Crouped Up!

Been a cooped up all week here.  Between some unclearly-defined modified rest program for myself and a sick kid…well the walls have been closing in on us today.  Especially, since it looks to be a most beautiful and pleasantly warm day out there.  Sam’s definitely in recovery mode from his bout of mystery-croupish-hope-it-wasn’t-the-swine-flu type illness.  But it’s taken a lot out of him, as evidenced by the impromptu nap he took on my bed at nine this morning that lasted until almost one.  Now he’s in the ‘nose running sneezing refusing to cover his mouth coughing up a lot of nastiness and doesn’t have the good sense to spit it out’ part of his recovery.

So I had to call him in sick for his friend’s birthday party tomorrow.

I feel so badly that he has to miss this party.  It was to be a ‘Superhero Training Camp’ party, and he had his Spiderman outfit all ready to go.  But it’s just not cool to have a hacking, sneezing, nose-oozing kid ruining the birthday cake and freaking out all the parents.

Instead, I told him we could have a party here.  I promised he could wear his Spidey outfit, and that we would definitely have cake.  Not sure what else that will entail.  Not like I have any superhero costumes for myself stashed away.  I suppose I could conjure something up using my token ‘bee antenna’ headband I wear on Halloween (not sure where the stinger went the past few years) and maybe I could make a cape for Hubby out of a towel.  Dun, dunna, dun!Watch out world, SuperMom and SuperDad are here to save the day!

Maybe I’ll take pictures.

I did get out yesterday for a perinatologist appointment.  Not really the fun and exciting outing that I was thinking of (that has more to do with steak and shopping with unlimited funds).  But I am pleased to say that I only waited about 20 minutes before I got called back.  I was almost angry, because I had just started the most interesting conversation with another women pregnant with twins, and we were really bonding!

I mean, you know, for two people who just randomly met at the doctor’s.

So, the first bit of good news is that I actually gained two pounds in two weeks.  So, even though I’m still in the negative, I’m at least going in the right direction now for the first time this pregnancy.  Woohoo.  (By the way, I’m having this surreal moment as I realize I’m actually celebrating weight gain.  Pregnancy is a whole different ball game for sure.) 

So besides fattening up a bit, I had a good experience with my nurse and getting to hear my jumping beans’ heartbeats with the doppler.    Baby B was a challenge to hear because the placenta is in the front, so we finally got this weird echo-y drum beat of my heartbeat intertwined with baby’s.  It was a good moment.  Really good.  We were making music, the two of us.

Dr. KeepMePg rushed in the door and gave me a big high five for gaining weight.  That was nice, since it evidenced the fact that he remembered (or at least was reminded) that I have been struggling with my weight this pregnancy.  He also seemed to remember that I was having twins this time and commented on ‘two strong babies’ in my belly this time.   It was a shorter visit since I’ve been feeling better, so he certainly had that on his side this time.  We did discuss I will be starting 17P shots next visit to help prevent pre-term labor.   And lastly, I got the coveted H1N1 flu shot!  Yipee!

So all in all, I feel better about Dr. KeepMePg right now.  Hope it stays that way.

*  *  *  *  *

On an entirely different topic, Mel, ruler of Stirrups Queens, has put up the applications for The 2009 Creme de la Creme list.  For those of you unfamiliar with Mel and her site, she is talented writer, and inspirational facilitator of the ALI (adoption, loss, infertility) community.  So Mel devised the Creme de la Creme list is an opportunity for ALI bloggers to submit their own chosen ‘personal best’ post of the year.   If you’re connected to adoption, infertility (even post infertility) or pregnancy/infant loss in some way, please go check out how to particpate in this cool list!

Bittersweet

(Parenthood and pregnancy discussed.)

Night is the scariest time as a parent.

Let me back up.  We’re in H1N1 limbo-land right now.  I’m scheduled to be vaccinated this Thursday, and cannot WAIT to get that needle in my arm and start the rapid, unseen duplication of killer lymphocytes to defeat any H1N1 viruses that dare to come my way.  I don’t mean to be obsessed with this.  It’s just that I have a 3-year-old, and he’s like a sticky fly trap for germs.  And he’s sick again.

This time it hit on Sunday morning.  Sam had been a restless sleeper the night before, which we attributed to the Halloween parade the day before and the consumption of too much candy.  But when he wandered into our room in the morning, red-cheeked and warm, muttering, “I not feel good,” we knew he was sick.  Again.  Rewind two weeks ago for his first fever of the season, which in turn tripped my H1N1 alarm system, which in turn was a false alarm since his fever only last 24 hours. 

The problem with all kids’ illnesses (including the dreaded H1N1), is they all have the same inital presentation:  fever and yuckiness.  Common cold:  fever and yuckiness.  Seasonal influenza:  fever and yuckiness.  Ear infection:  well, you get the point.  Sometimes my son will just run a fever purely for recreational purposes, without any following verifiable illness at all!  So the struggle is, if you’re going to start anti-viral medication for the flu, you need to start it early on before you really get to see the actual illness pan out.  I could really go on forever about this, but it’s to no benefit.  It’s just how it is.   It just means that I bothered our wonderfully understanding pediatrician on Sunday morning with my concerns that, yet again, my son might have H1N1 due to a 103 fever and the fact that he requested to go back to bed at 9AM, and slept for 3 hours!

Long story a little bit shorter:  Sam started Tamiflu.

So most of the day Sunday I tried to keep my distance from Sam’s germs and wash my hands like crazy.  Then I realized that the fight was just futile, just the night before his fever, we shared a cup of ice water and too many kisses to count.   It’s no fun worrying about being pregnant and getting H1N1, but it’s worse not to get to comfort your sick kid. 

I hate when Sam is sick.

We have been so blessed that Sam is a generally healthy child.  Especially blessed since he was born a month early.  And let me tell you, we’ve had our fair share of illnesses:  double ear infections, roseola, croup, influenza, rotovirus, strep throat…but he’s never been hospitalized for anything.  We’ve never even had to take him to the ER but for an unfortunate accident while running with a plastic pipe in his mouth (I won’t go into the gory details of that one).  He doesn’t even tend to run very high fevers like some kiddos.  Maybe 104 with the flu was his highest…might’ve only been in the 103’s though.

I CLEARLY remember the first time Sam ran a fever of significance.  Sam was 4 months old, and we were showing him off at a Christmas party…and he was NOT having it.  He was fussy, and restless, and spit up all over.  And his cheeks were very pink.  And he felt warm. 

Hubby and I took him home and ran right for the blue digital thermometer, incidentally enough, the one that actually had helped in his conception through years of my diligent charting.  Anyway, we watched in complete terror as it climbed to 102.5.

One-oh-two-point-five!

So, we did what any first-time parents would do, we first panicked and second called the nurses line and were calmed to know that, despite his fever, Sam was not showing any signs of needing emergency medical intervention.  But that night, as he slept right next to us, and I listened to every snorty pant he made, I had this terrible, helpless realization: 

They get sick, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

So that began the tally of sleep-deprived nights hushing raspy coughs, and waking him up to make sure he didn’t have a concussion after a header in the brick entry steps, and countless other illnesses and incidents.  All parents have them.  And in the dark, when the safety of the sun is gone, the vastness of the earth catches up with us, and we realize how vulnerable our children are.

Last night, my son started a sharp, barking cough that pained him deeply.   Though he tried to suppress it, the cough spilled unwilling out his mouth as he cried out in pain.  One of the only times I remember being sick as a kid, I became very ill with bronchitis, and I clearly remember that feeling of fire spreading through the branches of my lungs like fire.  I pictured this with every cough of his.  As I brought him back to our room to help calm him down (of course crying makes the coughing worse), he coughed so hard he threw up all over the carpet (though I have to say I’m the slightest bit proud that mid-vomit, I pivoted him toward the trash can beside the bed).

I took one whiff, abandoned my sick son and startled hubby, ran to the basement and got sick in the toilet.   Yeah, pregnancy has left my poor hubby to clean up vomit at least 3 times in the last month:

1.  The first H1N1 scare, where Sam lost it right after a dose of Tylenol.
2. After my son discovered that, although buttercream handsoap may smell like it’s ok to put on your toothbrush, well…it’s not.
3. The second H1N1 scare.

So hubby cleaned up the carpet (the carpet…ugh…it’s always got to be on the carpet, not some random shirt flung on the floor or the sheets on the bed or anything).  I rocked Sam and took his temp once again.  103.8…gulp. 

Did I mention I hate when Sam gets sick?

