The Testament of a Simple Name
My son's name is Sutton Matthew. In my family, it is tradition to give your children middle names that are apart of your family's history, or a name that has been passed down through generations. His first name, Sutton, means "from the south town" or "from the south land." His middle name, Matthew, is his father's middle name. It is a beautiful, classic name that I was proud to pass down to my son, while also honoring his father. Matthew means "Gift from God." It wouldn't take me long to learn that Sutton was indeed, our gift from God.
My husband Brad and I met in high school, but we didn't fall in love then. We were classmates and had mutual friends, but we were never acquainted. It would take another 13 years and many travels on both our parts to bring us back together. Once we reconnected in the summer of 2009, we started dating immediately. Our connection was intense, and I felt I had finally met someone who mirrored my values and had a strong relationship with his family and with God. Our relationship quickly became serious, and within three months I had moved to Philadelphia to be with my beloved. We were engaged within five months in December 2009, and started planning our wedding immediately. We also started planning the kind of life we had both always wanted - a life that involved having children. Brad and I had discussed our deep desire to have children, but we didn't want to "try." We just loved one another and wanted things to progress in a natural, organic way. With that said, I never saw a doctor before I became pregnant. I didn't feel I needed to - I was young, healthy and self aware. Within two weeks, I had missed my menstrual cycle and took a pregnancy test while Brad was playing hockey. Positive!
The next few weeks were bliss until the nausea kicked in. And boy did it ever! I was ill with morning sickness from week four until week 12, although lingering nausea was something I battled well into my 16th week of pregnancy. In my eighth week of pregnancy, I was getting ready for a friend's birthday party when I started bleeding. I remember screaming Brad's name and could hear him sprinting across the house to get to me. I started crying and shaking uncontrollably as I realized that I may have miscarried. Within moments we were on our way to the hospital. I remember feeling very alone on the way there because we had not shared our pregnancy news with any of our family members yet, so I couldn’t look to any of my sisters, my mother or my future mother in law for comfort. But thank God for Brad! He was the perfect picture of calm and assertive: comforting and sympathetic, while also being a pillar of strength. After an ultrasound and a blood test, it was later determined that I had a small subchorionic hematoma that had caused vaginal bleeding. I later learned that this is a somewhat common abnormality in early pregnancy, and by the time I had a follow up ultrasound a few days later, it had all but healed itself.
I had my first pregnancy appointment with my new OBGYN in my ninth week of pregnancy. I was able to have a thorough check up, listen to the baby’s heartbeat and Brad and I were able to ask all the questions we wanted. While looking through my health history, my new OBGYN learned of my history with uterine tumors, but I assured him that my previous OBGYN did not see them as a threat to my health. These tumors had been biopsied a year before and were determined to be benign fibroid tumors, which are not uncommon in women of child bearing age. My new OBGYN seemed cautiously concerned, but because they were small enough and had never caused me problems, he told me that we would monitor them. I walked away from that appointment feeling confident that there was no cause for concern, and that the subchorionic bleeding would be the only bump in an otherwise pleasant road. The following weeks would prove me wrong.
On the Fourth of July, I awoke in a small pool of blood. Panic set in, and I was shocked that we had to take another trip to the ER. This time the bleeding was more intense, and although I stayed almost the entire day in the hospital, the baby’s heartbeat was strong and beating at a normal rate, so I was allowed to go home that night. Blood had been taken and an ultrasound had been performed, but no diagnosis for the bleeding was ever provided. There was, however, a new development: my fibroid tumor had grown quite a bit. Even with its growth in size, the bleeding could not be attributed to the fibroid, nor did I have placenta previa, another common cause for bleeding in pregnancy. For all practical purposes it was a medical mystery. Within two days the bleeding slowed and eventually stopped. By the first day of my second trimester I felt great! The bleeding had subsided, I was no longer feeling extremely nauseous and Brad and I finally shared our baby news with our families. It was wonderful to share our joy and receive so much support and love. I also shared my pregnancy with my work – and they couldn’t have been more supportive and excited over welcoming a new baby into our professional family.
