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.

It’s the Little Things!

Today marks over a week of being in the hospital, and it has come with some hopeful news:

—My red bleeding/spotting has pretty much diminished into old brown/black spotting. For me, this is a normal sign that my body *should be* done bleeding...at least for now. All of that means that there is a hope, a chance that I may be out of here on Sunday, unless something else concerning pops up before then. Which it totally could, so I’m not getting my hopes up too much—I’d already resigned myself to the fact that I could be here for a very long time, so mentally I am at least somewhat prepared for whatever happens.

The doctor we spoke to today (we see a different one every day, but more on that later) was awesome and she said it was good that I’ve been quiet and if I continue to be nice and quiet they will be more inclined to send me home. I didn’t tell her this, but quiet is generally how I prefer to live my life, so challenge accepted!

—They took my IV port out and said they would only put another one in if they needed to (i.e. if I have more heavy bleeding). I can’t even express how excited I was to wash a week’s worth of sticky residue off my hand and put all of the lotion in the world on it. I’m still getting used to having full use of it. It’s glorious.

—I have been granted wheelchair privileges so my husband can take me out of this room and into the sunshine and fresh air for an hour. The prospect of Vitamin D on my face is so exciting, especially since it is so hot out that the adventure will certainly require ice cream for cooling purposes. 

Otherwise, I’m getting used to the flow and rhythm of being in the hospital. Thankfully, I am mostly here for monitoring and rarely require much special attention. I don’t take that for granted, and I sometimes feel bad bugging the nurses for more water or another pillow, because I know they have patients with bigger, more urgent needs. But also, I need to hydrate to keep me and baby healthy so, I get over it. 

Some of the things I do to pass the time:

—pray and journal

—watch whatever terrible movies are on cable

—watch movies on my iPad

—play Spider Solitaire

—try (and usually fail) to nap

—pace slowly around the room and gently stretch to work out some of my sore muscles

—waste time on Instagram

—color in a coloring book that a friend kindly brought me.

I wish that I could do more writing or work on something more productive, but my brain is fried. 

Three times a day they do monitoring for the baby’s heart rate and any contractions I may have (I have been having more Braxton Hicks which don’t usually register and are really annoying, but occasionally I’ll have a couple legitimate ones). These are usually the highlights of my day because I get to listen to my son’s heartbeat and hear his big kicks and movements and sometimes his hiccups! They check my vitals several times a day, and we see a doctor once a day.

We have an odd doctor situation, since my OB only has privileges to practice at a hospital twenty minutes away from this one. The hospital we are at has a NICU that is equipped for babies born before 32 weeks, whereas my OB’s hospital can only care for babies born after 32 weeks, so long as they are at least a certain size. That makes it a little confusing and frustrating for everyone, since we just see whatever doctor is available from my OB’s affiliated group.

For the most part, they have all been good, some have been really great, and there was one (who is not affiliated with our OB’s group, but occasionally covers for them if they get caught up in an emergency) who made us extremely uncomfortable. We only spent about 5 minutes with him and knew we did not want to ever see him again, let alone allow him to treat me or our child. We finally told a nurse about our concerns and it was clear from her reaction that we are not the first ones to feel that way. Which upsets me, because women’s healthcare in this country is already extremely lacking and for someone like this to still be practicing after 40+ years is like pouring lemon juice in that paper cut.

So anyway, getting clear answers has sometimes been a challenge. My OB came by yesterday just to check on me, and that meant so much. We discussed the possibility of me transferring to her hospital next week (if I’m still hospitalized), and she said that was definitely possible, but she would want to see our next ultrasound (which will be on Tuesday) to see how things are looking and if our baby is also big enough to receive the care he might need in the NICU if he came too early. Even though the hospital we are at is fine and even closer to home, we would feel more comfortable having our own doctor and medical team around. We chose my OB because we really really like her. She’s also my husband’s primary care doctor, and she’ll be our son’s pediatrician, so if it’s possible, it will be worth the transfer just to be close to someone we know and trust.

The worst part of every day has been the discomfort from sitting in a lumpy hospital bed all day (and my poor husband sleeping on the lumpy couch) and the constant uncertainty. Like I mentioned earlier, I am mentally preparing myself for the possibility of being in a hospital for the next 6 weeks if necessary. I’m not crazy about the idea, but we are willing to do whatever we have to do to make sure our son is his healthiest and safest whenever the time comes for him to enter the world.

