Charlotte would be four today. Amazing.
So, so much has changed in the past four years. I really don't recognize the life that was prior. I am now one semester away from my nursing degree; I am almost finished this term (only 2 finals to go) and then I have a summer full of full-time clinical experience, then the national licensing exam, then done.
I get a lot of comments from my clinical instructors, usually about 1) my "excellent" verbal communication skills, 2) my calmness, even in stress, and 3) my empathy for patients. Number 1 I can attribute to years of teaching and dealing with parents and students, but numbers 2 and 3 are all Charlotte. Little everyday stressors seem light when you have watched your baby die, and if the world can keep spinning after that, then surely I can be calm through a class presentation or with a challenging patient. After being the patient in the bed, looking eagerly up at a nurse for words or comfort, a smile, anything that would have made me feel human in those horrible post-partum days, it's easy to empathize with a patient or family member who's undergoing their own version of hell in the hospital.
So, sweet Charlotte, I thank you for those gifts.
(although I would trade them all for you in a heartbeat)
M and I usually go out for dinner to mark Charlotte's birthday, but he's been sick with the flu so a few days ago we decided to wait until he's better and my exams are over before going out. So, today is an ordinary rainy day, and I am home alone as Bee is at daycare, and M at work. I should be studying, but I find myself pensive.
4 years is a long time. A long, long time. Miss you baby girl.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Thursday, June 9, 2011
from then to now
Almost three years ago, I had one of my darkest of darkest days. Shadow baby had arrived, all pink and healthy, a baby girl of close friends. We had shared the pregnancy. Mine had ended far too soon, and hers was full-term. My baby girl was gone, and hers was chubby and healthy.
I think I went to bed for 2 days, maybe 3. It was agonizing.
Fast forward to yesterday. A phone call came at a similar time in the morning: It's a girl. 7lbs 10oz. She's perfect, mom is amazing. Their #2 had arrived, uncomplicated vag delivery, like the first. Everyone is great.
Yesterday, I did not need to go to bed. I did lose my breath a little bit, almost like someone had hit me in the stomach. I'm not sure if I was still uneasy because it was a little girl (I have had so many encounters with baby girls to this point I should be getting immune), or if it was a flashback to those dark dark days of three years ago. Probably a little bit of both.
I called M at work to tell him the news. We debated going up to visit in the afternoon, but decided that she was likely exhausted, would probably be discharged the next day and it was better to wait. A convenient excuse as neither of us was particularly excited about going. Horrible people, we are.
At any rate, I am nearly done my obstetrics rotation at school. I have given newborn baths, postpartum checks and helped moms breastfeed. I have witnessed births from a few feet away. I have watched excited grandparents fawn over babies, help new moms dress their baby for the first time and passed tissues to emotional dads. It has all been a whirlwind. I have coped and come home emotionally exhausted. I have two clinical days left and then I can say I survived.
How much can change in three years. Yet, the core is still the same.
I think I went to bed for 2 days, maybe 3. It was agonizing.
Fast forward to yesterday. A phone call came at a similar time in the morning: It's a girl. 7lbs 10oz. She's perfect, mom is amazing. Their #2 had arrived, uncomplicated vag delivery, like the first. Everyone is great.
Yesterday, I did not need to go to bed. I did lose my breath a little bit, almost like someone had hit me in the stomach. I'm not sure if I was still uneasy because it was a little girl (I have had so many encounters with baby girls to this point I should be getting immune), or if it was a flashback to those dark dark days of three years ago. Probably a little bit of both.
I called M at work to tell him the news. We debated going up to visit in the afternoon, but decided that she was likely exhausted, would probably be discharged the next day and it was better to wait. A convenient excuse as neither of us was particularly excited about going. Horrible people, we are.
At any rate, I am nearly done my obstetrics rotation at school. I have given newborn baths, postpartum checks and helped moms breastfeed. I have witnessed births from a few feet away. I have watched excited grandparents fawn over babies, help new moms dress their baby for the first time and passed tissues to emotional dads. It has all been a whirlwind. I have coped and come home emotionally exhausted. I have two clinical days left and then I can say I survived.
How much can change in three years. Yet, the core is still the same.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
"wet specimens"
Today has been a rough day.
Nursing school has been busy, to say the least. The program, condensed into 2 yrs instead of 4 for us "previously degreed" folk is known as being notoriously difficult. The reputation was not misleading. Over the past 7 months I have studied more than I ever have before. I have made new friends and rolled my eyes at others. It has been a roller coaster.
The fact that I also have been working part-time to pay for Bee's childcare etc just complicates matters.
In a few weeks our semester changes, and I find myself in the next block of courses: maternity and peds. This is the dream semester of most of my classmates- people are very excited, eager, and fighting over the coveted NICU placements because "babies are so cute". Babies are very cute, of course. Little do they know how bad the NICU can get; how much more there is than "cuteness".
Anyway, today was our last anatomy lab for the semester. Reproduction. I didn't know the topic until I arrived, and I dutifully examined specimens of ovaries, even a placenta. The prof brought out plastic models of babies in various gestations. There was one about Charlotte's size. I winced.
We were paraded to another room to look at the "wet specimens".
And here, there were babies, in all gestations, preserved in formaldehyde in large glass containers. Babies with hair, babies full term, babies with various birth defects.
I did the only thing I could do. I turned and walked out. They were not "wet specimens", these were somebody's children. Each baby represented a grieving family, lost potential, all of the anguish we've seen firsthand.
My classmates didn't say anything; neither did my prof. Perhaps they thought I needed to use the bathroom or the smell of formaldehyde was too strong for me. As far as I know, none of them know about Charlotte. It's not the type of thing that comes up in casual conversation and I know them so well by this point that I almost feel like a traitor for holding onto this huge part of my life like a secret. Over lunch, over a study table, as much as I would like to tell her story, there doesn't seem to be an appropriate time.
Sigh.
There have been many times when something pregnancy related has come up in class and up until today it was fine. Today was the first time that I had to leave. Now I'm worried, so very worried, about my mental state through the summer semester. I will help deliver babies, in the same hospital and same rooms where I had Charlotte and Adam. I will care for sick children, maybe sick babies. I will have flashbacks and emotional moments and somehow, hopefully, get through the day because I need this course to graduate.
In a week and a half, it will be three years. Three years. Feels like forever. Everything, everything has changed since then.
To say I don't share my classmates' enthusiasm about the "cute babies" is an understatement.
Nursing school has been busy, to say the least. The program, condensed into 2 yrs instead of 4 for us "previously degreed" folk is known as being notoriously difficult. The reputation was not misleading. Over the past 7 months I have studied more than I ever have before. I have made new friends and rolled my eyes at others. It has been a roller coaster.
The fact that I also have been working part-time to pay for Bee's childcare etc just complicates matters.
In a few weeks our semester changes, and I find myself in the next block of courses: maternity and peds. This is the dream semester of most of my classmates- people are very excited, eager, and fighting over the coveted NICU placements because "babies are so cute". Babies are very cute, of course. Little do they know how bad the NICU can get; how much more there is than "cuteness".
Anyway, today was our last anatomy lab for the semester. Reproduction. I didn't know the topic until I arrived, and I dutifully examined specimens of ovaries, even a placenta. The prof brought out plastic models of babies in various gestations. There was one about Charlotte's size. I winced.
We were paraded to another room to look at the "wet specimens".
And here, there were babies, in all gestations, preserved in formaldehyde in large glass containers. Babies with hair, babies full term, babies with various birth defects.
I did the only thing I could do. I turned and walked out. They were not "wet specimens", these were somebody's children. Each baby represented a grieving family, lost potential, all of the anguish we've seen firsthand.
My classmates didn't say anything; neither did my prof. Perhaps they thought I needed to use the bathroom or the smell of formaldehyde was too strong for me. As far as I know, none of them know about Charlotte. It's not the type of thing that comes up in casual conversation and I know them so well by this point that I almost feel like a traitor for holding onto this huge part of my life like a secret. Over lunch, over a study table, as much as I would like to tell her story, there doesn't seem to be an appropriate time.
Sigh.
