His First Smile

His First Smile

yesterday I was the caretaker
provider of milk
dirty diaper changer
and little stomach burper

yesterday his face was indifferent
cranky or sad
eyes open to see and take in
but not to give back

but then he smiled

I happened to pass by his way
he upset, in tears
when he turned to look at me

to see me
to know me

his crying ceased
and he smiled
at me

knowing me
wanting me
loving me

so today I know
that when it comes to love
he might be my littlest
but I am his first

Amendment

Elise has amended her previous thoughts on working as an engineer only before she has a baby. Now . . .

"When I have a baby I'm going to keep working on rockets and space shuttles. My baby's daddy will take care of my baby.

I'm going to go to the hospital. Then the people who want to take the baby out can take it out. Then I will nurse it. But when I go home I'm probably go to work and someone else will take care of the baby.

If you really love me lots, you can come and visit me forever when I decided to stay home with my baby. Or you can come and work with me. That's how you can see me more."

Space Shuttles and Rockets

Elise is really into space shuttles these days. Peppered through my day are questions like, "do the astronauts get to choose to sometimes go to space or sometimes do things at home?" She thinks that any lights she sees zooming across the sky at night are space shuttles. I keep my mouth shut and let her continue this belief. And in exchange, I get a count each morning of the number of space shuttles she saw while looking out her window at night.

Elise quote of the week:

"When I grow up and am an engineer before I'm a mommy, I'm going to make all of the rockets and space shuttles pink because pink is my favorite color. Were the rockets and space shuttles blue when you were an engineer?"

Journal - After Wyatt's Letter

"Ther is a time for everything . . . a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance." Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

It’s done. I’ve finally written my blog letter to Wyatt.

I’ve been planning on writing him one since before his birth. Wanting to leave him something that he can read someday. Wanting to make him feel the gushy warm love of his mommy.

But it took me over a month to catch more than a moment of gushy love. I just haven’t felt much. For the last month I’ve been sliced up, drugged up, and beat up. If I had to pick a word to sum up the month of my son’s birth, it world be “pain”.

I’m still in pain. And I’m angry. Angry that I was knocked out during Wyatt’s birth. Angry that I missed the normal happy meeting of mother and baby and instead barely remember anything but the pain.

And what I do remember fills me with another emotion, guilt. Guilt that I refused to hold my son because I just hurt too bad. Guilt that I refused to see my kids and missed out on their birthday cupcakes the day Wyatt was born. Guild that it took me over a month to feel happy enough about Wyatt’s birth to write him a letter.

Jeffrey assures me that it was the drugs that made me crazy and I can’t hold myself responsible. I know that he is right. But that might free me from guilt, but it doesn't give me back anything that I've lost.

To Wyatt

Dear Wyatt,


Oh my sweet little child. You and I may have just met, but I feel like you should be writing this blog with me - not reading it many years down the road. The story of a rogue placenta gone bad and all the scary possibilities turned good is just the beginning of the story of me and you. You - oblivious, me - scared and overwhelmed. You - born just perfect, me - a bit beat up. You - sweet, adorable, wrinkled and precious beyond words, me - grateful.


I love you little man. You are my last chance to dance, bare stomach to stomach with soft newborn skin. My chance to realize again that pictures cannot replicate the funny little faces that leave me adoring adorable you. You are the completion of our family.


The day we brought you home from the hospital, we didn't just bring you to your new house, we brought you into your new family. Your older brother Zion ran to get the magnet with your name on it off of the refridgerator and put it close to you - your label as the long awaited for "baby Wyatt". Your big sis Elise studies you, narrating your moves and sounds while giving suggestions for your care. Your Daddy captures your beginnings through pictures sent to friends and family everywhere. And I nurse you, swaddle you, and change your diapers - grateful that your care falls to me and so I am the one to sing you songs in the middle of the night and catch your flitting smiles. I don't think I've pawned off a single of your diaper changes, you are mine through the mundane of our life today, and the drama leading up to this moment.

You are my son. And I'm your mommy. I am so grateful for precious little you.

Love,
your Mommy

A New November

November marked a new beginning for our family. Our entire family is home! For the first time in 3 months I . . . cooked dinner, helped with bathtime, cleaned the house, did dishes, played at the park, drove a car, and went out to a restaraunt with Jeffrey. It is the beginning of good times for our family.




Wyatt and I in his hospital room. He spent 6 days there recovery from RSV. I slept in his room and tried to recover from my recent hysterectomy. We later learned that he had the misfortune of being the very first reported case of RSV for the season.

Aunt Lori flew in to help out for a week and a half. The kids and I wish badly that she lived closer and could play with the kids every day. They love the attention, and I love the help!

My mom arrived just before Wyatt and I came home from his stay for RSV. She helped to nurse me back to health again. Thank you Mom!

October

Catch up time -



I thought our rough road had ended after Wyatt was born. But life has continued to throw us some curves. October has been rough. But I will just a quick summary and then move on to happier posts as we move on to happier times.



Oct. 5 - Wyatt is born! We rejoice. He is a 5 lb 9 oz little ball of joy. I am in some very serious pain for a couple of days.



Oct. 9 - I'm release from the hospital. I get to visit home, but stay the nights in a room at the Special Care Nursery so I can nurse Wyatt.



Oct. 12 - Wyatt comes home.



Oct. 16 - I develop spiking fevers.



Oct. 20 - Zion visits the ER due to trouble breathing



Oct. 21 - My recurring fevers land me a trip to the doctors and a spot on the surgery schedule for the next day.



Oct. 22 - Hysterectomy



Oct. 25 - I go home from the hospital, again.



Oct. 27 - Wyatt gets checked into the hospital with breathing trouble due to RSV.

Nov. 1 - Wyatt and I come home. We hope for good.

Jeffrey - Wyatt Arrives

This is Jeffrey. I'm temporarily taking over Brooke's blog while she recovers from surgery.

Wyatt Quinton Colburn was born at ??? this morning. He was ??? long and weighed 5 lbs.

He and his mommy are both healthy and doing fairly well.

Wyatt is in the special care nursery. He is having a bit of trouble reviving from the anesthesia.

Brooke's surgery went great. But she is in a lot of pain. Right now they are trying to get that under control for her.

I'll fill in more of the details later.

- Jeffrey

Journal - Kill and Cry

Tomorrow is the big day.

I'd been so brave. So strong. So numb. For days I'd been struggling to shove my fear aside. I hoped that if I could just ignore my stress until after the surgery I would escape the pain.

And then he kissed me. I started to cry. Sob would be a better word. All of the tension and fear poured out of me. But he didn't stop kissing me. He kissed my crying lips. He kissed my tear stained cheeks. He kissed my neck, my arms, my bulging stomach. He kissed me.

He wasn't afraid of my sorrow and pain. He push aside the brave mask that I was wearing and saw the real me. He saw the me that was a scared little kid who just wanted the big scary monsters to go away. I suppose this is what it means, to cleave together - to share not only the joys of life, but also the pain.

We have had and will have many nights of passion, but I don't know if we will ever have a night so intimate.

Journal - Lesson Learned

"Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent, and discerning if he holds his tongue." Proverbs 17:28

Today I am a fool.

Remember the OB resident who said the insensitive comment about me possibly loosing my bladder? "You might never pee again, but you'll be healthy and have a healthy baby so you'll be fine." The residents name is Jodi. I know her name now. She has visited me several times over the past few days. During her very short lunch break, she has swung by to visit me. To comfort me. To help me get through these days.

During our visits she admired the Christmas stocking that I'm cross-stitching for Zion. So today she brought me the cross-stitch picture that she has just finished. It is gorgeous. The subtle shading can only be appreciated by a fellow cross-stitcher who knows the hours spent on details few people will notice.

Then she says it. "This is for my Dad. I haven't framed it yet, but I already gave it to him. Last Christmas. Before he died."

I don't know why he died, but she must have known it was coming because she gave him this special gift before it was yet complete. I can only imagine that she visited him during his stay in the hospital. That she swung by during her lunch hour to visit him. To comfort him.

I had assumed that her earlier comment was an insensitive, sheltered person brushing off my pain because she hadn't experienced anything like it. I was wrong. She wasn't minimizing my situation out of ignornance, she knew more than I that my bladder really isn't important. She knew that my baby is not going to care whether or not his mom can pee. He is just going to want to have me there, to admire his crayon drawings and cherish his gifts.

