Tuesday, May 19, 2009 – Labor & Delivery

To start from the beginning of the story, click here.

All was right with the world: The Price is Right was on CBS, and it was airing at 11:00 AM, as God intended it to (not like in Tennessee, where it airs at 10:00 AM).

I’d been awake for about six hours, and I’d already received two doses of Cytotec – not that it was doing anything yet.  Both Dr. Gibbs and the doctor who was administering my meds that day had explained that this particular drug would follow a “nothing is happening, nothing is happening, nothing is happening, whoa – it’s over!” pattern, but honestly?  I didn’t believe them.  I thought – you know, from all my extensive medical training – that they’d insert the drug and I’d have a couple contractions, and I’d have a baby.

Nope.

They inserted the drug, and nothing happened.

And three hours later, they inserted another dose of the drug, and nothing happened.

So, just to shake things up, I decided to get my epidural, because certainly,  something would be happening ANY MINUTE NOW.

The anesthesiologist came in, and was unbelievably insensitive and brusque, which I can’t help but feel is what pushed me to a breaking point.  As I bent over a squished-up pillow, my feet dangling off the side of the bed, the actuality of what was happening hit me and I started to cry.

Sob, actually.

And the anesthesiologist snapped at me to hold still.  I had to beg him to give me a minute; there was no way I could flip a “calm” switch fast enough to still my body enough to let him plunge a needle into my spinal column.

The nurse cradled me against her chest, and Jim gripped my hand, (and behind me, I’m sure the anesthesiologist rolled his eyes), and I choked back the anger and the fear and the pain and the overwhelming I-don’t-want-to-do-this-ness of it all, and I let the doctor make me numb.  At least to the labor pains.

Or so I thought.

Within the hour, I didn’t feel any relief from the cramping pain, just tingles in my legs if I tried to lift them off the bed.  After talking with my girlfriend MaryBeth, who assured me I shouldn’t be able to do that, I talked to my nurse, who talked to the doctor, who talked to a different (kinder, apparently more competent) anesthesiologist, and I was given a second, more effective (in that it worked) epidural.

All of this occurred around 3 PM, after which the nurse again checked my cervix to evaluate the effectiveness of the medicine.  And FINALLY, we had some progress: I was 1 cm dilated.

1 cm.  O-N-E.  With 9 more to go.  At this rate, delivery wouldn’t be until early Thursday morning.

Discouraged doesn’t begin to hint at what I felt.  Even though I knew 10 cm = pushing = the end, I was past the point of being ready.  I just wanted it over with….and we weren’t even close.  They administered another does of Cytotec, and we sat back to wait some more.

The remainder of the afternoon is a blur.  Jim never left my side, not for a minute.   My in-laws brought Seth up to the room to see me, but it was a short visit; said child of mine let loose one of the foulest poops ever to come out of a Gregory behind, and stunk up the room so badly that I essentially kicked him out of the room.

The timing of my family leaving was ideal, as the requisite four hours had passed, and it was time for my next Cytotec dose.  At this point, I was resigned to the fact that this was an excruciatingly slow process, so imagine my surprise when the nurse – whose name was Heather, by the way, and who was markedly fantastic all night – announced that I’d made some progress and was currently 2.5 cm dilated.  It was a baby step, to say the least, but it was the first forward-moving thing I’d done all day, so our celebration was sincere.

Jim and I settled in to watch Dancing with the Stars and I remember thinking, "Seth’s song was Jingle Bell Rock and Duncan’s is going to be Pink’s Rock Star,” (which was the song accompaniment to the triple paso doble the stars were performing that night); Duncan definitely got the better deal.

At approximately 7:45 PM, I told Jim, “something isn’t right….I don’t feel well at all….something is wrong.”  Ever my rock, he just rubbed my arm, and reminded me to breathe, and to utilize the “panic button” on my epidural drip.   I frantically depressed the plunger, but relief was slow to come.  I told myself, just try to make it until 8 PM, then you can call Heather…;” at 7:56, I was crying into the call box, “please come, something is wrong.”

When Heather arrived I told her I felt an incredible amount of pressure, and overwhelming dread, and I begged her to check my progress.  She sweetly and calmly reminded me that  I’d been checked a mere 30 minutes earlier, and that each internal exam increased my chance for infection.  So, basically, she was saying NO.  I pleaded with her: just look.

So she looked.

And immediately rushed from the room, shouting over her shoulder, “Try not to push!!!”

I remember thinking, “you’re kidding, right?  All day long, you warn me, ‘he’s so little, he could possibly just slide out,’ and now you’re telling me to keep my legs together?!”

A team of nurses rushed in with the preparation trays and paraphernalia needed for delivery, and my cries – not of grief, but of pain and panic – filled the room.

“No, no. No.  No, I’m not doing this.  I can’t.  I can’t.  I don’t want to do this.  No.  No.  Nononononononononono. No.  I’m not doing this.”

But I did.

I pushed – twice only – and the doctor announced, “he’s perfect.  He’s beautiful.”  And Jim wiped his eyes, and reached for the scissors, and cut the cord that had carried, and then failed, Duncan’s life.  We were no longer connected, my baby and me, and my head fell back on the pillows and my mind went blank.

I closed my eyes, and in the darkness I heard a refrain:

So what, I'm still a rock star;  
I got my rock moves,  
And I don't need you .
 
And guess what?  
I'm havin’ more fun,  
And now that we’re done  
I'm gona show you,

Tonight, I'm alright,  
I'm just fine…..  

I'm just fine.  I'm just fine.  I'm just fine.  I'm just fine.

Tuesday, May 19th …. To be continued…

Monday, May 18, 2009

To start from the beginning of the story, click here.

Monday morning, I got all the confirmation I ever needed that I made the right decision by going into commercial insurance instead of personal health and life insurance.  Not enough money in the world could get me to be the person on the other end of the phone with Jim as we tried to cut through the red tape of networks, emergent statuses, and moral protocol.

In the end, we were given the surprising news that Blue Cross Blue Shield of Tennessee would indeed allow us to deliver Duncan at The (out-of-network) Toledo Hospital, instead of insisting we return to Nashville to have his delivery performed at an in-network facility.

Even though we realized that this verdict was the green light that would signal the beginning of the end, we both felt relief.  Delivering in Ohio would allow Seth to remain blissfully oblivious to the circumstances, not to mention the small measure of comfort that would be drawn from being in a familiar hospital environment.  Delivery in Ohio would allow for the majority of our parents to be part of Duncan’s birth.  Delivery in Ohio meant that, to some degree, our Nashville home would escape the footprint of this tragedy.

I wasn’t scheduled to be at the hospital until 1:30 PM for the first portion of my induction process, so Jim and I took the opportunity to spend some time together that morning.  We had been hoarding a gift card to one of our favorite Italian restaurants, Bravo!, so we decided on an early lunch.  Much like going through the motions on Sunday of teeing off the green and riding the zoo carousel, sitting down to a casual lunch felt surreal.

I distinctly remember how amused I was when the waiter came up to take our drink orders, and Jim very promptly replied, “Wine, please!”  I think the only thing that kept me from indulging with him was the knowledge that I was going to be getting something equally as potent (via IV) soon enough.

