Last year, on April 5, I was 18 weeks and 3 days pregnant. Late that night, I felt a sensation like a water balloon popping and a gush of blood. I was sure my water had broken. First thing in the morning, I went to the midwife's office. The baby's heart was beating away, loud and clear. She gave me a fern test, which tests for amniotic fluid. It came back negative. My big anatomy ultrasound was scheduled for 20 weeks exactly; she decided to move it up a week - three days from then.
Two days later, my water broke for sure. This time it was clear, and I immediately went to the ER.
Five days after that, Caleb was born.
I'd had very minor spotting at the beginning of the pregnancy, but around 15 or 16 weeks it picked up, and there was bleeding to some degree nearly every day. I learned later that bleeding like that can be a very typical symptom of cervical changes. I also learned later that the fern test isn't accurate when accompanied by blood and the blood can obscure the amniotic fluid, giving a false negative.
I question everything. I blame myself, but I trusted my caregivers. I thought they would take care of me and my baby.
Why didn't the midwife tell me, after I'd gone in several times for bleeding, that I wasn't a candidate for midwifery care anymore? Why didn't I get an ultrasound to look for the source of that bleeding? Why didn't she know that the presence of blood could give a false negative on a ferning test? Why didn't she order an ultrasound immediately upon my coming in with the concern that my water had broken? In retrospect, waiting three days was completely insane. But I trusted her when she said everything was okay. Why didn't she consult with one of the doctors at that point? The midwife practice I was seeing was in a hospital, and shared office space, staff, and the L&D area with both the regular OBs and the high-risk doctors. Why didn't I insist on a second opinion??
I'm convinced that my water broke that first time, and that it broke a second time two days later (the bag can reseal, temporarily or permanently, after breaking).
If I'd gotten an ultrasound at 15 weeks when I started bleeding, would they have discovered that my cervix was shortening? Would I have gotten a cerclage at that point? Would that have saved Caleb?
If she'd used ultrasound to check on my fluid levels instead of using a ferning test, would she have discovered that my water had broken 48 hours before it broke "for real"? Would I have been admitted to the hospital at that point, given antibiotics earlier, gone on bedrest earlier? Would the bag of waters resealed and stayed resealed? Would that have saved Caleb?
We'll never know if different care would have changed the outcome. Maybe it would have been the same and he would have died no matter what we did. But maybe he would have had a chance if I'd been more knowledgeable; if she'd have been more aggressive.
I still believe in the standard of care that most midwives provide for low-risk, uncomplicated pregnancies and births. I do believe that when I started bleeding at 15 weeks, the midwife should have bowed out of my care. I do believe that when I was sure my water broke at 18 weeks, she should have bowed out of my care. I don't blame midwives in general. I'm not even sure I blame her specifically. I should have spoken up. I should have insisted on an ultrasound. I should have asked for a second opinion. I didn't. At the least, we share blame. At the most, as his mother, the blame falls on me for not protecting him.
The what-ifs in do nothing but frustrate and sadden me, so I try not to think about them too much.
But please. Be an advocate for yourself and your baby. If something doesn't feel right or you don't feel like the care you are receiving is enough, speak up. Your baby's life may depend on it.
Showing posts with label pPROM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pPROM. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Monday, July 5, 2010
Snake oil and quackery
I'm not a crunchy-granola hippie - I haven't checked my shampoo for phthalates; I eat lots of frozen foods chock full of unnatural preservatives; I love coating myself in chemicals to fake a tan; I got the flu shot; I plan to vaccinate my kids. But I was going to a midwife and planning a natural birth and I am open to the idea that modern science might not have all the answers; that you can't necessarily isolate one part of the body and diagnose it without looking at the rest of the body as well.
Today I went in for a consultation at a natural healing center, which was recommended by several people. I figured it couldn't hurt to see what they said about getting my body in balance and the best health it can possibly be in for the next baby.
During the consultation, I told the herbalist/healer/owner guy about my medical history (it's always so comfortable telling guys about your period, amiright? Or is that just me??) and about what I hoped to achieve...namely, a baby. Full-term. Alive.
He checked a pressure point in my ankle, my eyes, the pulse in both wrists, my ear, and my tongue. He said that my pulse is pretty sluggish and that I might be slightly anemic. He also diagnosed a food allergy by looking at my tongue - which one he can only guess at, but that he's confident that I have one. He also mentioned (based on a slightly inflammed pressure point and history) that I might have minor thyroid issues. He advised that I continue to take the supplements I currently am taking (Vitex, Pom juice, fish oil, Green Tea, acidophilus, prenatal) and added a fertility one and a tincture that he explained in detail, but I can't remember the details other than that he was adding something for digestive health and stress. I've had issues with dairy before, so he advised trying to cut that out for a week, then the last day adding it to all three meals to see how I feel. If that doesn't seem to be the allergy issue, I'll add it back in and cut out something else the next week.
In a month or two when we're actively trying to conceive, the supplements will change, and once I get pregnant, they'll change again. He said that he knows of several herbs and supplements that are thought to help strengthen the amniotic sac and can help prevent pPROM.
Whether any of that is backed up by actual medical science, I couldn't tell you. But I'd drink the urine of a unicorn if someone told me it'd help. So I'm giving it a month or so to see what happens - whether my cycles become more regular, if I feel like I have more energy, if I'm sleeping better - and if so, I'll continue it. I'll also likely add in acupuncture at some point. It certainly won't replace modern medicine, but I'm hoping that supplementing it with a more holistic approach will help. And if it doesn't do anything, then no harm done...right? RIGHT?!?
Today I went in for a consultation at a natural healing center, which was recommended by several people. I figured it couldn't hurt to see what they said about getting my body in balance and the best health it can possibly be in for the next baby.
During the consultation, I told the herbalist/healer/owner guy about my medical history (it's always so comfortable telling guys about your period, amiright? Or is that just me??) and about what I hoped to achieve...namely, a baby. Full-term. Alive.
