The story of Callee

Since I now realize people I don't know read my blog, I had one person inquire about my preemie. She has two preemie boys who needed to spend time in the NICU, luckily mine did not.

Callee was 4 weeks early due to a terrible car accident. A friend of mine and I were driving home from the rib burn off (I was pregnant and craving!) when she passed up my road. I told her it was no big deal to keep going straight and I'd show her how to get to my house the long way. We didn't quite make it to the next block when her small Ford Probe had a big Yukon turn in front of her and we hit.

I don't remember much except for asking her to call 911 between gasps. I had hit the windshield (or the windshield hit me) and somehow it knocked the wind out of me. When I could breathe regularly again, I tried to get out of the car, but I had a pretty nasty cut on my knee and for some reason couldn't lift it up.

I instantly thought Callee was dead. She had to be, I had hit so hard that I got the wind knocked out of me. In hindsight, it was probably her that got knocked back onto my diaphragm. I began telling my friend who to call first, my husband, my mom, we had to find someone to go sit with Taylor, she was sleeping and didn't need to see me with blood from my face to my leg.

Within seconds, an ambulance arrived and took me to the nearest hospital. Ashley made the arrangements with Mike and my mom and my mom picked her up (she couldn't drive her car because it was totalled and Ashley's family lives in Pittsburgh!) I went to one hospital and kept asking if my baby was okay and nobody would give me a straight answer. Can I just tell you how unbelievably frustrating that is! It seemed like an eternity before anyone got there. I was so scared and alone. Mike got there first. He came in and told me I could name the baby whatever I wanted I just couldn't die. This scared the tar out of me. How bad did I look? I knew how I felt, but he is that scared? We had argued over names for months so this was no small feat folks. Then a few minutes later my mom got there. She came in and said, "Oh my poor baby!" and I lost it! I was still her baby even though I had one of my own and one on the way. It was at that moment I truly felt how much my mother loved me. Don't get me wrong, I know my mother loves me and I know I love my children so much it hurts, but after years of torture and puberty you would have thought she lost some of that love somewhere. She didn't and I, in that moment, saw that. Ok, I digressed.

I had to be moved to a different hospital, one that has a trauma unit. That was the most painful 20 minute ambulance ride of my life. I was miserable and no one would tell me if my baby was ok. I really at this point thought, "She's dead and they don't want to tell me yet." At this second hospital, I was stitched up and x-rayed, had blood taken and was finally told my baby had a heart beat. I was then sent upstairs to have the baby monitored for a few hours. I thought I was in labor all night but the nurses kept saying no it was just pain from the accident. They are the professionals, right? I was sent for an ultrasound at noon and then I would be released.

The ultrasound showed my placenta had ruptured. I was told I would have to have an emergency c-section and with that I broke down again. I am absolutely terrified of having a c-section. At one of my first prenatal visits, I asked if I had to have one. The doctor said she wasn't sure this early on, but giving birth naturally wasn't terrible. I explained how I didn't want a needle in my back so I wanted to give birth naturally, all natural! And I did, with Taylor. The doctor asked the nurse if I had been having contractions and she told him I had not. He said, "If by some miracle you are at least 8 cm dilated, you don't have to have a c-section, but you will need the epidural so you can bend your knee." I happily agreed because I knew I had been having contractions all night. He checked me and I was 8 1/2 centimeters! So I had to endure the epidural, which wasn't horrible and I gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby girl who weighed 6 pounds 5 ounces and was 19 1/2 inches long.

I know she was healthy because she screamed and cried for the first 9 months of her life. Trauma perhaps? Who knows, but this is why I say I should be grateful for every sick, cranky, teething, hug, kiss, laugh, cry, and breath I get to experience with her.

Over the last year I have had 2 knee surgeries and countless break downs. I recommend having a baby like this to no one. It has not been an easy year and as much as I can't believe I am going to say this, I resent her screaming a lot. I think "why me?" more than I should. I know this makes me a terrible mother, but if I can't be honest here where can I be?

This post is so long, but there is the story of Callee for any who were interested.