There have been many times when something pregnancy related has come up in class and up until today it was fine. Today was the first time that I had to leave. Now I'm worried, so very worried, about my mental state through the summer semester. I will help deliver babies, in the same hospital and same rooms where I had Charlotte and Adam. I will care for sick children, maybe sick babies. I will have flashbacks and emotional moments and somehow, hopefully, get through the day because I need this course to graduate.
In a week and a half, it will be three years. Three years. Feels like forever. Everything, everything has changed since then.
To say I don't share my classmates' enthusiasm about the "cute babies" is an understatement.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Time
It has been a long, long time.
It's late here. M and Bee are sound asleep, and I've been up late studying. I started nursing school last month. It's ok. A lot of typical first-year hoop jumping, lots of busywork- quizzes worth next to nothing, group projects and the like. The material is interesting but shallow at this point- lots of introductory courses. The meat comes later.
Death has come up often. We have addressed the topic of how to handle a dying client. We have discussed pastoral care and referrals and the importance of learning to sit quietly and hold a patient's hand. There was even one entire power point slide on "when an infant dies". We were told in a sentence or two about mementos and helping the family say goodbye.
There is so much I can comment on, so many things I could add to the conversation. So much experience I've gained in my short life. More than I wish I had. I tend to stay quiet.
I am known to my class as a mom to an almost-one-year old baby boy. They know I had a complicated pregnancy; I have often offered hospital anecdotes in class. I have not shared about Charlotte.
***
How many lives do you live anyway? It certainly seems more than one, at least for me. The last two and a half years have been an entirely different lifetime than the years before. Everything, absolutely everything, changed. I kind of like the new me- I owe so much of my current personality to my sweet baby girl- and it's so hard to remember the old Heather. It's hard to remember much of anything, really, even still.
I was on GITW tonight, for the first time in a long time. I was scrolling down the page and the links to past posts were on the left, organized monthly, like they are on all blogs. The months scrolled by, and there were so many of them. You see, GITW was launched in Charlotte's month. I found it a few weeks later, and have followed ever since. All those months. I have been changed for all of those months. It is a long time. An entire new generation of dbm's are posting now. There are new members to our club, all the time. Still.
***
Adam turns one next week. He's happy and well-adjusted. He's learning to walk; he can take two steps. He's a beautiful little boy. Really is. I love him so and I still miss his sister. I want them both, but can't have it that way.
It's such a long road. It never really ends.
It's late here. M and Bee are sound asleep, and I've been up late studying. I started nursing school last month. It's ok. A lot of typical first-year hoop jumping, lots of busywork- quizzes worth next to nothing, group projects and the like. The material is interesting but shallow at this point- lots of introductory courses. The meat comes later.
Death has come up often. We have addressed the topic of how to handle a dying client. We have discussed pastoral care and referrals and the importance of learning to sit quietly and hold a patient's hand. There was even one entire power point slide on "when an infant dies". We were told in a sentence or two about mementos and helping the family say goodbye.
There is so much I can comment on, so many things I could add to the conversation. So much experience I've gained in my short life. More than I wish I had. I tend to stay quiet.
I am known to my class as a mom to an almost-one-year old baby boy. They know I had a complicated pregnancy; I have often offered hospital anecdotes in class. I have not shared about Charlotte.
***
How many lives do you live anyway? It certainly seems more than one, at least for me. The last two and a half years have been an entirely different lifetime than the years before. Everything, absolutely everything, changed. I kind of like the new me- I owe so much of my current personality to my sweet baby girl- and it's so hard to remember the old Heather. It's hard to remember much of anything, really, even still.
I was on GITW tonight, for the first time in a long time. I was scrolling down the page and the links to past posts were on the left, organized monthly, like they are on all blogs. The months scrolled by, and there were so many of them. You see, GITW was launched in Charlotte's month. I found it a few weeks later, and have followed ever since. All those months. I have been changed for all of those months. It is a long time. An entire new generation of dbm's are posting now. There are new members to our club, all the time. Still.
***
Adam turns one next week. He's happy and well-adjusted. He's learning to walk; he can take two steps. He's a beautiful little boy. Really is. I love him so and I still miss his sister. I want them both, but can't have it that way.
It's such a long road. It never really ends.
Monday, April 5, 2010
2 years
So, yesterday was Charlotte's 2nd birthday.
It was a crappy day. A crappy week actually. I find the days leading up to her birthday are the hardest- memories of hospital stays and bad ultrasounds, quiet-spoken doctors, hopeful moments and tragic moments. The day itself isn't as bad. Of course, yesterday was Easter Sunday so I had to be on my best behaviour at church. There was much difficult, celebratory music to lead, the most important service of the year for me.
There was a small vase of flowers on the organ bench. Little yellow tulips in a vase covered in butterflies. No card. I don't know who they were from, but I was touched that someone remembered. Whoever it was the only person who acknowledged the day.
Anyway, I made it through the service, and came home to a Bee sound asleep in his swing and M outside digging a hole for a new tree. After the tree planting we headed to the cemetery for a visit and brought balloons, like we did last year.
It was sad, but not as sad as last year. More wistful now. Easier to turn off, if that makes any sense.
We've kept ourselves busy this week. M has been his usual self: painting and gardening, little home projects here and there. I cooked. A lot. I baked cinnamon rolls and bread, a birthday cake for Charlotte. Made some yummy pork recipes and a few new soups. This is a new mechanism for me- before I was paralyzed, incapable of doing anything through the grief. Now, it's easier to keep busy. Keeps my mind off things. I'm amazed that I can turn my mind off now- I never ever thought that would be possible. I guess that's what happens over time.
I also gained three pounds. Oh well.
I feel so very far from Charlotte now. The last two years have felt like a separate lifetime. I can't imagine her as a toddler or even a chubby baby like Adam. I can't imagine our lives with her present, here, on earth, without the grief and anguish and everything that has reshaped us as people over the past two years. She changed us infinitely, likely more than we would have changed had she lived.
Happy Birthday, baby girl. We love you.
It was a crappy day. A crappy week actually. I find the days leading up to her birthday are the hardest- memories of hospital stays and bad ultrasounds, quiet-spoken doctors, hopeful moments and tragic moments. The day itself isn't as bad. Of course, yesterday was Easter Sunday so I had to be on my best behaviour at church. There was much difficult, celebratory music to lead, the most important service of the year for me.
There was a small vase of flowers on the organ bench. Little yellow tulips in a vase covered in butterflies. No card. I don't know who they were from, but I was touched that someone remembered. Whoever it was the only person who acknowledged the day.
Anyway, I made it through the service, and came home to a Bee sound asleep in his swing and M outside digging a hole for a new tree. After the tree planting we headed to the cemetery for a visit and brought balloons, like we did last year.
It was sad, but not as sad as last year. More wistful now. Easier to turn off, if that makes any sense.
We've kept ourselves busy this week. M has been his usual self: painting and gardening, little home projects here and there. I cooked. A lot. I baked cinnamon rolls and bread, a birthday cake for Charlotte. Made some yummy pork recipes and a few new soups. This is a new mechanism for me- before I was paralyzed, incapable of doing anything through the grief. Now, it's easier to keep busy. Keeps my mind off things. I'm amazed that I can turn my mind off now- I never ever thought that would be possible. I guess that's what happens over time.
I also gained three pounds. Oh well.
I feel so very far from Charlotte now. The last two years have felt like a separate lifetime. I can't imagine her as a toddler or even a chubby baby like Adam. I can't imagine our lives with her present, here, on earth, without the grief and anguish and everything that has reshaped us as people over the past two years. She changed us infinitely, likely more than we would have changed had she lived.
Happy Birthday, baby girl. We love you.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Changes
After Charlotte, I wanted everything to change. I quit my job. We contemplated moving (but instead just repainted and rearranged furniture). I lost touch with friends and moved into different circles. Everything did change, over time.
I remember reading (somewhere?) that you should wait for at least a year after a loss before making any drastic changes in your life. I had been planning to quit my job anyway, so I figured that was ok. We didn't move. I found another job in the same field. Time passed.
Then Adam came. Everyone told us, over and over, what a change that would bring into our lives. I was surprised how little things actually did change. Sure, it takes me longer to get out of the house than it used to and our living room is taken over by large plastic apparatuses, but I feel a lot less changed now than I did before/after Charlotte. Perhaps I already knew the biggest lesson of parenthood: how it feels to have a child be the center of your life. It's a lot easier when that child is alive.
