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We were so lucky that our sweet boy only needed to be in the special care unit for a little over a week. On Friday the week after he was born, we were given the all clear to head home.

It was a huge relief, because we were way over being in the hospital. The only reason he had stayed as long as he did was that he was struggling to keep up his own body temperature. He had gained back almost all his weight from birth, and was only one ounce less when we left the hospital.

We knew it was a miracle he was doing so well. The special care nurses kept saying that he was a little guy acting like a big boy. The worst had been the two days they had him on the special lights to try and lower his bilirubin levels (to fend off jaundice). He looked like a super cute glow worm/rockstar in the little sunglasses they had made for him. But we weren’t allowed to hold him much. 

It broke my heart to see him hooked up to all the monitors and off-limits. It was difficult to find time to hold him or do skin-to-skin between him being in there and the fact that I was pumping around the clock.

In the early days after my own discharge, which happened on the Monday after he was born, the “weepies” as I called them had set in as my hormones shifted. I was perpetually crying at every little thing. It became even more difficult when my husband had to return to work (it made more sense for him to take extra time off work after we got home. At the hospital our boy was being taken excellent care of whether or not we were there.) and I was left alone in my hospital room without either of my boys for the first time. 

On the first day of being there alone, the doctors came in and talked to me about the possibility of taking our little guy home in a matter of days, which left me overwhelmed by the enormity of caring for him. I hadn’t been able to breastfeed him much, which had been our plan. How would I manage to figure that out at home alone? Would we have to give him formula too? Would he be able to keep his temperature up? How would I know if he was okay without being able to see his vitals at all times? 

Thankfully the nurses could see the overwhelm in my face and made sure to reassure me that they would not send him home until we were all sure he would be taken good care of. Those nurses were incredible, taking such good care of our boy, but also teaching us so much about the special care that a preterm baby required. They made sure we understood the feeding technique with a bottle, and they, along with the lactation consultants, assisted me in becoming more comfortable with breastfeeding (something I didn’t realize about preterm babies is that breastfeeding can easily wear them out. It’s something they have to work up to, hence my need to pump around the clock to keep my supply up. I will be writing a whole post in the future about that learning experience!). They encouraged my husband and I to help change our little guy’s diapers and clothes and be as involved as possible in his care.

My emotions kept my brain swirling with anxieties and doubts about my abilities to care for my baby. At first I was just immensely self-conscious by how little I knew about preterm baby care. I was overthinking things and afraid to become involved. I quickly realized that I needed to get over myself and accept with humility that I was new at this and I would be clumsy at first, but the more I practiced and the more I learned, the better and more confidently I would be able to take care of my baby at home. I eventually decided to bring my pump into our baby’s room during the day so I could spend most of the day in there, going back to my room only to eat and sleep. That helped me spend more time with him, and also learn more and gain more confidence in my ability to care for him. 

At one point I worried that he wouldn’t know I was his mother because of how little we’d been able to bond and all the wonderful nurses who had seemed to care for him better than I could. My husband gently made sure I knew how ridiculous that thought was. Still, I had to remind myself frequently that though I was not an expert at feeding him or changing him or bathing him, I was an expert at loving him. Yes, I would inevitably make mistakes while trying to do what was best for him, but I would always love the crap out of him. And even though the nurses were all enamored by his cuteness and genuinely cared for his well being, they couldn’t and wouldn’t ever love him like I do.

By the time the day came to take him home, we were so ready. Ready to be free of the hospital. Ready to start our new chapter as a family of three. We were nervous like any new parents, but so ready.

As my husband went to pull the car around, the nurse who had accompanied us out asked, “So will we be seeing you all again in another year or two?” It took me a minute to realize she was referring to us having another kid. I laughed and answered, “We’ll see. We need to figure out what went wrong this time and see what we can do to prevent it from happening again.”

When we were all safely in the car and heading home, my husband in the driver’s seat, our baby boy in the middle seat sleeping soundly as if he were made for a car seat, and me next to him on the passenger side, I relayed the interaction with the nurse.

My husband immediately replied, “Nothing went wrong! Everything that happened brought us this perfect kid and we wouldn’t trade that for anything, right?” He was right, and the beauty of the moment made me tear up as I gazed at the face of our perfect, sleeping miracle.

When I saw the doctor this week for my two-week follow-up, we gained some more insight into what caused my complications. During my C-section, I remember being on the table and hearing my doctor asking the surgeon if she could take a picture of my uterus, which was clearly bicornuate, or heart-shaped. (She shared it with us later and it looked like a creepy valentine.) I heard them examining the placenta and discussing my innards, but at the moment I was way too preoccupied with the little life that had been living in there for the last 8 months. I knew she would fill us in with details later.

Fill us in she did. We had expected that I had a septum in my uterus (an extra piece of muscle separating my uterus into two sides) that could be removed simply in an outpatient procedure to help prevent future miscarriage and possible complications. As it turns out, there was no septum, just a clearly bicornuate uterus, which means two clearly separate horns, or cavities. That was why very early on when I started bleeding, the two sides appeared to be functioning independently of each other—our little boy was implanted and growing on the left, and the lining on the right was shedding almost like a normal period as if I wasn’t pregnant.

That initial bleed led to the subsequent hematomas, the hematomas led to the placental abruption, the abruption led to the premature rupturing of my water. The doctor told me that there was no surgery, no interventions that could be done to prevent it all happening again. Any subsequent pregnancies of mine would be high risk. Everything could happen like it did this time, or it could be completely fine with no complications, or it could be way worse and end in greater complications or even a loss. She even told me something she didn’t want to tell me before—when she initially reached out to MFM (maternal fetal medicine, the specialists who monitor high risk pregnancies) they told her straight up that I would have a loss in the second trimester.

