Days 34, 33 & 32 of the Final Countdown
It is my inability to trust completely that "everything is going to be o.k." in the face of information gathered and facts examined combined with the inherent belief that most people are usually looking out for themselves and their own interests over all else that makes me one of those people who not only enjoys buying cars, houses, and negotiating with the service provider, but is also pretty darn good at it. As the self-appointed "bad cop" of my household I consider it my responsibility to make sure we have as much information as we can find in the time we have, we read the fine print before anyone signs, and discuss the pros and cons of every situation. Come to think of it, it is a pretty exhausting role at times.
Needless to say, as far as I know, I've never been described as someone who is light, bubbly or carefree and although sometimes I often wonder what it must feel like to live a life a little less examined, a little more spontaneous and a lot more happy go lucky, I have to uneasily admit that I am most comfortable when things are going well, but are not perfect, and sometimes relieved when reality bites me in the ass. Apparently it is only then that I can really start to relax and appreciate the good times/things in my life. Yep, I may be kind of screwed up, but I would prefer to think it makes me interesting.
All of this is my long-winded way of explaining and/or rationalizing a few things in my own mind (again, refer to "Why I Write"):
- why it took seven years of dating to get married and seven years of marriage before we were ready to add a child to our family,
- why after getting pregnant the first month we tried I have spent time each week, month and trimester trying to quiet that pesky voice way back in my head saying "this has been way too easy,"
- my fear that I'll somehow "screw up" my child by forcing my "healthy doses of reality" on him and prevent him from achieving his own state of nirvana or something like that, and
- why I keep my appointments with the amazing Dr. D each month.
"Waiting for the other shoe to drop": to await an event that is expected to happen, due to being casually linked to another event that has already been observed.
- The Urban Dictionary
As I have already mentioned several times, I have a fabulous therapist (Dr. D) and an amazing husband that do a great job keeping me "sane" in a host of ways including counter balancing my occasional foray into the dark "what if" world with the reassurance that "it is all going to be o.k." and usually they are right. In fact, throughout our pregnancy that has been their mantra "it is all going to be o.k." as they look at me with that bemused and puzzled look men get when they think you are being a little nutty and again, for the most part, they've been right. For the first 33 weeks of our pregnancy things went so well I just could not believe our luck and I mean it, I just could not believe it. Don't get me wrong, I did not want to think anything would or could go wrong, but as I have mentioned before several times (see "Who You Calling Old?" post) at this point in my life I know way too much from reading and life experience about all of the things that can go wrong during pregnancy. Of course the first trimester sort of sucked as I felt like I had a massive hangover from weeks 6 through 13 - like I had been out until 2 a.m. partying each night drinking tequila and red wine, but without any of the "fun" of the partying. The good and kind of sad news if you think about it was I know how to function with a hangover as I have had several years of practice so I was able to work through the discomfort and for the most part keep going as usual for those 7 weeks. After week 13 the "all day sickness" and exhaustion subsided and I got to enjoy 17 weeks of good health, energy and positive news at each doctor's appointment. Despite those lingering fears that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness right before sleep in bed at night, all of our doctor's appointments showed the pregnancy was "low risk," our genetic tests came back clean, the baby was growing and I was able to work out with my girls at the gym and even keep running for quite a while, albeit a little bit slower and not as far as my running friends, but I was still running. Then, without warning, after my 33 week appointment the other shoe dropped.
Baby Drama Puts Everything in Perspective
Best guess is it all started to go downhill in December as the holiday party season began along with cold and flu season. Take a pregnant woman whose body is busy growing a baby and apparently not focused on fighting potential illness* and who is not "sterilizing" with any alcoholic beverages and throw her in a room of 50 to 300 people shaking hands, hugging and having close conversations while also eating food off of buffet tables (you know a pregnant woman must eat) and you apparently have a recipe for disaster. *pregnancy observation #1 - from what I can tell from my non-scientific info gathering, most pregnant women have at least one cold/flu or stomach bug during their 10 month pregnancy journey and some unlucky ladies have more than one illness on multiple occasions or one they cannot shake for months at a time.
So, after catching a flu bug from the first weekend of parties and suffering through it while working for one week I naively thought I was safe to attend a second weekend of parties where I, along with at least five other folks, promptly contracted a stomach virus (thanks Edgefield Holiday party). At my 31 week appointment I could barely speak and had lost 4 pounds, but everything measured o.k. and the doctors just said to be sure to hydrate and get some rest. Crisis averted or so we thought.
