This has been an interesting week.  We went to my 34 week appointment expecting to get checked on, see baby Zoey, and go home.  However when the OB I was seeing discovered I was having contractions, was 2cm dilated, and more effaced, she flipped!  Off to preterm L&D we went!  Jason and I kept telling them I didn’t want to continue with labor unless Zoey showed signs of distress, but we were ignored.  They hooked me up and went about their business.  I was shocked and very frustrated but I waited for someone higher up than a nurse to come see me.  After an hour I was done being treated like an idiot, so I called a nurse in the room.  I told her they weren’t laying another finger on me and demanded she get my primary on the phone ASAP.  I let her know my concerns and she said she’d come in to see me.  While we waited I lay on my side, hoping the change in position would help.  My BP was elevated so I tried my best to relax.  It was then that the real surprise of the day came.

Jason asked if I thought Zoey might really be born already.  I anxiously replied that she likely would if they didn’t do something.  The most confusing string of emotions played across his face then.  I thought it was in response to the idea that he might become a dad so soon.  In pure Jason style, he stood up looking very determined (and a little apprehensive) and pulled something out of his pocket.  He sat on the bed, took my hands, looked into my eyes, and what he said left me with tears streaming down my face.  “I love you.  With you, I have everything in life I never knew I wished for.  I want to be a father to your children and a husband to you, forever.”  And then he showed me… a perfect replica of my grandmothers ring.  He chose it because he knows I love her ring so much – it reminds me of her – but am always afraid to wear it.

My hands were shaking (from BP or shock, I’m not sure which) so he slid the ring on.  I was so overwhelmed I wasn’t sure what to say.  We hugged and kissed and I tried to stop crying.  A contraction came then and when it was over Zoey grabbed my ribs and gave a little tug (maybe that was her saying hi to dad?)  Then my doctor showed up!  I calmed down and we talked; she went out in the hall to chew the nurses out and told them to do their jobs right.  They stopped the contractions and held me for an extra hour.  During that hour Jason and I talked.  We were both still in the moment and discussed a lot of different things – when to tell people, how to deal with the people who would criticize us, how long to wait, etc.  At one point I had to burst out laughing because he said “I am so glad you said yes.  I don’t think I could have done that twice without pissing myself.”

Anyway, we had our growth study this week.  If its accurate (they can be wrong) we are looking at a baby at least as big as John was.  With him being 7lbs 12oz, Zoey could be a large girl.  With the exception of my twin brother and I, all of my siblings and cousins were in the 8-10lb range.  My oldest sister was 10lbs and our mother smoked and drank throughout every pregnancy.  With John the labor failed to progress because he was posterior, but I still had to be induced.  This time around I have many options, early induction among them.  We will (hopefully) have another growth study at 37 weeks and see how Zoey has grown.  I’m scared that I’m too small and Zoey will start to descend and get stuck.  My cousin had this happen to her with her son and he had to be resuscitated for 4 minutes before they got him going again.  What a nightmare!  There are risks associated with all of our options so now we just wait and hope.

My doctor and I both want to hold out until at least 37 weeks and they have been fighting to keep her in.  I doubt she’ll go far past 37 so I guess her big size is a bonus (As of today she is already 5.25lbs and 18in).  They gave me steroid shots weeks ago to mature her lungs so she should be fine whenever she’s born.  I think that’s about all I have to update on for now, I have another appointment in two days and then that’s all until 37 weeks.  Hopefully I’ll get doctors permission to take a trip to so-Cal for Thanksgiving – Jason’s family is really eager to meet me now!  Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Today has been such a rollercoaster.  Only now does it feel like a fun ride.  I started out the day with high anxiety, trying to stave off a full-blown attack.  I watched t.v., tried some meditation and finally just fell back asleep for a much needed nap. 

I was so anxious this morning because I am worried about going into preterm labor. It is funny, but I never worried about it before.  But, at about 28 weeks I started having cramping and at about 32 weeks I was checked and my cervix was slightly open.  At the same time, I was applying for a job that focused on preventing infant mortality and the statistics really hit me.  African-American women are significantly more likely to go into premature labor and have a premature delivery. Even AA women with graduate education have a greater chance of preterm delivery than Caucasian women who have less than high school education.  Crazy! 

Now I am fully aware of all of the risk groups that I fall into- Yeah!!!  I mean, I knew in general the risks that existed for AA women, but I didn’t apply those to myself because of my education and nutrition.  Luckily, the exhaustion has been so great that I am in the bed most of the time anyway. LOL!  God works in mysterious ways because when I realized that I was at risk, I began to thank God for the sickness that I had been experiencing because it kept me from being as active and pushing myself as far I would like.  The bane of my existence was in reality my protection against risks that I didn’t know existed for me. 

Anyway, after my nap, things got better.  I woke up and watched “I Want to Work for Diddy”.  I don’t really like his persona, but I have much respect for his business acumen.  He is a smart guy.  Watching gave me the boost to get my day started because I decided to hire myself for the day.  I mean, how can I give my best to an organization, if I don’t give my best to myself. 

Also, my day got better when I apologized to my husband.  I snapped on him when he made a snide remark to me and I felt really bad afterwards.  I am angry at him many times because he says and does things that hurt my feelings and he doesn’t apologize.  I realized yesterday though that even if he doesn’t apologize, I have to do what’s right.  If I continue to do what he does in an attempt to make him feel my pain, then our marriage will definitely not last.  It’s up to me to do what I know to do.  So, even though I am still feeling tremendously resentful and petty, I will do my best to be nice and make an attempt to change the climate of our relationship.

The coaster is climbing upward…

I’ve never done water aerobics before today. Let me just say, I had a blast. It was a rainy day here in Portland and I badly needed to get out of the house. I have been meaning to check out the NE community center and finally did so today. I dropped Anna off at the child care center there, which is actually really nice and comfortable. She cried a little but over all I think she did fine. Then, off I went to water aerobics. I had no idea what to expect. It was a class of maybe 10 and I was indeed the youngest person there by far. I am 32 and I would say the average age was more like 57. I was pleasantly greeted by a cute little woman in her 70’s named Hazel. The class was quite fun and I think I got a good work out too. I never felt too tired but that is okay with me being 11.5 weeks pregnant.  My last pregnancy I think I pushed it too far and that may be why I ended up having pre-term labor. ( also I was really stressed out at the time). So this pregnancy, I am trying to go easy on myself. Not that I am some crazy athlete or work out person. I have however always been a fairly active person. I like to run and that is my primary mode of exercise. In college in Montana I would finish with classes for the day, hop in my then little red pick up truck, taking my yellow lab ( Luna) for an hour long hike everyday. After my pregnancy with Anna ( and 3 months on bed rest) I started doing baby boot camp. It is a stroller/mommy work out group class and I loved it. It was a way to get out of the house and be with other moms.

This morning the contractions were far fewer and the plan was to go home this evening.  Well not so fast.  This evening the contractions have picked up a bit again so we are staying and likely at least for the weekend.

The thing about preterm labor/contractions is that no one has written the book on this part of pregnancy.  No one knows for certain how to handle this.  Everyone seems to agree that the longer the baby stays in, baring any threats to the baby’s health, the better for the baby up to a limit.  That limit is somewhere from 34 to 35 weeks.  So in a case like ours when we are at 34 weeks some think we can go home to come back when labor starts.  Since she is still contracting while on her medication they want her to stay in the hospital.  While frustrating we know that they are looking after the health of our child.

