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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.

We’re Still Here

   We were supposed to spring out of the hospital today after our 31 week ultrasound, assuming the ultrasound went well. Thankfully, the ultrasound did go well—our baby boy is still looking good, the placenta is still doing its job, and the bleed is smaller. BUT shortly before we were led to the ultrasound, I had more red spotting.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. At this point, any amount of red equals at least 72 more hours of monitoring. It’s frustrating—we were so close!—but ultimately for the best. By keeping us longer, they can continue to keep a close watch on baby in case any signs of distress from him may indicate a problem. Also, if the bleeding increases, at least we’re already here.

At this point, we are checking his heart via fetal monitor three times a day for twenty minutes each. Other than that, we mostly sit here and wait and wonder will happen. We’ve had long talks about what might happen depending on when our baby needs to be delivered. It’s scary to think about all the possible scenarios, but it’s been good for us to talk it out and sort through the various challenges we might have to deal with. 

That’s probably the most stressful part—knowing that today things are looking good, but any moment they could take a turn for the worse, and no matter how this plays out, it is not likely to be an easy, breezy recovery/postpartum/newborn period (is there such a thing, though?!). 

There’s not much else to say, other than that today is day 5 and we are in our third room. We had to switch rooms in the middle of the night Sunday night due to a toilet issue. Then when it was learned we would be here another few days (at least), it worked out better for us to be moved out of Labor and Delivery and over to the Mother and Baby ward (which is where we were on our last visit). It’s more comfortable over here, and we have a better view (we can watch people in the parking lot rather than stare at the roof) which makes me feel a little bit like a part of the world again.

It’s just all been very surreal, as I feel like this whole year has been for most people. It’s hard to believe that we we were just here three weeks ago—those 72 hours feel like a lifetime ago. They were followed by days of stress and uncertainty that eventually calmed into hope and optimism, and quickly led us back here. 

Even though we knew in the first week of January with the first bit of bleeding that this was not going to be an easy pregnancy, we never imagined just how it would all play out. The poor nurses keep asking, “So this is your second round of bleeding this pregnancy?” And we laugh and say, “No, but it’s the second round this trimester.”

It’s been tough, to feel like a lot of joy has been sucked out of this experience for us and replaced with worry and fear. Still, we say it every day, that this baby is 100% worth it. After years of hoping and praying for this baby, then being threatened by loss so early on, we have made sure to be thankful for every minute of his life, and we continue to hold onto that. 25 weeks ago we were heading into an ultrasound fearing that I was miscarrying our coffee bean-sized baby, and here we are today—watching the bizarre rolling of my belly as our several pound son stretches and wiggles and kicks and listening to the sound of his beating heart fill the room. Just that alone has made it all worth it, and we wouldn’t trade it for anything.

We are very excited to meet this boy, and admittedly ready for this drama-filled rollercoaster of a pregnancy to be over, but we are trying to be patient, knowing the longer he can stay in there the healthier he can be when he comes out into the world. So we are trying to wait patiently here, amid the tired and the stress and the fearing of the worst. At the end of the day, the patience isn’t always there, but the gratitude is.

Mama (Mia), Here We Go Again

Ahh the all-too familiar feeling of the hospital—we are here again at 30 weeks and 3 days.

As I mentioned in my last post, our ultrasound last week left me feeling very anxious. They told me to look out for more bleeding, but I knew that placental abruption could worsen without any signs of bleeding. I became very diligent about paying attention to our baby boy’s movements. It was really the only other thing that might tip me off to something being wrong.

He was very active for a few days, which helped ease my anxiety. Then one day he switched positions, and it became harder for me to feel his movements. In the next 24 hours, I was still feeling the amount of movement that is “standard,” but it was much less and much fainter than I was used to. The building anxiety got to me and I eventually texted the doctor. She said there was no harm in going to the hospital to get checked out, so late Sunday evening, we hopped to it.

Of course, everything was fine. His heart rate was great and as soon as he felt the monitor he began kicking at it. We were there for maybe an hour, and the nurse and my husband both were so sweet that they didn’t let me feel stupid for panicking. We all agreed—it was better to be safe than sorry, especially given our situation. I knew I could forgive myself for wasting our time much more easily than if I had ignored a possible warning sign and something turned out to be wrong.

The next day we had a scheduled appointment with the doctor, and we discussed my situation further to try and help my anxiety. The doctor empathized with our situation, and said that yes, the abruption could worsen without any outward bleeding, so the best course of action was to continue taking it easy and keep up with kick counts and weekly scans. We also learned that our chance of a C-section was at about 50/50 at the moment. If I had more bleeding, it would probably be more like 80/20. As for my anxiety, I made sure that the anxiety/sleep aid I had been prescribed in my first trimester and used sparingly was still safe to take, so if I felt panicky, I would have something to hopefully help me rationalize things.