Only two weeks later at my 33 week appointment I measured "small"** for the first time and was scheduled for an ultrasound the next day just to make sure all was well with the munchkin and nothing was going on with me. No obvious emergency, I even went to my regular Wednesday morning East Park boot camp class the next morning and worked a full day then headed to my ultrasound where Zach, who happened to take the week off for the holidays, met me so he could see the bambino in what we thought would be our last ultrasound before the big birthday in February 2012. Oh how wrong we were.
** pregnancy observation #2 - measuring fundal height is a holdover from days before ultrasounds and can be inaccurate, however, it is still used by most o.b. doctors to monitor the mother and baby's growth throughout the pregnancy and the mother's fundal height should correspond with the number of weeks she is pregnant.
From the beginning of the ultrasound things were not going our way - we were greeted with the words no couple who has researched and decided to have a natural childbirth, logged over 20 hours of natural birthing classes (2 hours every Thursday for 10 weeks), and hired and bonded with a doula want to hear - "did you know your baby is breech?" Well no, of course we did not know that, but that became absolutely irrelevant as the ultrasound continued. The ultrasound tech took the baby's measurements, checked the blood and oxygen levels, and measured the amniotic fluid. All I heard was "the baby is measuring small" and "your amniotic fluid looks pretty low" followed by "are you going back up to see your doctor after this?"*** To which we responded that we were not instructed to do so, but based on her question it seemed like a good idea. She agreed and upstairs we went.
*** pregnancy observation #3 - The ultrasound tech is not supposed to tell you much if things are not good, they need the radiologists & doctors to review the results & do the talking, but you can definitely tell when there is something up and a tech's question/ recommendation about going to see your doctor after the ultrasound is often not a good sign.
Once back in the doctor's office my doctor's nurse came in and explained to Zach and I that my amniotic fluid was really low at a 5 where the normal should be 8 to 20 and that the baby was measuring really small for gestational age (10th percentile for 33 weeks) and these two things combined with low fetal movement, which I explained was because it was after lunch and he was asleep, were scary factors that meant they wanted me to go straight to the Centennial Women's Hospital ER. The nurse explained that the baby's heart rate, blood and oxygen levels looked good so the umbilical cord was working, but they were concerned that the placenta might not be providing the necessary nutrients or failing altogether and we might have to deliver him sooner rather than later. Did I mention that the other show was apparently a combat boot?
After mopping up the tears, letting Zach and the nurse hug me (you know I was pathetic) and help me pull myself somewhat together (of course neither Zach or the nurse bothered to tell me that I had mascara smeared all over my face, but they were so sweet I can forgive that), Zach and I made our way to the ER, where I again burst into tears (the nurses there are amazing in dealing with panicked pregnant women by the way) and then was put in a bed for at least one hour of monitoring and a test to see if there was an amniotic fluid leak.**** Upon my o.k., Zach then ran home to let the dogs out and pack a bag in case we had to stay in the hospital for more than just the hour.
**** pregnancy observation #4 - checking for an amniotic fluid leak is not like checking for a leak in a tire, although the image when I was asked that question did make me giggle, it is more like taking a pregnancy test with someone else doing the work, but takes 10 minutes to develop - a very long 10 minutes.
By the time Zach made it back to my bedside it was clear that the baby was not in distress as his heart rate and non-stress responses were all good including fetal movement (see I told you he was asleep, but I bet the crying and drama woke him up) and the amniotic fluid test was negative so we were sent home somewhat relieved, but still scared out of our minds with instructions to rest, eat fat and protein, hydrate and come back the next day for another ultrasound to see where we were. Let's just say Zach took (and still takes) these instructions very seriously and my dinner that night while lying on the couch being forced to drink water and not get up except to go to the bathroom was the T-Bird (chicken, bacon and avocado) sandwich hand delivered from by my rock star hubs from Silly Goose. We did not tell anyone what had happened since we did not know what had happened and we had no idea what would happen. It just did not make any sense to worry anyone else until we had a better grasp on the situation.*****
***** pregnancy observation #5 - there are many times you have to look out for your baby, your partner and yourself first, which may mean excluding others from information or a situation in order to keep the emotions in check and manage the stress as much as possible. Of course, sometimes that may make others sad, mad or upset, but you just have to remind yourself that at the end of it all there will hopefully be a healthy baby to show for it and those who care about you only care about that.
