Like a bad country song...

Last week was one of the worst weeks of my life so far. I'm not saying that to be dramatic. It just happens to be the truth. If there was a record of my worst weeks - with weeks that family members died and boys broke my heart - this one would land somewhere in the top three.
I have been debating with myself a lot about how much of this story I'm going to tell you. It's an extremely personal one, and one that I think most people would not tell. But, with the space of a few days to clear my head, I think I'm going to share it. Number one: because that's what writers do. And once, I promised to be real when writing here on this blog. And number two: in case any one who happens to read this goes through the same thing some time in the future, I want you to know I understand and I'm here if you need someone to talk to.


*deep breath*

I guess I should start at the beginning...
I thought I was having my first cycle since my son was born (he's 14 months old now but we had been nursing the whole time). I bled lightly for three days and then it quit. It seemed normal and I thought nothing of it. But then four days later it started again, and this time it came with horrible abdominal pains. At first I thought, "Man, the first period after a baby really sucks." And I've heard that, for some, that really is true. But after two days of increasing pain - a pain that stabbed me like a knife if I bent over or tried to get up off of the couch - I had a sick feeling that something wasn't right. I asked my husband to bring home a pregnancy test when he got out of classes. It was positive.
This is where it gets really hard for me to tell...
I sank down onto the side of the bathtub and rested my head against the sink, crying. It escalated and escalated until soon I was rocking back and forth, thumping my head into the sink, sobbing and saying, "What did I do? What did I do?" That's how my husband found me.
A million fears and pangs of guilt had overwhelmed me in an instant. I had missed a few doses of my birth control pill around Christmas. I forgot to get it refilled before the holiday weekend and when my husband and I were impatient, I said a quick prayer, "Lord, only if it's Madeleine."  You see, that's my daughter. I've seen her. I know what she's going to look like and I know she's mine. So I said the prayer that I would only get pregnant if it was time for Madeleine. I didn't feel ready to be pregnant again already, but if it was her time, I was willing. And that's where I should have stopped. In that place of faith and trust - that's where I should have rested. But instead, as soon as I could get my birth control refilled, I started taking it again. And all of that is running through my head as I'm reeling from the collision of facts: a positive pregnancy test, bleeding, and severe abdominal pain. "I feel like I've lost my baby girl," I choked out.
Here is where I have to tell you that my husband is a super hero. He stepped up in that moment to be everything I needed him to be and said everything I needed him to say. Not that it stopped the crying, but I don't know how I ever would have faced last week without him there.
The next morning my  husband woke me up at 8 am with a cup of tea and some good news. He had woken up early, cancelled his entire day (a practice flight, a stage check with the head instructor, and three classes) and made me an appointment with my doctor in Helena. "We leave in an hour," he said. When I asked how he could afford to miss all that, he simply said, "You need me today."
We loaded up the car with some "just in case" over night things and started out for Helena, just in time to get a message from my doctor's office that she would have to cancel the appointment. She had gone into a delivery. So instead, we pointed the car towards the small clinic here in Three Forks. The Nurse Practitioner - I remember her name was Kristin - did a brief exam and asked me several questions and then gave me the list of things we could be facing. And that was the first time I heard it: ectopic pregnancy. It hadn't even occurred to me. Kristin said, "Every time I hear 'stabbing pains' I worry about it a little bit."
I was so naive, I asked, "What happens if it is an ectopic?"
"Surgery." The word punched me in the gut. Of course. I knew that, didn't I?

