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An early angel
In the winter of 1991, some very significant events would unfold and ultimately change my life forever. I was about five months pregnant with my second child. The winter was blistering cold, and I ended up with pneumonia. Thinking that I only had a cold, I waited to go to the doctor's office. I waited too long. I ended up in critical condition in the hospital's intensive care unit.
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At twenty-four weeks pregnant; I had stopped breathing entirely, and a respirator supported me. I remember waking occasionally to feel a cold plastic cover over me that I know now was intended to bring my body temperature down. I also remember my sister prying my eyes open to show me a picture of some tiny and ill looking baby. In the state I was in, I did not connect my sister's words with the idea that the baby in the photo was mine.
As the days passed and my sister worked harder to wake me, I began to focus a bit better on what it was she was telling me about that photo. I panicked and reached to touch my stomach. The baby was gone. I finally realized entirely that the sick little baby in that photo was mine. Suddenly she appeared more angelic than ill. I would name her Angelia and I would call her Angel.
After ten days, I was able to move out of the intensive care unit and into a private room on the maternity floor. The neonatal intensive care unit where Angel stayed was just down the hall from my room. Another week passed and, I was only able to look into the window at her. Recovering from pneumonia, I was a risk to enter the neonatal unit. Angel was born with pneumonia as well, and she was not ready to breathe on her own, so she too had the support of a respirator.
At three pounds, six ounces and fifteen inches long, Angel was a fighter from the very beginning. When I could finally go into the neonatal intensive care unit, I had to wear a mask, gloves and a gown, and I could only touch her through the holes in the incubator. Even though I could not hold her yet, I sat in the unit with her, and I made sure she heard my voice. She looked so fragile and alone in that incubator. I would even push her formula through her feeding tube rather than leaving the little machine to do it. I think that it was my way of bonding with her when I could not touch her. It helped me cope better to be able feed her myself.
In 1991, the doctors told me that twenty-four weeks was about as early as it gets for survival, but Angel was strong. Fifteen years later, the viability age has declined, and babies born as early as twenty-three weeks can survive outside the womb with a fifty percent chance of survival. Survival at this early stage however puts the child at a higher risk of brain damage and developmental delays ("Premature birth." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia.).
I tend to believe that infants need the touch of their mother's right from birth in order to form secure attachments. Many of the parents that I attended a support group with said that their preemies were often fussy and very hard to please. Angel was hard to comfort and I believe there is a direct link with her premature birth and the lack of touch and bonding every baby needs.
Although Angel has a mild learning disability, and struggled in her first five years with respiratory problems, she grew perfectly. I was one of the lucky parents of an early angel.
Vicki Sinclair
