For weeks, I had been dreading this moment, haunted by the events of February 13, 2017. That was the day I was introduced to acronyms like PPROM (preterm premature rupture of membranes), understood the critical nature of fetal movement, and discovered who I could really rely on in my life. It was a day that fundamentally altered my perceptions of motherhood and stripped away my naïve ideals. It marked a pivotal shift in my life, revealing how many factors must align perfectly to welcome a healthy, full-term baby.
It was a typical day when my water broke unexpectedly while I was at my chiropractor’s office. Initially, I thought I had just experienced a minor accident, but as more fluid escaped, panic set in. I worried about the potential embarrassment and hurriedly attempted to excuse myself for a quick bathroom trip. However, as I stood up, the situation became far more alarming. I was overwhelmed with disbelief and horror, tears streaming down my face as I apologized profusely to my chiropractor for what seemed like an undignified disaster.
No matter how hard I tried to control it, the leaking continued. Confusion enveloped me as I realized my bladder couldn’t possibly hold that much fluid. After what felt like an eternity of pleading with my body, my doctor confirmed my worst fears: “I think your water just broke.” Those words landed heavily, and I came to terms with the fact that it was far too soon. I was barely into my third trimester, having just taken maternity photos the week prior. I was unprepared—no hospital bag packed, no baby shower planned, and I simply wasn’t ready for this.
My chiropractor rushed to gather towels and positioned a trash can beneath me in a desperate attempt to catch the fluid. My clothing was soaked, and the sweet smell of amniotic fluid filled the air. An ambulance was summoned, and I struggled to contact my husband. When I finally reached him (note to partners: always answer your pregnant partner’s calls!), he arrived just as the paramedics wheeled me out. He followed the ambulance to the hospital.
Despite not feeling any pain or contractions, fear gripped me. Every jolt in the ambulance seemed to release more fluid, and I found myself praying for it to stop. I wasn’t ready to end my pregnancy. Until that moment, I had enjoyed it, facing only minor discomforts. I was placed on bed rest and informed of the risks of infection, which posed a threat to both me and my unborn child. The medical team explained that I could only remain pregnant for three more weeks due to infection risks, with the first week being critical. If I didn’t go into labor within that timeframe, I might hold on for another two weeks. Ultimately, I reached the full three weeks, and my daughter was born at exactly 34 weeks, coinciding with the date of her canceled baby shower.
Fast forward to today, a sunny October day. I find myself at the same milestone, 31 weeks and 2 days pregnant, but this time with my son. My morning routine mirrored that fateful day in February. I fed my daughter breakfast, showered, and headed to my chiropractor’s appointment for back and shoulder pain. However, instead of being wheeled into an ambulance while fluid poured from me, I got back into my car and drove home, grateful that history did not repeat itself.
For anyone navigating similar situations, there are resources available that can provide valuable information on pregnancy and home insemination. This link leads to one of our other blog posts that dives deeper into this topic. Additionally, Make A Mom is an authority on home insemination kits that can be beneficial. For further reading on treating infertility, check out this excellent resource from ACOG: here.
In summary, experiencing PPROM was a life-altering event that transformed my understanding of pregnancy. However, with the right support and information, there are pathways to navigate these challenges successfully.