After some rocking and soothing, I finally got Sam back to sleep, this time with two pillows under his head to prop him up some.  I checked to make sure his lips weren’t bluish, and that he didn’t seem to be getting enough oxygen.  He seemed to be breathing fine, just burning up.

After a brief nap (for Sam not me), Sam was up with that wicked barking cough again.   It dawned on me at that moment that we should be like every other decent parent around and actually have a humidifier in our repertoire of remedies.  Instead, I took my sick little boy into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and sat on the toilet while the steam built up in the room to soothe his lungs.

And while he squirmed on my lap, I thought of the challenge of my two baking beans and how many more nights of crying and coughing and vomiting and steamy bathrooms were to come.  And I felt this odd mixture of worry and calm all at the same time.  Worry that my children are at the mercy of a fallen world.  And calm that all I had at that moment was my sweet son, shivering from the chills, looking at my concerned face and asking,

“Mommy, you not happy?”

“No, Buddy, Mommy’s sad that you’re sick.”

“Mommy’s sad?”

“I want just want you feel better.”

His little eyes, dulled with fever, lit up again.  “But Mommy, I not sick no more.  You happy now?”

What have I done to deserve such a gift as my son? 

“Yes, Sam.  I’m happy now.  You make me the happiest Mommy on earth.

*  *  *  *  *

Sigh.

And that’s the truth of it.

 

 

 

Justin Update (get it?)

Hey everyone!

Thank you sooooooooooooooo much for all the helpful advice that you gave me on figuring out my doctor ‘issues’.  I decided to be ’sly’ and try to casually move my next appointment over to the other doctor to ‘try her out’ before committing.  Well, the receptionist was not having it and said, “The doctors prefer to only see their primary patients.”

Drat.

So, I decided to let Dr. KeepMePG have one last shot at earning my hefty insurance reimbursements before I jump off the deep end and permanently pursue a different doctor.  Oddly enough, I’ve asked for recommendations from a local site I’m on and guess whose name keeps coming up as being WONDERFUL?

No really, guess.

Yup, you’re right:  Dr. KeepMePG himself.

So, depending on next visit, I will either have to get confrontational on that receptionist’s, ahem,’ scheduling book’ or stay with Dr.Wonderful himself.  I guess we shall see.

In other news, I was pleased as punch to learn that my peri’s office got in a batch of H1N1 vaccine for their patients!  Woohoo!  And one of those vials has MY name on it (well not actually but…you know).  So, in the spirit of my own upcoming vaccination, I drove me son to my county’s local health department and got HIM the H1N1 vaccine as well.  He wasn’t a big fan, and required two nice nurses to hold him while they sprayed it up his nose.  I told him it wasn’t a shot.  But I guess he didn’t believe me.  Now I see what we’re in for with every vaccination trip to the doc’s for the next few years. 

Yippee.

I’ve been up and about A LOT more the past few days since I got my good u/s report.  What’s made it easier is that I don’t constantly feel like hurling every couple minutes.  I think the antibiotic I was taking was making me a lot sicker.  Evil little pills, those 500mg Keflex were.  So, in being up and about…I actually got to see two clients yesterday for the first time in 5 weeks. 

Yahoo!

I’m hoping to hang in there with my clients for at least 3 more months before I will either be on bedrest or need to really start taking it easy due to my history of pre-term labor.  But, working for 3 more months (I hope) means:  MONEY!

And boy do we need money, because not only did we learn that we need to replace our windows due to all kinds of bad issues, but we also learned that we have termite damage under at least one of our windows.   Not like, ‘our house is going to fall into the basement’ termite damage.  But really, no termite damage is good, right?

But on a much brighter note, I’m excited to do some Halloweening tomorrow and Saturday with my son.  He has developed a very hearty fear of anyone wearing masks, so not quite sure how things will actually go in the midst of a bunch of kids wearing, well, MASKS.  I’ve tried my best to help prepare my son for the mask-a-ween adventures, but well, I also told this kid he was NOT getting a shot today…and you read where that got me.

Anyway,

Happy Halloween to you all!!!!!

 

Ramblings of a Pregnant Woman

I’m not quite believing that I am, in fact, truly hemtoma-free.  Probably pretty similar to the fact that I didn’t quite believe that I was actually pregnant, either.  Call me a Doubting Thomasina I guess.

So, what to say.  Well, I guess the first thing to say is that my mom has been here working her TAIL off for me the past few days.   She has tried to catch us up on laundry, scrubbed down our bathroom from top to bottom, changed my son’s closet from spring-summer clothes to fall-winter clothes, made cupcakes for my son’s preschool, and spoiled my son so rotten he practically reeks!  She leaves on Tuesday (pause) if  I let her.

My mom and my hubby tried to paint my son’s new room today (he’s moving to the small room to make concessions for the twins – the first, I’m sure, among a multitude of concessions he will be making).  Good news is we got a very handsome  ’seaside blue’ for his walls.  Bad news is that we discovered that our window in that room has been leaking into the interior of the wall and causing very, very bad things to occur.  NOT. GOOD.

So, hubby and I went window shopping today.  I mostly just sat on the rolling chair they scooted me around in while looking at all the windows and had a hard time hearing the salesman but for the very loud “ka-chinging’ in my head at every window feature.

NOT. GOOD.

So, we’re getting at least SOME new windows it seems.   Not really what I wanted to hear seeing as I have been on bedrest missing work for 5 weeks and seeing as we’re expecting TWINS in about 6 months.  Cue panic rising in my body like an uncontrollable convulsion.

Hubby, who is by far the more rational of the two of us, was unphased.  “THIS  is not something to stress about,” he says with a grin.  Yes, I see his point.  We’ve thrashed our way out of the jungle of infertility down into a the cave of possible pregnancy loss…a few new windows is no big deal.  “No big deal,” I tell myself.

I wish money secretly grew in our tomato garden.

Anyway, subject change.  I’m not feeling so fantastic about my perinatologist.  This makes me very sad.  The first time I met him he was plenty nice, in fact he’s always been plenty nice.  And plenty late.  And plenty frazzled.  Like, every time I meet him I have to re-explain my medical history.  Isn’t that why they keep charts?  And seriously, I’ve seen this guy every two weeks since I was 6 weeks pregnant, wouldn’t you think there would be a time where he would start to remember I’M HAVING TWINS??????

Totally true, he’s feeling my uterus at my visit and says, “I feel one good sized baby in there.”  To which I replied, “Well, I hope you feel TWO!”  Dorkus.

OK, so I’m a medical professional (therapist, not a doctor), and I know it’s hard to remember every stinking detail about someone.  THAT is why I invented this neat little thing I like to call ‘taking notes’.  And before I see that client, I actually LOOK at those notes and remind myself of what’s going on with them.  I like to think this makes them feel ‘important’ and maybe like they’re actually ‘getting their money’s worth’.

So here’s the dilemma.  I’m at the top-rated hospital for high-risk pregnancy in my area with the best NICU available.   I’m with the ‘premiere perinatology’ practice there that runs both the perinatal diagnostic center as well as the inpatient pregnant patients.  I don’t want to go back to my old OB, even though I love him.  He’s at a hospital where they don’t even have a NICU.   Assuming these babies will be somewhat early, I want to be in the same hospital as they are. 

Seeing as I don’t really want to change practices, luck would have it that I met a VERY friendly female doctor at my peri’s practice during my u/s this Friday.  She was delightful, funny, warm and honest with me.  Sooooooo, do I call the office and ‘officially’ transfer my care over to her?  Should I instead schedule my next visit with her and THEN decide?  I hate ‘making things awkward’, but I can’t imagine staying with a doctor who can’t remember even the SLIGHTEST detail about my case.  I know I will still be dealing with ol’ Dr. KeepMePg since they work on a rotating schedule in the perinatology center (where I do my ultrasounds) and on-call.  But then, would he really remember me anyway???

Sorry for the aburpt ending here, but…

What would you do?

News Flash…

I’ll make this quick for now:

Had my 13 week u/s today.

Two beautiful heartbeats in the 150s.

Four waving, punching and flapping arms.

And…

No hematoma!!!!!!!!!

(at least that they could see)

Praise God for answering our prayers. 

Will update more soon!

Pre-nap Post

OK, gotta make this post short.  Because I’m tired, and my son is napping right now.  Why am I tired?  Hmmmm…not really quite sure.  Does making my son a lunch of grapes, string cheese and microwave chicken count?  I think part of the tiredness is due to the phenergan that I took last night after getting icky-sicky from dinner.

Yum.

