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Although I wanted to let my wife rest as much as possible, I checked in on her throughout the day and made sure she was drinking fluids and eating. She was very tired and just seemed to want to sleep.

We had plans to visit my mother for dinner that day as January 15th happens to be my birthday. But due to Cheryl Ann’s not feeling well, we cancelled. So at about 5:30 PM, my mother called me to wish me a happy birthday and asked how Cheryl Ann was feeling. After a brief conversation, I went up to check on her as it’d been about an hour since my last check-in.

I found my wife in our bed babbling incoherently and moving in very erratic motions. The room was dark, and my first thought was that she might have been having a bad dream. So I softly called out to her to gently wake her up, but there was no change in this behavior. I turned on a light to better see what was happening and was astonished to find my wife had removed all of her clothes and had apparently thrown up in the bed. She was soaking wet and felt hot to the touch. I tried several times to call out her name – eventually screaming as loudly as I could – to ask her to tell me what was going on. But she clearly was not coherent. In my last attempt to connect with her, I practically gave her the ultimatum that if she didn’t answer me, I was going to call 9-1-1. And without a reasonable response, I grabbed the cordless phone from the nightstand and did just that.

The 9-1-1 operator asked me lots of questions to assess the situation, yet all I can remember was demanding that we needed an ambulance quickly because my wife was just 29-weeks pregnant. It took about 20-minutes for the first ambulance to arrive as it was a snowy and icy evening and road conditions were dangerous. During this time, the operator stayed on the phone with me and instructed me to turn on as many lights inside and outside as possible to help the paramedics find us and to safely put our dog out of the way. With the cordless phone in one hand, I quickly ran throughout the house to open doors, turn on lights, move obstacles from the corridors to make it easier to bring a stretcher upstairs, carried our 60-pound dog to the basement, put on sweatpants and sneakers, and repeatedly went back and forth to check on Cheryl Ann. The adrenaline took over and allowed me to accomplish a lot of movement with just one free hand (while holding the phone in the other).

I guided the first set of paramedics upstairs to our bedroom while trying to systematically rattle off what I felt were the most significant pieces of information that I felt they needed to know. All the while, I was stressing that she was pregnant so they wouldn’t do anything that might inadvertently harm the baby.

Within a couple of minutes, a mobile intensive care unit (MICU) arrived with a doctor among the crew. When the doctor arrived, he immediately took control of the chaos. We now had 8 men in our bedroom, lots of potable medical equipment, a stretcher, and a special apparatus to transport my wife down the stairs. He asked several questions of the lead EMT and began a dialogue by radio with the emergency room at one of the area hospitals. He then turned his attention to me to fill in some blanks and confirm some personal information about my wife and her pregnancy.

I remember consciously trying to maintain composure and to collect my thoughts carefully and act rationally for my wife’s (and our unborn baby’s) benefit. I am an anxious person by nature, so this took effort, but I remember knowing that this was important for me to do at the time.

The doctor from the MICU then told me that due to very high, life-threatening blood pressure readings, it was his recommendation to transport my wife to the ER despite her not yet being stable. He explained to me that these were not typical circumstances; the combination of her multiple symptoms and vital readings did not make sense or lead him to a diagnosis. So getting her to a hospital was vital. I agreed because I felt it was important to follow his recommendation – he is the expert, after all. So the paramedics began to prep her for transport by strapping her into the special apparatus for moving down the staircase, and each man carrying a piece of equipment (multiple monitors, oxygen tank, and IVs). The doctor advised the ER that we were coming in. I heard the response over the radio from the ER say that they were “slammed” with patients and closed except to trauma. The doctor, sensing my apprehension over hearing that, told me that they’d take her because she was a trauma case. But I was uneasy about that due to concerns that she’d not be given prompt and complete attention. So I asked about a different hospital – the one we had intended to use for her delivery. He called them and was told they’d take her right away without delay. So I asked for that hospital, and the doctor reluctantly agreed. And off we went.

Due to the number of people attending to my wife in the ambulance, there wasn’t room for me to ride along, so I was told by the NJ State Trooper to drive my own car, that he’d be escorting the two ambulances through red lights and such, but that I should obey normal driving rules and get to the ER in one piece. The roads were bad that night, and the police officer told me that if I crashed my car, they wouldn’t stop to help me. He made his point by also telling me that Cheryl Ann was in good hands and there was nothing I could do for her now, other than get there without crashing my car due to negligent driving. Anyone who knows me, though, will realize that there was never a second during the 20-minute drive to the hospital that my front bumper was more than several inches from the rear bumper of the ambulance carrying my wife. They took out a mailbox along the way, did a little sliding on the ice, and ran every intersection in the rush to get my wife to the ER.