Now that the 2-year mark is looming, I feel like I have some perspective. I don't think my decisions now are made out of grief, but are real, true decisions. I have decided to go back to school. I actually decided this early last summer, while still pregnant, and have been taking a couple of prerequisites this year. Starting in September, I'll be taking a full-time program in nursing.
If three years ago someone had told me I would be doing this, I would never, ever have believed them. I was (am) a musician- as artsy as it gets. I make a living by doing what all musicians do- a little teaching, a little gigging, a bit of everything. It's a labor of love, and requires so much passion to do it well. After Charlotte, I lost the passion.
When she died, my love for music died too. That didn't come out right. I still love music, but in not the same way. I no longer have the patience to sit and work through one phrase of Beethoven for hours at a time to get every note exactly right, to find the hidden meaning behind the notes. Before, it was worthwhile. Now, there are so many more important things in life. I need a change.
So, nursing it is. I don't know what discipline of nursing I want to explore, but I do know from a patient's perspective how important a nurse can be. Like you all, I had great, wonderful nurses and also horrible ones. I hope to be one of those wonderful ones.
So, a new chapter for me. We'll see where I go.
I remember reading (somewhere?) that you should wait for at least a year after a loss before making any drastic changes in your life. I had been planning to quit my job anyway, so I figured that was ok. We didn't move. I found another job in the same field. Time passed.
Then Adam came. Everyone told us, over and over, what a change that would bring into our lives. I was surprised how little things actually did change. Sure, it takes me longer to get out of the house than it used to and our living room is taken over by large plastic apparatuses, but I feel a lot less changed now than I did before/after Charlotte. Perhaps I already knew the biggest lesson of parenthood: how it feels to have a child be the center of your life. It's a lot easier when that child is alive.
Now that the 2-year mark is looming, I feel like I have some perspective. I don't think my decisions now are made out of grief, but are real, true decisions. I have decided to go back to school. I actually decided this early last summer, while still pregnant, and have been taking a couple of prerequisites this year. Starting in September, I'll be taking a full-time program in nursing.
If three years ago someone had told me I would be doing this, I would never, ever have believed them. I was (am) a musician- as artsy as it gets. I make a living by doing what all musicians do- a little teaching, a little gigging, a bit of everything. It's a labor of love, and requires so much passion to do it well. After Charlotte, I lost the passion.
When she died, my love for music died too. That didn't come out right. I still love music, but in not the same way. I no longer have the patience to sit and work through one phrase of Beethoven for hours at a time to get every note exactly right, to find the hidden meaning behind the notes. Before, it was worthwhile. Now, there are so many more important things in life. I need a change.
So, nursing it is. I don't know what discipline of nursing I want to explore, but I do know from a patient's perspective how important a nurse can be. Like you all, I had great, wonderful nurses and also horrible ones. I hope to be one of those wonderful ones.
So, a new chapter for me. We'll see where I go.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Checking in
I had no intentions of fading into blog oblivion. Time came and went, and now it's been almost three months (!!!) since my last post.
Things are well. Bee is growing like a weed, is about 17 lbs now. He giggles and reaches for things, twists and turns. He's a joy, really is.
I still miss Charlotte. So, so much now. The two year anniversary is less than a month away. It falls on Easter Sunday this year, which means I have to actually face the world that day. Go to church, conduct the Hallelujah chorus, smile and focus. I'm sure it will be ok, although not what I would choose.
Two years. Really? Where did the time go? It seems like forever and nothing all at once. There aren't a lot of memories from that time. The first-year fog, then the months of bedrest and stress with the pregnancy, and now he's here. It all rolls into one really, and it's hard to believe that I've only had Adam for four and a half months. He was always present, it seems.
As he grows and starts to really develop a little personality, I find myself thinking, more and more, if Charlotte would have done this or that; would she have had the funny little head shake or if she would have been a redhead too. I'll never know.
I will post more frequently, I promise.
Things are well. Bee is growing like a weed, is about 17 lbs now. He giggles and reaches for things, twists and turns. He's a joy, really is.
I still miss Charlotte. So, so much now. The two year anniversary is less than a month away. It falls on Easter Sunday this year, which means I have to actually face the world that day. Go to church, conduct the Hallelujah chorus, smile and focus. I'm sure it will be ok, although not what I would choose.
Two years. Really? Where did the time go? It seems like forever and nothing all at once. There aren't a lot of memories from that time. The first-year fog, then the months of bedrest and stress with the pregnancy, and now he's here. It all rolls into one really, and it's hard to believe that I've only had Adam for four and a half months. He was always present, it seems.
As he grows and starts to really develop a little personality, I find myself thinking, more and more, if Charlotte would have done this or that; would she have had the funny little head shake or if she would have been a redhead too. I'll never know.
I will post more frequently, I promise.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The other side
Since we brought home little Bee, the world has opened back up. People who never even acknowledged Charlotte have been all over Adam (a whole other blog post), and we've been invited out a lot. Apple Picking parties, a wide assortment of Christmas family celebrations, dinners out, etc. All family-oriented and baby-friendly. We've even gone to some of them.
I have found myself exactly where I never, ever, wanted to be. Friends of ours suffered a misscarriage at 12 weeks the day after we lost Charlotte. They started trying again right away and it took over a year for them to get pregnant again. Then another miscarriage. Right now they're in the early stages of IF treatment, and the last I heard they had been planning an IUI for October. I don't know if they went through with it or if they were successful (or not). I've only seen them at these large gatherings where it's inappropriate to yell across the room, So, how 'bout that IUI?
When Adam came home we didn't see them, for a long time. There was a congratulatory phone call but then nothing. I understood. Completely. I didn't know for sure if it was hard for them or if they were just busy, but I couldn't imagine it NOT being hard, and I understood. If they wanted to come meet Adam that would be great, but if not, that was ok too. I got it.
Anyway, we have now rejoined the social circle that we were absent from for so long. Our first get-together was a couple of weeks ago, a cider-and-sweets post-Christmas parade thing. It was the first time they saw Adam, and I don't think they expected us to come (why would they really, as we hadn't gone to anything in so, so long). The wife was interested in Adam and asked to hold him. She cuddled him for a bit and talked to him.
The husband almost ran away.
It broke my heart, really did. He had that look, the one we all know because we've worn it ourselves. The one where your heart is breaking and if you don't get out of there RIGHT NOW you're going to lose it, your chest aches and head pounds and the grief becomes physically painful. I'm probably assuming too much but I know that look.
I can't believe I caused someone else that horrible pain.
I've read other bloggers who say that there should be a t-shirt or a badge for us babylost with new babies- so the strangers in the grocery store can know that this didn't come easy and I am not one of them. I agree. In this case though, they know all about Charlotte, watched us walk through the past 20 months or so and now we're out on the other side. And they're no closer (as far as I know, anyway). It must be hard, it has to be.
I've certainly had my share of pregnancy and babyloss emotional pain, but infertility is not something that was ever put on my plate. So, even with my new-found empathy I still don't know what to say or do. I just despise the thought that I'm making someone's already-hard-holiday a little bit harder.
I have found myself exactly where I never, ever, wanted to be. Friends of ours suffered a misscarriage at 12 weeks the day after we lost Charlotte. They started trying again right away and it took over a year for them to get pregnant again. Then another miscarriage. Right now they're in the early stages of IF treatment, and the last I heard they had been planning an IUI for October. I don't know if they went through with it or if they were successful (or not). I've only seen them at these large gatherings where it's inappropriate to yell across the room, So, how 'bout that IUI?
When Adam came home we didn't see them, for a long time. There was a congratulatory phone call but then nothing. I understood. Completely. I didn't know for sure if it was hard for them or if they were just busy, but I couldn't imagine it NOT being hard, and I understood. If they wanted to come meet Adam that would be great, but if not, that was ok too. I got it.
Anyway, we have now rejoined the social circle that we were absent from for so long. Our first get-together was a couple of weeks ago, a cider-and-sweets post-Christmas parade thing. It was the first time they saw Adam, and I don't think they expected us to come (why would they really, as we hadn't gone to anything in so, so long). The wife was interested in Adam and asked to hold him. She cuddled him for a bit and talked to him.