Oh how I regret posting that story on my blog and laughing about her with the nurses. I am a fool.

Quotable

Cute quotes:



Zion and Elise's take on adding a new baby:



Elise: "I'm going to be two big sisters soon!"



Zion: "Zion be big sister brother!"





Morbidly funny quotes:



My reaction to learning that they might leave my uterus in until a second surgery several weeks after my c-section:

"All I want is to wake up from surgery and hear that my uterus is gone. I'm so over my uterus."

A med student, trying to comfort me after I learned that the placenta was growing into my bladder:

"Just think of it this way, worst case is that you never pee again, but you'll have a healthy baby and you'll be healthy."

I should clarify that while I might loose a piece of my bladder, I am not as risk of loosing my whole bladder. As Jeffrey says, "there are somethings they just can't teach you in medical school."

On another note, while the OBs think that the placenta has grown into my bladder, the Urologists think that might not be true. If my bladder is not involved, they will go ahead with my hysterectomy when Wyatt is born. So we still have hope that this will all be over on Monday. I'd sure appreciate prayers for a smooth surgery and conclusion to this all.

Undone

Yesterday I celebrated my 50th day in the hospital. But even more, I celebrated having only 10 days left until the birth of my son, completion of my surgery, and being done with this crisis.

But my joy was cut short. An MRI scan revealed that Wyatt's placenta has now grown through my uterus and into my bladder. In order to remove the placenta, a portion of my bladder would have to be removed. My bladder would stretch out again, so this in and of itself is not horrible. But, trying to perform bladder surgery in the middle of an already scary, risky and bloody hysterectomy combined with c-section is a pretty bad situation. And so my OB's have decided that they will perform my c-section as planned on October 5, then sew me back up with the placenta still inside my uterus. They will then block off some of the arteries leading to the uterus. Then we will all hope that my body tolerates the placenta, lessens blood flow to my placenta/uterus, and allows the placenta to shrink and disengage from my bladder. Around 6 weeks after the c-section, they will open me up again, and remove my uterus with the placenta inside.

Logically, I know that after October 5 we will be in a much better position than we were in on August 4, when I checked into the hospital. While I will still be at risk of infection and heavy bleeding, I will have a healthy and safe baby boy and I won't be at risk of bleeding out. And I will get to go home.

But emotionally, this new burden is devastating. You can read my previous post to get an idea of how excited I've been to reach the end of this journey. Honestly, my anticipation has been less about my son or going home, and more about escaping from danger and being back able to take care of my family. I ache to just be done.

Now we aren't done. After asking people to care for my kids during 3 weeks of early pregnancy illness, 9 weeks of hospitalization and 3 weeks of post c-section recovery, we will have to again call on help during a second surgery and recovery. After 26 weeks of not being allowed to pick up and carry Zion, I'll go in for surgery again just when I finally recover from the c-section. After coming to terms with the possibility of going home with Wyatt still in a special care nursery, we may have to figure out what to do if Wyatt gets discharged and I'm still here in the hospital.

It is just too much. I am done. For the past couple of months I have prayed for strength to keep on walking through these struggles. Now I am in a heap on the floor, telling God that I am done and the only way for me to keep going is if He carries me. Because my strength is spent and gone.

And He has responded. I hear His voice through our friends' notes of encouragement. Throughout my day, He has reminded me of how He has carried us so far during this crisis, and long before that. I feel peace, unexplained and unearned.

And now we wait. We wait for the birthday of our son. We wait to find out how my surgery goes and how my body reacts. We wait for my homecoming and recovery. We wait for another surgery and more recovery. We wait to be a normal family again. But most of all, we wait on the Lord. For, "they that wait upon the LORD will renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. " Isaiah 40:31

And we wait to be done.

Less Than 2 Weeks

I feel like dancing these days. I want to do a little jig to show just how happy I am to be 13 days away from meeting Wyatt and moving on from this rocky pregnancy. I'm not just rejoicing over the end of this trial, but I'm celebrating the painful journeys that we will not have to take. Wyatt is almost 35 weeks. We will not have to watch him struggle for life in a ventilator. We will not have to watch him grow, burdened physically and mentally by simply showing up too early. We won't have to wonder if he is one of the 10% who when born at 28 weeks don't survive. We will get to hold our baby soon after he is born.

I know that life is never certain, and other catastrophes such as illness, infection, or injury could endanger our baby boy. If he was born today, he would likely require some breathing and eating assitance. But the longterm effects are small or nonexistant. Even in the next 13 days, I could also hemorrhage and endanger both of us. Perhaps I should postpone my happy dance until I'm out of surgery and we are both stable.

But, we are getting so close to escaping the big bad monster that has been stalking us for the past few months. And so I just have to celebrate now, even if it is still a little premature.

To My Niece

Dear Rose,

Welcome to the world little girl! So what do you think of life so far? Coming from your cozy, dark world, I bet the lights in the hospital are awfully bright. How does it feel to touch your mommy for the first time on the outside? How does your daddy's voice sound, now that it's not muffled from the womb? Do you like the sweetness of your mamma's milk? What do you think of your grandparents? Are the blankets soft and warm?

By the time you are old enough to answer these questions, you won't remember a time when the world was new. You won't remember back when your mom and dad were just husband and wife, not quite yet a full family. But we will remember.

I will remember your birth as the day that I became an aunt and Jeffrey became an uncle. We have been waiting for a long time to have a niece to spoil and love. I'm so glad that now we have you.

I can hardly wait to meet you. Right now I'm in the hospital, waiting for your cousin Wyatt to be born. Elise and Zion are excited that you have been born. In fact, Elise has volunteered to let you sleep in her room if you like. But I'm guessing you'd rather stick close to your mommy and daddy. So we'll postpone that slumber party for a few years.

Enjoy your brand new life little one!

Lots and lots of love,

Aunt Brooke

Typical Day

6 am - night nurse takes my vitals - blood pressure, temperature, and pulse. On a side note, my normally low blood pressure is especially low in the mornings. It amuses me when it is low enough to trigger the an alarm of beeps and flashing warnings of "low!". The alarm is tripped at below 75 for the first number. My lowest has been 68/40. The nurse also gives me my Zofran.

6:15 am - medical student rounds. She asks the standard questions, "any bleeding? any loss of fluids? any contractions? any pain? baby still moving?"

6:30 am - resident rounds. She asks the same questions. Then she briefly listens to my heart and pokes my stomach to check for tenderness. I wonder exactly what she expects to discover during her 2 second listen of my heart. Isn't she aware that the nurses do a more thorough heart exam several times a day? My current OB resident is much too cheerful for 6:30 in the morning.

8:30 am - all of the OB folk round. The group consists of the MFM doctor, OB residents, and med students. About 6 people peer at me and again ask the standard questions (see above). This is my chance to ask the MRM doc any questions, but after 42 mornings of rounds I rarely have any questions anymore.

Next I gather my breakfast supplies and devotional material on my side table so I'll have everything accessible when I'm stuck in my bed for my morning monitoring. It takes an hour for food to arrive from the cafeteria, so sometimes I order it the day before, sometimes I order it early in the morning, and sometimes I just eat the yogurt and cereal that I keep on hand.

9:00 am - my day nurse arrives to again check my vitals and ask the standard questions. In addition she listens to my heart and lungs, and gives me my vitamins and iron. She hooks me up to the monitor to check on Wyatt. His heart rate and my contractions are typically recorded for an hour twice a day. Just yesterday I got my time reduced to 30 minutes twice a day. This monitoring is the equivalent of a "non-stress test".

10:00 am - my nurse takes me off of the monitor. My monitoring often takes more than an hour when Wyatt is particularly active and keeps squirming away from the sensor. The nurse then helps me get ready for a shower by covering my PIC line with a plastic bag and tape.

10:15 am - shower

10:30 am - get dressed, then painfully peel the tape off of my arm. Under my arm, the tape always separates from the adhesive. So I spend the next 10 minutes picking a layer of sticky goo off of my arm.

After this, my mornings vary a little from day to day. On Mondays, the dressing on my PIC line is changed. On Tuesday, I get a massage in my room. On Thursdays, we have our "Incubators Support Group" for all of the pregnant moms in the unit. During group, we play a game or complete a craft. The leaders usually out number the moms, and it feels very juvenile and patronizing. But it is something different to do and I get to meet other moms, so I attend faithfully.