Our weekly ultrasound appointment was the next morning, and we were delighted to see that our baby boy was growing, his heart and lungs were functioning properly, and the bleed from the abruption had not appeared to worsen or grow in size. We were still stable, and that was a relief.

I knew the relief would be short-lived, that after a few days, I would begin to wonder and worry if things were getting worse. I tried my best to focus on being positive and not thinking too far ahead. For the time being, our baby boy was kicking, my body felt fine (other than the typical aches and pains of the third trimester), and I was optimistic that we would at least make it to 32 weeks.

Two days after our ultrasound, feeling hopeful, happy, and at peace, I laid down to go to bed and diligently did my bedtime kick count. Baby boy was moving just fine, so I attempted to get myself comfortable enough to sleep. I’m not sure if I ever did fall asleep, but an hour later I felt like I might have started bleeding a little. When I got halfway to the bathroom, I quickly realized that it had somehow soaked through my pad, my underwear and my shorts before I even noticed it.

I made it to the bathroom and tried to tap on the wall to get my husband’s attention, but then I remembered that I had left him listening to something on his headphones. Feeling the panic rising and fearing that I was going to have this baby in the next 24 hours, I cleaned myself up the best I could and hobbled into the bedroom flipping on the light switch.

“We’ve gotta go now,” I said, pulling out the depends that I had stashed under the bed. While I borderline hyperventilated, my husband kept me calm. He got himself dressed and helped me do the same, gathering my half-packed hospital bag along with phone chargers and anything else we might need. We knew this would be another three-day minimum trip. 

As we got in the car, he assured me, “I’m going to get us there safely, but quickly. Just stay with me.” The roads were blessedly mostly empty (it was close to midnight) as we zoomed the few miles to the hospital. He reminded me that we already knew the bleed was there, so this was quite possibly just the blood working its way out and not necessarily a worsening of the situation. Besides, we had just felt our baby move an hour ago, and he had always been the rock through it all.

We arrived at the hospital, and after I collected the usual urine sample and donned a tattered gown, the nurse hooked me up to the fetal monitor and we heard the familiar, beautiful sound of our son’s heart beating steadily. Feeling significant relief, we settled into the usual routine of answering all the questions, having my blood drawn, and waiting to see what happened next.

We eventually got to the room where we would be staying the night until we were able to get an ultrasound and meet with the specialist the next morning. My bleeding had slowed, though I still had small gushes here and there, but I remained comforted by my son’s heart beating steadily throughout the night. I was given more steroids to help baby should they decide he needed to come soon. I was also given fluids through an IV for hydration, as I was advised against eating or drinking anything just in case they decided we needed an emergency C-section. 

It was a highly uncomfortable night. In order to go to the bathroom, I had to unplug the monitors and carry the cords around my neck, and also unplug the IV and drag that whole thing with me. It was never a simple process, and I was incredibly thankful for my dear husband’s help. Still, it caused a meltdown from me the second time we had to do it. I was so tired and uncomfortable and hungry and thirsty and still worried our little guy would need to come into the world before he was really ready.

I finally fell asleep a little before 7 am, and less than thirty minutes later is when the doctor chose to come in on his rounds. He wasn’t one we’d seen before, and though I was half-asleep and couldn’t remember his name, I liked him. He was an older doctor, and I can’t remember exactly what he said, but he made us feel a little more at ease seeming to understand our situation pretty well for someone we’d never met before.

The ultrasound later in the morning showed our boy looking even bigger than he was three days ago. His movement and vitals all looked good, the placenta still appeared to be functioning normally, and the bleed did not appear worse, even smaller if anything.

The specialist we saw was one in the practice we hadn’t met before, but we really liked her too. She cut to the chase and laid it all out there:  we will be here for monitoring for at least 72 hours from whenever my bleeding stops, and if the bleeding worsens and/or baby or I appear to be suffering from any distress, the baby will be delivered via emergency C-section. She explained that these things are unpredictable and out of our control, and that this is just the kind of situation where we have to trust and deal with whatever is necessary as it comes.

It was like she was summarizing our entire pregnancy journey, and in a way, validating it. We’ve started to feel like pregnancy for us is nothing but drama, and we’re worn out from it. But it’s just one of those things that’s wholly out of our control. We do what we can, and know with confidence that the professionals are ready to intervene when necessary, and we are thankful for that, and pray that their wisdom and skill will guide us to bringing our baby into the world in the right way at the right time.