The husband almost ran away.
It broke my heart, really did. He had that look, the one we all know because we've worn it ourselves. The one where your heart is breaking and if you don't get out of there RIGHT NOW you're going to lose it, your chest aches and head pounds and the grief becomes physically painful. I'm probably assuming too much but I know that look.
I can't believe I caused someone else that horrible pain.
I've read other bloggers who say that there should be a t-shirt or a badge for us babylost with new babies- so the strangers in the grocery store can know that this didn't come easy and I am not one of them. I agree. In this case though, they know all about Charlotte, watched us walk through the past 20 months or so and now we're out on the other side. And they're no closer (as far as I know, anyway). It must be hard, it has to be.
I've certainly had my share of pregnancy and babyloss emotional pain, but infertility is not something that was ever put on my plate. So, even with my new-found empathy I still don't know what to say or do. I just despise the thought that I'm making someone's already-hard-holiday a little bit harder.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Making memories
Due to my recovery, the H1N1 virus, and our general need to nest with our baby, the first month of Adam's life consisted of 1) staying home, and 2) going to the doctor. There were relatively few visitors, even, as we told people to stay home if they were sick, and nearly everyone was.
This past weekend we were invited out. Our friends were having a dinner and invited their children's godparents. Their little son is our godson. He's a little over two now, and they had another baby in July, another boy. There were to be a dozen or so people, several babies and of course, several mommies.
I was so very excited to go. With months of bedrest behind me, I was starved for some social activity. I've turned down so many invitations in the past two years. This one I was determined to accept. I wanted Adam to see other children, even though he's far from interactive yet. I wanted to go out and be normal.
So, we went. It was so funny, to cross over to the other side, to full mom territory where conversations are about poop and bottles, and the price of baby portraits. I still feel a little like an outsider. Though there are lots of things to talk about when you're in a room with moms, my priorities, my focus, is different from their's. There was a lot of talk of where to buy THE baby Christmas outfit, where the "cleanest" mall Santa was for pictures. They looked at me incredulously when I said we didn't yet have a growth chart. They were shocked when I said we hadn't set a date yet for his christening, actually, hadn't even thought about it.
Adam is alive. He's here, healthy, growing. I haven't put my parenting energy into researching baby photographers like these moms. Sure, a picture with Santa would be nice, but I haven't really thought about it. I have a fuzzy sleeper I thought would be nice for Christmas Eve but that's it. We'll get around to the christening at some point, no rush. My energy is spent marvelling, enjoying and embracing every detail of my little boy. All the other stuff is just stuff.
A few years ago M and I went whale watching. M had just bought a new camera and was determined to have good pictures of whales. If you've ever whale watched, you know that it's a split second viewing- they surface and then they're gone. He stood on the shore for an hour or more looking through his viewfinder for that perfect shot. He never got it, and never saw any whales at all. I saw dozens, as I could look around the whole shoreline at once without the constraints of a camera. I have hundreds of mental whale pictures in my memory.
This whole mom thing reminds me a little bit of that whale watching. It's so easy to fill your days and schedule trying to make memories- plaster casts of hand and footprints and staged photo shoots and the like. It's all great for those that want that, but it's never been my style. I like having a few keepsakes but more than anything I just like to be, to experience the moment and file away in my memory bank. My time with Adam is like that- we take lots of pictures, of course, but the moments I cherish most are the middle-of-the-night cuddles in the dark, the sound he makes when he finishes a bottle, the one-armed stretches above his head. Those are my special memories, and no growth chart can capture that.
Maybe I know, more than the other moms, how awful it is to JUST have that stuff- the footprints and handprints, the pictures. That's all I have of Charlotte, there are no memories, just things. This living baby- I want the memories this time. The things are optional.
This past weekend we were invited out. Our friends were having a dinner and invited their children's godparents. Their little son is our godson. He's a little over two now, and they had another baby in July, another boy. There were to be a dozen or so people, several babies and of course, several mommies.
I was so very excited to go. With months of bedrest behind me, I was starved for some social activity. I've turned down so many invitations in the past two years. This one I was determined to accept. I wanted Adam to see other children, even though he's far from interactive yet. I wanted to go out and be normal.
So, we went. It was so funny, to cross over to the other side, to full mom territory where conversations are about poop and bottles, and the price of baby portraits. I still feel a little like an outsider. Though there are lots of things to talk about when you're in a room with moms, my priorities, my focus, is different from their's. There was a lot of talk of where to buy THE baby Christmas outfit, where the "cleanest" mall Santa was for pictures. They looked at me incredulously when I said we didn't yet have a growth chart. They were shocked when I said we hadn't set a date yet for his christening, actually, hadn't even thought about it.
Adam is alive. He's here, healthy, growing. I haven't put my parenting energy into researching baby photographers like these moms. Sure, a picture with Santa would be nice, but I haven't really thought about it. I have a fuzzy sleeper I thought would be nice for Christmas Eve but that's it. We'll get around to the christening at some point, no rush. My energy is spent marvelling, enjoying and embracing every detail of my little boy. All the other stuff is just stuff.
A few years ago M and I went whale watching. M had just bought a new camera and was determined to have good pictures of whales. If you've ever whale watched, you know that it's a split second viewing- they surface and then they're gone. He stood on the shore for an hour or more looking through his viewfinder for that perfect shot. He never got it, and never saw any whales at all. I saw dozens, as I could look around the whole shoreline at once without the constraints of a camera. I have hundreds of mental whale pictures in my memory.
This whole mom thing reminds me a little bit of that whale watching. It's so easy to fill your days and schedule trying to make memories- plaster casts of hand and footprints and staged photo shoots and the like. It's all great for those that want that, but it's never been my style. I like having a few keepsakes but more than anything I just like to be, to experience the moment and file away in my memory bank. My time with Adam is like that- we take lots of pictures, of course, but the moments I cherish most are the middle-of-the-night cuddles in the dark, the sound he makes when he finishes a bottle, the one-armed stretches above his head. Those are my special memories, and no growth chart can capture that.
Maybe I know, more than the other moms, how awful it is to JUST have that stuff- the footprints and handprints, the pictures. That's all I have of Charlotte, there are no memories, just things. This living baby- I want the memories this time. The things are optional.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
One month
Adam was officially one month old yesterday. My sense of time is so different now- I can't decide if it feels like he just got here or if he's been here forever.
Funny, I almost forgot he was a month old until we went to the pediatric dietician yesterday afternoon. So different than my sense of time after Charlotte, when, at any given time I could have told you the exact number of hours since she was born. I guess now there's more to focus on- diapers and feedings, rocking and cuddling. Less focus on counting days and hours.
I got a little sad when I realized that Nov 4th had passed me by entirely without giving it a second thought that it would have been 19 months for Charlotte.
Bumblebee is doing really well. I have been blessed with a very, very easy baby. He's very pleasant, only cries when he's hungry, and occasionally when he wants to be picked up. He can be soothed instantly, and already sleeps for pretty long stretches. Only one night-time feeding now, which is so manageable. The disruption in sleep patterns is very doable at this point- I try to have a little nap at some point in the day but otherwise I feel fine. Good. More than good, actually.
I've had a number of people comment on what a good baby he is, followed by a comment on how I "earned" this, how our loss of Charlotte somehow entitled us to World's Easiest Baby. Of course, I know that's not it, but sometimes when I look at him and think how sweet he really is, well, maybe Charlotte picked him out. Corny, I know.
A couple of weeks ago M said that he had looked at Charlotte's pictures, that he was surprised by how much she looks like Adam. It's hard to see resemblance in a 24-weeker, but sure enough when I peeked in the album there is a definite resemblance. Which makes sense, as they're siblings, but I like the idea that I get to see how Charlotte might have looked if she had gotten to grow.
There are 33 pictures of Charlotte. 7 are of decent quality, taken with the hospital digital camera before the memory card filled up. Unfortunately, they are of her when she was very very new, before a bath or clothes or before I had a chance to see her, even. The other 24 are grainy, low quality disposable camera shots that are of all of us together, but in terms of picture quality they are horrible. It is my one regret, really, that we didn't get better pictures. Considering my inlaws own a professional camera store that's 5 mins away from the hospital, it would have been so easy to get a decent camera. No one thought of it. So, my 33 grainy pictures are all I have, and all I'll ever have. Sigh.