Early afternoon is spent on lunch, chatting with other moms, cross-stitching, TV, reading, or on the computer if I get an Internet connection. Sometimes Jeffrey is able to stop in for a short lunch break with me. My sister Amber and I have a phone date at 2:30 each day. Usually I'm in good spirits when she calls. But some days she catches me when I'm not filling my day with activities, but am instead just lying on my bed feeling sad.

4:30 pm - most days, my wonderful caregiver brings the kids over to visit with me after their naps. One of my favorite activities is to send each kid one at a time with the caregiver to go for a ride on the hospital train. Not only do the kids love the train, but this also gives me about 20 minutes of alone time with each kid. When other adults are around, I am likely to chat with the adult. So I think it is important for me to be alone with the kids sometimes. When I'm with Zion, we usually work together on a puzzle. He adores puzzles and wants to complete them over and over again. With Elise, we usually read books or we tell "turn stories" where we take turns creating the next piece of the plot. She is especially enjoying reading out loud to me lately.

5:45 pm - Jeffrey arrives from work and we all eat supper together. We eat at a table in the lobby of my unit. We generally have the room all to ourselves. Sometimes the caregiver brings food from home, and sometimes we order take out. It is a bit of our normal routine that we've transported to the hospital. I love it.

7:20 pm - kids and caregiver go home. Most days Jeffrey heads home as well to help put the kids to bed. On Thursdays he stays we me instead so we can have a date night in the hospital. We watch TV, play games, or go for a spin downstairs in the lobby.

9:00 pm - my night nurse hooks me up for my evening monitoring.

10:00 pm - I get off of the monitor. I get my last set of questions from the nurse and measurement of vitals.

10:30 pm - I chat with Jeffrey on the phone before we go to sleep. I have got to tell you, a good night on the phone is a far cry from sneaking in to tuck in my sleeping babies, laughing with my husband over the funny things they did that day, and then falling asleep close to the 3 people I love most in the world.

11:00 pm - I thank God for another day with Wyatt still tucked safe inside of me and then I go to sleep.

Real Love

This afternoon I watched a sweet romantic comedy. I won't mention the name here as the content of the film isn't really important. It was the typical - boy sees girl, boy falls for girl, boy wins girl's heart - sort of romance. What wasn't typical way my reaction to it.

I turned it off. It wasn't romantic at all to me. It, like so many of the love songs on the radio and romance movies on TV celebrated the very beginnings of love. Our society is enamored with a romance that says, "I just met you but I love you, I want you, and I need you." I think we should celebrate a love that says, "I have seen you at your worst and I still love you. I know your wrinkles, rolls, and scars and I still want you. I will sacrifice my wants and desires to serve you." That is real love.

Real love is trading his yummy sandwhich and eating my hospital food instead. Real love is waking up early on a Sunday to be with me when the doctors round. Real love is being brave when I'm scared. Real love is holding me when I cry. Real love is believing me and forgiving me when I say I'm sorry. Real love is saying he's sorry. Real love is doing the laundry, cooking, and everything I used to do and not complaining. Real love is squishing into a hospital bed with me to watch a move for a date night. Real love is believing that I'm strong, even when I don't believe it myself.

I don't think I will ever see a movie, read a book, or hear a love song that can compare with how Jeffrey has loved me in the midst of our struggles. I think this is the truly romantic stuff that should be written up in love stories.

Perspective

A few of you have requested updates on the ladies in my unit.

Amber – safely delivered her twin girls on schedule at 34 weeks. They are doing great, but will still likely be in the special care nursery for a few weeks. Amber moved out of here and over to a hotel across the street in order to be near her daughters. I know that she was as anxious as I am to get out of this place, but watching her sadness as she left the friendship and support of the nurses here made me wonder how I’ll feel when it is finally time to go home.

Shana – supposed to be induced today, at 37.5 weeks. I will likely not know how things have gone for her until she reappears on our unit as a “postpartum” mom.

Dawn – back from the OBICU, and still pregnant. They got her contractions under control and halted her labor, for now.

June – wow, she has had an eventful past couple of days. Yesterday afternoon a gush of blood lead to the discovery of significant cervical changes and the onset of labor. Over she went to the OBICU. She and I have become good friends, so she had a nurse tell me the startling news. They tried to stop her labor, but none the less before very long her contractions were very painful, causing dilation, and only 3 minute apart. Her physician told her to get ready to deliver her babies, and they call for anesthesia to administer an epidural. Then her labor stopped. Completely. So today she is still pregnant, stable, and moving back to my unit.

But June’s excitement doesn’t stop there. Her brush with preterm delivery was last night. Today brought more drama. Her in-laws flew in last week from Ireland in order to care for her two small children. Today, her 65 year old father-in-law was hospitalized for heart palpitations. So now her husband is torn between staying close to June in OB in case of delivery, supporting his mom and dad in his dad’s hospital room downstairs, or caring for his children who suddenly have no one else to look after them.

Kelli – new to our unit. I met her tonight – she is another newbie referred to me by one of my favorite nurses here. She is 23 weeks along and her water broke. She is looking at either a very long stay, or a very young preemie. She has an 11 year old daughter by a previous marriage. Her daughter in-utero is from an ex-boyfriend. Her parents are both deceased. She has been floating from one friend’s house to another while trying to find housing of her own. She is worried about how to afford a car seat. I don't know if she's even thought about medical bills. She lives 2 hours away and is dependant on her ex-husband and his new wife to drive her daughter over for visits. She’s not even sure who will wash her laundry or who will get her winter clothes out of storage when the temperatures get cold.

I look around my room while I type. My door is covered with cards from friends. My freezer is full of food cooked for me by my mom. Flowers from my grandparents brighten my shelf. Framed pictures of our little family, my extended family, and my husband's extended family smile at me – each couple in the frame still married and happy. My closet is brimming with books, games, DVDs, art projects, snacks, magazines, building sets, and crafts. Décor from vacation spots across the country pepper my curtains and walls. Match box cars, puzzles, paintings, and bubbles are tucked throughout the room, evidence of my two healthy little kids at home. A basket full of newborn clothes shows the promise of little Wyatt, whose stay of 32 weeks in the womb is something to celebrate around here.

I am blessed. Tonight I don’t even have to try to look on the bright side. But I’m guessing that once the high of a weekend filled with visits from my kids, friends, and parents wears off, I will once again need a reminder of how much I have to be grateful for. It may only take a visit with the other moms on my unit for me to remember just how much I have.

Ups and Downs

Downs
- reaching my 4 week mark here, only to find myself more sad than happy because I have 4.5 more still yet to go.
- Jeffrey being sick, which meant the loss of even the tiny little bits of time that we normally get alone together.
- our insurance company sending us a letter denying coverage of my hospital stay
- more of the same - stuck in hospital, away from my family, my baby still in danger, etc. The list is short, but frankly I don't need anything new bad to make life hard right now.

Ups
- watching Zion play with Benson Hayton, and imagining him playing with his brother
- chatting with Sharlene Hayton, and eating her cooking =)
- Jeffrey staying at the hospital with me to work on a paper instead of working on it more efficiently at home. We barely even talked while he was here, but now days just having him close by sends the loneliness away.
- our insurance company approving coverage of my hospital stay, stating that the denial letter should never have been sent to us, and apologizing for their mistake.
- my parents visiting this weekend! The joy of anticipation before hand and fun company while they are here are enough to boost my spirits for many days.
- my hubby and kids arriving at the hospital very early yesterday morning after they dropped Sharlene and Benson off at the airport. The kids woke me up by climbing into my bed, clad in pjs for some snuggle time. A morning in pjs with just our little family was some of the best of normal life at home, but transported to the hospital. It was exactly what I needed.
- our new friends bringing Sabbath lunch to us at the hospital. It felt like a potluck, complete with green bean casserole, special-k loaf, and vege chicken. Again, a bit of normal life transported here cheers my soul.
- a better conversation with the neonatologist. The outcome for a 32 week baby is much, much better than the outcome that we discussed at 27.5 weeks when I arrived at the hospital and first spoke with the neonatologist.

Everyday has its ups and downs. But most importantly, everyday has passed so far with my baby still safe in me. And so I will endure more downs, and search for more ups until he is ready to be born.