After my last episode of bleeding, my OBGYN considered me a high risk pregnancy. He transferred me as a patient to a doctor within his practice that specialized in high risk pregnancies. My new OBGYN had decided that due to another episode of bleeding in week 13, I needed to see her more often and that tri-weekly ultrasounds were going to be apart of my routine gynecological care. Even though the bleeding could not be attributed to my fibroid, it was getting larger so it needed to be monitored. At that point, because the fibroid was located in the lower left quadrant of my uterus and was blocking the cervix, a cesarean section was inevitable. I had planned on having a natural childbirth with no drugs or epidural, and was even considering having a midwife or doula deliver me outside of the hospital. Having a c-section had never occurred to me as a personal option, but if it was for my safety and the well being of my baby, I was willing to let that dream go.
My husband Brad and I met in high school, but we didn't fall in love then. We were classmates and had mutual friends, but we were never acquainted. It would take another 13 years and many travels on both our parts to bring us back together. Once we reconnected in the summer of 2009, we started dating immediately. Our connection was intense, and I felt I had finally met someone who mirrored my values and had a strong relationship with his family and with God. Our relationship quickly became serious, and within three months I had moved to Philadelphia to be with my beloved. We were engaged within five months in December 2009, and started planning our wedding immediately. We also started planning the kind of life we had both always wanted - a life that involved having children. Brad and I had discussed our deep desire to have children, but we didn't want to "try." We just loved one another and wanted things to progress in a natural, organic way. With that said, I never saw a doctor before I became pregnant. I didn't feel I needed to - I was young, healthy and self aware. Within two weeks, I had missed my menstrual cycle and took a pregnancy test while Brad was playing hockey. Positive!
The next few weeks were bliss until the nausea kicked in. And boy did it ever! I was ill with morning sickness from week four until week 12, although lingering nausea was something I battled well into my 16th week of pregnancy. In my eighth week of pregnancy, I was getting ready for a friend's birthday party when I started bleeding. I remember screaming Brad's name and could hear him sprinting across the house to get to me. I started crying and shaking uncontrollably as I realized that I may have miscarried. Within moments we were on our way to the hospital. I remember feeling very alone on the way there because we had not shared our pregnancy news with any of our family members yet, so I couldn’t look to any of my sisters, my mother or my future mother in law for comfort. But thank God for Brad! He was the perfect picture of calm and assertive: comforting and sympathetic, while also being a pillar of strength. After an ultrasound and a blood test, it was later determined that I had a small subchorionic hematoma that had caused vaginal bleeding. I later learned that this is a somewhat common abnormality in early pregnancy, and by the time I had a follow up ultrasound a few days later, it had all but healed itself.
I had my first pregnancy appointment with my new OBGYN in my ninth week of pregnancy. I was able to have a thorough check up, listen to the baby’s heartbeat and Brad and I were able to ask all the questions we wanted. While looking through my health history, my new OBGYN learned of my history with uterine tumors, but I assured him that my previous OBGYN did not see them as a threat to my health. These tumors had been biopsied a year before and were determined to be benign fibroid tumors, which are not uncommon in women of child bearing age. My new OBGYN seemed cautiously concerned, but because they were small enough and had never caused me problems, he told me that we would monitor them. I walked away from that appointment feeling confident that there was no cause for concern, and that the subchorionic bleeding would be the only bump in an otherwise pleasant road. The following weeks would prove me wrong.
On the Fourth of July, I awoke in a small pool of blood. Panic set in, and I was shocked that we had to take another trip to the ER. This time the bleeding was more intense, and although I stayed almost the entire day in the hospital, the baby’s heartbeat was strong and beating at a normal rate, so I was allowed to go home that night. Blood had been taken and an ultrasound had been performed, but no diagnosis for the bleeding was ever provided. There was, however, a new development: my fibroid tumor had grown quite a bit. Even with its growth in size, the bleeding could not be attributed to the fibroid, nor did I have placenta previa, another common cause for bleeding in pregnancy. For all practical purposes it was a medical mystery. Within two days the bleeding slowed and eventually stopped. By the first day of my second trimester I felt great! The bleeding had subsided, I was no longer feeling extremely nauseous and Brad and I finally shared our baby news with our families. It was wonderful to share our joy and receive so much support and love. I also shared my pregnancy with my work – and they couldn’t have been more supportive and excited over welcoming a new baby into our professional family.