I think it’s also because I actually was out and about some yesterday.  It was very surreal, emerging from my sarcophagus of a house into a brilliantly sunny day.  I actually drove my son to preschool and walked him into his classroom for the first time in a month!  In my head, I could hear the theme music from “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” blaring as I entered the school.

 Duuuuuuuuh, Dummmmmm, Dunnnnnnn,  Dun-nuuuuuuuuuuuh! (cue tymponies pounding)

My son didn’t really seem all the impressed.  He was just excited to get to his classroom and start playing trucks with his friends.  It was a productive walk, I ended up seeing a few friends/acquaintances I hadn’t seen since this whole bedrest debuchle began, and all were ready and willing to help me get my son back and forth to school if I end up back on bedrest again.

After my momentous walk, I had a lunch date with friends.  All of the friends had their kids there, and I cannot state ENOUGH how completely enjoyable it was to be there and NOT have to worry about the lamp that my son was breaking or the ‘light sabre’ fight that occurred with nerf baseball bats and was destined for injury.  It was beeeeeautiful!  And I got some badly-needed maternity clothes leant to me for icing on the cake.

The afternoon wrapped up with me doing that looooooong walk back into to get my son from preschool.  Once again, he didn’t seem that impressed it was ME getting him and not some other helpful friend.  Ah well.  In motherhood, you often have to remind yourself that all the of the sweat and angst and effort goes toward the greater good, despite the lack of thank you’s received.  I think it’s sort of the same with marriage, no?

So, it was a good day yesterday.  At least until the sickness started.  Not sure if the sickness was made worse by the earlier freedoms allowed or what.   Hmmm, I get sick no matter what anyway.  My mom is coming today, and the house is NOT in what is my usual ‘guest preparedness’ form.  But, it’s just the way things are right now:

sort of messy and raw and ill-prepared.

But, get this:  I’m 13 weeks this Thursday, and that is CERTAINLY something to celebrate! 

I, for one, am going to celebrate this week-a-versary with a nice, cozy nap.

Feel free to join me.

Blah.

(I’ve been sick, and I’m going to complain.  Feel free to skip on out, since this is not my best ‘appreciative of pregnancy’ moment right now.)

Been sick here.

Blah.

On Monday, my son came up to snuggle with me, and my ‘maternal thermometer’ detected a fever…confirmed by a ‘real thermometer’:  101.5.  So, instantly my brain goes into “Swine Flu panic mode”.   And it really did not have as much to do with my poor red-cheeked son, but to the fact that I’m pregnant, and I keep hearing these terrible tales of pregnant women DYING from the Swine flu!  So, send my hubby to give my son some Tylenol…and 5 seconds later, my son has thrown up the Tylenol and all his dinner (which, thankfully, only consisted of cucumbers) all over my poor hubby.

Good.  False alarm.  Stomach Flu it is.

A very long story summarized here is that my son only threw up once, and still had fever of 102 during the night.  This earned him a trip to the pediatrician to get swabbed for both Influenza A and H1N1.  He was negative.   Apparently, the H1N1 test has false negatives, so we were still a little worried…that is until my son’s fever broke 24 hours after it began, and he was happily running around the house playing the darned plastic recorder that my mom got for him (oh, there will be payback for that) this summer.  My mother, by the way, has given him EVERY noise-making toy he has ever had:

• Plastic recorder (like the kind you get in the 4th grade).  What does a 3 year-old need with this?
• Plastic horn.  When my son plays this, my dog howls in unison.  Yeah, it’s great.
• Walkie-talkies.  Um….my son is an ONLY child.
• Stuffed Chicken that quacks “The Chicken Dance” song when you press its beak.
• A Winnie the Pooh electronic book that makes the MOST obnoxious noises and has no volume control…or off button.
• An Elmo ‘radio’ that sings when you push its blue musical note.  Even in the toy box, this possessed toy would start rattling off its horrendous electronic ‘music’ in the middle of the night.  Sad to say, it’s been put away.  Far away.

I could go on, but these are just the things that came to mind!

Anyway, I’ve been quite sick with migraines and hyperemesis (a fancy name for ‘all the time morning sickness’).  I think that is why I’m so sensitive to the volume level of my son’s toys.  This kid is loud anyway, he doesn’t NEED any amplifiers!  Anyway, the hyperemesis is being controlled by 8mg of Zofran two times a day and nice sleep-inducing dose of Promethazine at night.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t help me eat.

Eating has become WORK to me lately.

Nothing sounds good.  Nothing.  It’s like taking medicine, just something you have to do so you can check it off the list.  Right now, I’m pretty much surviving on a modified ‘BRAT’ diet of toast, baked or mashed potatoes, bananas, cheerios, mild soups, and saltines.  Blech.

Wednesday evening I started getting a migraine and couldn’t keep down any of my meds to help it.  By Thursday morning, I knew I was in trouble…I couldn’t even keep down sips of water.  So, off to the ER we went.   A very summarized version is this:

• Got a great nurse who gave me a KICKIN’ IV, especially considering I was dehydrated.
• Got meds to stop the puking…these worked great!
• Got meds to help the headache…these didn’t work quite as great, but took the ‘edge off’ I guess.
• Got another u/s of my twin beans (though I didn’t get to see the screen) and saw two healthy babies who were not feeling in the slightest way sorry for making their mommy so very sick.
• Got to come home and still have the remnants of a headache.

So, there we are.  I woke up this AM with the familiar pounding behind my left eye, but luckily the Midrin seems to be holding it at this point.  Now I’m gearing myself up for my next meal:  I’ve had dry cheerios today, two glasses of water, and a stick of string cheese.  Hmmm….what to have for lunch? 

Ummm…any suggestions?

My son will be coming home from his friend’s house soon.  If I’m quick, I might be able to hide all his ‘musical instruments’.  Well, that is until my mom comes next week.  She’ll probably be bringing him a drum set or something.

…and so it goes.

Bad, Good, Better, Best!

Well, I’m on this ‘Subchorionic Hemmorhage’ support group online.

It’s been so good to hear other women’s experience with this.  To know that my fear that I could start gushing blood at any time is actually sort of ‘normal’, all things being considered.  To hear others who are too scared to go web-surfing for cute little baby items or make fun lists of baby names.  But, it’s darn right horrifying to hear some of these women, that you were just talking with the day before, suffer through sad and painful losses.

Horrifying.

I’m so very sorry for them, and never have the right words to say.  I mean, there ARE no right words.   So anyway…I guess that’s how it goes when you’re on a message board with a lot of high-risk pregnancies.   You get the good stories and the not so good stories.  Now I’m trying to decide if my SCH support group is providing me more comfort than fear.  I’m pretty sure ‘comfort’ is still winning.  I mean, I’ve been involved in the ALI community long enough to have read dozens and dozens of very sad stories.  But it never felt so close before I guess.

Wow, I’m starting off sounding really down…and I’m actually feeling pretty good.  Heck, I walked down the basement stairs yesterday.  All 13 of them.  How do I know there’s 13 stairs?  Well, that’s how I taught my son to count.  Bummer is he STILL (two years later) can really only count to 13 effectively.  After that, it’s like..

mmmteen,

umteen,

whatteen,

TWENTY!

Going down was not bad.  Going up.  (Sigh) It’s amazing how many muscles one loses in a mere 3 weeks of bedrest.  But the point I was trying to make (hidden SOMEWHERE in here) is that I’m enjoying a bit more freedom.  And that’s good.  And it’s scary. 

What’s even more good, or I guess proper English would be ‘better’, is that I think I’ve started to feel my little jumping beans.  I wasn’t sure if it was psychosomatic (who moi?) or not, but I swear I’ve felt these subtle little butterfly flaps now and then.  Oh, I’m looking forward to when these babies will be knocking into my ribs, painfully reminding me of their healthy presence!

And the most good, er ‘best’ of all things to report is that I actually got out of the house today to a friend’s house.  Yaaaaay!  One can put their feet up on other’s couches as easily as one’s own.  But the change of couch was MIGHTY nice…and the company.  I’ve been really lonely these past few weeks.  And my friend, who is also pregnant, just happens to have her own Doppler. 

So, you know I HAD to do it, right? 

Like, I was compelled. 

And wouldn’t you know we heard two separate, static-filled thump-thumps RIGHT in the spots where I’ve felt those phantom butterflies?  Not sure what I would’ve done if it we had heard nothing.  Panicked, I guess.

So, resting comfortably at home right now. 

Skipping my SCH support group for the day. 

Pretending, instead, to be having a normal and amazingly mundane pregnancy.

I Can Feel My Brain Cells Dying…

I think I’m going brain numb.