I tried to eat my meal with relish and appreciation, knowing it would be my last of the day, but the anxiety in my chest only increased as the hour passed, and soon enough I was requesting a box for my leftovers.

On a whim, Jim and I stopped by the office of my former ob/gyn, Dr. Gibbs.  Even though I did not anticipate getting to see him, given that he normally is in surgery on Mondays, I wanted to talk to my former nurse, Jo.  I felt that getting her input on the induction I was about to face would go a long way toward calming both my and Jim’s nerves.

Imagine my surprise when I stepped into an empty waiting room at Dr. Gibbs’ office.  I’d never seen his waiting room vacant.  I was immediately waved into the inner office by Dana, the office manager, and swept up into a big hug by Jo.  Her enthusiastic touch was all it took to release my first tears of the day.

I stood there like a blathering idiot, trying to explain that I knew I had no right to be there seeking medical advice, seeing as how I was no longer a patient, but she hushed me almost immediately, and ushered Jim and I into an exam room.  “Of course you came here.  Where else would you go?”  Her no-nonsense claim had me calming in an instant, but nothing put my heart at ease faster than seeing my dear Dr. Gibbs walk into the exam room.

He wasn’t supposed to be in the office.  He was supposed to be at jury duty.  Which was why his schedule had been cleared from patients and surgery alike.  But he’d been unexpectedly released from jury duty, and decided to spend a quiet day in his office catching up on paperwork.

We couldn’t help but laugh at the “coincidence.”  Nothing about me being his patient had EVER been quiet or routine.  Why should things change just because I was no longer under his care?

Being able to talk to Dr. Gibbs about the induction procedure, to get his take on a vaginal delivery, and to have him walk us through the timeline of the next 36 hours was a gift we could never have asked to receive.  Jim and I both felt so much more prepared for what lie ahead.  He was even kind enough to walk with us through the half-mile of tunnels and hallways from his office to the Labor & Delivery floor of the hospital.  He left us with bear hugs, and the promise that he’d try to be the one at my side during delivery if he could get out of jury duty the next day.  (He couldn’t, as it would turn out, but his promise to try was enough.)

The procedure that I was to have done was supposed to be relatively easy and straightforward – no more time consuming or invasive than my annual gynecological exam.

Note my use of the phrase “supposed to be.”

As the doctor began to prep for the insertion of the laminaria (I’m not going to explain; you’ll just have to click the link), I mentioned to her that she might want to use the smallest instruments possible, as I have a very narrow cervix.  She cocked her eyebrow at me, as most medical professionals would do if their patient started to dole out advice.  And, as most medical professionals would do, I would hazard to guess, she ignored my suggestion, and proceeded to use the instrument she had on hand….

…..and she promptly, painfully tore my cervix to a bloody mess.

Poor Jim.  I can still see his face, twisted in agony, as he physically restrained me on the table.  I was delirious with pain and shock, crying out repeatedly, “no, no, no; please, no; make it stop.  Make her stop!”  Chaos ensued, with the doctor calling for assistance, and trying in vain to staunch the bleeding that she caused, and in the end, proceeding to stitch me up without anesthesia.

I’m pretty sure Jim and I both plastered “I told you so” frowns on our foreheads, as the doctor apologized for the debacle, and proceeded to explain to us that “given the difficulty of the insertion,” I was going to have to be admitted overnight, rather than being sent home as planned.

Yeah, no kidding.

She left the procedure room to prepare a delivery suite for us, and within the hour, I was taken to the corner room of the Labor & Delivery floor.

The very room where I labored with Seth until his emergency c-section.

Ironic?  Fitting?  You decide.  I, however, took a small measure of comfort from being in a familiar room, even though I knew the outcome this time would be so different than the last.

To be continued…..

Sunday, May 17, 2009

To start at the beginning of the story, click here.

When I woke, I said to Jim, “I do not want to do this.  Any of this.  I don’t want to get out of this bed; I don’t want to live out this day.  I do NOT want to do ANY of this.”

But you’d never know; not by looking at our family’s itinerary for the day.

You wouldn’t know that I was a mommy walking around with the knowledge of a dead baby in my womb.  You’d not guess that Jim was strolling the fairways with little desire and on even less sleep.  If you did know these things, you might wonder how we could possible have gone about as “normal,” when we were facing such tragedy.

Well, what else we were going to do?  Sit around and stare at each other all day?  No thank you.

So, we had breakfast at Sonic.

And played golf.

And took Seth to the zoo with some of his favorite people.
 
   
Other than those few details about our day, I don’t remember a single thing.  I couldn’t tell you anything else about how the hours passed, or who we talked to, or if we even talked at all.  I think – and I guess I can’t really speak for Jim here – we went into survival mode; the only goal being to just get through the day.

Monday, and the answers it would bring, would come soon enough.

To be continued ….

Saturday, May 16, 2009 – Evening

To start at the beginning, click here…

Saturday, May 16th …. Continued …

I hesitated, with my hand on the passenger door of my mother-in-law’s Buick.

When I stepped out of the car, it was all going to become real.  Sitting in the cocoon of supple, broken-in leather seats, warmed from the afternoon sun, it was easy to pretend that the previous hours had all been a fuzzy, out-of-focus dream.  But I knew that as soon as my feet would touch the concrete drive, my reality would surface, and with a word, I would change the lives of everyone I loved.

Five words….

Three from her: Is everything alright?: two from me: He’s gone.

… and the world tilted on its axis, trembled, and righted itself again.  But for me, and the woman whose heart I’d just shattered, and for the two men who watched us embrace in wordless agony, the ground beneath our feet would forever remain just a whisper off balance.

Seth was still napping, so I used the silence to make some phone calls.

One to my dad; a vague, "Hey, can we come over in a couple hours for pizza?”

One to our friends, Doug and Sara; “Hey, can I swing by the house to drop off your clean Tupperware?”

One to my mother – to date, the hardest phone call I’ve ever had to make:

I remember stepping out to my in-laws back patio, and sliding the heavy door shut behind me for some modicum of privacy.  I remember blurting out, “Is Greg [my step-father] home?” as soon as she answered, for I knew that if I didn’t force words out of my mouth in rapid-fire succession, then all she would hear across the miles were my sobs.  I blurted it out, ripping-off-a-Band-Aid-style:

“Mom, I lost the baby, and you need to call Grandma and tell her that we can’t make it to lunch on Monday because they are going to induce me, but I’m not sure if it’ll be here or in Nashville, and that’s really all I know right now.”

And though I seem to remember hearing her agonized reply of “what?!,” all I really know is that I kept crying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry” over and over.

In hindsight, I think being on the receiving end of this news had to have been worse than being the one to deliver it.  After all, I think in my heart, I’d known the truth since late Friday night, so I’d had some time to process what was coming.  For everyone who had to hear the news from me and Jim….I’m sure the shock was breathtaking.

Sadly, the words became easier to say with each person we needed to tell.

