Two years ago tonight, I was on the ride of my life.
I understood that I had a serious, life threatening condition that could advance at any moment.
I understood that my unborn daughter, who had reached 33 weeks of gestation, was also at risk.
I heard them tell me that they were planning a possible c-section for the morning.
I was on a fast to prepare.
I understood all of this,
Though these facts are things that I understand with much more clarity today.
Today I understand that the picture was much more severe than I grasped then.
My worries should have all paled to the fact that my life was on the line.
The health of my kidneys and liver in question.
The possibility of stroke high.
And the impact that any of the related complications could have had on my children and husband.
I get it, today.
I slept for about two hours on this night two years ago.
The emotions that surrounded me were too intense to calm.
This was not new to me.
I had been in the hospital on bed rest for eight days,
After bed rest at home did not stop my aggressive pre-eclampsia.
And my pregnancy had been at risk for months.
The emotions just kept growing… and there were as many positive as there were negative.
Creating a storm too fiery to give way to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up to blood draws and an ultrasound.
NST's and a long visit from a dear friend.
The kitchen sent a breakfast for me,
And this is how I knew that we'd been given more time.
But before my lunch arrived, I had to give in to the severe headache I'd been trying to suppress.
My doctor happened to come in with the nurse when I called her,
And I saw the look pass between them before they stepped in the hall.
I have no idea how much time passed from that moment until
My doctor told me that my baby girl, only 33 weeks and 1 day inside of me, would be born
Soon.
Those seconds, or minutes, passed in a storm of intense emotions that made them fast and slow at once.
I called Andy, I called my Dad and asked him to book a flight for my mom.
I listened numbly to the stream of specialists that came in and out of my room.
I can't tell you much of what they said,
But I do remember being told I was the highest priority to get into the OR and she'd be coming soon.
Less than four hours later she was alive.
Her life started in the midst of a storm,
And she was the brightest sunshine.
It wasn't a smooth start.
We could have lost her in the first day,
And the second and the third were extremely scary.
On the eighth day, my miracle was free of two chest tubes,
Free of her nitric oxide,
Free of the bilirubin lights,
Free of her ventilator,
And the biggest miracle that day was that she was completely free of oxygen support.
No cannula - first day off of the vent.
And I, I got to hold my baby for the very first time.
There were so many moments in that NICU.
Yes, some were scary and saw puddles of tears flowing from my eyes.
But mostly, it was the other way around.
Mostly I saw one miracle after another.
At home, we were surrounded by a support system I hadn't known was there.
Our lives were filled with so much life.
And on her 27th day, she came home.
The first month of her life remains the most intense of mine.
I wish I could share what it was like.
How even in desperation I was always sure there would be reason.
How I felt hundreds of hands lifting me up,
How I knew I was witnessing miracles,
How every moment of each day was so big.
I could spend hours,
Paragraphs,
Trying to explain it.
And still not do it justice.
But I know that those of you that have dealt with life and death,
Those of you that have witnessed miracles,
Have been in moments just like the ones I remember.
So much has happened in two years.
My little girl is perfect.
She has two little scars where her chest tubes once were.
I see them every day when I dress her.
And they remind me that we've seen a miracle.
They remind me that she is strong.
And they make me conscious of how lucky we are that she is "just" a little girl today.
Our story is so happy.
I understand that my experience was not terrible.
For me it is the hardest, most intense, thing I have endured in my 38 years.
Everything is relative.
People often back pedal on their own stories of intense births when they learn ours.
But I tell them to go ahead, because that is their truth - and my story does not diminish theirs.
I hope anyone reading this will give me the same liberty.
And realize that I know we are lucky.
I know there are many, many stories of greater hardship.
In a week and a half, we'll revisit the NICU that saved her life.
We'll be there to see her picture hanging on a wall as part of a project to help current NICU families.
I know that I'm going to feel a lot of emotion that day.
I've felt those emotions, that have faded in the past two years, grow again as we approach her birthday.
The biggest of all, gratitude.
In many ways, I feel like my life started with hers.
This is not to say that everything that happened before her was less.
But since her, I'm just so much more aware of everything.
I'm more open to see the miracles that surround us.
I work harder to make every day mean something.
Tonight I remember.
I cry.
I rejoice.
I write about it all.
Tomorrow I'll greet my Macie Drew with a Happy Birthday.
I'll make the day as special as I can for her.
And I'll offer my own prayer of gratitude for every day we've had together.