I’ve opened up an ‘add new post’ window to this blog at least four other times this week, only to stare blankly at the space, sigh, and close it down.  I think it’s because blogging takes at least SOME form of mental effort for any type of post and a GOOD deal of mental effort for a decent post.

And I would qualify my mental effort reserve as near empty at this point.

That is because bedrest makes you dumber.   Add that to the increased dumbness that pregnancy brings…and I’m in nit-wit category right now.  I can’t seem to concentrate on anything for any length of time, I can’t think of words when I want to say them, and I can’t seem to muster up the energy to be clever in a blog.

So, I guess you get ‘dumbed down Eve’ today.  Sorry.  Pretend I’m saying all sorts of hilarious and witty things in here.

I do have an agenda though:

First off, I want to thank all who have left me such sweet and caring comments.  They really do mean so much to me.  And I so appreciate those who have shared with me your personal experience.  It’s so nice to hear others’ stories who have been in this very uncertain place and know I’m not alone!

Secondly, I had a good appointment with my peri on Tuesday!  We did have to wait an hour again to get in (grrrrrrr), but I was paid back by the fact I got yet another sneak-peek at my little twin beans.  They still looked great!  Dr. KeepMePg said that their hearts were beating strong and they had healthy looking placentas.  He seemed to feel that our chances for the hematoma resolving without causing complications had improved substantially in two weeks.  He originally told us things were 50/50, but NOW said it’s more like 90% good with a 10% chance of loss.

So, gotta love those new odds.

Last bit of stuff to tell is that I took some of your advice and started a ‘totally public’ blog to update the pregnancy.  It’s really not that fun to write in it, since it feels much more like a ‘dear diary’ type thing.  But it’s a great way to keep people plugged into what’s going on without 10o phone calls after each appointment. 

Hmm…besides that I’m doing pretty well, oh yeah, Dr. KeepMePg said I could be up and about a little more, as long as I had no new red bleeding.  So that’s been nice just to stretch my legs and sometimes put random out of place items (for example, my fuzzy slippers that my son was wearing on his hands in the kitchen) in their rightful home.  I’m fighting pretty severe morning sickness right now though.  I’m taking Zofran, that nectar of the gods, to manage it.  Thank goodness.  So I’m not doing a lot of upchucking.  But I still constantly feel nauseous, weak, and have a terrible aversion to eating most anything.

I’m sure that’s adding to my brain dumbness.

On a VERY good note, my mom is coming to visit in a week and half!

HALLELUJAH!

She said she is visiting for a good old ‘work week’ to get our house back around, help me with errands I’ve been putting off, and even to paint my son’s room!  I’m not sure I’ll let her go back home after just a week.  Darn her ’semi-retired’ work schedule!

OK, I really should stop rambling on.

I think it’s time for a nap…

if you haven’t already fallen asleep.

The Business of Bedrest

Bedrest complaints, pregnancy updates, and talk of loss worries ahead…

Sorry no updates all week.  I mean, I had the time and all.  It’s just, how many ‘this stinks being on bedrest with a high risk pregnancy’ posts can one write…or READ?  So, I figured I’d wait awhile and let stuff to talk about, well, accumulate.

It accumulates rather slowly on bedrest, as you can imagine.

Biggest news is that I had another ultrasound.  I wasn’t supposed to have one  until this Monday, but I started having more reddish rather than brownish (sorry tmi) spotting again, along with this nagging pain in my lower abdomen.   Had I not had any of this bleeding/spotting stuff, I would’ve dismissed the pain as normal tugs, pinches and pulls of pregnancy.  But nothing about this pregnancy is normal, so instead I got an ultrasound.

I’ll post the good news numerically, as there were several good points:

1. They had wheelchairs readily available at the hospital’s front door.
2. We only waited maybe 15-20 minutes this time instead of the TWO HOURS last time.
3. They decided I was far enough along to do an external u/s and didn’t require any bladder filling torture either.
4. We saw two beautiful beating hearts still!  Baby A was 170ish and Baby B was 180ish.
5. Both babies are measuring well:  Baby A was 9weeks5days, Baby B was 10weeks1day (my actual count).
6. The bleed was still there but didn’t look any bigger.
7. Doc felt it had a good chance of healing!!!!!

So, I had a couple of refreshing breaths after my visit than I’ve had in the past two weeks.  Trying my best to feel hopeful.  We even showed my son this book that shows real pictures of babies at different points in their development during pregnancy, to help him understand.  Now he pats my belly and tells me the babies ’still need some cooking’.

OK, so I’ve caught you up with my status.  That (status catching up) is a major part of a bedrest pregnancy.  You’ve got to call everyone and let them know what’s up.  Of course, it’s because they’re concerned…but it does get to be draining, especially if the what’s up is not so great.  A few times, early in this crisis I just told my hubby I didn’t want to talk to anyone for a while.  It was just easier.  And constantly talking about the discharge of my hoo-ha (though at least somewhat easier in writing) is downright embarrassing.  And I don’t embarrass easily, as you may have guessed.

What has been harder than the standard ’status updates’ is the fact I needed to contact all my clients and let them know at least some of what was going on.  I’m a therapist, and see mostly kids and teens, and it’s just not fair to them to keep them hanging.  So, I’ve gone about the tough task of telling my very private business to my client’s parents.  I mean, I could have been really vague and said “I’m going to be out for medical reasons for an indefinite amount of time” or something like that.  But, I guess I’m just living by what I’ve done on here the past 10 months….being out and honest just seems the best fit for me.  If people know it’s a life or death issue (for the beans) vs. I’ve just had liposuction or hernia surgery or something, I know they’ll be more understanding.  And it’s not like I can hide being pregnant once I get back.  I’m HUGE!

So, I guess the risk is possibly dealing with a very difficult loss in a very public way.  But I don’t think there’s any alternative.  I mean, do I hide my belly for the length of the pregnancy?  I figure, the hidden silver lining is that, should something happen, I won’t have to pretend with anyone.   Seems to me a private loss might actually be harder.

So, the last bit of bedrest business is continuing to arrange how I logistically go about things every day.  Do I risk taking my son to school, or inconvenience someone else to do it?  Do I have my hubby continue to pack soggy PB&J sandwhiches for me in the cooler, or get up and actually microwave something more edible for myself during the week?  Do I bug my hubby to sweep the floors (for the fifth time) or suck it up and ignore the dust bunnies?

I’ve some planning to do.

And take it from me, it’s IMPOSSIBLE to ignore dust bunnies.

Believe me, I’ve tried.

What Manicotti Brings

Preface:  Almost 10 weeks pregnant with twins, diagnosed with subchorionic hematoma last week, on bedrest until further notice, doc gave the pregnancy a 50/50 shot.

First of all, forgive me if I sound ungrateful for this pregnancy.  I’m not.  I’m so happy to be pregnant.  I am NOT happy, however, to be pregnant with complications.  I’ll take it, as it seems it’s the only way I ‘do’ pregnancy.  But, I’ll readily admit to being jealous of ‘normal pregnant’ women.  You know, the ones who float through their pregnancy, blissfully unaware of miscarriage rates or bedrest restrictions, who waddle through BabiesRUs, picking out the ‘perfect’ baby gift registry, and who labor for 8  hours…total…for all three kids.

Anyway, I’ve had a dark few days.  I think it was always looming there, just underneath the surface, maybe even BEFORE the ‘big bleed’ (as I now call it).  But it sprung out of me, quite unexpectedly, upon the delivery of all things:  manicotti.  My friend dropped it off on Sunday afternoon, while my hubby and son were at the park.  She sat down casually to see how I was doing.  So, I smiled and told her that I was “hanging in there, and although it was hard, I was doing pretty well…all things considered.”

Well, that is what I planned to say.

Instead, my face contorted into ‘ugly Eve crying face’, and I said that this whole thing was terrible.  That I missed my son when he was gone, I felt helpless as a mother, I felt like I was failing as a mother to my twins, that I just KNEW that I was going to lose these babies, that we couldn’t afford for me to not work this early in the pregnancy, and that I was terrified that I would start gushing blood again at any moment.

All this information was sewn together through gasping sobs, lots of apologies, sniffling, requests for a napkin because we’re out of kleenex, and continued apologies that I look like a complete and total idiot.

And she thought she was just delivering manicotti.

Some people are ‘pretty criers’…they daintily dab the corners of their eyes and go about their day, no one ever knowing about their secret  tearful episode.  I, on the other hand, am an ‘ugly crier’.  Not only does my face contort into odd formations during the actual crying, but it becomes splotchy and bright red.  My eyes turn into swollen radishes.  And it STAYS THAT WAY…FOR HOURS.

