My Story Of A Baby With Gastroschisis

I was just 17 and living in South America when I found out I was pregnant. I was young, but overjoyed by the news. I always wanted to be a mum. The pregnancy was going OK at first. I had severe morning sickness, which made my face turn purple nearly every morning, but other than that, everything was OK! I attended every single appointment and scan, took all the vitamins I was given, and changed my diet entirely to be as healthy as possible for my baby.

At around 24 weeks of pregnancy, I went to a scan. Everything seemed fine: her heartbeat was strong, and the baby was growing OK. The doctor noted a lump near the baby’s belly button but reassured me it was just an umbilical hernia, nothing to worry about, easily fixed at birth. It wasn’t great news, but the doctor’s confidence kept me calm, so I put my trust in the “professional.” At each regular scan, he repeated the same thing — I had nothing to worry about.

My baby was due in July. I attended what I thought would be my last scan at the beginning of July, and the same doctor I had seen throughout my whole pregnancy told me I was now due in September. I was confused. I knew for a fact I had already been pregnant for nearly 9 months. I explained this to the doctor, but he dismissed everything I was saying and told me he knew how far along I was and that my baby was due in September. I left feeling very confused and was even double-checking my previous pregnancy notes and calendar to make sure I wasn’t being silly. I double-checked everything, and I knew I was right! I had been pregnant for almost 9 months! There is no way I was due in September. It took all the trust I had in this doctor, so I got home and started looking online for a new doctor. I booked another scan for another doctor, only 2 buildings away from the previous one. They didn’t have any appointments until the following week, but I booked the first one that was available.

At the new scan, I explained that I’d been told my baby had an umbilical hernia and mentioned the changed due date. The doctor looked puzzled and said, “Let’s just take a look.” Silence filled the room; I sensed something was wrong. She set down the probe, and the other lady and I just stared at each other. I feared they’d say my baby had no heartbeat. Then the doctor explained she saw something abnormal: the baby’s intestines were outside her belly. She showed me — my baby had what looked like a pile of sausages on her belly. They explained the so-called “hernia” was actually a small bit of intestine, but since the last scan, more had come out. The heartbeat was still strong, but she was so small (which is why the previous doctor thought she was due later). They told me to go to the hospital immediately; the baby needed to come out as soon as possible. I couldn’t believe my previous doctor had missed this, or that I’d be in this situation if he’d done his job properly.

Fast-forward to the hospital: I had to wait two days before the C-section, since natural birth wasn’t an option — it could damage the intestines, so she had to come out this way. During those days, they planned her surgery. I had several unusual scans. At one, I lay on the bed as a doctor used the scanner, while six others pointed at the big screen and discussed for ages. Later, a consultant explained their surgical plan in long medical terms. I couldn’t take it in. The only thing I needed to know was, is my baby going to be OK? He was honest: at that point, it was 50/50. Not what I wanted to hear.

The morning of my C-section came. Preparation went as expected. I felt calm, considering everything. Numb and surrounded by surgeons, I felt my body move without pain. At some point, my thoughts spiraled — my body was open, my baby about to arrive, and soon to be taken for surgery. I didn’t know if she would be OK. Panic took over; I cried and was sick. A doctor held my head to the side so I wouldn’t choke, holding a bowl for me. I grew dizzy, my blood pressure dropped, and I blacked out. I remember nothing until waking up elsewhere and being told my baby had been taken to surgery. I hadn’t seen her, and I still couldn’t feel my legs.

Hours later, after waiting and being stuck in my own thoughts for what felt like the longest time ever, an older woman came around to tell me that the surgery went well. They managed to get all her intestines back in via her belly button; they had put them into a sac and got them all back in. They had removed her appendix in the process, also to avoid future complications, but everything was fine. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to even meet my daughter until the next day. I was almost passing out every time I tried to stand. The next morning, they took me down to see her in a wheelchair. She was tiny. They explained to me that she was small because of her complication. She had stopped growing at around 6 months of pregnancy. She had tubes fitted to help her breathe and also a feeding tube. It isn’t a sight that any mother wants to see her baby in, but I was just happy she was here and OK.

The distinctive smell of the ICU was something I’ll never forget, nor will I forget the cleaning routine I had to do on my hands and arms every time I went in there. I couldn’t hold my baby until she was around 3 weeks old, so the first 3 weeks were me sitting there next to her, looking at my surroundings. The other babies, wondering why they were in there and if any of them had the same thing as my baby. One child had an extra-large crib that was in an isolation room with loads of tubes, and no one could go in there. I got a glimpse of that child once, and she wasn’t a little baby. She was at least 1, but slept all day. I often think about what was wrong with her and if she’s OK now.

At around 4 weeks old, I was starting to see more improvements. She was now breathing on her own, and they said it was time to try feeding her myself. I went down the next morning as usual and saw that my daughter wasn’t there! I went into a panicked mood! My brain instantly said, “Something bad has happened.” Where is my baby? I went rushing over to the nurse’s station, and before I had a chance to say anything, a nurse came up to me and put her hand on my shoulder with the biggest smile on her face and said Good morning! Your daughter has been moved to the other side now! She started walking and turned back, gesturing to me to follow her. We got to the other side, and there she was, my baby, in a normal baby crib, no wires or tubes, just a little baby asleep in the crib. For the first time, I got to hold my baby properly, and then the nurse helped me try to breastfeed her. I had been pumping milk daily for her to feed through the tube, but now I could finally do it myself. Only one more week passed, and I got to take my baby home. She was 5 weeks old, and I finally got to take her home! She had regular checkups and was always ok after that. It did become clear after a year that she would never have the “usual-looking” belly button, but she was OK and thriving, and that is all that mattered!

To this day, I am utterly shocked that the whole situation could have been avoided if that doctor had done his job properly! My daughter is now 11 years old and has had no further complications regarding this situation. Her belly button has never looked like a typical one, but the scarring has become less noticeable over time.