No chance of survival
Pints of water, that is, to give my girl a chance of survival...
Snapping a selfie in the sunshine, I couldn’t stop grinning.
Patting my bump, I turned on my sunlounger to face my partner Craig, then 32.
‘I can’t wait until she’s here,’ I said excitedly. ‘Me neither!’ he replied. It was May last year and Craig and I were on holiday in the Dominican Republic with my daughter Brooke, then 11, from a previous relationship.
I was 30, and 17 weeks pregnant with our baby girl. Everything was perfect. Except, during the holiday, I noticed I’d been leaking into my knickers.
‘You’re incontinent!’ Craig joked when I told him. I laughed, too. I assumed it was just part and parcel of being pregnant.
Only, back at home three weeks later, I was driving to meet Craig at the pub one evening when I suddenly felt a massive urge to go to the toilet.
Pulling into a service station, I made a mad dash for the loo. But it was too late. My underwear was soaked. In tears, I called Craig. ‘I think something’s wrong with the baby,’ I said between sobs.
Terrifying.
I managed to drive myself home, but the second I got back, Craig took me straight to hospital.
‘Put a pad in your underwear,’ a nurse said. ‘That way, we can measure any fluid leaking out of you.’
I did, but over the weekend the leaking stopped.
‘Must’ve been a one off,’ I told Craig, relieved.
But on Monday morning at work, I felt the same gushing as I sat at my desk.
I was wearing a pad, so I headed straight to the hospital. Craig met me there. It’s amniotic fluid,’ a consultant said. ‘Your waters have broken.’
‘No!’ I sobbed. ‘I’m only 20 weeks. It’s too early.’
He explained that over the next few hours, I’d go into labour.
‘I’m afraid that we don’t resuscitate babies until they are 24 weeks,’ the consultant said gravely.
‘At this point, she has zero per cent chance of survival.’ I was hysterical. My baby was going to die.
Devastating.
Only, the next morning, I still wasn’t in labour. ‘You still have fluid surrounding the baby,’ the consultant said. ‘We’re going to discharge you.’ They needed to keep a close eye on the baby.
But there was a chance.
Relief washed over me. I was still petrified for my unborn daughter. I was advised to put my feet up, quite literally, and avoid moving around as much as possible. But sitting on the sofa gave me even more time to think. To worry. And I was still losing water. I started Googling my symptoms, desperately searching for a ray of hope. Trawling the Internet, I came across Little
If I’m not in labour, then I must be dying...
Heartbeats, a volunteer-run volunteer site offering advice and support for mothers whose waters have broken prematurely.
They had lots of success stories – all from women who’d also started losing water in the early stages of pregnancy.
While you still have fluid around your baby, there’s still hope, one woman wrote.
Drink more water. I’d recommend 15 pints a day to replenish everything you’re losing, she said.
I already drank lots of water to help my skin, but I immediately upped my intake. Each day felt like a month... But my baby girl clung on. ‘I can’t believe she’s stayed put. It’s got to be the water!’ I told Craig.
And, somehow, I managed to get to 30 weeks. But then I began getting an aching in my pelvis. ‘It feels like labour,’ I told Craig. We headed to the h hospital, where doctors th thought it might be a w water infection. ‘We’ll keep an eye on y you,’ one said. But within three h hours, I felt contractionlik like pains in my lower ba back every few minutes. ‘Your cervix isn’t dilated,’ a midwife said. ‘You’re not in labour.’ I was kept in hospital overnight, with Craig by my side. But the next morning, hospital staff told him to go home, get something to eat and have a rest. Within an hour of him leaving, pain ripped through me. Grabbing the midwife, I screamed in agony. ‘If I’m not in labour, then I must be dying,’ I sobbed. Examining me, her face went grey. ‘You’re five centimetres dilated, and there’s no fluid left surrounding the baby,’ she gasped. Craig arrived as staff prepared me for a Caesarean. Then I heard a voice saying, ‘There’s no time. Baby is breech – and she’s coming now!’
Thankfully, a few minutes later, Hallie Rae was delivered.
She was rushed straight to Neonatal Intensive Care.
An hour later, I was finally allowed to see her.
My baby girl weighed just 2lb 13oz, but she was a fighter.
Doctors were amazed – she’d defied all the odds.
After six weeks, Hallie was finally allowed to come home.
I’m so grateful to Little Heartbeats. I reckon their advice to sink 15 pints a day saved my baby’s life.
Now 9 months old, she’s the light of my life.
Our incredible water baby!