Down to Two

We are down to just two pregnant woman on our unit now. One got promoted - Amber had her twins on schedule, and I can vouch for their perfect little fingers and toes. Two got demoted - both Shana and Dawn disappeared from our unit. They are over in the OBICU, in labor too early. Shana is at 35 weeks, and just trying to hang on to one more week for her daughter. Dawn is 29 weeks and wondering what she did wrong to put her nieces in this precarious place.

I walk the unit each morning. Just checking to see who disappeared in the night, and trying to spy if anyone new has joined our ranks.

This morning I bled again. My 7th bleed. It was small, nothing to worry about. But every time I see any blood I flash to my plan for notifying a nurse and getting help as fast as possible just in case this is the big one. Now days I calm down pretty quickly when I realize it's just a small bleed. This morning I even went back to sleep while they hooked me up to the monitor to check for contractions during the bleed.

But I do wonder if I will ever get bumped to the OBICU for closer observation, or knocked all the way to the surgery suite. Mostly I just wonder what they would do with all of the pictures on my walls and decorations stuck on my shelves, curtains, and bed. One glance at my room would let you know that I'm not planning on going anywhere until Wyatt is good and ready.

My plans may not influence the outcome, but they do help me sleep better tonight and face another bleed with a bit more courage.

Small Things

A few small things that make a big difference to me.

1) A change of scene. After about a week here, I switched from a room with a bland view of a wall . . .

To a room with a more interesting view.

This picture is a bit dark, but the ground is covered with green, the windows off to the right look into an office, and the scaffolding supports a walkway. It might seem a boring view, but I get to see glimpses of people walking, talking, and living lives outside of my unit.

2) Exchange my IV's for a PICC line. A PICC line is kind of like a long term IV. Like an IV, it provides access to my viens in case I need blood and/or surgery quickly. But there are several big advantages to a PICC line. For starters, the PICC line can stay in for my entire stay - which eliminates the painful starting of a new IV line every few days. The PICC line is also in a convenient location - my upper arm. The IV's inevitably ended up in my elbow, wrist, or hand. I felt like I had a travelling handicap as I gave up the use of my arm or wrist, depending on the location of the moment. And lastly, the PICC line is larger than an IV so they can pump more blood into me quicker.

3) October 5 - Wyatt's scheduled birthday. Even though this date is at 36 1/2 weeks instead of my hoped for 36 weeks, it is amazing to me how relieved I am to have a concrete date to count down to. I can say with confidence that I will be at home or wrapping up my stay here at the hospital in 6 weeks.

4) Care packages, letters, messages, flowers, phone calls, and visits from family and friends. I've been overwhelmed and grateful for the love and support poured out to me and my family. I can't really describe how much it helps me to know that we are not alone. I'm one blessed woman to have you all.

5) The other pregnant ladies on my unit. An update on them . . . Amber had her twins yesterday. It is good for me to have a peek at the difference between her delivery at 34 weeks, and a full term delivery. She is back in her room, surrounded by family and friends - but no babies. They live over in the special care nursery. Her son has yet to see his sisters because no children are allowed in that nursery. If Wyatt hangs in there until 36.5 weeks, he probably will get to stay in my room like most babies. But he if does come earlier, it is good for me start adjusting my expectations now.

Little things add up to me settling in and surviving life here in the hospital. It's a strange life, but it is mine. And I think I can make it for another 6 weeks.

Introductions

Let me introduce you to the other pregnant women on my unit.

Amber - she's the long timer around here, with a stay of 5.5 weeks. This Friday she will deliver her twin girls via c-section. She gives us all hope that we might survive that long, meet our gestational goals, and get out of here. She is here because her babies share one sack and placenta. Her husband and 6 year old son live up near Chicago.

Shana - still a girl herself. She celebrated her 18th birthday here at the hospital a few weeks back. She says that the hardest part of all of this is being away from home - it is her first time away from her mom and brother. She sleeps with the door open at night because she is afraid of being alone. She is here because she is in preterm labor. Her family all live 2 hours away, so she doesn't get many visitors.

June - arrived 2 days ago. She is in the roughest spot of all of us. Her twins are only 28.5 weeks gestation. Before her water broke this week, she had already endure 2.5 months of bedrest and invitro surgery due to twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. She has a 4 year old daughter and a 2 year old son like me.

Dawn - arrived yesterday. She went in for her regular appointment at 28 weeks, only to discover that she was in preterm labor and be checked into the hospital. Her husband and 2 year old daughter live an hour away. The twin girls she is carrying are her nieces, not her daughters.

As the two newest arrivals settle in, I find myself to be experienced at this - giving advice on cafeteria food, finding storage space in our rooms, and negotiating with the doctors. And I see myself in their teary eyes and overwhelmed faces.

For me, the tears and fears have faded. My heart still pounds when I have a bleed and don't yet know if it is small like my past bleeds, or big enough to rush me to surgery. But in between I'm kind of getting used to my new strange life.

And I'm glad that I can help other women know that they are not alone in their strange new lives. I hope that I can also be living proof that they too can survive here. And one day maybe I, like Amber, will meet my gestational goal and get out of here too.

But maybe I'll take some new friendships with me.

Confessions

I confess to:

Asking Elise if she wants to feel the baby kick, then faking kicks by jiggling my belly.

Using my status as a strange vegetarian to get special food privileges.

Grinning when Zion falls because I know that I'll get to hold and comfort him.

Sneaking through hospital computer security filters to reach facebook.

Handing out "snuggle snacks" that can only be eaten while snuggling with Mommy =)

Shirking poopy diaper changes when my IV gets in the way.

Escape

The sky is blue today. My kids are playing at the fair. Cows. Sheep. Rides. Fun.

And I'm living vicariously through their fun. I'm picturing Elise jumping for an hour in the bounce house, and Jeffrey struggling to get her out. I'm imagining Zion copying her every move. Are they smelling hay? Is it noisy? Will they eat some sweet and greesy funnel cake?

I can imagine. I've never been to a state fair before. I'd like to go someday. But more than that, I really, really, really just want to escape.

Today I missed my 15 minutes of outside time. I'd asked my nurse if she would wheel me out and be my medical chaperone when she had some free time. But I never heard back.

And so I considered going out on my own. I thought of how good it would feel to have no glass between that big blue sky and me. And what a relief it would be to sit unnoticed amongst a group of people. Amongst the action and life. To be free again.

I pictured myself walking right through the lobby and out of here. And I didn't think the nurses would even notice.

Before my mom, who reads this blog, freaks out I should tell you that at this point the sane part of me began to argue back.

Me: "Really, what are the chances of something going wrong in 15 minutes?"
Sane me: "Hmm, I think it is actually pretty low. But still . . ."
Me: "The doctor did say that I could go out for 15 minutes with the nurse, and that's not much safer than by myself."
Sane me: "True, but she could wheel you back quickly if something happened."
Me: "Have you seen that blue sky? If I don't go now, the sun will set and I will spend the next 4 hours like I spent the last 7, and then I go to sleep. All in the same room."
Sane me: "How about a stroll around the unit? That's a change of scene. Will that make you happy?"
Me: "Sure, why don't I just put on my shoes and we'll start with a walk around the unit and talk more about this."
Sane me: "No! No shoes allowed or you might just walk on out of here. Socks only."
Me: "Okay, fine."

So I opened my door while clad in socks, the sane side of me ready for a walk around the unit and my other half still hoping for an escape outside. And there my nurse stood in the doorway, smiling and asking, "are you trying to escape?"

Caught. Caught in the act. Well, not really in the act - more like caught contemplating the act of escape.

Then any trace of a smile faded from her face and she told me she wanted to talk with me about that.

What followed was a heart felt lecture about the danger of me leaving the unit, at all, nurse or no nurs e, no matter what resident was informed, or which doctor said it was okay. She has seen a woman suddenly gush blood and need to be under the knife in minutes. It scared her pretty good - scared her enough for her to deliver a pretty scary and convincing lecture to me.

This seems to be just a part of my life now - me relaxing and feeling secure, and then someone hitting me over the head with reality. I don't know yet whether I'll head her warning or take the tidbits of freedom offered to me by my doctor. But no matter what, I can still imagine the feel of fresh air on my skin and the smell of hay at the state fair.

Or at I can least look at the pictures, and dream.

Hope

I've been thinking a lot lately about hope.

Through out the course of this pregnancy, we have hoped for many things.

Hope that my placenta previa would go away.

Hope that I wouldn't develop placenta accreta.

