Relief

At Claire's 1-year pediatrician appointment this week, my biggest stressors were making sure Benjamin didn't crawl on the dirty floor and preventing Claire from putting that bench paper roll stuff in her mouth (gag). Both of which were extremely challenging, by the way.

It was an enormous relief to visit a doctor and not worry about something related to pregnancy, childbirth or child rearing. I was (for once) confident and like the rest of moms out there (I suspect). I feel like I talk so much about this topic, but for the last 5 years of my life, I was completely centered on those very things. If I wasn't stressed about being pregnant, it was about getting pregnant or making sure I was producing enough breastmilk to provide enough calories and liquid for my baby's diet. 

At the end of this (wonderfully) dull appointment, the doctor asked if Claire was born early--which I never inquired why, because she is perfectly average on the charts. I told him 36-weeks, and he commented that she was a week early. Funny. I thought he would've said 4 weeks. I told him the short of things (only specific to her pregnancy) and he kept probing for more. So I told him about Andrew being stillborn and having complicated pregnancies.

He opened up to me about his son being born with Down Syndrome and admitted that while his son is great now, that first year was hard for them as parents.

He stood up from his computer, looked me in the eyes and said something that hit me:

"I bet all of the joy in pregnancy was lost from then on for you guys, right?"

It's like he totally understood. No, we had very different journeys (and he fully admitted that having a son with special needs and a miscarriage was different than a stillbirth), but both caused us to fear pregnancy in a way that sucked the joy from the experience that was once magical. It was really calming to have him in there and talking with me in such a candid way, despite the two monkeys we had in our presence (see paragraph one). And, it was especially nice that the appointment was truly a "routine wellness checkup" as it was intended and no red flags or alarms were triggered.

I don't quite feel like we're in the clear or anything, but I do feel relieved that the pressure of being the pregnant one or breastfeeding one who is responsible for all the weight on my shoulders has somewhat passed. My body that has failed our children before is no longer entirely responsible for sustaining the lives of them anymore. It's a huge relief.

I really want to repeat Claire's first year. Aside from the discouraging first month stares when she was gaining slow (but well), she's been a fabulous baby. I can also say that now since she's been sleeping through the night completely for a month now, just to be clear. But really, can I have another year of her babyness? Soon she'll be walking and she's already talking a wee bit. Time is a thief. But time has also provided relief.

December 14, March 15, February 11

Those were my due dates. And now, all three of them have officially arrived. Claire is at her gestational due date today of 40 weeks. It's crazy that she has been with us for four weeks already. Valentine's Day officially marks one month. She definitely brings our family lots of love.

I wasn't really looking forward to this date or anything, but now that it has arrived, it sort of feels like a relief. No more dates are on the calendar that send my nerves racing. Claire is still very much a newborn-- both her looks and eating/sleeping patterns. I stare at her during our mid-night feedings in awe. This is our last newborn. While exhausting, this is the last time I will be getting up to nurse at odd hours and having a baby at our bedside. It's the last time we'll get to hear these newborn cries in our home. She's it and we're cherishing all that it brings.

She's the size of most newborns still and quite smaller than many. I'm assuming she's nearing or at the 7 lb. mark at this point, which is still smaller than both of her brothers at birth. It would be interesting to wonder what she would be like if born at her due date, or close to it, but the reality is that she very well wouldn't be here. She wouldn't be bigger than she was when she was born. To think of that girl at her due date is assuming she would've thrived, and unfortunately that's unlikely. We're so glad the pint-sized Claire is here and such a fighter. She still eats like a champ and that's proven not only by the amount of time she wants to be attached to me, but by the amount of diapers she is producing. Goodness gracious, this girl has some gusto.

The dates that brought both great excitement and anxiety have come and gone. Just like my fetal doppler and all my maternity clothes, I'm ready to pass on that baton.

