6 weeks too early, not a day late...

I know this post has been well awaited, and it's going to be well read.  Before I begin - I will add a disclaimer -

much of this is very difficult for me to show in a public arena, and to "talk" about.  This post will probably be long, but I'm keeping with who I am in being honest and real.  There are pictures - they are not all nice to look at.

Welcome - Aiden Harris.  Who arrived to our family - on 3 July 2011.  6 and a bit weeks before his due date.

What can I say - but I knew it.  I knew he was going to come early.  I just didn't quite expect the journey to follow.

Most of those who know me, know I LOATHE being pregnant.  I could honestly quite happily skip that stage and go from not pregnant to the day after delivery quite happily.  So when I woke up on that Sunday with some dull ache, and then contractions arrived - I was just a wee bit excited.

I shrugged it off - because over the 3 or so weeks prior, I had multiple false alarms.  I was hospitalised 2 weeks earlier with "labouring" contractions - that slowly eased off overnight.  So I knew that each day counted as one step closer to home.

The labour - well, it was amazing.  Very different from my first experience.  I was very relaxed and quite enjoyed just breathing through the process.  I left church a bit early because I was uncomfortable.  Thinking I was going to be in hospital for the night again - I grabbed pjs and a few other things.  I threw in a feeding bra "just in case".

I was not afraid, but was chewing back on steroids every 15 minutes and being jabbed all over.  You see, they were trying to stop my wee boy from coming quite so soon.  Things continued to progress and my midwife decided to bring me in some gas.  I quite enjoyed that experience too.  It was all a bit blase because I wasn't supposed to be having this baby, but I started to think "gee, if I don't have him today - this is going to suck - I'd have to do labour twice for ONE baby!!"

I was given the "last resort" pill, which either stops your labour or you are declared full blown.  It was a bit late - I was full blown.  A short time later I told my midwife that "I'd be ready to push soon".  She checked and I was nearly fully dialated.  After this, I don't remember much.  Apart from that I was begging them to break my waters.  Other than that after about 10 minutes the alarm was pressed, the paediatricians rushed in the room and my son was born.  He was promptly removed and given some oxygen to "pink" him up a bit.

I was given a 5 second glimpse at him wrapped in a towel, and then he was transferred to the Special Care Baby Unit (SCBU) because he was labouring a bit with his breathing.

My established labour was less than 2 hours.  I was happily breathing through it all and texting my friends at 12.50pm.  I gave birth at 2.30pm.

I was in shock for about 3 hours.  I couldn't believe I had just had him.  I hardly got to see him - it all felt a bit strange.  I finally showered and gathered my things, then went to see him.

He was the cutest wee thing ever.

Day one he was doing quite well.  We all were.

Then came Monday.  The Doctors then told me that he had developed a "condition".  Basically, the short is - Aiden's body was delayed in converting from using the placenta for oxygen to using his lungs for the circulation he needed.  No visitors, and I wasn't allowed to touch or talk to him for at least the next 24 hours.  I still hadn't even held him.


Some of our darkest moments...

The gadgets above are as follows:

• oxygen + air in his nose - keeping lungs inflated and providing extra oxygen to enable his body to get enough for circulation
• aspirate tube down throat into tummy - to enable them to suck out mucous and remove breast milk to check for digestion
• wires on chest/tummy - recording heart rate, oxygen levels and breathing rate
• IV line in his arm - for fluids and later, for fluids with "extra calories"
• 2 x wires in umbilical cord - 1 for monitoring blood pressure and taking blood. The other to "feed" him with (among other things).
• wire on foot - measuring oxgen saturation levels

They did consider transferring him to Auckland via helicopter.  They were seriously concerned about his health.  They didn't relay to me quite how bad it was until he was 'well' (about 10 days later).


Not only did he have a condition - but he couldn't tolerate any breast milk at all (so he lost a lot of weight).  On the Wednesday, he started having serious apnoeas (holding his breath for long periods).  He would do it several times in a short space.  They got even more concerned about him.  He hated any stimulation.

