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Our Story

Trigger Warning! These stories contain discussion of threatened miscarriage, blood, hospitalization, medical procedures & premature birth.

Early in the morning on January 28th, I woke up and sleepily walked to the bathroom to take a pregnancy test that I had told my husband would most likely be negative just the night before. In less than the 2-minute timeframe, two pink lines were clear as day on the test. I took three more to be sure, each one crystal clear- we were going to have a baby! We spent two weeks in a little bubble, talking and dreaming about what life with a little person would be like.

Then I hit week 7- cue the worst morning sickness ever.

I lost 10lbs in a week and finally went to the ER for help. They prescribed me unisom and vitamin D, as well as a prescription for Zofran for the bad days. I lasted a week on the first concoction. After that, I lived off of Zofran, every 8 hours on the hour. I thought this would be the worst of it- everyone says it gets better in the second trimester, so I just had to make it until then.

Welp- I didn't even get two more weeks before I was back in the ER, this time with bleeding. I tried to stay calm, some bleeding isn't always the worst-case scenario. What they don't tell you is that there is a lot more than just one scenario it could be. The doctors order an ultrasound and bloodwork. Thankfully my bloodwork came back strong with good HCG levels. My ultrasound was a different story.

They found something called a Subchorionic Hematoma. This is where at some point in the development of the placenta, it becomes detached creating a blood blister between the uterus and placenta. Most of the time they resolve themselves, bleeding slightly and then going away. That was the hope that I now clung to.

We counted the weeks, and finally reached week 13. We had made it to the second trimester. I was feeling a bit better, though still taking Zofran to make it through the day, but the smells weren't as strong, I had a bit more energy, and the bleeding from before had stopped. I went to the doctor for a routine appointment, everything looked good and I got the all-clear to get on a plane. I was all set to fly back home to VA to tell my family the good news!

I packed up the cute onesies and books we had purchased to tell our families and on March 27th I headed on my way.

A quick 5-day trip over Spring Break! I landed safely in VA, my mom picked me up and I had a great first three days of my visit.

Then March 30th happened.

I was cleaning up after a yummy breakfast, I had just told my bonus dad, and life was good. Suddenly it felt like I had peed myself, warm liquid running down my leg. I was wearing sinched joggers, and though annoyed, shrugged it off and decided to keep putting the food in containers, before heading to take care of the newest pregnancy annoyance. I moved to the pantry, and as I went to put the syrup back another dribble ran down my leg. This time I looked down.

Instead of urine, my foot was covered in blood.

I froze.

All I could think was No. No. No. Not my baby!

I called for my sister who was in the other room, and as she came around the corner I showed her my foot and asked her to take me to the hospital. She ran to get keys and wallet and phones. While she was gone more blood came out of my body- with each drop my heart beat faster and my panic rose. At this point, I called out for my mom who was in a meeting in the other room (initially I was trying not to bother her as the meeting was important). She came rushing out of the room, took one look at me and my sister who was coming back upstairs, and rushed us out the door to the ER.

I remember two things clearly about the car ride.

First I had to call the ERs to ensure they could do ultrasounds. I had to repeat what I was experiencing five times- over and over.

The second was that I didn't want to lose my baby.

We made it to the ER, and they checked my cervix and did an ultrasound to look at the baby, and the placenta and hear the heartbeat. By some miracle my cervix was closed, my baby's heartbeat was in the 160s where it should be and they were moving around happily. My placenta however had an even larger Subchorionic Hematoma and was now considered a Subchorionic Hemorrhage as it was actively bleeding. But with nothing anyone can do about it but watch it, I was sent home with orders to rest and return if it got worse.

The car ride home was a strange one. Both relief and fear flooded my system as the adrenaline crashed. I called my husband and we decided to have me postpone coming home by a week to give my body time to rest and recover. The next day I went ahead and shared with my family that we were as planned. I decided that no matter what happened in the long run, my baby was worth celebrating.

