Home

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.

Chugging Along

Today marks 34 weeks, and three weeks until we get to meet our sweet baby boy face to face! It’s a relief to know that he is looking perfectly healthy and wonderful, and at a point in gestation where if he had to be delivered any complications at this point would likely be minimal. Also, having been in the hospital for over three and a half weeks now, we are more than halfway through our stay (at least, pre-delivery. But post-delivery will be a totally different experience than these long weeks have been.). It helps to know we are in that homestretch. 

The ultrasound today showed him looking great in all the measurable ways. I got to watch as he unclenched his fist and wiggled his fingers, and opened and closed his mouth, and his little body bounced as he hiccuped. It has truly been such a cool part of this pregnancy getting to see him grow and develop. I’ll be honest, even though we’ve seen more than 20 ultrasounds, I still don’t know what I’m looking at most of the time (even when the tech explains it to me, it still looks like a blurry blob!). But it still amazes us that that’s a little life swimming around inside of me. Miracle of miracles.

The scan also showed that the bleed from the abruption has grown about 1 cm, which explains the light bleeding/spotting I’ve had more days than not this past week. It’s still not enough to be immediately concerning, especially since our boy is still doing great. It has led to more monitoring sessions than usual this past week, which are admittedly annoying when they drag on for two or three or four hours. . .but they are all out of an abundance of caution to make sure there are no red flags.

All this to say that not much has changed. Our baby boy is still growing and living life to the fullest in my belly, and as long as that remains true and I don’t have any excessive bleeding, he will stay in there cooking. Again, that could change tomorrow, we just don’t know. And that’s why we’re here. I am confident that at this point there are so many people aware of and well-versed in our situation that if an emergency comes up, we will be well taken care of!

In the meantime, we’re taking each day as it comes. I have enough to do to keep me busy through the days while still getting plenty of rest. I started telehealth counseling today to try to start processing some of the big feelings I’ve had this pregnancy, which I think will be helpful. Although, I admittedly had a huge meltdown trying to figure out the technology required to fill out the paperwork on my iPad before I could start the counseling session (getting help for mental health should NOT ever be that stressful!), but we made it through.

And to be honest, I spend a lot of time just watching by belly as my son wiggles around and changes its shape in the strangest ways. He has taken to kicking the monitor almost as soon as the nurse puts it on him. Yesterday, he stuck his little bum out so much that the monitor slid right off. It was very much something his father would do, so I’m pretty sure he did it on purpose!

Thanks for sticking with us through this drama-filled journey, and for all of the prayers and kind words! Your support truly means so much to us. The end is in sight, and we will keep chugging along!

Another Week Down

We made it through another week! We are now at 33 weeks, which means only 4 (or less) to go before we get to meet our son!

The last few days as I’ve adjusted to life here at the new hospital have honestly been a little rough on me mentally and emotionally. This hospital is a little newer and nicer, and much smaller so the pace is typically slower. The nurses have all been really nice, and it’s been such a relief to actually see my own doctors on a regular basis. 

Last week was the first full week my husband went back to work though. Like I mentioned in my last post, we are not used to doing life apart from each other. He is wonderful and comes every day after work to have dinner and watch terrible movies with me, and spends his days off hanging around too. Still, I’m finding that there are too many hours in the day for me to think about how hard this separation is. And to think about all the possible worst case scenarios. 

It’s not that I don’t have anything to do—I have plenty to read and keep me occupied. I have just needed the last few days to become adjusted to the new environment and the fact that this will be my reality for the next month. I’m slowly feeling more adjusted, though, and I’m finding that dedicating real, mindful time to prayer, Bible study, and reflection every day has been immensely beneficial. It’s amazing how the darkness begins to fade when we choose to focus on the light! I know I owe a lot of that grace to all of the many people who have been praying for us. So many people have supported us through their thoughts and prayers, and I thank you! They are definitely helping!

Our Tuesday ultrasound this week was encouraging—our boy is growing at a healthy pace (even though I’m carrying low, this kid’s foot has finally found my rib cage!) and is still showing all good signs in terms of his organ function and movement. The placental abruption does not appear to have gotten worse, so that’s good news too!

It was all a relief to hear, but then I get that nagging negative feeling that all of our days of good news tend to be followed by scary bleeding episodes. But that’s exactly why I’m hanging out here in the hospital with daily monitoring. If something else happens, we will automatically have the care we need and won’t lose any time in an emergency.

We discussed with the doctor this week the terms of delivery as well. While at this point attempting an induced vaginal delivery would still be possible at 37 weeks, we all agreed that with everything I’ve been through and with all the risk still involved with an abruption, a scheduled C-section will be our best bet of a safe, healthy delivery. I would love to have a normal, natural birth, but I know that after all the anxiety and stress of this pregnancy, I would not have the physical or mental endurance to handle a long labor. And if anything went wrong during labor (as the chances are higher in my case that they would) an emergency C-section would have a higher risk of complications than a scheduled one.