So here we sit, she at bed rest and me the visiting husband/father to be.  We will take this one day at a time and follow the instructions.

Against the odds my wife is still pregnant.  The nifedipine they are giving her, 20mg every 6 hours, is suppressing the contractions though with time it seems to be less effective.  The contractions were nearly gone this morning and this evening they came back about 90 minutes before her last dose.  We’ll see if they stay away well enough to keep her out of labor or if it is increasingly less effectivw and she goes into labor.  Thank God it has worked as well as it has and bought us 5 extra days and counting.  The goal is get to this Saturday. That will get us to 34 weeks, an important milestone in our babies health should he be born early.  The ultimate goal would be to make it all the way to 38 or even 40 weeks.  That is looking doubtful right now but we will see.

Tuesdays are the best day of the week: the day the babies’ gestational age turns over. It all started when I had my IUI on a Tuesday, way back when, and since then every Tuesday has been “turnover day.”

On Tuesdays I systematically go through the different online week-by-week fetal development websites, and learn that my babies are now the size of jicamas or that their toenails are fully developed.

On Tuesdays I open the spreadsheet I made to track gestational age and post-birth visitors (which requires all sorts of if/then decision trees). Maybe the best moment of the week is deleting the prior week’s gestational age column — yesterday, goodbye 31w. It simultaneously satisfies my OCD list mentality and also signals that yes, we really have reached a new milestone. The projected NICU stay goes down by one week with each deletion. It’s no longer out of the question that they might have little or no NICU time at all. This little ritual has become even more meaningful since I was hospitalized a month ago for preterm labor. The initial prognosis when I was having contractions 4 minutes apart and dilating quickly was that I might deliver that day (28w0d) but that maximum I’d maybe make it to 31w or 32w. 32 weeks, here I am.

On Tuesdays (and now also Fridays, since I’ve been in the hospital) I have an ultrasound, and every other Tuesday it’s an extended ultrasound to measure their growth. When I’m on the table, I say to myself that this is the best moment of the week. Listening to their heartbeats has lost its novelty after being hooked up to the TOCO and fetal monitors for more than an hour each day (down from over 2 hours per day when I was first hospitalized), but the ultrasound thrills me every time.

Yesterday was an even better every-other-Tuesday than usual, because I came home from the hospital. I was so afraid to leave the hospital a couple of weeks ago, but now it sure is good to be home.

Infertility has tried my patience, and it has made me more patient, but that’s not the kind of patient I mean.

What kind of patient are you? How has infertility changed that?

In all realms of life, I straddle a line between following directions and thinking for myself. My rejection of directions is usually based on some combination of logic, my own research, my assessment of the validity of the directions, and doing what I feel like.

This certainly applies to health care. For example, after I had my wisdom teeth removed, I followed all of the instructions for cleaning the extraction sites, but I completely ignored the prescription for narcotics. After the day of surgery, I didn’t even take any Advil.

During infertility treatments, I almost always followed directions to the letter, except when I thought they didn’t matter. For instance, when I was told not to eat after midnight prior to IVF #2 retrieval, I bumped back the time on my own because my retrieval was scheduled for late morning. I know the purpose of being NPO, and I also know that the midnight instruction is the same whether the surgery is at 6 a.m. or 11 a.m. If six hours of fasting is enough for an early morning appointment, then it should be enough for a late morning appointment, in which case eating something at 4 a.m. is fine.

My most egregious case of ignoring doctor’s orders occurred during the infamous IUI #7, in which we didn’t bother to have sex in addition to the IUI because in my mind the whole cycle was pointless anyway. Result: currently 31w2d pregnant with twins.

As a pregnant woman, I have been amazingly dutiful. I have followed doctors’ and books’ recommendations as much as possible (as a vegetarian, 100 grams of protein requires a lot of work but is feasible, but 150 or 200 grams just doesn’t happen no matter how hard I try). When advice has conflicted, I’ve evaluated the relative merits and acted on what seemed to be the most prudent course of action.

And then my cervix started shortening and I was put on bedrest. I followed bedrest instructions to the letter (didn’t go anywhere outside the house except the doctor, didn’t sit up for more than 15 minutes at a time for meals, etc.).

And then I went into preterm labor and I was admitted to the hospital.

This whole time, doctors have remarked on what a “good bedrester” I was and continue to be. They tell me how some other patients interpret bedrest as cutting down on housework or being quicker about grocery shopping. When DH said to the head perinatologist that a high-activity day on bedrest for me meant that I went up the stairs once to go to the kitchen, she laughed.

They’ve been pleased, and a little bewildered, at my openness to staying in the hospital as long as they deem medically necessary. They talk about patients fighting to be discharged — particularly those with other children at home, or those whose husbands are incompetent/unwilling with housework. When I told DH about the latter, he got a little defensive and said, “You told them I’m not like that, right? That I’m not one of those husbands?” I certainly couldn’t manage total inactivity without his constant help.

Doctors and nurses have remarked on my cheerfulness, and one doctor makes fun of me for being so cheerful. They applaud my wisdom when I give them my stock explanation for my compliance and good attitude: Better here than in the NICU.

How did I get to the point of winning some sort of Best Patient award? Sure, I try to maintain perspective in everything I do. But in this case, I’m a model preterm labor patient because I dealt with seven years of infertility, and because I read infertility and loss blogs. It took a hell of a lot of time, money, and work to get this far. The stakes are clearly higher for me than they are for the patients down the hall that the nurses roll their eyes about, the ones who are still smoking (WTF?). Because of the heartache of my bloggy friends, I know that not all babies turn out fine, and I know that some babies die. Often there’s nothing that the woman or anyone else could have done — but if there’s anything I can do to help these babies make it into the world safely? You’d better believe I’ll do it.

What kind of patient are you? How has infertility changed that?

Still in the hospital, we’re all hanging in there. Mostly uneventful except for a resurgence of contractions over the weekend, now back under control. Cervix has actually grown from .5 cm back to .9 cm! They would let me go soon if I wanted, but I’m not ready to leave just yet.

Now for the omen. I received these chips with my hospital lunch.

The “guaranteed fresh until” date is my ideal date to finish helping these babies get “baked,” for several reasons.

It would be 36 weeks, an excellent twin gestation. That is too much to hope for me now, as 36 weeks would be well beyond all doctors’ expectations. But, it sure sounds good.

It is the birthday of my late grandfather, the first birthday since his death.

It is even the birthday of another set of twins in my family.

I can’t think that far ahead — it’s one day at at time, one hour at a time right now. But wouldn’t it be nice? Until then, I’ll just be lying here with my little taters.

Not the bad kind of progress, as in “labor is progressing.” The good kind of progress, as in “there is some progress toward a positive outcome.” No contractions at all during any TOCO monitoring in the past 2 days. I have only noticed one contraction in the last 24 hours (but I didn’t notice them at all when they were rampant, so I may not be the best judge). The medication seems to be holding.

They’re talking about sending me home early next week.

I don’t know if I want to go.

