Rae of Sunshine

On April 14, 2020 I woke up with a headache. I felt off but I couldn’t really explain it. Nothing I did made it go away. Finally I told my husband we needed to go to my parents and have my dad check my blood pressure. I had him check it when we got there and I was at 160/98. That’s high. We waited a few hours just to see if it was just stress but when we tested it again I was 162/108. I immediately sent my doctor a message and was told to go to OB ER as soon as I could.

April 15, my mom came to pick me up and take me in. But because of COVID I had to do it all by myself. I was escorted through the hospital quickly from nurse to nurse and left in a room by myself. I sat there worried, anxious and afraid but on the outside you would have never known that. That was the longest 3 minutes of my life. My sweet nurse finally came in and started hooking me up to all sorts of machines and got 6 vials of blood. Not even 5 minutes later another nurse came in with a sad look on her face and I just knew. I had Preeclampsia. (I later found out I had severe preeclampsia, on the verge of HELLP Syndrome) I was then immediately emitted to the hospital and set up in another room connected to the NICU. I knew I wouldn’t be leaving the hospital pregnant.

There are mild forms that can be managed by medication and bed rest. For me, if I didn’t catch it when I did...my husband could have lost both of us. That’s something I don’t think people understand. Preeclampsia is not a joke. It could literally kill you. I spent my birthday in the hospital alone, hooked to iv’s, being told my daughter would be born the very next day. My husband was finally able to be with me that night. My c-section was scheduled for 9:30 am on April 18th. The only way to cure preeclampsia is to give birth, so the c-section was the fastest and safest way to help both of us. She was born at 9:53 am, 5 lbs 1 Oz and 17.5”. She was taken back to the NICU, my husband was able to follow. I had to wait for a least an hour...probably longer I can’t even remember now...to see my baby. I didn’t even get to hold her until I was able to stand and walk...imagine that....being told you can’t hold your own child until you are able to stand and walk. I didn’t hold her until she was almost 2 days old. The pain of just giving birth and not being able to hold, smell or touch your baby is indescribable.

I spent a total of a week in the hospital. While we were there we got to spend most of our time in the NICU with Raelynn. But the second I was discharged only one of us could go. My husband didn’t get paternity leave and was unable to see her for the next 5 weeks. Can you imagine how he felt? Not seeing your newborn baby for 5 weeks?! His strength amazes me still. I spent every single day of those 5 weeks in the hospital. I’d be dropped off in the morning and picked up at night for 36 days. It was the hardest, longest 5 weeks of my life.

The NICU is a special place. I had the privilege to be there and witness miracles all around me. You can feel the love, the fear, the heartbreak and weirdly the peace the second you walk through those doors. But at the same time...nothing prepares you for how it feels to see your child hooked up to machines, with wires and cords coming from both tiny arms and feet. The “what if’s” and the “why me’s” start to creep into your mind. You can’t stop it. Even when you KNOW it wasn’t your fault and there was nothing you could have done to stop it. You watch your child fight. You see them take 2 steps forward hoping that you’ll be told they’re coming home just to walk in the next day just to be told, not now. How hard is it to eat a bottle? How hard is it to gain an ounce? For these tiny miracles...it’s the hardest thing for them to do.

I can’t tell you the countless times I broke down when my husband picked me up. How desperately I wanted my baby girl to be in her car seat in the back of the car. How desperately I ached to feel like a mom. How desperately I wished the crib wasn’t empty every night. How I longed for the sleepless nights and dirty diapers. The pain of not having your child at home day after day is something I’ll never be able to describe to you. You will never understand unless you’ve been there. And I hope you never have to. I hope that you never have to feel as broken, hopeless and jealous as I did.

But you know what? We grew from this. I have witnessed a miracle. I have the amazing opportunity to raise somebody better than me. Better than most of this world. I get to see this child go from a helpless tiny baby too weak to survive on her own. To a child exceeding all expectations. My perspective on life, on this world and the people in it has changed. As hard as those 43 days were...I wouldn’t trade them for anything. My little girl is my life. She is my world. Nothing matters more than her.

“What does it mean to be a mother to a miracle? It means your own heart knows a pain no parent should. It means feeling weak, helpless, angry and depressed because your child’s fate is out of your hands. It means feeling strong, determined, and brave because you know you have to be.”

LOVE, Rebekah