So, when my hubby got home on Sunday, it was obvious I’d been crying.  He takes a second look at me and casually asks, “What’s wrong?”.

Oh, I don’t know.

So the darkness continued on Monday.  I was so blessed to have several phone conversations with friends, and each one of them ended up with me sniveling away about all my fears.   It was as if I no longer had any control over ‘public’ Eve, you know the one who wants to seem put together and at least semi-sane.  Instead, I was turned inside-out, and every private worry and thought spilled from my lips like a series of confessions.  And it was humbling and pride-swallowing.  And it felt good.

My hubby came home and saw my radish eyes again, not asking what was going on this time.  As we watched “Wheel of Fortune” with my son (he LOVES the letters), I asked my hubby:

ME:  Are you stressed out?

HIM:  (leaves the room to fetch something for my son)

ME:  (he returns) Did you hear me?

HIM:  Yeah.

ME:  Well?

HIM:  Yeah, I’m stressed out.

ME:   (hoping for a shared cathartic conversation)  What makes you the most stressed about all this?

HIM:  Talking about it.

There you are.  A picture of a man and a woman under stress.  Thanks be to God (oh so very much) for the friends that will listen to my driveling and blubbering and carrying on, so that I can retain some sense of ‘emotional’ control once again in my life.  And thanks be to my hubby who is doing his best to work full-time, manage my son, the household, and his own worries the best way he knows how:  by just DOING it.

*   *   *   *   *

After all that crying yesterday, I gave myself a wicked migraine.  Wicked migraines mean I’m left to lay there in silence, ice pack on my head, in the dark, in too much pain to sleep, usually contemplating how best to describe how badly my head hurts.  But last night I took the opportunity for very specific prayer request to God:

Give me peace.

Give me hope.

Give me my joy back about this pregnancy.

When I woke up this morning, headache gone, I felt it right away:  the return of peace.  Maybe the dark-side is looming underneath again, bubbling and popping in wait.  But for today, God has blessed me with a sense that He is with me no matter what.

What a gift.

Stuck in Neutral

Hi everyone.

Thanks so much for the well-wishes, support and prayers you have given me.  I appreciate it sooooooo much!

Status update:

• 9 weeks pregnant
• 5 days past big bleed
• no new red bleeding
• still stuck on bedrest
• bored out of my gourd

As those of you who’ve read me know, I have a 3-year-old son, Sam.  And having a 3 year-old and bedrest do not mix well.  Luckily, I have had several wonderful friends who’ve helped me out these past few days and ‘adopted’ him for the day.  My hubby leaves for work at the bright and early hour of 6:30AM, so Sam and I have ‘hung out’ each morning before he gets picked up at 9AM.  

Sam’s been such a good boy.  He retrieves things for me, runs dishes back to the kitchen, and tries his best to be independent.  He snuggles up to me for ‘cuddle time’ and peppers me with kisses and lots of  “I wuv you, Mommy” sentiments.   Of course, it hasn’t been easy, especially when he doesn’t want the breakfast my hubby has fixed for  him, or wants me to come sit on the floor with him and do puzzles.  But we’re managing I guess. 

I’ve worked part-time since Sam was 8 weeks old, so he’s used to being at sitters, and I’m used to him being at sitters…well at least part-time.  Yesterday though, as I sat feeling useless in bed, watching stupid daytime television, I just really, really missed my Sam.  I became overwhelmingly sad that I was stinking, once again, at pregnancy.  I started to feel terrified of all the ‘not so good’ outcomes this pregnancy may bring.  I let my foot dangle in the pool of hopelessness for a good 10 minutes, and found it sucking me in completely.

It’s hard not knowing what to expect.  My doctor told me one solid week of bedrest and then to ‘gradually start resuming activity’, which is as abstract to me as a Jackson Pollock painting.  I’m off work until Thursday, but I don’t know, should I go back?  How do I gradually resume activity with a 3 year old?  And what if I end up on bed rest the remainder of this pregnancy?

What if I can’t work anymore?

What if I end up in the hospital?

What if, what if, what if??????

I called and priced out daycare options for Sam.  Holy cowsers, now I know why I don’t work full-time.  I would much rather hire someone to come in to the home to help me out and watch Sam.  Not sure how we’ll afford that without me working though.  Wishing sooooo badly we had family in the area these days.  Or, like Mary Poppins was free or something.

Anyway, hubby and Sam are at the driver’s licence bureau renewing my license plates right now.  I have a list of things I’d like for hubby to do when he gets home.  That is yet another cruddy thing about bedrest:  feeling helpless to do things for myself, and yet feeling horrible to ask hubby to do them, since I know hubby is exhausted.

Sorry that this has turned into a rather depressing post.  I don’t mean it to be.  I guess it’s just where my brain is right now:  stuck in neutral with the engine revving…

making lots of noise and yet going nowhere.

A Scary Story

Threatened miscarriage mentioned, graphic and not for the faint of heart.

Hi all.

It has been a VERY disconcerting couple of days here, and I wasn’t sure what post I might be typing.  Things started out fine on my little trip up to see my fam and Johnny Appleseed.  I decided to take it REALLY easy on the trip and even broke up the 5 1/2 trip by spending the night with my brother-in-law in Indianapolis.  Saturday I met up with my mom and step-dad, had lunch, and headed off to the festival just to get the ‘feel’ of it.  We figured we’d go back early on Sunday and beat most of the crowds.

It was more walking and more hilly than I recalled it being (because northern Indiana is flat like a pancake usually), but I still took it easy and walked at my own pace.  We left the festival after a taunting taste of an apple dumpling, caramel corn, and fresh apple cider for those not preggo (um, everybody else).  We met up with my step-sister, hubby and her newly adopted son for dinner, and then took my hubby’s aunt (who’s in a nursing home) out for dessert.

It was about that time that I felt the unmistakable clench of my uterus tightening up.  OK, I thought, I’ve pushed a little too much today, but hadn’t physically exerted myself by any means.  Went into the bathroom and was horrified to see a quarter-sized circle of pink-reddish blood.

Must lay down.

Must drink water.

Must go to the hotel.

Must remain calm.

I tried to give my hubby this “let’s get the heck out of here” look, which he didn’t get.  So instead I just reasoned with myself that I just needed to rest.  Finally got back to the hotel and immediately climbed in bed, laid on my side, and drank lots of water.   I had no choice but to tell my mom and step-dad what was going on, since we were sharing a room with them.  One by one, everyone fell asleep but me.  I just listened to the harmonic rhythm of my family’s breathing and played physical inventory with the tightness of my uterus. 

And went to the bathroom every half hour to check for more bleeding.

Sunday we decided to skip out of town early after a breakfast with several aunts and uncles.  Of course, we announced our pregnancy to them…I debated, but then I figure my mom would be the one to call them if anything happened.  On the trip home, we continued to take it easy and even stopped for a rest again at my brother-in-law’s house.  I was feeling pretty good.  Slightly nervous over the pink-red dot and scanty brown, but good.

And then I felt that dang uterine tightening again.  Balled up like a fist.  I had enough pre-term labor with my son to know the familiar irritable uterus clench.  Had hubby stop at a fast-food restaurant and went to the bathroom to find a much larger pink-red stain on my liner.

Aw come on.

Now I’m freaking.  And seriously ticked at myself that I hadn’t even programmed in my new perinaotlogist’s  number into my cell-phone.  Luckily, I remember they had called me not long ago, so I still had that number saved in memory.  Frantically called and left a message for the doc on call.  Only 30 minutes from home, and I’m just wishing that we would’ve NEVER gone out of town in the first place.

Finally doc calls and says it sounds like I over-exerted myself and I just needed to go home and put my feet up.  No need to rush to the ER for a little spotting.

Get home and go straight to bed.  Sleep crappily and look forward to talking with my doc’s office in the morning.   No new spotting.  FINALLY talk to a nurse at exactly 9 o’clock sharp and she says it would be better for me to wait until my scheduled u/s and doctor’s appointment on Tuesday, so I didn’t have too wait long.

So, I ‘m talking with my sister.  Son at school.  Felt a wet gush.  Casually go to the bathroom and see watery bright red blood soaking through the liner.  Feel another gush and get off the phone, totally feaking my poor sister out, by the way.  Sit on the toilet in complete and total astonishment. 

Listen to the drips.

This can’t be good.

Dig into the back of my bathroom cabinet for the heavy-flow pads.  Put it on only to soak it a good portion of it.  I only live 7 minutes from my local ER, so I decided just to drive myself there.  Call my hubby and tell him I bleeding full-out and to meet me at the hospital.