As long as I’m here, if anything bad starts to happen, I feel like they can make it okay. At home, I’ll go to the doctor once a week and continue with medication and bedrest. I will most likely wonder constantly what symptoms I’m not noticing, and I will dwell on whether I can catch them in time. If I go home, there will almost certainly be another ambulance ride in my future. It could be after one week or one month, and it could result in another stabilization or an emergency C-section, but none of the doctors think I can make it to 34 weeks.

By all accounts, November is now laughably out of the question. Early October seems to be the best case scenario. For now, it seems pretty sure that we will at least get to September, and that is so much more than I had a few days ago.

Thank you to everyone for your kindness and hope. Apparently all of the other patients around here are blaring the TV all day long (I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t left the room), but your comments are way better than TV.

I have another post in my to-be-written Thoughtful Thursday queue that is perfect for this week’s events. But, emotionally I am not in a place to write that post today. We’ll try again next week.

Instead, I will address a topic that is easier for me but probably harder for you. If this is the easy topic for me, you must be asking yourself, what’s coming next week? First things first.

What was the worst day of your life?

This topic came to me Tuesday night, my first night in the hospital. As my husband, shockingly, got a full night’s sleep on the daybed, I tossed and turned and sobbed in my Kraftmatic adjustable labor putting-off-labor bed.

The worst day? What about that day, so many years ago, when a boyfriend tried to rape me? Naaah, that’s nothing compared to this.

Snapshots of Tuesday that make it a candidate for worst:

• Being told by MFM at weekly cervical check to drive immediately to the hospital but drop by the house and pack a bag first.
• I brought the book I happen to be in the middle of reading, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Twins. Every few sentences I’d have to put the book down and cry at the thought that I might not have twins, or any babies, to bring home. The Pottery Barn catalog that we grabbed from the mailbox when we went home to pack a bag did not lead to crying, but I couldn’t simultaneously hold it up and turn the pages because of the pain in my hand from my poorly-placed IV. (Fourth IV turned out to be the charm.)
• Alternating between thinking that the worst part would be losing these babies that I love so much, or that it would be worse to have to go back to fertility treatments after I thought I was done. I don’t know if that makes me a horrible person, or just a battered infertile.
• Not being able to be alone with my thoughts for more than 60 seconds without crying. Not at all like me, as most of you know.
• At the first hospital, dealing with the one midwife from my practice that I hate (out of 3 OBs and 6 midwives). She was the one on call two weeks ago at my non-stress test too. DH was out of the room whenever she was there during my first hospital visit, and he hadn’t accompanied to me to the routine appointment a couple of months ago when I met her the first time. At one point when she left the hospital room on Monday, I whispered to DH, “She’s the one I don’t like.” DH said, “I can tell.” I asked, “Because of how she is or because of my reaction to her?” DH said, “Both, but more because of her. Everyone else here is normal.” Another time I’ll tell you why I hate her so much. You will hate her too.
• Signing consent for emergency delivery in the ambulance.
• OB’s talk of delivery 3 to 4 weeks from now (31 to 32 weeks) as the unlikely best case scenario.
• When finally left alone with DH in the first hospital, crying, then pulling myself together halfway. When the lovely, cheerful nurse came to tell me that the ambulance would be ready soon, she asked me how I was doing. I did not give her a pat answer and instead just looked at her teary-eyed and speechless. Her cheerfulness turned to intense sympathy. I don’t know if anyone has ever looked at me quite like that before. I don’t know how I feel about being on the receiving end of a look like that.
• Ambulance ride was actually kind of fun at times, but needing to be in an ambulance was not. Even worse was that I actually stole it out from under another woman in Labor and Delivery who was supposed to be transported to another hospital, because I was much more urgent.
• Signing consent for emergency c-section, just in case.
• Meeting with anesthesiologist to talk about c-section options (she actually was quite pleasant, as almost everyone has been; both hospitals are full of outstanding bedside manner that makes me glad I don’t live in most of the places I used to live where people weren’t nearly so nice).
• Much talk about delivering imminently.
• Being told to expect a consult with a neonatologist and a NICU tour the next day.
• At both hospitals, being asked if I was “prepared” to bring the babies home, with cribs, car seats, etc. Standard labor and delivery question. No, I am not prepared — it is too early. I suggested to DH that we place the orders instead of waiting for people to buy them off our not-really-publicized-because-it-has-been-too-early registry. Then I reconsidered, not wanting to end up with two of everything when I might need only one. Or zero.
• Lying in bed, unable to shift to get remotely comfortable thanks to my catheter and IV, without any distraction but my almost-out-of-battery iPod. I tried to make myself sleepy with soothing songs, but every soothing song I could find made me burst into tears. Just like I can find infertility content in songs that have nothing to do with infertility, I can find Dead Baby and doom messages in anything, even songs that are supposed to hopeful. To top it off, blowing my nose after crying with every song hurt the catheter site terribly (eventually when I called the nurse to fix it, when I was in constant pain, we figured out why: it seems to have been jostled out of place just a bit, just enough to hurt, during the ambulance transport). Anyway, I didn’t want to listen to happy, upbeat songs that would make me un-sleepy. But, being alone in silence with my thoughts was worse. I tried a creative visualization, the first time I’ve ever tried that particular one, and it was good for 30 seconds at a time until my mind would wander to Dead Baby Thoughts. The only thing that eventually put me to sleep without crying, for a whopping one hour (after caving and agreeing to sleep medication!), was Radiohead. OK Computer is my go-to album when I’m upset. I should have just gone to it automatically at a time like this, but I don’t want it to take on bad connotations by bringing it out every time I am deeply upset. Let’s hope there aren’t too many times like this in the future.

Why the day loses the Worst prize:

• 24 hours later, my babies are still inside.

Instead, the Worst Day of My Life prize belongs to the day of my first miscarriage because that cloud did not end with a silver lining.

The current cloud has glimmers of silver so far, with potential for a complete lining or even full-blown silver through and through. Still a chance of rain, but I’m trying to keep looking out for the silver.

What was the worst day of your life? If it’s too awful to describe, I suppose you can just say that, but at least tell us whether there was any silver lining.

We interrupt this week’s regularly scheduled Show and Tell pottery-themed broadcast to bring you this special report…

Red and blue babies’ heart rate lines, beautiful as they have been the whole time in the hospital. Black contraction line now wonderfully flat instead of contracting strongly every 4 minutes.

Ignore the “No FM” sign; that means I was not hooked up to the monitor when I took the picture. I can’t very well stand up and take pictures while I’m strapped down to triple monitors.

Magnesium sulfate has stopped the contractions. The cervical shortening continues. Even though there’s almost no cervix left to shorten further (from 2 centimeters last week to .9 centimeters Tuesday to only .5 centimeter Wednesday, consistently 80% effaced Tuesday and Wednesday, 1 centimeter dilated at first on Tuesday then 2-3 centimeters dilated Tuesday night and Wednesday), there is hope that we will make it to September. Maybe even October. These are not supposed to be summer babies. These are autumn babies. Do you hear me, babies? Wait until the leaves start falling, please. The leaves are very pretty around here. Wait and see.

I’ll be in the hospital for at least a few more days, possibly weeks. Every doctor laughs when I say that I’ll stay here for 3 months if they’d like, but I mean it.

I’m so very sorry for not updating the blog.  But things have moved quickly this week and have been very chaotic around here.  Friday we went to the obstetrician (Dr. O) and ya’all know about that already.

