It was thirty years ago this Tuesday, September 10th, that I gave birth to Frankie. He was a premie, born a month early.
This was a difficult pregnancy, considered high risk.
The previous year I gave birth to our baby girl Lydia, who lived only two weeks. She had a multitude of medical issues, the most serious of which was having only one kidney, and that one was diseased.
After Lydia's death, the doctors suggested that we wait a while to have another child so that we could deal with all that had happened. However, I knew if we waited, I would have been too frightened to try again. So, against medical advice, I was pregnant with Frankie a couple of months later.
Two years earlier, when I was pregnant with Ben, I had surgery in my fifth month, and spent most of the last trimester on bed rest.
With Lydia, a year later, I was fine, but she had problems.
Now with Frankie, I had placenta previa, which was a serious condition with the potential of maternal hemorrhaging before or during labor.
We were in the Navy at this time, and had orders to go to the Philippines, but they were changed because the hospital there didn't have a neonatal intensive care unit. The orders were changed to Columbia, South Carolina instead.
Shortly after arriving in South Carolina, we purchased a home that we were so excited about. We moved in and in the excitement, I moved something too heavy and started to bleed. I was hospitalized for observation, then discharged with the order of no heavy lifting, moving etc. Ben was always big for his age and at two years old, he was already a bruiser. But he was two, so not picking him up every now and then was a challenge. At any rate, I promised to be on my best behavior and was discharged.
Of course, when I returned home, there was still furniture to move, and a toddler to care for.
So, you know what happened, right?
Yep, I managed to move something and I started to bleed again. This time when I was hospitalized, no amount of begging changed the doctor's mind. So, I spent the last month of the pregnancy in the hospital. It would have been two if I made it to full term. This was before the drive-by medical service that is the norm today.
Now I knew what it was like to lose a child, so you would think I would have erred on the side of caution. Only God knows what I was thinking.
While in the hospital the second time, I continued to bleed off and on, and after checking Frankie's vital organs, it was determined that he would be OK if delivered early, so the doctor said if I started to bleed again, they would do a caesarian section.
On a beautiful Saturday morning, with this plan in place, the bleeding resumed, and I was prepped for surgery. I called Frank, but he had to get Ben to a sitter before he could arrive. By the time he got there, Frankie was born.
He was a beautiful little guy, but he looked so much like his sister, that the first couple of weeks were filled with mixed emotions. We were thrilled he was here and healthy, but he looked so much like Lydia, he was also a reminder of our loss.
When he moved past the two weeks mark that Lydia lived, he came into his own.
When Ben met Frankie, he was absolutely thrilled with his new brother. He had one of the biggest smiles ever when he saw him the first time. That admiration continued until Frankie started to smile, and then Ben was through with him, but it was great while it lasted.
We settled into a routine where Frankie and I spent a lot of time together, while Ben was in preschool and Frank was at work. He and I would take a walk everyday. He loved being outside.
With Ben as his role model, he learned everything quicker. He walked at ten months, while Ben didn't walk until he was a year old. It was like that with all of the growth markers. It was like he was rushing to catch up with Ben.
It's hard to believe that it's been thirty years.
I remember this time like it was yesterday.
I was 27 years old, with two baby boys. Ben at 2 and Frankie a newborn.
When Frankie and Cara were expecting Zadie, I thought he was too young to be a father. Of course, he reminded me that I had both he and Ben by this same age. And of course, he was right.
My advice to everyone with little ones is . . . enjoy them. Spend time with them. Laugh with them. Listen to them. And love them like there's no tomorrow because if you're lucky, in the blink of an eye, they'll be grown, having kids of their own . . . like my baby boy.
Happy birthday Frankie.
Love, Mom
This was a difficult pregnancy, considered high risk.
The previous year I gave birth to our baby girl Lydia, who lived only two weeks. She had a multitude of medical issues, the most serious of which was having only one kidney, and that one was diseased.
After Lydia's death, the doctors suggested that we wait a while to have another child so that we could deal with all that had happened. However, I knew if we waited, I would have been too frightened to try again. So, against medical advice, I was pregnant with Frankie a couple of months later.
Two years earlier, when I was pregnant with Ben, I had surgery in my fifth month, and spent most of the last trimester on bed rest.
With Lydia, a year later, I was fine, but she had problems.
Now with Frankie, I had placenta previa, which was a serious condition with the potential of maternal hemorrhaging before or during labor.
We were in the Navy at this time, and had orders to go to the Philippines, but they were changed because the hospital there didn't have a neonatal intensive care unit. The orders were changed to Columbia, South Carolina instead.
Shortly after arriving in South Carolina, we purchased a home that we were so excited about. We moved in and in the excitement, I moved something too heavy and started to bleed. I was hospitalized for observation, then discharged with the order of no heavy lifting, moving etc. Ben was always big for his age and at two years old, he was already a bruiser. But he was two, so not picking him up every now and then was a challenge. At any rate, I promised to be on my best behavior and was discharged.
Of course, when I returned home, there was still furniture to move, and a toddler to care for.
So, you know what happened, right?
Yep, I managed to move something and I started to bleed again. This time when I was hospitalized, no amount of begging changed the doctor's mind. So, I spent the last month of the pregnancy in the hospital. It would have been two if I made it to full term. This was before the drive-by medical service that is the norm today.
Now I knew what it was like to lose a child, so you would think I would have erred on the side of caution. Only God knows what I was thinking.
While in the hospital the second time, I continued to bleed off and on, and after checking Frankie's vital organs, it was determined that he would be OK if delivered early, so the doctor said if I started to bleed again, they would do a caesarian section.
On a beautiful Saturday morning, with this plan in place, the bleeding resumed, and I was prepped for surgery. I called Frank, but he had to get Ben to a sitter before he could arrive. By the time he got there, Frankie was born.
He was a beautiful little guy, but he looked so much like his sister, that the first couple of weeks were filled with mixed emotions. We were thrilled he was here and healthy, but he looked so much like Lydia, he was also a reminder of our loss.
When he moved past the two weeks mark that Lydia lived, he came into his own.
When Ben met Frankie, he was absolutely thrilled with his new brother. He had one of the biggest smiles ever when he saw him the first time. That admiration continued until Frankie started to smile, and then Ben was through with him, but it was great while it lasted.
We settled into a routine where Frankie and I spent a lot of time together, while Ben was in preschool and Frank was at work. He and I would take a walk everyday. He loved being outside.
With Ben as his role model, he learned everything quicker. He walked at ten months, while Ben didn't walk until he was a year old. It was like that with all of the growth markers. It was like he was rushing to catch up with Ben.
It's hard to believe that it's been thirty years.
I remember this time like it was yesterday.
I was 27 years old, with two baby boys. Ben at 2 and Frankie a newborn.
When Frankie and Cara were expecting Zadie, I thought he was too young to be a father. Of course, he reminded me that I had both he and Ben by this same age. And of course, he was right.
My advice to everyone with little ones is . . . enjoy them. Spend time with them. Laugh with them. Listen to them. And love them like there's no tomorrow because if you're lucky, in the blink of an eye, they'll be grown, having kids of their own . . . like my baby boy.
Happy birthday Frankie.
Love, Mom
Happy Birthday, Frankie!
ReplyDelete