During the end of Claire's pregnancy, I was wearing (like all my pregnancies) some of my husband's shirts, especially at night and especially with the itching! He has one shirt that I would wear often that's back from his Air Force Academy lacrosse days. On the back, it says Whatever it Takes. It was sort of my mantra as I was changing my diet and doing all of these obscure things like drinking water/lemon to detox each morning before food. And so true, it is. 

Home & Free - The Story of a Little Sister

After just 2.5 days in the NICU, Claire was released into our Mother-Baby room. Our first time having a baby in Mother-Baby. It was pretty magical. Her NICU stay was quite short considering her gestational age of just 4 hours into 36 weeks. She was on oxygen for her first 10 hours of life (gradually being weaned and really just in case) and completely on room air by that evening. She had a feeding tube inserted, but it was never used and also removed on her birthday. Considering the meconium in her fluid, they gave her antibiotics over the course of the two-day stay.

The first attempt at breastfeeding was a success. For being four weeks early, she latched quickly and well. Though small, she is mighty. She still gets tired at the breast and is given expressed breastmilk after each feeding to top her off, which means I am pumping a few times a day. Benjamin was slow to latch and feed and even had a feeding tube (and longer NICU stay) at an entire week older. That whole "lazy white boy" term proved to be more than true. Did you know African American girls are the best at early birth in all developmental areas? Interesting. Girls in general fare better and thankfully, Claire sure did.

I'm still recovering. The physical effects of the emergency C-section are no different than any other C-section. I'm on Motrin and no narcotics. I'd say the hardest part physically is not being able to pick up Benjamin. He has been a trooper about holding my hand down the stairs instead of Mom picking him up, so that's good. My parents have been in town and have been a great help, so that's been easier on the recovery as well. Things will get a lot harder once my parents are gone and we're going through day-to-day trying to keep things normalized for Benjamin.

The emotional recovery. Well, if you know our story well enough as most of you do, pregnancy and growing our family has not been an easy task. Each pregnancy I've had ended in tragedy, almost tragedy, and/or heavy complications. I'm still not sure how I was dealt such cards, but it's hard to complain when we are holding the life of a precious daughter in our arms today. I struggle with the thought of why we were put through the wringer and why we were spared this time. And why not with Andrew? Why not all of my friends who have lost babies and multiple babies? How did my doctor have such incredible intuition? Did that Cholestasis that kickstarted the last 4 weeks of crazy mayhem and doctor intervention cause my daughter's almost demise, or was it the savior that landed me in the hospital that night for extra monitoring which ultimately saved her life? I do believe a blog post about Cholestasis is in order to get it out on the web. It's so important that moms fight for testing if symptoms are present.

My OB who had been carrying my case throughout Benjamin and Claire's pregnancies exclusively came to visit me 5 hours after Claire was born. It was just past 9:00 a.m. on January 14th and she was supposed to be my delivering OB (as she was with Benjamin... yet she's never delivered any of my babies!). She rushed into my room and took me into her arms. She told us that when she called in this morning to check on my status and they told her I was "crashed" and had an emergency C-section in the middle of the night, she nearly dropped the phone. She couldn't believe it and was so relieved. She said that countless doctors including the NICU doctor who was present with his team at Claire's birth all asked her why she chose to admit me that night rather than wait until morning. When I was admitted that night, they were all questioning it and thought it was weird and odd. I wasn't being induced that evening and it really made no logical sense, especially since I had perfect NSTs that weekend. She didn't know. It was just her intuition and wanting me to get some rest because I had been through enough with the itching and scariness. My OB told me right there that she couldn't believe the record of decelerations she saw on my chart from that night and if I was not there that night, Claire would not have made it. Just typing that makes me cry big, huge tears. We're so lucky, and yet, so unlucky.

Without having lost Andrew, neither Benjamin nor Claire would be here. Benjamin based on timeline and possibly complications that could've lead to his birth ending horribly (Polyhydramios, cord issues, poor NSTs) and Claire because the Cholestasis would've been written off and not been admitted that evening. But because we lost him, the doctors were taking our case very seriously-- after I demanded those blood tests. It is so, so important to advocate for yourself and your baby. I don't like to think about Andrew "saving" them, because I'm not willing to allow the thought of me having to sacrifice my firstborn to have some kind of normalcy and family, especially when others don't have to go through any odds to achieve "the dream" like many of us loss families. But the connection to losing Andrew is something that has changed the outcome of our family dramatically.

