My Journey to the NICU and Beyond – Part One

November is Prematurity Awareness Month. RiverDog Prints supports one cause or charity a month and this one rests very close to home. I will be posting once a week in November, retelling my story of prematurity. I warn you before you read that some details are a bit graphic and personal, but anyone who has gone through this experience will know, that the details count for so much. You can support the March of Dimes by clicking the banner below, but first, read on for part one of my personal preemie story.



I was resistant to having a second child. Not that my first wasn’t almost a dream… My pregnancy with Boo (his nickname) was textbook. Running to the doctor at the tiniest of spotting and being assured that it was perfectly normal. And it was. I carried Boo to term, about four days shy of the due date, naturally and with a doula. He was a textbook baby too. Not that he didn’t have his own personality, but I’d look in one of my reference books and that is where his behavior would be. Right on cue.

I guess my resistance stemmed from how much more work two seemed than one. Most of my friends had children before I did and I studied under them. They worked hard at motherhood and I wasn’t sure I wanted to experience the whole infant stage again so soon. I did know that I wanted Boo to have a sibling. Both my husband and I grew up with older brothers and felt it was important for our kids to have a brother or a sister.

Biting the bullet, it took us about one month to get pregnant (love or hate my fertile loins) and I was immediately convinced it was a girl. The first trimester was okay. I tried to be smarter with my body this time and not gain 50 pounds! I kept exercising and eating a healthy diet. So far, so good. At the beginning of the second trimester, we took a trip to Colorado to visit my in-laws and share our news in person. That was the beginning of the downhill roll of my pregnancy. I’m not sure if it was the altitude or the traveling or my age (38 at the time), but I was in bed for a lot of that trip.

Upon returning, the small issue of constipation that I had been suffering with since conception, began to worsen. Mind you, I’m pretty self-aware about digestive issues, having had Crohn’s disease since 1989. Something was not right and no amount of fiber or hydration was helping matters. Then, the bleeding began. Slowly, at first, but then just slightly more urgently. A visit to the doctor had me come away with the advice to slow down and eat more fiber/drink more water. I followed the advice, the bleeding ceased and I was good for a couple days. Then, constipation would lead to bleeding which would lead to the doctor which would lead to slow down/eat more fiber/drink more water. It was a terrible cycle that I just could not conquer.

One night, just before bed, there was a gush. Just one gush, but a significant one. The monotone doctor on-call told me over the phone to go to the hospital. A friend came to sit in our house with Boo, who remained asleep, and my husband and I drove the 20 minutes to the hospital. I was admitted and stayed overnight, but the bleeding did not return. Baby’s vitals were strong. I was sent home and a day or so later was back in that hideous digestive cycle. I was doing everything I was supposed to be doing, but my body would not cooperate. No more gushes, but as the bleeding kept retuning, I was put on bed rest for the rest of my pregnancy. My baby was 22 weeks old and happy where he was. Wish you could have said the same for me…