After my last episode of bleeding, my OBGYN considered me a high risk pregnancy. He transferred me as a patient to a doctor within his practice that specialized in high risk pregnancies. My new OBGYN had decided that due to another episode of bleeding in week 13, I needed to see her more often and that tri-weekly ultrasounds were going to be apart of my routine gynecological care. Even though the bleeding could not be attributed to my fibroid, it was getting larger so it needed to be monitored. At that point, because the fibroid was located in the lower left quadrant of my uterus and was blocking the cervix, a cesarean section was inevitable. I had planned on having a natural childbirth with no drugs or epidural, and was even considering having a midwife or doula deliver me outside of the hospital. Having a c-section had never occurred to me as a personal option, but if it was for my safety and the well being of my baby, I was willing to let that dream go.
As I became more comfortable with
the idea of a c-section, Brad and I celebrated the most blessed day of our
lives up to that point. We were married July 24, 2010, and celebrated our
nuptials with our family and closest friends. It was so special to share our
love with the people most important to us, but also because our baby was with
us! In many wedding photos, you can see Brad and me holding my belly and
smiling because we were so excited about bringing a child into this world and
into such a loving family. I was flying high, felt great and even with the
episodes of bleeding, loved every aspect of being pregnant. We soon found out
we were having a baby boy, and Brad and I were elated! The females seem to
dominate our family tree on both sides, so needless to say, our loved ones
(especially our parents) were thrilled to be welcoming a bouncing baby boy, and
only the second grandson. We had also chosen a name: Sutton Matthew. Bleeding throughout my pregnancy would continue to be a mainstay in my life, as
I bled in week 18, week 21 and week 23. During this time, I was never put on
bed rest and although the bleeding became increasingly heavier with each
episode, I felt capable and healthy. I continued working full time and tried to
continue my life as normally as possible. With every subsequent ultrasound, the tumor became larger and more pronounced, but our baby boy
seemed to be sharing the womb well and developing perfectly.
The day before Sutton was born was one of those perfect fall days. The sky was so blue it almost hurt your eyes to look at it. The sun was shining, but there were the first breaths of nip in the air. My best friend and her husband were in town visiting me and my husband, and we had planned to spend the weekend together. We woke up early and ate breakfast at our favorite breakfast nook, and then continued the day walking around downtown and shopping. I even had my first hot chocolate of the season! We watched college football in the afternoon, and ate a late lunch before we walked our dogs. It really was a perfect day, and even though I spent almost the whole day on my feet, I felt great. That night, we had made plans to meet up with another couple that was friends of ours, and the six of us made our way to a new restaurant that we wanted to try. I remember sipping water, but for some odd reason, I did not have an appetite. I remember attributing my lack of appetite to a late lunch, but I couldn’t even be tempted to nibble dessert (and for me, that’s quite the anomaly). Once everyone had finished their meals, we were talking about our next move and waiting for the check when I felt something I have never felt before and don’t ever want to feel again. I can only describe it as feeling like I was on an elevator - and it dropped 30 stories. There was no pain. There was no sound. I just remember feeling a “swooshing” feeling from my head to my toes, and then felt like I was sitting in a warm bath. I couldn’t bring myself to look down. I just grabbed my husband’s arm and looked him right in the eye and said, “I think my water just broke!” I remember my best friend gasping as she looked down and cried, “You’re bleeding!” I remember my husband instantly scooping me up and running with me out the door as our friends sat dumb founded at the table. As I looked over my husband's shoulder I could see a large amount of blood on the floor. With every step Brad took, I could see huge droplets of blood chasing us down. After running a block or so, I vaguely remember asking Brad to put me down and to call 911. He obliged, and put me down on a stoop before dialing 911. I remember watching the pavement turn red, and soon I was sitting in a puddle of my own blood. Although I felt weak, there was no pain. Strangers walked over to offer help, and I even remember a woman kneeling next to me while she held my hand and told me help was on the way. As people gathered around, one of our friends that had been dining with us pulled up his car and Brad escorted me in.