That information hit heavily. I looked at our baby boy and said with more certainty than ever before, “So he really is a true miracle.” It’s been a lot to let sink in, and I think we’re still processing it, but for now we are even more incredibly grateful for our sweet boy and even more thoroughly enjoying our time with him. We are even more convinced that all of the prayers and support of all of you who have shared this journey with us are what carried us as far as we did and brought our sweet boy home safely!  THANK YOU!

It’s still a lot to take in, and I don’t think we’ll really fully process it until we reach a point of wanting to try for another baby. It will be something that will require a whole lot of thought, prayer, and consideration with the knowledge we have now of how things could possibly turn out. We are nowhere near that point right now though. For now, we are incredibly relieved that I am no longer pregnant, and that our baby is in our arms and no longer in my belly.

Our little miracle is home and adjusting well to his new life here as he grows before our very eyes (he gained half a pound in his first four days at home!) and I am slowly adjusting to life outside a hospital again. In the first 24 hours I was afraid to leave him alone in case he suddenly stopped breathing (again, I was used to having him monitored constantly!), and every time I went to leave the bedroom, I reached to put my mask on my face before remembering that I was home and I didn’t need to. #pandemiclife

It’s all a little surreal how it all turned out. Because my emotions are still somewhat unstable, I’m trying not to think about it all too much right now, and instead focusing on our baby boy and taking in each beautiful day with him.

That Bed (un)Rest Life

 We survived our hospital stay and made it to week 29! And we are exhausted.

To be honest, I was feeling okay about the whole hospital visit. It really hadn’t been as bad and traumatizing as some of our other hospital experiences, just longer (72+ hours). It was easy to be thankful, though, that our stay was so boring and uneventful. I would much prefer being bored to being stressed/anxious/traumatized!

They told us before we were discharged that they aren’t going to let me go past 37 weeks, which pushed up our due date to August 11 (eek!). We will continue to have weekly ultrasounds and bi-weekly appointments until 32 weeks and then probably have more frequent check-ins after that point. The reason is so that if something seems iffy or dangerous, they can determine if a c-section before 37 weeks might be in our best interest.

In the meantime, to be on the safe side, I have been put on modified bed rest. I am not confined to bed completely, but my activities are seriously restricted—no more working, limited climbing of stairs, only 5-10 minute walks, not too much bending, no lifting more than 10 pounds (which I’ve been restricted to almost the entire pregnancy anyway so that one’s not new), and obviously, continued pelvic rest.

The funny thing about it all is that not moving regularly can worsen varicose veins and cause blood clots and hemorrhoids. So I have been diligently wearing my compression stockings (it helps that I’m not really leaving the house except to go to the doctor so trying to look fashionable is pointless anyway), drinking about a gallon of water a day (not an exaggeration, which is funny because up until a couple weeks ago, drinking enough water was a bit of a struggle, causing me to feel nauseated. But recently, I can drink a gallon of water in a day, no problem!), trying to get up and move around the house every so often (my bladder helps remind me to do this!) and to alternate between sitting and lying on my side. 

I was adjusting to this fairly well the first couple days, then I received a message from the doctor saying that they had found a type of strep in my urine sample and I needed to take antibiotics for a week. That put me over the edge a little bit. It just seemed that no matter what I did, something was always going to be wrong.

Then at our most recent ultrasound yesterday, I was really set over the edge. This time, they could see the bleeding from the placental abruption. It’s still not huge and not causing me any active outward bleeding, but it’s there. I can no longer convince myself that the bleeding I experienced early last week was just a fluke or nothing to worry about it. 

In addition to the bleed, the baby seemed to be measuring small compared to what he measured the last time. He was still in the normal range, but not where my husband and I hoped/expected him to be. This was a red flag to us, having been told it was possible that with my abnormal uterus, the baby could eventually run out of room to grow.

We didn’t have an appointment with the doctor (we were at the specialists’ office), but the tech told us she was going to talk to the doctor before letting us go, just in case. For 25 long long minutes we were left alone to wonder all of our worst thoughts, the most prominent being, “Are we going to have this baby today?”

It was a terrible feeling, but the tech eventually came back and assured us that the doctor was not urgently concerned as long as I was still not having active bleeding. If I did start to have active bleeding, I was told to go to the hospital for admission and monitoring.

We left unsatisfied with our answers, and sent a message to my primary OB asking for clarification. She assured us she would call as soon as she received the report. We waited all day with no word, and after I cried many tears, we talked ourselves into believing that it was likely there was some level of error in the measurements, and that if the bleeding was an immediate danger, they would have sent us to the hospital right away.

Today we heard from the doctor and she told us pretty much that. She explained a little bit more about what measurements were considered normal that the really important ones measured consistently, and that we were not in what would be considered a danger zone. The placenta, though a slight abruption has been detected, still appears to be functioning normally, and our son is still receiving the nutrients he needs. And the bleed is small enough for now that as long as I do not see any outward bleeding, we should still be okay.

It was a slight relief to hear that, but it also forced us to let reality start to sink in. The reality is that there are no clear answers with this pregnancy. Only time will tell us anything. The knowledge that I could begin bleeding again at any minute brings back bad first trimester memories and fears. (Remember those 7 whole glorious weeks where I didn’t have any bleeding?! Those were the days...) The knowledge that at any time we could be faced with an emergency where our baby needs to be born immediately makes me feel horribly unprepared—mentally and otherwise.