On the way to see my parents, we stopped at the home of Sara and Doug, Jim’s best friend for over twenty years.  We had them visit us in Nashville just two weeks prior, and I felt so horrible that we would now be visiting under such different circumstances.

Poor Sara.  I walked up on her back porch, and she immediately placed her hand on my belly:  “Oh, my goodness, Mon!  You’ve popped out so much just since last weekend!”  Oh, how I wished I’d not had to burst her bubble.  I don’t know that I’ll ever forget the look on her face as we stood there at sunset, holding each other and empty Tupperware.

Outside of our parents, Doug and Sara were the only people we let into our inner circle over the next three days.  They are the kind of friends I pray my children grow to have: the ones who will split the cost of a prom limo, raise a toast you at your wedding, and rock one of your sons to sleep as you send the other back to heaven.

The last test of the night was telling the final set of parents.  And I chickened out.  Not to say that they didn’t find out.  But can you figure out how we broke the news that something was wrong?

Do you see it?  The hospital ID and allergy bracelets?

Yeah.  I just didn’t take them off, and as we served up pieces of Papa John’s over the kitchen counter, I waited for someone to notice, which made for an easy if not awkward segue into how we’d spent our Saturday afternoon.

And while it’s hard to admit, because it sounds so desensitized, by the time we were saying the words for the fourth time in as many hours, all the emotion was gone.  We delivered the news, ate our pizza, and went outside to play with not another word said about the baby.

The last picture taken of me still pregnant with Duncan.

I don’t remember changing Seth into his jammies or saying goodbye.  I don’t remember driving the 45 miles back to my in-laws.  I don’t remember if Jim and I talked on the way home, or if we were both lost in our thoughts.

The last memory I have of that day was stepping into my in-laws kitchen, and completely and totally falling to pieces in my mother-in-law’s arms, where I wept until I had no more tears.

To be continued …

Saturday, May 16, 2009 – Triage

To start at the beginning, click here…

Saturday, May 16th …. Continued …

I had to leave Jim a voice mail.

I’d somewhat anticipated it; after all, you can’t very well hear a ringtone over the roar of a commercial grade lawnmower.  But still.  A voicemail.

“Come to the hospital when you get this.  I’ll be in Labor & Delivery triage.”

I drove a few more miles on I-475 East, a highway I could navigate in my sleep.  Bubbles of giddy laughter rose in my chest, startling me.  What was so funny?  I was on my way to the hospital at twenty-four weeks pregnant, alone, and here I was, laughing.  It would be months before I realized the laughter, the “nerves" I was feeling was merely shock setting in.

As unnatural as it is, I felt very at home at The Toledo Hospital.  I’ve spent more than the average person’s share of time wandering the halls and camped in the waiting rooms of the massive brick structure.  So the enormity of what I was actually walking toward was lost on me as I parked the van, passed through the lobby, and rode the elevator to the familiar third floor Maternity ward.

My steps faltered for the first time that day, just shy of the nurses station.  The words I knew I needed to say stuck to my tongue and choked me.  The tears I’d not felt the urge to shed suddenly burned at the back of my eyes.  Before I was ready, the nurse looked up and said, “Can I help you?”

And even though in my heart, I knew the answer was a resounding, “No; no you can’t,” I stepped up to the counter and told her I’d been sent from Dr. so-and-so’s office after failure to find fetal heart tones on doppler.

Recognition immediately flooded her face, and I felt a momentary peace that at least this part was going to be easy, due to Joel’s advance phone call.

I was led to a curtained-off section of triage, and asked to put on a gown and provide a urine sample, which was the last simple, easy, and mindless thing I would do that day.

A nurse (who to this day I’m thankful was about to leave due to a shift change) came to my side, efficiently ran through the necessary patient history, placed the hospital bracelet on my wrist, and proceeded to usher me into a universe I never wanted to know.

She placed two monitor strips behind my back, and laid the loose material across my belly, which suddenly seemed so much smaller than it had just hours earlier.  One strip for contractions, one strip for fetal heart rate.  She placed the first monitor pad down, waited for an accurate read to appear on the computer screen, and fastened the elastic strip tight.  She placed the second pad down, and looked to the screen.  She moved the pad a few inches to the right; then the left; then lower on my belly, all the while, frowning at the monitor.

“I’m going to send in the doctor to take a look,” she said quietly, and stepped around the curtain.

I looked down at the second strip.  She hadn’t bothered to fasten it tight, and it lay wide open to either side of me, like a pair of empty arms.

And finally…

A thousand tears fell, and yet, he remained still.

The compassion of the doctor on call astounded me.  She came in, but merely sat on the edge of my gurney, holding my hand, and waiting with me until Jim arrived.  The truth of the silent monitor went unspoken between us; she knew that I was not strong enough to handle hearing the words spoken aloud until my husband was present.

As soon as Jim entered the curtained-off area, she rose, and had a new (and wonderfully sweet and gentle) nurse prep me for an abdominal ultrasound.  The screen was turned toward her, and therefore Jim, who was standing on her right, at such an angle that I could not see.  I was glad.  I don’t know that my psyche could have survived seeing the image on the screen and the look on Jim’s face.

I didn’t take my eyes of his as the doctor verified what they had all just seen.

“I’m so sorry.  There is no cardiac movement.”

The horror and pain and numbing disbelief that these words bring to a parent’s heart can’t be translated into words.  An audio clip of the gut-wrenching, primal cry that came simultaneously from Jim and me is the only thing that could even come close to conveying the sorrow that immediately engulfed the room.  It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out through the folds of the triage curtains; my ears were ringing; I doubled over in a non-physical pain that left me blind and deaf to the goings-on around me.

The doctor and nurses excused themselves to give us some privacy, and we clung to each other as we wept.  Surprisingly, I found, grief that intense can only be sustained for so long, and soon enough, my brain automatically went into business mode: what was next, how would I deliver, could we stay in Ohio, would our insurance cover an out-of-network delivery, what would we name him, how would we tell our parents, which funeral home should we choose, did we have to bury him in Ohio or could we bring him back to Tennessee.  A million questions needed to be answered, and although in the moment, you feel like the least-equipped person on earth to answer them, the responsibility still falls to you.

The next several hours were spent trying to track down representatives from both the hospital and our insurance carrier.  The amount of bureaucratic red tape that needed to be negotiated was staggering, and the fact that it was 3:00 PM on a Saturday afternoon was working decidedly against us.  We waited; waited some more; named our baby; and then, waited even longer.

We were given the option to induce labor immediately, but I was hesitant.  The reality of what we were facing was horrific enough; the thought of being saddled with an $80,000 hospital bill because we delivered Duncan out-of-network was unbearable.  In the end, we had no answers.  There was no “next step” to take, other than to go home, and wait.

Saturday, May 16th …. To be continued …

Saturday, May 16, 2009 – Afternoon

To start at the beginning, click here…

Saturday, May 16th …. Continued …

Jim left the house to accompany his father on some lawn care business while I tried to come up with a sensible reason to avoid joining my mother-in-law and aunt in the driveway, manning the annual garage sale.

