World Prematurity Day 2011

My twins were born 2 months premature.  Today, I planned to share their story, but, when I stop to think about it, I'm too bitter.  Nearly 10 years later, the anger behind nearly losing my girls hits me too hard.  We're finally at a point where I no longer dread their birthday and "Homecoming Day" goes by almost unnoticed.  Still, I hate that we have a story to tell.  I hate that others have stories with endings not nearly as happy.  

So here, I'll leave you with my bitterness, my anger, and my post from this day last year.  

In an attempt to put a more positive spin on it, I'll share this related story about how one nurse made all the difference in the world and how I'll be forever in her debt.  

November 17: Prematurity Awareness Day

Today is prematurity awareness day.  

I've shared our girls' stories here.  I've marveled about just how much they've grown.  

Here's the brief version of our difficult story:

Our daughters were born two months too soon.  My OB ignored the many symptoms of pre-eclampsia.  It was only when I went for a level 2 ultrasound with a specialist that someone finally listened to my concerns and my symptoms.  Unfortunately, since I had gone untreated for so long, it was too late.  They immediately sent me to the hospital to deliver that day.  

Born via c-section, L. weighed 4 lbs.  E. weighed 3 lbs 3 oz.  They spent four weeks in the NICU.  Looking back, that doesn't sound that bad, but it seemed to stretch on forever while we were in the middle of it.  NICU's do not exist in real world time.  Each day had enough emotional ups and downs to last a lifetime.  Each week felt more like months.  

L. initially had problems with her lungs and suffered bradycardia episodes. I watched her stop breathing in her incubator, heard the alarms and had to step back as the nurse ran in to rouse her.  E. suffered heart problems.  She was so easily over-stimulated that she was kept masked and we weren't able to hold her until she was over a week old.  I later found this probably wasn't the best course of care and that bothers me to no end.  I should have had my tiny baby against my skin, not locked away from me in an incubator.  

In the NICU, they fell down to 3 lbs and 2 lbs.  I didn't know if L would make it through the first night.  B'H', she did.  The next day, though, E. took a turn for the worse.  For about the first week, I didn't know if E would survive.  I vividly remember repeating, "She's going to make it" over and over again once we realized that would be the case.  

Looking back, and then looking at the time since then, I realize just how amazing their story is.  Ever since then, our kids have had an ideal recovery.  I loathe telling our pregnancy story to pregnant women because I don't think they need that negativity.  I love telling the girls' survival story to parents of preemies, though, because it really is as miraculous as one could hope for.

The girls didn't even suffer their first cold until just before their second birthday.  By the time they were 2, they were completely caught up in size and development.  In 2005, our girls were among a handful of preemies picked to be featured in the November issue of Parents Magazine as a part of their feature on the March of Dimes.  Now, at eight, they suffer no lasting consequences of their prematurity.  Their story often surprises people who meet them today.  

Today, the only reminder of their awful early beginnings are the teeny doll clothes in frames, the stacks and stacks of medical paperwork from their first year, the pictures, my visceral reaction to the beeping of hospital monitors (to this day, I cannot hear them, even on television without being startled), and our involvement with the March of Dimes.  We do the March for Babies every year.  

75% of babies born weighing 3 lbs 5 oz (which, remember, is larger than E.) died just 30 years ago.  It's through research funded by the March of Dimes that treatments have been created which help save these babies.  My children are alive thanks to the March of Dimes.  So, every year, we raise money and walk to help support them.  In 2008, our girls were the local ambassadors for the March of Dimes March for Babies.  

And so, today, on Prematurity Awareness Day, I remember, I cry, I celebrate, I thank G-d for what we've been given, I mourn for others who have lost, and I hug my kids close.  

Teshuvah, Tefillanh and Tzedakah

From Chabad.org

Teshuvah: Repentance (Returning)
Tefillah: Prayer
Tzedakah: Charity

It is only through these that we can honor Yom Kippur to its fullest.


A recent Jewish Treat declared, "At this time of year, tzedakah, charity, is particularly potent to avert an evil decree."