This is what I now remember from my experience of pre-term labor with my son, because it happened again yesterday:

Terror is quiet.

In the movies terror is full of pulsating cellos leading up to screeching violins, screaming, yelling, slamming doors, and heart thumping drums.  But real terror is like being in an invisible bubble.  You can see things going on around you.  You can hear the sounds of people talking and everyday life, but it all seems far away.

Terror is solitary.

Get to my own room in the ER and have to fake pleasantry conversations  with the intake person and nurse.  They were trying to be nice and say ‘hopeful’ things to me.  I didn’t fault them for this.  It’s just their normal.  Every day, maybe a little less often, some poor woman comes in pregnant, bleeding and terrified.  Sometimes it works out well, sometimes not.

Talked to the ER doctor who says we need to ‘hold judgement’ until we see what’s going on with the ultrasound.  Quickly after my hubby arrived.   We just sort of stared at one another.  I mean, what do you say?  The nurse comes in and says I have to have a foley catheter since they’re going to do an external ultrasound.  I tried to argue that an internal ultrasound would be a better option, but to no avail.

Catheters hurt.

Get wheeled down to the ultrasound room and watched the ceiling as it flew by, thinking, “This is where I found out my babies are gone.”  The ultrasound tech was plenty nice, though still a sadist, since she plugged a bag of saline up to my catheter and proceeded to fill my bladder to the point of intense pain.  As she hunted around for my babies, I had to close my eyes and make little  ’labor pants’ to cope with the pain in my bladder.  I did watch some of what she was doing, but couldn’t speak to ask questions.

When she was done and draining out my bladder again I asked her what she saw.  She said she saw one healthy baby measuring right on track with a heartbeat of 181bpm.  And she saw another baby measuring smaller with a heartbeat of only 88bpm.

I’m losing a bean.

Please God, let at least one bean stay.

Long story longer, they released me without really telling much of anything.  I went home, still bleeding and sadly started to make the calls to worried friends and family.   I would do fine, and then it would hit me all at once that everything we’d hoped for with this pregnancy was being ripped out from under us.

Tuesday morning I had an ultrasound scheduled at the Perinatology Center at a much larger hospital which specializes with high risk pregnancies.  Hubby and I held hands and prayed before we went in.  After a two hour wait (grrrrrrr), I finally got back to an ultrasound tech who was joined by one of the perinatologist’s from my practice.

Internal ultrasound this time (duh, ER idiots) and saw one baby right away.  The doc says, “Well  here is your problem child I think…wait, I see a good heartbeat on this baby.”  In the 180’s.  So then they searched for baby B and low and behold, saw another good heartbeat.  In the 160’s…but nowhere NEAR 88bpm!  Baby B was measuring somewhat smaller, but no too small that the doctor seemed concerned.

They new tech told me she thinks the ER tech accidentally measured MY heart rate on Baby B!

So, then the doctor points to a black area on the screen and tells me that this is the issue.  I have a subchorionic hematoma (or blood clot, that pulled away from the placenta and the uterine wall), and that is the cause of my bleeding.   The clot can resolve on its own, or it can become worse and cause a miscarriage. 

But all I could think of was the fact that both of my little beans where still alive!

Another long wait at the peri’s office (I guess I’m in for it…totally stinks), and talk to him about the issue.  Basically this:

They don’t know what causes these things to happen.  It’s not anything I did or didn’t do.  There’s no treatment for it besides rest, rest, rest.  And there’s about a 50% chance it will heal, and things will be great…and a 50% chance that it will cause more problems and result in a miscarriage.

So, for now I’m on full bedrest for a week.  Except bathroom breaks.  I’ll go into the logistics of bedrest with a 3 year old another time.  I’ve talked too long on here already.  But that’s where I stand right now.

Pregnant with my beans for today.

No new red spotting.

Nothing to do but pray for the best through all this.

Secretly terrified for the worst.

Johnny Appleseed, Here We Come!

I’m going out of town this weekend.  It will most likely be the only time I will travel the entire pregnancy.  I haven’t gotten the full negatory explanation from Dr. KeepMePg yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to echo the sentiments of my OB, who basically said, “No traveling after 12 weeks.”

That wouldn’t be a real issue if it weren’t for the fact that none of our family lives near here.   Since we went to Florida this summer, my son has been repeatedly asking to go back on a plane to Florida to see all our family, the beach, and (of course) Mickey Mouse.   Living away from family has it’s plus sides, mostly it cuts out the drama (as much as drama can be cut in families anyway).  But living away from family while raising a family is a challenge.  We don’t have safety net.  No emergency babysitter when my son is sick and we both have important things going on at work.  No “fun weekend trip to Grandma’s” so Mommy and Daddy can have some, ahem, alone time.  No rescue visits when the baby hasn’t slept for two days straight and we’ve starting hallucinating from lack of sleep.

Thinking about having twin newborns practically makes me want to pound a ‘For Sale’ sign in my yard and high-tail it down to the sunny state.  But, you know, we have our jobs and stuff.  Oh, and probably the most awesome group of friends ever…who have become our family since we’ve lived here.

But I’m still excited to go out of town this weekend.  I get to see my mom.  We’re meeting my mom and step-dad up in Indiana, which is a long and most likely uninteresting to you-all story.  The important part is that we get to see her.  And my son is SUPER excited.   We’re going back to our home-town and happen to be there at the same time as probably the most AWESOME festival ever created:

THE JOHNNY APPLESEED FESTIVAL!!!!

Apparently, my home-town is one of many who claims to have dear ol’ Johnny’s grave.  You know who Johnny Appleseed is, right?  Guy who wandered around planting apple trees all over the land.  Somehow I pictured him shoeless, wearing a frying pan for a hat, not sure where that part came  from.

Anyhoo…

I can’t find a festival even CLOSE to the awesomeness that is Johnny Appleseed.  Everything from the festival is period-appropriate to the early 1800’s.  It covers several acres of a local park and campground.  It has 200 booths of crafters and craftsmen (think homespun yarn, hand-wrought iron, and hand-tied brooms), an enormous kids area with games and activities, a civil war reenactment camp, wandering period settlers and other ‘characters’ to chat with, an entire antiques area, and fresh farmer’s market.  But who really cares about all that?

The star of the festival is the HOMEMADE food.  All of it has to be made the way it was in the 1800’s.  So no obnoxiously colored elephant-ear booths or deep-fried Snicker bars here.  No,  instead prepared yourself for pan-fried ‘Indian Bread’ (the most delicious apple/batter fried thing you’ve ever tasted), or caramel corn popped and metled in enormous cast iron kettles, or turkey legs roasted over an open pit, or fresh chicken ‘n dumplings, homemade potato soup, fire-roasted corn, or sticky caramel apples!

My mouth is watering as I type this.

OK, so I just might be as equally excited about this festival as I am about seeing my fam.  Can you blame me?  I mean, really?

So, if I’ve inspired you.  Plan a last-minute trip up to good ol’ Ft. Wayne, IN to take part in the best festival for states around.  I promise, you will NOT be disappointed!

Check out the LINK  if you’re interested!  I promise, I received no royalties from the Ft. Wayne visitor’s bureau for the material included in this post!

Sinking In

(Pregnancy and twin talk ahead…)

While sitting in church this past weekend, and trying to concentrate on the service, a clear thought came into my head:

We only have 4 kitchen/dining chairs.

Why would we need more than that?  When we purchased the small, hand-made oak table and Amish-made chairs after we got our house many years ago, we decided 4 was all we needed.  I mean, of course  we would have occasional guests that would necessitate more than 4 chairs, but that’s what folding chairs are made for, right?  And ’someday’, when we saved up enough money, we would buy a bigger house with an actual formal dining room, and THEN we could splurge for the 6-8 chair set-up.

So, we’re one chair short.

I know, I know.  It’s not like these babies are going to hop right out of my belly and a day later be sitting up at the table fork and knife in hand ready to chomp on steak or anything.  But, I think the symbolism of the 4-chair set-up really speaks to the fact that never in my wildest dreams did I see myself having three children.

Don’t get me wrong!  I’ve loved these little babies since we saw their beautiful cell-symmetry the day of transfer.  My hubby already called them our ‘babies’, which I thought was the cutest thing ever.  It just really never dawned on me that BOTH would take.  I guess I was just so sure that NONE would take, my brain couldn’t really take hold of 100% success.  Not to mention the fact that my RE was 85% sure on u/s #1 that we just had one baby in here.