Monday we had another appointment with Dr. O and we requested a referral to a University hospital here.   He not only gave us the referral, he said he was glad to do it, his only goal was healthy mama and healthy baby and he hoped they could do it.  He had them call IMMEDIATELY down there.  My appointment was at 1:00. By 4:00 that day, the phone consult had been done, the records had been faxed, and the appointment for an indepth ultrasound and a physician consult with the perinatologists had been scheduled… For THURSDAY!  We were thrilled.

I should go into more detail about Dr.  O.  For one, the man has zero ego.  When he says he only wants a healthy mama and a healthy baby, it’s true.  He cares very much about his patients.  I’ve heard from the grandmother of a baby born still through no fault of anyone and  I hear he cried with Mom and Dad after the delivery.  He is deeply invested in his patients and I can’t tell you how incredibly blessed we feel to have him as our obstetrician.  That said, a doctor is as good as his staff.  And honestly?  I can’t tell you how much I look forward to going into that office.  Every single person from receptionist, to the person who takes my blood, to the nurses and ultrasound tech are about the most cheerful, encouraging, lovely people I’ve ever had the joy to be around and I’m glad to be going back to a place that very OBVIOUSLY loves children.  They constantly ask about mine and we enjoy taking them in on occasion and getting them ooh’ed and aah’ed over.  What an amazing blessing.

Thursday was the consult.  With a LOT of people, sigh.  First we did a very (VERY) thorough ultrasound.  After all we had denied all of the prenatal testing and you’d not want to go to extraordinary lengths to keep a pregnancy of a less than perfect child, right?  Oh my.  I think I answered that one with grace, I think.  I explained to the doctor that knowing ahead of time that there was something wrong with the child and doing less than we would for a “perfect” baby and not try to keep the pregnancy would entail a very serious ethical dilemma for us and that we would do exactly the same for a less than “perfect” baby as we would for a so called perfect baby.  And he dropped it thankfully.  I don’t say this to say he’s a bad man.  Actually we QUITE liked this Dr. Y.  I feel a bit sorry for him.  I suppose seeing high risk patients with babies with serious issues probably does jade one quite a bit, don’t you suppose?  We had two ultrasound techs and two perinatologists consult on that.  Then we were sent over to the OB clinic for an internal exam, a history work-up of past pregnancies, and a consult.  Had the exam and was found to be a “good two” whatever that means…  I HAD been 4.1 on the previous Friday, so that was a little concerning but not surprising.   They wanted to fit my cerclage into the schedule by the following Wednesday but couldn’t do it with the two particular doctors they wanted to do it, and they didn’t feel it would be prudent to wait longer than that at this point as we would be past the 17 week mark….  So they fit me in on Friday,  the NEXT day.  LOL, it was such a relief but oh my what CHAOS.

Oh, and did I mention I developed some kind of infection/bite on my leg on Wednesday?  It showed up on Tuesday and we drew a marker circle around it.  It was hot and inflamed and obviously growing.  By Wednesday it was really unpleasant, having grown a full inch all the way around.  DH was concerned and so off to the doctor I went.  I’ll say nothing nice about the doctor, so I’ll just say nothing at all.  Suffice to say that was a clinic visit utterly wasted.  Do you ever feel you should get to deny a payment to the medical field if they don’t actually DO something?  Kind of like any other profession where they sit and hmmmm at something but don’t actually touch the car or whatever they’re supposed to fix?  Sigh.

At the appointments on Thursday and again on Friday they were quite interested in my infection.  It was general consensus among the doctors down there that it was cellulitis, a fairly non threatening infection of normal bacteria like staph or strep that would normally live on the skin.   At this point (Thursday afternoon) it was over the circumference of a softball.  I was on antibiotics at this point and they decided to do the surgery anyway, but gave me more antibiotics injected.  I can honestly say today it looks MUCH better.

Onto Friday.  We showed up at the hospital at noon.   The procedure began around 3:30.  It’s normally a 20 minute surgery.  It took a little longer due to a small issue with scar tissue from past cerclages.  They were able to deal with it beautifully though and instead of placing the normal 1-2 purse string stitches, they placed FOUR.  That made me smile a little.  I guess we can safely say we got our money’s worth?  There were three doctors, including the department head,  doing the surgery as apparently they found this pretty fascinating.  The popular discussion of the day seemed to be wondering how much scar tissue I’d have in there with this many cerclages.   We were later told by her that she’s glad they scheduled it for Friday and not the following week as I was very soft and already dilating.  Thank God.

Thanks to ansthesia and some nice drugs that helped me to not vomit violently it was by far the most pleasant cerclage experience I’ve ever had.  I can’t begin to express how grateful I am to God for what He has done.  Oh, and that pesky previa?  Yeah, it’s gone.  Not marginal, not low lying, but a very nice, healthy placenta exactly where it should be.  No signs of accreta, and no abruption.  I can’t begin to explain the miracle that has been done here.  I guess if you read the past excerpts you’ll begin to understand where I was, almost hopeless, to where we are now.

Oh, and they think she’s a girl.  Did I mention that?!  How blessed are we?

I looked at our two year old today and wondered if there was anything more beautiful than a child.  I think not.  Mamas, do you know how blessed you are?  You were CHOSEN.  Yes, YOU!  You were CHOSEN by God Himself with the remarkable task of being entrusted with His beloved children for their training, protection, and love.  What a shocking and mind boggling task.  Without dependence on Him I wonder how we should succeed at all???  And be so grateful.  You should SEE my house right now.  It is an absolute disaster.  Pictures would only begin to describe the smell of the dishes that have sat for about four days now.  It is more than a little chaotic and exhausting.  And we have my sister’s shower tomorrow to celebrate her daughter whom we will welcome to this family sometime in the next four weeks.   What a perfect end to an exhausting week – the celebration of a new life!

Don’t begrudge your tasks.  Don’t belittle your role.  You were chosen.  Your ministry personally given and assigned by God Himself.  What a beautiful thing to be given such an important, vital, life altering ministry.   And to something to precious to God as a child?!?!?!  Truly, mother, He must love you and think highly of your ability….  And remember not all children are given biologically.  Mother, if you haven’t children biologically please think not that I don’t include you.  He shall and perhaps has also laid out your ministry….  God bless each and every one of you in this amazing blessing we’ve been given.  Please be grateful each and every mess, er, I mean DAY, that we even have the chance to be a mom……  We are so blessed.

First, thank you all so very much for your prayers.  I am so sure they have helped and ARE helping.

Now a praise.

Where I was sure there were NO options, there has opened a window for a couple.  My current OB has said he will not give progesterone until Week 22.   It’s been very stressful here lately and I’ve not been sleeping well as contractions began Tuesday early AM (around 3:00) and they’ve just been consistent for the last couple days.  It has been exhausting, not because they’re painful or even uncomfortable, but being 15w 4 d pregnant and having contractions and a cervix that dilates painlessly?  You feel like a walking time bomb.

So I called for the progesterone injections to start.  And that was when I found out that my OB won’t start them until week 22.  I found an ACOG (American College of Obstetrics & Gynecology) Opinion (#419 if you’re looking) that shows a study that has had significant impact on preterm labor using progesterone beginning in weeks 16-20.  It IS experimental.  We’re requesting a referrral to a further away university hospital where they do perform experimental work.

