthesiologist gave me the spinal tap (and morphine because I could still feel the pain from my liver), my body began to relax after hours of debilitating pain.  After that moment, I didn’t care what they did to me. 

Greg was there with me and held my hand, for which I am so grateful.  If his current career doesn’t work out, he should be an actor or a professional poker player because he portrayed nothing but excitement to meet our baby and pride that I was doing so well.  I know now that he was very afraid of losing me, the baby, or both of us.  He put on a good face in the hopes of keeping me calm.

About 45 minutes later, Maggie was born.  5:06pm on June 19, 2014; 2 lbs, 9 oz.  She stayed in the NICU for 43 days.

My baby girl, out of the oven too soon.

That's my hand in there with her.

The reason for this long story is this: I did not plan to have this kind of experience, obviously.  This being my first child, I’d never experienced the intense worry that comes with being a parent.  Parents have told me that the worry will never go away, and I believe them.  When I left the hospital after nine days, I was so tired and knew she was in capable hands, but I worried so much for her.  I don’t think my worries were completely unreasonable, seeing that she was less than three pounds and 10 weeks early.  I had nightmares when I slept.  I visited her twice a day every day until she was home, which helped, but I still worried incessantly.  I seemed to obsess over the fear of losing her.

Then I realized something that was so freeing.  I was worried about losing her because I was in love with my baby.  I had never before experienced such a strong instinct to take care of someone else and, with her in the NICU, I couldn’t.  I misinterpreted obsessive worry with maternal love and concern.  Once I realized this, it was like my mind relaxed and I could really enjoy her without worrying so much.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m a mother so therefore I worry, but now I think it is more in the healthy realm.

When she was finally ready to come home with us! August 1!

I am obsessed with this beautiful girl and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I am so fortunate that she not only survived, but is thriving.  And I am fortunate that I am alive and healthy enough to take care of her.  I am one lucky mama and she has made me so, so happy.

My gorgeous goofball!  That's a shirt on her head.

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