The reality is that our baby could be born at any time now, and we are helpless while we wait. I can eat, hydrate, rest, and pray that no matter how it all goes down, my baby and I are healthy and safe in the end. All signs point to him being a fighter who will ultimately be fine if it is deemed necessary that he come early, though some time in the NICU would be probable. But there are no guarantees.

That’s life, though, isn’t it? There are never any guarantees. We are thankful we have so many doctors looking out for us and our baby boy, and we just pray that they have the wisdom to make the right decisions for us and our ever-evolving situation.

Expect the Unexpected

Just this past Sunday when the day was beautiful and warm, I dutifully donned my compression stockings—which I have been wearing very regularly since another blood clot popped up on my left leg recently—and put on one of my cute floral maternity dresses. For the first time in awhile I felt lovely, and I thought about how the most wild thing I would have to write about for this update in which WE MADE IT TO THE THIRD TRIMESTER was the blood clot that popped up a couple weeks ago. It’s cute that I thought that, and I should know better than to celebrate reaching such a milestone too early. You’ll soon see what I mean.

I was annoyed and inconvenienced that the horrible pain and swelling that popped up in a cluster of varicose veins on my thigh would send us to the doctor again, midway through what was supposed to be our last uneventful four weeks before the final stretch of the third trimester would begin. However, always better to be safe than sorry, so we went to the doctor in the morning and then had to go to a separate facility for an ultrasound of my leg in the afternoon.

In a sad way, it was wild and exciting to get a different kind of ultrasound, one that was less invasive and less worrisome. Thankfully, the clot turned out to be a small superficial one, with no sign of DVT. Of course, this type of clot is normally treated easily with blood thinners, which is not an option for a pregnant bleeder like me. Instead, I was instructed to do what I did when I had a similar clot back in March:  wear compression stockings regularly and apply a warm compress several times a day.

Also similar to the clot I got in March, this one popped up after two days in a row of not wearing any compression stockings. I knew I should be wearing them, but the weather was so warm and beautiful Memorial Day weekend that I didn’t want to clutter it up with thick, pesky stockings. . .I now know better! I upped my compression wearing to about 12-20 hours a day, and within a week, the area seemed to have drastically improved.

At the same time, our little boy was experiencing a big growth spurt (all that extra weight probably wasn’t helping the circulation situation!). I spent several days wrestling with the physical, mental, and emotional toll caused by the constant changes in my body over that week. It’s hard when one day you can squeeze through a narrow space and the next you can’t, or when simple tasks like picking something off the floor become noticeably increasingly more difficult with each passing day. It’s so easy to tell a friend that it’s all for a beautiful purpose of growing a human, but it’s much harder to experience and cope with the changes in your own body. Totally and 100% worth it, yes, but that doesn’t belittle the very real feelings of insecurity that come with the constant need to adapt.

So by Sunday I had sorted through all these feelings, cried my tears of acceptance, and was finally feeling really excited and happy this pregnancy. Knowing we were headed for the homestretch, and out of the intense danger zone, it was easier to accept the increasing physical discomfort. So in my pretty dress, I enjoyed the sunshine and time with our parents, and the confidence that we would officially enter the third trimester peacefully on Tuesday.

It was a nice idea.

Sunday evening our baby was very active, and I was beginning to feel sort of waves through my belly that led to one side of my abdomen sticking out significantly. It was like he was rolling back and forth or something. We thought it was funny, even though the tightening in my belly was slightly uncomfortable and constantly putting pressure on my bladder.

But as the waves continued to roll as I tried to get comfortable for bed, I realized that they must be contractions, though probably just Braxton Hicks since they were just causing discomfort and not real pain. I tried not to be paranoid that there seemed to be so many of them. I knew they were normal, and we would see the doctor on Wednesday to clear up any concerns or uncertainty.

I fell into a fitful sleep, and woke up around 5:30 in the morning to go to the bathroom. I didn’t turn the light on, but when I sat down, I saw the unmistakable dark streak of blood on my pad. Groaning out a quiet expletive, I stood to see that the inside of the toilet bowl was red—again.

It wasn’t like the horror-film-like scenes I had witnessed in the first trimester, and I had recently felt the baby move, so I didn’t automatically assume the worst, but I knew it could be serious and that I would need to be checked out ASAP. 

I woke up my husband, and he sprung into action getting our “go-bag” that we had packed several months ago after our last hospital visit just in case. Knowing that most of the articles of clothing I had put in there probably wouldn’t fit me these days, I added a few items while I attempted to contact my doctor (who had given me her cell phone number early on). She didn’t answer, but we got in the car and headed to the hospital anyway.

On the way, I called the on-call doctor at the office and he told us to go to the hospital, and that we could skip the ER and go straight to Labor and Delivery. They got me checked in and when I went to fill the urine sample, I could tell that the bleeding had stopped—it had just appeared to be the little gush when I went to the bathroom at home, so that was hopeful.

They got me hooked up to the monitor and we had the pleasure of listening to the rhythm of our son’s heartbeat and the whooshes of the fluid while he practiced his powerful kicks. 