The next week was spent taking it as easy as possible. The bleeding lessened and I thought I was good to go. However, on the morning of the day I was supposed to leave, I woke up to a flood of bleeding. It was happening again. So again my mom took me to the hospital and we did the whole song and dance again- blood work, cervix check, ultrasound. And again good levels, no dilation, and a happy baby. I was sent home with the same instructions, rest and come back if it changes or gets worse. But this time it wasn't enough, I wanted a second opinion, I needed to see an OB.

By God's grace, I found a doctor willing to see me that day. I won't ever forget Nurse Summer for making that happen.

So while my husband boarded a flight to me, I went to the doctor. The conversation that was had was not pretty.

He was kind but honest. He expected the bleeding to trigger a pregnancy loss. He told me that traveling home, by car or plane was strongly recommended against. The new laws made the level of care that I might or might not get as I traveled across the country could put both myself and my baby at risk. He offered that if I chose to stay in VA he would take me on through this journey.

As my appointment ended my husband's plane was landing. My husband and I now had a choice to make.

After spending a day just holding each other, pulling strength from each other as we processed our hards, we finally made that decision. And logically it was an easy one to make. Emotionally it was hard. In the end, I stayed in VA. The hospital was the greatest, I had a good doctor willing to take me on and a support system, which was crucial as my husband had a hectic training schedule with work as they were getting ready for a qualification field event and a deployment. So he got back on a plane back to our house in CO and I essentially moved back in with my parents, on modified bed rest. I made the best of it and my family was amazing taking care of me, keeping me company, and ferrying me back and forth to the doctors.

I stayed on bed rest from April 6th, until May 24th.

Then everything changed.

To learn more about my time at home and on bed rest, view my posts here.

I will forever remember the morning of May 24th.

I woke up abruptly at 3 am to a rush of blood, more than I had felt in a long time. I ran to the bathroom and sure enough, there was an unsettling amount of bleeding and what seemed to be thin fluid. My gut churned. I steeled myself, telling myself to give it an hour to see how much blood there was. This was something every doctor had told me to do- using a pad to see how much blood there was. If I filled the pad in an hour to come in. So I attempted more sleep but that was futile, so I sat up in a chair, did my devotional, and then sat in silence for an hour. I made it through that hour and the bleeding seemed to settle, but the fluid was still there as was that feeling in my gut. So I decided that as soon as the clinic was open I would call and get an appointment.

My mom was leaving the state for a work trip that morning so I went and saw her off and let her know what was up and what my plan was.

So at 8 am on the dot, I called the clinic and got an appointment with an ultrasound. I then called my father-in-law to get a ride.

In my mind I am trying to convince myself that I am overreacting and everything is fine- but I knew deep down the game had just changed.

My father-in-law came and picked me up and we made our way to the clinic- knots sat in my stomach the entire time. As we got there I felt another rush of blood and fluid, and so I waddled to the clinic, checked in, and asked for a pad. Then I scurried to the bathroom and found that in the short 30-minute drive I had completely soaked through my pad and underwear. It was bad.

Once I was as cleaned up as I could get, I went back to the waiting room where I did not wait long at all to get pulled into ultrasound. They had me lay on the table, pull up my shirt, tuck the towel into my waistline, and then got to work.

Now at this point, I had had MANY ultrasounds- I had a good idea of what I was looking at.

I saw my baby, moving around with a solid heartbeat. What I did not see was the fluid-filled space that was supposed to be around them. I looked at my ultrasound tech and said "There isn't any room. It's too small." The tech, who is not allowed to say anything just nodded her head and said "It does look small in there, I'm gonna finish my scans real quick and then we'll see what the doctor says." She finished her measurements which showed that the amniotic fluid was way too low, printed me a few pictures (bless her), and then went to go find the doctor. I forced myself to breathe while I waited, staring at my baby in the picture in my hand, praying to God to keep her safe.

