Category: Wonder
Tribute to a Brand New Dad
The night was calm. We were 31 Weeks, 6 days into pregnancy.
I told you Wednesday night I would feel more comfortable if you went ahead and packed a bag before we went to sleep. I packed a bag earlier in the day.
You didn’t panic, but you didn’t hesitate. You trusted my instinct.
Around 8pm I lay in bed trying to calm my contractions which were starting to feel slightly different. While I rested there, I watched you pull clothes out of the closet and stuff them into your backpack.
You looked at me, chuckled, and said you didn’t know how much bigger my belly could get.
I looked back at you and said I didn’t know how to describe it, but I just felt different. I said maybe we should just lay here on the bed together, because this could be the very last night that it is just you and me. I told you that tomorrow our world could be different. You smiled at me with excitement and you said “I can’t believe it, babe.” You chuckled with palpable joy for what was to come.
A short hour later, as we lay there looking at each other and talking about this and that, I let out a sudden gasp. “My water just broke.”
You asked what was next and I simply said, “we go.” You kept chuckling and smiling. You calmly collected our bags. I got dressed appropriately for birth, should it happen on our long drive. We had known there was a possibility of early delivery. We had known we would need a NICU for some of the challenges our babe was sure to have.. so we promptly began the drive to Jacksonville.
On the way, you asked me how I was doing over and over, although I don’t think you quite remember how often. My contractions were tolerable. We would joke about how crazy it all was. You kept chuckling with disbelief. How quickly life was changing in those moments. We exchanged I love yous over and over.
We arrived and made the journey by wheelchair to labor and delivery. We joked with each other and with the nurses. It didn’t feel like it was midnight.
We endured 10 hours of little V’s dropping heart rate during my contractions. You remained calm and kept me calm when 5 or 6 people would rush in to try and locate our little girl’s dipping heart beat. You held my hand while I cried out in pain as they flipped me from left side, to right side, to all fours while I contracted. When they were gone, we would talk about what we both wanted to happen next, what we were comfortable with, and what we were not.
After a bad heart rate decel around 9am, we were both ready to get her out and know she was safe. The doctors came in shortly after with that same decision. It was time for the OR. They wheeled me back. They got you prepped.
You held my hand, encouraging me that I was doing so well and at 9:48am our little girl entered the world.
I looked at you and asked “Why isn’t she crying?”
I don’t know if the doctor heard me ask, or if you asked them, but someone told us she wasn’t in the room. They let you leave to go check on her and you brought back her very first picture. Quiet tears began to roll down my cheeks. I remember you looking at me, wiping them. “That’s our baby girl,” you said.
I have no way of knowing how much time had passed, but the doctors who were still in the OR offered to have you go back and see her again. The doctors in the other room turned you away because they were “working on her.”
You came back to the OR where I was impatiently waiting for information. Neither one of us knew what was happening, but we knew that we seemed to be waiting for a long time.
We would find out later that they attempted a number of interventions because she was not breathing well. Her heart rate dipped to the 40s. They initiated chest compressions. They needed to intubate, but she was a challenge. Two doctors tried to intubate her and failed. A third was successful. Her anatomy was just not ideal for easy intubation.
They wheeled Violet back into the OR and we saw her for the first time together. It was one of the most magical moments of my life, and also one of the most terrifying. She was covered with tubes and wires. I remember feeling relief and fear all at once. I can’t say what you felt in those moments, but knowing you, it was likely pure elation.
I don’t remember getting from the OR table back to my recovery room, but I remember you went to be with our baby girl in the NICU for a short time. Then, you came back and sat with me. It was hard while we waited.
Little by little we started to learn about her condition and her needs. We learned that she would have to be transferred to another NICU, one capable of surgery. We learned she was born without a nasal airway and that it would need to be surgically repaired.
A few long hours later, they wheeled her down to us in her transport. She was ready for the drive to the new hospital. You followed in the truck. You navigated the early stages of our NICU journey alone, enduring a bombardment of doctors and lists of her anomalies, as I lay in recovery at the hospital where she was born.
You FaceTimed me. You traveled back and forth between my hospital and hers many times, torn about where you wanted to be. You wanted your family together, but we simply couldn’t.