From my car, I called my wife’s OB/GYN (a husband and wife team) at their home number. You see, they had called her that morning to advise the Tylenol and rest regimen from their home number – and I wrote it down from the caller ID not realizing I might need it so soon. I also called my wife’s parents to tell them that I was following the ambulance to the hospital because Cheryl was sick. I asked that they meet me there and that I had no idea what was wrong but that it was serious.

Once there, I parked my car and ran as fast as I’ve ever run across the icy parking lot and up a rocky hill to the ER entrance. I found my wife and began answering questions as many doctors and nurses took over from the paramedics. They had been in communication during the ride in, so the ER staff was waiting with the trauma team to get to work right away. Again, I was consciously trying to maintain myself calmly so I could assist with answers while they worked on further assessing the condition.

The ER staff of doctors and nurses was drawing blood, taking BP readings, and connecting her to several monitors. They were astonished by their inability to reduce the blood pressure and so they tried to use a Doppler monitor to listen to the baby’s heart rate. They couldn’t hear anything (and neither could I) which caused them to change course immediately. My heart sank even lower at the thought of perhaps having already lost the baby and still not knowing what was wrong with my wife. She was still throwing up and incoherently babbling with a fever and extremely high blood pressure. The ER doctor advised me that they were transporting her to the 2nd floor for Labor & Delivery as their fetal monitoring equipment was more sophisticated.

They filled the elevator with the gurney my wife was on along with several nurses and doctors and monitoring equipment so I ran for the stairs.

I followed them to the room and was asked to wait in the hall to stay out of the way. More doctors arrived and the first of the blood test results were being run into the room by nurses. Within minutes, the husband-wife OB/GYN team arrived due to my pleading with them by phone from my car en route to the ER. They asked that I stay calm and that they’d be out shortly to tell me what was going on. In the meanwhile a wonderful nurse grabbed me by the hand to ask me to sit down and drink some water – she was afraid I might have my own stress-induced problems.

My wife’s doctor (the husband) emerged from the room amid the chaotic efforts of so many people to firmly explain that he was going to have to deliver the baby right away. He told me that Cheryl’s water had broken probably more than an hour earlier, her BP was still dangerously high, she suffered a seizure and probably a minor stroke, the placenta was already detached (which could cause fatal bleeding), her liver was failing, and she was at risk of dying imminently. He also showed me the fetal heart monitor which barely registered any heart beat at all. In response to my asking, he gave our baby a 25% chance of survival with decreasing odds for any delay.

He told me that they were going to operate to perform what he called a “crash C-section” because they needed to deliver the baby right away. Doing so would help and also allow them to properly medicate Cheryl to prevent further seizures or strokes. He went on to tell me that he needed my verbal consent as there was no time for written consent. As I saw medical staff wheeling my wife down the hall to the OR, I asked about what alternatives there might be. I will never, as long as I live forget his reply: “Your only alternative is to go home alone tonight.” My heart dropped again. He told me to wait for a nurse who’d give me further instructions.

Now Cheryl was out of my sight and a nurse came to hand me scrubs to change into so that I could be taken to the operating room. While waiting to be escorted to the OR, my in-laws arrived. We were given a room to wait in, and I relayed everything I could to them about what had happened so far.

A nurse came in to tell me that per doctors’ orders I wouldn’t be allowed in the OR. She said that the protocols for this operation were not routine and two extra doctors were going to be in the room in case of excessive bleeding and other complications. I was also told that the Chief Neonatologist and a NICU nurse were on their way to the OR to attend to the baby.

During the next several hours, my wife was intubated, medicated, hooked up to monitors and IVs and sedated in the ICU. My baby, which I learned was a girl, was born at 7:59 PM and taken to the NICU for evaluation. She was also intubated and hooked up to several monitors and IVs and was placed under a heat lamp for warmth. I was able to visit with each one and their respective doctors. Their prognoses were indeterminable. None of the doctors was able to pinpoint the ultimate outcome for either of them. I was told that a lot would be determined in the next 48-hours and that it’d be best for me to just remain calm.

I had made a few phone calls during the evening to tell a few more family members about what was happening and some of them joined me at the hospital that night for a couple of hours. By about 11:00 PM, our family had left and as my mother was saying good bye to me she asked what I was going to do next. My head was spinning. The previous several hours had been crazy and my brain was trying to process what was happening. So my answer to her question was that I just didn’t know.