The doctor walked in, he looked like someone's grandfather, and I'm pretty sure if he could have hugged me he would have, given the look on his face. He proceeded to tell me that it looked like my water had broken, I was losing amniotic fluid and I needed to go to the hospital immediately. He apologized and wished me luck as he left to call the hospital to let them know I was on my way. The tech helped me clean up from the ultrasound and then left the room with another good luck.

I let myself lose it briefly, and then I pulled myself together and went out to the waiting room to update my father-in-law.

He had dosed off while waiting, so I gently woke him up and told him we needed to go to the hospital, my water had broken. He looked at me in shock, stood up, and hugged me tightly as I broke down again. Then we headed to the car.

As I waited for him to bring the car I texted my mom what was going on, for I didn't have the strength to say the words out loud again. She assured me she was on her way and would be there as soon as possible and that she loved me so much. With that knowledge, I carefully got into the car to the hospital.

The drive was a hard one. My brain was actively trying to process and avoid the reality of the situation. I realized that I needed to get ahold of my husband who was in the field and my heart dropped like a lead balloon. My father-in-law said to focus on getting to the hospital before worrying about that process. So I distracted myself by talking about anything I saw interesting out the window. Shops I thought looked like a fun place to shop, old Victorian houses I wished I could refinish one day. I'm sure my father-in-law thought I was crazy, but if he did he was a good sport about it and engaged with me in my distracting conversation.

We finally arrived at the hospital and he let me out while he went to go find parking. So I slowly made my way to Labor & Delivery. I got lost and a doctor that I ran into helped me get to the right spot (bless him). I walked up to the desk at L&D, gave them my name, and then handed me a huge packet of paperwork to fill out while I waited to be taken back. I remember this making me angry- I didn't want to wait, let alone fill out paperwork. But I took the clipboard and filled it out the best I could. Eventually, they called me back and put me in a triage room.

I don't remember too much- I know they checked my cervix and blood pressure, and then they had me simply wait to see what was going to happen. During these hours of waiting my father-in-law found me some food to eat and my mom arrived.

Eventually, the doctors came in, there were two, a full attending and a resident. I remember them giving me the general gist, my baby was doing okay, as was I from a medical perspective, but my water had broken and I had something called PPROM (preterm premature rupture of membrane), and given that I was only 21 weeks and 4 days along there wasn't anything they could do for my baby when (they said when) I went into labor. They continued, telling me I have 3 choices.

Choice 1: they could give me medication that would start labor.

At these words, I remember physically curling into a ball around my belly and becoming incoherent. They had just told me my baby was okay, I was okay, but they wanted me to take medication to give birth to my baby, to sentence my baby to death. No.

In that moment it was that simple.

No.

If she is fighting, I am fighting.

Period.

Thankfully my mom was there at that moment. She wrapped her arms around me, looked at me, and then looked at the doctors and made it very clear to them that this was my stance on the issue.

So choice 2 it was. Expectant management. It's a fancy way to say "wait and see".

I never learned what choice 3 was.

With the decision made, I was able to think a little clearer and asked how much time they thought I had before I went into labor or my baby would start to decline. They gave me a 48-hour window from when the rupture had occurred, and they strongly recommended I get my husband there.

Cue frantic phone calls, my husband booking yet another frantic plane ticket.

Soon I was moved to an antepartum room to wait out my time.

My husband made it to me within the next 10 hours.

All we could do was wait for what the doctors said was inevitable. So wait we did. 48 hours later I was still pregnant.

So we asked again, how long do you think we have? Within the week, but if you make it past Monday and get to 22 weeks gestation we can attempt resuscitation measures on your baby at your request.

That decision was a tough one for us. Not because we didn't want our baby but because we wanted to make sure we weren't signing up our baby for a lifetime of excruciating pain and struggle out of the selfish desire to avoid the loss of a baby. We spent the weekend meeting with the NICU team to understand what the protocol of resuscitation was, talking with Maternal Fetal Medicine Doctors about what we should be looking out for from my health perspective, and with the clergy team about what would happen if we did lose our baby.

It was exhausting. We felt battle-worn, but we had finally decided on our next steps.