I actually feel a lot more at peace having everyone on board with that decision. One of the reasons I love my doctors so much is that they really strive to allow for natural, intervention-free birth whenever is possible. And I always looked forward to that womanly challenge of giving birth naturally (or with drugs). But we all agree that this will be the best possible delivery choice for both baby and me given the circumstances. 

So that’s where we are. Baby boy is doing great, my body is stable for the moment, and at this point, we’re looking at just 4 more weeks until delivery. The end is in sight, and I so look forward to finally holding my sweet baby in my arms.

The Long Haul

Last Friday, I had hope that we would get out of here on Sunday, or at least at some point this week. Sunday didn’t happen, so then I wondered if maybe it could happen Tuesday after the ultrasound, assuming the results were good. The results of the ultrasound were good—the baby still looks great, thank goodness, and the abruption has not appeared to worsen, so that’s all good.

However, good results were not the only thing to factor into the decision of staying or going. My entire pregnancy has been littered with bleeding episodes, and already having several in the third trimester was not encouraging. We listened to the opinions of many doctors, some who said that it was likely safe to go home unless I had more bleeding, others who recommended staying for the long haul, until delivery at 37 weeks. After discussing it with our primary doctor, it was decided that given my history of going from stable to “we’ve gotta go” without warning, continuous monitoring in a hospital until delivery appeared to be the best, safest decision to give our son his best chance.

The goal at this point is to keep our baby in there as long as is safe for him, and that will be best ensured by me staying here. And also, if the time comes earlier than expected for him to be delivered, we will be right here and won’t lose any time in an emergency situation.

Once the decision was made that I would stay, though, we also decided that it would be safe for the baby and therefore in our best interest to transfer to the hospital that my OB is at. It’s farther from home, but it’s smaller and we would be in the direct care of our doctor and the others in her practice, rather than a random rotation of people sent to check in on me and offer their varying opinions on my situation.

Once I was discharged from the other hospital, I had a window where I could go home for a couple hours. It was such a nice little break, but also overwhelming. (But to be honest, everything is overwhelming these days—hello, hormones!) I had a chance to open some of the gifts people had sent to the house from our registry, which was fun. My parents brought over a rocker that I had wanted from my registry, and I sat cozily in it dreaming of the day I would rock our son in it. My in-laws made us a delicious non-hospital food dinner, and it was a lovely break from the crazy.

We didn’t linger too long though, because I wanted to make sure my husband could be there to help me get settled in at the new hospital without having to get home too late. As soon as we got up to the maternity ward, we saw one of our OBs, and that was a comforting feeling. Everyone was really nice and accommodating as they got us settled in, and I only cried a little bit wondering if this really was the best decision.

Of course, when I woke up this morning and had some more light bleeding, I knew it was the right decision. Thankfully, the bleeding was mild and short-lived, but even if I had been at home, I would have had to come back in anyway for another few days. This saved us at least one stressful trip! The baby still seems to be doing well, and we are glad that he and I are in a safe place.

We know that this is all for the best, but that doesn’t mean the whole situation doesn’t stink, because it really does. I try to focus on the positive, but that doesn’t mean the negative doesn’t exist. The stress level is high. I am able to relax a bit knowing that even if I was at home, I would pretty much only be allowed to sit around and get fat (and by fat, I mean more pregnant, but let’s be real—it’ll be a bit of both!). But it’s hard to not be able to do the whole nesting thing. This pregnancy has been so hard in a lot of ways, and I never thought something as simple as not being able to wash, fold, and organize my baby’s clothes would bum me out so much. But here we are.

Thankfully family has been very helpful with all of this, helping to get things clean and organized! But it’s hard not getting to do all that myself. I used to think maybe I should have started it all sooner, but then I realized:  between all the scares we had in the first half of the pregnancy, and all the moving we did in May (while I was also trying to work as many hours as possible without physically overdoing it), and all the waiting around to see if Covid would lighten up enough for some sort of a shower to be possible later in the summer, we never had the time.

It’s hard to think that when I get home, everything will be completely different. I’ll be exhausted recovering from having a baby and caring for my newborn, all while coming home to a home that I have lived in for a shorter amount of time than I have lived in a hospital. It’s overwhelming now, and it will probably only continue to be overwhelming for the foreseeable future. That doesn’t mean I’m not grateful. That doesn’t mean it won’t all be worth it. It just means it’s really really hard.

It’s also been really hard having to adjust to my husband not being here all the time. We have spent very few nights away from each other during our five years of marriage. Saying goodbye was really difficult those first few nights when he slept at home last week. Then I began to actually rest easier knowing that he was in our comfy bed and not the awful lumpy couch in the hospital room. While he goes to work all day to provide for us, I know that sitting in the hospital room and staying pregnant is my most important work right now. It’s been really hard, and it’s weirder now that I’m in a hospital twice as far from home. But the struggle through the sacrifices that we’re making to make sure that our son has his best chance has also brought us closer together. His coming to the hospital every day to have dinner with me is what gets me through the long hours of sitting alone in my emotional uncertainty.