Here are some photos of Claire's birthday, along with more storyline.



Left: taken at home as I was getting ready for my last night with my boys before being admitted for my induction the next morning. We went to Barnes & Noble (toddlers love escalators & train sets), Subway so I could eat... even though I had two dinners that night..., and for frozen yogurt before the boys dropped me off at the hospital. They went to Chipotle for dinner and I settled into my fancy hospital gown (right pic) in room 108 where I was "going to deliver" the next morning, said the nurse who admitted me. I walked by Andrew's room (120) on the way to this room. I settled in with the monitors tracking Claire and my contractions, watched The Bachelor, wrote a blog post, ate stir fry for dinner #2 and took an Ambien before drifting off to sleep...

As Elliot wrote in the last blog post about Claire's unexpected delivery, he did not receive my phonecall as I was being wheeled into the OR by a team of nurses, the delivering OB, the anesthesiologist, NICU doctor and their team... and whoever else was in that room. There were a lot of people. I left him a message with something very casual like, "Going in for an emergency C-section. Bye." He may never live down not receiving my phonecall. Note to other husbands out there whose wives are alone in a hospital overnight-- don't keep your phone on silent.

My friend Kristi was my on-call person who would show up in the event of an emergency to relieve Elliot and stay with Benjamin who was sound asleep, but I called her the night before telling her with 100% certainty that we would not be needing her and that she didn't have to wait by the phone. After all, I was being monitored, so nothing could happen, right?

I remember being wheeled in, being asked to move over to the delivery room bed, telling the nurse what my passcode on my phone was along with my husband's name (so she could call him after my unsuccessful attempt--and I totally used Siri to call Elliot but failed, haha), telling the anesthesiologist to please knock me out before they start cutting, a gush of liquid across my belly, an oxygen mask on my face, and the anesthesiologist grabbing my jaw tightly with his big football player hands to get me knocked out immediately. I also remember someone saying something about arms and being strapped down. The rest is lost.

Elliot finally answered and the nurses asked him if he had been receiving their calls--apparently called a few times. Nothing like knowing my husband was sleeping soundly while I was going through a major emergency abdominal surgery and that our daughter's life was on the line. He couldn't believe it and neither could I... though even if he were there, he would not have been allowed in the room and it might have been more traumatic for everyone. He remembers asking if we were okay and they said we were both alive. When he arrived, the nurses were discussing "Where they wanted Mr. Wilson", which scared him a bit.

Claire was born at 4:17 a.m. and these photos of me in the recovery room (which I don't remember at all except Elliot and the anesthesiologist talking about Elliot's hat from Antique Archaeology) are all we have of that time. Apparently I'm quite funny under general anesthesia and morphine, because Elliot remembers me cracking jokes (!) with the anesthesiologist. These photos were taken at 7:19 a.m., thanks to the photo properties for keeping track. It had been 3 hours since she was born and we had yet to see her. Elliot was asked by the nurses if he wanted to see Claire or me first-- he chose me (wise, husband). He actually arrived in the recovery room before I did, though I truly have no known knowledge of any of this, or seeing Elliot at all. My first memory when I woke up that is visual was being wheeled down into the NICU to see Claire for the first time with Elliot. The NICU was huge, the rooms were all private, and less than a year old. It was an entirely different NICU than Benjamin experienced.

Apparently I asked for tissues. I was crying I guess.

My first memory of seeing Claire was noticing that she was small (no surprise as she was my smallest and youngest baby by gestation) and was sucking on a pacifier. I was amazed she had the sucking ability for being so young. It's wild to think that many people saw Claire in her first 3 hours of life and we had yet to see her at all. Many doctors and nurses were caring for her, cleaning her and dressing her... and yet we had not been around. That's still something we have been chatting about because of how abnormal it was. She was alive in this world hours before we met her. And while of course we wished the circumstances were different, we wouldn't trade the diligence and intuition of those nurses and doctors that night. I also oddly remember my nurse from my room 108 "delivery room" being pregnant. Odd what pieces I've managed to collect.