You were there for our girl in those early moments. The hospital I was in wouldn’t let anyone visit after 9pm and the NICU at Violet’s hospital didn’t let you fall asleep at the bedside. You wanted to be able to get some rest and then go back into the NICU overnight. And you did, only leaving if you absolutely couldn’t keep your eyes open. You slept a hour here…an hour there… in the truck parked outside the NICU.
You did everything you could to let Violet and I both know that you were there. I was so grateful. So, so grateful for the dad you already were.
The journey in the NICU proved to be a long and grueling one. You showed up for V every day. Every. Single. Day.
You handled me, my winding hormones, and my intense emotions with care and understanding. Every. Single. Day.
You made sure that I drank water and ate enough food. Every. Single. Day.
You made a career shift that allowed you to work fully remote and after only taking a week off, you continued to work Every. Single. Day. Right there at Violet’s bedside. The hospital staff first knew you as “laptop guy” because every day that you walked in, you had your laptop in hand. On the weekends they would routinely ask, “No laptop today?” which became welcome chatter in the mornings.
You held my hand surgery after surgery. You reminded me to trust my instinct when advocating for our daughter. You encouraged me and you held me up when I felt like I was failing. You consoled me when I sobbed and wished that this was not the road that Violet had to walk. When I wished, with everything in my being, that I could take away her pain. You told me that for whatever reason, these were the cards that Violet was dealt and all we could do was the best we could to support her, love her, and help her get through. You reminded me that our paths were supposed to cross with all of the people we interacted with every day. You told me they were meant to make an impact on our lives and us on theirs and that as hard as all of it was, we were supposed to be living these moments. That the experiences we would have in the NICU would give us perspective and enrich our lives. And you were absolutely right.
I would never know what a truly amazing NICU dad looked like until you became one. Until I watched you, for 123 days, show up. Not just physically. You showed up emotionally, too. You were honest with me and I was honest with you. I had always figured we could weather anything, but experiencing this journey with you has shown me just how true it is. Walking through life with you, no matter how challenging the path in front of us, is simply one of the biggest blessings of my life.
I am so thankful to have such an amazing partner. Violet is beyond lucky to have a father like you.
I am out of words to describe my gratitude and words could never even touch the gravity of my appreciation, admiration, and love for you.
Cheers to the best NICU dad (and now post-NICU dad, who never realized he would double as a home nurse) there ever was, to the best partner in life there ever was.
There could never be another. (like that one country song that you know…….)
Thank you for continuing to give me the greatest gifts that life has to offer. I love you! xoxo.
Pregnancy Story Alert!
It’s long, not polished, or complete..
Pregnancy brain has me foggy, but I wrote it anyway!
_____________________
I’ve learned throughout my life, especially in the last few years, that things don’t always go as planned! If you’ve read some of my writing in the past you may have caught wind of that… and the fact that somewhere along the line, in a single moment in time, something changed in me. My mindset changed from “why me” to “why not me.”
The shift has been helpful in letting go of “my” plans and has allowed me to take things in stride more than I ever did before (definitely not something I have mastered, but I can handle “cones in my lane” much better I think!).
So with that, I want to fill y’all in on this pregnancy journey. I’m the type that gains strength from reading stories of others lives, and so I like to tell them too.
So, Turner Syndrome… you’ve probably never heard of it. I certainly hadn’t prior to this pregnancy.
When I found out I was pregnant, I made an appointment right away due to the high risk classification that came about from my prior ectopic pregnancy. At 6 weeks, my doctors started scanning for the baby- they couldn’t find her for 3 weeks. On top of not being able to locate her, my HCG levels never measured as hoped or expected. These two scenarios combined, from week 6-9, raised concerns about a subsequent ectopic pregnancy, and my doctor continuously suggested termination to preserve my single Fallopian tube. Needless to say, I refused each time and explained that I had experienced a rupture before, knew what it felt like, and would promptly make my way to the ER if I experienced any unusual pain. I was scared by the possibility of another rupture, but I knew we simply couldn’t terminate and against the doctor’s wishes and advice I went “3 more days” and agreed that if by Monday there was no baby, then it was time to take action. The pain never came, and baby girl was found at 9 weeks on the Monday scan. Relief. Such relief.
