All my kids’ birthdays are special.  But something moves in my heart each July 2nd as we celebrate Nigel’s arrival to our family.  Born at 32 weeks/4 days gestation, Nigel faced challenges that still choke us up. 

At 22 weeks pregnant I was diagnosed with polyhydramnios – a condition of too much amniotic fluid.  This condition puts mom at risk for pre-term labor and has a variety of causes that are trouble in themselves.  Twenty percent of the time it is a Mom issue, 60% of the time they do not know the cause, but 20% of the time it is a baby issue – and those issues are VERY concerning and often require post-birth surgeries, etc.

For ten weeks we underwent lots and lots of scans.  His kidneys had fluid build up, his legs were uneven, his heart looked good, and his gut was intact.  God used this time to move John and I closer and closer to Him.

 

TEN years ago YESTERDAY, it was Monday, 7/1, and the first day of John’s week off work. I was in a great mood. We’d had dinner the night before at our dear friends’ house (Cathy and Jim), we had a few fun things planned for the week, and with it shaping up to be the hottest summer in years we planned on doing a bunch of swimming.

I realized that I had used up all the midwife appointments that I’d scheduled a month or so ago. My midwife’s senior partner had retired, and my midwife, Beth, was joining another group affiliated with the same doctors and hospital that she and her partner had worked with. I pulled out the phone book and located the number and called. The receptionist was funny and we joked about me hunting Beth down. Her first day in the office would be tomorrow 7/2 and she told me I could have any time I wanted. Since I had an ultrasound scheduled at Rochester General, the hospital I work at (not where I’d deliver) at 10:30AM, I asked for a 9:30AM appointment. I was good-to-go, and went on to have a great day.

TEN years ago, TODAY, it was Tuesday the 2^nd. Again I was in a great mood. I got up and ready and said goodbye to John and Stewart, who had a fun daddy-son day planned. I was going to go to my appointments, and do some SHOPPING! I had a few birthday gifts I need to pick up and I was going to find myself somewhere nice to have lunch.

My appointment with Beth was great. I was down almost two pounds and for the first time my belly was measuring more closely to my due date. The smaller my belly, the less at-risk I was for pre-term labor. She DID confirm what I had thought; my baby was breech. We talked about trying to get to 35 weeks or so and try a version. She gave me her brand-new pager number and I left.

I headed to the U/S about two miles away for my routine bio-physical profile. I had a different sonographer than all the other visits, but she was just as cheerful and encouraging. I was enjoying talking with her and had lost track of time. It was only when she said, “I need to get Dr. Pressman (the perinatologist); I can’t get this baby to move.” Well, the baby was scoring a 1/10, and that was after an HOUR of trying. I was being told to head directly to Park Ridge Hospital to see the doctor. They were very careful not to alarm me, but the excessive fluid I had had for months was suddenly gone. The sac was dry and the baby wasn’t moving. At all.

They asked if I had my doctor’s pager number, and I gave them the one Beth had JUST given me. They showed me to the phone to call John. I worked not to alarm him, and I must say I was feeling VERY peaceful. I’d been down THIS road before (or so I thought) so I stopped by the café in the lobby for a cookie the size of my head and some pink grapefruit juice. I reckoned they would not let me have anything to eat or drink at the hospital. I tried to tell myself they were just being careful and that there-went my day of shopping, but I’d be home in a few hours.

As I climbed into the van, I heard a voice tell me that I’d have this baby today. I tried to brush it off, but I did call John on the cell and gently suggested he get the cameras ready and throw my toiletries into the bag I’d packed weeks earlier. I also asked that he bring me Stewart’s bucket hat, for comfort.

I got to Park Ridge and was immediately greeted at triage. I went to go pee and get off my horrid support hose. As I came back to the exam room, Dr. Tripp was there, looking somewhat tense. He did a quick scan and said, “Stace, I don’t know how they gave you even a one.” The only thing my baby had going for him/her was a good heartbeat. There was no movement. My water had never broke, but the fluid was all but gone. If the baby weren’t already toxic, it would be in short order. The dry sac and breech presentation guaranteed me a c-section. When was the last time I ate?? I confessed to the cookie the size of my head and he shook his head with a smile, most likely thinking, “Nurses!!” We planned to monitor me until his office hours were over and then head to the OR.

The next six hours were topsy-turvy. John had my mom watch Stewart so he could join me. Later my mom got our friend Ellen to stay with Stewart so she could join us. John called his parents and they scurried to get home from their cottage. My midwife showed up, still trying to be upbeat and encouraging. She camped out with us for the duration. My friend Cathy, (who we had enjoyed dinner with Sunday) was scheduled to work that evening, but had been called off. I was very, VERY disappointed. We made a lot of calls and got a lot of prayer-chains going. One friend started to make some practical decisions and got some people organized to bring us food. At that point we had no idea what to expect.

