Anonymous

PPROM.

*Preterm premature rupture of membranes (PPROM) is a pregnancy complication where the amniotic sac breaks before 37 weeks gestation, before labor begins.

I was at home when my water broke at 27 weeks.
I didn’t think that’s what it was at first. I wasn’t having contractions and I wasn’t in pain. It just kept happening, and I knew something wasn’t right. I called my doctor and they told me to come in.

At the hospital they ran tests and told me my membranes had ruptured early. PPROM. I had never heard that term before. They admitted me right away. IVs were started, blood was drawn, and monitors were put on my belly. I kept asking if I would be going home and they told me no. I would be staying.

That first night was overwhelming. I came in thinking I would be checked and reassured, and instead I was in a hospital bed being told we were in a waiting period. Antibiotics were started to lower the risk of infection. Ultrasounds were done to check fluid levels. Nurses came in often to check my vitals and my baby girl’s heart rate.

Days turned into weeks. I stayed pregnant much longer than anyone expected. Every morning felt like a win. Every night felt heavy. I learned how to measure time in days instead of weeks, in heartbeats instead of calendars. I celebrated getting through one more day without complications.

Being antepartum was lonely. Life kept moving outside the hospital while mine stayed still. I watched people come and go. I missed my home. I missed normal pregnancy things. I missed feeling in control of my body.

After several weeks, things started to change. I developed signs of infection and contractions began. The doctors explained that it was no longer safe to continue the pregnancy. Steroids had already been given to help my baby girl’s lungs, and magnesium was started for brain protection. Antibiotics were continued. The decision was made to deliver.

Labor was induced. The room filled with people. More monitors, more IVs. The NICU team came in before delivery and explained what would happen when my daughter was born. Everything felt serious and fast, even though I had been waiting for so long.

At 34 weeks, my daughter was born. She was very small. The NICU team took over right away. I heard a brief cry before they moved her to the warmer. They worked quickly, checking her breathing and heart rate. I only saw her for a moment before she was taken to the NICU.

I went back to my room alone. I wasn’t pregnant anymore, but I didn’t have my baby with me either. The waiting didn’t end, it just changed. This wasn’t the pregnancy or birth I expected. But it taught me how strong I could be without feeling strong. It taught me how to trust modern medicine, because it saved my baby.