I was 22 weeks pregnant. It was like any typical Thursday; got home from work, ate dinner, showered and got myself and my 1 year old ready for bed. I laid with him while reading a book. Shortly after, I felt a gush of water unexpectedly release from down there. I rushed to the bathroom and the liquid continued to drip into the toilet. I thought to myself that this isn’t normal so I called my dr. She recommended I check myself into labor and delivery. At this point, I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t know what just happened, and if it was bad, I figure everything would be ok because I would be under doctors’ care.
When I got to triage, doctors checked my cervix. The doctor looked at me with a sympathetic face and said to me, “you have preterm premature rupture of the membrane.” I asked her what that meant and her explanation made my world come to a halt. Tears ran down both my face and my husband’s. We were the only couple crying in triage. How could this happen? I was just at the anatomy scan two weeks ago, twice on two different occasions!
I was then rolled into labor and delivery, put on antibiotics and met a different doctor. She said that I would have to stay on hospital bed rest until the baby is born but there is a high chance she would be born early. If that happened and with the doctor’s help, her survival rate would be very low. If she survived, she would have no quality of life. The doctor was very sympathetic, and soon left us be. That would be the last time I saw her during my 3 day stay at the hospital. My husband and I both decided that we were going to save our girl no matter what. We are her parents and we will take care of her no matter what her conditions were.
Early next morning, more doctors came to see me. MFM, the resident doctor, the obgyn from my clinic, even the nicu doctor all came to tell me and my husband that if I have the baby before 24 weeks, they will not intervene as her life is not viable. If I’m able to keep her in for another 2 weeks, they would do all they can to save her life. I was confused; I thought they would try to save her no matter what. Where’s the doctor I saw last night? All these questions rolled through my mind but I didn’t express my concerns. I felt overpowered; I felt as if I had no choice so I just nodded in agreement and cried with my husband.
A day and a half passes by, baby was still kicking and moving, amniotic fluid was low but enough. I started feeling horrible abdominal pain. A check with the speculum determined I got an infection and would need to deliver my baby because I would get sepsis. Our world came crashing down and we cried hysterically. We were scared; we didn’t want to let our baby go! This is not her time.
I had to be induced. Lying on the bed, feeling her kicks, knowing that she will no longer be with us as soon as she came out was the hardest thing I had to endure in my life. After many hours, I went into active labor and delivered her. She gave out three of the tiniest and sweetest cries I’ve ever heard which I will never forget. Silent. Dad cut the umbilical cord and she was placed onto my chest. We saw her legs move a few times. All I could do was hold her little 1 lb body against my face and tell her over and over that I was sorry I couldn’t save her. We named her Amara. She was the bravest little girl. I know she didn’t want to leave us yet.
Her heart beat could no longer be heard after an hour. Our time stood still that day. It was as if my favorite song was playing and someone paused it when I only want to keep hearing it and anticipate to hear it again.
Leaving our sweet Amara behind was beyond difficult. We couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t want to leave. But i. the end, I was wheeled out of my room, into the hallway corridors, and to the parking lot. I felt lost, empty, confused, drained, and so many other mixed emotions.
My husband has been my rock throughout this life changing event. I have also started a relationship with God. Praying seems to be very comforting and knowing that I will see my baby girl again one day is what keeps me going.