She sent us to the hospital in Bozeman for an ultrasound. On the drive in, I tried desperately to stay calm. It might not be an ectopic. But it could be a miscarriage. Or it could have been a false-positive test and all of this could be an overreaction. When I started hoping for the last option, that's when I lost it again. What if I really was pregnant? How could I sit there and wish it away? But I wasn't ready. I didn't want to be pregnant yet. I was just feeling like myself again. Drake is sleeping through the night most nights. I have energy and wanted to work out and be strong before my next pregnancy. And I wanted to enjoy my marriage again. To share a bed with my husband and actually be able to snuggle up next to him without a belly in the way. I wanted to get out with my family this summer and maybe actually do some of the things we love and miss so much. But if there was a baby inside of me, I couldn't imagine anything worse than losing it. I was so conflicted I felt like I might fly apart. My husband just held my hand and kept trying to remind me, "We don't know yet."
The ultrasound was a two-part test, on the belly and internal. Which is humiliating, by the way. To lay there on that bed with all the worry and fear and then have someone...... it's horrible.
She was too quiet. And she kept looking at the same area over and over. And it hurt. It really hurt. And then she brought in the radiologist and my suspicions were reinforced as she pointed to the screen and said, "See? This area here."
He asked her to show him more angles and take a few measurements and then he said it, too. "Ectopic pregnancy." But he wouldn't commit to it. It could be an ovarian cyst, he said. He sent me to the emergency room for a blood test.
I am supremely grateful for the phlebotomist who was on shift that day. I have a severe needle phobia. Really. I pass out half the time. But the man who drew my blood was such a bright spot in the middle of one of my darkest days. He made me feel so comfortable and he made me laugh and he was so, so kind. I saw him several times that day but, sadly, never got his name. If anyone knows the tall phlebotomist at Bozeman Deaconess with reddish brown hair and a kind smile, please tell him thank you for me.
I layed in the hospital bed for almost five hours before we had any real answers. In the end, my worst fear was confirmed. Ectopic. A pregnancy in my right fallopian tube. And there is no saving it. The baby can't survive it and, if left untreated, often, neither does the mother. Those were the cold hard facts. Thank God for an OB/GYN who managed to share all of this with me with some warmth in her voice and manner. But "manage." That was the word they used. We had two options on how to "manage" the pregnancy. The first was medicinal - a dose of a chemotherapy drug that would dissolve the tissue. The second was surgery, in which case I could lose my fallopian tube and have decreased fertility in the future.
I was incapable of deciding. I was physically exhausted, mentally hazy, and emotionally raw. I couldn't form words to tell someone how to... how to... I still can't. A large part of me wanted to just go to sleep and have it be over. I told Justin I needed him to make the decision. He said that, for the sake of my health and our future children, we needed to do the medicine.
About thirty minutes later, a nurse came in with an extra-large syringe full of a yellow fluid. She said it had to be inter-muscular and had me roll on my side. As she slowly pushed the medicine into my body, I cried and squirmed. The moment she was out of the room, I lost it again. The medicine burned like evil. I felt like I had an enemy inside of me. I tried to escape it, clutching onto Justin, crying, "I don't want it! I don't want it! I don't want it. I don't want it. I don't want it....
When I finally stopped, I told him I wanted to go home, and he did everything he could to push the nurses to get me discharged quickly.
Over the next several days, I was weak and nauseous and in pain. I cried at the slightest reminder of what was happening, which was often since my body told me every minute. My mom and sister came to stay with me that first night, but after that it was just the three of us, trying to recover. And again, I have to tell you that my husband is a gift from God. He never went back to work or class that week, and he took care of everything. Which was a lot. When I list it all for you, you'll understand why I said it was like a bad country song: I was just trying to recover both emotionally and physically while also sick with a cough and head cold. Drake had a really bad relapse with his anal stenosis and was crying and screaming again as he tried to go the bathroom. (In fact, the first bad episode happened while I was having my ultrasound at the hospital, and Justin had to try to comfort both of us.) Then Drake got my cold. His first cold, poor baby. A fever and a cough and everything. On top of that, the chemotherapy medicine that was coursing through me made it necessary for me to wean Drake once and for all. It was harsh on both of us - like an insult to injury. Justin started getting up with him at night, both so that I could rest and so that Drake might not be so mad that I wasn't nursing him. Then, as a final straw, our boxer, Sadie, ripped open her foot and it got infected. It was so swollen, it was nearly twice the size of her other paws. Justin had to take her to the vet and brought her back with a cone on her head and two types of medicine she would need to take for seven days. Yes, even the dog.
The bright spots in the week were the time we got to spend together and the friends who reminded us how much they loved us. I had friends stepping up to watch Drake and offering to do anything else we needed. I got some beautiful flowers from my B's and a card signed by my dance family back home. I got a lot of sweet messages from friends and family offering their support and love. And we got through it. Thank you all.