For several hours, we experienced:

•  the usual round-up of blood work, 
• the same questions over and over, 
• a doctor and resident (who are partners of my doctor) performing a pelvic exam (which was unpleasant, but I focused on the fact that I could hear my son’s heart beating and feel his movements within me, and the fact that there was no way this would be as traumatic as the pelvic exams I experienced in the ER!), 
• eating small snacks (certainly not enough to satisfy this very pregnant woman and her very growing boy), 
• experiencing 8-12 Braxton Hicks contractions per hour, 
• drinking the dreaded glucose for my glucose screening (which I didn’t find to be as horrible tasting as other people do, but I did feel it wanting to creep back up my esophagus for a few minutes...), 
• receiving a steroid shot in my backside (to help the baby’s lungs and organs mature in case he does need to deliver early), 
• being told that I was not in active labor at all and that everything appeared stable for the moment but we were still going to be transferred to another hospital to be evaluated by the Maternal Fetal Medicine specialists just to be on the very safe side, 
• and waiting way longer than we were originally told so that we never ate a real meal and survived off of crackers and cheese sticks.

Eventually the transport vehicle came for me, and we made it to the other hospital. Once there, it was a fairly short wait to see the specialist since their office hours were almost over. We got an ultrasound (which included yet another internal ultrasound...yay) neither of which our son cooperated for. But everything looked good.

The specialist told us that there was no obvious reason for my bleeding, but that the best guess was a slight or partial placental abruption (where the placenta tears away from the uterine wall). Since it all seemed to be stable, they wanted to keep me at the hospital to continue monitoring me for the next 72 hours to make sure there was no more bleeding and that baby remained strong and healthy. Which was not fun to hear, but we understood completely that this is all about being as careful as they can be. They want our little boy to come into this world as safely and as healthy as possible, just like we do, so they need to keep a close eye on the situation to better be able to make sure that happens.

I was also told that my glucose levels were “slightly elevated,” which could have been due to the steroid shot I had been given, but would also require further monitoring and testing before gestational diabetes could be ruled out. It was not the best news for a hangry mama bear, but I was also not really surprised at all. I mean, why not? Put it on my tab.

We got settled into our room, ordered food, and filled in our parents with what was going on. And now it’s 3 am and I can’t sleep. The big plastic monitors on my belly are tracking baby boy’s heartbeat, and while I’m not thrilled that I have to be hooked up like this for a full 24 hours, it is still such a comfort to hear him. My husband is snoozing away on what must be a horribly uncomfortable fold out couch, and I’m once again jealous that he can sleep anywhere. Thankfully my pesky contractions are now few and far between so not much of a nuisance, and the sounds of my baby’s heart beating and my husband’s breathing fill me with so many feelings that my eyes keep filling with tears. I will never forget the moment we first saw the little flicker of our son’s heart beating, when he was about the size of a coffee bean. That flicker of hope continues to grow, and tonight the sound is the light in my darkness. 

I’m so thankful for my little family, for my steadfast husband and our stubborn fighter of a baby boy. I’m annoyed by all the inconvenience of this, but I know that we are well cared for, and it is all for the best in the end. And I’m also thankful for the fact that the strictest Covid restrictions have significantly loosened so that my husband is actually allowed to stay with us. I can’t imagine having to go through this alone!

So I’m not starting out my third trimester in a cute maternity sundress, but even in my gel-covered hospital gown and unwashed hair and constant hunger (because of fasting for glucose I am not allowed any late night snacks), there is a deep peace and joy that abides. Probably not the kind that will help me actually fall asleep while I feel so grungy and have these monitors in my way, but the kind that will help me get through another day, whatever that day may bring.

I’m getting really good at just going with the flow and trying to remain calm and patient while resorting to humor and Pollyanna’s “glad game” to get through the rough patches. Earlier my husband commented on how much better I’ve gotten in hospitals, and I joked that God must have known I would need some serious practice in a hospital before I have to go through the ordeal of birthing a baby. 

So here we are. God is Good, ALL THE TIME.

As always, thank you for joining me on this journey through this complicated, high-risk pregnancy. It seems like every time we think everything is finally going okay and “normal,” things takes a twisted turn for the “what now?!”

It’s not what I would call fun, but we’ve learned and grown a lot from all of this. One of the biggest lessons we continue to be reminded of is how little of this is in our control. Our fertility was not ultimately in our control, and this pregnancy has often felt wildly out of our control. It reminds me that there is a real, bigger plan and purpose for all us. That is where my hope lies, and where my peace and joy begin. 

Finding Joy in the Uncertainty

  We had an ultrasound last week. The reminder call informed me that I was allowed one visitor, and no children. A few hours later, they called to tell me I wasn’t allowed to have any visitors.

Knowing that this was all precautionary measure during these crazy pandemic times, I was annoyed but knew that it wouldn’t be a huge deal. It’s not like I was going to have to give birth alone (which, IMHO, is something no one should ever have to do, even during a pandemic. Just because there’s a pandemic, doesn’t mean that life is going to stop coming into the world. Again, I understand the concerns and precautionary measures and yada yada, but no one should have to go through that alone. End rant.). Still, I was irked because I don’t see my husband as a visitor. He is the father of my child and has every right to be there in that room that I do. 

When we arrived, the sign outside the building with the many offices said that each patient was allowed one visitor, so we both entered the building. The door to the office I would be going into reiterated that NO visitors were allowed. Still, it seemed perfectly allowable that he would be able to wait with me. 

Or so we thought until a receptionist stuck her head out and quite rudely said, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the building NOW.” Which honestly seemed uncalled for, especially given the contradictory signs. So I waited alone, and I went in alone. The ultrasound tech asked if I wanted to find out the gender that day and I said, still slightly salty, “No, I’d really rather wait and find out when my husband can be here with me.”

