Baby Mine III

Friday morning.  The last day of round the clock, nausea inducing antibiotics.  A week since it began.  I woke up to an odd feeling.  It was early, around 5am, and I thought maybe it was that I needed to go to the bathroom, but then I realized that my pad was soaked, and the fluid wasn't stopping when I stopped urinating. (Sorry for TMI, this is the whole story.)  In confusion, I put on another pad, and went back to bed.   I still felt strange, so I rolled over to get comfortable and immediately sprang out of bed with a full-on gush of liquid.  Now that, I knew was not supposed to happen.  I changed, woke up Nate, and we called the midwives.  One answered the phone, half- asleep, and told us to go to the nearest ER, and let her know what happened.

She did say the nearest ER, so we got in the car and drove north.  How many times I have wished we had gone south.  Not that anything would have changed, necessarily, but the whole experience, the whole demeanor of staff and personnel probably would have been different.  Oh, well.  We drove north.

There were no contractions on the way there.  I wasn't in pain, I wasn't sick, but I remember sitting as still as I possibly could, not even praying that the baby would be alright as I had the other times, just asking, "Please, be with us! Please, help us!"  As if by not moving, I could keep the future from happening.  We arrived in the beautiful July sunrise, a hot and humid Florida summer day already foreshadowed by the feeling in the air, and walked into the deserted ER.

I will say this - if you have to go to the ER, 6am is a way better time than 6pm, or even 12 midnight.  No one was there.  An oldish EMT with stringy red hair and a few missing teeth helped us with the intake.  He looked a little sketchy, but he was the nicest and most professional of any of the people we interacted with that day.  There was no wait, since we were the only ones there, and they immediately took us back.  By this time, contractions had started up a little, but not seriously and not regularly.  It was obvious by their questions and attitudes that they didn't think my water had broken.  They kept implying maybe I had just wet myself...you know, its ok, pregnant ladies do that sometimes.  Right.  I kept insisting I had not.  A doctor walked in, and without as much as an introduction, did a rough internal exam and told us that there was no dilation.  They checked the baby's heartbeat.  It was extremely elevated, and the baby was very active, causing them to lose it several times.  An ultrasound was ordered.

The policy at this medical center was to put in a catheter for all ultrasounds.  (At least that's what they told us.)  We tried to explain that I had already ingested over a quart of water and not urinated in the last several hours, besides the fact that I was recovering from a UTI.  Nope.  No excuses, in it went.  OH MY GOODNESS!  It was agony. Of course, the nurse says, "Does that hurt?  It shouldn't hurt.Anyway, it won't when you get all filled up." No, of course it doesn't hurt - why do you think I am gasping and tears are rolling out of my eyes? Why do you think I just started to cry? But you're the professional, you know what you're talking about, what you're doing... If this will help my baby, do whatever you have to.

The doctor and nurses left the room, and Nate and I were alone.  Peaceful music was playing from our computer, which Nate had thought to bring. (Several ER visits in one week have a way of letting you know you had better bring lots to do if you're not the patient, or even if you are, because you are definitely going to be waiting.)  The contractions started up again, in earnest, getting stronger, more intense, closer together.  The catheter was agony.  I lay flat on my back, still as possible to avoid the pain that came from jostling the catheter, and tried to relax through the contractions.  At some point I began moaning, loud through the pressure, and then dwindling to soft in-between. It was the only way I could think of to deal with the intense and even overwhelming sensations flooding over me, all the while lying perfectly still on my back.  Nate rubbed my feet, not sure what else to do.  He later told me I made less noise during Eden's labor and birth than I did than.


Eventually, a lab tech showed up.  She was young, and somewhat brash, and informed us that Nate couldn't come.  It was against "policy."  That was enough to make me take a break from my moaning and gasp out a plea for him to come.  She didn't say anything to that, but Nate just stated that he was coming, and he'd wait outside the ultrasound room if he had to.  We wheeled through the halls; my eyes were mostly closed as I tried to hold it together, but I saw the looks on the faces of nurses and people in the halls as we passed.  "What is wrong with her?!"

Sure enough, there was plenty of room in the lab, and faced with a very present and calmly decisive Nate, the actual ultrasound technician let him in with no problem.  She began to "fill me up."  We assured her that it wouldn't be necessary.  I think I actually said, "I don't think I can hold anymore!" and when she checked, sure enough, there was more than enough fluid already in my bladder to see clearly.  I began to feel some relief, as if the contractions had stopped.  As I lay there, eyes closed, trying to regain my equilibrium, I was vaguely aware of her taking measurements, looking at the screen, and then suddenly stopping the ultrasound. Without any explanation, we were rushed back to our ER room, and I mean rushed!