Today, I'm feeling like a survivor. I still feel sad sometimes, but I feel stronger. I started working out the day after the doctor gave me the go-ahead this past Monday. I am determined to let this serve as a reminder of what is important. I will be strong for my next baby. I will be grateful for each day I get to spend with my husband and my son. And hopefully next time I see a positive pregnancy test, I'll be ready.
I still don't know how to resolve the fear that I lost Madeleine. Justin says my faith has to be bigger: that if I believe that God has shown me my daughter, I have to believe he will give her to me. I'm working on it. I'm praying a lot.
In the hospital that day, I said another little prayer just before the nurse gave me the shot: "Back to your care." And of at least that much, I'm sure.

38 weeks

I’m tired and emotional. I want to cry but I can’t pin point why. Just seems like it would feel good. Or awful. But either way it’s tempting. It’s just all this sitting around. All this waiting. I try to do things to take my mind off of it, but they wear me out quickly. Too tired to do anything, too bored to just sit here, too uncomfortable to sleep. Gosh, I hope I’m right about him coming on the 10^th… Justin told me not to get my hopes up but I totally have. If I go past due I don’t know what I’ll do. Doing everything I can just to keep it together right now. And nothing is really wrong! I should remember how blessed I am – a complication free pregnancy. My baby is healthy. I’m fine. I’m just so damn tired. The thing of it is that that won’t change once he gets here. I’m kidding myself if I’m looking toward his arrival as a physical relief. But my hips and back don’t agree. They can’t wait to be done. And I shouldn’t complain – I know that. But just for a minute, I’m going to. And then I’m going to go back to practicing being a stay at home mom. I will find some way to clean some more. I will keep organizing and decorating his room. I will wrap Christmas presents early and send birthday cards and make the best of this time – this blessing! – of being able to be at home. I will. In just a few more minutes. Right after I have a good cry.

A good night

I actually did things last night! Highly unusual for this pregnant lady. After getting off of work at 4, I did my makeup - shock! - and hair - bigger shock. I miraculously found an outfit that fit (with some creative styling: skinny jeans unbuttoned and held up by a belly band) that did not involve sweats or a t shirt or tennis shoes. For the first time in months, I felt cute.
And so I went out! Well, I suppose I did all of that because I was already planning on going out - but nevertheless, the surprising success of my efforts definitely created a renewed enthusiasm for the idea of spending the evening in public places. (Most nights these days are spent at home alone - occasionally at my sister's - but always in my pj's.)
First, I went Salsa dancing. Ok, so I didn't do a lot of dancing. It's pretty hard to keep your balance on a pair of heels with a giant, round weight attached to the front of you (not to mention I think it makes the men feel a little awkward to have a big belly invading their dancing space). But I hung out with some of my best girlfriends while they taught a Salsa lesson and lead some open dancing.
They are on the eve of a new commitment to healthy eating - which of course meant that last night absolutely called for some wonderful junk food - so we went out to eat and laugh and talk until 10:30.
When we had finished our eating and our gabbing and the rest of the group was headed home, I, of all people, headed down town instead of heading home. My final destination of the night was a little Irish pub where another of my wonderful girlfriends was supporting her man. Her boyfriend was playing a gig there with his very cool folk/bluegrass band and, as fun as it feels to be the girlfriend of the hot guy in the band - the one with the guitar singing lead vocals - it's never fun to sit alone. I was happy to join her, keep her company, enjoy the hell out of her company, and hear some good music. I only stayed for about an hour but I had a great time.
A pregnant lady on the town. Drinking lots and lots of water. And it was so good.