While our situation could be much worse, and our baby boy still seems to be healthy and doing well, and we have a lot to be thankful for, this is still really hard. If I think about the fact that I will probably be in here for at least another five weeks, it’s truly overwhelming and I can’t control the tears. Then I think it could possibly be shorter for me, but that would mean that we would have to leave our son in the NICU, which is something we would prefer to avoid.

After all we’ve been through, our greatest hope is that our son will be delivered safely at 37 weeks with no complications, and we will all get to go home together within a few days of birth.

I try not to think about how nothing has gone our way so far. I’m trying to focus on the fact that for today, we are all here on this earth, hearts beating and full of love for each other. For today, that is enough.

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. 

A Light in the Darkness

Everyone has their own concerns and uncertainties about the present and the future in this pandemic. It’s a lot for anyone. And for me, an often irrationally angry pregnant lady, it’s extremely overwhelming. My feelings are all over the place, but I try to always come back to that one central thing that I know is constant and won’t ever change: the love that surrounds us. The love of God and family and friends is always there for us, and I am thankful for it every day.

The weight and darkness of the world and our year so far has been weighing on me more lately, but we received quite a bit of good news in the last couple weeks, so I’m trying to stay focused on these flickers and flashes of hope:

—My husband was allowed to accompany me to the 24 week appointment and 25 week ultrasound. We both had to wear masks, which has just become normal and no longer fazes us. The people working at the doctor’s office also seemed much more comfortable with the extra precautionary measures in place. When I was there a month ago, everyone seemed on edge. But this time, the medical professionals seemed confident that their new protective measures and screening process were working, which helped ease our anxiety a bit as well. 

—At 24 weeks, our baby boy reached the point of viability! Of course, 24 weeks is never an ideal time to deliver, and the chances of survival outside the womb increase every week from here on out. But with all the troubles we had early on, an early delivery has always been a possible necessity to get ahead of any complications. The doctors have told us that 24 weeks is good, but 28 weeks and beyond is the most ideal. We’re getting there!

—Our doctor said that my pregnancy is looking mostly “normal.” The septum in my uterus appears to be so minor that the baby has plenty of room to grow and move around, at least for now. Again, it’s something that we’ll keep an eye on, as it could be a reason for needing an early delivery at some point, but for now, all appears to be progressing just fine.

—The placenta has also moved so that it is no longer previa. I don’t even know if I ever mentioned this is any of my posts, but a couple months ago we were told I had placenta previa, which is when the placenta blocks the cervix. With the placenta blocking the cervix, a natural birth  would mean that the placenta would come out before the baby and deprive the baby of nutrients, not to mention cause other complications for the mother. Complications are usually avoided altogether by performing a C-section. But my placenta has moved out of the way completely. It’s nice to know that that is one less thing I’ll need to worry about, and it gives me hope that I may be able to have a vaginal birth after all.

—Our ultrasound showed our baby boy being as stubborn as ever. No matter how much the ultrasound tech tried to poke at him to get him to move so she could get a better angle, all he really offered were a few big kicks telling her to leave him alone. It was a new and incredible experience getting to feel those kicks at the same time I saw them! She was able to get all the measurements she needed and reported that he was measuring five days ahead of his due date. He is definitely going to be a big boy!

—We also learned that the subchorionic hematoma has completely resolved! It was such a relief to hear that. Even though everyone told us while it was happening that the bleeding we experienced early on was usually harmless to the baby, and that these things usually resolve by week 20 and after that most people go on to have a normal pregnancy, it didn’t prevent us from being anxious and traumatized as we lived through it. 

There’s been lots of good news these couple of weeks, and I’ve loved feeling our growing boy’s movements become more and more pronounced. A part of me is still anxious, because I can’t shake the memory of being told that we were “out of the woods” at 10 weeks only to wind up in the hospital three times in the next few weeks.  

It’s been a rough year, from bleeding and fearing miscarriage almost from the get-go, to months of appointments and ultrasounds and feeling sick most of the time, to multiple traumatizing ER visits, to life in a pandemic, to the stress of moving from the only home we have known together, to wondering if this pandemic will ever end. Sometimes I wonder how it might all be different, if we hadn’t had such a rough first half of this pregnancy, or if we were pregnant in a time that wasn’t a pandemic. 

What I always come back to, though, is how in our years of trying to get pregnant, we learned to have a much greater reliance on God and His perfect timing. The word that keeps coming back to me these days is Esther 4:14, “Perhaps you were born for such a time as this.” I’m starting to really believe that. Like Esther, I’m not particularly thrilled by all the circumstances of my situation, but I trust that it is all part of God’s plan and He will give me the strength to see it through. And I believe that our years-long wait for our son were because he will be born at exactly the time he is meant to be. 

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!