Hope that I wouldn't be put on bedrest.

Hope that I wouldn't bleed.

Hope that I wouldn't be hospitalized.

Hope that my uterus could be spared.

In each case, our hope has been smashed and denied.

Now we hope that I won't hemorrhage. Hope that Wyatt will stay in the womb long enough. Hope that he will be healthy. Hope that my surgery will go well.

As you can see, I don't have a great history for getting what I've hoped for. So putting my hope in good outcomes is a shaky, scary thing.

But while I do hope for good outcomes, my hope doesn't rest in good outcomes.

Psalms 25:3, "No one whose hope is in You will ever be put to shame."

My hope is in God. My hope rests in the one who sacrificed his son so my kids' future has no limit outside of this earth. My hope rests in a God who will carry me, whatever the outcome of this scary pregnancy. My hope doesn't rest in getting the healthy little baby that I used to expect. My hope is simply in the Lord.

So even if my remaining hopes are dashed - my hope, my faith, and my future are secure. And that is something in which my hope can really rest.

Better Day

Today was a better day.

1 visit from a friend
3 non-hospital food meals
2 flower deliveries
7 people I spoke with on the phone
1-on-1 time with each of my kids
1 family dinner with my hubby, kids, and mom-in-law
30 minutes outside
3 care packages
0 bleeding

A good day.

My room is covered with pictures, cards, flowers, and the new additions of Hawaii and Zion National Park decor. Each thing reminds me that I am not alone.

Normal?

Sometimes I wonder if my kids are I are normal.

With the exception of 7 days, I have spent the last 3.75 years entirely with my children. I've been there every morning to give them sippy cups, read a book, and snuggle. I'm there every breakfast, lunch and supper to feed them and clean their sticky faces. They run to me when they are hurt, sad, or scared. I have sometimes wished that I wasn't sooo important to them - that they'd call out for Daddy in the middle of the night instead of me.

And now I live here in my hospital room, and they wake every morning to Daddy or Grammi. Not me.

So here is why I wonder if I am normal, and if they are normal too: when they visit, neither they nor I act like anything is different or wrong at all. They aren't more clingy. In fact, I haven't had more than a 5 second snuggle from Zion since I got here. Elise doesn't ask me when I'm coming home. They want to know if they can ride the train here or go up and down on the escalator.

When it is time to go, no one has tears. I have to practically force them to give me a hug goodbye before they head out the door.

Of course I'm glad they are adjusting just fine without me. It would be so painful if I knew they were sad without me.

But it does make me wonder if I ever was all that important to begin with. And if I'll ever have that same bond with them again.

I suppose I should have seen this coming. During the three weekends I've ever been away from them, they were perfectly content without me. And all of Elise's fantasy worlds include Zion, but not me or Jeffrey. I use to see them as secure, well adjusted kids. Now I wonder if I'm not a normal mom, but have done something wrong to have turned out two sweet little kids who don't miss me.

For those of you who chat with me on the phone, next time we talk let's just pretend I didn't tell you any of this. Let's just pretend that I'm normal, and my kids are normal and it doesn't hurt this much.

Precautions

Yesterday I wrote a post that I will not share. It was a morbid tale of how it feels to know that I could bleed really badly at any time and have to rush off to surgery to deliver this little (29 wks) guy. The day I wrote that piece, I saw everything as dark and scary. That is a true picture, it is dark and scary.

But all of the drama is also kind of funny.

I am a perfectly healthy woman. I feel fine. Without the work of caring for my home and kids, I don't even have the aching back and sore feet typical of pregnancy.

And yet I seem to warrant a lot of excitement around here. For example . . .

I have to live with an IV in my arm - because the 2 minutes it takes to put one in before surgery is just too long.

The only place I can walk to outside my unit is across the hall to the Labor & Delivery / OBICU unit that houses the operating rooms.

If I go to Labor & Deliver, not only do I have to tell my nurse, but they have to call over to let the nurses know in L&D - just in case.

It took me almost a week to negotiate a little freedom - I can now be wheeled outside, by a nurse, once a day, for 15 minutes.

I also negotiated a daily trip downstairs to the cafeteria. But I must be wheeled by my family, stay only 30 minutes, carry a cell phone with the number of the charge nurse, and let the resident know where I am.

Today all of the excitement over me is kind of funny.

But I must admit, it is still a little scary too.

Sorry if I scared you - just be glad I didn't post what I wrote yesterday.

Freedoms Gained and Lost

These days when the doctors round in the morning, I don't even ask about my condition, or what to expect in the future. Those answers have already been given, and haven't changed.

For the last two mornings my question has only been this:

"What exactly are my restrictions?"

I am on modified bedrest. But what exactly does that mean?

The first 2 days, that meant I was allowed to walk around in my room, but must be wheeled everywhere else. Jeffrey, the kids and I went on long walks/rides around the hospital. We zoomed up and down in the glass elevators. We ate in the courtyard outside. But most of the day, when my hubby wasn't here to spring me from my room, I was stuck.

Yesterday, day 3, modified bedrest meant that I could walk "less than 30 minutes". Fantastic! I was now allowed to walk the 5 minutes down to lobby all by myself. I read books and chatted on the phone while looking at flower gardens and surrounded by the life and energy of other people.

Today, day 4, modified bedrest means that can walk some, and rest a lot. That is not too different than last week. But I have a new attending in charge of me this week. And he threw in a big, new restriction on top of "modified bedrest". I am not allowed to leave the OB unit for more than 15 minutes at a time, even if I have another adult with me. Not even with my physician husband - believe me, I tried to play that card.

Yikes! No more wheels around the hospital. No more hanging out near windows that look at more than a wall. No chance to play with the kids over in the fun lobby of the Childrens' hospital. Now I really am trapped here.

And I can't even argue. I mean, I suppose I could, but his reasoning is this: I need to be within minutes of an OR just in case I start to gush blood and endanger my life, and that of my baby.

Now how can I argue with that?

So I'm reluctantly waving goodbye to another precious piece of freedom.

Jeffrey's Day

Jeffrey's day:

2 loads of laundry to wash 2 pee accidents on Elise's bed

2 hours at the Children's Science Museum

3 rides around the carousel

3 fits of tears upon exiting the carousel

5 minutes total of kid nap time

1 diaper and 2 socks lying outside of Zion's crib

0 diapers on Zion inside the crib

1 big puddle of pee on the floor by the crib

1 train ride on the hospital people mover

4 poopy diapers


The sum of it all, 1 tired Daddy and 1 grateful Mommy.

Day 3

Day 3 in the hospital.

Things that make me smile:

Jeffrey getting to discover how cuddly Zion is after his afternoon nap, now that I'm not home to monopolize them.

My OB resident, who's last name I will try to learn but who I only think of a Virginia. She is on this rotation for 9 weeks, so I know she will be here through my journey. As an OB resident physician, I see her as more of a knowledgable friend than a distant, authoratative doctor. I suppose I like her partly because so many of the people that I care about and who care about me have worn that white coat.

Knowing that friends spread across the country are praying for me, my baby, and my family. And knowing that the God who hears those prayers is good, powerful, and wise.

The willingness of old friends, sisters, and my mother-in-law to stop their owns lives to fly across the country to take care of my kids.

Getting to up my cool mom status by giving my kids rides in my wheel chair.

Appreciating the irony of switching roles from a stroller pusher to sitting back and letting Zion and Elise push me in my grown-up stroller.

Realizing that I'm here because of the blessing of another precious child growing in me, and not because I'm seriously ill. I can't think of a more positive reason to be layed up in the hospital for months.

Things that make me sad:

Thinking of Tatu coming too early.

Thinking of Elise and Zion having "milky snuggle" time without me.

The view out my window - it is about 30 feet of gravel and then a windowless building.

The IV port in my arm. It hurts, gets caught on things, and just reminds me why I'm here - because I might suddenly gush blood and endanger my child so much that he is safer on the outside, even at only 28 weeks.

Knowing that I can't keep my baby boy safe.


Next time I need to start with the sads and end with the smiles. So here is one smile to end on.

Things that make me smile . . .

The pictures in my room of my family, and my husband who gathered them off of the walls at home and brought them to me without me even having to ask. Likewise the peanut butter M&Ms he brought me make me smile and realize how extremely blessed I am to have him holding our little world together while I take care of me and our little baby.