Around 12 weeks we had the option of a genetics test, which I think is fairly common practice nowadays in pregnancy. For a few reasons, we opted in. My prior ectopic pregnancy caused quite a bit of trauma and the grief of that loss was overwhelming. I wanted to do everything possible to make sure the pregnancy was progressing as it should. That included opting in to this screening. Confident that nothing would come of it, we were also thrilled to find out the gender of our babe a little earlier than on a scan.
But then the doctor called around 16 weeks and said the test came back abnormal, and that we would have to come in to discuss results with them. The feelings were overwhelming and my mind swirled with so many questions about what it could possibly be. We were in the office two days later to receive the news. He told us our baby has a high probability of having Turner Syndrome. In the two days between the call and the appointment, I had frantically learned everything I could about every syndrome tested for on this screening. I knew enough about Turner Syndrome to say to the doc “so your saying we’re having a girl?!” (Turners is present in girls only!) He nodded and proceeded to implore us to not terminate and that if she survived pregnancy, she had a strong chance of a normal life.
That was never a thought for us. This baby was given to us to love and protect and we planned on doing just that for as long as we are blessed with her. We decided against any tests with even the slightest risks (such as an amniocentesis) because to us, a confirmation of this syndrome, prior to her entering the world, would not change our decision not to terminate. We wanted her to be as safe as possible. So we left that office visit worried about the unknown, with our first specialist visit scheduled in Jacksonville, and continued to learn everything we could about this new-to-us syndrome.
We excitedly chose her name: Violet Elizabeth Cruz.
In the following days and weeks I read everything I could find about Turner Syndrome. We would be the best parents we could be, regardless of all that this syndrome entailed, that I knew for sure.
I learned that 99% of Turner girls don’t survive to birth. I learned as much as I could about all the complications associated with Turner Syndrome. Heart abnormalities and malformations, intrauterine growth restriction, fluid build up, micrognathia (small chin), infertility, small stature…
I also learned that many people do choose to terminate with such news. By the time I had learned the harsh statistic (72% or so choose to terminate?!) I had already begun to feel her kicks. It was hard to fathom making a such a decision, and the thought of it was unimaginable.
Our first scan with the specialist was supposed to be the anatomy scan, but she was too small. They moved my due date 3 weeks because she was measuring 3 weeks earlier than originally thought. From what they could tell on this scan though, things looked OK so far. There was no unusual fluid buildup anywhere in her body. They said come back in a few weeks for the full anatomy scan- she would be big enough then.
From what they could see at 22 weeks on the anatomy scan, things still looked OK. They just weren’t able to get a good read on her heart nor could they see her profile very well. They were suspicious of her chin, saying that it looked a little small but due to her positioning, they simply couldn’t see well enough to say for sure. We would need to come back.
The next scan was scheduled for a fetal heart echo and to hopefully check her little chin. The echo thankfully went very well, which was a major relief! The typical heart issues associated with Turner Syndrome were not present, but they still couldn’t see her chin. We also learned that I was starting to carry excess fluid and that she had dropped from the 45th percentile to 18th percentile for growth within the month between scans. This coupled with my excess amniotic fluid raised some concerns and we were to come back in 3 weeks.
We are 29 weeks today, and our follow up scan for fluid and growth check was yesterday. We learned that Violet has dropped to the 13th percentile and that my fluid has also increased. Thankfully, the fluid isn’t due to Gestational Diabetes- I passed that test last week!
We will be seen again in 3 weeks with the hope that she will not drop below the 10th percentile. If she does, we will have a Doppler scan of her umbilical artery to see if there is an issue with blood flow to and from the placenta. That is going to be a big day- the outcome of that scan could cause a huge shift to what happens regarding giving birth to this little human!
We are thankful she is still kicking all the time! Her heart rate has been consistently strong with every scan. The physical side of this pregnancy has been fairly easy, apart from fatigue. Chris is absolutely the most supportive and positive partner I could ask for and has kept me sane and comforted though the bouts of stress and worry.
I’ve learned nothing goes as planned, but we do the best we can with the information we have! I’ve also learned that mom instinct is legit. We still do not have confirmation about her Turner Syndrome and we won’t until after birth. We continue to be closely monitored in case any interventions are needed in the coming weeks.
I’m so thankful for our little Violet, the amazing support system that I have in Chris and the rest of my family/friends (including all the puppy cuddles!!) and we are hoping for good news about her growth at our next scan.
Be well,
Samantha!
Indie Cruz 