As a small business owner, life is fast paced. I work in communications, and it’s a sink or swim industry that’s not for the weak-hearted. If you’re Type A like me, you’ll most likely do fine with your hyper-organized plans, email folders with subfolders—and the constant urge to answer an email within an hour. A strong, strategic plan that’s executed to a T will fuel you more than any dose of caffeine.
When I found out I was pregnant for the first time, I started the journey with this same mindset. I had a plan, my business would be ok while I took a [short] maternity leave, breastfeeding might be hard at first, but I’ll perfect it in no time, the list went on. I was ready—bring on the 40 weeks!
Flash forward to June 28, 2023, when I was one day short of 33 weeks. I woke up at 6 a.m. with excruciating cramps and ran to the bathroom. My water broke. My husband and I rushed to the hospital we had toured the day before (talk about timing!), only to find out I would need to be transported to another facility that was set up for a premature birth and care in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Talk about a “perfect plan” going awry in a matter of hours.
During this time, they were also monitoring my blood pressure as the numbers kept rising. Mind you, discussions of preeclampsia were had weeks prior to delivery, as my rapid 70-pound weight gain and severe edema in my legs and feet raised a cause for concern. Although my blood pressure and urine test came back fine, I still felt in my spirit that something wasn’t right. Now, two days before delivering my son, the doctors started tossing out the possibility of the dreaded word: preeclampsia.
As we arrived by ambulance to the second hospital, my blood pressure started to temporarily stabilize. In the delivery room, it was communicated that the goal would be to keep me in the hospital for a week and aim for delivery at 34 weeks, which would allow my son’s lungs to fully develop. They also let me know I couldn’t eat or drink (except for water and Diet Sprite) for the foreseeable future, in case of emergency surgery.
My stress was at an all time high. As if this timeline couldn’t get any worse, we were also in the process of moving by the end of the month with zero packing done. I remember thinking: My husband can’t leave me here. What are we going to do? Well, the reality is that life doesn’t stop. My husband navigated being in and out of the hospital the next day, as I was only 2 cm dilated at the time. While I knew we had no choice, I still couldn’t help but feel frustrated at the situation. Why couldn’t things just fall into place?
As the evening rolled in, so did my hunger (it was now 48 hours since I ate or drank anything), high blood pressure readings, and contractions. I began going into active labor, with 4-minute contractions until they finally gave me an epidural (they prolonged this thinking I had more time before delivery). It was a brutal night. I was exhausted physically and emotionally.
And little did I know, I would be pushing for an hour until my son was born the next day at 6:50 a.m.
When my son arrived prematurely at 33 weeks, I had no more than a few seconds to spend with him. Once I gave birth, they let me kiss his forehead (no skin-to-skin) and whisked him off to the NICU. I was simultaneously diagnosed with post-preeclampsia—something I personally didn’t know could happen after giving birth. Since I was considered severe, I was given magnesium sulfate to prevent seizures and blood pressure medication to help control my numbers, which at the time were readings like 165/95.
While I was grateful to have medical professionals working on a plan to treat my preeclampsia quickly, a lot of this time being monitored kept me from visiting my son in the NICU. The magnesium sulfate treatment meant I needed a nurse to transport me in case I had a seizure. This became challenging if my day- or nighttime nurse had other critical matters and couldn’t spend 15 minutes to an hour with me in the NICU.
After a week in the hospital, I was discharged… but my son wasn’t ready to come home yet. I remember emotions were at an all time high, flowing through me like a river running wild. As I sat in the wheelchair waiting for my husband to bring the car around, I realized I was in between two moms with newborns swaddled in their arms. And here I was facing my biggest fear—my baby is not coming home with me today. I gripped the handles of the chair so tight to keep me from crying.
As we drove off, I held my breath until I couldn’t. I wept the entire ride home. While I knew he was in the best place he could be at the time, I still couldn’t fight the guilt and shame that consumed me. At this moment, it felt like it was my fault he came early and my body rejected him. And now when my baby needs me the most, I’m not there. I thought to myself: Where is the honor in that? How could I be proud of what I did…or rather, what I couldn’t do? The weight of it all was unbearable.
I spent 36 days visiting the NICU until my son was discharged. Nothing could prepare me for my experience in the NICU. The stillness, the beeping from the monitors, and the chords and wires wrapped around my tiny bundle. It was heartbreaking.
I remember when we did kangaroo care (skin-to-skin) for the first time, it felt like we were back where it all started: connected in my womb. I thought breastfeeding would strengthen our bond even more, blissfully unaware of the challenges I faced ahead.
No matter how hard I worked at it, I couldn’t produce breast milk for my son, and I felt defeated. What I didn’t know then was that having a preemie—which can lower your milk supply—coupled with my blood pressure medication would ultimately result in my failure to produce adequately.
And I tried everything, believe me. I did Breastfeeding Week in the NICU, I power pumped, I ate the lactation cookies and bars, I drank the sports drink, I wore the warm water latex glove on my chest. I did it all. I was exhausted and through it all, I wasn’t even bonding with my son. I was so hyper fixated on “getting it right” that I didn’t even know what was right anymore.