Within minutes we were at the hospital and Brad carried me up to the Perinatal Evaluation and Treatment Unit (PETU), a place we were quite familiar with by now. The staff knew us and immediately recognized that we were in a dire situation. They escorted us into a room and had me strip down and put on a hospital gown. As I undressed out of my soaked clothes and shoes, blood was running down my legs and my feet were leaving bloody footprints on the linoleum floor. I will never forget the look of horror and concern on the nurse’s face as she took my vitals and quickly placed an I.V. in my arm. By the time she was finished, I had already soaked the bed with blood and needed a new gown and bedding. As the nurse helped me change, I finally had a moment to look at Brad. His face was stark white and his clothes were saturated with my blood. Trying to find a quiet moment, we held hands and prayed together. He then began calling our family to inform them of what was happening. Within minutes there was a flurry of activity around me as doctors and nurses took blood, preformed ultrasounds and gave me a pelvic exam to try and determine the source of bleeding. I went through two I.V. fluid bags rather quickly and received a single course shot of glucocorticoids, a steroid injection that helps speed up the baby’s lung development when preterm labor is a possibility. Even after receiving the steroids, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe I was in preterm labor. That’s when I met the woman that changed my life.
As another doctor performed an ultrasound, “Dr. M” walked into the room and sat down beside me. She gently asked me questions and instantly put me at ease. She was calm and discerning as she looked over the ultrasound screen. After she studied the monitor for a few moments, she asked the doctor that was performing the ultrasound to go back to a certain area on my abdomen. She saw something. It was so small, and although she tried to point it out to the attending doctor and myself, we both did not see anything. She said although it was barely visible, she was sure she spotted something amiss. Then she looked at me and said, “I think we are going to have an October baby.” Even with her saying that to me, I was still in denial. I wasn’t due to have Sutton until January 5th, and I hadn’t even entered my third trimester! The bleeding was still quite heavy, and I was moved to Labor and Delivery. It was at this time that I experienced my first contractions. They were small and akin to a menstrual cramp, and although I alerted the nurse to them, they were not painful. The nurse administered an injection of Magnesium Sulfate into my I.V. to help stop the contractions. The contractions didn’t stop, but my face instantly became flushed and felt hot (a very common side effect to treatment with magnesium). As soon as we were set up in my new room, a neonatologist came in and spoke to us. It was during this time that I began to feel the effects of heavy blood loss. My vision became blurry, and although I could hear everything that the neonatologist was explaining, I couldn’t focus on the words. I began shivering uncontrollably, and looked over at Brad. He knew instantly what I was trying to communicate without having to say a word. The neonatologist asked me if I was alright. I didn’t answer. She walked over and peeled back the blanket to find my bed soaked with blood. She ran out of the room and grabbed Dr. M. The next few minutes were a blur. At this point the doctors and nurses had done their best to try and stop the bleeding and contractions to no avail. It was apparent I was bleeding out, and that it wasn’t going to stop. Dr. M said she felt in her gut that I had a placental abruption even though Sutton’s heartbeat was not indicative of that type of trauma. She placed her hand on mine and said, “You’re delivering this baby tonight, Megan.” I was handed paperwork stating that once they delivered me, if they could not stop the bleeding, that I would agree to a hysterectomy. I gave my consent without a second thought. I also signed paperwork stating that if I didn’t survive the surgery, that my organs, blood and tissue be donated.
The anesthesiologist that was to assist in the surgery came in to meet me and tell me what to expect. I had had months to get comfortable with the idea of a c-section and prepare myself, but that’s when Brad and I were delivered yet another blow. Brad would not be allowed in the operating room because I would undergo an emergency classical cesarean section and would have to be placed under anesthesia. This was due in part because it was a much more complicated surgery, and secondly, the doctors really didn’t know what they would be facing once they began. Brad and I began crying for the first time that night, as we both finally accepted that we were welcoming our son into the world three months early. This is what it had come down to - it was out of our control. But the feeling that washed over me still remains indescribable. I felt wonder. I felt a sense of peace. I knew that this was God’s plan for us, and even if we didn’t understand it now, there was a reason for all of this. I wiped Brad’s tears away and told him that if anything was to happen to me, to please take care of himself and our son. I told him I loved him. As I was wheeled back to the operating room, I said a final prayer.
