One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
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About this ebook
A starkly emotional account from a NICU Mother on her daughter's fight for life and often turbulent journey through NICU after being born suddenly at just 25 weeks into pregnancy.
Giving a uniquely raw insight into life as a parent in the NICU, Natasha takes you on an intimate journey through her first experience.
This story of love and survival through NICU offers support for families and their supporters as they find their way through their premature journeys. A must-read for a glimpse into this highly medicalised world through a parent's eyes.
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From the readers:
"Poignant and humbling to read" Wesley
"Beautiful, raw emotion, the fear and joy of mothering a premature baby. A true "rollercoaster" ride. Keeps the reader on the edge, willing this baby every breath and heartbeat till the end." Fiona
"I found this book very cathartic to read…It is an honest, wonderful read about surviving the most traumatic start to your child's life, and also shows how amazing the NICU team is…" Carol
Natasha Sinclair
From the heart of Scotland, Natasha finds inspiration to write in just about everything -- from the maddeningly mundane to the utterly horrific. With stories that provoke deep emotional reactions in readers or a twist of a viewpoint that stirs fresh thought.Natasha doesn't subscribe to boxing art off into a single genre or indeed anything in life -- art should be unapologetic in its freedom. Her own writing spans genres including - speculative, horror, psychological and erotica.She has independently published work, compiled and edited collections, and has contributed to several anthologies. Natasha supports other creatives by way of proofreading, editing, and creating promotional material via her Word Refinery services, linked on her site, ClanWitch.comOut-with writing and editing, she's an avid gig-goer, reader, vegan, home educating, nature-loving, adopter of wonky animals.
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Book preview
One Step Forward, Two Steps Back - Natasha Sinclair
PROLOGUE
For those of us lucky enough to experience pregnancy or parenthood in whatever form it comes into our lives. Its lessons are very much lessons in the bigger colourful tapestry of life. It's unpredictable, it's primal, raw and beautiful. It's inspiring and soul testing, it's life and death.
My third pregnancy was one bathed in desperation and grief. Desperation to realise Motherhood, which at times had felt like a fast fading dream, and grief from heart breaking unexplained miscarriages, I was still yet to hold a living child of my own in my arms.
After just 25 weeks and 2 days my pregnancy came to an end. A spontaneous delivery to my tiny Micro Preemie Warrior Princess, who weighed a mere 720 grams at birth. She went on to spend the first 15 weeks of her life in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) then Special Care Baby Unit (SCBU) at Wishaw General Hospital, before finally making it home.
It wasn't until my daughter reached her first birthday that I realised just how tough this experience was on me, her Mother, and I wrote my way through it, with the desire to help both myself and others who either find themselves on their own family’s personal journey through NICU or want a glimpse into another world within ours.
If this is a world you find yourself thrown into, know this, that anything and everything you feel is valid. From numbness, fear, terror, guilt, anger, loneliness, love, detachment, bewilderment even awe and joy in those huge tiny things, it's all a necessary part of your journey and every bit of it matters in your own tapestry.
With peace, love and hope, I'm sharing a piece of our journey with you.
REFLECTION
As the world around me was filling with hustle and bustle, excitement and cheer I was dipping into numb melancholy. A quiet place of silent grief, reflection and constant concern was starting to take over. I had nowhere to hide. My dreams and most raw and primal desires to realise Motherhood felt like they were taking over me to a crippling degree, physically and emotionally. I was pregnant and grateful and yet, I was still numb and grieving for the last.
At work, my colleagues were constantly chatting about music, food and exchanging outfit ideas for the upcoming winter conference and parties. Filled with cheer and glitter about the festive season fast approaching. Engaging in this chit chat was getting harder again, there was no way I could keep it up for a trip away through a conference and social event. The conference fell on the first anniversary of my last pregnancy ending, my baby's birthday. I had to book leave from work.
That whole first week in December was filled with painful memories, I could feel it coming, like a fast train full steam ahead. It was a countdown to meltdown. So much pondering of ‘This time last year...’ I couldn’t escape myself. A year already. A year since the ultrasound room was poured over with thick, suffocating silence and I knew the news before the ultrasound technician could find the words, It’s not good news I'm afraid.
Then the longest pause before uttering the blow that would shatter the thinning air into a million stabbing shards, There's no heartbeat.
Simple words that would forever echo within my broken heart. Hours and days were spent between sad private waiting rooms, home, more scans and next steps to induce labor since my body had missed my miscarriage. It had been a year all of this, since I was induced so my second precious silent baby would be born into the world and swiftly tucked to rest in the earth the very next morning, by her Father and me.