He checked a pressure point in my ankle, my eyes, the pulse in both wrists, my ear, and my tongue. He said that my pulse is pretty sluggish and that I might be slightly anemic. He also diagnosed a food allergy by looking at my tongue - which one he can only guess at, but that he's confident that I have one. He also mentioned (based on a slightly inflammed pressure point and history) that I might have minor thyroid issues. He advised that I continue to take the supplements I currently am taking (Vitex, Pom juice, fish oil, Green Tea, acidophilus, prenatal) and added a fertility one and a tincture that he explained in detail, but I can't remember the details other than that he was adding something for digestive health and stress. I've had issues with dairy before, so he advised trying to cut that out for a week, then the last day adding it to all three meals to see how I feel. If that doesn't seem to be the allergy issue, I'll add it back in and cut out something else the next week.
In a month or two when we're actively trying to conceive, the supplements will change, and once I get pregnant, they'll change again. He said that he knows of several herbs and supplements that are thought to help strengthen the amniotic sac and can help prevent pPROM.
Whether any of that is backed up by actual medical science, I couldn't tell you. But I'd drink the urine of a unicorn if someone told me it'd help. So I'm giving it a month or so to see what happens - whether my cycles become more regular, if I feel like I have more energy, if I'm sleeping better - and if so, I'll continue it. I'll also likely add in acupuncture at some point. It certainly won't replace modern medicine, but I'm hoping that supplementing it with a more holistic approach will help. And if it doesn't do anything, then no harm done...right? RIGHT?!?
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Gutted.
One of the blogs I follow, The Peeks, has been a wonderful place of encouragement for me. Courtney lost her twin boys on January 31, 2009 at 22 weeks when she came down with HELLP. Almost exactly a year later, she became pregnant again - with another baby boy! I loved following the story of her second pregnancy, reading about how strong she was, and how she gave this baby all the excitement and love it deserved despite her fears. It gave me so much hope.
She just lost her third son, at 23 weeks.
I am just devastated for her and her family. This is my biggest fear: having to go through this again. She did everything right, and was being monitored left and right and had all the right testing done and everything showed that the chances of this happening again were virtually nil. Last Wednesday she started having contractions and on Monday...Memorial Day, how flipping lovely...she had her baby. This time it looks like it might have been because of BV*...a huge fear of mine because I had to take antibiotics for that just before my water broke. I hadn't known it could be a cause of pPROM until after Caleb was born and died. Whether it caused mine, we'll never know. But it looks like it might have played a part in Courtney's.
One devastated family. Two entirely unrelated causes. Three terrible deaths. It can happen again; it does happen again.
I just have no words. So. Fucking. Unfair.
*Bacterial vaginosis, another term I hate writing out. Ew.
Edited: The official cause of her son's death was incompetent cervix, which can be caused by trauma to the cervix - like the D&C she had to deliver her sons. Totally preventable with a cerclage. Complete bullshit it happened.
She just lost her third son, at 23 weeks.
I am just devastated for her and her family. This is my biggest fear: having to go through this again. She did everything right, and was being monitored left and right and had all the right testing done and everything showed that the chances of this happening again were virtually nil. Last Wednesday she started having contractions and on Monday...Memorial Day, how flipping lovely...she had her baby. This time it looks like it might have been because of BV*...a huge fear of mine because I had to take antibiotics for that just before my water broke. I hadn't known it could be a cause of pPROM until after Caleb was born and died. Whether it caused mine, we'll never know. But it looks like it might have played a part in Courtney's.
One devastated family. Two entirely unrelated causes. Three terrible deaths. It can happen again; it does happen again.
I just have no words. So. Fucking. Unfair.
*Bacterial vaginosis, another term I hate writing out. Ew.
Edited: The official cause of her son's death was incompetent cervix, which can be caused by trauma to the cervix - like the D&C she had to deliver her sons. Totally preventable with a cerclage. Complete bullshit it happened.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
P.R.O.M.
Today at the store I overheard two girls talking about prom. Of the many things that have been stolen from me and others who have lost babies - particularly their first babies (that's a post for another day) - one I hadn't realized until today is how the letters P-R-O-M have changed for me. No longer do they conjure up thoughts of satin dresses (using far too little fabric now..have you seen what they're wearing? Kids these days! [bangs walking stick on porch] Get off my lawn!) (Um, and also, why do all of the women modeling the prom dresses appear to be thirty?).
Anyway.
P.R.O.M. No longer does it mean satin dresses, worrying about who will ask you, a badly decorated gym, sneaking in vodka, post-prom parties at the bowling alley, trying to remove 300 bobby pins from your rock-solid hair...
No. Now the very first thing I think of when I see those letters next to each other is dead baby. Premature rupture of the membranes. Granted, PROM doesn't mean dead baby for everyone - some people rupture even earlier than I did and somehow hold out, some people rupture past a time when the baby can survive - but for me and for too many other women, it does.
Just another "new normal" in my life full of new normals.
Anyway.
P.R.O.M. No longer does it mean satin dresses, worrying about who will ask you, a badly decorated gym, sneaking in vodka, post-prom parties at the bowling alley, trying to remove 300 bobby pins from your rock-solid hair...
No. Now the very first thing I think of when I see those letters next to each other is dead baby. Premature rupture of the membranes. Granted, PROM doesn't mean dead baby for everyone - some people rupture even earlier than I did and somehow hold out, some people rupture past a time when the baby can survive - but for me and for too many other women, it does.
Just another "new normal" in my life full of new normals.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Vacation
Last Friday Chris and I went to Aruba for six days. It was originally supposed to be a babymoon - our last vacation with just the two of us, a time to relax and enjoy quiet before the baby came, a place for me to rock a bikini without worrying how my stomach looked in it.
After my water broke, we thought the vacation would be canceled. I was more than okay with missing our vacation. Keeping the baby safely inside me until at least 24 weeks was my only concern.