So, here we are, settling in for another few days at the hospital of mostly waiting to see if anything happens. We are more suspicious that something else will come up this time—more bleeding or something unforeseen. We know that every day brings us closer to meeting this precious human who has stolen our hearts already. It’s still a little terrifying to think we could meet him tomorrow, or in another six weeks, but whenever it is, we continue to pray that he is healthy and safe, and we thank you for your prayers as well!

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. 

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...)

Constant Vigilance

  The day after our doctor’s appointment, we received results from my initial blood work. My progesterone levels were at 10.9, and my doctor had said they should be at least at 11. Again, since it had been drilled into me in the past from my previous doctor that my low progesterone could potentially cause miscarriage, I contacted my doctor.

Because I was high risk, she had given me her cell phone number so I could contact her at any time with questions or issues. Even though it was a Saturday, I decided to text her and ask about putting me on progesterone ASAP. She was not as familiar with the practice as my previous doctor, but she’s open-minded and loves to learn things, so she told me she would look into it. After spending her Saturday afternoon reading up on it and reaching out to more experienced OBs, she came up with a prescription for me. She admitted that the information she found did not reveal convincing evidence that it would help, but she was confident that it certainly wouldn’t hurt.

[I was so glad that I took that pro-active step, and that my doctor was so willing to look into a treatment option that she was not familiar with. I knew that she wouldn’t prescribe it to me if she truly didn’t believe in it, which I also respected. I’ve heard so many stories about women being talked down to by their doctors, or written off for various concerns. I am here to tell you that good doctors who care about your health do exist, and they are worth searching for. We should never be afraid to bring up a concern or ask a question that might seem stupid. If your doctor makes you feel uncomfortable, talks down to you, or never seems to really hear what you have to say, find another one. You deserve to be treated well and fairly. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.]

So we went along, me feeling relieved that though I couldn’t do much for my baby other than stay alive and attempt to stay healthy, I was able to advocate for myself and take the progesterone that had at least a chance of assisting in maintaining my pregnancy. We began our weekly ultrasounds, and every time, my anxiety would build up like crazy. I had moments of peace, and moments of going out of my mind with worry that we would show up to our next ultrasound and there would be no heart beat. Then I would pray and find some peace and a giddiness that frightened me. Hello, mood swings.

Despite my worries, the ultrasounds continued to show that our baby was growing at exactly the rate it should be. The heart beat was always strong, and by week 8 (week 6 was when the bleeding had begun) the hemorrhage had completely disappeared. It was also encouraging and very cool to see our baby’s progress week by week. We knew that our situation wasn’t ideal, but we chose to look at the bright side that we got to sneak a peek at our little one so often.

Now, even though the hemorrhage had cleared up, and I hadn’t had any bright red blood since that scary week 6, I had some sort of dark red, brown, or black spotting or discharge every single day. It was always worse when I was at work (just from moving around so much and being on my feet constantly) and in the days following an ultrasound. (Up to about week 11 or 12, most ultrasounds are transvaginal, which is invasive and irritates the cervix, causing discharge like this to be somewhat normal, or at least not a cause for alarm.)

I learned that some bleeding in the first 12 weeks occurs in about 20% of pregnancies. There are different types of bleeding to look out for. Bright red bleeding means it’s fresh, which is often more concerning. The dark red/brown/black stuff that I experienced was believed to be old blood working its way out of my system. Not pleasant, but not worrisome. I was told to keep an eye out for bright red blood, and that if bleeding was heavy enough to fill two pads in an hour, or if I passed anything resembling actual tissue, I would need to call the doctor immediately or get to the ER. 

I was constantly vigilant, over-analyzing everything every time I went to the bathroom (which was many times a day), and anxiously awaiting our visit with the perinatal specialist, which occurred on week 10. My husband was set to fly out for a business trip that afternoon, and we had already agreed that if the news was concerning in any way, that he would stay back from his trip. At the time, I had only had a brief moment of red spotting about ten days before, but it had followed an ultrasound, so I wasn’t overly concerned about it.

The appointment went really well. So well, in fact, that the doctor told us she didn’t believe that I had a septate uterus after all, that it was just bicornuate, which was less concerning, and that she thought we were out of the woods and our risk was minimal. Because of my bicornuate uterus, they would continue ultrasounds every four weeks or so. 

We left the office feeling amazingly relieved and so happy. I didn’t want my husband to go on his trip so we could revel in our relief, but we both knew it would be good for him to go. He got on a plane that afternoon, and we shared the good news with our families, feeling like finally we were ready to experience a “normal” pregnancy. 

The next day, when I was at work and my husband was almost 1,000 miles away, I started having another light flow of bright red blood.