Now, here I was in the real world smiling, trying to pay attention and concealing the panic of what could go wrong this time. My womb holding onto my third baby, another precious girl nestled inside my haunted uterus. To the external world I wasn't yet a Mother, but I held the hands of my ghost children every day while clinging to hope that one day, soon, I'd hold a warm blossoming hand of life in mine.
Having reached my limit of pretending all was good and fine I took leave from work. Leave for a week, where I didn't have to paint on a smile if I didn't feel it. A week where I could cry if I needed to, without having to swallow it back or hide in a bright tight toilet cubical sobbing in silence. I could relax into the grief if I needed to, while stroking my small bump of new life.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
The end of my third pregnancy began on a quiet day at home on Sunday 30th November. I recall going to the loo. Every trip to the loo was one dipped in fear, in case I saw red.
On this occasion I wiped and was confronted with what I can best describe as a lump of jelly, tinged with old blood. By all accounts I felt otherwise normal. In a bid not to panic, I tried to file my concern away until my Midwife appointment they next morning.
The bright morning of Monday 1st December held the chilling accents of the winter ahead. Branches of tall trees lining the street, swayed gently casting shadows between streaks of a blinding winter sun. My appointment went well, and my Midwife seemed to brush off my tale of blood tinged mucus from the previous day. Reassured, I went on my way.
It was the small hours into Tuesday 2nd of December and I woke with a start. It was 03:24, the room was almost completely pitch black with only the smallest slither of moonlight tickling the very edge of the closed blind. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin, like it was too tight and the bed too empty. Paul, my other half worked nights and I was used to being alone but something on this night was just off. I woke this time with my heart thumping in the dark, I could hear it in my ears with a twinge in my abdomen. Did she kick? I thought, but couldn't be sure due to my anterior placenta, so my mind made all sorts of theory's out of the new sensations, as few as they were. I tried to focus on my breathing, to calm my racing heart. Another twinge in my belly as I stroked my skin with the other tiny heartbeat underneath, There, there baby girl.
I whispered. Feeling something is surely a good thing, I thought as I attempted to reassure myself. Again, I tried to force myself to sleep.
After a little doze and lots more uncomfortable tossing and turning, I gave up and ventured downstairs to make a hot pot of tea and try get some reassurance from my latest go to pregnancy book. I was 25 weeks & 2 days pregnant based on baby girl’s growth, which was a week ahead of my original estimated due date. I refreshed myself on symptoms and advice on Braxton hicks. Taking some of the advice on board since these twinges hadn't ceased. I had never been this far into pregnancy before and was desperately trying to reassure myself that this was normal.
I waited on Paul getting home from work, and a little while after to see if my symptoms would take their leave since I was starting to feel like I was imagining them - they didn't. In fact, they very gradually began to increase in frequency and were definitely 'regular.' Hoping to have my mind put at ease, I called my Midwifes office, who encouraged me to call triage at the hospital, who in turn, encouraged me to attend the unit for an exam.
On our way to the hospital, we both thought the same thing, that my pregnancy anxiety born of loss was having a temporary physical manifestation. Today of all days. With that said, the twinges were most certainly frequent and had not subsided at all. Even after a few changes in activity and having had something to eat, according to what I knew of Braxton hicks (the lie I was still telling myself,) theses should have subsided or at least not be as regular as what I was feeling.
At the hospital, I answered some routine questions while my belly was strapped with a monitor. There was a lot of waiting around and it was clear from both the Nurse and Doctor that I saw that, they weren't concerned and in fact they appeared to behave in a way that led me to think that they just thought that I was a crazy, overly sensitive pregnant woman. For the hours we were there I was frequently asked about my 'pain level' which I never knew how to answer, so my response was always the same, I'm uncomfortable.
Now, for me I was admitting there was significant pain, but I suppose I do have a history of downplaying my 'discomfort,' never wanting to use more passionate words, incase my discomfort gets worse and I have no way to describe it. It's also because I don't want to appear like I'm over reacting so I under react.
Late into the afternoon I finally got an internal exam, where the Doctor confirmed that my cervix was closed, and baby's head was low. She noted that from the monitor I was having some 'mild tightening' but nothing she was concerned about. She offered that I stay in overnight for monitoring, however, given her lack of concern and getting the heavy vibe that these people thought I was a little nuts we decided to go home. This was much to the delight of Paul, who was desperate to get to his bed.
WAVES RISING
When we got home, the tightening continued as I decided to climb under the duvet next to Paul to try sleep it off. Lying there in the darkened room listening to Paul’s breathing change as he sunk deeper into slumber, my mind summersaulted through day dreams in the dark. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't sleep, the tightening only grew more intense and closer together.
