Hannah’s Preterm Labor and NICU Story

I’d been in hospital for a bit over a week. We knew he hadn’t been breach, we knew I’d dilated and we knew I’d been in labour but it’d stopped.

But something felt wrong.

I couldn’t describe quite what was wrong or what was happening… but it felt like something might be IN, well, the “birth canal”. The hospital midwife told me that it wasn’t and 30 minutes later the scan showed that no, it was actually his foot in there. It wasn’t my imagination in the slightest. I lay in bed after contacting my husband waiting with no idea what would come.

Let me backtrack.

Here I was at 29 weeks exactly, waiting for the day my baby boy would be born. I’d gone into labour at 27+6 and they stopped my contractions. I still progressed to being fully dilated and having bulging membranes. Then, I just had to wait. I was told it’d be no more than two weeks max. Contractions carried on and off for days. I was having them persistently, but they didn’t come as often.

 An hour later…

I’d been moved downstairs in the birthing suite waiting to see what would happen. I was in labour again, not making a noise and just waiting. My amazing husband arrived and mentioned that he might be born on his Aunties birthday – 6 hours on. Taking a deep breath, I let him know that actually, I was up next for a c-section. My midwife stayed close, taking observations as needed, but generally just reassuring me. At 7:15pm, they transferred me to the theatre.

My midwife sat close. There was little she could do in this moment. This baby needed neonatal care. I needed the care of an obstetrician. But she could be there, to support me and let me know what was happening. She was the photographer with an incredible eye. She took photos I had no way of taking myself. And she showed me them as I lay.

 I had just been iced and was having a catheter put in when they asked when I last peed. Thinking, I told them it was about two hours ago. The obstetrician quickly moved and checked me. Paperwork was placed aside as called out that she could feel a hand and a foot. It was all go.

The Birth:

At 7:50pm, 11 weeks early, my baby was born. My baby was alive at 3lb or 1345g and 39cm long. What more could I ask for? Within two hours, they’d delivered my first 2ml of milk to NICU and at 12am, I was taken down to meet my son. My son who had a tube down his throat to breathe, wires all over his chest and IV lines into his belly button. His foot is glowing with the pulse monitor and beeps are going off constantly. And yet, all I remember of trying to see him was holding my gown up over my boobs. That distraction actually kept me from remembering seeing him for the first time.

All I remember from my own mind is laying on the table, having my husband stand to watch my babe be born, finally hearing that minuscule cry and seeing the plastic bag he lay in when they came around with the incubator. Everything else, I’ve filled in with my medical records, talking to my midwife, my husband and anyone else who’d talk.

 Premature birth is so different from term birth. It’s medicalised and the connection between baby and mother is literally one of the least important aspects, (especially for the medical team.) It’s so surreal and yet, in many ways, it really doesn’t matter what happened. The thing that matters is the baby, beautiful or admittedly a bit weird looking,                                                                                           who is your pride, joy and love.

About The Author: Hannah is a mum to two preschoolers and one ex-prem. She blogs over at www.nipenda.com and writes about anything and everything that drives her and inspires passion.

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