I was 18 when I found out
I was pregnant. I have to admit that the timing of my first baby was
not good. I wasn't even with his father anymore, but I wanted him from
the first minute I knew I was pregnant. My early pregnancy was
completely uneventful. I had an ultrasound at 16 weeks and everything
looked okay. But that was about to change. At about 23 weeks,
Thanksgiving Day, I had rhythmic back cramps all day. I mentioned
something about it to my mother and grandmother, but they thought, as I
did, that it was Braxton Hicks. I had an appointment in 2 weeks, so I
figured I would ask then. At my appointment the doctor never did an
internal exam, but he did do another ultrasound and everything was
fine. I didn't worry after that, because the cramping had pretty much
gone away.



On December 12th I woke up and felt okay, but as the day progressed the
cramping had come back. I didn't feel very good so I spent the day
lying on the couch, rubbing my belly, and dreaming of holding my baby
in my arms. The cramping was getting worse, and I felt like I had to
have a bowel movement. When I went to the bathroom I couldn't go. It
was then I realized that I had lost my plug. I panicked and I called my
mom at work; she said to lie down, she was on her way. She got home in
about 10 minutes and took me to the hospital. The admitting nurse felt
that I would be okay to walk up to L&D. When we got up there the
nurse said to change into a gown and she would be in to check me. No
one seemed very excited so at this point I calmed down a bit. She
finally came back to check me after about 15 minutes. I knew as soon as
she started the exam that something was wrong. I could tell by the look
on her face. Before I knew it she was calling for help and they were
tipping my bed so the head was down. My doctor was not available so one
of his partners came to do an ultrasound. He looked at the screen in
silence; he never spoke to me the entire time. When he finished he told
me I was in preterm labor and that there was nothing they could do to
stop it. I was dilated to 10 cm, fully effaced, with my bag of waters
bulging through my cervix. I started to cry immediately--how could this
be happening? They told me it was time to deliver my baby. I kept
asking if he would be okay. All they could say was, we don't know.
After waiting for what seemed like an eternity for the transport team
from Children's Hospital, I started to push. While I was pushing the
nurse was pushing with all her might on the top of my belly. The baby
was head down, but not engaged. After a few pushes, the doctor started
suddenly yelling out orders to the nurses. They quickly told me that
the cord had fallen through my cervix ahead of the baby, his head was
cutting off his oxygen, and that I needed an emergency c-section. The
next thing I knew I was being prepped for surgery.



I woke up to someone saying, "Pam, Pam, wake up and look at your son."
I was still very groggy from the anesthesia. But I do remember waking
up and seeing the tiniest little red foot in a big puffy white blanket.
I touched that little foot and prayed for my tiny son. They took my son
to Children's Hospital on the other side of town. Because of my surgery
I had to stay where I was. My parents went with the baby to Children's
Hospital. When they came back to see me later that evening, they
brought Polaroid pictures of my baby. My mom said to me, "Don't you
think he needs a name?" I had picked out Jacob Kayne, so that is what
we went with.

After three days I was allowed to move to the hospital that was
connected to Children's so that I could be closer to Jake. I was so
excited to finally see him again. There is no way for me to explain the
despair I felt when I walked into the NICU and looked at the rows of
sick babies and didn't even know which one was mine. My mom took me to
his isolette; a nurse was changing his diaper. It was one of those
green surgical masks. I couldn't believe how tiny he was. I was afraid
to touch him. With some encouragement from his nurse I opened the door
to the isolette and stroked his tiny foot, crying tears of joy. I loved
my little tiny son soooo much. At that moment his alarms started going
off, and I recoiled in horror. His nurse reached in and gave his back a
little rub/shake. She explained to me that he was having a "spell",
meaning that his heart rate was dropping. I was too scared to touch him
again for awhile. But I couldn't keep from touching him for long. I
couldn't get enough of him. I would sit and stare at him for hours
until my nurse would come find me and make me go back to my room and
rest.



After five days I was released from the hospital. It was the hardest
thing I had to go through since he had been born. I hated leaving
without him. I would come back every day and sit all day with him.
Learning what he liked and what the vent settings meant. I wanted to
know everything about him; I didn't want to miss a thing. Sometimes I
would even go back in the middle of the night. One of the times I had
visited him in the middle of the night, I came home and realized that
my ankle was as big around as my thigh. I asked my dad about it and he
told me to call my doctor. I called the doctor and he told me to lie
down and call an ambulance. The ambulance took me to the hospital where
I  had Jake. When I found out they were admitting me, I was
heartbroken. I wouldn't be able to see Jake. It turned out that I had
developed a blood clot in my leg from the c-section, and I would have
to be in the hospital for a while until it dissolved. That was December
19th. I would be there over Christmas. This fact brought me to tears
once again. My whole family brought Christmas to me in the hospital.
But they couldn't bring the only thing I wanted... Jake. I wound up
being in the hospital until December 30th. When they finally let me go
I went straight to Children's so that I could catch up on the time I
had missed with Jake.