As it turned out, the baby was also salty about their dad getting kicked out, because he/she was lounging upside down with their back to us, as if to say, “I’ll show you social distancing!” I was weirdly proud.

Everything showed up fairly normal as far as I was told. The hematoma was still there, but had shifted from a 4 cm clot to a 6 cm line. I hoped that meant it was getting ready to be reabsorbed into my body. But the baby’s heartbeat was good as always, and seemed to be growing normally, though we couldn’t see much except the very defined spine and a foot.

They told me everything looked stable, and that I should contact the doctor if I had any more bleeding, otherwise they would see me in four weeks for the anatomy scan.

It wasn’t until later that evening after watching the news and worrying about the health and safety of the whole world that the fear began to sink in. I thought back to the comment that everything looked “stable.” As in, at any moment, everything could suddenly not be stable. The hemorrhage was still there. My uterus is still a mess. At any moment, all could be lost.

I couldn’t help spiraling into the dark hole that this subchorionic hemorrhage is like a period from hell—again, it’s funny to me now that I thought pregnancy would be a vacation from my period. Haha.

With a subchorionic hemorrhage, you just never know what kind of bleeding you will have and when. At least for me, there is ALWAYS some level of it—often it’s just spotting or a very light flow. 

But then there are times when it comes heavily out of nowhere.  One minute you’re trying to decide what to eat for dinner, the next minute, your pants are soaking wet. The gushes come and you wait and wonder:  is it just going to gush for a little bit and then taper off? When will it stop? Is this the end of it all? Sometimes it does stop or slow down relatively quickly, and sometimes it keeps going until there is no question that we should go to the ER because the health of both the baby and me is at risk.

And oftentimes it’s just a random little gush here and there. But every time, you wonder:  is this the beginning of more? Is this normal? What is normal?

It’s hard to see the beauty of growing another life. It’s hard to even find real joy amid the anxiety and uncertainty.

I shared my fears with my husband and he understood but also helped me to refocus on the gift, the gratitude, the hope we have in front of us.

I felt better and turned to do my Bible study for the day. The verse that stuck out to me was from Luke 9:23, “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”

Daily. Every single day. As we’ve learned during this pregnancy journey, it’s vital to take each day as it comes, to not get too ahead of ourselves, to celebrate the little victories and be grateful for each moment. It was a profoundly helpful moment for me to remember this daily surrender to the cross. Every day, I must re-take up this cross of high-risk pregnancy during a pandemic. Every day, I must take up these worries and fears and uncertainties and surrender all my expectations by embracing my situation and uniting my suffering to Jesus. And when I am too weak to carry them alongside Jesus—which I always am unless by a gift of grace—I simply surrender, express my desire to follow Him, and He picks us both up—my cross and me.

Remembering to practice this in the morning daily has helped immensely. I find that I am able to be more grateful and joyful throughout the day, rather than going through my days anxiously and then merely sighing a prayer of relieved thanks as I sink into bed.

It has definitely helped as I’ve gone back to work this past week. I only went a few days—my original plans to return as a grocery cashier were thankfully shot down by my doctor, who recommended I try to find a more isolated position with limited interactions. I’ve eased back in by doing behind the scenes work where I work alone and only occasionally have to be in any sort of close contact with others. This work situation alleviates a lot of my anxiety about working in a grocery store during a pandemic, and my renewed spiritual practice of picking up my cross daily has helped even more for me to find the beauty and joy amid the uncertainty.

I continue to be thankful for this little life, for the fact that I have work to go to these days, and again for the continued love and support from our family and friends. Know that I am here praying for the health and safety of you all during these crazy times!

Recap at 16 Weeks

To recap my last few posts:  we had three separate occasions of heavy bleeding that sent us to the ER, one which ended with an overnight stay. All were thankfully due to subchorionic hematoma/hemorrhage, which did not harm the baby (and eventually shrank significantly, hopefully meaning that it’s on its way out completely!). They were just truly terrifying, exhausting, and uncomfortable experiences where we constantly feared we might be losing the baby. 

My uterus is still a mystery—is it septate? Bicornuate? Both? Either way, will it continue to cause problems, or will things level out as the pregnancy progresses and the baby continues to grow normally? Why are there no answers?

On the bright side, every time we’ve checked in on the baby (which has been at least once a week), we have seen that little heartbeat—our flicker of hope—beating away. He or she is growing right on schedule. Generally uncooperative for snapping good pictures and always bouncing around or lounging in a weird position (definitely our kid), we have gotten to see our little nugget grow exponentially, and we are thankful for every opportunity.

It’s still a slightly terrifying experience, because we don’t know what will happen or how it will happen. But honestly, this is true in any pregnancy. There is never any guarantee. Just add in the bonuses of a really difficult first trimester and a world pandemic. The anxiety is real. 

Only time will tell what our situation is, but as we learned in our struggles to conceive, it’s all in God’s perfect (though sometimes befuddling) timing. We trust that He allowed us this Christmas miracle for a reason, and He will see us through this journey. We have hope that the worst is behind us, but even if it’s not, we know we have the love and support we need to make it through anything.

It took a lot for us to get here, but we made it to week 16. We continue to be so incredibly thankful for every minute of this little life who is the most perfect gift to us, especially after several years of struggling to get pregnant. I will continue to post on here as we have updates, so feel free to subscribe for email updates. 

Thank you again for your support!