There were about four doctors and four residents suited up and prepped for surgery, as well as two anesthesiologists. I was easily lifted from my bed to the operating table and the doctors quickly began preparing me for surgery. They cleansed my abdomen and began drawing a vertical incision line from my pubic bone to just below my navel. This was done to avoid cutting my now 11cm fibroid tumor, and was a much easier entry way if they had to perform a hysterectomy. They placed a blue screen between my chest and stomach to keep the area sterile. Dr. M and the on call OBGYN from my doctor’s office were there, and they both reassured me that everything would be fine. I didn’t feel nervous or anxious, just blessed to be alive and experiencing what I knew in my heart was God’s mercy. The anesthesiologists worked on the pressure gauges and equipment, and soon turned their attention to me. The lead anesthesiologist lingered above my head with a ventilator and told me to count to ten. I didn’t make it to four.
The day before Sutton was born was one of those perfect fall days. The sky was so blue it almost hurt your eyes to look at it. The sun was shining, but there were the first breaths of nip in the air. My best friend and her husband were in town visiting me and my husband, and we had planned to spend the weekend together. We woke up early and ate breakfast at our favorite breakfast nook, and then continued the day walking around downtown and shopping. I even had my first hot chocolate of the season! We watched college football in the afternoon, and ate a late lunch before we walked our dogs. It really was a perfect day, and even though I spent almost the whole day on my feet, I felt great. That night, we had made plans to meet up with another couple that was friends of ours, and the six of us made our way to a new restaurant that we wanted to try. I remember sipping water, but for some odd reason, I did not have an appetite. I remember attributing my lack of appetite to a late lunch, but I couldn’t even be tempted to nibble dessert (and for me, that’s quite the anomaly). Once everyone had finished their meals, we were talking about our next move and waiting for the check when I felt something I have never felt before and don’t ever want to feel again. I can only describe it as feeling like I was on an elevator - and it dropped 30 stories. There was no pain. There was no sound. I just remember feeling a “swooshing” feeling from my head to my toes, and then felt like I was sitting in a warm bath. I couldn’t bring myself to look down. I just grabbed my husband’s arm and looked him right in the eye and said, “I think my water just broke!” I remember my best friend gasping as she looked down and cried, “You’re bleeding!” I remember my husband instantly scooping me up and running with me out the door as our friends sat dumb founded at the table. As I looked over my husband's shoulder I could see a large amount of blood on the floor. With every step Brad took, I could see huge droplets of blood chasing us down. After running a block or so, I vaguely remember asking Brad to put me down and to call 911. He obliged, and put me down on a stoop before dialing 911. I remember watching the pavement turn red, and soon I was sitting in a puddle of my own blood. Although I felt weak, there was no pain. Strangers walked over to offer help, and I even remember a woman kneeling next to me while she held my hand and told me help was on the way. As people gathered around, one of our friends that had been dining with us pulled up his car and Brad escorted me in.
Within minutes we were at the hospital and Brad carried me up to the Perinatal Evaluation and Treatment Unit (PETU), a place we were quite familiar with by now. The staff knew us and immediately recognized that we were in a dire situation. They escorted us into a room and had me strip down and put on a hospital gown. As I undressed out of my soaked clothes and shoes, blood was running down my legs and my feet were leaving bloody footprints on the linoleum floor. I will never forget the look of horror and concern on the nurse’s face as she took my vitals and quickly placed an I.V. in my arm. By the time she was finished, I had already soaked the bed with blood and needed a new gown and bedding. As the nurse helped me change, I finally had a moment to look at Brad. His face was stark white and his clothes were saturated with my blood. Trying to find a quiet moment, we held hands and prayed together. He then began calling our family to inform them of what was happening. Within minutes there was a flurry of activity around me as doctors and nurses took blood, preformed ultrasounds and gave me a pelvic exam to try and determine the source of bleeding. I went through two I.V. fluid bags rather quickly and received a single course shot of glucocorticoids, a steroid injection that helps speed up the baby’s lung development when preterm labor is a possibility. Even after receiving the steroids, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe I was in preterm labor. That’s when I met the woman that changed my life.