Moreover, last night I “happened” upon a study that has nothing to do with incompetent cervixes.  It had to do with previa.  It appears in 1993, and again about 10 years later, they did studies trying to find out if by placing a lower McDonald’s stitch ( a type of cerclage) in the cervix if they could better the rates of infant mortality and mother’s health in at risk previa patients.

The conclusion was that there was no effect.  But did you catch the important part?   They were placing cerclages in previa patients!  Moreover I then “happened” across to an Incompetent Cervix support forum – NEVER knew it existed!!!  And there was a post on there (a few actually in the Search engine) talking about previa and IC.   Several women had had a cerclage placed WITH partial or low lying previa and at least one had had it placed successfully with total previa.

Today I’m calling the OB and requesting an appointment.  I’ll need a referral to the university hospital.  I’ve already put in my request for a specific doctor specializing in preterm delivery and placenta issues.  I’m praying for a couple things – that doors would be opened, that I have the grace to pull through this.

I’m not going to kid you.  I’ve had a rough couple days and I started bawling on my poor husband’s shoulder yesterday before work in the morning… I just really don’t know that  I can hold a baby while she dies again….  Nothing about it was fast, or painless, or peaceful.  It was tragic & awful and I just don’t want to lose this little one.

So I’m asking for continued prayers please.  I firmly (FIRMLY) believe the Lord is active in even the smallest aspects of our lives, every single day.  There is not anything He does not know, including this little one He has so generously loaned us.  I pray His will be done in our lives and that His peace and grace shine through no matter the outcome.

I apologize for taking so long to finish this story. I was at band camp last week and the in-laws were here.

The following is the best I can recall and put together after many conversations with Neely and Gran.

A little before 2pm I started having stabbing pains just above my right leg. I was already on my side and started holding on to the arm rail of the bed and breathing through the pain. The pain had to be some sort of contraction, because it was coming and going, BUT the contractions were coming on top of each other and I couldn’t catch my breath between them to get on top of the pain. We called my angel, Debbie, to fix the epidural. She worked with the meds and told me that in 20 minutes I shouldn’t feel any pain. After 20 minutes the pain was better, but within 30 minutes the stabbing pain had returned and now it felt like I was being stabbed and the knife was being turned.

We called Debbie back again. She worked on the meds again and told me the same thing – within 20 minutes I shouldn’t feel any pain. At 20 minutes I was still feeling pain. At this point I was moaning through each contraction. I thought I was yelling, but Gran said not really. I was having a hard time dealing with all of this because I felt like I was out of control. Gran said later that I did better than she would have ever done.

We started looking for Debbie again, but some resident came in to work with my meds. At this point I was not very aware of what was going on the room. Apparently my blood pressure was steadily rising and Slurpee’s heart rate was dropping into the low 100s. Gran tells me now that she was very concerned but that she didn’t want to freak me out. They kept asking for a doctor not a nurse and were getting nowhere. The resident kept coming in and going out, but couldn’t get anyone else to come to the room.

Finally the room filled up with people. I had my back to the door and the rest of the room so I’m not sure how many people were there. Dr. W was there with a Dr. K and what I guess were med students. Debbie came in with them and started looking at my meds. Dr. K checked my cervix and said I was complete. Dr. W was concerned about my pain and kept trying to get me to explain what the pain was like. The best I could do was point at where the pain was. Gran and Neely kept telling me to use my words. I had a lot of 4-letter words that I wanted to use, but I finally got out what the pain felt like. By now I would get the stabbing and twisting pain that would work its way around my side and into my back.

Dr. W said that there was a possibility my uterus had ruptured from my previous c-section. He wanted to move me to the OR and let me push. He said if they determined I had ruptured that I would be there for the c-section already. I started shaking my head at Neely because I didn’t want to push at all. The pain was unbearable and I was so tired that I didn’t want to go through the pushing again. He tried to fight for me, but Dr. W said we would try pushing first.

Debbie started barking out orders. She wanted the bed at OR height. She got some awesome pain meds on board. Someone through some scrubs at Gran. They ran me down the hallway to the OR. It was like in the movies when all the patient sees is tile, tile, light, tile, tile, light, etc. Debbie asked if I could move over to the OR table. I tried but couldn’t do it. She picked me up and moved me over. By this time the meds she had given me had taken effect and I was feeling no pain.

The med students held my legs up. Dr. W got in position and asked me to push. Apparently I had forgotten how and let all my air out the first time I pushed. The next two pushes did nothing to move the baby. Dr. W grabbed the vacuum and had me push again to no avail. He said he was getting the forceps. I remembered Gran saying that we should never use the forceps, but I was so out of it that I didn’t say anything. He reached in with the forceps and pulled Slurpee out.

Gran had been in the room the whole time, but was not by my side. She has told me that a nurse told her to stand by a trash can at the back of the room when she came in. She called out that she was there but I didn’t hear her. She finally got up beside me as blood pooled underneath the table. I had seen two of the med students get a look on their faces like “what the crap” and then take a step back, but I didn’t know what was going on.

My first question to Gran was if it was a girl. She said she didn’t know. Debbie was still doing around to make sure I was getting what I needed. She stopped to ask Gran if she was okay and Gran asked if it was a girl. She went and checked and of course it was. I think asked why she wasn’t crying. Gran asked Debbie who went over to check. When she came back she said that they didn’t want her to cry. In all actuality when she was born she wasn’t breathing. Her apgars were 1, 4 and 6. I found this out about 24 hours after her birth and confirmed it when she was discharged.

The neonatologist team worked on Slurpee for about 45 minutes. The intubated her, but by the time she left the OR she was breathing on her own a somewhat. It was a good sign they told me. Right before they left they showed her to me and my only comment was that her nose was mushed.

Dr. W and Dr. K worked on me for about an hour. I finally asked what was taking so long. I had a level 3 tear and Dr. K said they wanted to make sure everything was nice a pretty again. Gran said Dr. W kept asking what this was and what that was and working to fix everything. Finally I was taken back to an L&D room where Neely and Papa met me. After about an hour I was taken to my postpartum room where I would remain on magnesium sulfate for 24 hours. That meant I was not allowed out of bed until the meds were finished.

The neonatologist, Dr. D, came in 4 hours after Slurpee was born. She said the Slurpee was now breathing on her own. There were some concerns about the way she looked and that it might be because of Downs. She stopped in the middle of the conversation to tell us that she was not going to die. She had been told about our past experience and wanted to be sure we knew that. There were also some concerns neurologically. Neely and my BFF, Queen, went down to see Slurpee and brought me back some pics. Queen is a former NICU mom and knew what to look for and ask. She told me everything was fine.

You would think the fun would have stopped there, but I can never be that easy. When the doc came to check on things at 5 the next morning, she removed the packing (stuff kept coming out of my who-ha like she was a magician) which caused me to start bleeding again. They thought they the tear was not completely stitched and were going to fix it. While we waited for the suture kit one doc kept pressure on the bleeding. Apparently when she pulled the packing out it pulled a clot off and caused me to start bleeding. The pressure stopped the bleeding and I didn’t have to have anymore stitches. I had already lost a lot of blood and this caused me to lose more so they did a CBC. My blood was borderline so they decided to wait to do a transfusion. I never got one.

