What a Difference a Year Makes
My daughter has lived almost 11 months, and I’ve spent most of that time in fear that she wouldn’t get that far.
After getting out of the military where I worked in nuclear power as an electrician, my wife urged me to try a different path. With her support, I took a chance at getting into scouting in college football. I’d been interning for 2 seasons with the University of Houston and it looked like my chance at a full time position had come.
Before leaving for a few week break, I had a conversation about a scouting position being created for me. I was excited to tell my wife this, especially because it would give us a second income and benefits in time for our daughter to get here.
When we started to try to get pregnant, my wife and I knew that it would likely be a stressful process. She has lupus and with that comes anticipation that her body may not handle a pregnancy well.
She was worried that she couldn’t get pregnant. I assured her that the Mexican blood running through my veins should put those concerns at ease. Thankfully, I was right.
We had several appointments with several doctors in the first few months to be sure that our little Quinn Marroquin was developing properly. Everything was going well. She was a little small, but nothing concerning.
One weekend, I think it was a weekend, my wife wasn’t feeling well. Her heart rate was oddly low and she had headaches she couldn’t shake. Migraines were apart of her world generally, but of course we didn’t want to take any chances. To the ER we went.
The ER went as smoothly as expected. We waited four hours to be seen and they were more focused on getting an MRI done to make sure my wife didn’t have a blood clot. They eventually checked that Quinn’s heart rate was still present, our major concern, and then sent us home.
Well, the next day my wife had the same concerns. So she got ready to go to urgent care while I punched air in anticipation of bills and wasted time. The urgent care doctor had some news for us. It was time to contact our doctor because it may be time for Quinn to come.
Here’s the thing about that, she was only 24 weeks along. Which would mean we would get to see our daughter four months early. A lot of things weren’t even starting to develop at this point. For example, she didn’t have nipples at birth. Because I am an idiot, that is the first thing that comes to mind.
So, we get to the hospital and we wait in a room for several hours. Eventually they are able to put my wife in a real room and we get to see her doctors. They of course start running tests and are warning us that it is likely that Quinn needs to come out.
It wasn’t real for me until they did an exam and I saw blood drop from my wife’s body. It is probably the only time in my life I can truly say I needed to take a seat. If I was able to look in a mirror, I was probably ghost white. Mostly because the blood just freaked me out. But, of course, I was scared for my wife and baby.
What I didn’t want was to end up like Kevin Hart in that movie that I can’t remember the name. I needed my wife to help me raise Quinn. Of course, I love my wife and need her around for me. Something I never doubted, but this whole process cemented that for me.
It was explained to us that my wife was suffering from HELLP syndrome and preeclampsia, these are complications that can effect blood pressure among other things. The remedy for this, taking Quinn out of my wife’s body. According to a quick google search, HELLP is very rare with only 20,000 cases per year in the US. So, that's cool.
Being that Quinn is so small at this point, C-section is the next step. So I wait while they get my wife prepared for surgery before they bring me in. This wasn’t the moment I’d envisioned, but I was able to hold her hand through the process. They had set up a barrier just under my wife’s neck so that none of the action was visible. Thankfully my wife let them know I wasn’t get with blood.
So there we are, waiting while they filet my wife layer by layer before they get to our baby. My wife was motionless but conscious. We were talking to one of the nurses about her sushi order for after. She had it saved in her phone knowing it would be what she was craving.
Quinn weighed a whopping 1 pound, 2 ounces at birth. And unlike a lot of preemies, we heard a tiny cry at birth. But things were just getting started. They immediately wheeled her out of the room. I was able to take some pictures to keep our family updated, but the medical team had to get everything set up. This was day one of 123 days in the NICU for my baby.
They escorted me out to a waiting room while they slinkied my wife’s organs back in her body. For what was probably just 30 minutes, I sat alone. No idea where my child was. No idea how my wife was doing post surgery. It felt like an eternity. I heard babies crying near me. Saw families huddled around their newborns. It was like torture.
Eventually they wheeled my wife into the waiting room with me. And a few hours later we got into a room for her to recover. But, our baby would be on a different floor. In the NICU, visitation is limited. We had to choose 4 family members that would be allowed in to visit Quinn. Thankfully, we were allowed 2 more spots to accommodate the extra grandparents Quinn was blessed with.
I mentioned before that I was potentially going to be rewarded with a position that I’d worked for. Well, with what we were about to be dealing with, I wasn’t sure that was still going to be an option. Our hospital stay was about to extend, and we were informed that our daughter wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon.
Obviously, my wife and daughter and their health were more important than anything going on. But I worried that being present for my family could count against me. Of course, I was going to put my family first, but my mind would wander. I wanted this job.
Well, that started to matter less and less. My wife did not recover quickly after pregnancy. So I mentioned preeclampsia. Drop the “pre” folks, we were in full blown eclampsia mode now.
My wife struggled. Her body continued to betray her. She developed an ileus and they were discussing potential surgery to get her stomach working properly again. It got to the point that her doctors decided they couldn’t properly care for her, and it was time to transfer her where they could.
After one of these conversations, I followed the doctors out. They were mid conversation and then realized I was staring at them. “Is my wife going to die?”
Their faces dropped, and one of them assured me things would turn. That she would be fine. To be fair to them, what the fuck are they supposed to say?
So, off we went. Transferred to a new hospital where we got to answer the same questions over and over again. My wife continued to battle, but things weren’t really progressing. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.
I went with my wife because I figured my daughter was in good hands. And, there was nothing I could do for her anyway. The best I could do was try to read to her. But I could through a few words before I started blubbering my eyes were so filled with tears I couldn’t read the book anyway.