I am so thankful that my husband has been able to be with me this whole time. He usually leaves for a few hours a day to shower and check in at home and at work. Work has been extremely understanding of our situation, for which we are extremely grateful! But we had the hard discussion that if this drags on past this week, he’s going to have to go back to work, which will mean he’ll also need to be getting a good night’s sleep, which will be easier to do at home in a real bed. Unfortunately, due to the Covid cases rising again in our state, patients are only allowed one visitor per day, so I can’t have anyone come hang out with me during the day and then have him hang out with me in the evening. We agreed though, that for both of our mental health’s sake while we eagerly and anxiously anticipate the arrival of our son, we would rather be able to see each other even for a little bit every day than not at all. 

And who knows, maybe I will get to go home on Sunday until it’s time for our son to be born, and none of that will be an issue. At least for right now, I have some hope about that. And if nothing else, today we might get some ice cream in the fresh air and sunshine. It’s the little things! 

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. 

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. 

It’s a...gender reveal and 22 week update!

It’s been awhile since I updated—quarantine brain + pregnancy brain = a whole new level of existential and emotional confusion on the regular.

Our ultrasounds have been cut back from once a week to every 4 weeks for the time being, which is fine with me because 1) I don’t want to be in any sort of doctor office more than I have to and 2) my husband is currently not allowed to accompany me to any ultrasounds or appointments, which I understand but I don’t like. 

That first prolonged stretch between ultrasounds was a little rough. I still feared another episode of bleeding and having to go the ER and risk getting sick. I also couldn’t feel the baby moving yet, so I randomly had meltdowns wondering if he or she was even still alive in there (despite the sure sign of my ever-growing belly!), alternating with meltdowns about my husband or me getting sick despite all of our efforts to stay safe at our jobs at a grocery store.

Thankfully, halfway between our first 4 week stretch between scans, I had a doctor’s appointment. I chose the earliest time possible so I was the first patient there that day. The doctor (who was a fill-in for my usual OB since she was distancing herself from her patients while working medical rotations at the hospital) checked for the baby’s heartbeat with the Doppler and everything sounded great, which was a huge relief.

He also reiterated that the results from the chromosome blood test we had done a couple weeks earlier were normal, and I asked if the test showed the gender. It did, so I asked him to write down the gender for us so my husband and I could find out together. With all the uncertainty going on in our pregnancy and the world, we just wanted to know without any further ado or gender-reveal fanfare.

So when I returned to the car with an envelope that read “Baby Gender” on the front, my husband put down the game of solitaire he had been playing on his phone while waiting for me, and we opened the envelope to see....

“BABY BOY!”

We were thrilled! We honestly would have been thrilled either way, but it just felt more real somehow to know that we have a son. We quickly realized that though we had discussed names a bit, we didn’t have any boy names that we had both really liked, but we had plenty of girls’ names. We spent the next few days happily distracted from the fear of illness with the task of naming our child, and by the end of the week, we had his name figured out. I won’t be sharing it here, but it’s been a huge comfort for us to call him by name. 

In the week before our next ultrasound, which would be the full anatomy scan at 21 weeks, the spotting that had been consistent my entire pregnancy finally tapered off to absolutely nothing. It was amazing. Everyone had seemed to be telling us that this type of bleeding usually cleared up by 20 weeks, and we were ecstatic that that seemed to be the case for us. I was anxious to find out if the hemorrhage was gone completely or if it would still show up on the ultrasound. I also began to feel some flutters and flops in my belly that week. For awhile I wasn’t sure if it was the baby or my wishful thinking, but it became more and more clear that there was someone moving in there!

The anatomy scan went well, though it was much longer than most scans because the tech was getting as many detailed measurements as she could. It was really disappointing that my husband couldn’t be there with me to see our baby rub his eyes and stretch out his legs, and open and close his little mouth. All of the measurements she got were perfectly in the normal range (there were a few she couldn’t get because of his position), which wasn’t really surprising given our son’s track record. 

We found out later that the subchorionic hemorrhage was still there, though much improved. The fact that I haven’t had any more bleeding or spotting is a really good sign, so hopefully by our next ultrasound, it will all be gone completely.

In the last week, our baby’s movements have become stronger and more pronounced, so even my husband can feel them. It’s so amazing and reassuring every time!

So that’s where we are here at 22 weeks. It feels nice to be past the halfway point, but it also feels like we should be much further along... that’s probably true of every pregnancy, though, and double for every pregnancy that happens during quarantine!

Truly, nothing about this pregnancy has been what we expected, but we are so thankful for it and for every minute of our precious son’s precious life.