After Caleb was born, we still weren't planning on going. I didn't think I'd be up to it and I wasn't sure if the doctor would clear the trip. While we were still in the hospital, my mom and our doctor conspired to convince us that it was exactly what we needed, and that it would be healing. I still wasn't sure about how it would go, but I figured that mourning and being sad on a beach beat being mourning and being sad at home, so I agreed.
In the end, I'm so glad we went. It did allow me to forget for the longest stretches of time yet. I was forced to interact with so many babies and pregnant women than it pushed me through to the next stage of grief, and I'm now just sad and wistful when I see them rather than angry and bitter like I had been. And when I remembered, it tended to be the more sweet moments, and Chris and I were able to talk about Caleb like he is...was...is a normal part of our family.
It did bring up questions, though. We're supposed to go back in January 2011. When we went last January, in 2009, our friends who went with us talked about buying a timeshare there, and earlier this year they did. (Do I need to say that I'm jealous??) Before, when we talked about returning in January next year with them, it was with the idea of bringing a five month old with us. Our friends have two kids themselves, so it'd be a great family vacation for all of us. However, now we won't have a baby (oh, god, here come the tears!). Now, we're just hoping to be pregnant again by that time. And knowing what happened last time, are we going to want to travel during our next pregnancy?? No. And yes. And definitely not. But yes. But mostly no. I don't know. We were unknowingly at risk for pPROM because of my bleeding (thanks, doctors, for not making me aware of that). So if the next pregnancy has no bleeding, maybe. But Chris and I have already said that if there's even a drop of blood next time, no matter the color, I'm immediately putting myself on bedrest and not moving. Hell, I'll even get a bedpan. Anything to help keep the next baby.
So this trip was bittersweet. It was wonderful, but also so sad to think that I should have been that darling pregnant lady rockin' the baby belly. And difficult to think that I might not be able to go next time (not that missing the trip is difficult - I'd miss a million trips to have a baby - but that we should have been going with a new baby and that if I do get pregnant again, it will be so fraught with worry that we won't be able to do anything like that).
One of the things I did do, though, that brought a lot of peace to me was writing Caleb's name in the sand. It's so gratifying to see something physical with his name on it. It reinforces the idea that he really WAS here, no matter how fleeting his time on earth was.
After my water broke, we thought the vacation would be canceled. I was more than okay with missing our vacation. Keeping the baby safely inside me until at least 24 weeks was my only concern.
After Caleb was born, we still weren't planning on going. I didn't think I'd be up to it and I wasn't sure if the doctor would clear the trip. While we were still in the hospital, my mom and our doctor conspired to convince us that it was exactly what we needed, and that it would be healing. I still wasn't sure about how it would go, but I figured that mourning and being sad on a beach beat being mourning and being sad at home, so I agreed.
In the end, I'm so glad we went. It did allow me to forget for the longest stretches of time yet. I was forced to interact with so many babies and pregnant women than it pushed me through to the next stage of grief, and I'm now just sad and wistful when I see them rather than angry and bitter like I had been. And when I remembered, it tended to be the more sweet moments, and Chris and I were able to talk about Caleb like he is...was...is a normal part of our family.
It did bring up questions, though. We're supposed to go back in January 2011. When we went last January, in 2009, our friends who went with us talked about buying a timeshare there, and earlier this year they did. (Do I need to say that I'm jealous??) Before, when we talked about returning in January next year with them, it was with the idea of bringing a five month old with us. Our friends have two kids themselves, so it'd be a great family vacation for all of us. However, now we won't have a baby (oh, god, here come the tears!). Now, we're just hoping to be pregnant again by that time. And knowing what happened last time, are we going to want to travel during our next pregnancy?? No. And yes. And definitely not. But yes. But mostly no. I don't know. We were unknowingly at risk for pPROM because of my bleeding (thanks, doctors, for not making me aware of that). So if the next pregnancy has no bleeding, maybe. But Chris and I have already said that if there's even a drop of blood next time, no matter the color, I'm immediately putting myself on bedrest and not moving. Hell, I'll even get a bedpan. Anything to help keep the next baby.
So this trip was bittersweet. It was wonderful, but also so sad to think that I should have been that darling pregnant lady rockin' the baby belly. And difficult to think that I might not be able to go next time (not that missing the trip is difficult - I'd miss a million trips to have a baby - but that we should have been going with a new baby and that if I do get pregnant again, it will be so fraught with worry that we won't be able to do anything like that).
One of the things I did do, though, that brought a lot of peace to me was writing Caleb's name in the sand. It's so gratifying to see something physical with his name on it. It reinforces the idea that he really WAS here, no matter how fleeting his time on earth was.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
One week ago
One week ago I was happily pregnant, sitting in our recliner on bedrest, POSITIVE that I would be one of those lucky people who had their water break early but made it to full term. Of course I would be, why on earth wouldn't it be me? I was doing everything right. Only getting up to pee, drinking tons of liquids, eating healthy, staying positive, repeating my mantras and positive affirmations, taking loads of vitamins. We had brand new sheets on the bed, washed everything we owned, had hand sanitizer at every turn, and I'd nabbed a few boxes of those infamous mesh panties from the hospital so I could change them every time I went to the bathroom. The house has never been so clean and there was no way infection was coming anywhere near me. I'd already passed the critical 48 hour mark and was half way to the 10 day milestone. There was no way I wouldn't make it, right?
Little did I know that in just three short hours I'd start to feel contractions (which I would initially pass off as indigestion).
In seven hours I'd be firmly in the throes of labor.
In eight hours I'd be in the hospital.
In twelve hours Caleb would be born.
Little did I know that in just three short hours I'd start to feel contractions (which I would initially pass off as indigestion).
In seven hours I'd be firmly in the throes of labor.
In eight hours I'd be in the hospital.
In twelve hours Caleb would be born.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Shoulda Woulda Coulda
Today should have been 20 weeks. The half way point. This morning, at 9:45, we should have been laying in the ultrasound room, eagerly awaiting the news that we were having a boy. A son. A perfect, healthy son. We'd call our families and share the good news and later, we'd go home and pour over names and decide on Caleb.