Our collective guilt of being away from Quinn added to my wife’s struggles. It all built up to the scariest moment of my life. Something that I am not over. And something that I still cry about in the shower before heading to work.
After an attempt at using the restroom, we got my wife back to her bed. She mentioned feeling, malnourished, I think was the specific word. The nurse got her some soup. But, it’s like my wife knew, something was wrong and something big was coming.
I helped her sit in bed, and I noticed something was off. Her head started to pull to one side, and she kept repeating the same thing. “Yeah, okay. Yeah, okay. Yeah, okay…”
I grabbed the nurse. “Something is happening”. I didn’t know what else to say. But we were going to need help.
When I got back to my wife, she was sitting where I left her. She was starting to lose control, and then it started happening. She started to have a seizure. I was panicking, just trying to keep her on the bed. I remember screaming, “HELP!” over and over at the top of my lungs.
People started to show up. But, they just showed up. They were forming a line, watching me and one other nurse try to keep my wife’s convulsing body on the bed. On top of fear, I started to fill with anger and confusion. Why are these reporting like this is a fucking show? Help my wife, now.
Eventually a team bypassed the lemmings and went into action. Someone at one point screamed, “I can’t find a pulse!” with confusion and I lost it. “What is happening?!”
Thinking back on my voice cracking in that moment. If you remember the Joe Schmo show where the protagonist finally realizes everyone around him is an actor, it sounded a lot like that.
What I didn’t realize, the lemmings that showed up, and the person who couldn't find a pulse, were all in training. That particular hospital was a training ground. And the issue wasn’t that my wife didn’t have a pulse, it was that this person was trying to attach the finger thing while my wife’s body was convulsing.
Like I said, I haven’t emotionally recovered from this moment. I likely never will. I need therapy. When the seizure was over, and I looked at my wife’s face, I thought that she was gone. Many thoughts went through my head, and for some reason a major thought was that my wife would never get to work again.
I call my wife the Lebron James of interior design. She’s amazing at her job. Her company is lucky to have her. And if she hadn’t passed in that moment, I didn’t think she’d ever be the same.
Thankfully, I’m a dumbass. My wife is fine. That seizure was actually exactly what she needed. Her body reset, and she was on her way to recovery. We were out of there in a few days. In fact, they damn near kicked us out of the hospital.
After the seizure, my in-laws took me to the hospital to see my daughter. My wife urged me to, so Quinn wasn’t alone. She said I didn’t need to feel guilty. That visit wasn’t great. The doctor informed us of the results of some testing which my wife had to process over the phone, alone.
The doctor told us that Quinn suffered a grade 4, bilateral brain bleed. If you’re keeping score at home, that is as bad as it gets. Often times, children that suffer from this end up dealing with issues like cerebral palsy amongst other things. We were crushed.
This same doctor mentioned the next time we saw him, when my wife got out of the hospital, that maybe we could consider end of life care for Quinn. Meaning, for lack of better explanation, we could start the process of humanely pulling the plug.
Fuck that. Fuck him. No.
My wife and I had discussed before she was even pregnant that we wanted our child to live a healthy life. We talked about what we might do if we knew that the baby would have life altering issues. But, no. Quinn hadn’t been given a chance yet. And she was here.
So he we are. Our daughter suffering with this brain bleed that could prevent a “normal” life. My wife out of the hospital and processing that our daughter won’t be home with us. Me, an emotional wreck not even trying to hide it at this point.
We were in the hospital on Valentines Day, and on the way back from seeing my daughter, I scrambled to get something for my wife. I ugly cried to her apologizing for being empty handed.
But, brighter days. After 123 days in the NICU, Quinn came home. She got to meet her brother and sister, our dogs. She’s been thriving. An MRI confirmed that her brain bleed was actually not as severe. It was a grade 2, and completely resolved without intervention.
A recent appointment to track her progress and development revealed that she is on track or ahead of progress for her adjusted age. For example, Quinn will be a year on February 6, but her adjusted age is 8 months since she was 4 months premature.
My wife is doing well, and working again. Back to dominating the world of interior design. Balancing being a mom and having a full time job most days. We’re lucky her company is flexible and to have support from our family that allows her to go into the office a couple of times a week.
I did get that job. I worked this past season as the Assistant Director of Scouting for UH Football. I was just let go while sitting in the hospital with Quinn as she battled a couple of viruses and bronchiolitis. And that’s ok. I got the experience. Now I know what it’s like. And I know that nothing matters more than my family.
We just got home today after she battled for a week. Bringing her total hospital time to 130 days in not even a calendar year of life. She is the toughest fucking person on this planet. And nothing is going to hold her back from achieving whatever she wants.
I’d been wanting to write about the experience of Quinn coming early and everything that followed. Maybe someone else who is or will deal with this can take something from it. I think it’s important for men to understand that they don’t have to be stoic in this scenario. And that while we don’t go through the same physical and emotional torture women do in this process, we are also going through it.
I may be the extreme. I cried several times writing this. But letting out how you’re feeling is important. Hopefully it also brings perspective. I know that my wife and I are lucky. Quinn is doing unexpectedly well, even with the obstacles we’ve faced.
I left the military because I wanted to be present when it came time to start a family. At least in my experience, football doesn’t allow it either. So, a fresh start is good. I can focus on my family and keeping my daughter healthy. And watching my wife continue to dominate interior design.
I can also get back to watching and enjoying football on weekends, at least for a few more weeks. Don’t hate that.