24 weeks

 

Tears are welling just thinking of my and Owen's story. It all truly started when I was 19 weeks pregnant. I started spotting which turned into full on bleeding. Before I knew it I went from bed rest to being admitted to the hospital. Once admitted, I was told that I would likely lose our boy, our first child. This little human being that had a heart beat and all his fingers and toes. I'm sure even then he had his feisty personality! But I heard phrases like, "there's no amniotic fluid," "the writing is on the wall," and "placental abruption." My heart aches remembering the person I was while going through those moments. Helpless. Full of fear. Questioning my body and my motherhood. The night we thought we would lose our precious boy, Owen, I remember my husband grabbing my hand and praying for the "God of all hope" to provide a way out for us three. 

 

Every day getting to 23 weeks was torture. Even though it was our goal, the doctors told us the chances of him surviving was only 10%. The day we got to that glorious but terrifying day, they strapped a belt on me to monitor Owen more closely. Our new goal? 24 weeks. His chances of survival would be much better. Those seven days getting to 24 weeks were excruciating and felt like years. Watching the sun rise and set. And then one night his familiar heart beat shifted. It started slowing. A sign that he needed to come out. On 24 weeks and 0 days at 4:26pm, Nick and I gave Owen into the hands of skilled doctors and nurses. 

 

After the c-section, I remember being rolled to his room in the NICU. Hazy and still drugged from surgery, I saw this tiny little alien in an incubator. Barely 1 pound and only 11 inches. His body was irradecent, and only skin and fur covering his little bones. I remember crying over his incubator telling him, "I'm so sorry that I couldn't carry him longer." 

 

His prematurity has caused many issues in his short life so far, but one thing I know, we named him appropriately. Owen means little warrior, and that he is. He fights like none other I've ever met. He's my hero. And he has taught me this...pregnancy, birth stories, motherhood, it's for those ready to fight. To fight for your child, for your family, for yourself, for the things that matter in life. Whether you're a mama to a biological, adopted, or fostered child, I feel like this must ring true to mamas of all kinds. May your fight for the things that matter to you birth amazing and lasting victories.

 

-Written by Mama Tribe Blogger, Darlene "Hi all!  My name is Darlene Abrams.  Our family is made up of our one little guy, Owen, along with my husband, Nick, and myself.  We live in San Diego and try to live our lives full of joy, adventure, and lots of laughs."
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