My Miracle Baby, Noelle
182 days ago, at almost 42 weeks, after a fast 4 hour labor and an even faster push (8 minutes!), Noelle Faith Buller came into this world. As the midwife handed her to me through my legs, no one in the room knew if she was alive (we had decided to not monitor her during labor). I stared in awe at her intricate limp body. We were still attached by a scrawny, noodle looking lifeline, her two vessle umbilical chord. She was grey and covered in vernix, yet as I stared at her beautiful face, and I knew that every thing was worth it. This labor of love, this sacrifice of my body and my heart and many months of waiting, was worth this one moment of seeing the life knit together inside of me. Even if she never took a breath, it didn't matter in that moment, I knew it was all worth it, to honor this little soul we had been blessed with.
It was in that moment I knew all the months of uncertainty, convincing myself it was better for her to die peacefully floating in my belly than struggling to breathe after being born, were worth it. Every day I woke up with this pit in my stomach, not knowing if she was just sleeping or we had lost her. Every kick I was thankful for, a reminder of the life still growing in me, despite the diagnosis. 50% chance she would be born alive, they said. She would probably come early, 32-36 weeks, they said. You'll be lucky to have a few hours, to a few days with her. Trisomy 18 is a lethal diagnosis. Enjoy every minute, we don't know how long she'll have, they said.
All those months were spent meticulously planning what we wanted those precious few moments after she came out, what medical interventions to use, what not to use, who should be there at what time, what mementos we wanted to have with us. We had two sets of pictures taken, not knowing which moment with her would be our last.
After a few minutes of time together (they seemed like precious hours to me) I decided it was time to move the bed. Still on my knees on the floor where I had given birth, I handed her up to the nurse to wipe her off a bit, so I could get a little more comfortable and snugly. And there on the warmer it came, a snuffy, congested breath. All on her own. And then another. And another. She opened her eyes and looked around. No cries for this little lady, just a peaceful glance and she was with us. The soft-spoken nurse whispered, "She's breathing..." And we stared at this miracle baby, breathing peacefully. They placed her skin to skin on my chest and she flushed a pink color. Right then the NICU team and doctor finally got there, and she took one look at her and said, "She looks good, I don't think we need any oxygen."
We took her home on Hospice, not knowing how many hours we had. Hours turned into days. Days turned into weeks. At her two week birthday party (we threw a huge one!), I finally started letting go and stopped waiting for her to die. And I started to see this miracle we'd been given and started living, little by little.
The following months proved to be in some ways even more trying than that day - 4 ER visits, 4 hospital stays totaling about a month, a ureterostomy surgery and gtube placement (a VERY nerve wrecking surgery, we weren't sure she would come off the intubator), struggles with pumping and balancing life with a special needs infant and a two year old, MANY sleepless nights. Yet here we are, 6 months later, with a little girl wanting to explore the world with her crooked little fingers, sticking her tongue out to make her mom laugh, enamored by her older sister.
We are SO blessed. God, you have been SO GOOD to us....
It was in that moment I knew all the months of uncertainty, convincing myself it was better for her to die peacefully floating in my belly than struggling to breathe after being born, were worth it. Every day I woke up with this pit in my stomach, not knowing if she was just sleeping or we had lost her. Every kick I was thankful for, a reminder of the life still growing in me, despite the diagnosis. 50% chance she would be born alive, they said. She would probably come early, 32-36 weeks, they said. You'll be lucky to have a few hours, to a few days with her. Trisomy 18 is a lethal diagnosis. Enjoy every minute, we don't know how long she'll have, they said.
All those months were spent meticulously planning what we wanted those precious few moments after she came out, what medical interventions to use, what not to use, who should be there at what time, what mementos we wanted to have with us. We had two sets of pictures taken, not knowing which moment with her would be our last.
After a few minutes of time together (they seemed like precious hours to me) I decided it was time to move the bed. Still on my knees on the floor where I had given birth, I handed her up to the nurse to wipe her off a bit, so I could get a little more comfortable and snugly. And there on the warmer it came, a snuffy, congested breath. All on her own. And then another. And another. She opened her eyes and looked around. No cries for this little lady, just a peaceful glance and she was with us. The soft-spoken nurse whispered, "She's breathing..." And we stared at this miracle baby, breathing peacefully. They placed her skin to skin on my chest and she flushed a pink color. Right then the NICU team and doctor finally got there, and she took one look at her and said, "She looks good, I don't think we need any oxygen."
We took her home on Hospice, not knowing how many hours we had. Hours turned into days. Days turned into weeks. At her two week birthday party (we threw a huge one!), I finally started letting go and stopped waiting for her to die. And I started to see this miracle we'd been given and started living, little by little.
The following months proved to be in some ways even more trying than that day - 4 ER visits, 4 hospital stays totaling about a month, a ureterostomy surgery and gtube placement (a VERY nerve wrecking surgery, we weren't sure she would come off the intubator), struggles with pumping and balancing life with a special needs infant and a two year old, MANY sleepless nights. Yet here we are, 6 months later, with a little girl wanting to explore the world with her crooked little fingers, sticking her tongue out to make her mom laugh, enamored by her older sister.
We are SO blessed. God, you have been SO GOOD to us....
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