As another doctor performed an ultrasound, “Dr. M” walked into the room and sat down beside me. She gently asked me questions and instantly put me at ease. She was calm and discerning as she looked over the ultrasound screen. After she studied the monitor for a few moments, she asked the doctor that was performing the ultrasound to go back to a certain area on my abdomen. She saw something. It was so small, and although she tried to point it out to the attending doctor and myself, we both did not see anything. She said although it was barely visible, she was sure she spotted something amiss. Then she looked at me and said, “I think we are going to have an October baby.” Even with her saying that to me, I was still in denial. I wasn’t due to have Sutton until January 5th, and I hadn’t even entered my third trimester! The bleeding was still quite heavy, and I was moved to Labor and Delivery. It was at this time that I experienced my first contractions. They were small and akin to a menstrual cramp, and although I alerted the nurse to them, they were not painful. The nurse administered an injection of Magnesium Sulfate into my I.V. to help stop the contractions. The contractions didn’t stop, but my face instantly became flushed and felt hot (a very common side effect to treatment with magnesium). As soon as we were set up in my new room, a neonatologist came in and spoke to us. It was during this time that I began to feel the effects of heavy blood loss. My vision became blurry, and although I could hear everything that the neonatologist was explaining, I couldn’t focus on the words. I began shivering uncontrollably, and looked over at Brad. He knew instantly what I was trying to communicate without having to say a word. The neonatologist asked me if I was alright. I didn’t answer. She walked over and peeled back the blanket to find my bed soaked with blood. She ran out of the room and grabbed Dr. M. The next few minutes were a blur. At this point the doctors and nurses had done their best to try and stop the bleeding and contractions to no avail. It was apparent I was bleeding out, and that it wasn’t going to stop. Dr. M said she felt in her gut that I had a placental abruption even though Sutton’s heartbeat was not indicative of that type of trauma. She placed her hand on mine and said, “You’re delivering this baby tonight, Megan.” I was handed paperwork stating that once they delivered me, if they could not stop the bleeding, that I would agree to a hysterectomy. I gave my consent without a second thought. I also signed paperwork stating that if I didn’t survive the surgery, that my organs, blood and tissue be donated.
The anesthesiologist that was to assist in the surgery came in to meet me and tell me what to expect. I had had months to get comfortable with the idea of a c-section and prepare myself, but that’s when Brad and I were delivered yet another blow. Brad would not be allowed in the operating room because I would undergo an emergency classical cesarean section and would have to be placed under anesthesia. This was due in part because it was a much more complicated surgery, and secondly, the doctors really didn’t know what they would be facing once they began. Brad and I began crying for the first time that night, as we both finally accepted that we were welcoming our son into the world three months early. This is what it had come down to - it was out of our control. But the feeling that washed over me still remains indescribable. I felt wonder. I felt a sense of peace. I knew that this was God’s plan for us, and even if we didn’t understand it now, there was a reason for all of this. I wiped Brad’s tears away and told him that if anything was to happen to me, to please take care of himself and our son. I told him I loved him. As I was wheeled back to the operating room, I said a final prayer.
There were about four doctors and four residents suited up and prepped for surgery, as well as two anesthesiologists. I was easily lifted from my bed to the operating table and the doctors quickly began preparing me for surgery. They cleansed my abdomen and began drawing a vertical incision line from my pubic bone to just below my navel. This was done to avoid cutting my now 11cm fibroid tumor, and was a much easier entry way if they had to perform a hysterectomy. They placed a blue screen between my chest and stomach to keep the area sterile. Dr. M and the on call OBGYN from my doctor’s office were there, and they both reassured me that everything would be fine. I didn’t feel nervous or anxious, just blessed to be alive and experiencing what I knew in my heart was God’s mercy. The anesthesiologists worked on the pressure gauges and equipment, and soon turned their attention to me. The lead anesthesiologist lingered above my head with a ventilator and told me to count to ten. I didn’t make it to four.