I couldn’t fashion a plausible reason that I would be leaving when I knew, even then, that my “errand” would be anything but brief.  I finally just braced myself, and told the ladies I would be seeing a friend – a doctor – to check on the baby, because I felt off.

To which, of course, they replied, “I’m sure it’s nothing.  Sometimes it takes a while for them to wake up and get moving.”  I just forced a smile, and willed away the minutes until I could leave.

It amazes me how clearly I remember trivial details of the hours I sat in the driveway, waiting.  I don’t remember a single mile of the trip to Joel’s office, but ask me what Seth was wearing that morning, or how much Linda sold a rusty wheelbarrow for, and I can tell you.

By the time I arrived at the medical plaza, it had begun to rain – just a misting, really, but enough that I was irritated my hair was no longer straight and shiny.  I stood outside the service entrance to the office, pounding on the metal door, wondering if I could change my reality if I just turned around and left.

A thousand raindrops fell, and yet, he remained still.

Joel finally heard my knock, and ushered me into his office while he finished with his last patient.  I spun in his desk chair, absently running my fingers over the phone buttons, counting ceiling tiles, tilting my head to read the embossed titles on the medical journals lining the shelves.  I selected a volume on Obstetrics, and began to look for any articles on pregnancy complications.

The phrases started to blur.  The sentences didn’t register.  Terminology I knew inside out from Seth’s high-risk pregnancy no longer made sense.

A thousand words read, and yet, he remained still.

I heard Joel send off his patient, and lock the doors behind her.  He popped his head into the office, reassuring me that he’d only be one more minute.  A phone rang, and he went to answer.

I stood, and wandered the connecting hallways of the office, picking up a Dumdum lollipop somewhere along the way.  Butter Rum.  One of my favorites.

A lap around the building.  Then two.  Maybe I went ‘round twenty times before Joel called me into an exam room, and we both smiled awkwardly as I climbed on the table.  Doctor or not, I know he and I both felt embarrassed as I slid down my jeans, albeit slightly, for him to prepare for the doppler.

“Remind me again how far along you are?”  Joel squirted some gel onto my abdomen.

“Twenty-four weeks today.”  I stared up at the ceiling, willing my eyes to dry up.  C’mon, buddy, prove me wrong, I whispered in my heart to my son.  I won’t care if I have to feel stupid for causing a fuss….just prove me wrong.

Too much time was passing, and Joel and I both knew it.  An increasingly fast heartbeat filled the room through the doppler speakers, but it was only mine.

As numb and hollow as I was becoming with each passing moment, the silence only reinforced what I already knew in my heart.  But poor Joel.  For him…..well, it was the hugely unpleasant task of being the bearer of bad news – and not just for a random patient.  He had to look down at the face of a friend who sang in his wedding, a friend with whom his wife spent countless hours entertaining on bedrest, a friend who he had dinner with several times a month, and tell her what no mother should have to hear.

We played our parts – the stoic physician, and the brave patient – for about ten minutes before I finally reached up and set my hand over his.

“It’s okay.  You can stop.”

He handed me a tissue to wipe up the gel, and I knew he was struggling to look at me.

“Joel.”  I waited until he eyes met mine.  “It’s okay,” I repeated, even as my lips began to tremble.  “Just tell me what to do.”

He seemed to muster up some professional reserve, and helped me to a sitting position.  Together, we agreed that I should go to the hospital.  He volunteered to make some phone calls that would allow me to go straight to labor and delivery for monitoring, rather than admit through the emergency room.  A quick phone call to the obgyn on call at my practice in Nashville confirmed I was doing the right thing under the circumstances.

Joel walked me to the door, and held it open as I stepped out into the now-pouring rain.

A thousand unspoken words exchanged, and yet, he remained still.

I climbed into my mother-in-law’s van, fumbling at the dashboard until I remembered how to turn on the windshield wipers.  Only after a moment did it register that the wipers were beating in time to the chorus of “Blessed Be Your Name” playing on the radio.

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say,
’Lord, blessed be Your name’ 

I took a deep breath, put the car in reverse, and picked up my cell phone to call Jim.

Saturday, May 16th …. To be continued …

Saturday, May 16, 2009 – Morning

To start at the beginning, click here…

I woke, and willed my mind to go as blank as the wall I would face when I finally forced my eyes open.

The dread and fear and ache that had settled onto my chest the night before, as the thunderstorm raged outside our room, remained firmly in place, even though a new day had come, washed clean and bright with the rain.

I rose, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.  Was I just groggy, or was each limb inexplicably heavier this morning?  I sat for a moment, head bowed low over my swollen belly, and I whispered, “Good morning, little one.  You need to wake up.”

A thousand heartbeats passed, and yet, he remained still.

I knew what I was supposed to do: consume sugar, and then rest on my left side.  So, I went through the motions.  I chose four chocolate chip cookies from the glass jar in the kitchen and retrieved a Pepsi from the fridge in the garage, and laid back down.

If my life depended on it, I couldn’t tell you how long I lay in bed.  It could have been twenty minutes; it could have been two.  All I can tell you is that however long it was, it was too long to just be still and feel nothing.

I showered, begging my son to stir as I ran the soapy loofah over his form.  As I toweled off, I rubbed cocoa butter into my skin, as I’d done every day since I learned of his existence.  I bargained with him: just one kick, one flip; one more cookie for each movement he made.

A thousand promises made, and yet, he remained still.

I applied makeup, and styled my hair to a perfect shine.  I dressed with care: my favorite jeans, a comfy brown tee that showcased my growth, a sweater, amber jewelry, leather sandals.  I opened the bathroom door, and stepped into a familiar hallway placed into a world I no longer recognized.

Jim came to my side with a concerned look on his face.  I smiled up at the father of my children, and felt my protective armor – not for me, but for him – slide into place.

“So, here’s what I’m going to do,” I told him.  “I’m going to call Kristen and see if she’ll have Joel bring a doppler to church tomorrow.  He can bring one home from his office, check me out before service, and save me a trip from going to see Dr. Gibbs on Monday.”  He merely nodded, and I sent him back outside.

I wandered into my father-in-law’s office and punched in speed dial 16 – Joel and Kristin’s anniversary.  She answered on the third ring, and in hindsight, I’m surprised she understood my request, since it spilled from my lips in such a rush:

“Hey, lady!  So, we’re in town for the week, and I wondered if you could have Joel go into the office and pick up a doppler and bring it to church tomorrow so that he could check on the baby and make sure that all is okay because I’m not sure I can remember feeling him move much for the last 24 hours and I really don’t want to have to wait until Monday to pop into Dr. Gibbs’ office because I’m supposed to be in Bellevue for lunch with my grandparents and I really don’t want to have to cancel because I’m sure it’s nothing, and I really don’t want to have to go to Babies ‘R Us to buy an at-home doppler for nothing, so I figured I could just have Joel do it.  What do you think?”

She assured me that she’d check with Joel, but that a better option might be to just go into his office, since he was already seeing patients that day.  This option made the most sense, but I didn’t want to do that.  Leaving Seth with my mother-in-law while I went to the doctor would raise questions with my family that I didn’t want to answer.  I had no intention of sharing my fear with them – I hadn’t even wanted to tell Jim.  But in the end, I saw no way around it.  I told Kristen to tell Joel I’d see him at 12:30, and I went to inform Jim of the change of plans.