Mayday (Part 3)

Hopefully for the last time, I want to reiterate the warning I offered in my last post:  if you’re squeamish at all, or if a story about extremely heavy bleeding in pregnancy that includes a threatened miscarriage might be triggering, or you don’t like to hear about blood or bodily functions, save yourself now. Trust me, I will not be offended. It’s weird enough for me to put these details out on the Internet as it is, so I understand if it’s not your cup of tea. Also, I promise a recap in the next post that doesn’t include all the gory details.

After our last ER ordeal, we found that the emotions caught up to us over the next few days. While we were incredibly thankful that our experience had a  happy ending, we knew perfectly well that it could have gone another way. That combined with the fear and anxiety that it could all happen again was a lot for us to process.

I attempted to go back to work later that week, but I was still exhausted and having issues sleeping. I realized quickly that working in coffee in such a fast-paced environment was going to be too physically demanding with everything I had going on. Thankfully the higher ups at work were very understanding and willing to work with me to find a quieter position for the time being. My last two shifts in coffee for the foreseeable future were going to be a Friday and Saturday, and I was determined to work them all the way through.

Work them I did, and though I was exhausted, I felt better mentally. Knowing I had done my best, and that I would be doing more low-key work and not have to be on my feet as much in the near future helped ease my anxiety. But in the last few hours of my shift, I started to feel weirdly crampy. 

I didn’t think too much of it, and assumed it was due to the stress of being on my feet and doing more physical activity in the last two days than I had in nearly two weeks. I went home after my shift and laid down, and shortly after, the bleeding started again. It wasn’t as heavy as the last time, but it was still right around the ER-worthy bleeding I had been warned against (i.e. two pads in an hour), and this time I was having weird cramps and stomach pains. I called me doctor and she advised that I could wait another hour to see if the bleeding continued, and if so to head to the ER.

An hour later we headed to the ER. We knew the drill at this point. This time, the bleeding wasn’t coming in huge gushes, but was more of a constant, heavy flow. And the cramps and stomach pains I had made me wonder if there were blood clots to come, and of course the constant fear of a miscarriage. The ultrasound showed our baby looking great again, but the subchorionic hematoma (from my understanding, a hematoma is the pooling of blood or clot that collects in the uterus, whereas a hemorrhage is the active bleeding of that hematoma.) had grown significantly. Between that and the UTI we found, we left feel exhausted and slightly defeated.

We decided it would be best for me to take the next week off work to let the bleeding clear up and the pain go away, and to make sure I didn’t have any more issues. Which was a good thing, because two days later, I began to pass unthinkably ginormous blood clots. 

Over the course of an evening, I passed at least a dozen huge, dark clots—one was the size of the palm of my hand, others were the size of my fist, a few the size of golf balls, you get the picture. It was weird, and weirder that I wasn’t overly afraid. Each time though, I felt the crampy pain in my abdomen lessen, so I felt relieved that those were the cause of the pain. I texted my doctor, and she said that because they were dark and not bright red, they were likely not a cause for concern, but to let her know if anything changed.

Overnight, I had another sleepless night with periodic heavy red bleeding and continued to pass smaller clots. By morning, I felt optimistic that I had likely passed the bulk of the hematoma during that time. I contacted my doctor, and she agreed that was likely the case. She told me to schedule an ultrasound for that day and put in an order for me to get blood drawn to check my levels again.

Once again the ultrasound showed our sweet baby looking completely fine. And the hematoma had shrunk significantly. It had gone down from 10 cm to 4 cm, which meant that I had passed more than half of the hematoma. It had been unpleasant, but at least it had been worth it. My blood levels were a little lower than before, but still totally fine. 

We saw the doctor again a few days later, and she agreed that it would be good for me to take another week off from work, but that as long as I didn’t have anymore issues with bleeding, work would be a good idea for me mentally. (I agreed, but with my job working in the public at a time of pandemic proportions, I admit the anxiety about going back is a lot for me right now. She expressed that as long as I was taking all the necessary precautions, I should have little to worry about. We’re going to take it one day at a time.) 

At the time I had also developed a superficial blood clot near a varicose vein behind my knee. I’ve had bad varicose veins for years, well before I got pregnant, so this was not super surprising to me, but because of the location, it was incredibly painful. Because of my bleeding issues, she did not recommend blood thinners unless it got worse, so I’ve been sticking with warm compresses and trying gentle walks to try to break it down. It seems to be working.

I also continued to have residual black/brown spotting (and occasionally it’s more of a flow with a reddish tint) and I know that at any time it could all escalate again. I’ve heard that in the majority of cases, subchorionic hematoma/hemorrhages resolve themselves (either by bleeding out or reabsorbing into the body) by week 20. We pray that is the case for us, but we’ve also heard stories of women who had bleeding throughout their entire pregnancy. Their babies were totally fine, but what a constant nightmare of fear and wondering!

Only time will tell what our situation is going to look like, so we are trying to take it all as it comes, day by day. Again, we are so incredibly thankful for our awesome doctor and all the amazing healthcare people we’ve encountered who have helped us feel more comfortable on this difficult road. And we are always so thankful for the love and prayers from our family and friends. So, thank you!

Mayday (Part 2)

Before I begin this post, I want to reiterate the warning I offered in my last post:  if you’re squeamish at all, or if a story about extremely heavy bleeding in pregnancy that includes a threatened miscarriage might be triggering, or you don’t like to hear about blood or bodily functions, save yourself now. Trust me, I will not be offended. It’s weird enough for me to put these details out on the Internet as it is, so I understand if it’s not your cup of tea. Also, I promise a recap to follow up these three Mayday posts, without all the ugly details.