If our baby was going to continue to fight, then we would fight for them.

So we agreed to stay at the hospital, with the plan of resuscitation if we made it past Monday.

If we didn't make it past Monday or we made it past Monday but our baby did not make it we would pursue organ donation.

With this decision made I began getting steroid shots and more specific antibiotics to help speed up our baby's lung, brain, and eye development.

We had one more ultrasound in the antepartum room, where finally we learned we were having a little girl. She hadn't been forthcoming with that information up until that point. This new information gave me even more hope, as statistically having a little girl increased her survival potential exponentially.

Then we were moved up to the Mother and Infant floor with the express goal of staying pregnant. We met amazing techs, nurses, medical students, and doctors who treated us with respect and care the entire time.

We employed many tricks and activities to help break up the monotony, stress, and unknowns of our hospital stay. The family came to visit, support, and love us.

By the grace of God, we stayed pregnant for 3 more weeks.

On June 12th the next chapter of our lives began.

To learn more about my time in the hospital as well as lists, tips and suggestions, view my posts here

On June 12th, mid-bite of ravioli, our Resident came sprinting into our hospital room with a look of stress on her face. That look of stress turned to a look of confusion as my husband and I turned to her with questioning looks.

At this point in my hospital stay, we had started to do more frequent monitoring of our baby due to ultrasound results, blood work, and just overall how I was feeling. During this monitoring session, I had shifted a bit and that caused her to go into distress for a moment. We didn't think much of it because when I unshifted she relaxed and her numbers went back to normal. The Resident did not seem to think it was minor however, and though she left us in our room once she realized I was okay, she came back within the hour and we moved back down to an antepartum room on the L&D floor for closer monitoring.

From there things took a turn. My memory of the 12th, 13th, and 14th are very fuzzy. My body was reaching its limits, signs of infection were finally starting to creep up, and the bleeding that had mostly subsided kicked back up. I remember my husband and I watching the MBA finals, I remember not getting much sleep, and watching the faces of everyone around me become more and more etched with worry.

On the 13th, the OB that had taken me on was the attending on-call that day. He seemed to be impressed that we were where we were, as two months ago I was likely to lose my baby. I remember the anesthesiologist coming in to go over our pain management options for delivery.

That conversation was a hard one for me to have. I had started having anxiety attacks while in the hospital, and the idea of being awake while I was being cut open, to see my baby be whisked away to the NICU with my husband following her there and me being alone was too much for me. Add my absolute terror of needles and the idea of a needle in my spine for an epidural and I absolutely could not take that option. That left general anesthesia. But this selfish decision meant that my husband could not be there for the delivery at all. The furthest he could go was the OR doors. I tearfully explained this to my amazing husband and he simply embraced me and told me that he supported me. He was simply thankful I was going to get some sort of pain management.

So with those decisions made, we were back to waiting. But we didn't have to wait long. I got little to no sleep the night of the 13th, my bleeding returning with a vengeance, streaked with infected puss. My body was done.

The morning of the 14th, the team walked in, and with a level of honesty that I will always appreciate they strongly recommended that we decide to deliver our baby. They put me on a do-not-eat order and left us to decide what we wanted to do. Thankfully we had already pretty much decided, but I was still being eaten up by guilt.

Guilt for not being able to hang on longer.

Guilt for not being strong enough to face a conscious delivery.

Guilt for being in this situation in the first place.

So I cried and apologized and cried some more while my husband just held me and told me he loved me.

Once I had fortified myself again, we let our nurse know what our decision was- Deliver under general anesthesia.

My mom had showed up at some point during the whole process, but had stepped out to give us space while we made our decision. I had to text her to come back because as soon as we shared our decision it was go time.

My delivery nurse came in, prepped my abdomen for surgery, shaving, disinfecting, placing a folley catheter and walking me through the next few steps. Before I knew it I was being wheeling down the hallway, holding my husbands hand, barely keeping it together.