In recovery mode. Morphine (which apparently I was pressing often until I realized what it was) made me SO drowsy and unable to keep my eyes open. Yet, I couldn't sleep at all. Between our Mother-Baby room and seeing Claire in her private NICU room. I remember trying to get up to get in the wheelchair to see her for the second time and getting dizzy. I didn't get to see her again (since that 8-ish a.m. first meeting being wheeled in from my OR bed) until that evening when I could stand up on my own and make it to the wheelchair for my ride down to the NICU. We were put on the second floor of Mother-Baby to be close to Claire... as the NICU is also on the second floor. That proved to be quite nice as we visited her often, just like Benjamin, to feed, breastfeed, and hold. The leg cuffs were to prevent clotting and lower swelling. They were horrible, itchy, sweaty, and didn't prevent swelling as I still can't wear normal shoes at 6 days postpartum-- though the swelling is reducing, thankfully.

In the meantime, Benjamin was being cared with the best hands possible. Our friend Danielle took him to Dunkin Donuts for breakfast (note donut hands grabbing for more), the children's museum, playhouse, and he ate super well for her!

On Wednesday (after my parents arrived Tuesday night and took over for Danielle), they came to visit and meet Claire. Benjamin did not meet her that evening because NICU has strict orders against anyone under 16. Elliot took Benjamin down to the Ronald McDonald House to check out their fun kid toys and things. The hospital social worker (who also runs the SHARE program for pregnancy loss... I'm telling you...it all comes full circle for us...) told us we were welcome there to stay or visit and remembered us from last time. If you don't remember that fiasco and story, here's Benjamin's birth story about the Ronald McDonald House not being open despite the signs saying they were and us sleeping in the lobby because we refused to leave. The social worker picked out a special toy for Benjamin and everything.

Finally in Mother-Baby with our baby girl. We were released by my rockstar OB around 1:30 p.m. on Friday the 17th and headed home. I was wheelchaired to the car as I was after the births of my boys and walked the two feet from chair to car in my socks because I didn't have shoes that fit my swollen feet. I didn't care. Get. us. home.

She's doing incredible. At birth she was 6lb. 1oz. and dropped to 5lb. 13oz. at discharge. She is now up to 5lb. 14oz. with just 3 ounces to go until she's met birth weight. She's sleeping, eating, being all around amazing and has turned Benjamin's world upside down. That's for another post.

An Unexpected Delivery

(Disclosure: Husband as ghost writer, so please excuse the lack of style and creativity.)

Last night, after deciding to take an Ambien at the suggestion of her nurse, Brandy was fast asleep on monitors when she was suddenly awoken at 3:40 am by five nurses. Apparently Claire had shown heart tone decelerations over the past 6 minutes, and the nurses immediately started inserting IVs, checking the baby, and had Brandy get on her hands and knees to try to get the baby away from the cord. Claire stabilized at this point, and they did an ultrasound. The doctor then came in, checked her monitor readings, and said if this deceleration occurred again that they would do an emergency c-section. The doctor laid Brandy back down, and started another ultrasound... at which point Claire had another deceleration.

They immediately started prepping Brandy for the c-section. Brandy called me at 4:08 am (which unfortunately did not wake me), put under general anesthesia, and Claire was delivered at 4:17 am apparently kicking and screaming. There was meconium in the amniotic fluid, which further validated that she had indeed been under distress. A nurse was nice enough to keep calling me and get through a few minutes after the c-section had occurred. (An amazing friend was nice enough to rush over to our house to take over babysitting Benjamin, and I was able to get to the hospital before Brandy was awake. We also have another friend watching Benjamin ALL day today before his grandparents arrive... so a HUGE thank you there as well.)