Taking It Easy

Upon returning home from our first weekend in the hospital, many friends and family wished us well and told me to "take it easy". I tried. But this is what "taking it easy" for the mother of two toddlers really looked like.

Sunday, I was discharged from the hospital. We celebrated with lunch at the Spaghetti Factory. Elise had an accident in the bathroom. Our car battery was dead. We called mall security and were promised a jump-start. We waited in the car for 30 minutes for the mall security to arrive. They never showed. We called again. We learned that not only had the security staff changed shifts and not told the new shift of our predicament, but it is against policy for security to jump start a car. But I discovered that my big belly and exhausted face gathers sympathy and we are offered a jump from a sympathetic driver.

Monday, I tried to distract myself from my sorrows by joining a friend for an afternoon at the splash park. We returned to find the house filled with that familiar rotten egg odor. I called the gas company. They advised us to vacate our home and wait for an inspector to arrive. It was 6:30 pm when I made the call. The kids were super hungry, but we couldn't eat inside because of the gas and we couldn't go get food because we had to be on site to let the gas company inside. Furthermore, the kids were in their swim suits and I was in a little tank top and shorts. These clothes were great for the park, but not so great as mosquitoes arrived along with dusk.

Jeffrey was unable to bring us some dinner because he was finding us a minivan. We needed to buy one before Tatu is born, and really wanted to buy it before I was stuck in the hospital and unable to help pick it out. So Jeffrey trooped all over town to find good choices for me to view tomorrow - but that night I was on my own.

At 7:15 pm the gas man arrived. It turned out that the rotten smell was not gas, but only our duplex mates pouring nasty cleanser down their drains.

We are allowed back in our house. At this point the kids should have been getting ready for bed, but instead I was rushing to feed them dinner. Part way though dinner, Zion started to squirm and say that he had to go poo-poo. He wanted to try and go on the potty, so I let him give it a try. Five minutes later, he hadn't had any success. So, I lifted him off on the potty and back on the floor. Then he peed. I sent him out of the bathroom so he wouldn't step in the mess while I cleaned it up. I wiped it up then walked out to the kitchen where he was now pooping on the floor. While I fetched paper towels to scoop up the poo, he peed on the side of the table. While cleaned it all up, I sent the kids upstairs so I ccould meet them up there to put a diaper on Zion and get them ready for bed.

Upstairs, I found Zion standing in front of Elise's doll cradle and a puddle in the cradle. Finally I got a break between mopping up messes and was able to get a diaper on Zion. He kept talking about making more poo-poo. I searched the room thoroughly and couldn't find any - so I figured he was referring to the pee. At last I got them to bed - a full hour after their bedtime.

Exhausted, I crashed on the couch and finally tried to "take it easy". I heard Jeffrey's key in the lock. My hero had arrived!

And then I saw it. The missing pile of poo sat right in front of the door. Time slid into slow motion as I stumbled forward, paper towel in hand ready to scoop it up. But before I got there, the door openned. Jeffrey stepped in and his foot landed smack in the pile of poop.

The trouble didn't stop there. In my haste to clean up all of the mess, I accidentally plugged up the toilet with dirty paper towels. We agreed to let it sit and hope it was easier to unplug the next day.

Flash to the next evening. We bought a minivan! I got to drive it home from the dealer. At home the toilet appeared to be unclogged. So Jeffrey tried a flush. But instead of the water going down, it overflowed all over the bathroom floor. As we piled towels to sop up the mess, Jeffrey mentioned that we ought to take a look in the basement underneath the bathroom.

The basement was a disaster. In that corner of the room, we had piled storage boxes, a stereo, and my grandparents' fancy dining room table. It looked like it had been hosed in waste water.

More sopping up of messes. More wet towels piled on the floor.

At this point it was 11 pm. We crashed into bed and hoped tomorrow would be better and we'd finally be able to "take it easy".

But instead of relaxation, the next morning brought bleeding, another trip to the hospital, and the beginning of enforced bed rest. And now that I'm here with plenty of rest and time on my hands, I wish that I was back cleaning up poo and taking care of my family.

Timeline

I now live in a hospital.



This morning I packed my suitcase, left my home, and moved into a private room at Indiana University Hospital. At some point I hope to go back and fill in the details of the past week, but for now I will jot down a time line before more excitement washes away my thoughts today.



17 wks - I have a small bleed. I am diagnosed with placenta previa. But assured that 90% of these move and therefore don't cause a problem. We also have a scare of a shortened cervix and a uterine hematoma. I'm put on bedrest for a week.



The shortened cervix was never actually short, and the hematoma was absorbed over time. But my placenta previa persisted.



22 wks - our baby's heart gave us a very big scare by slowing down repeatedly. I was told to seek out a high risk OB (MFM - Maternal Health Medicine) before I get to Indianapolis.



A specialist took a closer look at my baby's perfect little heart, and pronounced it absolutely healthy.



We sigh with relief, but my placenta previa held on.




23 wks - my first ultrasound in Indy not only reveals a placenta that is not going to move from its position right over my cervix, but it also looks suspicious that I have placenta accreta. Placenta accreta is an invasion of the wall of my uterus by the placenta. This would mean a hysterectomy for me.


I'm warned that if I'm going to bleed, it will likely occur around 28 to 30 weeks. I earnestly start seeking out new friends in Indianapolis so my kids will have someone to care for them if I do have a sudden bleed.

My OB predicts that I will either sail through this smoothly with no bleeding, or be a "complete, bloody mess." We start praying for smooth sailing.


27 wks - another ultrasound confirms suspicion of placenta accreta. It is highly unlikely that I will get to keep my uterus after delivering Tatu.

I cry for the loss of kiddo #4 that I'd wanted, but will never have. New in town for less than a month, it is my next door neighbor, practically a stranger to me, who comforts me while I cry.

27 wks + 2 days, 5 days short of the 28 weeks of freedom that I anticipated, and exactly 1 month after our move in Indy, I start to bleed.

Blood loss was very little, but I'm admitted to the OBICU overnight for observation. Too many scary possibilities are discussed by doctors. I sign away consent to deliver my baby and remove my uterus whenever the bleeding is too heavy.

I go home. But I'm warned that if I bleed again, they won't let me go back home. We start gathering names of friends willing to fly in to watch our kids in case I'm stuck in the hospital. We try to plan out enough care to cover us if I am hospitalized at 30 weeks.

28 wks, I bleed again. And I'm in for good.

Journal - First Indy Bleed

It is 4 am and I can’t sleep. I’m in the hospital, trying to keep my 27 + 2 week gestation little Tatu safe in my womb. And trying to keep me safe too.

I started bleeding yesterday morning. I woke up for a common pregnant pee, and felt something fall out of me instead. A ball of blood. A clot of red lying there in the toilet. Immediately my heart started to pound. Was that all of the blood or was that just the dam letting loose?

Fortunately, and I think providentially it was the weekend and Jeffrey was home. He helped to calm me down while we called the OB’s emergency number. They told me to head straight to the emergency room then up to the OB unit where they would be waiting for me. Even at our fastest, it would still take 20 minutes to get the kids up and out the door. So we decided that I should head to the hospital right away and Jeffrey would get the kids ready.

I wished that I was still a small child, relying on my daddy to take care of me. But I’m not. I’m a grown woman. A mother. So I gathered up my courage to make the drive alone with the hopes of collapsing into the capable hands on the OB doctors.

The signs on the road lead me to the ER. Once inside, the triage nurse sent me straight up to the OB unit. I sighed with relief that I’d made it to hospital and was finally safe.

But relief was far, far away. As I trooped up to the OB front desk, instead of meeting the care of a nurse, the nurse pointed to a clock and said, “you’ll have to wait until 8 am, this is not a 24 facility.” What!!? Here I stood, potentially hemoraging and the tell me they won’t see me until 8 am? Then he said that unless I was 20+ weeks I would just have to wait. I stammered that I’m 27 weeks! He laughed at my belly that had been partially hidden behind the counter. I did not laugh. He lead me back to registration waiting room.

Next came questions about my insurance and registration. I thought it was a bit strange that I wasn’t wisked off to be examined and hooked up to an IV. It was also odd that they didn’t ask me any questions about my symptoms or why I was there. But I figured that they had said over the phone that they would be expecting me, so maybe they didn’t need any more information yet.