It wasn’t until my six-week postpartum appointment that the doctor looked me in the eye and said, “Think of your best friend who you probably know everything about. Do you know if she was breastfed? The answer is probably ‘no’ because in the long run, it doesn’t matter.” No other words truly helped me get over my shortcomings, as I knew she was right.
About a week before this appointment, we celebrated my son’s NICU graduation. While I was excited to welcome him home, I was still trying to cope with my birth trauma, the unknown of having a NICU preemie, and motherhood in general. I didn’t know it then, but after the conversation with my doctor at that postpartum appointment, I realized that I was getting in my own way. Perfection should not be my expectation. It was on my drive home that I knew the real healing would begin.
The minute I walked through the door, I took my breast pump upstairs and put it in storage. I couldn’t look at it one more second. I also threw away the half ounce bottle of breastmilk that took me all day to produce. I felt empowered. When my son woke up from his nap, we went to Target (my version of therapy), stocked up on formula and never looked back. That night was probably the best sleep I had in 6 weeks, as I didn’t have to overwork my body trying to pump only to underdeliver.
This mindset helped set the framework for my newfound motherhood journey. I learned to use intrusive thoughts to fuel my new purpose: being the best version of myself for my son. This redirection helped me get a jump start in making better lifestyle choices to shed the baby weight, return to my morning routine of reading a daily devotional and more. Over time, I recognized that my journey might look different than I planned, but those experiences can be used to change the course to a new and beautiful adventure. And perhaps the one I needed all along.
At times, it’s hard for me to reflect on the unanticipated journey of a premature birth. There are some photos and videos I still can’t look at without immediately turning into a puddle. A friend of mine recently visited and we talked about how I got through it. I remember her saying, “You’re so strong!”
Was I? I’m still not sure. What I do know is that I kept reminding myself of this: in life, it’s not about the problem. It’s how you handle it.
While I’m no expert here, I’m sharing some ways that helped me cultivate the strength from within to find true inner peace during a difficult season of life. Some may seem simple, but it’s the simplicity in those actions that can impact you the most.
Create a NICU playlist
We create playlists for celebrations, road trips, our partners…the list goes on. Why not make a playlist for one of the most memorable seasons in your life? I would listen to the same set of songs to and from each NICU visit. For me, the repetition eventually developed into association and would put me in a tranquil state of mind. This helped me clear out the worries, the fears, the noise and just focus on what I came there to do— bond with my son.
Curate a ‘happy’ photo album
I came about this by accident. While desperately trying (and ultimately failing) to produce breast milk, I looked in the mirror and liked how I looked that day. I did my hair and makeup, and even put on a dress (at this stage in life I was living in biker shorts and oversized shirts). I took a selfie and sent it to my husband saying, “I took this to remember that I am happy today.” From there, I just kept taking photos of “happy me moments” and saved them in an album. They were nice reminders during momentary struggles.
Encourage the outreach & answer when you can
Someone once messaged me months after my son came home and said, “In my mind, I wanted to give space as there aren’t many words to share during a time like that, but I still should have sent a note to let you know your support team is bigger than you think!”
I am here to say that in many times of isolation in the hospital, driving to the NICU alone because my husband still had a job to show up for, and restless nights when I tried to pump, I could have used a text. Even if you don’t answer right away, encourage the messages to keep coming, even from those who aren’t in your tight circle. You’d be surprised how their words can brighten your light on a dark day.
Make time for self-care
This can look like anything that makes you feel like you. And don’t feel guilty about taking a small part of your day to take care of yourself. The best version of you is who your family will see, and it’s what they need. Between the NICU visits and attempts at pumping, every day felt like Groundhog Day. So, I decided I needed a change. I made a nail appointment and ate a drive-thru lunch in my car. It brought me the peace I didn’t know I needed until that moment.
It’s been almost a year and a half since our “plans” for childbirth, breastfeeding and motherhood unexpectedly changed. My worries of having a NICU and formula-fed preemie are practically non-existent. I’ve been fortunate enough to run my business from home, allowing me the flexibility (and joy!) to watch my healthy baby grow, bond over simple moments like breakfast together, and witness him meeting milestones on his own time (and some right on schedule!).
The healing process—both inside and out—continues to make great strides. I now celebrate my new body and take pride in what it was able to do for 33 weeks. I also still follow many of the items I used to help me find peace, like self care, encouragement from friends, and taking photos of “happy me moments”.
We recently attended our hospital network’s NICU Reunion at the zoo and I was so excited to see 2 of the nurses who cared for me after I delivered. I couldn’t stop smiling from ear to ear, raving about how well I was doing and choking up when I introduced them to my son. It felt like a full circle moment, as I faced those from my past that I thought I wanted to keep there. But the reality is that my baby’s premature birth and the unexpected path I endured is not behind me. It is very much a part of me.
And as I move forward with this next season of life, I try to remind myself that the challenges in front of me are just temporary dips on the beautiful road ahead.