So, now we’re rewriting the story of our family.  And it’s good, it’s really good.  It’s just totally different from anything that I ever pictured for myself.  Like going to Hawaii when I thought we were going to the Alps or something.  It’s going to be an amazing trip, it’s just I packed all the wrong clothes!

Speaking of clothes, I’m quickly realizing that I’m going to be UBER-huge by the end of this pregnancy.  I’m in full-out maternity pants at this point…which is CRAZY to me since I’m not even 8 weeks until this Thursday.   I went to Motherhood Maternity today to get myself one pair of maternity jeans (I have to go where they offer petites ’cause I’m a shorty).  The lady put one of those ‘baby belly pillow’ things in the room, but upon finding out I was having twins, she offered to go get another one so I could double up.   I declined, because really, I’m not ready to see that yet.

So, I’m not sure what my point is here.   I’m finding myself having these two opposing, internal forces.   Half of me is excited about this new adventure like a giddy school-girl.  I want to look at twin everything:  twin strollers, twin bassinetts, twin layettes, twin nursing pillows, you name it.  The other half of me stays guarded.  That half still doesn’t ‘buy’ that all is going to turn out well.  I’m nervous about losing one of the twins, about pre-term labor, about losing the pregnancy altogether.

But, I think (for today at least),  the giddy school-girl is winning.  I like, no LOVE being excited about this pregnancy.  And despite the fact that I am more tired than I can ever remember being (at least with adequate rest) and I have repeated ‘vom-burps’, and am starting to smell urine everywhere, I feel so lucky.

I wish so much for all who visit here to have this luck or blessing or whatever you want to call it, too. 

It is my ongoing prayer that all who want to be mothers will be so, and that you will find yourselves rewriting the stories of your families many times over and in the most wonderful ways!

Dumbfounded.

Awestruck.

Shocked.

Surprised.

Speechless (almost).

Excited.

Scared.

Ecstatic.

Frightened.

Dazed.

And amazed.

WE’RE

HAVING

TWINS.

We most unexpectedly saw two beautiful babies (that pic quality stinks, sorry) and with two strong beating hearts on ultrasound today.  Once we picked our jaws up off the floor, we managed to leave the clinic hugging almost every employee present.

It is going to be a rough road.

But what a journey we’re about to launch.

Please come along!

The Cart Before the Horse

(pregnancy update, chatter, random mommy talk ahead)

Hey all!

This week (at least the back end of it) has sort of come up to bite my in the a-hem.  I can’t believe it’s Thursday already!  But more importantly, I can’t believe that FRIDAY is tomorrow, when I get my second u/s to see how this little bean is doing in here.

I want to continue to thank you all for your supportive comments over my total-freak-out-fear-fest that was this last week.  I’ve been better this week.  I know some of it has to do with the onset of morning sickness and random ligament stretching that tells things seem to be ‘doing what they do’.  But more importantly, it’s me just CHOOSING to embrace this pregnancy for every day that I’m blessed with it.

How refreshing.

So, in the spirit of that embrace, I had my first perinatologist appointment today.  It was supposed to be next week after I got the ‘looking good’ u/s, but they had a cancellation, so there I found myself.  I arrived early, since I’ve never been to this particular hospital before, so I could figure out how the heck to find my way around.  That part was easy.

I took my son with me, since he’s pretty much a veteran to all these appointments anyway.  Plus, I figure, it’s an OB office…they’ll have toys and stuff right?

Wrong.

I DID bring him some things, I mean I’m not a totally inept parent.  But one little draw/sketchy thing, a pack of flash cards, and a few random snacks does not hold a 3 year old’s attention span for THREE HOURS!!!!!!

Yes, I said 3 hours!

Apparently there were some medical emergencies warranting my doc’s attention.  Gotta love a high-risk OB practice!  So, luckily the staff was as nice as could be while my son went through alternating phases of following my directions, NOT following my directions, serving time-outs, and so on.

Finally I got to meet Dr. KeepMePregnant (that’s his name until I figure out something more creative).  He was a super nice guy (and I’m pretty picky about ‘nice’ doctors since my experience with Dr. Nice himself).  He even gave my son a stethoscope to bang on while we talked.

So the run down is this:  I’m definitely at-risk for hyperemisis (severe morning sickness) and pre-term labor again, but he’s wants to be very proactive about each issue.  So I left the office with three (COUNT THEM…THREE) prescriptions to manage my nausea and vomiting since he doesn’t want me to have any of the weight loss that I experienced with my first pregnancy.  Then he discussed that I will start having progesterone injections (called 17P shots) starting at 16 weeks pregnant to help manage my pre-term labor.  He said he may be aggressive with limiting my activity (and we both sort of chuckled at this, because as he was saying this, I was wrestling the stethoscope out of my son’s hands since he found it necessary to swing it around like a sling-shot) at even the slightest sign of cervical change or uterine cramping.  He also suggested I stay at a high-risk doctor my whole pregnancy versus consulting with the peri and then going back to my regular OB.

I left feeling sooooo good that I had a doctor who was going to ’stress’ about all my complications for me!  If it were not for the fact that my nerves were SHOT from dealing with my silly son for the better part of 4 hours, I might have even felt relaxed.

So, I go back in two weeks for another ‘well check’.

Now if I could only get some sleep today before my u/s tomorrow.  Hmmm, maybe I could have my son whack me over the head with that stethoscope?

Dang, we gave it back.

The Root of Fear

I cannot say how much I appreciate all the comments I’ve received over my last few posts letting me know how many of you struggled with fear during your pregnancies as well.   Even if we IFers aren’t ‘normal’, at least I can say that I’m normal in an ‘infertility-induced-abnormal’ sort of way.   I especially wanted to mention, Nishkanu, and her post link she gave me that holds within it yet ANOTHER helpful post.  Reading those posts was like salve to my soul.  When she wrote…

“From my experience with miscarriage I can say that I never regretted the time I was happy and I thought the pregnancy would work.  If anything, I wished that time had lasted longer.  So I don’t think you need to feel that if you are enjoying your pregnancy now that you will regret it later if something goes wrong.”

…it spoke to me enjoy each day I’m pregnant for the day that it is.  That, even if something SHOULD go wrong,  at least I can say that I honored my baby for each day I had that baby with me.  I highly recommend you ALL take a look and bookmark it for future reference.  I know if have!

I’ve been self-assessing (oh geesh, it’s a women’s plight, is it not?) why I seem to be having a fear reaction similar to those who have actually had a pregnancy loss, when in fact I have not.  Now one can argue that infertility itself is a ‘loss of expecting that things will go as planned’.  However, my first pregnancy after infertility was not fraught with this intense and almost paralyzing fear that I seem to be fighting against.   But I know where this fear comes from.

I have not talked a lot about my first pregnancy on my blog, mostly because this has (up until now) been an infertility blog.  Complaining about a past pregnancy (even if it quite suckethed) always seemed to me to sort of like complaining about all the hard work and long hours you have to do at your wonderful, new, high-paying job to someone who is unemployed and living in their car.  In fact, there’s a part of me that feels like a HUGE jerk even going through this self-indulgent anxiety journey I’m on now that I’m pregnant when so many of my wonderful friends on here don’t even get to have that chance.

But I guess I find myself here nonetheless.

My pregnancy started out rough.  Severe morning sickness hit at 7 weeks and had me getting up every morning, hurriedly pulling back my hair and trying to put my contacts in before the ‘pre-breakfast throw-up’ and had me traveling with a plastic bag to catch the ‘on my way to and home from work’ traveling throw-up.  I lost about 15 pounds the first few weeks, and I was average weight to start.  At 8 weeks I began to get pregnancy-induced migraines, twice of which led me to the ER.  At 10 weeks, while on my way to meet my hubby for a romantic weekend in the city, I felt the familiar ‘knife in the back’ pain of a kidney stone.  Long story short, the kidney stone got stuck and left me hospitalized for a week.

But all the while I was still hanging in there.  Of course, I did the normal post-infertility “we’re waiting to tell anyone until we’re 12 weeks” thing, and I didn’t buy a STITCH of baby anything until my second trimester.  But I also didn’t feel this sense that I was about to fall off a cliff at any given time either.

Well, that was until I was 24 weeks pregnant.  I had been noticing for some time that I was getting a lot of what I called ‘Braxton Hicks’ contractions.  I had even asked my doctor about them, who said they sounded normal.  But the evening after a loooooong garage-saling adventure, my hubby rudely remarked (as we walked into Bob Evan’s) that I walked more like someone 9 months pregnant, not barely 6 months.  ”It’s these darn Braxton Hicks,” I told him.  But when we got home, I started to get a little worried.  I snuck to get my March of Dimes literature (they give you all this stuff at your first OB appointment) and read the warning signs of pre-term labor.  It said you should call your OB if you have more than 6 contractions in an hour.  And then I laid down on the couch to see how many contractions I was actually having.