Instead, today at 2pm, I had my first postpartum follow up appointment to check on my empty uterus.
We didn't learn much. There were no abnormalities anywhere that they could find. Everything looked perfect. No visible obvious reason for the bleeding, which is what they suspect caused the water to break. In a small way, that's good news and a blessing - we can have a healthy baby; we can have a healthy pregnancy. On the other hand...we DIDN'T. We don't have a baby. We didn't have a healthy pregnancy. But we should have. There's no reason that they can give us for why this happened, and I wanted a reason so badly. Something we could FIX for next time to ensure that this doesn't happen again. Because oh, no. I could not do this again.
Considering the importance of today to my pregnancy, I did shockingly well. I only cried once...and it was when I watched/read this story, about a family who found out their son had Trisomy 18 at 20 weeks and chose to carry him to term. Believe it or not, I was actually jealous of her story, because she got five full days with her beautiful son, and I only got a few minutes. Isn't that horrible? Regardless, there were several very poignant quotes that really hit me. At one point she says something about going home "with an empty belly and empty arms," and oh, man, did the sorrow of that statement hit me. I could empathize with that feeling entirely, and it's exactly why this type of situation is so heartbreaking. The other thing she said was more comforting. She mentioned that in a way, her son was lucky, because he'd never know hate, he'd never have his heart broken, he'd never feel pain. In his entire, brief life, all he'd ever known was love. And it's so true for Caleb as well. In the 20 minutes that he was here, he knew total and complete love, from his mom and dad, grandma, and hundreds of friends, family, and strangers who couldn't be there in person but were thinking of him. That was an extraordinarily comforting thought that brought a huge smile to my face.
Love you, little guy.
Instead, today at 2pm, I had my first postpartum follow up appointment to check on my empty uterus.
We didn't learn much. There were no abnormalities anywhere that they could find. Everything looked perfect. No visible obvious reason for the bleeding, which is what they suspect caused the water to break. In a small way, that's good news and a blessing - we can have a healthy baby; we can have a healthy pregnancy. On the other hand...we DIDN'T. We don't have a baby. We didn't have a healthy pregnancy. But we should have. There's no reason that they can give us for why this happened, and I wanted a reason so badly. Something we could FIX for next time to ensure that this doesn't happen again. Because oh, no. I could not do this again.
Considering the importance of today to my pregnancy, I did shockingly well. I only cried once...and it was when I watched/read this story, about a family who found out their son had Trisomy 18 at 20 weeks and chose to carry him to term. Believe it or not, I was actually jealous of her story, because she got five full days with her beautiful son, and I only got a few minutes. Isn't that horrible? Regardless, there were several very poignant quotes that really hit me. At one point she says something about going home "with an empty belly and empty arms," and oh, man, did the sorrow of that statement hit me. I could empathize with that feeling entirely, and it's exactly why this type of situation is so heartbreaking. The other thing she said was more comforting. She mentioned that in a way, her son was lucky, because he'd never know hate, he'd never have his heart broken, he'd never feel pain. In his entire, brief life, all he'd ever known was love. And it's so true for Caleb as well. In the 20 minutes that he was here, he knew total and complete love, from his mom and dad, grandma, and hundreds of friends, family, and strangers who couldn't be there in person but were thinking of him. That was an extraordinarily comforting thought that brought a huge smile to my face.
Love you, little guy.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Caleb's birth story
Every Sunday for years, I've had Sunday dinner with my family. Always mom and dad, and whichever of the four children can make it. Usually at least three of us are able to get together at my parent's house. I look forward to it every week.
Since I was on bedrest, this particular Sunday they opted to come over to our house. I had been feeling kind of crampy but blamed it on gas. I was barely able to eat because of it, and shortly thereafter I went to the bedroom to lie down. I wasn't sure what was going on with me, and hoping it was still just gas and being overwhelmed. After a little while, I had to acknowledge that the pains seemed to be coming in waves, regularly. It was a low pain, though, so I still wasn't convinced it was contractions. I thought I'd be able to feel it throughout my entire uterus, but this was low, at my underwear line. My uterus, to my touch, still felt nice and soft and relaxed. I listened to my new Hypnobabies track called "Baby Stay In," and that actually seemed to help the pains a bit, but didn't stop them. At some point my family left. Chris was worried, and as they started to get more painful, we timed them. I knew the second I looked at the timer and they were three minutes apart and lasting about thirty seconds each that this was it. I called the nurse's line at the labor and delivery unit and left a message, and before they'd even called back, I'd made the decision that we needed to go in. I think it was about 8pm.
As we were in the car driving there, the nurse called back. She agreed with our decision to go in, and we continued on our way. We entered through the ER, and I was immediately put in a wheelchair and wheeled up to labor and delivery. I was placed in a birthing room, which was emotionally hard, what with the baby warmer and other "normal" pieces of equipment I knew we'd never be using. The contractions were coming harder and longer, but a little further apart at this point. The nurse checked the baby's heartbeat, and it was still there, pounding away strongly. That was probably the hardest thing at that time, knowing that the baby was alive and well inside me, and the second that I pushed, he (though we didn't know it was a he then) wouldn't be. I just wanted to keep him inside me as long as I could. Chris called my mom to come up to the hospital, and she arrived about this time.
The doctor came and checked me out and found I was a fingertip dilated. Not much at all. I passed another blood clot as I was being examined, and for a second I was instantly buoyed - I had been a fingertip dilated last time I passed a large clot, and the cervix closed up after that! Maybe this was all just to pass the clot! But then I remembered...I hadn't had contractions that time. This really was going to be the end of my story. Of my baby's story. Of my family's story, before it had even really gotten the chance to start.