When I looked at those pictures it was like looking at another lifetime. I still can't believe that it happened- that I was pregnant before, that there was another baby. The pictures are so, so, sad, and I can't believe sometimes that that was my reality. Still is. To the outside world now I look like a first-time mom, and in a lot of ways I feel like a first-time mom, but there's so much beneath the surface. It's a very hard thing to balance, the lost-baby/living-baby thing.
Adam is growing. We brought him home at 4 lbs 14 oz, and he was back to his birthweight a week later. Since then, he's been packing it on. 8 lbs 2 oz at yesterday's appointment. We've outgrown the preemie clothes, the 5-8 lb clothes, and are heading our way out of the regular newborn clothes. I can't believe it- I can literally see a difference in him every single day. Also a difference is his alertness, and his little personality is starting to come through. I love it- all of these changes- but it's all so bittersweet. You all know.
Funny, I almost forgot he was a month old until we went to the pediatric dietician yesterday afternoon. So different than my sense of time after Charlotte, when, at any given time I could have told you the exact number of hours since she was born. I guess now there's more to focus on- diapers and feedings, rocking and cuddling. Less focus on counting days and hours.
I got a little sad when I realized that Nov 4th had passed me by entirely without giving it a second thought that it would have been 19 months for Charlotte.
Bumblebee is doing really well. I have been blessed with a very, very easy baby. He's very pleasant, only cries when he's hungry, and occasionally when he wants to be picked up. He can be soothed instantly, and already sleeps for pretty long stretches. Only one night-time feeding now, which is so manageable. The disruption in sleep patterns is very doable at this point- I try to have a little nap at some point in the day but otherwise I feel fine. Good. More than good, actually.
I've had a number of people comment on what a good baby he is, followed by a comment on how I "earned" this, how our loss of Charlotte somehow entitled us to World's Easiest Baby. Of course, I know that's not it, but sometimes when I look at him and think how sweet he really is, well, maybe Charlotte picked him out. Corny, I know.
A couple of weeks ago M said that he had looked at Charlotte's pictures, that he was surprised by how much she looks like Adam. It's hard to see resemblance in a 24-weeker, but sure enough when I peeked in the album there is a definite resemblance. Which makes sense, as they're siblings, but I like the idea that I get to see how Charlotte might have looked if she had gotten to grow.
There are 33 pictures of Charlotte. 7 are of decent quality, taken with the hospital digital camera before the memory card filled up. Unfortunately, they are of her when she was very very new, before a bath or clothes or before I had a chance to see her, even. The other 24 are grainy, low quality disposable camera shots that are of all of us together, but in terms of picture quality they are horrible. It is my one regret, really, that we didn't get better pictures. Considering my inlaws own a professional camera store that's 5 mins away from the hospital, it would have been so easy to get a decent camera. No one thought of it. So, my 33 grainy pictures are all I have, and all I'll ever have. Sigh.
When I looked at those pictures it was like looking at another lifetime. I still can't believe that it happened- that I was pregnant before, that there was another baby. The pictures are so, so, sad, and I can't believe sometimes that that was my reality. Still is. To the outside world now I look like a first-time mom, and in a lot of ways I feel like a first-time mom, but there's so much beneath the surface. It's a very hard thing to balance, the lost-baby/living-baby thing.
Adam is growing. We brought him home at 4 lbs 14 oz, and he was back to his birthweight a week later. Since then, he's been packing it on. 8 lbs 2 oz at yesterday's appointment. We've outgrown the preemie clothes, the 5-8 lb clothes, and are heading our way out of the regular newborn clothes. I can't believe it- I can literally see a difference in him every single day. Also a difference is his alertness, and his little personality is starting to come through. I love it- all of these changes- but it's all so bittersweet. You all know.
Monday, November 2, 2009
The best and the worst
The day Charlotte was born, when we knew the likely outcome, I lay on the bed in L&D hooked up to mag sulfate, art lines and who knows what else. My sister sat next to me. At one point, she said something along the lines of You know, this is the worst day of your life.
At the time, through my medicated haze, I remember thinking This is the worst? I can handle this no problem.
She was wrong, though, that sister of mine.
The worst day, the Absolute Worst Day, came a couple of weeks later. I was home from the hospital. We had had Charlotte's service the day before. It was M's first day back to work. I was alone. I had not yet discovered babylost blogs or anything of the sort, and I had no network. The house was silent. I didn't know what to do with myself. I sat on the couch and aimlessly flipped pages of magazines. I couldn't turn on the tv for fear of seeing a baby, the phone was silent, the rest of the world had moved on while mine had stopped, and it seemed like I was completely, and utterly, alone.
That was the very worst day.
Similarly, when Bumblebee's time was nearing and things were eerily looking good, well, I didn't really expect his birthday to be the best day. And it wasn't. It was a good day, definitely had some miraculous moments, but not the best day. Maybe if I had had the picture-perfect birth experience it would have been different, but with our circumstances and my complications and NICU time etc., well, it wasn't perfect. I'm totally ok with that- the fact that he is here is more than enough for me- but I don't think I will look back on October 16th as the best day.
Our first days at home were hard. Logically I knew that having a living baby wouldn't magically make everything perfect, but I wasn't expecting the rollercoaster that took place in our first week at home. There are some crazy hormones post-partum. My loss of Charlotte became all the more real. I got a horrible cold, which meant I had to stay distant from my own baby. My anemia caused my breastmilk supply to be ridiculously low and I had to fight with that. We were paranoid over H1N1. I felt criticism from all angles on my mothering abilities- particularly MIL who was an avid non-solicited advice-giver in the early days at home.
Don't hold him that way.
Why isn't he wearing an undershirt?
My God, he's way too warm under those blankets.
You need to feed him more.
You just wait, you're going to be so sleep-deprived that you'll beg me to come over.
Um, no.
By some divine intervention (and this is going to sound really really mean), MIL got bronchitis a week ago. She hasn't been able to visit since. Things have been so much better.
At any rate, there have been many tears, many moments of feeling utterly inferior as a mom, many arguments with my husband, and much guilt. So many emotions, and while all I wanted to feel was grateful and happy, there were so many unexpected hurdles emotionally in our first few days.
It's so much better now.
We've settled into a routine, me and the Bee. He's growing well. I've figured things out. I don't feel like a first-timer at all of this. I think a lot of us babylost moms, even if we never physically had to change diapers and feed etc., well, I think there's some intuitiveness there. It all feels old to me, like I've done all this before.
In parallel to my Absolute Worst Day, today was M's first day back at work. It was just me and Adam today- he fed every three hours, he pooped every three hours, and slept in between. We cuddled on the couch in silence. I watched some TV, wrote out some Christmas shopping lists. I had cereal for lunch. Washed and folded little clothes. It was a simple day. Quiet and serene.
I don't know that I'll ever look back on Adam's birthday as the very best day. But today, today was pretty damn good.
At the time, through my medicated haze, I remember thinking This is the worst? I can handle this no problem.
She was wrong, though, that sister of mine.
The worst day, the Absolute Worst Day, came a couple of weeks later. I was home from the hospital. We had had Charlotte's service the day before. It was M's first day back to work. I was alone. I had not yet discovered babylost blogs or anything of the sort, and I had no network. The house was silent. I didn't know what to do with myself. I sat on the couch and aimlessly flipped pages of magazines. I couldn't turn on the tv for fear of seeing a baby, the phone was silent, the rest of the world had moved on while mine had stopped, and it seemed like I was completely, and utterly, alone.
That was the very worst day.
Similarly, when Bumblebee's time was nearing and things were eerily looking good, well, I didn't really expect his birthday to be the best day. And it wasn't. It was a good day, definitely had some miraculous moments, but not the best day. Maybe if I had had the picture-perfect birth experience it would have been different, but with our circumstances and my complications and NICU time etc., well, it wasn't perfect. I'm totally ok with that- the fact that he is here is more than enough for me- but I don't think I will look back on October 16th as the best day.