We made it to the doors, my husband bent down and kissed me, telling me he loved me and that he would see me when it was all done. Then he was gone and I was pushed into the theater. Interestingly enough, the attending that offered me meds to start labor 3 weeks earlier was now the doctor who would be delivering my baby.

It was huge and there were so many people. The walls were bright, the walls steril white and the machines gleaming. I knew immediately I had made the right call to be put in.

They had me transfer to what looked like a large cross shaped bed under really bright lights. They continued the prep on my belly and the anastesiology team was prepping at my head.

I began crying silently, and muttering a mantra to myself over and over.

"I am safe, my baby is safe, God is in control"

At one point an oxygen mask was placed on my face and I felt like I was suffocating, and tears just streamed down my face. one of the tech used the suction to clean up my tears, and it was such a caring gesture I will always remember it. I will also remember looking to my left and seeing my medical student who had followed us the entire time standing there. He gave me the kindest smile and nod of encouragement. This was the last thing I remember of that room.

The next thing I remember is my bed moving down the hallway- I felt this more than I saw it. I heard my husbands voice as I got closer to the room, and I remember grimicing in pain as we hit the door jam in the floor. I know I was in and out of it for a bit but don't honestly know how long. At one point I asked about our baby and was told that she came out crying and was in the NICU.

Once it was determined that I wasn't bleeding out or having any negative reactions to the anastesia they moved us back to the Mother and Infant floor for postpartum care and discharge.

Unfortunately my recovery was not as linear as everyone hoped it would be. I ended up with a horrible hematoa that caused bruising from my belly button down to my knees. I also kept passing out every time I tried to get ready to go down to the NICU to see my baby.

It took me two days before I was strong enough to make it to see her. My beautiful, alien looking 1lb 3oz baby.

It took a whole week before I was able to be discharged back to my parents house. And even once there I couldn't walk without a walker, I couldn't get my legs up to get into bed, or move them enough to get out of bed on my own. I couldn't sit or stand from a toilet, showers posed a passout risk if I got too hot, and getting dressed and undressed was near impossible.

10 months later and I am still dealing with the side effects of my delivery. I have full range of motion again and can do all of the things that were near impossible then, but I still suffer from pain around my incision site, the occasional bruising, and walking can be hard sometimes. Thankfully I have a doctor, the same one who took me on back in April, who takes me seriously and has set up an MRI and physical therapy for me. We are hopeful for answers soon and relief from all the pain and discomfort.

After an eventful 245 days, 8 months of surviving, and then thriving at the NICU, I finally had the honor of leaving the hospital with my daughter!

This transition has been its own learning experience with its ups and downs. The biggest adjustment is going from 24/7 medical care and support to being virtually on my own.

Along with the drastic shift in medical access, there is the scrambling to find a schedule and routine that works for you and your baby, the sudden lack of sleep because those monitors that were at the hospital are now in your house, add multiple medical devices or needs such as oxygen and a g-tube to this equation and it is very easy to feel like you are drowning. I did. Sometimes I still do.

My daughter came home on oxygen, a G-tube, 5 different medications, and a specialized recipe for her formula. With these things come several additional medical devices. I have 3 oxygen tanks, two travel-sized and one massive one for emergencies, as well as a concentrator and a refilling device for the travel tanks. Each of these has its power supply or regulator and tubing. Since she is on oxygen, she also came home on a personalized pulse oximeter which of course has its cordage. Then the g-tube adds in a full-sized IV pole, pump, and backpack, as well as all of the feeding bags, syringes, and connectors, not to mention all of the medical supplies to keep the surgical site clean and healing. The medications need special syringes and lids so they are compatible with the g-tube, which all need to be stored somewhere. The specialized recipe for her daily feedings needs to be organized, stored, measured, mixed, and portioned out every single day. The day I brought her home I cried over trying to figure out how to organize and sort everything so I could find it all to take care of my baby. Nearly a month and a half in I learned that I was using one of her medicine syringes incorrectly and giving her too much of a medicine (thankfully it was such a small dose that it did not cause her any harm). To this day I still fight with her cords and tape and keeping everything charged, organized, and prepared, both for everyday use and in case there is an emergency.