Claire weighed in at 6lbs 1oz (not bad for a baby just a few hours into her 36th week), is 18.5 inches long, has blonde hair, and a dimple on her chin (and we are trying to figure out what side of the family that came from). She is now stable in the NICU (on oxygen, not unexpected, and antibiotics as a precaution given meconium in the fluid) and appears to be doing well. (Note: The NICU has undergone a major upgrade since Benjamin was here, and now babies get their own really nice private rooms.)

Brandy is extremely tired, but ultimately relieved... and looking to catch up on a bit of sleep if possible. Between all the drugs and lack of sleep, she was not in a condition to write this blog post... but wanted to get this update out to her many amazing friends and family members who she knows are anxious for an update.

Here are a few photos of our beautiful addition, and her amazing mother:

On behalf of myself, Brandy, Benjamin, and Claire... thank you all for your countless thoughts, prayers, support, and love.

Updates From Labor & Delivery

Well, I'm back. Again. For the last time. I'm hooked up to monitors for Claire's heartbeat and contractions. No Cervidil. No IV. No Pitocin. Just monitors. I'm basically here for an overnight NST. At 6 a.m. tomorrow morning, I'll be given Pitcoin (which I had with Benjamin). Elliot will come about two hours later and be with me for the duration. They've already offered me an Ambien so I'll sleep before it all begins. It's weird being here alone, but I know it's really uneventful and quite uncomfortable for Elliot to be here. And honestly, I want Benjamin to have normalcy tonight with Dad at home before his world is given a spin.

Both of the weekend NSTs went great. She moved like a champ (go figure!) and I got 4 hours of monitoring to calm my nerves a bit. I still performed plenty of kick counts at home, but those NSTs were worth whatever they end up charging us.

I've been scurrying to get things ready for Benjamin, my parents, and my friend Danielle who will take over tomorrow until my parents arrive late Tuesday. The teacher in me got right to work on my "sub" notes, complete with addresses and phone numbers of places we often go with Benjamin. The fridge is stocked, the pantry was already stocked, and I cooked/baked things that my son might actually eat 4 bites of before giving up. I'm so thankful we have such good friends willing to fill in while we're not able and that my parents could make the trip out to spend a week with Benjamin.

We're hoping our family is not separated for over a week, but we have to be realistic about things. I'm being induced at exactly 36 weeks. That's considered pre-term. Which means Claire will be born a preemie. Not a super small one (hoping for 6lbs! Though, B was 7lb.6oz. and still earned himself 4 days in the NICU at just barely term), but premature nonetheless. Which means... we're sort of setting ourselves up for a NICU stay. It would be amazing if she did not need NICU time, but we just want her alive.

My mind and heart have been all over the place. Nervous. Anxious. Frustrated. Excited.

I'm nervous about being away from Benjamin. I already miss him and it hasn't even been 3 hours since I got hugs and kisses from him last. I'm nervous about choosing to induce our daughter this early. But, I'm more nervous about leaving her in with the uncertainty of Cholestasis that can strike at any time without much medical understanding. I'm nervous about another NICU stay. I'm nervous she will show distress. I'm nervous about the delivery and if that will go well and safely. I'm nervous about seeing her struggle. There are just so many uncertainties.

I'm anxious. We have gone back and forth about whether this is the right decision to induce. This condition is rare. And risky. Most people have happy and healthy inductions with this condition. But most is not good enough for us. The itching, even with 1200mg of the Ursodiol drug in me each day tells me that my levels are fluctuating and uncertain. That while she's in there each minute, she's growing and maturing as she should, but could also being exposed to something we're uncertain about with consequences I'm not willing to gamble.

I'm frustrated we are going through another strange induction. It's frustrating knowing that we didn't get to make it to 38 weeks and have a normal, happy induction with our daughter in mother-baby and going home 2 days later. Yes, it could happen, but I doubt it. I'm frustrated that I've been pregnant 4 times and none of them ended in the simple, happy, fairytale ending we imagined. Even if she doesn't have a NICU stay, this end is not something I desired for her.