Sixteen days later we brought our sweet girl home. We are still seeing doctors and waiting for results and answers. I’ll try to update that quicker in the next few days before I go to back to work.

Apparently the cramping I was experiencing could better be referred to as contractions. Yay… After a little talk with the midwife I’ve been put to bed for the rest of the day. My sister is on call and I’m armed with water and a stopwatch. I get another try at life tomorrow. -If the contractions cease. Clearly my uterus needs a stern talking to. Doesn’t it know we have over 12 weeks of baby growing left to do?

Some things you take for granted.

You take the sun rising each morning for granted.

You take creamer being in the fridge for your coffee every morning for granted.

Clean socks… No one knows how they get there, but they aren’t appreciated.

Babies.  We get pregnant, we make it to the second trimester and we take healthy babies for granted.
I haven’t had that luxury since Hannah’s death.  I’ve always walked on tiptoe until about week 14-16 when they place in that beautiful purse string stitch, the cerclage, around my cervix.   We tell the kids they “lock” the door of the uterus.  They stitch it up tight so it can support the weight of the baby.

I had a doctor’s appointment this past Monday.  It was a wonderful thing.  I was seeing a doctor I really adored and I love his staff!  As a bonus, we got our first ultrasound and what did we see?  A perfectly healthy baby.  Really it couldn’t get much better.  Sounds lovely doesn’t it?

And it was!  All of her little arms and legs and parts were there.  Unfortunately the placenta isn’t cooperating with our game plan.  We’ve had previa before – marginal previa.  Where just a naughty little lip of the placenta hung over the edge of the cervix.  And really?  Worse case scenario?  The absolute WORST thing that could happen?  I’d have to have a cesearean section a few weeks early.  Would I love it?  No.  But, ah well, a healthy baby is the goal and a healthy baby is worth the price paid in a pound of flesh.

I didn’t realize I was at such high risk – several risk factors.

~Previous previa – twice
~Previous D & C  – to remove retained placenta after Ana’s birth
~Grand Multi-Para – lots of babies
~Previous C-Section
~Advanced Maternal Age (have to love that at 32, lol.)

Previa usually moves!  As a matter of fact, out of all the people who are determined to have some type of previa, only 10%, a teeny tiny 10%, still have it by the time they need to worry in the late third trimester.  And here we sit… Our little ticking time bomb.  Because we can’t wait for the third trimester. Oh no.  That cerclage was supposed to be placed in July.  And it won’t be.  And if the previa doesn’t move in August, it won’t be placed then.  And we have the unfortunate coincidence of having total (a.k.a. complete) previa.  It’s the least likely to move.  If it hasn’t moved by the beginning of September we’ve effectively closed our little window of opportunity to put in the “magic” stitch……

So what does it all mean?

I wish I knew.

I was one of those mamas who took a healthy baby for granted.  I mean sure, I had to jump through hoops, but a healthy baby?  After the surgery, everything has gone fine in the past.  And, after all, there is that *unmentionable* thing to be mentioned….  I lost one baby.  When Hannah was born at 26 weeks, she lived 12 days.  Who has TWO children die?  Who?  No one.  Right?  Not in this day and age……..  So that was, albeit not politically correct, it was my reasoning.   I had given up one child and why would God ever allow me to lose two?

And so here we sit.

I wish that was all.  We have the added complication that if the cerclage isn’t in place, my preterm labor is severe.  I dilate painlessly.  I am one of those incredibly blessed women who do not know they are in labor.  Think I’m kidding?  Abigail and Sarah.  They’re my examples.  With both Abigail and Sarah, I went into a doctor’s appointment and found out I was, respectively, 6.5 cm and 6 cm. dilated.  Contractions?  Nope, nothing out of the ordinary.  As a matter of fact with Abigail, strong, labor like contractions did not start until I was at eight, and then we broke my water.  She was born about 15 minutes later.  Lucky me!  I love this part of labor, lol.  But.  Not. In. This. Case.

In this case painless dilation is a serious threat.  The biggest risk about going into labor with total previa is the risk to Mom and Baby.  If you’re dilating without warning, the little vessels inside the placenta begin to break.  Pretty soon you start to bleed.  Baby can die with no warning and Mama can begin to hemorrhage, sometimes dangerously so.

Many doctors head this off by doing an early c-section.  What does one do when one goes into labor at 20 weeks?  What about 24 weeks?  28?  What about when you’re choosing, by delivery, to end the baby’s life?  Or at the very least make life awfully hard?

I’m wondering in the next months what decisions we’re going to be asked to make?  Are we going to be asked to terminate?  The answer would be decidedly no.  Am I going to end up hospitalized again, like with Hannah?  What does a mother of seven living, homeschooling children do when she’s hospitalized for weeks?  Are we going to be asked to choose the life of the mother over the life of the baby… Effectively that’s what IS going to happen if we start going into labor at 24 weeks or earlier.

I wonder these questions.  I wonder more morbid ones as well.  Did you know you can bury two children in the same plot at the cemetary?  Why would you?  I know this.   I hemorrhaged badly after Hannah was born.  I still remember the very LITERAL sound of splashing blood.  Memories like that haunt you sometimes…..  There are darker questions you wonder… Do you have enough life insurance?  Have you taken enough pictures?  If the worst happened, which children would have memories of their mama?  It’s late… The mind wanders.

Most of all I wonder why God would put me in this position.  I’ll not shy away from the fact that I’m praying for His protection.  For mine and the baby’s well-being to be sure, but for more than that… For His protection from being faced with ALL of it.  I’m praying for the placenta to be moved, and this burden to be lifted, these choices to be removed.

And sometimes God says, “Yes, I’ll take this cup from you.”

And sometimes?  Well, sometimes He says no.

I do entirely trust that His will can and should be done.  I acknowledge that His will is far better than mine.  I live to serve and wonder how I’ll be used in this instance…….  I pray for His eyes to see.  And I remember the story in the Bible with the father and He is asking the Lord to heal his child.  And the Lord asked, “Do you believe?”  And the father answers, “I beleive Lord, take away my unbelief.”  And I pray that He’ll remove doubt and unfaithfulness from my heart.

Part of me rests easy.  The better part of me is patiently trusting, waiting to see and hear and experience both what is and what will be.

The other?  Ah well, she is researching previa trying to find the exact statistics of total previa moving by exactly 20 weeks.  I know her.  She’s the same one that could quote the statistics for a 26 week old premature little girl surviving.

I’ve said over and over and over again, statistics aren’t relevant.  Even if the statistics are 98% to 2%, if you’re meant to be in that 2%, it is as it will be.  And no amount of worry will change that.

All prayers are appreciated.

Sometime around the middle of May I ended up in this really bad place. Almost every morning I would wake up in pain. I can remember two morning sitting at the vanity trying to get ready to go to work and just crying. All of the pain was taking a real toll on me. I had almost decided to stop blogging until I realized that I needed to continue blogging so I would have the full record of Slurpee’s pregnancy. Unfortunately things started happening so fast I couldn’t keep up.  So, here is what I could keep up with in bullet fashion.