I would picture the globe in my belly. Waves building higher and higher threatening to swallow all the land. Over and over the tide grew closer and with more vigour than before. I was scrunched into the foetal position, desperately holding the world in my arms trying to will the waves to calm. Wishing this tsunami away wasn't working. I was struggling to keep my breathing even, struggling to keep my head above the waves. Fighting back the primal need to vocalise my increasing discomfort I tried to uncurl and gently hoist myself from beneath the duvet. Maybe a bath will help, I thought with desperation.
I made my way downstairs noting the spread of tension from my entire abdomen to my thighs with each wave. In the bathroom, I turned on the tap and the water poured into the tub, gently filling the room with steam. On the loo while watching the swirling water, I pleaded with my body. I pleaded with it to stop, as I was struck by a clamminess and uncontrollable shivers. With my teeth chattering like a windup toy and skin swamped in goosebumps, I fought to steady myself to grab hold of the panic that was pouring over me like ice water. I couldn't get a hold of it; my last shred of steadiness ran through my fingers.
Holding on to steady my leg with one hand, I reluctantly reached between my thighs with the brilliant white soft tissue in the other, eyes squeezed tight trying to escape the nightmarish red vision. I had to look. There it was smeared across the brilliant white background, pure unavoidable angry crimson blood. With forced quivering breaths I desperately tried to control the panic again. Turning off the water, I began to stand. I wasn't sure if my jelly legs would hold me upright, but I was surprisingly steady.
I grabbed an overnight bag and threw in some random bits and bobs for an overnight stay at hospital. Pulling on some clothes I muttered to myself, checking my voice was working before calling triage, who of course recommended I get to the hospital.
Steadily I climbed the stairs and peered round into the darkened bedroom that was thick with sleep and said firmly, Paul...I have to go to the hospital...
Downstairs again, I readied myself gripping onto my logical mind. Paul came down moments later, heavy with too little sleep. Concerned about him driving I said I'd call for a taxi but as the gravity of the situation began to penetrate his foggy tired cloud he insisted he would drive.
NO WAY BACK
The journey to hospital was one that felt like hours when really it took no more than forty minutes. We meandered through tight dark country roads and endless roundabouts, in the blue black of this crisp December night. Paul’s voice speaking to me, trying to create distraction, about what, I really don't remember. I was under water. All I could really focus on was the increasing waves of the imminent storm. I watched the clock between waves as they came almost on top of one another, barely a steady breath before the next one began. I was reluctantly riding the waves, a new one every two minutes as we arrived at the hospital.
The landscape of the hospital was like a modern day asylum, it was built with the idea to reassure and appear friendly. With its white cladding, the building stretched itself across the green surrounding area, very different the old school styles, which were built towering towards the skies. Nevertheless, with its spread, a white ghost of a building stretched across the darkness, it was still as foreboding as those that towered above.
Buzzing up to triage for the second visit of the day and making our way through long empty corridors, the cramping running around my stomach to my back and up and down my thighs made it a challenge to keep walking upright. My body wanted to crumple to the floor.
We checked in at the desk and went back up the corridor we came to a small magnolia waiting room lined with blue chairs, a table in the centre was scattered with leaflets. Posters around the room with beaming mums and gummy grinning babies. The news channel was on the tv in the corner and another pregnant lady sat in another, casually tapping away on her phone. I curled around my stomach, straining to sit down on to the hard seat, as another huge wave took hold, there was no space between them now. The air felt thin and I was losing control. To say I was 'uncomfortable' now when I couldn't conceal it was certainly an understatement. I had barely sat down when the Midwife from the check in desk came to take us to a room, she apologised to the other lady waiting and guided us back down the corridor (me straining and hunched over the entire way) by the desk and into a delivery room.
We entered another magnolia haze, this time there was a loo on the immediate right, a cushioned blue chair in the far left corner next to a window overlooking a small courtyard. A bed to the left and an incubator against the wall opposite the bed. I had never seen an incubator in real life before, but I knew what it was. Almost as though she caught the reflection in my eye, the Midwife gesturing towards the incubator said, Don't worry about that, it isn't for you.
She instructed me to remove my underwear and lay on the bed with my long deep green skirt pulled up to my hips and the sheet over the bottom half of my body. Strapping my belly up with the same monitors as earlier that day she began taking notes and asking questions as she stood opposite me, leaning on the table at the bottom of the bed. She said that she was just waiting on the Doctor coming to examine me. A little flustered she came and went a few times furiously taking notes from the readings on the monitor, with each visit.
I felt so terribly worried that I was going to embarrass myself in front of this stranger and my partner, by making a huge mess over these crisp white sheets! Completely mortified at the thought I kept asking to go to the loo, but the Midwife insisted I stay put, repeating only that, The Doctor won't be long.
In my mind, that was an even worse scenario, as I pictured a smiling young Doctor in her pristine, starched, white coat, hair tied back with her face between my legs then whoosh! It's not just the sheets that would get messed up!