Over the next hour, I talked with each of the doctors for a more composed breakdown of what had happened and what they’d be looking for going forward. I was offered a cot in the doctors’ lounge if I wanted to take a nap, but elected to remain at my wife’s bedside for the time being. She now looked awful – bloated and swollen, tubes and wires everywhere, and although deeply sedated, not peaceful. But she was alive – and that was a relief for the moment.

My daughter was amazing to me. She was just 2-pounds and 15-inches long. There were tubes and wires in her mouth, nose, and connected to each limb and even through her abdomen. She was frail and worked for each breath even though she was hooked up to a ventilator. The neonatologist and NICU nurse explained what each tube and wire was there to do and what every monitor was telling them. I learned about surfactant therapy and the importance of the baby’s adjustment to life outside the womb. I was also told that this hospital would not be able to keep her and a transfer to another NICU (located almost an hour away) was likely to take place in the next few hours. I asked lots of questions about this and agonized about it because it would mean being treated at a hospital where she was not the most critical case. I feared that she would not be given the same attention there as she would be given here. By pushing the doctor further, he revealed that the process for appeal would be to make the case not to transfer her to a consortium of specialists that would convene at about 8:00 AM the next morning. I decided that I’d be standing outside the door of the conference room where they’d meet to demonstrate my sincere interest in not having her transferred. Besides having my wife and baby at two hospitals an hour apart from each other, I felt her care would not be the same under those conditions. Sometimes the bigger NICU’s can’t afford to pay as much attention to the 29-weekers as they are busy attending to the 25-weekers. I was extremely concerned about that.

I’d seen premature babies on television, but it doesn’t compare to having to look at your own flesh and blood struggling for each breath after having been robbed of her remaining 10+ weeks in the nurturing comfort of the womb. I spent hours just watching her lie still while studying the monitors and the actions of the dedicated nurses to try to absorb what all was happening.

A nurse asked me whether I’d like a priest to offer my wife her last rights just in case she did not make it through the night. I was so mentally beaten down by this point that the weight of that question didn’t sink right away. But I felt that I needed to remain composed and strong for her and that accepting defeat was not an option to be considered. So I turned down the offer for the priest to come in the hopes that our combined strength would prevail and we weren’t giving up too easily or too soon. In hindsight, I’m glad for that decision.

I stayed at the hospital, going back and forth between my wife and newborn daughter, until about 4:30 AM at which time I decided to go home for a few hours of sleep before returning for the 8:00 AM consortium meeting.

I returned to the hospital in time for the consortium who’d meet to review whether our daughter should be transferred to another NICU. They decided in my favor (to keep her right where she was) which was a relief.

And now I decided I must focus on acting as the advocate for my wife and newborn daughter to see to it that their care was comprehensive and that all options for treatment were considered without regard for anything else – work and other matters had no place in my thoughts now.

My wife spent 2-weeks in the hospital, mostly in ICU before being discharged. She had been diagnosed with H.E.L.L.P. Syndrome and Eclampsia (not pre-eclampsia) which was caused by a later-determined genetic predisposition. She was on several medications to prevent blood clots, seizures, and high blood pressure which she was to take for the next several months. It was 3-days before she saw our daughter. Due to her sedation and the effects of her medication, she had no interest in seeing our daughter and really couldn’t comprehend what had happened. But knowing how much she looked forward to this baby, I was concerned that each passing day of not seeing her would make things worse for her emotionally. So I arranged with nurses from the ICU and NICU to allow Cheryl Ann to be wheeled over to the NICU, with her monitors and IVs attached and on battery power, to see our little girl. I snapped a picture on my cell phone of the very second Cheryl Ann laid her eyes on our daughter and treasure this photo immensely.

Our daughter was 10-days old before we named her, Hannah Michelle. She spent 5-weeks in the NICU before being discharged at barely 4-pounds and connected to a heart and apnea monitor. We visited the NICU every day, often multiple times per day, and participated in feedings (by tube at first, then by bottle) and holding her for up to 45-minutes at a time before returning her to the isolette.

The three of us received tremendous support from our friends and family and from the incredible nurses and doctors at the hospital. I was humbled by the outpouring of support, prayers, well-wishes, and love from scores of people and can not fathom ever repaying them for that.