Our first days at home were hard. Logically I knew that having a living baby wouldn't magically make everything perfect, but I wasn't expecting the rollercoaster that took place in our first week at home. There are some crazy hormones post-partum. My loss of Charlotte became all the more real. I got a horrible cold, which meant I had to stay distant from my own baby. My anemia caused my breastmilk supply to be ridiculously low and I had to fight with that. We were paranoid over H1N1. I felt criticism from all angles on my mothering abilities- particularly MIL who was an avid non-solicited advice-giver in the early days at home.
Don't hold him that way.
Why isn't he wearing an undershirt?
My God, he's way too warm under those blankets.
You need to feed him more.
You just wait, you're going to be so sleep-deprived that you'll beg me to come over.
Um, no.
By some divine intervention (and this is going to sound really really mean), MIL got bronchitis a week ago. She hasn't been able to visit since. Things have been so much better.
At any rate, there have been many tears, many moments of feeling utterly inferior as a mom, many arguments with my husband, and much guilt. So many emotions, and while all I wanted to feel was grateful and happy, there were so many unexpected hurdles emotionally in our first few days.
It's so much better now.
We've settled into a routine, me and the Bee. He's growing well. I've figured things out. I don't feel like a first-timer at all of this. I think a lot of us babylost moms, even if we never physically had to change diapers and feed etc., well, I think there's some intuitiveness there. It all feels old to me, like I've done all this before.
In parallel to my Absolute Worst Day, today was M's first day back at work. It was just me and Adam today- he fed every three hours, he pooped every three hours, and slept in between. We cuddled on the couch in silence. I watched some TV, wrote out some Christmas shopping lists. I had cereal for lunch. Washed and folded little clothes. It was a simple day. Quiet and serene.
I don't know that I'll ever look back on Adam's birthday as the very best day. But today, today was pretty damn good.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Home
We're home. Finally.
Thank you all for your generous outpouring of love and support. It means the world to me, and big thanks to Sally for updating the blog.
We had the amnio last Thursday, as planned. I left the assesment unit and headed straight to the maternity ward as my BP was 160/104 and they wanted me admitted right away. I was having headaches and such, the typical pre-e symptoms. There was talk of an emergency c-section that afternoon. I was not prepared for that.
At any rate, a few hours later the resident came in to tell me that the amnio was negative, that Bumblebee was not ready. She said my ObGYN felt I was stable for the time being, and that she would come in the next morning to discuss our options. The surgery had tentatively been booked for 10am on Friday morning, and they weren't going to cancel it yet.
Bright and early on Friday, Dr K came in with a team of med students and residents, and said, very definitively, that unless I had some strong objections she wanted to go ahead and deliver. We talked of the risks to Bee considering the negative amnio- potential respiratory distress, etc., and the risks of waiting considering my declining health. Seeing as I NEVER thought I'd ever make it to 36 weeks (and neither did she), the prematurity risks were pretty small in my mind, and I was more comfortable with that than I was with waiting a few days and having the potential risks of full-blown Pre-E and HELLP. Plus, my bloodwork was showing a rise in liver enzymes and a drop in platelets. BP was still 160/100 even with an increase in meds. By definition, another case of HELLP, but caught so early this time and much much less severe than with Charlotte.
I told her that I thought we should quit while we were ahead. She completely agreed. It was time.
A few hours later I was wheeled into pre-op. It was so different this time- calm and quiet, no huge emergency. I even walked into the OR. The neonates were there with a resuccitation team (I didn't like the sound of that one bit), as they knew we were delivering with a negative amnio. I was blessed with a fantastic medical team- the world's sweetest anesthesist, my beloved OB and my favorite resident and med student. The surgery was fine- no nausea or any negative reactions to anything. I didn't shake like last time. I was comfortable.
On TV it always seems like the baby is out almost instantly in a c-section. Not this baby. I'd say it was half an hour or so. They warned me of the pressure and then announced his head was out. Then he got stuck. Then I heard these little gurgles of crying and then a loud yell from Bumblee.
Do you hear that Heather? they said. He's screaming! M and I were both in tears.
He was whisked away to be evaluated and you could hear him continue to cry from the next room. A few minutes later he was swaddled and on my chest, whimpering. So very very sweet. He was ok. He even got 9/9 on his Apgars.
We held him for 20 minutes or so. He started to get a bit "moany" so they brought him back to the neonates again. They decided to go ahead and admit him to the NICU and brought Mike with him.
I sat in recovery with another lovely nurse and we gossiped about celebrities etc. It was so hard to believe that my baby was here. M would come back from time to time with updates- he was 5 lbs 5 oz., 18 inches long. He has an IV now. He's on the CPAP machine. He's ok, he holds my finger.
After my requisite time in the recovery room they wheeled me by the NICU to see him. So precious. Even under the wires and beeping monitors he was so sweet.
I was brought upstairs to the maternity floor and that's where the memories get fuzzy. I had apparently lost a lot of blood in the surgery, and my blood pressure plummetted. It went from 160/100 to 80/40 and I felt so very sick- completely nauseated, blurred vision, weak and faint. They had to up something in my IV to get the BP up a bit, but I have very little memory of the rest of the day. By Saturday morning I was feeling somewhat better, but I almost fainted several times and had to lie flat on my back in order to stay alert at all. If I moved at all it was not a good scene. Anyway, I didn't get to go back to the NICU until Saturday evening, so I missed a whole day with my bumblebee.
By late Saturday he was off the CPAP. By Sunday morning out of the incubator and into a crib. Sunday afternoon they brought him up to the maternity floor to room-in with us. Again, completely surreal. He didn't feel like mine, probably because I had lost so much time with him. He was so adorable and precious, but completely didn't feel real. Our bonding took a little time, but we're ok now.
So, we were finally discharged yesterday. My hemoglobin is very low due to the blood lossy, so I have to be careful getting up out of chairs and bed and very very careful carrying Adam. (More often than not, M and I still call him the Bumblebee.) We're settling in. He's such a sweet boy, and it's so magical to look at him and think of all the possibilities ahead.
We miss Charlotte so, so, much. Next to Adam in the NICU there was a little 24-weeker, a girl, who was almost a month old. She was a full-time job for the nurses, and there were constant alarms and buzzers and tweakings with her. It broke my heart- for that baby, for her family, and for our baby girl who didn't even make it that far. I am so thrilled and happy that Adam is here and healthy, but he will never replace my baby girl, and he shouldn't be expected to. I am surprised yet comforted by the separateness of the two babies- it is completely possible to be sad and elated at the same time, the feelings do not cancel each other out at all. I can enjoy Adam while still missing Charlotte, and I think that's the way it should be, for us.
But we're home. He sleeps next to me, swaddled in three blankies in his bassinet. His sister's picture is next to us on the dresser. This is our normal. And I'm ok with it.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Bumblebee is here!!
Hello all, Sally here accessing Heather's blog from across the Pacific with some very good news. It is with great delight and a squeal of excitement that I can announce the safe and much anticipated arrival of Heather's son and Charlotte's new baby brother:
Born at 11.50am on Friday 16 October, weighing 5 pounds 5 ounces.
A note from Heather's husband said:
"Adam is doing well, he just needs a little help with breathing and is NICU for a few days. Heather is doing well but her blood pressure is still a bit erratic.
Thank you all for your support through this very long and stressful pregnancy."
Adam Charles David
Born at 11.50am on Friday 16 October, weighing 5 pounds 5 ounces.
A note from Heather's husband said:
"Adam is doing well, he just needs a little help with breathing and is NICU for a few days. Heather is doing well but her blood pressure is still a bit erratic.
Thank you all for your support through this very long and stressful pregnancy."
Always remembered and always loved
Baby Charlotte Molly
April 4, 2008
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Stay tuned!
Stay tuned for updates on Bumblebee's arrival!
The lovely Sally at Tuesday's Hope has graciously agreed to update my blog while I'm in the hospital and void of internet. Right now, the section is scheduled for Friday. Of course, anything can happen, and we might be sooner or later. My bp is creeping up again, so I have a feeling I'll be stuck in the hospital sometime over the next couple of days, likely until after bebe arrives.
Thank you all so much for your support through this pregnancy. Means more than I can say, really.