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

Five…

Six…uh-oh.

And it had only been about 15 minutes.  Let me do some summarizing here.  Went to L & D on OB’s advice and found I was contracting about every 2 minutes and was dilated a fingertip.  Spent a night in the hospital getting all medicated up with Brethine shots and lots of IV fluids and was sent home on Procardia.  Dr. OB was optimistic I just needed to rest up and bit and make sure to hydrate myself. 

Hubby and I handled it well.  Just Eve and her wacky body doing wacky things again.  No real worries.

A few hours home, though, and it was clear that I was still contracting like mad.  Back to L&D and this time admitted more long-term.  More IV fluids, more Brethine shots.  Now dilated to a one.  I followed the nurses’ orders, lied uncomfortably on my side, drank insane amounts of water, tried to ‘relax’.  But the contractions continued.  Now the nurse was coming at me with a steroid shot to develop my baby’s lungs, who by the way, weighed less than a pound.

And then they decided to give me Magnesium Sulfate (or Mag, as those who know it lovingly call it).  Mag is a very strong med that helps relax the uterus.  Unfortunately, it also tends to make your muscles so slack that you cannot even get up and walk appropriately, so you must either use a bed pan, be catheterized, or have a port-a-potty right beside your bed (my option) when you have to go.  And you have to go a LOT, because they’re constantly pumping you with fluids.  Mag also makes you hot like you’re in a sauna, have chills, and vomit.

The first night I was on Mag, I had puked up (sorry so vulgar, but so fittingly descriptive) everything there was or even might have been in my body, I had such a severe headache that I could not sleep yet could not open my eyes to tolerate even the smallest bit of light in my room, and so I just laid there in complete and utter misery.

And then the nurse came in.  She told me that I was still contracting too much, and they were going to put an ambulance on hold for me. 

What for?

To take you to a hospital that can deliver and care for such an early baby.

Oh.  (reality sinks into my heart like a suffocating compress)  What are the chances…if the baby is born?

About 50 percent.

And that is where I came the closest I have ever come to standing naked in front of God.

I laid there in bed, praying Psalm 23 over and over again…

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.

Except I kept getting the words all confused when I got to about the head anointing part.  And then I would be mad at myself for not paying attention when we studied this passage at church.  But still I continued the prayer.  I don’t know for how long.  Hours it seemed.

And the next morning, I was still pregnant.  Although I was still contracting, it looked like they weren’t chaning my cervix anymore.  I had made it long enough to get my second lung steroid shot.   And by the grace of God, or luck, or a stubborn cervix, that little son of mine stayed firmly placed until I was 36 weeks pregnant through hospitalization and bedrest and a terbutaline pump.  Almost full-term.

So there it is, the root of my inner fear that, at any time, something could go terribly wrong and rip this precious baby from me without any warning.  You would think that I would have more peace since my pre-term labor turned out so well.  Instead, I find myself having this irrational fear that I overcame the worst once, so surely I could not be so lucky again. 

I AM fighting though.  I am.  I bought two pair of comfy maternity capri pants on Friday.  I even made myself my first perinatologist appoitnment (hoping to avoid all this terrible past pregnancy stuff altogether).  The fear is better today.  It has been replaced by the familar queasiness of morning sickness and a very drawn-out migraine. 

It has never felt so comforting to feel so terrible.

A Little Sick in the Stomach, A LOT Sick in the Head

I’m feeling something today.

Sort of a sickish-saliva-sitting-on-the-back-of-my-tongue, stomach-knotted-up-in-a-ball type of sickish.   It’s oddly comforting.  The feeling actually started yesterday under not-good-at-all circumstances.   Let me explain, my fertility clinic happens to have its own message board where ladies cycling at the same time can chat it up and help each other out.  Pretty cool, since I’ve gotten a chance to meet a few of them if our appointments happened to be around the same time.  We’ve had really great success, we August IVF ladies.  I think I counted 11 bfps compared to just 3 bfns for those posting regularly.  But yesterday, one of the ladies on the bfp side posted that her u/s did not go well, that they believed the baby had stopped growing and she was going to lose it.

I’m so very, very sad for her.  And frankly, scared beyond belief for myself.  Hence, the beginning of a knotted stomach.

So I thought that the stomach issue was just the physical realization of my anxiety.  Honestly, I’m TRYING to be positive and think positive healthy-baby-type thoughts.  I’m praying to God for him to keep my baby healthy and keep me safe.

But that little nagging fear just roots further in the back of my brain like a tiny tumor.  And it makes me do bad things, like look up ‘miscarriage statistics’ on the internet.  And like dreading the thought that, although NONE of my regular pants fit (thank you dexamethosone, my steroid I’ve been on since July, and post retrieval bloating) I’m terrified, TERRIFIED to buy myself a pair of maternity pants.

Most of you know I’m a therapist.

I would ask my clients a few questions if they were paralyzed with fear and anxiety.

1. What is your biggest fear?  Losing this pregnancy.
2. Is it likely to happen?   I don’t know, I guess not.  Dr. Nice says less than a 3% chance.
3. Have you done everything in your own power to help the situation?   Pretty sure.
4. What are you gaining by continuing to worry about it?   Ulcers, maybe?

Waiting.  Breathing.  Praying.

Deep breath in through the nose,

out through the mouth.

In through the nose,

out through the mouth.

Um, still nervous.

Dang, I must be a sucky therapist.

*   *   *   *   *

OK I AM going to challenge the ‘jinx’ aspect here and go buy at least one pair of fitting maternity capris.

May lightening strike me down.

Ultrasound number ONE

(Pregnancy mentioned)

Have you ever updated your blog in your head and then forgotten that you didn’t ACTUALLY update your blog?

Anyhoo…

Had my big first u/s yesterday.  I was a nervous wreck.  In the days preceding this big u/s, I started to get more and more anxious about what the results would bring.   Of course, worst case scenarios played about…

ectopic pregnancy?

blighted ovum?

missed miscarriage?

I mentioned to my hubby a few nights ago that I was nervous about this u/s.  He was like “Why?  You’re pregnant now.”  Yeah, guys don’t get it.

So I nervously drove to meet my hubby at work and then let hubby drive the rest of the way because I could almost not concentrate on the road.  We only sat in the office for a few minutes when we were called to go back to the u/s room.  I disrobed waist down, put on the paper sheet and sat swinging my feet, while my son ate animal crackers, and my hubby read a People magazine.

Casually!  Reading a people magazine!

So we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  My son got bored and started to tinker around with the room’s many expensive and easily (I assume) breakable gadgets while I shot darts in my hubby’s directions while he continued to read about Paris Hilton or Kate Gosslin or whatnot.

Then my son (and I’m not sure if this is hilarious, or sad or just demonstrative) wanted me to actually put my feet up in the stirrups.  Yes, this kid actually KNOWS the purpose of a stirrup.  By then I thought my heart would just pop out of my chest, and yet the doctor still did not come in.  Nurse pops her head in and says that Dr. Nice is running long in his consult and will be with us soon.  Informed my hubby he needed to can the magazine and tend to the child.

Attempted to appear calm.

Finally Dr. Nice comes in with his usual congenial manner and tells us, “We’re going to learn a lot today.”  Then he puts in the ‘magic wand’ and starts looking around.  And we wait.  And wait.  And wait.  And by now Dr. Nice starts seeming less congenial and gets a furrow on his forehead as he’s concentrating on the blurry u/s screen.

And internally I’m FREAKING out.   But externally I’m just lying there waiting for that familiar black dot to appear on the screen.  Dr. Nice informs me that my uterus position (“axial” which is mostly like latin for “messed up”) is such that he can’t get a clear picture.

Yeah, this uterus has never really been all that cooperative.

And then he sees it, a little grey dot he calls the ‘gestational sac’ with a little yolk sac off to the top.  Breathe, Eve, breathe.  He measures it and then tries to search around some more to ’see what he can see’.

So he tells us, “One for now.”  But that he couldn’t see all of my uterus, so he can’t guarantee us that it’s just one.  We go back next Friday hopefully to see the heartbeat (oh please) and to go exploring again for any other potential surprises.

I left the office so shaken from the whole experience that it took me until today to realize:  I have one precious baby inside me!   We will cross the bridge of ‘more’ if we get there.

But for now, ONE is perfect.