I’ve chosen to share this story for one reason: Awareness. My wife was otherwise in very good health (never had high blood pressure or any other symptoms before this event); was given exceptional prenatal care by two groups of doctors including a perinatologist group; she was taking prescription prenatal vitamins and folic acid for a few years before the pregnancy; and she followed an admirable regimen of good nutrition and exercise before and during the pregnancy. We have good health insurance coverage and are fortunate enough to be able to afford the medical care and treatments that weren’t covered by insurance. There was nothing that we could have done for the health and well-being of my wife and baby that wasn’t done.

Prematurity can affect anyone. The statistics on the March of Dimes web pages are staggering. We had no idea that this could happen to us. We never assumed the pregnancy would be without problems and we never took the normal delivery of a healthy baby for granted, but never expected this outcome. Expectant parents need to educate themselves and ask lots of questions. They need to read everything they can to even learn what questions to ask. Like many expectant parents, we thought we were well educated, but we clearly didn’t know what we didn’t know. And I suspect there are thousands more just like us.

Our outcome is fantastic. And although January 15th, 2006, was the worst day of my life, the results couldn’t be better. Both mother and baby are doing remarkably well – I couldn’t ask for any more.

I have loved my wife since we first met more than 20-years ago. I appreciate everything about her. And I’ve never taken her for granted. This event has instilled an even higher level of appreciation that I couldn’t have imagined possible. And while I expected to love my baby and hoped above all for good health, my little girl has carved out a colossal place in my heart that will remain forever. Friends and family joke that Hannah had me wrapped around her finger from the moment I first saw her – and it’s true. I don’t deny that this little baby has earned, through no choice of her own, a permanent free pass from her Daddy for the rest of her life.

I started a journal in which I handwrite entries to my daughter about things going on in our lives and lessons I wish to pass along. My plan is to give this series of journal books to her when she is an adult and can understand the messages within the entries. And while Cheryl Ann knows about this journal, I keep her and anyone else from reading it so as not to allow any influence to deter anything short of an open and honest communication with my daughter.

What has come from all of this? I appreciate my wife and daughter like no one else can. I don’t and will never take either of them for granted. My eyes still well up when I look at photos from the early days and I marvel at each accomplishment. I only ask for good health and happiness for each of them, but I now realize just how big an appeal that is.

I have begun to work for March of Dimes in the New Jersey chapter office. I anticipate my role there will significantly increase over time as I become more involved in fund raising and advocacy for their mission. I firmly believe that if not for the research funded by March of Dimes, my family’s outcome would be very different. We have formed a high-performing family team for March for Babies (formerly WalkAmerica) and look forward to making our efforts a permanent and ongoing family endeavor.

Lastly, I hope this story reaches at least one person who learns from our circumstances to alter course for a better outcome for his or her family. Thank you for taking the time to read this story!

Please support the Team Hannah and the March of Dimes in the mission to prevent premature birth and birth defects.  The March for Babies is on Saturday, April 30, 2011, on the boardwalk in Asbury Park.

www.TeamHannah.org

At this time of year, we are all bombarded by appeals from so many worthy causes.  This year, like no other in recent history, has been difficult for fundraisers.  With limited funds and a bounty of compelling requests for our donation dollars, how do we choose those most deserving?

This post is brief, by design, to allow more readers in on my year-end message. 

Consider breast cancer which affects 250,000 women each year or autism which affects 1 in 150 children.  Both diseases affect people I know closely and both deserve our attention and money.

Now consider that premature birth affects 1 in 8 babies in the USA and that totals more than 540,000 babies born too soon each year.  Prematurity is directly linked to infant mortality and life-long (for the survivors) difficulties not the least of which include respiratory, cardiac and neurologic problems. 

If we can give more babies the 9-months they deserve, we can reduce so many consequential health issues. 

When thinking about your 2010 donations, I encourage you to consider the March of Dimes.  As this country’s national champion for babies, there are few charities which touch so many.  Your donated dollars fund cutting-edge medical research, community programs, education for women of child-bearing age and legislative advocacy to protect moms and babies across all demographics.

For more information, visit www.MarchofDimes.com or www.TeamHannah.org.

We’re already working on the 2010 March for Babies to benefit the mission of the March of Dimes (prematurity, birth defects and infant mortality).  Now’s a great time to become involved.

It’s been a tough year for so many and the March of Dimes is no exception.  While our fundraising revenues have decreased, the need for our programs has not.  The need for moms-to-be to be given information and solutions for the best chance of having a healthy baby is as relevant as ever. 

I’ve decided that sitting back and blaming the economy for our issues just won’t help anyone.  We know this, but why is it that so many are willing to allow that excuse to reduce their sense of urgency.  We need more urgency today and I’ll assume that you’re interested in helping simply because you’re reading this post.  So how can you help?