The doctor gave us some grim statistics and possibilities if the planned vaginal birth didn't go well, ranging from having to have a D&C (D&E? I don't remember) to an emergency C-section with a vertical incision (which would mean that I would always have to have C-sections from then on) to blood transfusions. Chris was rightfully terrified at that point. The doctor asked if his residents could come in, and I said yes, figuring this might be their only chance to see someone in this situation and if my experience could help them be better, more caring doctors to someone in the future, I was all for it. So he brought in a team of students and had one of them give my some Cytotec to dilate my cervix (because I was passing so much blood, they, um, put it somewhere else down there. It was rather embarrassing and I'm rather embarrassed to say I cracked a joke to the poor mortified resident about taking me on a date first). He said they'd check me again in four hours to see if they'd worked, and give me another dose then if necessary. At this point I was expecting this to take a long time. It was about 11pm.
Shortly after, our spacey anesthesiologist came in to do a consult about the epidural. I'd originally wanted a natural, relaxed birth, but I couldn't wrap my head around going through the pain of labor and childbirth without that prize at the end, without that happy goal to look forward to when it was all over. I felt like the baby deserved to have the best birth - our original birth plan - but emotionally I just couldn't do it. I don't regret the decision, but my epidural experience did cement my desire for a natural childbirth for future pregnancies. He had me sit up and lean over, and pressed extremely hard on my hips to find my hipbones. I'm an average sized girl - it seemed so excessive and was insanely painful. He found them and used them as a marker to find the appropriate place to insert the catheter (after giving me the local and disinfecting everything, etc.), and I started to get very nauseous. I couldn't hold it in, and started throwing up. Getting a shot, having contractions, throwing up, emotionally spent...I was absolutely miserable. It took seemingly forever, through more contractions and more vomiting, before the epidural was finally in place. I lay there waiting for it to take effect, and it did...on one side. My left leg started to feel a bit tingly, but my right leg felt exactly the same. He did a few tests a few minutes apart (poking me with a toothpick and wiping with a cold wipe) to check the sensations and increased the dosage. Every time it was the same story - I couldn't feel pain between my knee and hip on my left side, but could feel everything on my right. I could feel each contraction (which continued to get more and more intense) on the right. It didn't lessen the pain at all, just made it more concentrated. They had me lay on my right side to try to use gravity to get the epidural going, and they adjusted the catheter a few times. FINALLY it started to take effect on both sides...but they'd had to use so much of it that my legs were completely dead. I couldn't move them at all. At some point I threw up again. I'd also started to shiver uncontrollably, and that lasted for hours. Throughout this time, Chris was amazing and so strong. I couldn't have done it without him. My mom, too, was a rock of strength for both of us.
As I lay on my side, I went a few moments without really being able to feel any contractions at all. Very shortly, though, I could feel them again, albeit lightly and not painfully. I brought this up to my mom, and she said it probably wasn't the epidural wearing off already, but the contractions just being that much stronger. Almost immediately after that, I felt something slip between my legs. It felt virtually identical to the passing of blood clots that I had previously experienced. I let Chris and my mom know what had happened, and called the nurse to let her know that I'd passed a blood clot or something. In back of my head it occurred to me that it might be the baby, and I mentioned that out loud, but didn't really think it would be. When the nurse got there, though, she lifted the sheet and confirmed. "It's the baby." It was 1:55am on Monday, April 12.
At that point, I started crying and buried my head in Chris's shoulder and said over and over, "I can't do this. I don't want to do this." He held me and told me I could, that I had to, that I WAS. I felt the rest of the baby slip out and called out to the nurse that he was all the way out (she'd been calling the doctor, letting him know that I had half-delivered). And then...then I felt him move against me. I remember crying out, "I can feel the baby move!!" The nurse gently said yes, he was alive and moving. The doctor arrived and asked me to lift my leg but I couldn't due to the epidural (I was still on my side), so my mom came over and helped hold my left leg up. They completed the delivery, and the nurse announced that it was a boy. I couldn't believe it. Somehow, that made it even worse. I thought it was a girl, I bonded with it as a girl, and I'd already grieved for Chris the loss of having a son (I'd been told over and over again that no matter what they say, every guy wants a son as his first child)...and now it WAS a son, what I'd secretly and not-so-secretly wanted so very badly, and all I could think was that this made it even worse.
Through tears I asked my mom how he looked, and she said he looked great...tiny but perfect. As the doctor wrapped up the placenta and took it away, the nurse brought the baby over. I could see his bright red, tiny little head poking out of the blankets and asked them to get a hat to cover it...I couldn't deal with that much reality. She immediately got one and brought him back to me. I'd already decided on the name Caleb, and the middle name Anthony popped into my head, out of nowhere. I have no idea where it came from, but now I see it's the most perfect name we could have chosen.
She handed him to me. He had weight. I was surprised at his heft. He was alive. I could feel him moving slightly. His eyes were still fused shut and he had the teeniest nose and mouth. His hands were perfect; his fingers sooooo long and slender. He had the most insanely tiny fingernails. He was really cute, and I felt shame at feeling surprise at that. His profile was darling. His tiny, perfect nose...
My mom held him for a moment while they helped me move into a more comfortable position and exclaimed over him. I will always love the memory of her holding him in her hands, rocking him side to side, whispering to him that we loved him and that he was so sweet.
Chris wasn't able to hold him...he just couldn't do it. I don't blame him. I wasn't sure I would be able to do it. I will forever mourn the fact that we didn't get to examine a perfect newborn together, our first child, counting fingers and toes, deciding who he looked more like, trying out his name to see if it fit.
At some point, while my mom was holding him, I asked the nurse to check to see if he'd passed away, and she'd confirmed that he had. My mom and I said our goodbyes so that the nurse could take him and get him weighed and cleaned up and hand and footprints made, knowing we'd see him again when she was done. We were waiting for the hospital chaplain to arrive to do a blessing. I'm not a very religious person, but it seemed right. The next hour or so was the worst...I didn't have him and I knew he was just on the other side of the door, and I knew that when the nurse was with me he was in there all alone. She brought me two memory boxes...one with his foot and handprints in plaster, and one with his prints inked on paper, some pictures, and information on grief. There was a little pillow where they would have attached a lock of hair if he'd had any, and I was so sad he was bald so we didn't have that tangible, physical memory of him to take home.