They parked the bed back in our tiny corner room and left, without a word.  A nurse came in and for the first time in my life I really, really wanted to swear.  "Get this (bleep) catheter out of me!" was what was on the tip of my tongue, but thankfully habit protects even in times of great stress, and what I actually said was minus the profanity.  She didn't say much and went about her duties without any explanations.  Although I had a pretty good idea of what she was doing, I felt as if I were supposed to be ignorant and silent.  Any comment, question, or even wincing and crying out were met with a critical and somewhat exasperated attitude.  I felt completely disempowered, if that's a word.  There was instant relief when the catheter was drained and removed, and the contractions had stopped, but I felt an odd pressure.  Hoping against a pretty clear idea of what was really causing that, I told the nurse I had to go to the bathroom.  I mean, honestly, what was I supposed to say? "Um, I think my baby's going to come out now?"

She brought in a commode, basically a grown-up potty chair, and left us alone again.  I climbed off the bed and sat on the commode.  Within a short time, with no real effort I can remember, our tiny little baby slipped out.  Disregarding the mess of blood and fluid, I knelt on the floor and scooped up my little baby, cradled the tiny body in my hands.  It was perfect.  Beautiful.  Not weird and alien-looking like some illustrations make fetuses look.  It was our beautiful, fully formed, just-needed-a-little-more-time baby.  The little legs were curled up, and from head to little bum, it fit snugly in my hands, filling them from fingertips to wrist.  The amniotic sac and placenta were still wrapped around like a protecting blanket, and we didn't know if we were supposed to change anything.  We didn't know if we were supposed to even touch and hold our own baby, let alone remove anything, so we didn't.  We just marvelled at the perfection.  One tiny arm was thrown up over the head.  The tiny mouth was slightly open and the other hand half covered it, as if in mild surprise at the way things had suddenly gone wrong.  Tiny perfect hand, just the size of my thumbnail.  Too soon, we felt constrained to replace the little body, still warm from mine, so recently alive, in the pool of blood, and climb back up where I "belonged."  A nurse and the doctor came in.  In some awkward way, they told us that our baby was not going to make it, that the ultrasound revealed that the heart was no longer beating.  Um, thanks for letting us know.  (When we got the records, we found out that the tech had actually seen the baby in the cervix, and that was probably why she had stopped the scan so abruptly.  No one wants a dead baby born in their lab!) We indicated that we knew and that the baby was in the commode.  I think then they felt super awkward then, because I don't really remember them saying anything else meaningful before they left.  The nurse began to tidy up, and suddenly the door opened again, and a social worker walked in, holding up a baby blanket and saying that someone told her we might need this...

Up to that point I had been so overwhelmed, so exhausted, so absorbed in dealing with the intense physical sensations and uncomfortable psychological situation that I literally felt very little.  I was absolutely in the moment, dealing with whatever came as it came.  I felt wonder and awe at the perfection of that tiny body, and a kind of disbelief and inability to comprehend what had happened, but when that baby blanket was held up, I suddenly was totally engulfed in a wave of the deepest sorrow I have ever known.  It was as if every fiber of my being was overcome with grief.  I covered my face and the tears and weeping poured out of me. It would not be stopped.  I could not stop it.  Even writing this now, going back to that moment in my mind, tears prick my eyes and my throat aches.  I cannot put into words the depth of pain and grief I felt, even more extreme than at my own brother's death.

They lifted our tiny baby's body into the blanket, and wrapped it up a little, and then handed it to me.  It was all I could do to curl up on my side around my baby on that hard, narrow hospital cot and mourn.  Everyone again left us, and Nate and I stayed there with our little one for nearly an hour.  My crying stopped, and I just talked to that little one, telling him/her how very much we had loved and wanted and waited for their precious self, how sad we were to let them go... Somehow it was a comfort to just lay there with my baby, even knowing that he or she was not really there anymore.  We said a prayer together with our baby cradled between us, a prayer so heartbroken and grief-heavy, so raw and painful and utterly submissive and crushed.   And then it was time to leave.

Thankfully there was a nurse who was willing to hold that precious bundle as we walked out the door of that room.  I don't think I could have left if we'd had to just leave our baby there on the bed.  Even so, as the door shut behind us, I couldn't help it - I just broke down weeping and wailing again.  I heard one of the nurses murmur something about me "sure taking it hard." Yes, I was.  I definitely was.  But there was nothing to be done.  We had to leave.  Empty womb, empty heart, empty arms.  Empty.