Check out the March of Dimes through a volunteer you may know, a local office or online.  You can even contact me directly for prompt and appropriate assistance to find the resources you need.  If you’d like some more information about our mission before making that first contact, read on:

The March of Dimes spends 76-cents of every dollar raised on research and programs that promote the health of babies.  The monies donated by our supporters is used to

1.  Support all-important research offering preventions and solutions for babies born too soon or with birth defects,

2.  Fund programs in your community that give moms-to-be the best chance of having a healthy baby,

3.  Provide comfort and information to families with a baby in intensive care, and

4.  Advocate for newborn screening and health insurance for all pregnant women and children.

Every March of Dimes volunteer and member of the staff works under the premise that one day all babies will be born healthy.  Can you think of a better mission to support?

We need to tell our friends, families, co-workers and shout from the mountain tops about how important this mission is to the success of our next generation and the one to follow them and so on.

Do youcount your blessings and believe in happy endings?  Then we could use your help!

Check out the site for Team Hannah:  http://www.TeamHannah.org  We’re just getting started for 2010 and building on the success of the past three years. 

One parting thought:  “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”  Aesop, 6th Century B.C.

Join us!

Just 2-pounds, but all fight...

On January 15th, 2006, my wife, Cheryl Ann, became quite ill. She complained of a terrible headache, a pain in her neck, body aches, nausea, vomiting, and flu-like symptoms. When we called her OB/GYN, she was told to rest, drink lots of fluids, and take Tylenol. If symptoms hadn’t subsided after another day, we were to call the doctor again. At 29-weeks along, we both assumed (as did her doctor) that she was experiencing a cold or the flu and was probably fatigued from the pregnancy; which was quite normal up until this point. In fact, her most recent prenatal visit was just 3-days earlier and everything was fine.

Although I wanted to let my wife rest as much as possible, I checked in on her throughout the day and made sure she was drinking fluids and eating. She was very tired and just seemed to want to sleep.

We had plans to visit my mother for dinner that day as January 15th happens to be my birthday. But due to Cheryl Ann’s not feeling well, we cancelled. So at about 5:30 PM, my mother called me to wish me a happy birthday and asked how Cheryl Ann was feeling. After a brief conversation, I went up to check on her as it’d been about an hour since my last check-in.

I found my wife in our bed babbling incoherently and moving in very erratic motions. The room was dark, and my first thought was that she might have been having a bad dream. So I softly called out to her to gently wake her up, but there was no change in this behavior. I turned on a light to better see what was happening and was astonished to find my wife had removed all of her clothes and had apparently thrown up in the bed. She was soaking wet and felt hot to the touch. I tried several times to call out her name – eventually screaming as loudly as I could – to ask her to tell me what was going on. But she clearly was not coherent. In my last attempt to connect with her, I practically gave her the ultimatum that if she didn’t answer me, I was going to call 9-1-1. And without a reasonable response, I grabbed the cordless phone from the nightstand and did just that.

The 9-1-1 operator asked me lots of questions to assess the situation, yet all I can remember was demanding that we needed an ambulance quickly because my wife was just 29-weeks pregnant. It took about 20-minutes for the first ambulance to arrive as it was a snowy and icy evening and road conditions were dangerous. During this time, the operator stayed on the phone with me and instructed me to turn on as many lights inside and outside as possible to help the paramedics find us and to safely put our dog out of the way. With the cordless phone in one hand, I quickly ran throughout the house to open doors, turn on lights, move obstacles from the corridors to make it easier to bring a stretcher upstairs, carried our 60-pound dog to the basement, put on sweatpants and sneakers, and repeatedly went back and forth to check on Cheryl Ann. The adrenaline took over and allowed me to accomplish a lot of movement with just one free hand (while holding the phone in the other).

I guided the first set of paramedics upstairs to our bedroom while trying to systematically rattle off what I felt were the most significant pieces of information that I felt they needed to know. All the while, I was stressing that she was pregnant so they wouldn’t do anything that might inadvertently harm the baby.

Within a couple of minutes, a mobile intensive care unit (MICU) arrived with a doctor among the crew. When the doctor arrived, he immediately took control of the chaos. We now had 8 men in our bedroom, lots of potable medical equipment, a stretcher, and a special apparatus to transport my wife down the stairs. He asked several questions of the lead EMT and began a dialogue by radio with the emergency room at one of the area hospitals. He then turned his attention to me to fill in some blanks and confirm some personal information about my wife and her pregnancy.

