Sparky

Godspeed, little man. Sweet dreams, little man.Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings. Godspeed. Sweet dreams.
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Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com Sparky (Harrison Cates IV) arrived on March 4, 2007 at 2:31 am in Grand Rapids, MI. He delivered through a cerclage and came out in his sac during a spontaneous natural breech birth in an elevator between the high risk pregnancy long term unit and the labor and delivery unit. Mag Sulfate, Procardia, Indocin.... none of those meds would stop him from forcing his way out during a full moon and partial eclipse. (Later we'll find that mommy's placenta had a few major infections and she had chorioamnionitis and funisitis -- probably due to the cerclage that was put in to keep her cervix closed tightly.)
He was 23 weeks, 1 day gestation and weighed 1 lb 9 oz and was 11.8 inches long.
When my son was born into this world, I knew he had a long road ahead. Being a reasonably intelligent person who has read a bit on the subject and watched every Discovery Health program in the world, I understood what challenges he would face and why. I suppose knowing what I did, the "safe" thing to do would have been to keep it low key, tell only who needed to know until he was closer to being able to come home. However, the story didn't start on March 4th; it started much earlier than that.
Three years ago when we started trying to have a family, I figured we would be fairly typical of couples. What I didn't know was that there was no such thing as typical. It seems like the vast majority of people I have met in this journey have a story to tell. Julianne and I have developed our own story through pharmacologically-induced mood swings, uncomfortable fertility testing, urinating on test strips, herbal supplements, and acupuncture. We adapted our schedules and desire to coincide with a thermometer; I did so gladly in the hopes that one day, we would have someone else to love other than each other.
When we found out we were pregnant back in October, to say we were cautiously optimistic would be fair. "Safe" was definitely the path we took. Things were progressing nicely, but there were some bumps in the road even then. More pharmacology, a hospital stay, and a surgical procedure only added to our optimism. Almost weekly ultrasounds gave us all the evidence that we needed to know our child was developing normally and had no outward disabilities. Ultrasound technology is so good now that we knew he was a boy at 13 weeks.
Julianne started bed rest on January 10th at 15 weeks. She was allowed to get up to go to the bathroom, but not much else. No restaurants or even trips to the grocery store. We came to refer to our weekly trips to the doctor as our "European vacations" as leaving the house had the same air of anticipation and excitement. I put everything I had into care for Julianne and the baby. Maybe there was one or two evenings I went to play hockey or helped coach the little kids, but by far and large, we did everything to keep that baby in utero. We even had the foot of the bed higher than the head to keep her in a mild state of traction. Again, we did so with good humor and the sarcastic wit we both share.
We tracked how many weeks along she was by marking the passing of each Saturday. We treated every weekend with reverence knowing that milestone brought us one week closer to the ultimate of our heart's desires.
Despite our best efforts and weekly celebration, the amount of cervix holding the baby in was steadily decreasing. A plan was made that she would be admitted to the hospital on February 22nd where she would remain until delivery in June. While February to June seemed like an eternity to be hospitalized, we were under no delusion that we would last that long. The baby was coming early, the question was how early. At first, we set the goal for 36 weeks, those estimates got a little more realistic as the days past. In the end we thought the best we could hope for was 29 weeks and the worst case scenario was 24. We didn't even make it that far.
Julianne had started contractions on March 1st. They were sporadic and the doctors were able to stop them with some heavy-duty medication that made her far more miserable than the contractions did. She sweated uncontrollably with the thermostat in her room set at 50. Ice packs and ice-water soaked wash cloths were the best we could do. Still we celebrated the following Saturday in our quiet way, to mark the passing of her 22nd week.
It proved to be a temporary respite as the contractions resumed with fervor on March 3rd. This time, no amount of medication could stop it, not even the stitch that held her cervix closed could hold her body's desire to eject the little boy she carried.
She was so miserable that night as they tried to calm her down and stop her contractions. I was Johnny-on-the-spot with freezing ice-cold cloths. At one point, it was decided that they weren't going to stop this, and they should move her downstairs and remove her stitch in the morning. About the moment, her body started giving out. Her oxygen levels dropped and it looked as if (and felt to her like) she was going to pass out. And so began the tale of the elevators. The short version is that the hospital bed didn't fit in the first elevator, an the feet came out as we banged in and out of the first elevator, the arms were out by the time we got to the larger bank of elevators. 23 weeks, and since it was after midnight, one day was all we could manage. Just 26 hours into his window of viability.
I don't think either of us thought our little boy lived through the delivery. Not until we heard a small cry did we think anything but the worst. The room was filled with doctors and nurses. And after a few minutes a doctor pulled me aside to see my ventilated, but very much living little boy. Still the next few hours flew by and we both thought the worst as no one seemed to have any updates for us beside that "they were still working on him".
About 4am, they took us to see him. As cloudy as that memory is, I remember the nurse asking if he had a name, without hesitation, I said "Harrison". Julianne was a little concerned at first to give our very premature son a family name with such history, but in my mind, at the point of seeing him there alive, there was no doubt whatsoever that he was my first born male child. Through his fight and determination, he earned that name. My heart became so full with my little boy.
At this point "safe" wasn't an option or even a consideration, again I was conscious of the emotional risk but it was far overshadowed by my joy. I let the world know,
I am a father, and Harrison Cates Withers IV is my son.
The doctors warned us about the "honeymoon" phase, that babies generally had a few days before problems started. But as a few days past, I became more and more hopeful. He was vibrant. He responded to our touch and loved to hold onto a finger even though he couldn't even get close to reaching all the way around even my smallest finger. He loved to be contained with a hand on his head and another on his feet. We would scrunch him up into a little ball and he would sleep.
The first week passed in a blur, we allowed ourselves to look forward to the day he would open his eyes, usually around the 25th week. We sang songs, one day, I sang Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues because it was the only song I could remember the words to at the time. I took pictures and video, I became "that guy" in the NICU.
For 7 wonderful days we loved like we have never loved before. We celebrated his one-week birthday, again with a quiet acknowledgement between his mother and I. But by the end of the 7th day, between the time we left at 10 pm and midnight, things had turned for the worse.
He was so fragile at his young age, I think we forgot that sometimes as he amazed us with his strong grip and powerful little calves.
I've heard people talk about parents burying their children, and always attributed that misery to a child that had lived long enough to form life experiences and memories through a matter of years. I've come to understand that cliché applies at 8 days as well as a lifetime.
I realize that very few people got the chance to meet him, and that the heartfelt sympathy so many have expressed to us is through the proxy of knowing his mother and I. But still the same, thank you for allowing us to not be "safe" and share the joy of our son with you, so that he can live on more hearts and memories than just his parent's. Thank you for carrying our experience and memories in your hearts so that he can be remembered for a greater sum than the 8 days he was with us. Thank you.
Harrison Cates Withers III