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.

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. 

In the Beginning

It was Christmas Eve, and I was home from work early, having a meltdown. I was getting ready for our evening festivities, when I discovered a small amount of pink spotting. 

Once again, my hopes and dreams of a baby were dashed by the imminent arrival of my period. For the last two weeks I had been wondering if I was pregnant, and hoping desperately that I was. I was nothing but irritable and crabby (though between losing my grandmother and dealing with the holidays while working in retail with new, inexperienced coworkers, some level of irritability was inevitable), but this was like PMS on steroids. I’d also been having cramps and wicked breast tenderness off and on for at least a week, but that was fairly normal for me.

So when that bit of spotting appeared, I dreaded it more intensely for several reasons: 

1.  Christmas is about celebrating a baby, and I was beginning to doubt that God wanted me to have a baby. I never doubted that He could give me one, but I had begun to doubt that He would.
2. With the loss of my grandma so fresh, I felt like I couldn’t take anymore disappointment this Christmas.
3. If my level of irritability and rage over the last two weeks wasn’t related to pregnancy, it meant that I was likely certifiably crazy and should have my head examined.

Eventually I pulled myself together and we had an enjoyable Christmas Eve despite our silent disappointment. During Mass I felt very close to my grandma, and felt a deep sense of peace, and an oddly renewed sense of hope. I went from thinking there was a 1% chance I was pregnant to a 2% chance, which may not seem like a lot, but trust me, was significant. The evening ended on a high note, with several unexpected but great gifts, and a lot of laughter.

Christmas morning I decided to quietly take a pregnancy test. My period still hadn’t come on full force, and I didn’t want to waste the holiday away wondering if it would come or not.

Almost immediately, the single line became a plus sign. Freaking out, I set the test on the side of the sink and went and sat on the couch for the allotted three minutes. You know, in case it decided to change its mind. 

Shaking, I got up after three minutes to find that no, in fact, the test had NOT changed its mind. I was pregnant. It said so. That holy little plus sign. The perfect Christmas gift. The gift I had begun to imagine I would never receive. I woke my husband up and shared the news and we embraced in disbelief. 

It all felt too good to be true. 

For years we had tried. We had done tests and I had done minor procedures and taken hormone suppositories and injections, all in an attempt to help our chances. After being referred to an infertility specialist who essentially told us he could make our babies FOR us AND THEN FREEZE THEM and then THAW them before INJECTING them into me, where they would *maybe* survive, we knew more than ever with a passionate conviction that if we couldn’t have kids on our own, then we wouldn’t have them. 

We decided to take a breather from all things fertility. And a few months later, there we were: pregnant.
             

Having been through “infertility” (I hesitate to put us in that category because, honestly, I hate that word. A lot of “infertile” people are actually fertile, it’s just not as quick and easy for them to get pregnant, e.g. us. But the emotions and struggles we experienced over almost three years of trying to conceive were, I believe, universal in the “infertility” world.), I always hated to hear people say, “If you just relax and stop trying, it will happen.” Which I hated and thought was stupid. But then we stopped “trying” and it happened. 

Like I said earlier, it seemed too good to be true. I could hardly believe it. As fun as it would have been to break the news to family on Christmas, I still had a nagging feeling that any day now I could still get my period and it would all be over, so we decided to wait at least until after our first doctor’s appointment.

I had been told that with my low progesterone and endometriosis and whatnot, I was at a higher risk for miscarriage. My more holistic NaPro doctor who had so often prescribed me progesterone and had my blood drawn regularly to check my levels had coincidentally taken a year of leave (which was why we ended up at the dreaded fertility specialist in the first place), and I was left with a more modern OB. I decided to trust, even as the anxiety crept in. 

All these years, we’d known it was all part of God’s timing. Even when things had seemed perfect in our minds, like they should totally work out, God had other plans. We trusted Him with this as well.

When I hadn’t gotten my period a week later and began to have some intense food aversions, I let it sink in. I’m really pregnant. This is really happening. There’s a little person in there.

Two days later, I started spotting.