Jake had been doing okay for a preemie, but they were having some
problems weaning him from the ventilator. On New Year's Day they
explained that his ductus arteriosis had not closed when he was born.
It was common for preemies to have this happen. They had tried two
courses of medication to close it and it had failed. So they said they
needed to do surgery. I was crushed... how could they possibly do
surgery on someone so tiny? They explained the procedure and asked me
to sign a release for the surgery. It was the first of many things I
would do as a mom. Jake was scheduled for the surgery on Jan 3rd. I
went to the hospital that morning and spent some time with him before
the surgery. It was then that I held him for the first time. Just
staring, touching, and remembering everything about him. My mom had
bought him a little tuxedo sleeper and the nurses dressed him in that
before they took him out so that he would be dressed for the occasion
of his mommy holding him for the first time. Jake came through the
surgery with flying colors. They were already starting to wean the vent
settings. I stayed with him the rest of the day, unable to touch him
because they wanted him to rest. Reluctantly, I left about 10 PM. I
told the nurse I would be back in the morning.

When I came back to the hospital the next day I saw the most beautiful
thing I had ever seen. It was Jake's face without tape or any tubes. I
couldn't believe it, but they had weaned him from the ventilator early
that morning and wanted to surprise me when I came in. I met the nurse
who had signed on to be his primary nurse that day. Her name was Kathy.
I remember being so angry with her when she wouldn't let me touch him.
She wanted him to rest. I understood but I was so excited to touch his
little cheek and hear him cry. I would put my ear to the window of the
isolette so that I could hear his tiny squeaks. But after the
ventilator was removed, it was like a honeymoon period. I spent my days
sitting with Jake, reading to him, watching him, and patting his little
bottom. He used to lay on his tummy with his little butt up. He loved
being patted. All his numbers would go up when he was content. Jake
continued to do well, gaining weight, needing less oxygen. He was even
started on tube feedings.



One of the nurses told me that they do the baths at night when it isn't
so crowded. So of course I came back on the night shift hoping to catch
his bath. Well, it worked, I was there, and the nurse let me help. She
took pictures and it was the happiest day of my life. Jake didn't like
it, but it was sweet music to my ears to hear his protest. His little
voice was getting stronger every day. After his bath that night the
nurse dried him and put him back in the isolette. While she was
charting and I was watching him, I noticed that he was pulling his fist
into his face. It didn't look right so I asked his nurse about it. She
said that he was probably still mad about the bath. She was going to
give him some Tylenol and let him rest. I felt uneasy but I went home
to get some sleep.



That night I had the most wonderful dream of playing on a bright sunny
day with Jake when he could finally come home. I was ripped from that
dream by the telephone ringing. I knew it wasn't good. When I picked up
the phone they told me that Jake was having seizures. What I had
witnessed the night before had been the beginning of it. They were
giving him medication but it was not working as well as they wanted.
That was Feb 7th. The next night I got another middle of the night
phone call. Jake had to be put back on the ventilator. I cried and
sobbed so hard. How could this be happening? He was doing so well. I
had my pastor come to the hospital and baptize Jake that night. Jake's
seizures were getting worse and harder to control with drugs. He was
seizing almost 24 hours a day. When he was on his back his little legs
would go and go. It looked like he was bicycling. They started doing
serial CAT scans of Jake's head, and they found out that Jake was
bleeding into the ventricles in his brain. They told me that it could
stop on its own and he could recover without much residual damage, or
that it could continue. We would have to wait and see. I was in a daze
from then on. His nurse, Kathy was wonderful, letting me cry and
despair to her every day.



Jake's brain continued to bleed. His head began to swell at about 1 cm
per day. Ten days after his first bath his doctors called a family
conference. They told me that Jake had what they called a grade 4
intraventricular hemorrhage. From the CAT scans they could tell that if
Jake lived he would be deaf, blind, and a vegetable. He had virtually
no brain tissue left. They told me it was time to decide if we wanted
them to continue treating him. It took a minute to register what they
were saying to me:  they were telling me he was going to die, and they
wanted to know if I wanted him taken off life support. They told me to
take all the time I needed. I called my family together, my pastor, and
Jake's father. With their help I decided that we were not saving Jake's
life anymore--we were prolonging his death. We decided to remove him
from life support. We called all our family and friends to be with us
and to spend time with Jake. When everyone got there I told Kathy we
were ready. She gave Jake some morphine and removed him from the vent
and all his IV's. She brought him to a quiet room with a couch and a
rocking chair where we could finally hold him with no wires or tubes.



While I sat and waited for her to bring him to me I thought my heart
would pound out of my chest. I was panicking inside. I didn't think I
could do this. But I had to be strong for Jake. He needed me to help
him. It would be the last thing I would ever do for him. So I did. I
had my family come in and meet him, and hold him. After everyone had a
chance I asked them to leave. From then on it was me, his daddy, my
pastor, and his favorite nurse, Kathy. Over the next three hours we sat
and rocked Jake and talked of the things we wished for him. Jake's
breathing was changing; I knew he was getting too tired to fight, so I
whispered in his tiny ear that it was okay if he was tired. To let go
and go home to God. That mommy loves you sooo much and we will be
together again. Jake slipped away quietly in my arms. I wanted to spend
some time alone with him, so I asked everyone to leave. During that
time I rocked him and sang to him, and tried to remember every tiny
detail. My biggest fear was forgetting him. The next few days went by
in a haze. I planned his funeral with my parent's help. At the grave
side I had the pastor read the bed time nursery rhyme "Winkin, Blinkin
and Nod". We also released 24 baby blue and white balloons. I wanted
everyone looking up to where Jake was now happy and pain free. The day
was so sunny and crisp. Just like the day in my dream so long ago.



Submitting this nearly 20 years after Jake touched my life, I can see
how at a very young age I was taught to love unconditionally and to
parent from my heart. I have used the very painful experience with my
first son to allow me to become a more in-tune and attatched mother to
the 4 children who followed.