Then there are the doctors and therapy appointments. In the first two months of my child being home from the NICU, she had 13 separate appointments and one ER visit due to an infection of the g-tube site.

And this is on top of all the regular baby things- washing bottles and clothes, feeding schedules, bathing schedules, sleep schedules, working on development, bonding with your baby, keeping a house clean, taking care of pets, and taking care of yourself, and trying to coordinate people wanting to see your baby now that they are out of the hospital.

I would not trade the fact that my daughter is home, safe, and healthy for anything, but it would be dishonest if I said that the transition was smooth and easy. The reality is that I had been a mom for 8 months already, but the day she came home I started over from scratch. With time it has gotten easier, as most things do, but being a preemie mom is parenthood on hard mode from the start.

To learn more about our time after NICU Graduation, as well as lists, tips and suggestions, view my posts here.

On June 14th my husband and I made the hard decision to deliver our baby girl via c-section under general anesthesia at 24 weeks and 2 days gestation- this means she was born 3.5 months before she was supposed to. She was delivered at 10:38 am measuring in at 1lb 3oz, and 11 inches long. Those are the measurements of a deflated NFL football. To everyone's surprise, she came out of the womb crying and had APGAR scores of 5 and 7.

My husband and mom were able to see her as she was wheeled to the NICU to be further stabilized, while I was being sewn back together. I would be strong enough to visit her two days later.

I remember the day I got the honor of meeting my daughter. My husband wheeled me down the hallways in the loudest wheelchair ever, to a place that would very soon become another home. For health reasons, we were required to stop and wash our hands up to our elbows before being allowed into the unit. We were also given wristbands that identified us as our daughter's parents and had to use the speaker to be buzzed in. From there we entered a whole new world. We rolled past door after door, down the hallway, and to the right, all the way to the end, through the sliding door. There in a dark, square of a room, laying in fleece inside of a fish tank-looking incubator, was our little girl.

She had so many wires and machines all around her. The blue billy ruben light shined down on her making her red skin look black. Her eyes were covered in the smallest eye mask I had ever seen to protect them from that same light. She was so fragile that breathing on her too hard could hurt her.

To the left of her isolate was her monitor screen. There we could see her oxygen saturation levels and her heart rate. To her right were the large ventilator machines that were keeping her alive by breathing for her. At the foot of her bed stood the most packed IV pole I had ever seen, pumping various medications and nutrients into her little body.

It felt as if we were in an alien spaceship and one wrong move would break everything. To say it was overwhelming would be an understatement.

Thankfully, there are amazing NICU nurses who know how to navigate this alien spaceship and make it not so scary.

Our nurse came in and answered every question, concern, and fear we had. She was honest, but kind. By the time we needed to leave because my body was tired, I felt confident in my daughter's care.

The next few weeks were hard. My husband made the argument that the best thing I could do for our baby was stay home and heal as much as possible. I was struggling with my recovery from delivery which made getting to the NICU near impossible. Additionally, the reality is that having a 24-weeker means that they need as little interaction as possible or they could develop major complications, such as brain bleeds, and their skin is so underdeveloped that you can't touch it or you could cause major injury. So with a heavy heart, I decided to limit my time at the NICU for those first few weeks- not because I wanted to be away from my baby, but because it was what was best for her at the time. Slowly, we both got stronger.

Unfortunately, my husband and I were faced with another round of hard decisions as we had to decide if we wanted him to stay in VA with us for the rest of his paternity leave or go back to CO so we could save it for when she got to come home. In the end, we decided that we wanted that time together as a family at home, so my husband went back to CO and I stayed in VA to manage and advocate for the care of our little one.

And that is what I did for 245 days.

I asked all the questions.

I learned the ways of the NICU.

I learned the language of the NICU.

I learned about each machine, what it did, and why it was being used.

I learned what each medication was and why it was being used.

I learned how to read X-rays and test results, and the significance of each.