Baby Mine II

The fever still didn't go away.  Nate had to get up and go to work as usual, so I just lay on the couch and drifted through the day in half doze.  That evening, while showering, I began to shiver again, all my muscles cramping and quaking.  But this time there was a strange sensation, a feeling in my lower abdomen that I had never before had and yet knew immediately was not supposed to be happening right now.  It wasn't painful, but it was wrong, and the fear came rushing back in.  We drove to the ER south of us - we'd had a negative experience at the ER to the north, so although it was slightly closer, we decided it was worth the few extra minutes to go south.  I, having started the pregnancy slender and then lost quite a bit a weight, did not look pregnant, I'm sure, but some ladies sitting next to us in the waiting room inquired about why we were there and why I was so worried.  I will never forget their kindness in letting us go before them, although we had arrived some time after.  The nurse took us back and after taking a sample, left us to wait.  I'd begun to bleed a little, but eventually it stopped.

After what seemed like a very long time, a doctor came in and told us that I did indeed have an infection, in fact such a serious one by this time that they wanted to stop the prescription antibiotics and immediately administer some more powerful drugs by IV.  Thankfully we asked if they were alright for pregnant moms - he had missed the fact of the pregnancy somehow, and had to adjust his prescription a bit, but they got it started and gave me some other follow-up antibiotics to take for a week.  To humor me, they checked internally and reassured me that everything was as it should be - no changes in the cervix to be concerned about.  We even got to have an ultrasound and see the squirming, kicking little baby inside my uterus, which was visibly (as I had suspected) contracting.  But all was well, they said, so we went home.

The intermittent bleeding and contracting continued over the weekend, but I just took it easy and tried to trust that all would be well.  By Tuesday, the midwives said we should go have an ultrasound at a special women's hospital in Orlando, so we drove out there and spent forever waiting in their foyer, finally to be called back for another ultrasound.  Again, the internal exam seemed to show no worrisome changes in the cervix, and the ultrasound showed that, although the little one was head down and very deep in my pelvis, it was active and apparently healthy.  Relief.  But still irritation.  If all was well, why was I still bleeding?  Why was I still contracting?  Why could no one seem to do anything about these things or tell me how to stop?

At this point, I get a little fuzzy on the details.  I think we went south to the ER again, and ended up having another ultrasound, but I don't remember exactly why, beyond the same reasons we had gone before.  All I know is that they showed, and told us that all was well and the baby was fine.  That was what I wanted to hear, and seeing the little legs kick and arms wave was a balm to my mama heart.

Poor Nate.  I was having a tough time of it, but he was still going to work every morning at 6, and at least three nights was up past midnight with hospital runs, while the others he had to take care of his invalid wife.  But he never complained.  He was always kind and considerate and supportive, willing to take my word for any symptom, any worry.  He was my rock.

Baby Mine

I think the primary emotion I felt during that time was anxiety.  Fear.  Fear that this long-awaited miracle would somehow not work out, fear of the medical establishment, fear of each new and strange change that came physically (is this normal? is something wrong?), fear of being told what to do, fear of not being listened to, fear of not making the right choice.  Yes, I was excited to be pregnant.  Are you kidding?! I was happier to finally be expecting a baby than I had words to express.  I think that is part of the reason that I was so anxious - this was the one thing that I had dreamed of, thought about, read about, and longed for literally all my life.  Seriously.  Since I was a little girl, I had wanted to be a mommy, and had known it.  I had played at being pregnant (my mom must have had a little laugh over that one!), borrowed every baby I could get my hands on, mothered my younger siblings til they probably were somewhat sick of me, and known, my whole conscious life, what a blessing and privilege and sacred responsibility motherhood was.  And what a miracle.

So, finally, here it was.  And what if I messed it up?  Those who have waited years for pregnancy might shake their heads ruefully at a wait of 11 months, but that was a hard year for me, doing everything right, watching for a sign, waiting for that elusive plus... and finally, on Nate's birthday, when it came, I was so overwhelmed that I was shaking.  So excited, and so anxious to do it all right.  Midwife, or doctor?  Hospital, or home, or birth center? What do I do about throwing up, about losing weight, about not having the energy to be the wife and housekeeper and just person that I have been?  Is this discharge normal, or should I be worried?  As someone prone to UTI's, every little twinge was cause for doubt and consternation.  Yes, I was so happy, but I was a bit of a basketcase, too.  Shortly after finding out we were expecting, I woke up in the middle of the night, frantically searching the bed.  Nate laid me back down, patted my tummy and said, "Its ok! The baby is right here still!"  Soon I was too sick to think about much except finding a way to eat, or not throw up what I had just eaten.

Somehow I got through the first trimester.  I told myself my fears were irrational and silly and tried to put them away.  My sweet husband did his best to reassure and comfort me.  I was beginning to recover from the horrible nausea.  We had a few appointments with midwives to choose - I was adamant that I wanted a midwife.  The first was a homebirth lay midwife.  She was kind and seemed competent, but Nate especially was not comfortable with that idea, so we drove about an hour away to a birth center to meet with the staff there.  I was a bundle of nerves, defensive as a porcupine, and more than a little on edge.  The midwives were not particularly personable, but they were nice enough and, again, seemed very knowledgeable and competent. The birth center was lovely and very comfortable.  We decided that this would be the place.