I remember consciously trying to maintain composure and to collect my thoughts carefully and act rationally for my wife’s (and our unborn baby’s) benefit. I am an anxious person by nature, so this took effort, but I remember knowing that this was important for me to do at the time.

The doctor from the MICU then told me that due to very high, life-threatening blood pressure readings, it was his recommendation to transport my wife to the ER despite her not yet being stable. He explained to me that these were not typical circumstances; the combination of her multiple symptoms and vital readings did not make sense or lead him to a diagnosis. So getting her to a hospital was vital. I agreed because I felt it was important to follow his recommendation – he is the expert, after all. So the paramedics began to prep her for transport by strapping her into the special apparatus for moving down the staircase, and each man carrying a piece of equipment (multiple monitors, oxygen tank, and IVs). The doctor advised the ER that we were coming in. I heard the response over the radio from the ER say that they were “slammed” with patients and closed except to trauma. The doctor, sensing my apprehension over hearing that, told me that they’d take her because she was a trauma case. But I was uneasy about that due to concerns that she’d not be given prompt and complete attention. So I asked about a different hospital – the one we had intended to use for her delivery. He called them and was told they’d take her right away without delay. So I asked for that hospital, and the doctor reluctantly agreed. And off we went.

Due to the number of people attending to my wife in the ambulance, there wasn’t room for me to ride along, so I was told by the NJ State Trooper to drive my own car, that he’d be escorting the two ambulances through red lights and such, but that I should obey normal driving rules and get to the ER in one piece. The roads were bad that night, and the police officer told me that if I crashed my car, they wouldn’t stop to help me. He made his point by also telling me that Cheryl Ann was in good hands and there was nothing I could do for her now, other than get there without crashing my car due to negligent driving. Anyone who knows me, though, will realize that there was never a second during the 20-minute drive to the hospital that my front bumper was more than several inches from the rear bumper of the ambulance carrying my wife. They took out a mailbox along the way, did a little sliding on the ice, and ran every intersection in the rush to get my wife to the ER.

From my car, I called my wife’s OB/GYN (a husband and wife team) at their home number. You see, they had called her that morning to advise the Tylenol and rest regimen from their home number – and I wrote it down from the caller ID not realizing I might need it so soon. I also called my wife’s parents to tell them that I was following the ambulance to the hospital because Cheryl was sick. I asked that they meet me there and that I had no idea what was wrong but that it was serious.

Once there, I parked my car and ran as fast as I’ve ever run across the icy parking lot and up a rocky hill to the ER entrance. I found my wife and began answering questions as many doctors and nurses took over from the paramedics. They had been in communication during the ride in, so the ER staff was waiting with the trauma team to get to work right away. Again, I was consciously trying to maintain myself calmly so I could assist with answers while they worked on further assessing the condition.

The ER staff of doctors and nurses was drawing blood, taking BP readings, and connecting her to several monitors. They were astonished by their inability to reduce the blood pressure and so they tried to use a Doppler monitor to listen to the baby’s heart rate. They couldn’t hear anything (and neither could I) which caused them to change course immediately. My heart sank even lower at the thought of perhaps having already lost the baby and still not knowing what was wrong with my wife. She was still throwing up and incoherently babbling with a fever and extremely high blood pressure. The ER doctor advised me that they were transporting her to the 2nd floor for Labor & Delivery as their fetal monitoring equipment was more sophisticated.

They filled the elevator with the gurney my wife was on along with several nurses and doctors and monitoring equipment so I ran for the stairs.

I followed them to the room and was asked to wait in the hall to stay out of the way. More doctors arrived and the first of the blood test results were being run into the room by nurses. Within minutes, the husband-wife OB/GYN team arrived due to my pleading with them by phone from my car en route to the ER. They asked that I stay calm and that they’d be out shortly to tell me what was going on. In the meanwhile a wonderful nurse grabbed me by the hand to ask me to sit down and drink some water – she was afraid I might have my own stress-induced problems.

My wife’s doctor (the husband) emerged from the room amid the chaotic efforts of so many people to firmly explain that he was going to have to deliver the baby right away. He told me that Cheryl’s water had broken probably more than an hour earlier, her BP was still dangerously high, she suffered a seizure and probably a minor stroke, the placenta was already detached (which could cause fatal bleeding), her liver was failing, and she was at risk of dying imminently. He also showed me the fetal heart monitor which barely registered any heart beat at all. In response to my asking, he gave our baby a 25% chance of survival with decreasing odds for any delay.