He was already set to mow yards with his dad, but I could tell he was torn between helping John or coming with me.

“Just go,” I told him.  “You’re going to waste time coming with me, since it’s probably nothing.”  He opened his mouth to argue, and I rushed on.  '”And if it’s something…..I’ll call you, okay?”  He still didn’t look convinced, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I already knew, even as I asked, “Honey?  Worst case scenario – if Joel can’t find the heartbeat, what should I do?  Should I go to the hospital?”  He simply nodded, and my heart broke.

I went to him, put my arms around his back, and leaned into his strong frame.  “It will be fine,” I whispered.  “I feel silly even making Joel stay at work late.  It’s nothing.  I’m sure he’ll get the heartbeat as soon as he sets down the doppler.  It’ll be fine,” I lied.

A thousand reassurances whispered to his daddy, and yet, he remained still.

Saturday, May 16th …. To be continued …

Friday, May 15, 2009

For the introduction to this series, click here.

I was all set to go.  Bags were packed and ready to be loaded into the car: mine and Seth’s right away that morning, and Jim’s later that day.

The plan was for Seth and I to leave Nashville and drive to Louisville, KY, to visit with my friend Daina and her twin boys, Ari and Greg.  When Jim would get off work that afternoon, he would drive up to Louisville, and pick Seth and I up, and we’d continue on to Ohio, leaving my car at Daina’s until we made our return trip the following weekend.

And wouldn’t you know it?  Complex as it was, our plan went off without a hitch.

Seth and I had an uneventful trip to Daina’s.  We even got there early enough that  I was still in coffee mode, and Daina brewed me a yummy cappuccino.  We visited, in spite of Seth climbing all over the baby paraphernalia and said Ari and Greg being a smidge cranky.

We broke for a McDonald’s run around 12:30 – a quarter pounder for Daina and a 10-piece nugget meal for Seth and me to share.  I remember sitting in the drive-thru, debating Coca-Cola or Sprite?  Coke or Sprite?  I went with Coke.

Daina’s husband Jeff arrived home from work early enough that we got to spend some time visiting before Jim arrived.  Holding one of the twins, while I held the other, and Daina prepared dinner bottles, and Seth ran underfoot, Jeff began to chuckle.

“I’m going to laugh my *** off when you get to do this [meaning handle an infant and toddler] all over again in August.”

I didn’t think it was funny, and told him as much.  It was no secret to Daina and Jeff that I was still getting used to the idea of this unplanned pregnancy.

“Jeff,” I told him, “if I could undo this, I would.”

*****************************

Several hours later, as Jim and I drove northeast towards Ohio, we decided to detour to Carrollton, KY.  We stopped at Burger King to change Seth and get him into his pajamas, and to grab dinner.

I casually mentioned to Jim as we ordered that I couldn’t remember feeing the baby move much that day – even after my caffeinated Coke at lunch – and that he should probably buy me a strawberry milkshake – you know, to wake up Itty Bitty.

Around 11:00 PM, when we stopped for gas and Mt. Dew at our usual exit between Cincinnati and Dayton, I mentioned again to Jim that I still wasn’t feeling much movement, and we brushed it off as Itty Bitty’s way of killing time on the boring drive up I-75; after all, if I hadn’t agreed to help keep Jim awake, I would have just gone to sleep, too.

Jim and I talked about everything and nothing as we completed the last leg of the journey home – our future plans to adopt, what we might name our second son (not Sawyer; sorry, Jen), the never ending sell-the-truck-to-get-an-SUV debate, the itinerary for our week in Toledo.

The last 150 miles fell away under the tires of the F250, and we pulled into the driveway just as the first raindrops of the early morning began to fall.

We settled Seth into his crib in the back bedroom, and collapsed into our own bed at precisely 1:00 AM (which had been our goal all along).  I knew Jim would drift off to sleep almost immediately, but as the thunder began to boom and lighting flashes sent shadows bouncing across the sheet under which Itty Bitty rested, I turned to my husband…

“Jim….I still haven’t felt the baby.”

He didn’t respond, and I didn’t repeat.  It was easier to let the silence speak for us both.

To be continued…

Duncan’s Story

First of all, Happy Mother’s Day.

I could write something witty or profound about this “holiday” and what it means to many of us.  And I’m sure, many are expecting that from me – what with having had a baby only 6 days ago.  For some, I know it’s a wonderfully special day.  For others, I know it’s a day of great heartache and sadness, for varied reasons ranging from estrangement to infertility.  And whichever side of the fence you, dear reader, fall on today, please know, I wish for your happiness this Mother’s Day.

I don’t know that I’ve ever been more aware of my role as a mother than in the writing of this post, and the ones to follow.

I’ve made mention in the past that I have been writing the story of Duncan’s birth.  I didn’t know if I’d be able to get the words from heart to head to keyboard, but, as my blog tagline states, “there is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you,” so I knew I had to try.

And after months-long stretches – some full of cathartic writing, some full of silence – his story is written.

I always wrote with the intention of publishing it here on the blog.  Only a handful of times did I waver over whether or not to share, and even then, my hesitation was prompted by the uncertainty of others, not my own.

But, in the end, I decided it doesn’t really matter if you read the next two weeks’ entries (though I hope you do).  It doesn’t matter if you comment (though, again, I hope you do).  It doesn’t matter what you think, really.

All that really matters is that I bore a son, and he has a story, and it deserves to be told and preserved just as the stories of my living son and daughter are told and preserved on this web diary of ours.

So, starting tomorrow, and ending on his first birthday, Duncan will shine center stage here at Writer Chic.

So many of you have walked with me – in the valleys and at the peaks – since the day of his birth; it is my hope that you will come along for this last leg of the journey.

Please come back tomorrow to read the first chapter of Duncan’s story.

• Friday, May 15, 2009
• Saturday, May 16, 2009 – Morning
• Saturday, May 16, 2009 – Afternoon
• Saturday, May 16, 2009 – Triage
• Saturday, May 16, 2009 – Evening
• Sunday, May 17, 2009
• Monday, May 18, 2009
• Tuesday, May 19, 2009 – Labor & Delivery
• Tuesday, May 19, 2009 – A lifetime, in hours
• Wednesday, May 20, 2009 – Conclusion, and celebration

I’m jealous of Erin

Up until this week, there was a tone of voice of Jim’s that I’d only heard directed at me.

Sweet, softer, tender.  Loving.  Protective, calming, relaxing.

 
And the other night, as he bent over the side of the hospital bed to say “goodnight, sweetheart, I love you,” I looked up to say, “I love you, too,” only to realize he’d been talking to Erin.

And for a split second, my heart went “what….huh?,” and then it swelled a million times its normal size, as I gazed up at the man I love as he gazed down at his new baby girl.  And I realized he’s man enough to have room in his heart for two girls.

It’s a good thing I think she is pretty cool; I wouldn’t share that precious space in his heart with just anyone.