Finally a nurse called me to her office. We started to chat, and in the midst of our exchange of information, she gave me a funny look and said, “Why honey, I think your at the wrong hospital!” Huh? How could I be at the wrong hospital? I followed directions that the nurse had given me over the phone, and I knew that I was at the right campus – Jeffrey works here.

Um, well, she was right. I was at the wrong hospital. There are 4 different hospitals on the same campus. I’m just fortunate I didn’t end up at the VA hospital! But instead of the university hospital, I was at the county hospital.

It got worse from there. She then said, “Well if your contractions aren’t too bad, you can walk the 2 blocks to the right hospital.”

What contractions?

It hits me. Not only do they have no idea of the danger I’m in, but I’ve just wasted a precious hour while my bleeding could be getting worse and threatening the life of me and my baby.

Through my tears I stammer that I’m not in labor, I have placenta previa and I’m bleeding. She seems to begin to grasp the seriousness of the situation and informs me that the certainly cannot allow me to leave now in my precarious condition.

So there I was, longing to be safe but instead I was stuck in the wrong hospital with people who hadn’t even bother to ask my why I showed up at their front desk.

I was still on my own. On the phone with Jeffrey, I explain through my tears the mess that I’m gotten myself into. I stammer apologies, fearful that our insurance company won’t cover my stay. He hushes my worries and just wants to know if the bleeding has stopped, if I’m okay, and if our baby is okay.

I am okay. And so is the baby. A listen to his heartbeat and an exam of me reveal that he is healthy and my bleeding has almost stopped. Physicians from both hospitals agree that I’m stable, but that I should be transferred to the university hospital where I’ll be closer to the MFM specialist.

But even though I’m stable, they still won’t let me walk or ever ride a wheel chair over to the university hospital. Nope. I have to ride in an ambulance. Once again I groan and imagine the bill for this mess.

But now there seems no way around it. So I ride the 2 blocks to the university hospital in style.

And even my worst fears of the bill almost seem worth the relief I found when I was welcomed into the university hospital OB unit. Here they did have a bed waiting for me and doctors ready with questions and exams.

Sweet relief! Quality care. Comfy conditions. I was as safe as I could be under the circumstances. And I was hungry. It was 2 pm now, and I hadn’t been allowed to eat anything that day – just in case I was rushed to surgery. I hadn’t even been able to grab a quick bite to eat before leaving my home because my personal physician, Jeffrey, wouldn’t let me. Ugh. What a morning.

But the doctor’s didn’t care that was exhausted and hungry. They just pushed that aside and focused on other things – like whether or not I this baby would be born too early or make it a bit longer. And so I pushed aside my hunger and my intense desire to collapse and cry and instead answered questions and submitted to IV needles and exams.

Even after Jeffrey arrived I couldn’t fall into his strong arms because they were holding onto the hands of my kids. I didn’t want my kids to be scared or worried, so I held it together a little bit longer. I put on a smile and held them in my hospital bed. But when nighttime drew near and they had to go, or course Jeffrey had to go with them. So I never got to be held. To be protected. To let go of this burden and cry with the man that I love.

In fact, I haven’t really cried yet. I suppose that’s why I am passing the early hours of the morning recording narrative and events instead of sleeping. I’m wondering where this all will lead, and slowly accepting that we are headed farther and farther away from the smooth, healthy pregnancy and baby that I was anticipating. But I don’t know yet whether his will be a fairly healthy 36 week baby and big surgery for me, or the birth of a premie with high risk to me and permanent damage to my internal organs.

They might let me go home today. ********************************

Journal - Neonatologist's Visit

A neonatologist came by to help prepare me for the outcome of a 27 week premie. She gave the “good news” that 80% of those babies survive. And there is even a slim chance that he would have only a few long term effects. She thought that was good news. Instead of good news, I heard that instead of the 100% chance of having a healthy baby that I anticipated a day ago, I now have a 20% of loosing this child, and almost certainty of long term affects if he is born now. Instead of my holding a newborn to my breast, I could be looking at him through the plastic of a warming box. Instead stroking his soft skin, I could be watching him suffer as underdeveloped nerves bear the pain of IVs and tubes. Instead of nursing my son, I could be watching him gag on a feeding tube, all the while hoping his intestines are ready to work and don’t perforate. Watching. Not holding. Not rocking him safe in my arms. But watching him lying in a warming box, breathing with a ventilator and sprouting wires. Just watching and hoping he isn’t one of the 20% who die.

Now the tears have started to fall.

2 Year Old Zion

At 2 years old, Zion . . .

Loves to say please and thankyou.

Loves puzzles - especially our big zoo puzzle. When we arrive back home from an errand, the first thing he says when he sees our house is, "puzzle! puzzle!" Once in the door he heads straight back to work on his puzzle.

Loves to be chased.

Loves copying Elise.

Loves to drink from my water bottle.

Loves to hold my hand - especially when climbing stairs.

Loves fireworks.

Loves snuggling.

Loves washing his hands. Give him soap and a running faucet and he is a happy little guy.

Loves painting with water on our Aqua-Doodle mat. He tells us about all of the different animals that he is drawing.

Loves counting. Usually his counting is a random collection of numbers, in no particular order. But he can count 1 to 4 with some consistency.

Loves naming colors and letters, but these are most likely random colors or letters and not associated in any way with the correct color or letter. But he does know the letter "O" and several colors.

Love animals. His crib is a zoo of stuffed animals, with his blue teddy bear and his black teddy bear being the most loved of all. He also lines up his little plastic animals around the house. Sometimes he pretends to see and hear a lion or a bear in our living room too.


Zion . . .

Dislikes being stuck in his crib while Elise roams free in their room at night.

Dislikes the heat - he points at the sunshine and says, "hot!"

Dislikes unexpected attacks by the sprinklers at the spray ground.

Dislikes my big belly that disturbs his favorite snuggling spot. He has even resorted to standing on my lap with his head resting on my shoulder in an attempt to replicate "pre-belly" snuggles.

Zion Speaks

Zion has a very different communication style than Elise at the same age. She was startling us with flowery phases and poetry. Zion typically uses bursts of single words, grouped together to convey his message.

For example, the other day Elise locked me in the basement. Once I was freed from the basement and back with the kids, I gave Elise a good talking to about future consequences of fiddling with the lock. In the midst of this, Zion ran up to me and said, "Elise . . . . Lock-it . . . . Trouble!" Only three words, but he sure got the message =)

Another example:
This morning at the breakfast table, we were trying to explain to Elise the concept of a person being "tough". We threw out explanations like, "durable" and "when you get hurt but don't cry a lot". Zion again summed up the concept in just a few well chosen words: "Me boom. Me better."

Zion's 2nd Birthday

Zion turned two years old just two weeks after we moved to Indy. To celebrate, we invited over our dearest friends in all of Indiana. Two weeks prior they were only acquaintances, but their status took a giant leap when we, and our new best friends all left our homes to move in Indy for fellowships.

Elise has been planning Zion's "racecar" birthday for many, many months now. Now she has moved on to planning her "rainbow" birthday and Tatu's "shirt" birthday. According to Elise, to celebrate a "shirt" birthday, you have teddy bears wearing shirts that guests can write their name on, and balloons with pictures of shirts on them. I had no plans to have a "0-th" birthday party, but now we just might have cupcakes to celebrate his arrival.

Zion loved the car theme. He kept repeating, "me birthday, car, yeah".

Zion's Song

At dinner last night, I finished eating first. And so I serenaded my kids with a silly song about how I love Zion, Elise, and Tatu. When I was done, I turned to Elise and asked her if she had a song about how she loves Mommy and Daddy. Predictably she declined. Then I asked Zion if he had any songs.

He gave me a smile and said, "Mommy, Daddy, me, Elise . . . happy."

Now that is a song that needs no music.

Moving

I've been waiting to write a post about our upcoming move. I've been waiting until a strong wave a nostalgia hits and I can pour unto this screen a bit of what the last three years here in Nashville have meant to me.

But I'm really not feeling nostalgic. I'm not feeling all that sad either. A bandaid of denial is covering the loss and leaving me feeling a bit blank inside. Maybe I'm numb to this after already moving twice in the last four years due to Jeffrey's training. Maybe I've been preparing myself for this since I moved here.

I don't know. But I do know that I am welcoming any comfort and protection from the pain of moving - even if it is in the form of denial. I suppose this bandaid cure will have to come off eventually, but I hope I can keep it on until I'm a little less raw underneath.

