You could see every bone in her body because of her translucent skin. It was unbelievable to me that a child the size of a Coke can was still alive.
“My young daughter had no chance of surviving.” How could a baby weighing 14.5 ounces make it? She had been offered no hope or chance by the doctors.
Everyone, including myself, was shocked to learn that I was pregnant. I was found to have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, or PCOS, which frequently results with infertility. In addition to my infertility problems, my husband was informed that his chances of becoming a parent were low. Against all odds, my physicians found out I was expecting. My baby girl was actually seven weeks along in her pregnancy. Nobody could believe it at first. I couldn’t possibly be pregnant, so the doctors even performed a scan to rule out a cyst. I even tested negative for pregnancy on multiple occasions! Everyone was shocked to discover a tiny heartbeat. Everything changed in that instant.
However, a blood clot in the uterus was discovered by the doctors during the 12-week checkup. The term “subchorionic hemorrhage” was used. I was placed on bed rest and under constant observation. But the clot disappeared after 18 weeks! This was fantastic news, in my opinion. As the sonographer proceeded with the anatomy scan, I could sense her concern. She didn’t have to speak, but I knew she couldn’t. It was all in her face. Our little girl was three weeks behind in her growth and had very little amniotic fluid, according to the OB. We were directed to a specialist who carries a high risk.
There was less than a 20% chance of survival, according to the first high-risk specialist I visited. When he told me that I should try again because I was still young, I was shocked. My heart dropped to the ground. I felt like crying and screaming. “Why would you bless us with this baby girl only to take her away?” I prayed to God. I acknowledge that I became enraged, but that rage eventually transformed into resolve. I wanted a different viewpoint. Regretfully, less than 1 cm of amniotic fluid remained at this point. The growth of my infant kept lagging behind. The second expert only mentioned the symptoms of a miscarriage before sending me on my way. In order to check for a heartbeat, he instructed me to return in a few weeks. I was inconsolable with sadness and incredulity.
AI wanted to give up. I sobbed, screamed, and lost it. I recalled that God’s strength is evident when I am at my lowest. Every week that went by gave me a bit more optimism. A bit more faith. I knew I couldn’t quit up even if things kept getting worse. There’s a reason why God picked me to be her mother. Adalee kept slipping further and further behind in her development. Despite rising, the amniotic fluid consistently declined. To keep track of my development, I saw the specialist three times a week. The specialist advised me to be prepared for the worst at every appointment. The physician told me that I would probably miscarry within the following 24 hours because the blood flow in the umbilical cord was disrupted at 26 weeks.
I am unable to describe what transpired, but I was possessing a strength that was not mine at the time. It was time to fight, I realized. My unborn child wasn’t even at what doctors considered a viable weight at this stage of the pregnancy. They informed me that I could either do everything they could to save her or nothing at all. In an attempt to convince me that giving birth would be too stressful for her fragile body and that it wouldn’t be humane to put her through it, my doctor urged me to let her go. I didn’t have to second-guess myself. I requested that they do every effort to save my baby child. I kept fighting for her because I had a gut feeling that I should.
I was placed on bed rest after being taken to the hospital. The physicians were certain that I wouldn’t survive for seventy-two hours without being compelled to. In spite of everything, three days became a week, and a week became three. Her pulse rate would frequently drop below 50 during the fright. I was prepared for a C-section on multiple occasions, but Adalee always raised her heart rate. Adalee ultimately weighed 16 ounces when I was 29 weeks pregnant and we were getting close to 4 weeks in the hospital. To us, this was a huge thing, even though it might not seem like much. Adalee was not moving at all on the ultrasound the following day, and there was no detectable amniotic fluid. The time had come.
Our daughter was born on June 22, 2017, at 29 weeks and 5 days gestation. She weighed only 14.5 oz, which was even less than the initial prediction. They told me that anything under a pound wasn’t viable when the team delivered her, but happily they complied with my request and kept working on my baby girl, doing everything in their power to support her. Her skin was translucent when I first saw her, allowing me to see all of her bones as well as the loops in her intestines. It was unbelievable to me that she was fighting here. The fact that a youngster the size of a Coke can was alive astounded me. Not even nobody else could believe it.
At the age of four days, Adalee was sent to Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta. It was the scariest day of my life, hands down. At the new hospital, they installed a central line. They had to intubate her since her small body was unable to withstand the sedative needed to install the line. Seeing my daughter with so many wires and tubes connected to her broke my heart.
The days in the NICU went by slowly. She kept putting on weight, but it seemed like forever until she reached a pound. Until she was three weeks old, we were unable to even hold her. When we finally did, it was the greatest sensation ever, I must say. We were aware of the numerous challenges that lay ahead. We were informed that we should always be ready for the worse and that our baby’s health would be an insane roller coaster. But after countless prayers and restless nights, we discovered that the trip was more like a protracted uphill struggle. We awaited a diagnosis of a brain bleed or the necessity for intestinal surgery, but neither materialized. The physicians informed us that seeing a kid born so little with no issues other than the need to grow was unprecedented. She was referred to as a superstar by our doctor.
She eventually put on the necessary weight. Our little girl was being extubated at two pounds. However, similar to the remainder of the pregnancy, the birth, and the initial weeks of life, this was not a typical event. Adalee had to do things her way since she was obstinate. She made the decision to extubate. Adalee had a different idea than her doctor, who wanted to wait until she weighed at least three pounds before extubating her. She kept developing and flourishing. Adalee had no more breathing support at three months of age!
Even though Adalee was getting stronger every day, we still had to wait for her to be sent home. Before drinking from a bottle for the first time at the age of three months, she received her milk and nutrients through a feeding tube. Her nurses had to replace it on a regular basis. Our kid was quite handy and would constantly remove her heart monitor wires and tubes.
We were finally able to bring our baby girl home after 106 agonizing days in the NICU. At discharge, Adalee weighed 4 pounds, 4 ounces. She was taken home with a feeding tube, which was taken out soon after. Due to her modest size, she remained on her cardiac monitor. Our newborn daughter began to thrive as soon as she arrived home.
Nine months have passed since I brought Adalee home, and I’m delighted to say that she is doing great. She weights twelve pounds and is currently one year old. She is still small, to be sure, but she will grow. Her ROP has nearly cured on its own without the need for surgery, and she is no longer on her apnea monitor. Adalee has triumphed over every obstacle and exceeded all expectations. Her development has impressed all of her doctors. It would be an understatement to say that we were fortunate to experience a miracle. As our child grows, I can only hope that she will continue to make development and develop. Despite having less than a 20% chance of surviving, our 14.5-oz baby girl lived. She succeeded. She lived. Despite her diminutive size, she is aggressive.
“God is my refuge; noble one,” said Adalee.