According to Merriam-Webster

Main Entry: sib·ling

Pronunciation: \ˈsi-bliŋ\

Function: noun

Date: before 12th century

1 : sib 2; also : one of two or more individuals having one common parent
2 : one of two or more things related by a common tie or characteristic

Um, let’s count, shall we?  Just a couple random commonalities that came to mind:

• great hair
• gorgeous eyes
• mellow personalities
• awesome parents
• more love than they’ll ever know what to do with, from so many people

Thank for you being part of our wonderful, momentous week, sibling-creating week.  I hope you’ll stick around here for a few more days, as there is a very special series of posts starting on Mother’s Day.

Not to be outdone

I know Wednesday was just Seth pictures, too, but humor me.  Erin got back-to-back posts; we’ve got to be all about equal opportunity here at The Writer Chic now. ;)

 

Just like that, he’s no longer the baby.

Not even so much a little boy.

Apparently, along with the title of big brother comes the label of two-going-on-twelve.

When did he get to be so big?  Does anyone else hear Sunrise, Sunset playing in the background?

Wordless Wednesday

She is even more gorgeous today…

It’s her turn….

Still a novice blogger, I hardly did justice to Seth’s arrival in 2007.  I didn’t even post his birth news until three days later.  Granted, I was a little caught up in the worst ice storm of the decade, and an emergency colon surgery, but still, in hindsight, I feel that I could have done a little better.

Last spring, I merely copied and pasted the email I’d composed to our family to announce the shocking, sad news of Duncan’s too-soon arrival.  Short, sweet, and oh-so-hard to write.

Therefore, today, it gives me no small amount of joy to introduce to the blog world, with some degree of fanfare, our daughter.

Interpeeps, meet Baby Girl.

She has already lit up our lives in an indescribable way, and we are so thankful to God for this beautiful gift.

She was born via c-section on Monday, May 3, 2010, at 1:34 pm.

She weighed exactly 6 pounds and was 18”.

Oh.  And her name?

Erin Elizabeth.

Welcome to the world, little one.  We’re so glad you are here.  You certainly took your sweet time, but you were so very worth the wait.

For my daughter

‘Tis the dawning of your birth day,
Just past the midnight’s stroke.
Your daddy sleeps; your brother sleeps,
And yet, you prod and poke

As if I need reminding
of your presence in my womb!
My precious one, you’ll learn my heart has
“only daughter” room.

It nestles next to Daddy’s space,
and in between your brothers’
A spot that only you will fill,
unique from all the others.

I wait this day with baited breath
to learn of who you’ll be:
your face, your name, your mellow cries
for now just mysteries.

But soon enough, the sun will rise
I’ll face the surgeon’s knife;
And on the flip side of her steel
awaits your God-breathed life.

They’ll pull your red form from me,
suction, rub, and dry.
They’ll drop your eyes and print your feet,
and finally lift you high

Above the sterile curtain
for our four eyes to meet.
I hope you’ll recognize me;
it’s for you my heart beat

For weeks and months and seasons
from fall til May’s first flood.
My darling baby daughter,
my female flesh and blood.

A half-a-turn is all that’s left
for Planet Earth to make
until I draw you to my chest,
a hold no pow’r can shake.

May 3, 2010, dear:
The day my world stood still.
Now overflows the heart-hole 
that only you could fill.

When it rains….

…. apparently, we grow fungi.

We have never had issue with mushrooms growing in our landscaping before.  I don’t know if this outbreak is due to the amount of rain that we’ve had fall in the last 36 hours, but I’m not happy about it.

Granted, I realize that this is SO trivial in comparison to the devastation that is going on around the metro Nashville area (numerous deaths, feet of rainfall, torandoes, interstate closures, homes washed away, airports closed, businesses underwater).

But humor me; I’ve got a little bit of tunnel vision right now, and I can’t see much past how this rain is effecting me and my world – namely my yard, and the fact that….oh, yeah, my daughter’s birth (scheduled for Monday afternoon) may be postponed due to the fact that my hospital is partially underwater.

All kidding aside…the weather situation in Nashville, TN, right now is dire.  People have lost their lives, and their livelihoods.  I personally know three people stranded, indefinitely, at airports.  We’re currently weighing Jim’s personal safety against his responsibility as general manager of his company; does he go check on his plant and employees, or does he stay off the flooded roads?

As long as we continue to have power, I promise to keep the blog updated, about BG’s arrival and our flooding city.  In the meantime, I think Seth has the right idea for this rainy, rainy, rainy day:

Last

Today is the last day of April.

It’s been a good month, but as they say, all good things must come to an end.

Today is the last day I’ll send Seth off to school in Miss Jamie’s van.

Today is the last day I’ll crawl back in bed at 7:22 for just a couple more hours of sleep.

Today is the last day I’ll have to inject myself with Lovenox.  Shot no. 206.

Today is the last day that Jim, Seth, and I will sit down to dinner – just us.

Today is the last day I’ll spend at home alone.

Tomorrow, the weekend invades, and so does Grandpa.

Monday…..Monday, Monday.  Monday, our daughter arrives.

The end, and the beginning, at last, is here.

Seth’s “grown up” room

I’ve been remiss in posting pictures of Seth’s room.  I realized that when I went to upload these photos and realized that I’ve already rearranged the furniture in here once since I took them.  Oops.

We moved Seth out of his “green room” as soon as we returned from our Florida vacation at Christmas, and he did a fabulous job of transitioning from his toddler bed to a full bed.  We’ve never had an issue with him getting up to play with his toys, even though they are all at his disposal, and the middle-of-the-night wakings, rare as they are, are dealt with as smoothly and as quickly as when he was in his crib.

I’m glad that we had this bedroom painted such a neutral color when we moved in.  It’s Sherwin Williams Blonde; the same color that is in our kitchen and dining room.  It has enough color to have impact, but not so much that I had a hard time working the rest of the color scheme around the walls.

I still need to come up with something to hang on the huge expanse of wall over his bed.  I have his nursery canvases above the head of the bed for now, and that fills up a little space, but the long wall still needs something….

The yellow afghan the the foot of the bed is perfect to have on hand for the nights I somehow wind up staying in Seth’s room after a midnight consoling. ;)  My great-aunt Julia made that for me when I was a child, and it has traveled with me to many beds and many different stages of life.  I love that it’s now in my son’s room.

Another great deal for Setharoo’s room: IKEA.  $15.  Score!  I’m ashamed to admit how much fun I’ve had and how many hours I’ve spent getting his Thomas the Train tracks to match up with the “roads” on this mat.  It’s truly quite embarrassing.

 
Apologies for the photo quality….. still working on my camera settings in natural light.

 
When we were first married, Jim had these bean bag chairs in the spare room where his video games were set up.  Now we keep them at the foot of Seth’s bed for a soft “landing zone” for the occasional launch off the bed during a jam session of Ring-Around-the-Rosy or The Itsy Bitsy Spider.

Toys, toys, and more toys.

I am SO proud of how well Seth solo plays in his room, and how good he is about putting his toys away when he is done.  Granted, he can’t reach past the shelf with the books on it, but still.  I love that he seems to have an appreciation for his playthings, and that he is obedient in cleaning up when he is done playing.

