The Courage to Succeed: A True American Dream. -Book Series, Chapter 8

 

Chapter 8

 “Children are God’s love gift; they are heaven’s generous reward.” Psalm 127:3.

Motherhood

During my first pregnancy, I faced an overwhelming challenge with hyperemesis gravidarum, which made it impossible to keep down solid foods. The relentless vomiting, up to nine times a day, took a toll on my body and spirit. Despite this, I held onto the hope that things might improve. Then came the day of my first fetal sonogram, and the world as I knew it began to unravel.

Around week 26, The sonogram revealed something troubling—the ventricles in my baby's brain were enlarged. The doctors couldn't pinpoint the cause and asked me to return weekly for monitoring. As the weeks passed, the ventricles continued to grow, leading to a suspected diagnosis of hydrocephalus. The fetal-maternal doctor began to discuss early delivery and the possibility of placing a shunt if the condition worsened.

By week 31, the situation had become increasingly dire. The decision was made to induce labor at 37 weeks and four days. Less than 24 hours after giving birth, a pediatrician came into my room, speaking as though I had already been briefed. His words blurred together, but the one phrase that stood out” The baby is missing a part of the brain"—plunged me into darkness. My world felt like it was crumbling around me.

The term "corpus callosum" was not foreign to me; however, I quickly learned that it was the part of the brain that was missing. The doctors tried to prepare us for what might lie ahead—difficulty swallowing, significant learning disabilities, and countless other potential issues. It was bleak, but I refused to let that define our future. I knew we had to be proactive to fight for our child's development and well-being.

Determined to give him the best start possible, I immersed myself in early education and brain development research. I enrolled him in an early education program and asked the director to support and encourage him in every way possible. Genetic testing confirmed that the only anomaly was the absence of the corpus callosum. We began physical and occupational therapy, adopting a "wait and see" approach.

As he grew, I enrolled him in Taekwondo, and despite a few motor skill delays, he flourished. Today, at nine years old, no one would ever guess he is missing the corpus callosum. He is thriving, a testament to the power of early intervention and relentless hope. But the journey wasn't easy, and it took us five years to consider having another child.

The decision to have a second child came in 2020, during the height of the pandemic. My severe hyperemesis gravidarum returned with a vengeance, and after 11 weeks, I found myself hospitalized for steroid treatment to control relentless vomiting. I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the window, understanding why some women may choose not to have more children. The misery was unbearable, yet I was determined to endure.

Around 20 weeks into the pregnancy, I started my first job as a nurse practitioner, making house calls. At 28 weeks, while visiting an elderly couple in San Angelo, Texas, I experienced a terrifying accident. The chair I sat on gave way, and I hit my head on the edge of a brick fireplace. Blood poured from the wound, but I managed to call 911. Thankfully, I didn't lose consciousness, and the baby was okay, but I required nine staples to close the laceration.

The incident left me shaken and fearful, and I began to slip into depression. I decided to take early maternity leave to recover, but as the weeks passed, I grew weaker. By week 32 or 33, I could barely move from bed to chair. It was then that I asked my husband to take me to the hospital, where they discovered I was in a pre-eclamptic state. I was hospitalized again, and by week 34, the decision was made to induce labor. My condition was deteriorating, and it was no longer safe to continue the pregnancy.

We asked a friend to watch our older son, but eventually, my sister-in-law came down from Chicago to take him with her. Our beautiful baby girl was born, but my recovery was slow and painful. I was delirious from the magnesium drips, and the hospital was so overcrowded that I was placed in a small room that felt more like a closet. My baby girl struggled to maintain her oxygen levels and was transferred to a NICU in Austin, Texas. My husband went with her while I remained behind, still unwell and overwhelmed by the isolation.

The separation from my family was agonizing. My older son was in Chicago, my husband and newborn daughter were in Austin, and I was alone in the hospital in Round Rock, struggling to recover. It was a dark and lonely time, but I finally managed to visit my daughter after a week, and she was ready to come home.

Just as we began to settle into life with our newborn, a massive winter storm hit. We were trapped inside our home with no electricity, no water, and no phone service. The temperature inside the house dropped to 60 degrees, and we knew we had to leave. I found an old phone with service from a different carrier and called a friend who lived across town. She invited us to stay with her, and a journey that should have taken eight minutes took an hour due to the snow. We camped at her home for five days, along with four other families and our premature newborn. We were fortunate to make it through, but the experience left its mark on all of us.

Later, my son's teacher called, concerned about his behavior. He would cry whenever it rained, looking out the window and saying, "My mom and dad aren't coming." The trauma from those days when we suddenly went to the hospital and were separated from him had left a deep impression. The stormy weather and the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic only exacerbated his fears.

This chapter of our lives was filled with challenges, but we faced them together as a family. It was a period of immense growth, resilience, and learning. And through it all, we discovered the strength to keep moving forward, no matter how difficult the path.