It suddenly occurred to me that Yom Kippur begins TOMORROW evening (imagine a gasp of horror here) and more than a mild panic crept over me.

Tzedakah!  I haven't given nearly enough tzedakah. 

Then I stopped to think about it and calmed myself down.

You see, every single time someone asks for sponsors for a walk/ride/some other fundraiser, I donate.  Whether it's a good friend who asks directly or someone who posts on Facebook that their co-worker's second cousin is doing some sort of walk/race/ride/painting farm animals pink to raise money for a charity, I donate.

I've been there.  We do the March of Dimes March for Babies every year.  We have been touched by the work of one organization and so we walk to support them and help prevent others from knowing the pain we have known.  I understand that, whether it's Prematurity, Diabetes, Cancer, or any other of the long list of illnesses, every one of these people who puts their time, effort money and heart into these fundraisers has been touched directly.  I am so very thankful there are people in the world willing to walk/ride/whatever else to help support these organizations--to help make life better for others.

When I think back to those who I've supported as they walked, biked, shaved their heads, ran, etc., I realize that I am fulfilling the commandment to give.  I also am so very thankful to realize that, even though the destruction and hatred in the world can be heartbreaking, I know so many wonderful people trying to make a difference in the world.  In supporting the causes they hold dear, they help support my faith in humanity.

"One can pay back the loan of gold, but one dies forever in debt to those who are kind." Malayan Proverb

With the impending move, I've been thinking quite a bit about all those people here and all they have done for us. I consider many of them friends. They have gone above and beyond for my family and me.

There are those who have always been near and dear to me. They range from those I knew from the on-base playgroup when our girls were tiny (and who have moved around so much that I've long since lost touch with most of them) to our friends at shul who we're always happy to sit beside during services to those wonderful friends who not only waited with me at the airport when my husband returned from deployments, but were even willing to film the whole teary event, so that I could look back on it years later and still get teary.

Then there are those who only touched my life briefly, but did so in such a profound way that I will never be the same.

I was already thinking of one such person when I saw this article: Heartfelt thanks go to blood donors from the people they saved.

E in the NICU at 3 weeks old.

Our smallest baby had a blood transfusion in the NICU. We wanted to donate our own blood, but there wasn't enough time. So our teeny tiny baby received the blood of some wonderful person who donated. We know we can never find that donor, but somewhere out there in Oklahoma, a hero walks around--a hero who helped us keep the baby I feared we might lose. Yet I'm fairly certain that person has absolutely no idea what a miracle he/she has helped create.

The first time I held L.

When I was in the hospital, there was one fantastic L&D nurse I'll never forget.  She's been on my mind lately. The awful words featured on My OB Said What made me stop and think of the wonderful nurse I had who was the exact opposite of what I read there. I would do anything to properly thank her, but I don't even know who she is.

I know she worked at Integris Baptist in May of 2002. I believe her name was either Casey or Cassie. She had dark brown hair which she wore pulled back in a pony tail. She wore Hello Kitty scrubs. She had a soft spot for moms of preemies.  So, when other nurses relayed that my doctor ordered me confined to my bed (which meant no visiting my babies in the NICU), Cassie/Casey said, "Then we'll wheel her bed down there." She then whispered to me, "Don't worry. You'll see your babies one way or another."  Because of her, I did.  She had a preemie herself.  I may be mistaken because much of that time is a blur, but I  remember her telling me she had a son born at 27 weeks. She understood and she cared.

In the midst of a horrible experience and surrounded by some who didn't seem to care or even understand (my OB was miffed when she came to see me and I was in the NICU with the babies rather than in my room so that I could make her job easier), that nurse sincerely wanted to help and she did in more ways then she'll ever know.

I never got to properly thank her. Before we leave, I would love the chance to do just that and introduce her to the amazing 8-year-olds she helped me get to know as babies.

On their 8th birthday

ETA: You can read more about their early arrival on my post for Prematurity Awareness Day.