Preemie. What image does that bring to mind?
To many people, the term “preemie” is meaningless. To some, “preemie” calls up a perfect tiny newborn.
When I hear it, the word “preemie” makes my stomach sink, just a little.
I know, viscerally and completely, that my 10-year-old daughters are smart, healthy, talented, and vibrant. Any obstacles that their premature birth once presented have been left far behind us. However, there’s a part of me that will always quiver at the reminder of how close we came to losing them. I can’t help but be humbled by the strength of their 4-lb bodies as they fought to breathe, digest, and eat when they should have been serenely safe in my womb.
Today, on Prematurity Awareness Day, I wear my special shirt.
Read the stories of the HDYDI preemies from across the years.
My daughter was born in the seventh month. It is completely miracle that she survived. So small and delicate she was that I have almost lost hope of her survival. But god was with us, she is now 02 years old and completely fine. I am blessed and wish nobody faces the same.
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“We just got off the phone with your doctor. We’re going to induce you.” At 34 weeks pregnant, these were the last words I wanted to hear from the nurse as my husband and I waited in the tiny cubicle in the Labor and Delivery ward at the hospital. My back had been bothering me off and on the past couple days, but this evening’s pain pushed me over the edge, and we had gone to the emergency room. It turned out to be preeclampsia, and because of my dangerously high blood pressure, my liver and kidneys were starting to shut down. Like any pregnant woman, I asked the first thing that came to mind, “What about the baby?” My daughter is now a boisterous two-year-old, and those frightening times are far behind us.
Cheers then.
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