The next morning (Thursday, December 29) the drive back to the doctor's office and the time waiting for the ultrasound was quite quiet and painful for both of us as we were scared and hopeful at the same time. A different ultrasound tech saw us this time and again immediately asked about the breech positioning. At this point I wanted to scream "who the hell cares about his position?" but refrained as I know that it is early in the morning and she does not have all of the background (though you would think you could take the time to read the chart). I could not watch the screen and turned away once I saw and heard that his heart was beating and he was moving around. Again you can tell that things are not great simply by the concerned expression in the tech's face and clipped phrases and low and behold my amniotic fluid had dropped from a 5 to a 2 in 24 hours (now in the danger zone). Upon hearing this I start to shake and again burst into tears. Zach triest to clean up and reassure yet again and we then trudged (really the only word for it) back up to the doctor's office again where I told the sweet receptionist who now knows me on a first name basis that we were back to see the doctor and it did not sound good.
This time the doctor came in with the nurse a whirl of blue/green scrubs and concerned expressions. Zach and I were told that they still had no idea what was going on, but they were going to do their best to find out so I was to report to the 6th floor of Centennial Women's Hospital (the "Special Care" floor) and get in a bed. I would be there for at least 24 hours for monitoring of the baby and of my fluid levels. The doctor explained that we should prepare ourselves for the likelihood of a "January baby not a February baby," and that there was a chance that we might have to deliver him in the next week if the fluid levels remained low. This was when, through the heaving sobs (which I don't do often, but once it starts cannot stop) I asked if it was possible that all of the crying might have reduce my amniotic fluid even more. Yes, it was my attempt at some humor (kind of) and our nurse did with a hint of a smile respond that it was a great question, but highly doubtful. Of course, she had not seen me cry before and had not seen my sobbing in full force so hey, I thought it was really kind of a valid question.
So, after 33 weeks (apparently really far along by "Special Care" standards) of "low risk" pregnancy, including abstinence from alcohol, any meds and 1/4 of the caffeine I normally drink as well as 10 weeks of natural childbirth classes, I found myself lying in a hospital bed strapped to machines, poked with needles to take blood and give me steroids to mature the baby's lungs in case they had to bring him out of his studio apartment and labeled as a "high risk" pregnancy and you know what, I did not care about anything happening to me. At that moment and every moment since all I have wanted was for this child, our son, who I have not met, but already love like crazy to be o.k.. Nothing else mattered to me at that moment or has mattered since but having my husband by my side and my baby safe. Nothing like a little baby drama to put everything in perspective. Of course at that time we did then call a few (very few) people just to let them know where we were, but still did not share the information with all of our family or friends as again, we just needed to deal with it in our own way until we knew what was going on.
"Success in marriage does not come merely through finding the right mate, but through being the right mate." ~Barnett R. Brickner
I must also say that as I was losing my shit over the 48 hours we were bounced from doctor's office to hospital to home and back again, Zach was the rock who kept repeating, no promising in true "best husband ever" style, that everything was going to be o.k. and guess what, eventually he was right yet again (and this time I don't mind admitting it). However, it would take 24 hours on the "Special Care" floor, another ultrasound, multiple blood tests, several discussions with doctors about the best and worst case scenarios, many more tears, NYE's weekend confined to the house and bed rest and another week of ultrasounds before I started to believe it. I guess this is where the idea of relativity and perspective again comes in because what is "o.k." to us now is based on our experience and right now, at this moment, things are o.k..
No, the situation is not how I planned and it is not ideal as we are still considered "high risk," the baby is still small for his gestational age, but putting on weight (now up to 4.6 lbs), he is still breech and for the duration of our pregnancy (hopefully 4 more weeks) we will be carefully monitored and very medical with me on modified bed rest working from home and visiting the doctor twice a week for ultrasounds. But today, I can say that Zach and I have made the transition to parenthood and are thankful to be where we are today - home together with a wiggling little man living and growing in his studio apartment the lease for which ends next month. Now, we just have to get him to put his butt where his head is and his head where his butt is, but that is now a minor concern and another story.
Interested in the rest of the details of our little medical adventure so far? I am guessing no, but if you are, stay tuned for the rest of our medical journey including 24 hours in "Special Care" and weeks of doctor's appointments as I'll post that later today under another heading - covering Days 31 & 30 (today) of the Final Countdown. Why? Because I am really writing this all to be sure it is documented for our son more so than to bore you with the details so feel free to read it if you are interested and/or simply ignore it and move on to something more interesting. Maybe by tomorrow I'll have moved on myself to something a little more light hearted, but I will make no promises.