• At 33 weeks I had an OB appointment. I weighed 201 at that appointment for a total weight gain of 38 pounds. My blood pressure was 110/68 – not too bad. The fundal height was 30cm. Pretty much where I should have been. I was still concerned about Slurpee being breech and asked about what would happen. I was still told that they would not deliver until 39 weeks. Ugh!! I was told to come back in two weeks.
• Shortly after that visit on a Sunday night I developed a pretty bad headache. We went to the store to check my blood pressure which was slightly elevated but the doctor wasn’t concerned when I called. I tried to ignore the pain, but when it woke me up 1:30 I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I had been swelling pretty bad and with the headache I was concerned about pre-eclampsia so we headed to L&D. (That made trip 3) They decided I was having a migraine and gave me a shot of morphine. My blood pressure was elevated, but they thought that was because of the pain. I was also diagnosed with a UTI and was put on antibiotics. I spent most of Monday sleeping the morphine off.
• Somehow my body must know when I got to L&D. If I go once, you could almost set your clock by me, because 36 hours later I would be back. Tuesday afternoon I had to leave work to go back to L&D (trip 4) because I was having contractions. They weren’t painful but they were there. I was still not making any changes. My blood pressure was elevated again, but they still didn’t seem concerned. I was diagnosed with bacterial vaginosis and put on another antibiotic. They tried to send me home while I was having contractions and I almost had a breakdown. For some reason, they hooked me back up to the monitors and gave me a shot of terbutaline before sending me home.  I was also asked to do a 24-hour urine sample when I finished the meds for the UTI.
• A few days after the last trip to L&D the boys went to visit the in-laws. There are some issues that needed to be taken care of so we decided it would be a good idea if they went before I hit 36 weeks. Gran was finished with school 2 days before they left, so that put her on baby watch while they were gone. I was slightly concerned, but figured that nothing really serious could happen. They were only a plane ride away. Gran came over that day to help get Slurpee’s room ready and go through all of the gifts we had gotten at the two showers I was given. (more on the showers later)
• The night the boys left Gran sent my nephew to stay at my house just in case something happened. He’s 15 and can’t drive. I don’t know what he would have done. I woke up Sunday with a really bad sore throat. Since strep throat had been going around I wanted to be sure that wasn’t it. Gran came and took me to the doctor who said I had a sinus infection. So another prescription for another antibiotic and I was off. Gran came back to the house with me so that we could finish washing Slurpee’s plethora of clothes and put them away. (For the record, some of them are still piled around her room.
• That night I started having contractions again. I can’t remember now exactly what time we left, but off the L&D we headed again. (trip 5) My blood pressure was elevated again. The contractions were not making any changes to my cervix. We waited until we were pretty sure they were not going to keep me to call Neely. Apparenly there was some concern at this point about my blood pressure and I was asked again to do the 24-hour urine sample. I had just taken my last antibiotic so I was able to start it once I got home. With a bunch of fluids the contractions stopped. I had had a lot of trouble drinking enough that day because of my sore throat. The doctor was nice enough to send me home with an Ambien so that I could get some sleep. Right before we left I asked about work and the lovely doctor told me I was now on bed rest because of my blood pressure. I almost kissed her.

Since the boys were gone Gran said I was going to stay with her until they got home. We headed to my house about 1 in the morning so I could grab whatever I thought I would need. I had already taken the Ambien and was walking around like I was drunk. I’m sure it looked pretty funny. I’m not even sure what I grabbed. Gran said when she got in bed I asked if the medicine was supposed to work through the pain and them immediately started snoring. I guess it worked. Gran helped me collect the urine sample. For some reason I gagged everytime I tried to pour it into the collection jug.

• That Tuesday I had an OB and perinatologist appointment. I weighed in at 216. A gain of 15 pounds in two weeks. No one seemed concerned, but I was concerned because of all of the swelling. My blood pressure was a nice 120/80. We discussed Slurpee being breech, still no talk of early delivery. At this point I was 35 weeks 1 day and I was hoping to convince someone to deliver me at 36 or 37 weeks. Remember the pain? That was still there. We turned in the 24-hour urine sample to the lab and then headed to the perinatologist. Slurpee was actually head down. Her head was right over my left leg. Her butt was sticking out at my belly button. I used to poke her butt all the time because she would stick it out. She measured in at 7 pounds 14 ounces (that’s important, don’t forget that) and there was concern about her size. The doctor talked again about the possibility of a c-section because of her size. I was also given my last P-17 shot at this visit. I talked to the nurse about what had been going on. She told me the next time I went in to tell them I was having headaches, feeling really bad, and seeing spots so they would keep me. She was the funniest nurse I have ever had.

So that catches you up for the most part to the birth of Slurpee. When I learned that Slurpee had turned head down I was a little concerned. I think I had convinced myself that she would be born via c-section and had hyped myself up for that and when it changed I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. The boys came home the next afternoon. Gran did a good job of taking care of me. I joked all day Wednesday that I was feeling bad and seeing spots. Turns out it wasn’t much of a joke.

Last Monday, after a week of sitting on my butt, I was at the perinatologist for a follow-up ultrasound. I figured they would be more cautious than the OB because that’s how they have been in the past.

When I was called back, I was told there would be no vag.inal ultrasound because I was too far along for that to be helpful. I questioned that since I was having preterm labor. She said they just don’t do that after 28 weeks. (I think it was 28 weeks.) So she did a regular ultrasound and checked my cervix from my belly. What used to be 4.7 was now 3.7. No concern she said. They don’t get concerned until it’s less than 2. The doctor had told me 2.5 before.

Slurpee is still breech. She had moved her head from my side to underneath my navel. I’m still not feeling much movement, but the movement I do feel is all on one side. This doctor has TVs on the wall at the foot of the gurney so you can watch the ultrasound. The only problem is that in this room I can’t read the measurements. So, about half way through I turned so I could read it on the computer screen. At the time she was measuring the abdomen. The first measurement was 33 weeks and change. The next was 33w and the final was 32w5d. I made some sort of comment and the tech said Slurpee was measuring in the 90th percentile. Her femur measured pretty normal. That was about all I saw.

When she finished she told me that Slurpee was measured at 4lbs 9oz. I almost fainted. She was supposed to be weighing about 3lbs 5oz. The doctor came in and it was one that I have not met before. I got his explanation as to why a vag.inal ultrasound is not needed at this point. He said everything else looked fine. He went through my history again. I still don’t get that. It’s in my chart, right? Do they even bother to read it before they come in. He asked if I had passed my glucose screening. Yes, I have. *sigh* It was all beginning to sound like one of my final appointments with Weeman.

He then told me that Slurpee was in the 92nd percentile. He wants me to come back because she is measuring so far ahead. He wanted to know how I delivered Weeman and why he was c-section. He then wanted to know my plan for Slurpee. I’m hoping for a VBAC. He smiled and said I might want to consider a c-section just in case. I haven’t been very optimistic about a VBAC in about three visits.

I did ask about her being breech. Again I was told that there was still time for her to turn over. I’m not very optimistic about that since she has been breech for 10 weeks that we know of. I guess the best part of her being breech and big is that I should be able to schedule my c-section.

I will return to the OB and perinatologist on May 26. I’m hoping to get more of an answer as to what my options will be. I will be 33w1d then. Since I’m a planner, I would like to be able to get a better idea of what’s going to happen.

Oh where is my head. I shouldn’t make you wait for a week to get an update about my preterm labor.