And then I'll start preparing myself for the next move. In one year. This sure is a crazy life we lead.

Journal - Not Our Turn

I just posted a blog voicing my puzzlement at why I am so blessed with healthy babies, and why so many of my friends are not. I wonder what those friends will think when they read it. Will they agree with me and wonder why they suffer and not me. Will they wish we could trade places? When Carrie, the mother of two babies with heart defects reads it, will she ache as she relives her first telltale ultrasound? What will win out in the battle of her heart – joy that we escape her sorrow, or resentment that she did not have a expert opinion to wipe away her worries?

Not Our Turn

Yesterday we had a scary ultrasound. Tatu's heartbeat sang along at 120, then dipped down to 70. Up and down. Up and down. He barely moved during the entire ultrasound. The tech couldn't get a very good look at his heart. And so the OB summed it up as "not textbook perfect".

He looked so perfect to me. His nose, his mouth, his little feet. Perfect.

But we were referred to a Pediatric Cardiologist for a complete scan. Words of comfort were offered - this might be just odd behavior of a healthy heart, he might just not be moving because he's asleep.

Or it might be our turn. Our turn for bad news. Our turn feel emptiness and pain instead of relief.

We've been there before. Back when Jeffrey's sore eye wasn't a minor nothing, but a life changing something.

Around me are friends who are struggling to get pregnant or loosing babies before they are born. Friends who've watched their newborns struggle through surgeries. And I've often puzzled at the ease with which my precious children were conceived and born. And I've wondered when it will be my turn for loss and empty arms. When will it be my turn for my perfect child to have a painfully imperfect little body.

And so I headed into the cardiac ultrasound wondering if it was my turn.

But it wasn't this time. At least not yet. It turns out that his heart is completely normal. And he really was just asleep during his ultrasound yesterday.

After our trip to the ER last month and our scare yesterday, I'm not taking this baby for granted. I'm smiling at each kick that lets me know he is safe, growing inside of me. And I'm not letting this chance to love him pass me by.

Because there is no good reason why someday it won't be our turn.

Newsy

This will be a quick, newsy post.

1) I'm off of bed rest! Yippee! My latest OB appointment brought good news. My cervical length is normal and the placenta is located on the posterior side of the cervix. It is still completely over the cervix, but it will be unlikely to get caught up in my previous c-section scarring. And it will likely migrate away from the cervix. Fantastic! I still do have small pool of blood in my uterus, so they will continue to monitor me closely. And I'm on some annoying lifting restrictions. I can't lift anything over 20 lbs. This wouldn't be all that bad except that Zion is 32 lbs and Elise is 43 lbs. We've taught Zion how to climb a step ladder to get in and out of his bed. Everything runs pretty smoothly until he doesn't want to climb into bed, climb into his carseat, or go where I want him to go. Fortunately he is a pretty cooperative boy and rarely resists.

2) Jeffrey graduated! He still has to work through June, but the graduation event was still an important celebration. His folks turned the graduation into a nice vacation and are staying with us for a few weeks. My folks flew down for the weekend to celebrate with us.

3) We just returned from a wonderful trip to Loma Linda, CA. Jeffrey was asked to interview for a position in pediatric ophthalmology at his old medical school. We brought the kids along for a whirlwind weekend in CA. Jeffrey and I had not been back to LL since he graduated 4 years ago. It was a fun trip down memory, with many visits with old friends squeezed into the trip. Fortunately for us all, my Aunt Karen, Uncle Mike, and cousin Sarah live nearby and hosted us for the visit. We ate well, slept well, and the kids in particular were well loved.

That's all for now. We pack up the moving truck 3 weeks from today. So the next few weeks will be busy, as always.

Dangerous

Elise looked over the clipboard and paperwork that came with her Doctor kit. There was a stack of forms where kids could take a "history" of their patient. The form had blanks for name, weight, etc. The following conversation ensued . . .

Elise: "Mommy, what's this word?"
Me: "Weight."
Elise: "What's weight mean?"

We went through several more items, with me explaining each one. Apparently I hadn't paid much attention to the form, because her next question caught me by surprise.

Elise: "Mommy, what's this word?"
Me, glancing down and thinking she was pointing to height: "Height."
Elise: "No mommy, it's not height. It's ssss eeee xxx. Sex. What does sex mean?"

So this is my warning to you parents out there. Don't teach your 3 year old to read. Not unless you're ready to answer some dangerous questions.


Elise quote of the day:
"Call me readie pie because I read!" (instead of sweetie pie)

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I'll start with the bad and the ugly, and end with the good.

The Bad
Thursday morning I went in for an routine OB appointment. Tatu's heartbeat was strong and I was healthy. But they did inform me that an ultra-sound, taken a few weeks earlier, revealed that I have complete placenta previa. This means that Tatu's placenta is positioned entirely over my cervix. The placenta is rich with blood vessels. So having a hole to the outside world (my cervix) right in the middle of all of these blood vessels is not a good thing. My OB told me that if I had any bleeding I was to hop in the car and call my doctor as I drove to the ER.

Back home I did more research and was reassured to learn that the placenta will probably migrate to a safer spot and therefore cause me no trouble at all.

And then I noticed the bleeding. Just spotting. But I knew I was headed to the ER. Fortunately Jeffrey was only 10 minutes from home at the time. We left the kids with my mom-in-law, armed ourselves with snacks and a good book to read, and hit the road.

Our six hour visit to the ER revealed several things.
1) Having placenta previa and bleeding will skip you right past people waiting hours in the ER and land you a room as you are experiencing a "life-threaten event".
2) Having a husband wearing scrubs and a hospital doctor name tag makes everyone treat you awfully nicely

We also learned a lot about placenta previa too. It is likely that the placeta will migrate off of the cervix. But if it does not, I will probably have a "big bleed" at some point. This won't be just spotting, this will likely require temporary hospitalization and maybe a blood transfusion. If it can't be controlled, the baby will be delivered. But it will probably be brought under control and I'll be sent home on bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy. If I have a second big bleed, I would be hospitalized for the duration of the pregancy. In addition, because I've already had two c-sections, placenta previa would put me at risk of placeta accreta. In which case I might end up with a hysterectomy.

We were a bit dazed by this information, but focusing on the fact that my current bleeding was not worrisome and that the placenta previa would probably clear up on its own. They gave us our discharge instructions and we started packing up our stuff to head home.

And then they came back in the room. The attending radiologist took a good look at our ultrasound and discovered two disconcerting things. First, there is blood in some strange spot in my uterus. And second, my cervix is short. These two new problems warranted a recategorization of this pregnancy as "high-risk", follow-up appointments with my new high-risk OB this week, bed rest until the appointment, and a speech warning us to prepare ourselves for the possibility that we might lose this pregnancy.

It was a big second blow to receive just before leaving the hospital.

The Ugly
I have a cold. A nasty, long-lived illness has invaded our home. Zion has been sick for a week and a half. His sinuses are so stuffed up that his tear drainage system is blocked. So he is covered in crusty, gooey eye crud. Jeffrey has been sick off and on, mostly on, for the last three weeks. We both have stuffy noses and constant coughs. But this is only where my trouble begins. I am still a bit nauseated with morning sickness. So once my stomach gets into a big round of coughing, it wants to keep on tightening as it switches to violent vomit mode. And there goes my dinner. I told you it was ugly. I have bowls strategically positioned around the house as I never know when a cough will morph into more. I even threw-up while at my Mothers' Day dinner (in the bathroom) and during our visit to the ER. Ugly. Nasty. Miserable.

The Good
1) Jeffrey's mom flew in on Tuesday, this all started on Thursday. She was already planning on staying through June 10. She and I both had hoped this visit would be more of a vacation for her than her last trip out to rescue me. But even as I lie in bed rest, my kids are well cared for and my house is well run. I think God really was taking care of us in arranging this before we knew we had the need. And I will never be able to repay Sharon for the many times she has come through for me and my family.
2) Elise and Zion. If we end up loosing Tatu, or having a hysterectomy, I am so glad for my two precious children. Our family is already full of love and complete.
3) Friends and family. I know that if we end up going down the bed rest route long term, we have people that surround us with love and support.
4) Jeffrey's work related load has eased some, so he is now able to balance roles of resident, nurse, and Mr. Mom to a degree that he could not have just a few weeks ago.

So there you have it: the good, the bad, and the ugly.