After a full day of laying on the couch watching my new favorite show, I was feeling really proud of how easy I had taken it that day. My husband had gotten home from work and we were just sitting there trying to decide what to do for dinner, when I felt it starting again. The gushing. It was doing what it had done two days ago, where it filled a pad in a matter of minutes. I called the doctor, and she told us to go to the ER closest to us.

I went to the bathroom to change pads, and this is where it began to take on the face of a crime scene. Like two days prior, I couldn’t even stand up because there was so much blood gushing. I was beginning to panic, and my husband was calmly rushing around to get things ready to go. Between his soothing, “Stay with me”s, he asked what I needed from him, what clothes I needed, and he tried to urge me to get up and get moving. I panicked because I literally couldn’t stand up for all the blood, and in my vanity I didn’t want to be seen with blood soaking through my clothes. I passed a blood clot the size of my fist,  and for a horrifying moment I thought maybe it was tissue—would the baby be next? Would this be it? Would this be the time we lost it all? My husband, bless him, examined it as well and confirmed that it just looked like a blood clot. I found it hard to believe that a clot could be that big if I wasn’t miscarrying, but I wasn’t having any real pain, and I knew that would be a key factor. I tried to focus on that. 

Eventually I pulled myself up (because my husband was about to throw a towel around me and carry me out of there, which I would NOT allow as long as I was conscious) cleaned up the best I could, and with two pairs of underwear and two pairs of pants, we headed to the ER. We had left the bathroom a total crime scene, and I couldn’t stop picturing it. I was already traumatized by all that blood and that monstrous clot, and I dreaded my husband having to clean it all up (because goodness knows I couldn’t do it). Thankfully, an angel came to our rescue that night and cleaned up the mess for us while we were in the hospital. You know who you are and I am eternally grateful!

Since we had just been through the ER drill for the same thing two days ago, we knew better what to expect. This time, though, the bleeding was much more intense and we had decided we weren’t leaving until there was an explanation for this horrific bleeding.  Because I’d been watching Gilmore Girls all day, I was feeling extra snarky and witty, cracking jokes to fill the space while waiting.

This time, I was thankfully surrounded by female doctors, but before they did an ultrasound and checked to make sure the baby was okay, they wanted to do a pelvic exam first.

This was a pelvic exam from hell. First of all, I didn’t know if my baby was okay, and every second I feared losing it. I couldn’t see what was going on, but I could feel it and it was ten minutes of torture. It took three of them working together to clear all the clots, and in the end they weren’t able to see much because there was so much blood. My husband held my hand and worked to dry the tears that were streaming into my ears. Ultimately, I don’t think they really got much information from that horrible process, except that they thought my cervix was still closed. And I came to the conclusion that if by some miracle I don’t end up needing a c-section when this baby comes, I will most definitely be getting an epidural. 

After they had cleared all that out, the bleeding slowed significantly. They rolled me out to get an ultrasound, and the tech that night was precious and balm for our war-torn souls. She seemed to know what we had just experienced, and she took every care to be respectful and gentle. We were once again amazed to see that the baby looked totally fine on the ultrasound. Their little fists were up near their face punching out, and they were kicking their legs—our little fighter!

We were informed a short while later that the ER physicians had contacted my doctor, and she had requested that I stay overnight (because I had lost so much blood, they wanted to monitor me) but at a different hospital, where she and her partners had privileges and would be around to check in the next day. I was transferred in a van while my husband went home to grab a few things we would need before meeting us at the hospital.

It was the first time for either one of us staying overnight in a hospital, so what a special treat that we got to experience it together. Of course, he can sleep anywhere, so while he gently snored on the fold-out couch, I laid awake, reliving the horrors of the evening and trying to form words to pray. Every time I was close to sleep, someone came in to check my temperature or blood pressure or take a blood sample. 

When day finally came, my doctor came in to check on us before doing her rounds. She was working in a different field that day, but she promised one of her colleagues would be in to see us. Apparently I had lost two units of blood, but my hemoglobins levels were still good though, so I wouldn’t need a transfusion.

Her colleague arrived a short while later and explained that I did appear to have another subchorionic hemorrhage, which had caused the bleeding. He said that at this point it could really go either way. He’d seen people in the same situation go on to have normal pregnancies for the remainder of the time and then perfectly healthy babies. Sometimes it doesn’t work out so well. Either way, there’s nothing to do but wait. I asked if it could happen again, and he said it was a definite possibility. He told us that bed rest does not seem to be an effective treatment, but pelvic rest and to continue to take it easy would be my best bet. 

He said a lot of other things too, about what might happen if they had to deliver early, or the specialist he would send us to if I did miscarry. To be honest, I didn’t feel great physically, so I sort of picked and chose which bits of information to hold onto. He said he would put the order in for another ultrasound to check the baby’s heartbeat before we were released.

Six long hours later, the ultrasound showed our wiggling baby hanging out upside down with a strong heartbeat, seemingly oblivious to the trauma that we’d felt in the last 24 hours. But it was another major relief, like always, to see how resilient our little baby is. 

I was given the order to stay off work for at least several days, unless I had more bleeding in the meantime. So we left the hospital completely exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically, so thankful for our caring doctors and loving family who had been surrounding us with prayers (and a few visits) the whole time. 

We felt encouraged that we had survived the harrowing experience, and felt the palpable effects of growing stronger together in this whole pregnancy experience. We had known that parenthood would be hard, but we had hoped we’d have that nine month cushion to prepare for it! 