The anesthesiologist came back to see how I was doing. He walked in, bright and cheery, and exclaimed "Congratulations!" Before I had time to register it, he realized what he'd said and quite literally ran out of the room. He came back a few moments later, repeated his congratulations in a more muted tone, and checked on me. He let me know he'd be in to remove the catheter shortly. When he came back, he looked around and said, "Where's your baby??," clearly having forgotten again who we were and what our situation was. Chris and I both caught it, but he again realized what he'd said and mumbled something to cover. Though ridiculous and unprofessional and bizarre, his was the only "Congratulations" we got and it was appreciated, even despite the fact that it was so clearly a mistake. Just a few days later we're able to joke about him, and having something to look back on and laugh about is a blessing.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the chaplain arrived. They brought Caleb back out, in a "real" baby blanket, and handed him to me. He was still warm. The chaplain, a soft-spoken and sympathetic woman, led us in a blessing/naming ceremony. It was good closure; as good as closure can be when you know you're going to be leaving a hospital after giving birth without your baby, and that your baby will never join you at home.
The rest of the story is almost an afterthought. We said our final goodbyes after the ceremony, and shortly after that my mom left. She'd been there all night, and it was now almost five in the morning. The feeling in my legs was just starting to come back. I remember being able to wiggle the toes on my right foot first. To the delight of the nurse, I used a rolling stool to get to the bathroom so I could avoid needing a catheter to pee (after thinking I could stand and having my legs collapse under me like jelly), they told us we were going to be switching rooms, we switched rooms (they put us at the far end of the wing, among a bank of unoccupied rooms, I assume to keep us away from the cries of babies who were alive and mothers who got to actually be mothers). We slept for a bit, we had visitors, we talked to the doctors and to Lydia, the midwife who I'd seen the most. We had the same day nurse that we'd had when I was in the hospital previously, a woman my mom's age named Kellie. She was again amazing. They told us we could leave when we felt comfortable, but that we could stay as long as we needed or wanted. We had breakfast. I could finally feel my legs again. They brought me the blanket he'd been wrapped in and his tiny pink and blue striped hat. I was thrilled to get the news that he'd have a birth certificate, for which I'd been sure he wouldn't qualify. We filled out some forms. With surprisingly few discharge instructions and orders to make a follow up appointment in seven to ten days, we left.
Without our baby.
Without anything but a plastic bag of stuff.
Happy birthday, Caleb.
Life sucks sometimes.
Since I was on bedrest, this particular Sunday they opted to come over to our house. I had been feeling kind of crampy but blamed it on gas. I was barely able to eat because of it, and shortly thereafter I went to the bedroom to lie down. I wasn't sure what was going on with me, and hoping it was still just gas and being overwhelmed. After a little while, I had to acknowledge that the pains seemed to be coming in waves, regularly. It was a low pain, though, so I still wasn't convinced it was contractions. I thought I'd be able to feel it throughout my entire uterus, but this was low, at my underwear line. My uterus, to my touch, still felt nice and soft and relaxed. I listened to my new Hypnobabies track called "Baby Stay In," and that actually seemed to help the pains a bit, but didn't stop them. At some point my family left. Chris was worried, and as they started to get more painful, we timed them. I knew the second I looked at the timer and they were three minutes apart and lasting about thirty seconds each that this was it. I called the nurse's line at the labor and delivery unit and left a message, and before they'd even called back, I'd made the decision that we needed to go in. I think it was about 8pm.
As we were in the car driving there, the nurse called back. She agreed with our decision to go in, and we continued on our way. We entered through the ER, and I was immediately put in a wheelchair and wheeled up to labor and delivery. I was placed in a birthing room, which was emotionally hard, what with the baby warmer and other "normal" pieces of equipment I knew we'd never be using. The contractions were coming harder and longer, but a little further apart at this point. The nurse checked the baby's heartbeat, and it was still there, pounding away strongly. That was probably the hardest thing at that time, knowing that the baby was alive and well inside me, and the second that I pushed, he (though we didn't know it was a he then) wouldn't be. I just wanted to keep him inside me as long as I could. Chris called my mom to come up to the hospital, and she arrived about this time.
The doctor came and checked me out and found I was a fingertip dilated. Not much at all. I passed another blood clot as I was being examined, and for a second I was instantly buoyed - I had been a fingertip dilated last time I passed a large clot, and the cervix closed up after that! Maybe this was all just to pass the clot! But then I remembered...I hadn't had contractions that time. This really was going to be the end of my story. Of my baby's story. Of my family's story, before it had even really gotten the chance to start.
The doctor gave us some grim statistics and possibilities if the planned vaginal birth didn't go well, ranging from having to have a D&C (D&E? I don't remember) to an emergency C-section with a vertical incision (which would mean that I would always have to have C-sections from then on) to blood transfusions. Chris was rightfully terrified at that point. The doctor asked if his residents could come in, and I said yes, figuring this might be their only chance to see someone in this situation and if my experience could help them be better, more caring doctors to someone in the future, I was all for it. So he brought in a team of students and had one of them give my some Cytotec to dilate my cervix (because I was passing so much blood, they, um, put it somewhere else down there. It was rather embarrassing and I'm rather embarrassed to say I cracked a joke to the poor mortified resident about taking me on a date first). He said they'd check me again in four hours to see if they'd worked, and give me another dose then if necessary. At this point I was expecting this to take a long time. It was about 11pm.