Seth’s room has become another favorite place to just hang out as a family.  If you have the space to do so, I strongly encourage a big bed in a toddler’s room.  I love, love, love that all three of us can pile onto Seth’s bed for wrestling, story time, tickle-fests, or just to talk as a family.  Because we’ve never been big proponents of letting Seth spend time in our bed, Jim and I love to take the opportunity to snuggle with him in his bed.

What are some of your favorite features of your kids’ rooms?  Do you have any must-have’s that you want to share with the rest of us?

36w Update

How far along: 36w1d.

Total weight gain: Holding steady for the last week.  I was down a pound on Thursday, but back up on Monday.  Whatever.  I’m over it.  Being off the one BP med has caused a significant fluid retention, and I’m done stressing over the number on the scale.

General disposition:  I was really, really disappointed over the weekend, when I knew that the date we’d been aiming for – April 26 – would come and go without Baby Girl making her arrival.  But now that I’ve come to terms with the fact that she will be born in May, I’m fine with it.  Her safety has been, and continues to be, my ultimate concern, and if her lungs aren’t ready, we’ll just wait until they are.
 
Sleep:  It’s been great.  The weather has been a little wonky around middle Tennessee lately, so a nightly cocktail of Benadryl and half an Ambein has brought sweet sleep. 

Best moment this week: -- 

Movement:  For the last two weeks, she had been in the vertex (head down) position, so her movement is less than it had been.  However, she tends to keep in one particular position, and her feet are constantly up in the right side of my ribs.  Considering that it doesn’t matter if she is breech or not, I’d actually like her to flip back over.  The kicks were more frequent, but I was much more comfortable.  

Labor Signs/Body Changes of Note:  Dr. M performed an internal at my appointment last Thursday, and noted that I was about 80% effaced.  I’m not dilated at all yet, but my body does seem to be taking the proper steps to get things in motion.  Hopefully, everything will remain stable until we can operate. 

What I miss : Playing with Seth.  I’m really, really uncomfortable now, and even the simplest movements tax me. 

What I am looking forward to: Meeting her…spending time together as a family…being able to sleep on my tummy. =)

Does she have a set birthday:  Set?  Eh, that’s relative.  I am having a repeat amnio on Thursday.   If her lungs are ready – even transitionally ready – we will proceed with a c-section on Monday.  If they aren’t ready….I’m not sure how much longer we will stall.

Does she have a name yet: Possibly.  Jim seems to have settled on a name, and I’m allowing him final say.  However, he hasn’t shared his name of choice with me, so now, I’m waiting, just like the rest of you.

Are we ready: Absolutely, unequivocally, overwhelmingly YES!

TKO

Last week at school, Seth went a little Evil Kneivel on his teachers and did a face plant right into a rocking chair.

Thankfully, one of the staff members where Seth attends Mother’s Day Out is also a trained EMT, so he was able to get immediate medical attention.  The consensus was that his nose was not broken and that he most likely did not have a concussion.

Which is not to say that he didn’t need a good portion of TLC from both mom and dad when he came home.

The accident happened about 12:30, and we decided to keep Seth up through his nap time, which was not easy, seeing as he was the usual amount of just-plain-tired, plus the extra dose of exhausted from the fall.  But we just popped in Finding Nemo and curled up on the couch while Daddy satellite-worked from the dining room.

By 7:00, our stunt guy was down for the count.  Tylenol and a warm bath put him in such a deep sleep that he didn’t even budge when we decided to ice down his schnoz.

Jim didn’t look too thrilled when I came out with the icepack wrapped in a pink cloth, but, hey, infant washcloths are what they are for a reason – it was the perfect thickness, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time one of my children has to make do with his/her sibling’s toiletries.

I’ve not been able to get a good picture of the final bruising color pallet on Seth’s face, but you can just imagine: purplish-yellowigh-gray.  He has endured it like a champ, though!  I think we’re in the final days of discoloration, and by the time Baby Sister makes her arrival, he should be back to his normal, Caucasian-colored self.

Retro

Retro: modeled on something from the past

Sometimes, you just need to do something that takes you back to a time that was easier.  Simpler.  Sweeter.

Sometimes, you just need to have PB&J on white, chips, grapes, and chocolate milk for lunch.

Celebrating the sweetest, simplest things in life at Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky.

As if I needed to stick another needle in my belly

Updated:  Amnio results showed that the baby’s lungs are still immature, and that if delivered, she would be in the NICU with breathing assistance.  No decisions have been made at this point, other than to wait.  I will know more by the middle of next week.

I’m disappointed, but her safety is my main concern.  So…..we’ll just sit tight and see what next week holds.  Maybe she’ll be a May flower after all.

****************

If it weren’t so late at night, after so long a day, I’d make myself take a picture of the 2.5 gallon freezer bag that is chock full of used Lovenox syringes, just for the sake of photographic impact.

Just take this image:

 
Times THREE.  This shot was taken at the end of the first trimester.  21 more weeks, times 7 shots a week…..

Yeah.  That’s a lot of poking and prodding, lemme tell you.

But I digress.

Thursday, I had an even more important needle stuck into me.  For an amniocentesis.

And here’s why.

Three weeks ago, at Baby Girl’s growth ultrasound, she was estimated to weigh 3 lbs., 12 oz., which put her solidly in the 15% for growth.  Which isn’t horrible, except that three weeks before that, she’d been in the 49%, and three weeks before that, she was in the 87%.  We – both as parents and with our physicians – became suspicious of IUGR, and began to plan accordingly.

If Baby Girl’s measurements at this Thursday’s ultrasound had confirmed the downward trending, and dipped her below the “official” cutoff percentile for IUGR, the plan was to proceed with a c-section on Monday, April 26.

Plans were made, bags were packed, fights were booked.  Names were even discussed.  Oh, yes, people.  We meant business.

Imagine the surprise, then, when Baby Girl showed off some on-target 5 lb., 12 oz. measurements that landed her cute little toosh firmly back in the 40%.  Which, even taking into consideration that these ultrasounds can be up to a pound off, especially this late in pregnancy, took her well clear of the IUGR label we were anticipating.

So.  Now what?  Delivery on Monday was no longer a given.  In fact, delivery on Monday would birth her shy of even 36 weeks gestation, which gave us all pause.  It’s a no brainer to pull her out if her placenta is deteriorating…..but if it’s not, the decision to rush her birth could jeopardize her lung ability.

Hence the amnio.

The purpose of the test was merely to extract enough amniotic fluid from Baby Girl’s bag of waters to determine if her lungs are yet mature.  Most likely, tested as they were at 35w2d, they will NOT be; however, amnios for this purpose aren’t Pass/Fail.  We will be able to determine a degree of maturity, so, hopefully, her lungs will be close enough to term to validate a delivery in a week – at 36w2d.