The lovely Sally at Tuesday's Hope has graciously agreed to update my blog while I'm in the hospital and void of internet. Right now, the section is scheduled for Friday. Of course, anything can happen, and we might be sooner or later. My bp is creeping up again, so I have a feeling I'll be stuck in the hospital sometime over the next couple of days, likely until after bebe arrives.
Thank you all so much for your support through this pregnancy. Means more than I can say, really.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Just a few days...
I was in the hospital all week. Admitted on Monday with a bp of 154/112, we thought that was it, that Bee would be coming very very soon. They doped me up with more medications and drew labs and said we would "wait and see". I stabilized and then on Thursday was sent home. I was home long enough to read a couple of blogs and leave a couple of comments, and then on Friday the BP spiked again and I was back in the hospital. Discharged again late yesterday, only because my home care nurses are great, and I live 5 mins away should I get any of the other symptoms I'm always told to watch for.
My platelets are on the decline. They're not dangerously low yet, but they're definitely getting lower. All a sign of impending HELLP. I have a feeling that regardless of the amnio result on Thursday (if I make it to Thursday), that bebe is coming out this week. My obgyn is at a conference and will be back on Wednesday, and since she's been gone the covering doctors have handled me carefully. My history is "huge", they say. At any rate, I'm looking forward to having my own doctor back.
Bumblebee is a little trooper though. It amazes me that he can grow and thrive in a body with blood pressures like that. He must be a strong little guy.
My goal is to deliver this baby without getting really sick, without having to be on mag sulfate, without having to have 24 hour nurses for days on end. I'd like to be up and about from the surgery the normal 12 hours later, instead of 3 days later. I'd like to have the strength to hold my baby. I'd like to remember it instead of the medicated fog. I'd like to be on the maternity floor, where I have been so many times pregnant, with a baby in a bassinet next to my bed.
So, I think as soon as my platelets crash further or as soon as I show other symptoms or as soon as I hit 36 weeks (on Thursday) then he should come out. My doctors agree.
I can't help it, I'm excited. Despite the potential medical complications for me, I am very excited to meet this little guy, see who he looks like, if he has any hair. I want to hear him cry. I want to try breastfeeding him. I have a little sleeper I want him to wear right away. Some of this sounds so normal I don't even recognize myself. I really, really, hope that he comes out screaming and is ok. I can handle some NICU time if necessary, but I need this baby to come home. If he doesn't, if something happens and he doesn't make it, then, well, I just don't know.
But I'm trying to be positive, and be excited. The carseat is installed. Bumblebee's hospital bag is packed. Bassinet is ready.
I hope it all doesn't blow up in my face.
(My apologies if I am behind on your blog. I'll try to catch up soon.)
My platelets are on the decline. They're not dangerously low yet, but they're definitely getting lower. All a sign of impending HELLP. I have a feeling that regardless of the amnio result on Thursday (if I make it to Thursday), that bebe is coming out this week. My obgyn is at a conference and will be back on Wednesday, and since she's been gone the covering doctors have handled me carefully. My history is "huge", they say. At any rate, I'm looking forward to having my own doctor back.
Bumblebee is a little trooper though. It amazes me that he can grow and thrive in a body with blood pressures like that. He must be a strong little guy.
My goal is to deliver this baby without getting really sick, without having to be on mag sulfate, without having to have 24 hour nurses for days on end. I'd like to be up and about from the surgery the normal 12 hours later, instead of 3 days later. I'd like to have the strength to hold my baby. I'd like to remember it instead of the medicated fog. I'd like to be on the maternity floor, where I have been so many times pregnant, with a baby in a bassinet next to my bed.
So, I think as soon as my platelets crash further or as soon as I show other symptoms or as soon as I hit 36 weeks (on Thursday) then he should come out. My doctors agree.
I can't help it, I'm excited. Despite the potential medical complications for me, I am very excited to meet this little guy, see who he looks like, if he has any hair. I want to hear him cry. I want to try breastfeeding him. I have a little sleeper I want him to wear right away. Some of this sounds so normal I don't even recognize myself. I really, really, hope that he comes out screaming and is ok. I can handle some NICU time if necessary, but I need this baby to come home. If he doesn't, if something happens and he doesn't make it, then, well, I just don't know.
But I'm trying to be positive, and be excited. The carseat is installed. Bumblebee's hospital bag is packed. Bassinet is ready.
I hope it all doesn't blow up in my face.
(My apologies if I am behind on your blog. I'll try to catch up soon.)
Friday, October 2, 2009
Crossing the threshold
5 lbs. That's the estimate of the measurements this morning. Sounds like such an important number.
I said to my nurse, that's the size of a regular baby. I never, ever thought Bee would grow that big.
Bumblebee was cuddled right in to the side of my placenta, nose mashed right in. Looking pretty comfy, which showed in his (lack of) movements. He's still being a very lazy baby, but we can always get him coaxed out of hiding with a popsicle and some jiggling. I had to go to L&D once this week for monitoring when he went nearly an entire day barely moving, but he woke up 10 mins into the monitoring and threw a party. What a relief.
Anyway, section is booked for two weeks from today, October 16th, depending on the results of the amnio on the 15th. I really, really, hope that it will be ago. I'm done with this.
We went to see our psychologist yesterday, for an "Oh my God there might be an actual baby at the end of this" appointment. It was helpful. M is so, so, nervous. A different nervous than me- he only sees a rainbow at the end of this journey- but he is worried about his emotions interfering with his ability to parent, he's worried that he won't know how to hold him, what to do with him. He's been reading compulsively on the internet about newborn/infant care, which is probably not good. He is so excited about the bumblebee but is so scared. He's worried about having an emotional breakdown when we meet him, he's worried he won't know what to say or do with a squirmy, crying baby.
I'm worried about all of that too, but I figure we'll manage. I'm expecting an emotional breakdown (perhaps those of you that have already had your post-loss babies can share your experiences), and I really will be surprised if we don't break down. It will be the same hospital, the same OR, the same doctors. So many commonalities, but (hopefully) so many differences. Can't imagine it. Really can't.
We grilled the resident this morning (who was the same resident I had had last year with Charlotte) about what to expect in the surgery, etc. She said if all looks well with the baby after the Apgar scores they'll bundle him up and bring him over to put him on my chest, where he will stay with M and I we're ready to head into recovery. Seriously. They are going to give ME the baby. I'm not sure about that, I'm scared to all hell to be honest. I remember after Charlotte was delivered getting so, so nauseated in the surgery, and I couldn't hold her. I hope I can hold this baby. M is not confident in his ability to hold it together so it's entirely possible we might be handing the baby off to a nurse or something. I hope that Bumblebee doesn't mind.
At this point, if these are the worst problems I have, I think we're doing pretty good. :-)
BP is still heading on an upward trend, but just under the threshold for hospital admittance. Hopefully can hang out at least a little while longer without having to go in.
I said to my nurse, that's the size of a regular baby. I never, ever thought Bee would grow that big.
Bumblebee was cuddled right in to the side of my placenta, nose mashed right in. Looking pretty comfy, which showed in his (lack of) movements. He's still being a very lazy baby, but we can always get him coaxed out of hiding with a popsicle and some jiggling. I had to go to L&D once this week for monitoring when he went nearly an entire day barely moving, but he woke up 10 mins into the monitoring and threw a party. What a relief.
Anyway, section is booked for two weeks from today, October 16th, depending on the results of the amnio on the 15th. I really, really, hope that it will be ago. I'm done with this.
We went to see our psychologist yesterday, for an "Oh my God there might be an actual baby at the end of this" appointment. It was helpful. M is so, so, nervous. A different nervous than me- he only sees a rainbow at the end of this journey- but he is worried about his emotions interfering with his ability to parent, he's worried that he won't know how to hold him, what to do with him. He's been reading compulsively on the internet about newborn/infant care, which is probably not good. He is so excited about the bumblebee but is so scared. He's worried about having an emotional breakdown when we meet him, he's worried he won't know what to say or do with a squirmy, crying baby.
I'm worried about all of that too, but I figure we'll manage. I'm expecting an emotional breakdown (perhaps those of you that have already had your post-loss babies can share your experiences), and I really will be surprised if we don't break down. It will be the same hospital, the same OR, the same doctors. So many commonalities, but (hopefully) so many differences. Can't imagine it. Really can't.