Shortly after, our spacey anesthesiologist came in to do a consult about the epidural. I'd originally wanted a natural, relaxed birth, but I couldn't wrap my head around going through the pain of labor and childbirth without that prize at the end, without that happy goal to look forward to when it was all over. I felt like the baby deserved to have the best birth - our original birth plan - but emotionally I just couldn't do it. I don't regret the decision, but my epidural experience did cement my desire for a natural childbirth for future pregnancies. He had me sit up and lean over, and pressed extremely hard on my hips to find my hipbones. I'm an average sized girl - it seemed so excessive and was insanely painful. He found them and used them as a marker to find the appropriate place to insert the catheter (after giving me the local and disinfecting everything, etc.), and I started to get very nauseous. I couldn't hold it in, and started throwing up. Getting a shot, having contractions, throwing up, emotionally spent...I was absolutely miserable. It took seemingly forever, through more contractions and more vomiting, before the epidural was finally in place. I lay there waiting for it to take effect, and it did...on one side. My left leg started to feel a bit tingly, but my right leg felt exactly the same. He did a few tests a few minutes apart (poking me with a toothpick and wiping with a cold wipe) to check the sensations and increased the dosage. Every time it was the same story - I couldn't feel pain between my knee and hip on my left side, but could feel everything on my right. I could feel each contraction (which continued to get more and more intense) on the right. It didn't lessen the pain at all, just made it more concentrated. They had me lay on my right side to try to use gravity to get the epidural going, and they adjusted the catheter a few times. FINALLY it started to take effect on both sides...but they'd had to use so much of it that my legs were completely dead. I couldn't move them at all. At some point I threw up again. I'd also started to shiver uncontrollably, and that lasted for hours. Throughout this time, Chris was amazing and so strong. I couldn't have done it without him. My mom, too, was a rock of strength for both of us.
As I lay on my side, I went a few moments without really being able to feel any contractions at all. Very shortly, though, I could feel them again, albeit lightly and not painfully. I brought this up to my mom, and she said it probably wasn't the epidural wearing off already, but the contractions just being that much stronger. Almost immediately after that, I felt something slip between my legs. It felt virtually identical to the passing of blood clots that I had previously experienced. I let Chris and my mom know what had happened, and called the nurse to let her know that I'd passed a blood clot or something. In back of my head it occurred to me that it might be the baby, and I mentioned that out loud, but didn't really think it would be. When the nurse got there, though, she lifted the sheet and confirmed. "It's the baby." It was 1:55am on Monday, April 12.
At that point, I started crying and buried my head in Chris's shoulder and said over and over, "I can't do this. I don't want to do this." He held me and told me I could, that I had to, that I WAS. I felt the rest of the baby slip out and called out to the nurse that he was all the way out (she'd been calling the doctor, letting him know that I had half-delivered). And then...then I felt him move against me. I remember crying out, "I can feel the baby move!!" The nurse gently said yes, he was alive and moving. The doctor arrived and asked me to lift my leg but I couldn't due to the epidural (I was still on my side), so my mom came over and helped hold my left leg up. They completed the delivery, and the nurse announced that it was a boy. I couldn't believe it. Somehow, that made it even worse. I thought it was a girl, I bonded with it as a girl, and I'd already grieved for Chris the loss of having a son (I'd been told over and over again that no matter what they say, every guy wants a son as his first child)...and now it WAS a son, what I'd secretly and not-so-secretly wanted so very badly, and all I could think was that this made it even worse.
Through tears I asked my mom how he looked, and she said he looked great...tiny but perfect. As the doctor wrapped up the placenta and took it away, the nurse brought the baby over. I could see his bright red, tiny little head poking out of the blankets and asked them to get a hat to cover it...I couldn't deal with that much reality. She immediately got one and brought him back to me. I'd already decided on the name Caleb, and the middle name Anthony popped into my head, out of nowhere. I have no idea where it came from, but now I see it's the most perfect name we could have chosen.
She handed him to me. He had weight. I was surprised at his heft. He was alive. I could feel him moving slightly. His eyes were still fused shut and he had the teeniest nose and mouth. His hands were perfect; his fingers sooooo long and slender. He had the most insanely tiny fingernails. He was really cute, and I felt shame at feeling surprise at that. His profile was darling. His tiny, perfect nose...
My mom held him for a moment while they helped me move into a more comfortable position and exclaimed over him. I will always love the memory of her holding him in her hands, rocking him side to side, whispering to him that we loved him and that he was so sweet.
Chris wasn't able to hold him...he just couldn't do it. I don't blame him. I wasn't sure I would be able to do it. I will forever mourn the fact that we didn't get to examine a perfect newborn together, our first child, counting fingers and toes, deciding who he looked more like, trying out his name to see if it fit.
At some point, while my mom was holding him, I asked the nurse to check to see if he'd passed away, and she'd confirmed that he had. My mom and I said our goodbyes so that the nurse could take him and get him weighed and cleaned up and hand and footprints made, knowing we'd see him again when she was done. We were waiting for the hospital chaplain to arrive to do a blessing. I'm not a very religious person, but it seemed right. The next hour or so was the worst...I didn't have him and I knew he was just on the other side of the door, and I knew that when the nurse was with me he was in there all alone. She brought me two memory boxes...one with his foot and handprints in plaster, and one with his prints inked on paper, some pictures, and information on grief. There was a little pillow where they would have attached a lock of hair if he'd had any, and I was so sad he was bald so we didn't have that tangible, physical memory of him to take home.
The anesthesiologist came back to see how I was doing. He walked in, bright and cheery, and exclaimed "Congratulations!" Before I had time to register it, he realized what he'd said and quite literally ran out of the room. He came back a few moments later, repeated his congratulations in a more muted tone, and checked on me. He let me know he'd be in to remove the catheter shortly. When he came back, he looked around and said, "Where's your baby??," clearly having forgotten again who we were and what our situation was. Chris and I both caught it, but he again realized what he'd said and mumbled something to cover. Though ridiculous and unprofessional and bizarre, his was the only "Congratulations" we got and it was appreciated, even despite the fact that it was so clearly a mistake. Just a few days later we're able to joke about him, and having something to look back on and laugh about is a blessing.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the chaplain arrived. They brought Caleb back out, in a "real" baby blanket, and handed him to me. He was still warm. The chaplain, a soft-spoken and sympathetic woman, led us in a blessing/naming ceremony. It was good closure; as good as closure can be when you know you're going to be leaving a hospital after giving birth without your baby, and that your baby will never join you at home.