(To be continued...) 

Mayday (Part 1)

     Those were three very long days with my husband gone and a fresh bout of light bleeding combined with perpetual nausea at the peak of my morning sickness. I was on the fence over whether to call the doctor about the bleeding—after all, just that Monday the ultrasound with the specialist had shown nothing but our baby looking totally fine, and we had a follow-up with the primary OB on Friday. Ultimately, the bleeding was disconcerting but never seemed to reach an urgent level, so I decided to wait.

That Friday, my primary doctor said that the spotting was likely nothing, but she disagreed with the specialist, insisting that I did have a septate uterus and that we should continue to get weekly or at least bi-weekly ultrasounds. Our happy bubble of being completely out of the woods deflated slightly, but we knew it would be better to err on the side of caution.

Several days later, I had one glorious day with no spotting or brown discharge. For one glorious day, I thought the worst was over. Then the brown spotting picked back up and began to look a little more reddish, like a rust colored discharge. We had an ultrasound when I was at 12 weeks, and despite all my spotting, the baby still looked great. We started to talk seriously about when we were going to tell everyone our exciting news.

This is the point in the story, my friends, when things get really ugly. I am going to give detailed accounts of our first two ER visits and overnight hospital stay, and if you’re squeamish at all, or if a story about extremely heavy bleeding in pregnancy that includes a threatened miscarriage might be triggering, or if you don’t like to hear about blood or bodily functions, save yourself now. Trust me, I will not be offended. It’s weird enough for me to put these details out on the Internet as it is, so I understand if it’s not your cup of tea. You have been warned.

Two days after the ultrasound, in the last hour of my shift while I was daydreaming about what kind of fun announcement we could do for our family and friends, I noticed some bright red spotting while I was in the bathroom. I sighed and returned to work, trying to tell myself once again that it was nothing. But in the last twenty minutes, when my co-worker had gone to take a break and I was left alone, and I could smell freedom, I began to feel the gushing start.

Seriously, I can’t express how uncomfortable it is to be taking someone’s order for mocha frappes and asking them if they want whipped cream all while feeling like you’re completely wetting your pants. Thankfully, I was busy enough by myself that I didn’t have much time to think about it other than—you just have to make it until she gets back, any minute now... As soon as she returned, I bailed.  I discovered that I had filled a pad in half an hour, and I couldn’t tell if it was really slowing down or not. When we had gotten home and realized it was still going steady, I called the doctor.

She put an order in for us to get an emergency ultrasound at the hospital. I was told to drink 32 ounces of water and hold it until the scan. My husband had just chugged a bunch of water as well, and he told me he would hold it in solidarity. Major husband points. After waiting in the busy waiting room for an hour, and my husband bugging the receptionist at least once to see if they were going to get me in any time soon, I sent him to the bathroom, and then I finally went myself.

That was when the really heavy bleeding began. I thought maybe it had something to do with the pressure of holding my bladder for so long, but I was gushing blood like I never had before. When I finally thought I would be okay, and was able to mostly clean myself up, I stood up and went three steps to the sink to wash my hands, and immediately filled up another pad with blood. I retreated back to the toilet and heard my phone go off in my purse on the other side of the bathroom. I knew it was my husband asking if I was okay, and that they were probably (finally) waiting to take me back for the ultrasound, but what could I do?

I sat there and waited until I had calmed down and the bleeding had slowed down a little bit more. By the time I opened the door, my husband was standing right outside looking concerned and clearly extremely vexed that the ultrasound tech had taken so long. I felt wobbly, because I was traumatized by the intense gushing that had just occurred. I mean, thank goodness we were in a hospital, but seriously. 

We did the ultrasound, and once again the baby looked totally fine, bouncing around doing baby things. The tech couldn’t give us anymore information or insight into the bleeding. I called my doctor and explained to her about the terrifying bleeding experience I’d had, and she put me on the schedule to come in to the office first thing in the morning. She also told me that if the bleeding worsened or continued heavily for another hour or two that we should go to the emergency room.

Two hours later, we went to the emergency room. They did a quick ultrasound to check the baby’s heartbeat since we had done a full scale ultrasound earlier, and the baby entertained them for a couple minutes with its acrobatic antics. The young doctor did an exam, which was quite painful because of the bleeding, but he said that the active bleeding had stopped and all he could see was old blood. He apologized that the exam was so uncomfortable and told me that the exam had hurt him too, to which my husband responded after all the doctors and nurses left the room, “I can make it hurt for him.” I include this anecdote because 1) I found it hilariously exasperating, 2) my husband is my hero, and 3) this is an example of a doctor who does not take women seriously. If you find yourself with such a doctor in a non-emergency situation, find another one!

His supervisor came in shortly after and gave us quite a bit of comfort. He said that they see many pregnant women with bleeding like this, and some much worse. He said it can go either way, but in our situation, since there was no sign of miscarriage, and that I was not crippled with cramps or severe abdominal pain, odds were, everything would turn okay in the end and our baby would be just fine.

The next day, my doctor told me that there was no obvious reason for the bleeding, which was insanely frustrating. She said it was possible though that I had been overdoing it, and that I should take at least the next four or five days off, find a good show or movie marathon and do nothing but relax. 

I’d always wanted to watch Gilmore Girls, and now seemed like the perfect time. For the rest of that day and all day Saturday, I binged, forcing myself to watch another episode rather than get up and clean something like I wanted to do. It inspired a level of snark and sass that would be useful in what lay ahead. 

(To be continued...)