 

Pregnancy update: I'm 34 weeks today! We don't need to talk about weight - don't worry, I've gained plenty! :P At last check, my belly was nearly 43" around. Whoa! 

Just six more weeks to full term! Just TWO weeks until I can safely deliver with my wonderful midwife outside of the hospital. It's crazy to think how soon he could be here! I'm ready though. Carrying this weight around is definitely getting uncomfortable. Poor back and feet. They are ready for some relief. 

Working really hard at remaining patient...

A long, looong overdue post

Hi. :}
Sorry about the extended absence. By way of simple explanation: my brain hurt. I was too tired to focus on writing anything coherent and, simultaneously, a little too worried about it. I felt myself worrying about updating my blog for all the wrong reasons - basically everything accept the original goal of keeping a sort of online baby book for myself and my son. So I gave myself a break until I got back to a place of wanting to post an update, not feeling like I had to.

We took a hike up by the Gibson Reservoir on Saturday - great day with my hubby and the puppies.

I'm 30 weeks! Sooooo crazy. 30 weeks and 3 days if we're being picky. I feel HUGE but am increasingly more and more ok with it - especially now that, thanks to my sister and wonderful friend Jaime, I have expanded my maternity wardrobe a bit.
Sleeping is, surprisingly, getting easier. I'm either just used to the discomfort or figuring out better positions for rest - possibly both. I get worn out easily (took a 30 minute light hike today, followed by an hour long nap) but the constant fatigue seems to be easing off a bit.
My son moves so, so, SO much. To be honest, some times it kind of grosses me out. Most times though, it's fun to be reminded of his presence in my day.
We have officially transferred care to the Birth Place in Bozeman with Stacey Haugland and will be going back for our second visit with her this Thursday morning. It feels really good to have found an avenue for my goal. Now, if everyone would just join me in the prayer that I make it past 36 weeks so I can deliver with her and have a nice, smoothly progressing labor so we can make the drive.... :) That would be greatly appreciated.
I'm more in love with my husband every day. This could be filed under "normal," "marriage," or "every day" but it seems appropriate in the baby blog, too. We are experiencing one of the most profound transformations of our lives - and we're doing it together. On this past Sunday - dubbed by my hubby "Sentimental Sunday" because he thinks he tends to think about things more on that day - Justin said to me, "I love you more and more the bigger your belly gets. It is a direct correlation." I smiled and asked him what would happen when the belly went away. He said simply, "It'll stay."

I am going to have some serious smile lines around my eyes when I'm older! :)

Letter to My Son

Dear Son,

Do you know that I love you? Every time you jump inside of me, my heart jumps with you. Even when it keeps me awake at night. Yes, it would be great if you wanted to sleep when I do, but I’ll take the  midnight bumps and kicks if it means having you.

I’ve been having the sensation of missing you lately. Odd, since I haven’t really met you yet. But I read this book that tells me how you’re growing each week and you should be nearing three pounds by now. Three pounds! You weren’t even a pound yet the last time I got to see you in an ultrasound. And so now I feel like I need to know how you’ve changed. Could I see your fingers more clearly? Would you let me get a better look at your face? You were so shy (or annoyed?) last time. You kept turning away from the ultrasound or shielding your face with your hands.

I day dream about what you will look like. Dark haired and dark eyed? Or blonde and blue eyed, maybe, like your cousin. You’re sure to have big, chubby cheeks. There’s no getting around that one, I’m afraid, with your Dad and I for parents. If I run down the list of features, I generally end up hoping you get most of them from your Dad. He’s just so handsome. But no matter whose side of the family you take after, I know you’re going to be perfect and I can’t wait to kiss your tiny nose and nibble on your puffy feet. (I’m sorry – you’ll just have to put up with that. I get it from my Mom – your Nana – the urge to bite things that are cute. Your Nana calls those bite-worthy bits Sweet Meat. Maybe it makes us a little weird, but I promise it’s a sign of affection.)