Sutton Matthew Lubin was born via emergency c-section on Sunday, October 3, 2010 at 12:45am. He weighed
2 pounds and 5 ounces, and was just past the term of viability, at 26 weeks.
Upon waking from surgery, Brad and Dr. M were right by my side. In my woozy, half awake state, I remember Brad showing me a picture of Sutton and repeating over and over how perfect our son was. I looked down and could see a blood line in my arm, and realized that I was receiving a blood transfusion. I was in and out of consciousness all night, but remember a few things. Brad rubbing ice on my lips. Dr. M checking on me. Receiving another blood transfusion.
In the morning, I awoke to Dr. M sitting in my room, as if she knew I would be lucid at any moment. She told me her shift was ending, but she wanted to see me before she left. She told me that after she delivered Sutton, she concluded that his early birth was due to an atypical, chronic placental abruption caused by my fibroid tumor. As my fibroid tumor grew bigger and bigger during my pregnancy, it had begun to climb the walls of the uterus and came into contact with my placenta. Little by little over the next six months, the placenta slowly tore away from the uterine wall, as to remove itself from the foreign tissue of the fibroid. Dr. M was able to tell this by all the caked, old blood that had pooled and accumulated around where the placenta had been. In her estimation, the placenta had probably completely abrupted at some point during the previous day and I just didn't know it. It went unnoticed because the blood that would have alerted me to something being wrong was able to pool inside for hours because my cervix was blocked by a giant fibroid tumor.
Upon waking from surgery, Brad and Dr. M were right by my side. In my woozy, half awake state, I remember Brad showing me a picture of Sutton and repeating over and over how perfect our son was. I looked down and could see a blood line in my arm, and realized that I was receiving a blood transfusion. I was in and out of consciousness all night, but remember a few things. Brad rubbing ice on my lips. Dr. M checking on me. Receiving another blood transfusion.
In the morning, I awoke to Dr. M sitting in my room, as if she knew I would be lucid at any moment. She told me her shift was ending, but she wanted to see me before she left. She told me that after she delivered Sutton, she concluded that his early birth was due to an atypical, chronic placental abruption caused by my fibroid tumor. As my fibroid tumor grew bigger and bigger during my pregnancy, it had begun to climb the walls of the uterus and came into contact with my placenta. Little by little over the next six months, the placenta slowly tore away from the uterine wall, as to remove itself from the foreign tissue of the fibroid. Dr. M was able to tell this by all the caked, old blood that had pooled and accumulated around where the placenta had been. In her estimation, the placenta had probably completely abrupted at some point during the previous day and I just didn't know it. It went unnoticed because the blood that would have alerted me to something being wrong was able to pool inside for hours because my cervix was blocked by a giant fibroid tumor.
Later that day, I
was able to see my son for the first time. I remember Brad pushing my
wheelchair into the NICU, which was huge and had four separate NICU nurseries.
As I was wheeled into one of the nurseries, I looked upon all the glowing
isolettes, and eagerly wondered which child was mine. As my eyes darted all
around the room, I spotted a tiny baby in an isolette in the back of the
nursery. As Brad wheeled me in the direction of the micro preemie that had caught
my eyes, tears streamed down my face. It was as if I knew he was mine - mother
and child had longed for one another. My son was under the bilirubin lights to
combat his jaundice. He had an eye mask on to protect his eyes and was wearing
an oxygen mask as well, so it was difficult to see the details of his face. I
could see his frail chest quickly moving up and down, with tiny ribs protruding
against thin, red skin. His long arms were thin but so muscular, and his hands
were small and perfect. His legs were so
long and thin, but just like his arms, the muscles seemed swollen against paper
thin skin. His feet, although small, were so big compared to the rest of his
miniature frame. I sat with my tear stained face pressed against the isolette,
intimidated by so many wires, bandages and monitors that created a road map
against Sutton’s body. I looked over my shoulder at Brad – so proud of his son
– quietly smiling to himself. My little family together for the first time: it
was the most precious moment of my life.