I worked with the weekly attendings, the bi-weekly to monthly fellows & residents, the medical students, the nurses, the respiratory therapists, Dietitians, Pharmacists, Physical Therapists, Occupational Therapists, Speech Pathologists, Social Workers, and many many specialists.

I did all of this and so much more to advocate for the best care possible for my daughter.

There were days of frustration. Of tears. Of fear. Of anger. Of guilt.

There were also days of joy. Of laughter. Of a sense of accomplishment. Of celebration.

I was tired. Between healing, exclusively pumping, learning, advocating, and trying to process my life, I was simply tired.

But every day we kept going. God and my daughter fought a battle against the odds, and I cheered her on and defended her from the sidelines.

On February 14th, after 245 days, 8 months exactly I had the immense pleasure of finally leaving the hospital with my daughter.

To learn more about our time in the NICU, as well as lists, tips and suggestions, view my posts here.

It has been just over a year since my little one and I graduated from the NICU. I included myself in that graduation because though it was not me in the hospital bed, I too was tethered to the NICU, learning and growing just like she was. That learning and growth did not stop the day that we walked out those hospital doors in fact, I would argue that the real learning and growing had just begun.

Unexpectedly, I found myself missing the NICU, not because I wanted my daughter back there, no, I was thankful that she was healthy enough to leave and finally come home. But I did miss the people, the life that I had built while my daughter was there. The friends with the nurses, the routine of the visits, and the therapies that we had established. The moment we walked out of those double doors, that all went away, and I was faced with creating new ones all on our own. The was a jarring reality, and the first week was a blur. But over the next few months, we slowly figured it out. We nailed down our routine for sleeping, eating, bathing, playing, therapies, and doctor appointments. We found our footing. As the months continued we became more and more sure of our steps, and our little one thrived. The Gtube care, at-home oxygen, and medications became second nature, simply part of the routine.

As the year continued its march through the seasons, we learned, adapted, and grew, refining our processes, simplifying some, and bolstering others, seemingly every week or so now as our little one learns and grows alongside us. Some days are hard, tiring with doctors' appointments, and therapies, wrought with frustration at a medical machine malfunctioning, or a simply near toddler, too smart for her own good, whose mind wants to do big kid things, getting aggravated by the restraints the oxygen tubing, or g-tube place on her exploration of the world (and her creative ways to get around them). Other days are easy, simply filled with peace, soft hugs, stories read, laughter filling the air, and celebrations at milestones met. Life is happening in our house every day, and I am thankful for each one.

But not all things get easier with time alone. The memory of the pregnancy, hospital stay, delivery, recovery, and NICU stay did not. So I sought help. My counselor listened as I processed all that had taken place, and gave me space to finally feel all those emotions that got put on the back burner while I stayed strong and put together for my little one in the NICU. A year later I still struggle. The days are often much easier, and the memory faint, but there are days it comes rushing back the feeling of fear overwhelming, the nightmares come crashing back, and the tears stream. They aren't as often, and with the help of medication, therapy, and various techniques I can get out of those emotional ruts faster and without the lingering side effects. I am not sure these feelings will ever go away for good, and I am sure certain events will trigger them swiftly, but I know they won't consume me anymore, and there is peace in that knowledge.

I don't know if more children are on the horizon for me and my family. Conversations with doctors, soul searching, praying, and weighing the risks are all a part of that decision- one we aren't ready to make yet. For now, we are at peace enjoying the little life that graces our halls with laughter, litters the ground with toys, and gives the best hugs ever.

Here's to celebrating a year gone by, and the years to come!

Disclaimer

I created this website to share my story so other families wouldn't feel alone. I pulled together many resources from the World Wide Web to make them easier to find and provide tips, tricks, and product suggestions that I found helpful on my journey. By no means is anything I share to be taken as medical advice for I am not a doctor.

Additionally, there are several Amazon-affiliated links throughout my posts where I could be compensated for your purchase. Thank you for visiting and may you find many silver linings on your journey.