Even more than I wonder what you will look like, I wonder about what you will be like. Quiet and serious? Or wild and funny? Will you love to read? (I’m reading Jane Eyre to you right now. It’s not likely to turn out to be your favorite book, but maybe you will inherit my love of reading if I read something that I adore. Plus I’m hoping you’ll be attached to the sound of my voice.) Or would you rather run around outside and invent new worlds for your games? I hope you’ll do plenty of both.

I had a dream last night that you were here. I was lying in my bed, holding you. Some other things happened in the dream but you were the only part that made me a little sad when I woke up. I was sad to find that you were not there for me to hold and to kiss.

I can’t wait to meet you. I tear up at the beautiful promise of the moment I get to hold you in my arms. But on some level, I’m going to miss this: the constant companionship of you being a physical part of me. The constant bumps to remind me you are ok. Not just ok, but healthy and strong. I already fret about how out of control it will feel to have you separated from me. It makes me a little nervous for the years that are to come. I’m apologizing right now if I turn out to be one of those obsessive, worry wart mothers when you are a teenager and young man. I promise to do my best to fight the urge to control and protect, and to just let you be you. To make your own mistakes. To forge your own way. To learn to believe in yourself.

But for now, I’m glad to have you where you are. I will keep you safely in here for a few more months. Know that I love you more than I ever knew possible.

Love,

Mom

Sunning the belly

Took a trip to the lake yesterday with the other instructors from my dance studio (aka my second family). It was a great afternoon: great friends, sunshine, water, macaroni salad and watermelon (the food matters to a pregnant lady!), and a belly on display. 21 1/2 weeks and there is no disguising it any more!

 

Growing, growing, growing...

10 weeks. Laughably non-existent looking at it now.

I love my belly. It's officially a pregnant belly now, has been for a couple of weeks. No more mistaking me for a girl whose putting on a few too many pounds - I'm a momma! (A couple of my girlfriends have taken to calling me Momma. I quite like it.) The size of it surprises me sometimes. I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or put on an outfit I haven't worn with the belly yet and think, "Whoa, belly!." But it's a pleasant surprise that always comes with a gleeful grin.
I thought I would share a couple pictures of my growing tummy. I haven't taken very many. It's a very hard angle to capture of yourself! So I generally ask Justin to do it, which makes me feel a little silly. "Hey baby, take my picture!" I dunno, it's just not really me. But nevertheless, here are the few we have taken.

   

17 weeks. Just leaving the doctor's office.

19 weeks. On the way out the door to teach dance.

It has really popped out in the last two weeks! Crazy.

Hello in there

It happened last night, though I wasn't sure of it at the time. I was lounging on the couch in my pj's, waiting for Justin to come home from work, and prodding at my expanded belly. -- It's funny how unfamiliar my body feels to me now. My stomach growls in a different spot than it used to. -- And then, oh! what was that?! A little bump, almost like a low rumble, under my fingers. I wanted to say that I had just felt my baby inside me for the first time, but was hesitant since Mom has told me that those early movements can feel a lot like a gas bubble. And believe me, there is plenty of that happening now! Pregnancy does so many fun things to your body.
This morning, however, was undeniable. I was propped in bed with my laptop, catching up on blog reading and emails when, through no prompting or encouraging of mine, I felt a definite thump against my belly. My eyes shot open wide and I froze, nervous to breathe, wanting so badly for it to happen again. And then it did. Tha-thump. Two more times, right in the same spot.
Hello, amazing child of mine. It's so good to hear from you finally. You can't imagine how long I've waited.

I can laugh about it now...