The Wednesday after I went to the hospital I was able to go in for a follow-up appointment. It was nice to get out of the house after being home since Sunday morning not really doing anything. Neely came to pick me up because the weather was supposed to get really nasty. We decided to pick up Weeman too just in case we were late getting home.

We saw the only male in the practice. He’s not my favorite there, but there isn’t anyone I really dislike. For some reason there wasn’t a record of why I was there. He thought it was just a regular check-up so when I told him he got a little more concerned.  My blood pressure was fine at 112/68. They had gotten these new digital scales so I could read my own weight this time. It was 189.6. Still not too bad and leaves me at 26.6 pounds gained.

He checked my cervix again and said that whoever said I was a centimeter was being generous. He said I was more like a fingertip. I know that everyone’s fingers are different and measure just a bit different so I took that with a grain of salt. He said that some people just contract and I might be one of those women. I pointed at Weeman and said that I did it with him and he said then you must be one of those women. It really kind of peeved me that he was being so non-chalant. Read my chart please. Lost a child who was a preemie and then had one preterm after 8 weeks of preterm labor. Please don’t blow me off.

Anyway, he said continue with lots of water. He measured my fundal height at 29cm and the heart rate was 145ish. He left with that and said he would see me in two weeks. It will actually be more like 2 and a half weeks, but whatever. So that was the doctor’s appointment following preterm labor.  They don’t seem to be worried. My only regret is that I didn’t ask when I should come to the hospital if I started having contractions again. Oh well, I know the rules and what to do so if I feel I need to go then I will go.

Bacterial vaginosis (BV) is a common vaginal infection in women of childbearing age, and is common in pregnant women. BV occurs when the normal bacterial flora in the vagina is disrupted. BV puts a woman at increased risk for a variety of complications, including preterm delivery.
The symptoms of bacterial vaginosis are foul smelling vaginal discharge, burning pain on urination, genital itching.
Condition is treated easily with antimicrobials drugs like Metronidazole.

STD Clinic Dubai, Zack, www.stdskin.com

A week ago this past Sunday I was awoken by stabbing pains in my lower abdomen. It was 12:40 in the morning. I thought it was gas pains, so I rolled over to my other side hoping that would help. About 10 minutes later I gave up and got out of bad thinking that if I sat in the recliner the pain would go away and I would be able to sleep.

Let me stop here and say that I have a high tolerance for pain. I have severe migraines that I usually just work through and rarely complain about. Well, unless they make me nauseous. I don’t do well with nausea.

At 1:00 I got up and took some Tylenol. I went back to bed waiting for the medicine to kick in. At 1:08 I got out of bed and walked out to the playroom where I stood and swayed back and forth trying to get the pain to go away. This is about the time that every few minutes the pain would get worse and then subside a little. I sat on the couch and continued to wait for the medicine to take effect. No luck. Tears were streaming down my cheeks and there was nothing I could do.

I went back to check the time and it was 1:23. I figured things should be getting better by then so I woke Neely up and told him something was wrong. At that point I started really crying, I’m not sure why, it was either the pain or the idea that something was wrong. We quickly decided to head to the hospital just to be careful.

Neely loaded Weeman in the car and came back to get me. I was halfway down the stairs. He helped me get in the car then decided Weeman needed shoes. *rolling eyes* Just get in the car so we can go. We are 38 miles from the hospital. He threatened to take me to the closest hospital and I about died. There is a reason I picked the hospital I’m going to. On the drive to the hospital the pain would get worse every 7 minutes and last about 2 minutes. It was the worst pain I have had in pregnancy and I didn’t think it was contractions.

They got me in rather quickly and hooked up to the monitors and lo and behold I was having contractions. I have never had contractions like that before. The resident reminded me that preterm labor can be different for everyone and different every time. I started the fun job of drinking liquids in the hopes that I was just dehydrated. When that was working they finally hooked me up to an IV and two bags of fluid later I was cured. They checked my cervix and said I was 1cm but still pretty firm. I was sent home at 6:30 with instructions to limit my activity until I could get back to the doctor for a reevaluation.

Weeman was awake almost the entire. He was very interested in everything they were doing. It’s definitely unnerving to have your 4 year old watching as they check your cervix. He was, however, a perfect little boy. There was no running around. When I was having pains he would rub my hand. He is such a little sweetheart.

My nurse, however, was horrible. I am a nurse lover. They do things that are just gross and I don’t think they get the respect they deserve. When I first got there and was trying to change into my gown she was asking me questions through the closed door. It wasn’t like I could hear her so I was getting extremely frustrated with her. We went through my history again and discussed losing one baby and having preterm labor with both pregnancies. Once we started on drinking liquids every time she came in the room she reminded me that before I come in I should drink 12 glasses of water to see if the contractions will stop. When she was in the room she would mumble. Neither Neely or I could make out what she was saying. She couldn’t get my IV to go in (she only tried once) and said when I come back I need to tell them I have wobbly veins. I’ve never had a problem before. While I was being discharged she told me again that if I start having contractions to make sure I drink plenty of water before I come to the hospital. Remember, I’ve had preterm labor many times, I think I know what to do.

I will be sure to ask for a different nurse if she is the one that walks in the room the next time I go to the hospital.

I have been to the doctor and there are updates, but I will save those for later.

Today’s Food Friday was going to be an Ina Garten cookie recipe, and it’s a good one.

But instead,  I’m with my sister in the hospital while she staves off preterm labor on a cocktail of magnesium sulfate, and gets a drip of sugar water in lieu of food. She can’t eat, because she is waiting to hear if she will be having a c-section at 28 weeks into her twin pregnancy. Twenty-seven weeks into a mostly easy twin pregnancy, she was hospitalized with preterm labor, and now is fighting the dual complications of preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome. The only real cure? Delivering her babies.

These little ones have a due date of  July 1, though,  and while we are most anxious to meet them, we were all hoping to wait just a little longer before we discover if H & W have two girl cousins, two boy cousins or one of each. (And JUST two cousins—last night my sister, her husband and I all stared, perplexed, at the THREE monitors banding her belly until the nurse explained the obvious–one for each baby and one for mom’s contractions. She assured us they had not discovered a third baby—yet, anyway.)

The babies don’t seem to notice their new locale. They are happy, growing and as hale and hearty as delicate 28 weekers can be. We spent time watching the “baby races” on the monitor—fetal heart rates burbling along, sometimes in synch, sometimes one sprinting briefly faster than the other…133… 145…141…138… My sister assured us she was fully aware of the sprints we were seeing on the monitor. We debated the old wives tales about heartbeat. Do you think slower heart beats are boys or girls?

So we wait. They test liver function and blood pressure and weigh those numbers against the fact that these little ones would really prefer another 9-12 weeks of  membership to club utero.  My sister and her husband are no strangers to critical care. This is the same hospital that provided a stem-cell transplant for my brother-in-law just a year ago. They have an easy rhythm with each other, with the infuriating flow and ebb of information, with the idiosyncrasies and personality pecadilloes of the hospital staff and with the knowledge that it is all out of their hands, once again.

Today they’ll assess her status, and determine a plan for today. And meanwhile, those heartbeats still percolate away…132…145…136…Boys or girls? I think those numbers mean HEALTHY.