He told me that they were going to operate to perform what he called a “crash C-section” because they needed to deliver the baby right away. Doing so would help and also allow them to properly medicate Cheryl to prevent further seizures or strokes. He went on to tell me that he needed my verbal consent as there was no time for written consent. As I saw medical staff wheeling my wife down the hall to the OR, I asked about what alternatives there might be. I will never, as long as I live forget his reply: “Your only alternative is to go home alone tonight.” My heart dropped again. He told me to wait for a nurse who’d give me further instructions.

Now Cheryl was out of my sight and a nurse came to hand me scrubs to change into so that I could be taken to the operating room. While waiting to be escorted to the OR, my in-laws arrived. We were given a room to wait in, and I relayed everything I could to them about what had happened so far.

A nurse came in to tell me that per doctors’ orders I wouldn’t be allowed in the OR. She said that the protocols for this operation were not routine and two extra doctors were going to be in the room in case of excessive bleeding and other complications. I was also told that the Chief Neonatologist and a NICU nurse were on their way to the OR to attend to the baby.

During the next several hours, my wife was intubated, medicated, hooked up to monitors and IVs and sedated in the ICU. My baby, which I learned was a girl, was born at 7:59 PM and taken to the NICU for evaluation. She was also intubated and hooked up to several monitors and IVs and was placed under a heat lamp for warmth. I was able to visit with each one and their respective doctors. Their prognoses were indeterminable. None of the doctors was able to pinpoint the ultimate outcome for either of them. I was told that a lot would be determined in the next 48-hours and that it’d be best for me to just remain calm.

I had made a few phone calls during the evening to tell a few more family members about what was happening and some of them joined me at the hospital that night for a couple of hours. By about 11:00 PM, our family had left and as my mother was saying good bye to me she asked what I was going to do next. My head was spinning. The previous several hours had been crazy and my brain was trying to process what was happening. So my answer to her question was that I just didn’t know.

Over the next hour, I talked with each of the doctors for a more composed breakdown of what had happened and what they’d be looking for going forward. I was offered a cot in the doctors’ lounge if I wanted to take a nap, but elected to remain at my wife’s bedside for the time being. She now looked awful – bloated and swollen, tubes and wires everywhere, and although deeply sedated, not peaceful. But she was alive – and that was a relief for the moment.

My daughter was amazing to me. She was just 2-pounds and 15-inches long. There were tubes and wires in her mouth, nose, and connected to each limb and even through her abdomen. She was frail and worked for each breath even though she was hooked up to a ventilator. The neonatologist and NICU nurse explained what each tube and wire was there to do and what every monitor was telling them. I learned about surfactant therapy and the importance of the baby’s adjustment to life outside the womb. I was also told that this hospital would not be able to keep her and a transfer to another NICU (located almost an hour away) was likely to take place in the next few hours. I asked lots of questions about this and agonized about it because it would mean being treated at a hospital where she was not the most critical case. I feared that she would not be given the same attention there as she would be given here. By pushing the doctor further, he revealed that the process for appeal would be to make the case not to transfer her to a consortium of specialists that would convene at about 8:00 AM the next morning. I decided that I’d be standing outside the door of the conference room where they’d meet to demonstrate my sincere interest in not having her transferred. Besides having my wife and baby at two hospitals an hour apart from each other, I felt her care would not be the same under those conditions. Sometimes the bigger NICU’s can’t afford to pay as much attention to the 29-weekers as they are busy attending to the 25-weekers. I was extremely concerned about that.

I’d seen premature babies on television, but it doesn’t compare to having to look at your own flesh and blood struggling for each breath after having been robbed of her remaining 10+ weeks in the nurturing comfort of the womb. I spent hours just watching her lie still while studying the monitors and the actions of the dedicated nurses to try to absorb what all was happening.

A nurse asked me whether I’d like a priest to offer my wife her last rights just in case she did not make it through the night. I was so mentally beaten down by this point that the weight of that question didn’t sink right away. But I felt that I needed to remain composed and strong for her and that accepting defeat was not an option to be considered. So I turned down the offer for the priest to come in the hopes that our combined strength would prevail and we weren’t giving up too easily or too soon. In hindsight, I’m glad for that decision.

I stayed at the hospital, going back and forth between my wife and newborn daughter, until about 4:30 AM at which time I decided to go home for a few hours of sleep before returning for the 8:00 AM consortium meeting.

I returned to the hospital in time for the consortium who’d meet to review whether our daughter should be transferred to another NICU. They decided in my favor (to keep her right where she was) which was a relief.