But it wasn't really all that funny at the time.
I got into the shower with a stomach on the edge of nausea. A little voice told me to eat before I got in my shower but I ignored it [mistake #1], desperate for a hot shower that was too long in coming. And it was glorious - it really was - but by the time I got out, food had moved from a good idea to a straight up necessity.
Enter my devilish husband.
He comes into the bathroom and tries to seduce me! And, of course, it worked. [mistake #2] I can't resist a handsome man who loves me, can you?
Ok. Fast forward. (Let's keep things PG, shall we?)
I saw a movie a long time ago (aprox. 16 years old - parents out of town - Blockbuster Movie Rentals - me unaware that 'not rated' probably means 'way way worse than R rated') that included a love scene after which the young, no-longer-virgin girl begins to cry. I just couldn't understand it. How ridiculous, I thought. You just had sex with a totally hot guy! What is your deal?
If I didn't have pregnancy hormones to blame it on, I would now be asking myself the same question. But with good reason this time! I really outdid that girl. I didn't just leak a few tears. I sobbed. I ran to the bathroom sobbing. I hit the ground in front of the toilet - sobbing. I sat there, on my hands and knees, sure I was going to throw up. Naked. And sobbing.
Like I said, I can laugh about it now...

Dreaming of Cheerios

This morning sickness (SUCH a misleading title! more like morning, noon, and night sickness) can really do a number on a person's sanity. My whole life, I've been prepping my self for the intense pain and brief horror of labor. You know about it from the time you're a little girl starting to ask her mom questions, you see it on tv and in movies, you may even get the privilege of witnessing a birth. And so you prepare yourself. You think, "Ok, yeah, I can do that." After all, you get the immediate reward of holding your newborn baby in your arms. But no one warns you about the early stuff. No one tells you to get ready to be so nauseous you can hardly keep a Saltine down. I never heard that the smell of coffee (one of my favorite things in the world!) would suddenly make me want to hurl. I had no previous awareness of the fact that a plain piece of toast might make me gag because, I swear to god, that little bite of bread multiplies in your mouth and the mush factor flies off the charts!
Maybe I'm just a wimp.
But I've decided I'm going to tell it like it is here on this blog. No making it sound easier than it is. No skipping the icky parts just to get to the fun and joyous moments. Be prepared for reality - in all its gruesome glory.
And the reality is: this part really sucks! I'm starving every second of the day but literally am doing well if I've consumed half of a package of Top Ramen. Something that sounds good one day and goes down relatively well, will make me gag the next. And when the nausea revs up, I better find something to put in my stomach that instant or I will be paying homage to the Porcelain God (no merry partying included). It's actually a very panicky feeling. I told Justin we might be going straight to adoption with our next one.
The night before last I had a dream about Honey Nut Cheerios. When I woke up, it was all I wanted in the world. Naturally, we didn't have any. My husband, who has already been a champ about running to the store to get whatever random thing I think I might be able to consume at any given moment, was asleep. He works late nights at the plant and often sleeps until 11 or 12, giving him only a couple of hours before he has to head back to work. I tiptoed through the morning on Saltines and Ginger Ale and asked him to please bring some home with him when he got off work. Like the great hubby he is, he called me from the store late last night and asked if there was anything else I wanted. I ordered some strawberry yogurt and pretzels. I was in bed by the time he got here and fell asleep comforted by the thought of the Cheerios that would be awaiting me in the morning. You can imagine my surprise this morning when I found our pantry void of new cereal boxes. Justin was up so I called to the next room, "Honey, where did you put the Cheerios?"
I could hear the trepidation in his reply, "You didn't pick them up?"
                  (In his defense for a moment: I had told him that I made a brief trip into town earlier in the day. He assumed that since I wanted the Cheerios so badly that I would have picked them up myself. Of course, I made no such stop.)
Panic.
"You didn't get the Cheerios?! [Now tears] Honey! That's the whole reason you went to the store!"[Melt onto the kitchen floor, a blubbering mess. Over Cheerios.]
Justin, of course, saved the day and made a trip to the store at lightning speed and all is as well as it can be now.
But really? Crying over Cheerios?