Now, there is still the possibility that her lungs ARE ready, and we can deliver on Monday as planned, and honestly, that is the desire of my heart.  I have been having a lot of emotional struggles in the past few days; my blood pressure is up (still great for me, but up from where it’s been), my weight is again down, and I’ve been having multiple daily panic attacks.  I am ready beyond words to have her safely out of the womb and, if needed, under competent hands-on medical care.  So, nothing would make me happier than hearing that her lungs ARE ready, and that she can come out and play on Monday.

Hope for that with me, will you?

I will try to update this post when I get the amnio results from my ob’s office this afternoon.

Let’s shed some light on this

Do you remember the random “things I’m lusting after” post back in February?  I had the Valentines’ Day soundtrack, the Pier One lamps, and the Yankee Candle in my sights?

Well, I’m making progress on turning my “want” into “have.”

The Pier One lamps I was envisioning for the sideboard in our dining room went not just on sale but on clearance.  Whoo-hoo!

 

Don’t they compliment the chandelier shades well?  Honestly, it turned out even better than I’d anticipated.  I love having the warm glow coming from the back of the room in the evening hours; the dining room has become my favorite new place to just sit and think and chat with Jim and blog.

Have you come across any great finds for your home recently that just make a room come alive?

Just call me Mario

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35w update

How far along: 35w.  This is a goal that at times I was not sure I’d make.  Now that it’s FINALLY here, all I can think is – GET HER OUT!  And yes, while I’ll admit that I am uncomfortable, tired of doing Lovenox injections, weary of biweekly appointments, missing my little boy, and ready to be out in the real world, my impatience stems more from my concern for BG’s safety than my own wellbeing.

According to BabyCenter.com, this is all we need to know about a baby’s development at 35 weeks gestation:

Your baby doesn't have much room to maneuver now that he's over 18 inches long and tips the scales at 5 1/4 pounds (pick up a honeydew melon). Because it's so snug in your womb, he isn't likely to be doing somersaults anymore, but the number of times he kicks should remain about the same. His kidneys are fully developed now, and his liver can process some waste products. Most of his basic physical development is now complete — he'll spend the next few weeks putting on weight.

Your uterus — which was entirely tucked away inside your pelvis when you conceived — now reaches up under your rib cage. If you could peek inside your womb, you'd see that there's more baby than amniotic fluid in there now. Your ballooning uterus is crowding your other internal organs, too, which is why you probably have to urinate more often and may be dealing with heartburn and other gastrointestinal distress. If you're not grappling with these annoyances, you're one of the lucky few.

Total weight gain: Um, supposedly, I’m up 9 pounds in 3 weeks.  I’m in denial.  Since the baby isn’t growing too well, I can’t blame her, so, that means….the weight is all mine, and it’s probably from too many things with the word “chocolate sin” in the name.

General disposition:  Out.  I want her out.  Get her out.  It’s time for her to be out.  Please, take her OUT!!!  (Any questions?) 

Sleep:  Random.  When it’s good, it’s fantastic.  When it’s bad, it’s awful.  Very few mediocre night in the past weeks; seems to me that we are in the “all or nothing” stage.

Best moment this week: -- 

Movement:  She is bruising me from the inside.  I’m not even joking.  One of the drawbacks of her IUGR is that she still has plenty of room to maneuver in utero, so she is fully capable of doing somersaults, flips, and karate chops, and fully delights in doing so.  Reassuring, yes; comfortable, no.  

Labor Signs/Body Changes of Note:  I keep trying to find adequate nursing bras, and they are all too small.  I’ve reached to point of giving up until I’m back home from the hospital.  Since stopping two of my medications (per doctors’ orders), I’ve noticed an increase in the number of contractions I’m having; thankfully, the intensity hasn’t increased with the frequency.  There have been a couple other indicators that my body is ready to get this show on the road, but I’ll spare you from the explanation that would require multiple uses of the word “mucus.” 

What I miss : Freedom to be and do.  I want to be able to get together with friends, plan dinner parties, head to the park with my boys….but instead, I’m just still in this season of waiting.  Worth it, for sure, but nonetheless, restrictive.

What I am looking forward to: Meeting our daughter; giving her a name.  Introducing her to her grandparents.  Celebrating the completion of our family of five.  It’s hard to imagine that it will be within days…

Does she have a set birthday:  Unless something is drastically wrong at my growth ultrasound on Thursday, Baby Girl will arrive sometime on Monday.  Don’t worry; I will assign someone to update the blog.

Does she have a name yet: No.  I promise.  We’re not just being secretive.  She has not been named, and most likely won’t be until she is in her daddy’s arms.  Sorry to keep trying all y’alls patience.

Are we ready: Absolutely, unequivocally, overwhelmingly YES!

Eleven months

Well.

For not the first time, I’m glad that my dear friend Stacy has walked this road ahead of me.  She knows right where my heart is at, at this eleven month mark.  Here is where she was, when it was her turn.

I am so very consumed and preoccupied with the upcoming arrival of Baby Girl that it is hard to remember what is was like at this point last spring  -- halfway through my pregnancy with Duncan.

We had just learned that he was indeed a boy, and that knowledge helped me take significant steps toward fully accepting his presence in our family.  I was still uncomfortable with the thought of having two little boys under the age of two running around a home that did not yet feel like home in a town that was far from familiar, but knowing that I was growing a little brother for Seth helped me accept what was coming.

Everyday, my new prayer was that the Lord would give me a genuine love for my second son.  That I would cherish his thumps and kicks and begin to imagine his place in our family of four.

It was a slow process, but in the month between April 17th, when he learned he was a boy, and May 16th, when we learned he’d left us, I grew leaps and bounds in my love for him, and my anticipation of the addition of his life to mine.

My emotions of last April are not all that different from my emotions this April.

Watching the scale dial creep up incrementally.

Feeling wonder and inconvenience simultaneously at the middle-of-the-night dance parties in utero.

Wondering how my heart would ever be able to love two children uniquely, completely.

Yet, here I am.  In the same place, yet not.  Familiar, yet completely and utterly unknown.

I know that this is the last memorial post that I will write as a mother of two.  I know that by the time I need to write his one-year-birthday post, Duncan will be a big brother, and our family will have grown from four to five.

As I mentioned in my birthday post last month, I feel anxious that Duncan’s “place” feels threatened.  He, for the longest time now, has been my baby.  And he’s about to be….not that.  Seth somehow had grown into my “big boy;” our new daughter will slide into her role as “my baby;” and Duncan…well, he would have become my “little boy.”  But instead….he is just missing.

Today, I mourn not for the little 17 ounce child I held to my chest for too-few hours.

Instead, I mourn for the toddler that won’t be wobbling into my delivery room to meet his sister.  I mourn for reality of one “Big Brother” tee shirt, not two.  I mourn for the absence of bunk beds for my two boys.  I mourn for the missing car seat in our new Flex.

It is so hard not to wonder what life would have been like for this past year with Duncan alive and well in our family.  I know that the wondering is futile, and yet….

You are missed, baby boy.  You are thought of, dreamt of, spoken of, and oh so missed.

Happy Birthday!

No, today is not Baby Girl’s birthday.

It’s her daddy’s.

Happy 30th Birthday to my wonderful husband.  You are the best man I know, and I am so fortunate to call you mine.