And now I decided I must focus on acting as the advocate for my wife and newborn daughter to see to it that their care was comprehensive and that all options for treatment were considered without regard for anything else – work and other matters had no place in my thoughts now.

My wife spent 2-weeks in the hospital, mostly in ICU before being discharged. She had been diagnosed with H.E.L.L.P. Syndrome and Eclampsia (not pre-eclampsia) which was caused by a later-determined genetic predisposition. She was on several medications to prevent blood clots, seizures, and high blood pressure which she was to take for the next several months. It was 3-days before she saw our daughter. Due to her sedation and the effects of her medication, she had no interest in seeing our daughter and really couldn’t comprehend what had happened. But knowing how much she looked forward to this baby, I was concerned that each passing day of not seeing her would make things worse for her emotionally. So I arranged with nurses from the ICU and NICU to allow Cheryl Ann to be wheeled over to the NICU, with her monitors and IVs attached and on battery power, to see our little girl. I snapped a picture on my cell phone of the very second Cheryl Ann laid her eyes on our daughter and treasure this photo immensely.

Our daughter was 10-days old before we named her, Hannah Michelle. She spent 5-weeks in the NICU before being discharged at barely 4-pounds and connected to a heart and apnea monitor. We visited the NICU every day, often multiple times per day, and participated in feedings (by tube at first, then by bottle) and holding her for up to 45-minutes at a time before returning her to the isolette.

The three of us received tremendous support from our friends and family and from the incredible nurses and doctors at the hospital. I was humbled by the outpouring of support, prayers, well-wishes, and love from scores of people and can not fathom ever repaying them for that.

I’ve chosen to share this story for one reason: Awareness. My wife was otherwise in very good health (never had high blood pressure or any other symptoms before this event); was given exceptional prenatal care by two groups of doctors including a perinatologist group; she was taking prescription prenatal vitamins and folic acid for a few years before the pregnancy; and she followed an admirable regimen of good nutrition and exercise before and during the pregnancy. We have good health insurance coverage and are fortunate enough to be able to afford the medical care and treatments that weren’t covered by insurance. There was nothing that we could have done for the health and well-being of my wife and baby that wasn’t done.

Prematurity can affect anyone. The statistics on the March of Dimes web pages are staggering. We had no idea that this could happen to us. We never assumed the pregnancy would be without problems and we never took the normal delivery of a healthy baby for granted, but never expected this outcome. Expectant parents need to educate themselves and ask lots of questions. They need to read everything they can to even learn what questions to ask. Like many expectant parents, we thought we were well educated, but we clearly didn’t know what we didn’t know. And I suspect there are thousands more just like us.

Our outcome is fantastic. And although January 15th, 2006, was the worst day of my life, the results couldn’t be better. Both mother and baby are doing remarkably well – I couldn’t ask for any more.

I have loved my wife since we first met more than 20-years ago. I appreciate everything about her. And I’ve never taken her for granted. This event has instilled an even higher level of appreciation that I couldn’t have imagined possible. And while I expected to love my baby and hoped above all for good health, my little girl has carved out a colossal place in my heart that will remain forever. Friends and family joke that Hannah had me wrapped around her finger from the moment I first saw her – and it’s true. I don’t deny that this little baby has earned, through no choice of her own, a permanent free pass from her Daddy for the rest of her life.

I started a journal in which I handwrite entries to my daughter about things going on in our lives and lessons I wish to pass along. My plan is to give this series of journal books to her when she is an adult and can understand the messages within the entries. And while Cheryl Ann knows about this journal, I keep her and anyone else from reading it so as not to allow any influence to deter anything short of an open and honest communication with my daughter.

What has come from all of this? I appreciate my wife and daughter like no one else can. I don’t and will never take either of them for granted. My eyes still well up when I look at photos from the early days and I marvel at each accomplishment. I only ask for good health and happiness for each of them, but I now realize just how big an appeal that is.

I have begun to work for March of Dimes in the New Jersey chapter office. I anticipate my role there will significantly increase over time as I become more involved in fund raising and advocacy for their mission. I firmly believe that if not for the research funded by March of Dimes, my family’s outcome would be very different. We have formed a high-performing family team for March for Babies (formerly WalkAmerica) and look forward to making our efforts a permanent and ongoing family endeavor.

Lastly, I hope this story reaches at least one person who learns from our circumstances to alter course for a better outcome for his or her family. Thank you for taking the time to read this story!

Please support the March of Dimes in the mission to prevent premature birth and birth defects.  Prematurity Awareness Day is November 17, 2009.

www.TeamHannah.org

Now, 3-1/2 years old...