The rest of the story is almost an afterthought. We said our final goodbyes after the ceremony, and shortly after that my mom left. She'd been there all night, and it was now almost five in the morning. The feeling in my legs was just starting to come back. I remember being able to wiggle the toes on my right foot first. To the delight of the nurse, I used a rolling stool to get to the bathroom so I could avoid needing a catheter to pee (after thinking I could stand and having my legs collapse under me like jelly), they told us we were going to be switching rooms, we switched rooms (they put us at the far end of the wing, among a bank of unoccupied rooms, I assume to keep us away from the cries of babies who were alive and mothers who got to actually be mothers). We slept for a bit, we had visitors, we talked to the doctors and to Lydia, the midwife who I'd seen the most. We had the same day nurse that we'd had when I was in the hospital previously, a woman my mom's age named Kellie. She was again amazing. They told us we could leave when we felt comfortable, but that we could stay as long as we needed or wanted. We had breakfast. I could finally feel my legs again. They brought me the blanket he'd been wrapped in and his tiny pink and blue striped hat. I was thrilled to get the news that he'd have a birth certificate, for which I'd been sure he wouldn't qualify. We filled out some forms. With surprisingly few discharge instructions and orders to make a follow up appointment in seven to ten days, we left.
Without our baby.
Without anything but a plastic bag of stuff.
Happy birthday, Caleb.
Life sucks sometimes.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Caleb Anthony
Our son Caleb Anthony was born at 1:55am on April 12, 2010. He lived for about 20 minutes and was beautiful.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Devastated
This is the most difficult thing I've ever written.
On Wednesday, April 7, at 2am, my water broke.
I was 18 weeks and 5 days pregnant.
We immediately went to the emergency room, where it was confirmed via ultrasound that there was no fluid left.
The prognosis we received is not good. Most women deliver within 48 hours of their water breaking, and the vast majority of those who don't deliver immediately will within 10 days. Only 1-2% go on to deliver after a date when the baby could live outside the womb. We were admitted to the hospital and placed on bedrest. I received antibiotics for the entire two days we were there and IV fluids the first day. Baby and I were checked out every four hours - temperature, blood pressure, heartrate, etc. We received a second ultrasound Thursday morning. Baby continued to have a heartbeat, and this time they were able to measure fluid at a level of 1.4 (normal is 8-20). The doctor cautioned us that it was possible this was due to a different ultrasound technician or a better quality machine, but that it was something. And at this point, ANYTHING was cause for celebration. After we passed that 48 hour mark without delivering and appearing stable, we were discharged for strict bedrest at home.
I'm now at home counting every day that passes. Our first goal - 48 hours - has passed. Our next goal is the 10 day mark, which will be the 17th of April. After passing that, we'll be hoping and praying that we can make the 24 week mark, when our little baby would have a fighting chance of surviving.
Our big hurdles now are to prevent infection and to stay out of labor. I'm doing everything I can on both of those ends - staying laying down, drinking tons of fluids, saying my daily positive affirmations, taking lots of vitamins, and talking to other women who have experienced this who HAVE had a positive outcome. It's hard to stay positive with such slim chances, but we're clinging to that hope.
Be prepared for TMI about bodily functions and pregnancy:
The bleeding WILL stop.
My uterus WILL stay calm and relaxed.
My cervix WILL stay long and closed.
My amniotic sac WILL repair and replenish fluid.
I WILL stay infection-free.
Our baby WILL stay healthy and strong.
Chris has been absolutely amazing. He's taking such good care of me - I could never have imagined. I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else by my side. I'm lucky to have a strong family support system as well.
Anyone who stumbles across this blog, please send thoughts, prayers, positive vibes to me, to our baby, and to our family. I don't care if it's God, Buddha, your personal happy thoughts, or the Flying Spaghetti Monster....we will greedily and eagerly accept and welcome them all.
On Wednesday, April 7, at 2am, my water broke.
I was 18 weeks and 5 days pregnant.
We immediately went to the emergency room, where it was confirmed via ultrasound that there was no fluid left.
The prognosis we received is not good. Most women deliver within 48 hours of their water breaking, and the vast majority of those who don't deliver immediately will within 10 days. Only 1-2% go on to deliver after a date when the baby could live outside the womb. We were admitted to the hospital and placed on bedrest. I received antibiotics for the entire two days we were there and IV fluids the first day. Baby and I were checked out every four hours - temperature, blood pressure, heartrate, etc. We received a second ultrasound Thursday morning. Baby continued to have a heartbeat, and this time they were able to measure fluid at a level of 1.4 (normal is 8-20). The doctor cautioned us that it was possible this was due to a different ultrasound technician or a better quality machine, but that it was something. And at this point, ANYTHING was cause for celebration. After we passed that 48 hour mark without delivering and appearing stable, we were discharged for strict bedrest at home.
I'm now at home counting every day that passes. Our first goal - 48 hours - has passed. Our next goal is the 10 day mark, which will be the 17th of April. After passing that, we'll be hoping and praying that we can make the 24 week mark, when our little baby would have a fighting chance of surviving.
Our big hurdles now are to prevent infection and to stay out of labor. I'm doing everything I can on both of those ends - staying laying down, drinking tons of fluids, saying my daily positive affirmations, taking lots of vitamins, and talking to other women who have experienced this who HAVE had a positive outcome. It's hard to stay positive with such slim chances, but we're clinging to that hope.
Be prepared for TMI about bodily functions and pregnancy:
The bleeding WILL stop.
My uterus WILL stay calm and relaxed.
My cervix WILL stay long and closed.
My amniotic sac WILL repair and replenish fluid.
I WILL stay infection-free.
Our baby WILL stay healthy and strong.
Chris has been absolutely amazing. He's taking such good care of me - I could never have imagined. I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else by my side. I'm lucky to have a strong family support system as well.
Anyone who stumbles across this blog, please send thoughts, prayers, positive vibes to me, to our baby, and to our family. I don't care if it's God, Buddha, your personal happy thoughts, or the Flying Spaghetti Monster....we will greedily and eagerly accept and welcome them all.
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