With his dummy ^^  the only comfort he had
He was lying on a table, vulnerable to all the elements.  Every time a doctor walked in the room, or there was a new voice, or someone got flustered - he would get distressed.  He would handle this by holding his breath again.  He would cry and grizzle and look like he was trying to leap from the table.  All the while I just had to sit there and watch him - because I wasn't allowed to hold him or hardly touch him.

To be honest, for the first week, I sat next to his bed - and cried. And silently prayed and desperately hoped and willed for him to keep fighting.

Having a break from some of the wires ^^ and loving it!


That night, finally - at midnight, the nurse decided to shift him to an incubator to try to help him handle all the noise etc.  She landed him in my arms for the first time.  I said to her through tears "am I really allowed to hold him???"

From that moment, he never held his breath again.

"Sunbathing" - being treated under the phototherapy lights for jaundice.  Wires slowly coming out.


Each day he progressed.  His tube down his mouth, turned into one down his nose.  This was to feed him.  He was far too little to know how to suck properly, so there was no hope of feeding him breast or bottle for a while yet.

He started to tolerate 1 ml of breast milk every 2 hours.  Yes, 1ml.  Slowly over a period of days that increased to 2mls, 3 mls until it was at his total of 59mls every 3 hours.

2 and a half weeks on, he started wanting to suck.  He was still very sleepy, so he'd have a short breast feed, then a tube top up, then sleep for the rest of the day and night.

I spent 3 weeks waiting for him and teaching him how to suck so he could feed.


After 12 days, I got sent home from the hospital without him.  I commuted each day to be at his side, feeding him through a tube and expressing my milk every 3 hours.  Coming home without him was absolutely heart wrenching - but my family needed me at home.

Finally, another week on, I was being called back in to the hospital to stay with him and get him ready to go home.

Then, after an episode in ED, I got readmitted onto the surgical ward for myself with severe mastitis.  I was in agony (I even thought I might of had meningitis again).  They were going to operate, but decided first to aspirate - the treatment involved needles in places no woman wants a needle.

IV antibiotics for another 5 days and apart from my baby all that time - he went back to tube feeds.

I was devastated.

Come the Monday, I was awaiting a further diagnosis from the surgeon and the "next step".

The prayers of many faithful people meant that the surgeon checked me - and it was decided I didn't need any further treatment.  I begged him not to continue the IV antibiotics but to let me go with oral ones so that I could go back to Aiden.  He agreed.

I spent the next 4 days re-teaching my sleepy boy how to breast-feed, and to wake for feeds.  Monday he had his last feed from his nasal gastric tube.  (He had been pulling it out every day for about a week).

Finally no NG tube in his nose ^^

Tuesday he was weighed. He lost 15g.  That's normal for a baby converting from tube feeds to sucking (using energy) for feeds.

The condition for our discharge was that he had to be all breast-fed and put on weight.  Thursday was the next opportunity for weigh in.  Thankfully, he succeeded in putting on weight and, after 3 and a half weeks in hospital, we came home!

My wee poppet, in his short life, has already battled death twice.

I am so greatful that God is my rock, and my keeper.  I have no other.  At one point in my labour, I was SO aware that God was there.  It was like Jesus had just literally walked in the room.  This kept me while I sat at Aiden's side - helpless, but knowing God was willing him to live more than I was.

Heading home ^^


Yes I've cried millions of tears, I've asked mega questions and I've come pretty close to the edge.  I've pleaded before God for "no more" and I've cried in my mum's arms telling her I can take no more.  It's been a rough 4 months for us.  But I can sit here and write that I know we are on the side of victory, because Victory Himself is on our side.

There is still ongoing things with him.  Aiden is well, but must be protected.  He is still little and vulerable.  So, for a while - I will be hibernating.

I am looking forward to watching his little life unfold - because I know he is destined to greatness.

For now, back to my crying baby ;-)

I WILL LIVE to tell the story...

Ps 118.17

I will not die, but I will LIVE

to tell what the LORD has done......

Almost three weeks ago, I lay on death's doorstep.

It started with a headache.  So severe I could not get out of bed.  I was so tired, but could not sleep for the pain.  It was so intense, I failed to even put 2 & 2 together with any other symptoms my body was facing.

The rest - which I realised while being questioned by my GP was, I had such a stiff neck, I couldn't stand any light, I was running a high fever but freezing cold, I couldn't stand to straighten my legs, I had to lie down.  I felt incredibly nauseated - even drinking one sip of water was enough to make me want to vomit.