We grilled the resident this morning (who was the same resident I had had last year with Charlotte) about what to expect in the surgery, etc. She said if all looks well with the baby after the Apgar scores they'll bundle him up and bring him over to put him on my chest, where he will stay with M and I we're ready to head into recovery. Seriously. They are going to give ME the baby. I'm not sure about that, I'm scared to all hell to be honest. I remember after Charlotte was delivered getting so, so nauseated in the surgery, and I couldn't hold her. I hope I can hold this baby. M is not confident in his ability to hold it together so it's entirely possible we might be handing the baby off to a nurse or something. I hope that Bumblebee doesn't mind.
At this point, if these are the worst problems I have, I think we're doing pretty good. :-)
BP is still heading on an upward trend, but just under the threshold for hospital admittance. Hopefully can hang out at least a little while longer without having to go in.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Time is ticking
So, BPP and appt with my MFM this morning. I laid it out there- the nightmares, the lack of fetal movement, the worry. What to do. She was great about it. I have to continue my kick counts of course, and if at ANY time I don't get the requisite number, head to L&D right away. She said she doesn't care if I'm there everyday, it's better safe than sorry.
And... (this is the exciting part)
AMNIO IS SCHEDULED THREE WEEKS FROM TODAY!
*If* it comes back positive for lung maturity (which is a big "if"- she said it's about 50/50), we'll probably go ahead and deliver the following day, which will be October 16th. Three weeks! That's it! I can do it, I can. If it's negative then we wait a week and rinse and repeat.
Of course, if things start going south for either me or him in the meantime we deliver ASAP.
I feel infinitely better having (a potential) ending date. Even if it's delayed at least I feel progress. And, at any rate, me and Bumblebee should be home and settled by Halloween, which will be so sweet.
He was true to form during the BPP and barely budged at all. At least they saw what I was talking about. He did pass though, barely, again. Everything on the ultrasound looked good. I have to wait another week for measurements.
We have a bassinet and a package of newborn diapers, some baby shampoo. That's about it. The nursery is pretty much ready but I don't think that he'll be sleeping in there for some time anyway. Now I feel like I need to get other things ready. All my "normal" pregnant friends are consumed with making freezer-ready meals and things like that. Is there anything I should be doing to prepare for the "after"? It's so hard to imagine an "after". I don't want to come home with the baby and realize that we are so not ready. The same time, it's hard to imagine coming home at all, and I can't think of what I can do now that would make life easier then.
I am so excited today. There is a (hopeful) light at the end of this long, stressful tunnel.
And... (this is the exciting part)
AMNIO IS SCHEDULED THREE WEEKS FROM TODAY!
*If* it comes back positive for lung maturity (which is a big "if"- she said it's about 50/50), we'll probably go ahead and deliver the following day, which will be October 16th. Three weeks! That's it! I can do it, I can. If it's negative then we wait a week and rinse and repeat.
Of course, if things start going south for either me or him in the meantime we deliver ASAP.
I feel infinitely better having (a potential) ending date. Even if it's delayed at least I feel progress. And, at any rate, me and Bumblebee should be home and settled by Halloween, which will be so sweet.
He was true to form during the BPP and barely budged at all. At least they saw what I was talking about. He did pass though, barely, again. Everything on the ultrasound looked good. I have to wait another week for measurements.
We have a bassinet and a package of newborn diapers, some baby shampoo. That's about it. The nursery is pretty much ready but I don't think that he'll be sleeping in there for some time anyway. Now I feel like I need to get other things ready. All my "normal" pregnant friends are consumed with making freezer-ready meals and things like that. Is there anything I should be doing to prepare for the "after"? It's so hard to imagine an "after". I don't want to come home with the baby and realize that we are so not ready. The same time, it's hard to imagine coming home at all, and I can't think of what I can do now that would make life easier then.
I am so excited today. There is a (hopeful) light at the end of this long, stressful tunnel.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Visits and NSTs
My sister and niece have come and gone. What a darling, darling little baby. She's nearing the 18-month mark, has mastered a toddler's walk, and is learning new vocab every day. She looks like a blend of my sisters and I, and I really really would have kept her, if the option had been there. Of course, it wasn't.
It was so natural to spend time with her. It was really, really hard to see her as my niece alone and not mine, as she looks so much like me and in her little mind's confusion often called me mommy. It broke my heart, every time. We cuddled and played and sang songs, she has mastered the "ABC" part of the alphabet song and we made progress at "LMNOP". Even though we had never met before she had no transition period- she latched on from the moment she arrived to my sister's delight, who was desperate for some child-free time. She adored M- she literally followed him around the house and he tickled her, wrestled with her and gave her piggy back rides. She called him daddy many times. Again, broke my heart. And M's.
And now she's gone, and Bumblebee will be long here before I see her again. While she was here it was so difficult to not wish for two little girls - they would have had such fun, and they would have grown to be so close.
I only had one really bad emotional spell, in the middle of the night on Saturday night, which kept me up for hours and I tried to distract myself by reading vacation guides to Florida. I finally crept back to bed at 6am, trying to void my mind of the injustice, once again, in losing Charlotte.
Sigh.
Bumblebee came very, very close to not passing a NST yesterday. The first 20 mins were a straight line on the monitor- no fluctuation in HB at all. This baby freaks me out on a regular basis. He is not a big mover. I go hours without feeling him, and even when he does move, the movements are so gentle. I often miss them if I don't have my hands on my tummy. Anyway, he slept soundly through the first part of the NST, and Lovely Nurse seemed a big worried. I had already had a popsicle and juice, so I had more juice and we jiggled my belly and I rolled onto my side. He finally did wake up a little, and they got the readings they wanted and the strip was read as "normal". I have been a compulsive kick counter all along, and while I always get the requisite "6 in 2 hours" my doctors talk about, I really wish he was more active. I don't really know what else to do- I have NSTs every 2 days as it is. I kick count. I call my nurse if he doesn't move and we do another NST. BPPs every week. It frightens me so that he might slip away and I not even notice it because he's such a lethargic baby. I truly cannot wait until this baby comes out. Mentally I am getting to the end of my rope. My BP is on it's way up to prove it.
32w5d now. Getting so close. Still feels like forever.
It was so natural to spend time with her. It was really, really hard to see her as my niece alone and not mine, as she looks so much like me and in her little mind's confusion often called me mommy. It broke my heart, every time. We cuddled and played and sang songs, she has mastered the "ABC" part of the alphabet song and we made progress at "LMNOP". Even though we had never met before she had no transition period- she latched on from the moment she arrived to my sister's delight, who was desperate for some child-free time. She adored M- she literally followed him around the house and he tickled her, wrestled with her and gave her piggy back rides. She called him daddy many times. Again, broke my heart. And M's.
And now she's gone, and Bumblebee will be long here before I see her again. While she was here it was so difficult to not wish for two little girls - they would have had such fun, and they would have grown to be so close.
I only had one really bad emotional spell, in the middle of the night on Saturday night, which kept me up for hours and I tried to distract myself by reading vacation guides to Florida. I finally crept back to bed at 6am, trying to void my mind of the injustice, once again, in losing Charlotte.
Sigh.
Bumblebee came very, very close to not passing a NST yesterday. The first 20 mins were a straight line on the monitor- no fluctuation in HB at all. This baby freaks me out on a regular basis. He is not a big mover. I go hours without feeling him, and even when he does move, the movements are so gentle. I often miss them if I don't have my hands on my tummy. Anyway, he slept soundly through the first part of the NST, and Lovely Nurse seemed a big worried. I had already had a popsicle and juice, so I had more juice and we jiggled my belly and I rolled onto my side. He finally did wake up a little, and they got the readings they wanted and the strip was read as "normal". I have been a compulsive kick counter all along, and while I always get the requisite "6 in 2 hours" my doctors talk about, I really wish he was more active. I don't really know what else to do- I have NSTs every 2 days as it is. I kick count. I call my nurse if he doesn't move and we do another NST. BPPs every week. It frightens me so that he might slip away and I not even notice it because he's such a lethargic baby. I truly cannot wait until this baby comes out. Mentally I am getting to the end of my rope. My BP is on it's way up to prove it.
32w5d now. Getting so close. Still feels like forever.
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