When my water broke at just 27 weeks, my training kicked in before my emotions did. I knew what PPROM meant (Preterm Premature Rupture of Membranes). I understood the risks that came with it. I’d taught patients about it, charted it in reports, and explained the protocols countless times.
However, nothing prepares you for the moment it happens to you. Hearing my own water gush unexpectedly was surreal. One minute, I was a nurse in control; the next, I was a mom clinging to hope.
Over the next few days, reality began to sink in. I was no longer the caregiver, I was the patient, and my baby’s life depended on every small decision the medical team made.
What I Experienced During My Hospital Stay
At first, the doctors tried to manage my condition conservatively. I was placed on bed rest, given antibiotics to prevent infection, and monitored closely for any signs of distress. Even though I understood the plan medically, emotionally, I was terrified.
Each day felt longer than the last. The constant monitoring, the sound of fetal heart rate tracings, and the uncertainty were overwhelming. I told myself to stay calm, but deep down, I was scared of the unknown, how long could we hold on before labor began?
The Emotional Side of PPROM
As the days passed, I started to realize how differently this felt from what I’d taught my patients. It wasn’t just about statistics or medical management anymore, it was about connection, faith, and trust.
In those quiet moments, I learned that knowledge doesn’t protect you from fear. But it does give you perspective. I could understand each medication, each test, and each decision, which helped me find comfort in the process.
What I Learned as a Mom
PPROM changed my perspective on nursing forever. Here’s what it taught me that no experience ever could:
- You can be clinically calm and emotionally terrified at the same time.
My brain understood every medication, every monitor. My heart still whispered, please let my baby be okay. - Empathy feels different when you’re on the other side.
I used to think I understood my patients’ fear, until I felt it myself. - Hope isn’t naive, it’s survival.
Hope is the quiet courage that carries you from one steroid dose to the next. - Community matters more than you think.
Nurses saved my body. Other moms saved my spirit. Hearing “I’ve been there” meant more than any discharge summary ever could.
What I Want Other Moms to Know
If you’re walking through PPROM right now, please know this: you are not alone.
There will be moments of fear and uncertainty, but there will also be moments of hope.
Even though you might not feel in control, your strength, patience, and love for your baby matter more than you realize.
Your story may not look like what you imagined, but it is still powerful. And it is still yours.
Takeaway
PPROM reminded me that strength isn’t just found in charts or lab results, it’s found in the quiet endurance of waiting, hoping, and loving through the unknown.
Even as a nurse, I had to learn that it’s okay to be scared.
Even as a mom, I learned that fear doesn’t cancel faith.
So if your story began early too, know this: you can be both brave and broken, informed and afraid, and still be doing everything right.
If you found this story helpful, I’d love for you to stay connected. You can read my next post: Placental Abruption After PPROM: What You Should Know. You can also join me on Tiktok and Instagram for more NICU stories, mom tips, and daily encouragement.