The pain I was experiencing - was MUCH, MUCH worse than labour.  I visited my GP - hoping for a jab in the butt to be sent home to get over my "migrane".  Of course, being pregnant - they couldn't give me anything.

Next I knew I was being checked head-to-toe for a rash and sent straight to ED at our local hospital.  The GP phoned in advance and sent me with a letter - so I could be seen "immediately".

I arrived, could hardly walk in the room, let alone tell them my name or write.  They took my letter and I sat down.  The room was busy - full, of really unwell people.  I saw the nurse, who checked me and told me it "will not be long" before I got to see the doctor.

Three and a half hours later, my husband, mum and miss "alsmost 2" at my side, I was still waiting.  I lay on a small couch in the busy main corridor of the hospital - because I could not bare to be upright.  I kept my eyes shut and periodically faded in and out of "awareness" - which I figured later was consciousness.  I shivered with cold and couldn't stand any noise.

They called my name.  By this point, I could barely stand, nor walk.  I could not control my body in the least.  I was beginning to convulse, hyperventilate and cry - at the same time.

The nurse ordered blood tests be done immediately, drip was inserted because I was severely dehydrated.  My fever was running high.

The doctor was in shortly after, and I was checked all over and asked a multitude of questions (for the 4th time).  He left to talk to his boss, and the nurse stayed with me. 

The first few drops of morphine - were literally like heaven (haha).  For the first time, I felt much less pain and could open my eyes.

I sobbed and sobbed - "what about my baby....??"

The doctor returned.  I had meningitis.  He suspected it was viral meningitis due to some of the onsetting symptoms I had, he was happy to diagnose me without any futher tests. 

He told me that they cannot treat viral meningitis.  It is also not considered "dangerous" like bacterial meningitis is.  They would give me some pain killers and send me home, that I would have a headache and be sick for a couple of weeks and then start to come right.

But I was given a choice.  Little did I know - the choice was likely to mean the difference between life and death.

If I left, and got worse, I had to come back to ED.  And join the back of the line in waiting again.  I would not have returned.  The wait was too agonising and traumatising as it was, let alone to do it a second time.

He said the other choice, was to have a lumbar puncture done - which would actually diagnose whether I had bacterial or viral meningitis.

I felt incredibly compassionate towards the other very sick people who were in the waiting room, waiting for a bed in the ED.  I felt swayed to go home.

But deep inside me somewhere - I knew something just wasn't right.

So I asked for the lumbar puncture.

The LP wasn't as bad as I expected (or had been told by others).  It's not a nice thing to have done, but I did not care for fact that it would help make me better.

A couple of hours later, I was diagnosed with bacterial meningitis.  Much to the doctor's surprise.  An ultra-sound was done to check baby - and there was lots of movement and a perfect heart rate.  *Sigh of relief*

Mum had taken miss "almost 2" home for dinner and bath, hubby then had to leave to pick her up and get her to bed.  Later, without warning, I was collected by two people with plastic gowns from head to toe, and masks on - and delivered to my room.  The masks and gowns were part of my life for two days - until I was no longer "contagious".

I felt like an enemy of the human race - biological warfare waiting to be released or something.  At one point, I had five medical staff in my small room, peering at me from behind their peculiar costumes.

For the next 8 days I lay in hospital - in a room completely dark.  My visitors actually thought I was sleeping - but I couldn't handle even the faintest light.  I could not read or write.  I could not even bear to look at pictures.

I could maintain an upright position for only 5 minutes, before suffering excruciating pain and needing to sleep.

I never knew how the wriggles and kicks of a tiny baby could be such a relief.  The baby is alive.  But even more, I am alive.

I had meltdowns in the middle of the night.  I had panic attacks in the night (and day).  I felt depressed and alone, but any visitors made me physically and emotionally exhausted.

One morning, I couldn't even open the small packet of jam to put on my toast.  I called the nurse, in tears, who opened it - then I couldn't even use my knife.  The sheer frustration of wanting to do a simple task, but physically not being able to, was terrible.