I had a parade of hospital staff in my room. Not only my MD and midwife, but tons of nurses, the lactation consultant, the anesthesiologist and the neonatal nurse practitioner, also named Beth. I carefully explained to her that although the ultrasounds had consistently suggested a due date of 8/14, I knew to the core of my being that the correct due date was 8/24. She studied me carefully and asked at least three times, “Does the doctor know this?” I’d told them all many times, but since the first U/S was at 22 weeks, they all took the U/S to be the correct date. It was obvious she was concerned. The bottom line remained that the baby HAD to come out.

Whenever we were left alone in the room, John and I furtively discussed what we would name the baby. We were set on a boy’s name, but we were still fussing over a girl’s name. We settled on Monica, as that had been Stewart’s girl name, but we weren’t wild about it. I told John he could pick the middle name to be either Shonnessy or Stacy and let me know when it got here.

One of the best surprises of the day came when my nurse told me that they had one other patient come in and that warranted calling my friend Cathy back in to work. She would be my nurse around 5PM! When Cathy got there she was immediately assigned to me. She was such a great comfort. She prayed with me and my family. She asked me if I had a guess as to whether or not it was a boy or girl. I confessed I thought it was a girl because of something a sonographer had said weeks and weeks prior.

Around 6:30 P.M. I went to the OR. My mom got to watch from the C-Section Viewing Room attached to the surgical suite. I got the spinal put in and they hooked me up to the tons of equipment necessary. As the surgery began, John stood by my left shoulder and Beth (the midwife) stood by my right. I could hear my heartbeat on the monitor and it was so tachycardic. I asked the anesthesiologist about it, wondering if that was a side effect of the meds. He said it was likely related to my nervousness. I thought I was rather relaxed but realized then I was very anxious. John and Beth comforted me as the team got started. I started crying on and off; it seemed like hours. Just a few minutes later the baby was delivered. As Dr. Tripp held the baby up for John to announce the sex, I made eye contact with my friend Cathy, who was gently shaking her head. You could tell by her eyes she was smiling, even with the mask covering her face. Just then John said, “It’s a boy!” and he followed Nigel to where he would be taken care of by Beth the neonatal nurse practitioner, just on the other side of the room. The nurses opened the window up so my mom could see him. Midwife Beth moved to my left as that was the side of the room they had the baby on. Over the next few minutes she celebrated with me every little thing about our new son. “His eyes are open, Stacy! He opened his eyes. Can you see him?” “Oh, he peed, Stacy, did you hear that? He peed!” “Five-fifteen, Stacy, that is amazing. Did you hear that? He’s BIG!” And finally, “Stacy, what is his name? Do you have a name ready?” And I will always be so grateful for how she responded when I quietly said, “Nigel Shonnessy.” “Oh, Stacy! That is a great name! I love it. Nigel. Oh, that is beautiful!” If she’d had said, “Nigel? Is that a family name?” it wouldn’t have been the same. I told her it meant Champion, and she grabbed my shoulder and squeezed it.

It was a few minutes later, and they wrapped him up and let John bring him over to me. He was beautiful. They unstrapped my arms so I could reach over to touch him. I stroked his cheek and thought, impatiently, “I wish they would just hurry up down there. I can’t wait to hold him.” I barely finished my thought, when my midwife, Beth, a former NICU nurse said, “Stacy, he’s getting a little blue. We need to get him some help breathing.”

It would be two days till I got a chance to hold him, after all.

They wheeled Nigel to the nursery. John, my mom and my mother-in-law, who had just arrived, followed Nigel. The next few hours are sort of a blur. I went back to my room to recover. Cathy stayed with me till after midnight first as my recovery nurse, then as my friend. I was very peace-filled and calm. John and my mom came in and out to tell me what was going on and how Nigel was doing. It wasn’t until a few days later that I learned of the multiple attempts at intubating him, and the many needle sticks he’d had.

At some point Dr. Tripp came in to talk to me. He said the bottom line was that the baby had needed to be delivered, but in fact, he was earlier than the U/S advised and his level of need was greater than Park Ridge could handle and he needed to be transported to the NICU at Strong (a third area hospital). There were currently no beds available for me, however. I’d have to stay at Park Ridge. I was disappointed but okay with it. I just wanted them to get him moved along. It was a few hours until that occurred, because the transport team was getting a baby from Highland Hospital in worse condition.

 

Nigel left Park Ridge around 11:45PM on 7/2 and arrived after midnight at Strong on 7/3. John spent that day juggling his wife in one hospital, his newborn son at another and his 22 month-old at home.

Nigel wasn’t ever lonely, there, as his Nan, Ba, and Poppy called on him in the NICU. They also made time to visit me.

My doctor allowed me to be discharged on 7/4, early in the morning. I was in so much pain, but was aching to see him. The dust was starting to settle and we were just beginning to realize the road ahead of him and us.

The next month was a trial, but God got us through it by surrounding us with help, in the form of rides, calls, meals, baby-sitting and cards. We were so well-cared for, and on the darkest days (7/12/02!!) He made sure we never felt alone.

The NICU nurses were outstanding. And Nigel did come home, finally, on 8/1/02. He gets TWO special days in my heart!! 7/2 and 8/1!