Happy Birthday to Kaden!

So today Kaden is FIVE!!! Crazy to think that it's been five years ago today that my tiny little guy was born. Two pounds, two ounces... So small! He beat the odds so many times. He is my little miracle boy. I still get teary-eyed thinking about his rough start. And I still haven't been able to scrapbook the pictures from when he was born. It's just too hard. Anyway, I am so thankful for that wonderful little boy. He has such a fun personality. He is hilarious, and very sweet. He always knows when I need a hug and is always willing to give me one. He's such a good brother. I can't imagine my life without him. I love him so much!
I love this picture of Kaden. It totally shows his personality; fun, fun, fun!

For journaling purposes, I'm also posting an essay I wrote a few months ago for my English class. It could only be three pages long, and I had to cut out SO much info, but I go a 100% on it. My teacher was very impressed with the story. So if you're up for a little story, here goes:
Saturday is my favorite day of the week. It’s a time to relax and spend time with family. One particular Saturday my husband, Brent and I slept in late since we did not have to go to work or school. We went to a few yard sales to find baby items for our first child who we were expecting on July 22. We came home, ate lunch, and took a nap. I’d had an easy and uneventful, even enjoyable six months of pregnancy so far. Saturday, April 24, 2004 ended up being a day that would change my life forever. It was the beginning of a new chapter in my life.
I awoke from my afternoon nap to a very sharp pain in my stomach. It hurt so bad that I began to cry. The pain faded a little bit, so I tried resting again. I didn’t even bother waking my husband. Then the pain came back, and left, several times. I finally decided to call my mom and ask her what was happening to me. While I was on the phone with her, I started bleeding and I felt like a balloon was coming out from between my legs. My mom told me to call my doctor immediately. Since it was Saturday and the doctor’s office was closed, I spoke with the on-call doctor. Dr. McNeil instructed me to go to the hospital. I woke Brent and after we left, I called my mom to let her know. She sounded very scared, and informed me that she had packed her bags and was on her way to come see me. She lived four hours away, so I told her to stop freaking out and that I would be home from the hospital in a few hours, after the doctor stopped my contractions. I assumed that since I was only 27 weeks pregnant and still had thirteen weeks until my due date, there was no way the baby could be born this early. My mom insisted that she was coming anyway.
When we arrived at the hospital a nurse directed us to a room at the end of the hallway. I was told to put on a hospital gown and get in the bed. I had never been in a hospital gown or bed before, and it felt very strange to be there. My nurse, Evelyn put two large elastic bands around my belly. One was to monitor the baby’s heart rate and the other was to monitor my contractions. The doctor had not made it to the hospital yet, but instructed my nurse to perform a pelvic exam and ultrasound to see if my cervix was dilated. The ultrasound came first. The ultrasound tech came in to my room with the ultrasound machine. She again confirmed that my son was a boy, and commented on how big his feet were. She was not allowed to tell me anything else about what was going on until the doctor read the ultrasound. Evelyn then proceeded to do a pelvic exam. She asked me to spread my legs and inserted her fingers inside of me. She got a very concerned look on her face and quickly ran from the room, almost yelling “That’s a bulging bag!”
Neither Brent nor I had realized the severity of the situation until that moment. We were both very scared. I was glad that my mom was already on her way. Brent called his parents to let them know what was going on. Evelyn returned a few very long minutes later. She explained to us that I was beginning to deliver my amniotic sac, with the baby inside. She had run out of the room to call the doctor again and let her know of the urgency of the situation. Brent’s parents showed up shortly before the doctor got there. The doctor did another pelvic exam before notifying us that I had gone in to preterm labor. She explained that I would be taken via helicopter to another hospital with a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) that would be able to care for my son.
While we waited for the helicopter to arrive, Evelyn put an IV in my arm and started giving me Magnesium Sulfate, which was a muscle relaxer that would slow my contractions. Evelyn said she would also need to give me a shot of steroids that would help my baby’s lungs to develop faster, thereby increasing his chance of survival. When I turned to talk to Brent, she stabbed my thigh with the needle and injected the steroids. It startled me and was so painful that I flexed my thigh as an unintended reaction. The needle bent so far when I flexed my muscle that it nearly broke. That shot hurt far worse than any of the contractions I had experienced so far.
While still waiting for the helicopter to come, a high-risk baby specialist came to talk to Brent and I about what would happen with our premature baby. He explained that if my son were to be born that day, he had only a fifty percent chance of survival; that if he were to survive, there was a high likelihood of severe disabilities. This was terrifying news to me. He also told me that for every day I was able to keep him inside of me, my son would spend about three less days in the NICU.
Around 5:00 pm the helicopter arrived and I was loaded on to a gurney. There was not enough room in the helicopter for Brent to come, so he had to drive over in his car. Although the other hospital was less than five miles away, Brent was waiting for me when we arrived. It was my first time in a helicopter, but it felt very strange to by lying down looking up at the sky. It was an uneventful helicopter ride, and I was so relieved to see Brent again. I was so scared, and he has always been my strength during difficult times. I could see that he was very scared too.
The medics rushed my gurney in to a hospital room and moved me to the hospital bed. Then they tilted the bed back so my feet were about eight inches higher than my head. I was told that this was to help gravity work in my favor. I was also receiving high doses of Terbutaline, which is another muscle relaxer, as well as antibiotics to ward off infections.
The next day, Sunday evening, I got a second and final steroid shot. The doctors said that my son would benefit most from the steroids if he stayed inside of me for a full 48 hours after the initial dose, giving the steroids enough time to develop his lungs more and increase his chances of survival. We all had a little celebration on Monday evening.
I remained in that hospital bed, day after day, thankful that I was increasing my baby’s chances for survival. I was completely miserable due to the high doses of muscle relaxers. I could hardly lift my arms or turn my head. My vision became extremely blurry, so I couldn’t watch television, or read, or do anything else that required my sight to pass the time. I had plenty of time to worry. It felt like I was going to be in that hospital bed forever. Brent stayed by me the entire time. He was too worried to leave my side, and slept beside me in my hospital bed. I began to have heart problems due to all the medications I was on and the stress it caused on my heart, and also developed pneumonia.
By Saturday, I’d started contracting very frequently again despite all the muscle relaxers and my condition had continued to deteriorate. My doctors decided that if they continued to keep me on these medications, it would have severe complications for me, and that the baby had a much better chance of survival now than he did one week ago when this started. I was taken to the operating room for an emergency c-section at 5:00 am. Brent stayed by my side through the surgery, and even watched most of it. I was still very afraid that my baby wouldn’t breathe on his own when he was born. I was amazed at how quickly everything went. My sweet, tiny little baby was born at 5:13 am on May 1, 2004, just thirteen minutes after being taken for a c-section. He weighed only two pounds, two ounces.
Within seconds of his birth, I heard the most beautiful noise I’d ever heard. My baby began crying! I couldn’t see him, but I heard his strong little cry for a few seconds before he was rushed away by the neonatal team. After hearing his cry, I knew that he was strong-willed, a real fighter. I knew he had what it took not just to survive, but to fight the hard battle ahead of him and come out on top. He was finally able to join us at home after three long months in the NICU, without any lasting disabilities or side-effects of his prematurity. He truly beat the odds, and my life will never be the same because of this amazing little boy.