I desperately wanted my God to come and make me well, sometimes I wondered why all this had happened and where He had got to.  But I knew He would never leave me, nor would He make me sick, or "allow" me to be sick.

People came to pray for me, my family was desperately praying for me, my friends were desperately praying for me, my church was desperately praying for me - people I don't even know were crying out to heaven for me. 

And I can truly say that I am SURE, if it weren't for God, I would have died.  I am greatful for the prayers of many warriors who cried out for me in my despair.  And who are still crying out for my total healing.

I finally came home.  Still in incredible pain, afraid of light and unable to do most things.  My arms were like those of an addict from all the IV's and blood tests.  My husband, looked glazed and stressed.  His busiest time with his work, an incredibly ill wife and a demanding child.

Then came the helps.  Dinners cooked and delivered every night.  Babysitters, house-cleaners, people just to sit with me.  Vouchers for special trips to a cafe.  What stars I have for family, friends and wider church family.

Each day since coming home, I have improved.  I can now read and write again.  I can stand light although sometimes get a slight headache or uncomfortable feeling.  I am barely in any pain apart from my back and tailbone are still quite sore.

My brain is sometimes still slow, speech sometimes slurred and occasionally loud or sharp noises still hurt my head.  I am off balance - which makes me afraid of large groups of people or things like crossing a busy road/carpark.  I cannot hear or see as well as I could.

I recognise that there is not only the physical damage on my body (which I believe I will make a FULL recovery from), but there is also a lot of emotional trauma which I am working through.

BUT...

I am greatful.  I am so greatful to be alive that the very thought moves me to tears.  I am greatful to be able to hear/see and do most of the things that I used to.  I am greatful to tuck my sweet little princess in at night, and experience the joy of her laughter - even just one more time.  I am greatful to look my husband in the eyes and tell him I love him - even just one more time.

I am greatful for all the people who have been pouring themselves out for my benefit.  Because they believe in me being well again.

I am greatful to be given another chance at life - because I sure didn't live the last chance I had as much as I wanted to.

I am greatful that I serve a God who WANTS to heal people.  Who DELIGHTS in healing the sick and doing miracles.  A God who is real, and who loves fiercely.

I know, that as I lay there fighting for my life, in the darkest moments - He truly sat in the chair next to my bed keeping watch.  Willing me to rise again.  Willing me to live.

x

Questions in crisis....

I was going to post a whole lot of pictures about my week, but I will leave that for another day.

Today, our Nation is mourning a great loss.  29 good men have died in the Pike River Mining disaster.  A tragedy.

In times like this, words cannot really describe the anguish that the people are feeling.  Words do not console.

As a Christian, many people turn to you for answers.  People ask questions like - "where was God?", "why do bad things happen?", "why didn't He stop it from happening?"

While I cannot answer those questions, and tears fill my eyes each time I get asked another - I can offer something.  God's heart hurts more than anyones over this loss.  He grieves, because He too has lost.  He does not will that people should die young, nor does He want people to die before knowing Him.

Anger and questions and doubts and worries are all a part of the grief process, and they are all ok.  Let grief come.  My prayer is in the midst of this horrible storm, people will look and see how big, how loving and how great God is.  He is the comforter.  He can give new hope.

My heart, prayers and thoughts are toward the whole town of Greymouth right now.  You are all hurting and we as a nation are hurting with you.

I feel there is an appropriate song for this tragedy in our nation:-

I love the bridge, very relevant...

Fee, Everything falls apart



You said
you'd never leave or forsake me
when you said,
this life is gonna shake me
and you said
this world is gonna bring trouble on my soul
this I know

When everything falls apart
Your arms hold me together
When everything falls apart
You're the only hope for this heart
When everything falls apart
And my strength is gone
I find you mighty and strong
You keep holding on
You keep holding on

When I see
Darkness all around me
When I see
That tragedy has found me
I still believe
Your faithful arms will never let me go
and still I know

When everything falls apart
Your arms hold me together
When everything falls apart
You're the only hope for this heart
When everything falls apart
And my strength is gone
I find you mighty and strong
You keep holding on
You keep holding on

Sorrow will last for the night
but hope is rising with the sun
(it’s rising with the sun)
and there will be storms in this life
but I know you have overcome
You have overcome

x