Hearing the heartbeat for the first time was incredible.  A peace, a tangible relaxation came over me, and the look on Nate's face was priceless.  They showed us a little rag doll the approximate size of our baby, and Nate just held it and looked at it in awe.  "There really is a baby in there!" he said.  Ya think? ;)

We talked about it all the way home, and all the sickness began to seem worth it.  My fears were eased.  We were well out of the first trimester, it seemed that nothing could stop us now.  I began to feel what I realized after I no longer felt it was the baby squirming around.  I'd lost 15 pounds, but was slowly feeling up to eating again.  For about two weeks, life was really good.  My back started to hurt, and I couldn't get comfortable at night, but everybody says that's normal when you're pregnant, so I just shrugged it off.

When doubts and fears and questions surfaced, I did my best to push them down.  After all, we were safely out of the danger zone, weren't we?  I didn't want to make trouble or inconvenience anyone, especially since it was probably nothing.  Other women I asked seemed to not really remember, or not know what to tell me, or be a little embarrassed at discussing intimate pregnancy details.  Professionals seemed a little impatient and dismissive.  I was surely just a paranoid first-time mom, right?

Wrong.  So very wrong.  There's no knowing if anyone would have noticed the infection sooner, if anything could have been done, if my baby could have pulled through...but looking back I would have told myself to not worry about the others - they could take care of themselves.  I was the only one who could take care of this baby at this point, and if it took inconveniencing and pestering and demanding - if I felt something was off, I had every right to be taken seriously.  But how could I know?  How can you tell when you've never been through it before and you have never had to demand or inconvenience or put your foot down on something you might be wrong on that costs time and money and ....

So I didn't.  One evening, after hosting a wonderful and fun baby shower for a dear friend, my back just ached terribly.  Everyone went home, and we went to bed.  Nate was working morning shifts, so he was exhausted.  I woke up in the middle of the July night, shivering so badly I could hardly move voluntarily.  I rolled out of bed, literally stumbled to the dresser, and after fumbling with the drawer for several minutes because my hands were shaking so badly, pulled out a pair of socks and put them on.  I grabbed a quilt from the closet and made it back to bed, where I huddled under it, shivering and quaking, teeth chopping together, shaking the whole bed with my involuntary movement.  I couldn't get warm, so I woke up Nate to snuggle and help the process.  He was so confused and kept telling me to just relax and stop shaking.  I was doing my best, but I couldn't.  Finally he woke up enough to realize that I wasn't just cold, and got a thermometer.  My temperature was soaring.  He called the midwives, and one of them sleepily recommended I take some ibuprofen or tylenol or something like that to bring down the fever, and call back in the morning.  (I think.  I must admit, I was a little out of it at this point.)  He got some pills and water, and after a while, the shaking stopped and we both went back to sleep.  We deduced fairly quickly from the combination of back pain and fever that it was probably a kidney infection from an undetected UTI and the next morning got a prescription of antibiotics to fight it.  They said it should be fine, wouldn't hurt the baby.  Keep the fever down with round the clock doses of whatever it was I was taking.  Call them back if we needed anything else.  And that was supposed to be that.

Eden Update

She's doing much better! After three days of listless fever, she finally cooled down Friday morning.  Saturday, she broke out in a mottled rash all over her abdomen and head, even the scalp, and was a cranky, miserable little crab.  Last night she only woke up once (hallelujah!) and this morning she woke up laughing and trying to grab her sleeping daddy's nose at 6:30am! The rash is fading, and she is almost back to her own happy self.  Thank Heavens!

Sick Baby

My happy little imp has not been herself lately.

And we don't know what's wrong, which makes it twice as sad and a little bit scary,

She's had a fever for a few days now, and since we don't have a thermometer (it was packed in the truck, which has not yet arrived) we don't know how high it really is.  Thankfully, some friends gave us some infant tylenol, and I have dosed her a few times.  She sleeps restlessly, kicking off the covers and waking up in a full cry at random times of the night.  

Teething? Maybe.  She doesn't show a lot of the other classic signs, but its still possible.

A sick bug? Maybe. But probably not, since we've had o cough, no sneezing, no congestion or runny nose or goopy eyes.  

The addition of a few new solids to her diet? Maybe. But probably not - its just been a few bites of banana and  some bits of bread.  Although it has impacted her diapers already.... yuck.

She's just listless and easily upset.  And hot.  And wants to be held ALL DAY and ALL NIGHT. 

Poor sick baby.

Today she seems to be more cheerful and not as hot, so we're praying she's on the mend.

Will you, too, please?