I looked up at the monitor and tried to make sense of all the different numbers and sounds and what they meant. It was then that I met the second woman that would change our lives. The nurse, probably noticing the confusion on my face, introduced herself as Sara and told us she was Sutton’s primary NICU nurse. She gently explained what all the monitors, tubing and wires meant and went on to relate all the details of Sutton’s NICU care, and what kind of journey he had ahead of him. Sara said she knew Sutton was a fighter, and if any baby could come out on top, it was him. It calmed my fears to know that Sutton was not only loved by his family, but by those providing his care. In the days and weeks following, Sara would continue to offer support, kindness, compassion and share her knowledge. Brad and I often looked to Sara for strength and comfort, and she never failed us or Sutton.
It is well known in the NICU that for every two steps taken forward, there is usually one taken back. Even with setbacks and terrifying moments, Sutton became stronger and continued to grow with each passing day. I found myself incredibly humbled and awed by his will to live, and just as Sara predicted, he became well known in the NICU by all the doctors and nurses for his fighting spirit. Sutton would spend 71 days in the NICU, and I cannot describe the feeling of bringing him home from the hospital, almost two and half months after he was born. I remember riding in the back seat with Sutton on the way home, watching him sleep and finding a moment to reflect. We had been through so much, but we had not been alone. We had the most caring, professional medical staff providing neonatal care for our son’s survival. Each and every doctor, nurse, consultant and technician worked to create an environment where our son thrived, but where we felt cared for as well. For that, I can never say thank you enough. Our families and friends were wonderful – offering unwavering love and support. They always remained positive and encouraging, even when Brad and I felt pushed to our absolute limits. Now they have a grandson, a nephew, and a cousin to fulfill them. We also had something else to see us through: the grace of God. I have always believed that there is a purpose for every experience, and now I know that with certainty. As I smiled to myself, it occurred to me: Sutton Matthew. MATTHEW. His middle name.
I looked up at the monitor and tried to make sense of all the different numbers and sounds and what they meant. It was then that I met the second woman that would change our lives. The nurse, probably noticing the confusion on my face, introduced herself as Sara and told us she was Sutton’s primary NICU nurse. She gently explained what all the monitors, tubing and wires meant and went on to relate all the details of Sutton’s NICU care, and what kind of journey he had ahead of him. Sara said she knew Sutton was a fighter, and if any baby could come out on top, it was him. It calmed my fears to know that Sutton was not only loved by his family, but by those providing his care. In the days and weeks following, Sara would continue to offer support, kindness, compassion and share her knowledge. Brad and I often looked to Sara for strength and comfort, and she never failed us or Sutton.
It is well known in the NICU that for every two steps taken forward, there is usually one taken back. Even with setbacks and terrifying moments, Sutton became stronger and continued to grow with each passing day. I found myself incredibly humbled and awed by his will to live, and just as Sara predicted, he became well known in the NICU by all the doctors and nurses for his fighting spirit. Sutton would spend 71 days in the NICU, and I cannot describe the feeling of bringing him home from the hospital, almost two and half months after he was born. I remember riding in the back seat with Sutton on the way home, watching him sleep and finding a moment to reflect. We had been through so much, but we had not been alone. We had the most caring, professional medical staff providing neonatal care for our son’s survival. Each and every doctor, nurse, consultant and technician worked to create an environment where our son thrived, but where we felt cared for as well. For that, I can never say thank you enough. Our families and friends were wonderful – offering unwavering love and support. They always remained positive and encouraging, even when Brad and I felt pushed to our absolute limits. Now they have a grandson, a nephew, and a cousin to fulfill them. We also had something else to see us through: the grace of God. I have always believed that there is a purpose for every experience, and now I know that with certainty. As I smiled to myself, it occurred to me: Sutton Matthew. MATTHEW. His middle name.
