Shortly after arriving at the hospital and getting settled into my room, I was bombarded by nurses and doctors coming by. There was one doctor that I will never forget. It was one of the hardest conversations I have ever had. It is sort of a blur but I can remember laying there in my bed hysterical while my husband stood next to me and my aunt sat on the couch.
The doctor that came in was from the NICU. They wanted us to meet with them in order to better understand what we were facing. It always seemed weird to me that this doctor was a big burly man who had little bedside manners. I mean he deals with babies, tiny babies for that fact but he did not know how to handle a pregnant crying mom.
From what I remember he began by telling us what the ramifications of having a baby at that time would be. You see at this time I was still only 23 weeks pregnant. He rattled off survival rates and complications of a preemie born that early. He went through the weeks and told us the survival rates and problems babies have when born. All I could do was sob. I felt like someone was taking a knife digging it in and twisting it over and over. I wanted to throw up, I wanted to scream at him I wanted to punch him in the face.I wanted to words to stop. I felt like he was dooming my babies.
After all of this that man said we had a decision to make. I continued to listen but it was like I was floating above my body watching this all happen to me. Maybe that was my way of coping. It was just too much. He proceeded to tell us that because I was still so early we had to determine a treatment path in case the babies were born before 24 weeks. He laid out the options. He explained that we had three options when it came to their treatment. We could go full throttle and do a full course of treatment. We could do nothing and ultimately let God decide. Or lastly we could do a middle of the road where there would be interventions taken but nothing extreme. They would be given a so called trial of life to see if they could survive.
Just writing those words, reliving them makes me want to throw up. I literally feel my throat closing, my stomach in knots just thinking about that horrible day.
Clayton and I took time to think. We wanted nothing more than for our babies to be OK and to survive. I wanted to fight for them. There was a part of me that didn't want them to be put through hell if they were born so little. We ultimately told the doctor that if they were to come before 24 weeks we would do the middle of the road but anytime after we wanted the full court press. It was a very hard decision to make. It was horrible and sad and I thank GOD that we didn't have to deal with that. I feel terrible for the moms and dads out there who have to deal with micro preemies and the tough decisions that come along with them.
I honestly think this event, this conversation contributed to my PTSD. I always here that when you become a mom its like wearing your heart on the outside of your body. This conversation felt like that heart was being ripped apart.
I am and will be forever grateful for the care that I received in the hospital. I know that this man was doing his job and that he didn't mean to hurt me. For me it was just another blow, when I had experienced too many.