I'm excited about having a living daughter. I'm excited Benjamin will likely have a little sister and grow up with someone else to interact with. I'm excited for our family to welcome another grandchild and niece. I'm excited I won't ever be pregnant again and this condition will go away!

Here we are again... updates to come tomorrow! Thanks for all the emails and comments of support. We appreciate them all.

The Saga Continues...

I was almost admitted tonight. My OB and the fab MFM were chatting FOUR times on the phone about me during my NST visit.

My appt. was at 2:30 and I just got home at 5:20 (but am just publishing this now because I have a demanding toddler whom I'm so freaking thankful for). I saw both the OB and drove to the hospital (next door), valeted my car and saw the MFM. I had three ultrasounds. Not exactly a simple NST.

First, there is some good news. Let's start with: SHE IS ALIVE. Also, my bile acid levels have lowered considerably (but are still considered high) to 55. From 132 to 55? I think the drug and my diet are both magic. I shall continue all of those until delivery. My liver panel was elevated but not with alarming numbers. My bilirubin came back in the red, but also mild.

Now here's the play-by-play:

On the way to the OB, she was moving decent. I was happy, but knew once they hooked up that stupid machine, it would lull her to sleep. And it did. She seriously moved like once in 30 minutes. I had juice and a lollipop and hoped that would make things happen. She ended up having 3-4 great accelerations in 10 minutes following. Not the best, but she's never been the best.

My OB did the Strep B and told me she wants me admitted Monday night and to deliver me Tuesday now at exactly 36w. Then she checked me to see if I was dilated and could not feel the baby at all. Her positioning was odd and she told me to get dressed and meet her in for an ultrasound.

Ultrasound time (#1) and she is still head-down, but not engaged. Fluid looked great and she was concerned about the cord blood flow because of how she was positioned in relation to the cord. Said she wanted to have the MFM ultrasound me and told me to sit tight.

Various calls with the MFM later (to which I heard much of these conversations) and my amazing OB told me that the MFM told her to just find a reason to admit me tonight and deliver because we just seem to be hitting so many issues. But, they couldn't find a clear reason unless there is a cord issue. Fluid is good, she is reactive, my numbers dropped considerably... so it's not good enough reason to induce earlier than 36w.

Before I left for the MFM, my phone kept updating me with scheduled appointments to Labor & Delivery for NSTs. I will be having an NST tomorrow (Saturday) at noon and Sunday at noon. On Monday night, I will be admitted at 6 p.m. to get some rest before my Tuesday induction. I was grateful to hear all of this, but a little nervous about not being admitted for round-the-clock monitoring until she is born. However, with the news that the numbers have improved, I was thankful for at least that.

I headed over to the MFM at this point and had an ultrasound with the technician and then another one when the MFM came in. She showed me cord blood flow and positioning of the cord no where near her head or neck-- near the placenta actually. Yes, there was a lot there, but the blood flow was good.

I'll be monitored every 24-30 hours until she is safely delivered. However she comes, let's just hope she's alive. Like so many of you wise and wonderful people have said, NICU is just a stepping stone. We'll get through this.

While I slept maybe 3 hours last night and will likely not sleep until Monday night when I'm admitted, I'm feeling more confident about the frequent monitoring. Of course I'll be doing kick counts in between these L&D visits, but at least we had some good news.

You Can Handle Anything That Comes With Alive

That's what my friend and fellow babyloss mom, Melissa, has been emailing me over the last couple weeks.

This diagnosis is really throwing me some curveballs. Excuse me for posting exclusively about this scary pregnancy for the duration of it... because it is consuming every crevice of my mind.

My OB personally called me yesterday to tell me the liver function test was not good and my levels there were high, too. She was not surprised and I wasn't either. High bile acids indicate your liver is not working like it should. The bile acids test has not returned yet, but we can only assume it's not looking pretty. I will find out tomorrow at my NST appt.

Now that both overseeing MFMs are on board and clearly see the urgency in my case now, they specifically told my OB that we need to make it to 36 weeks (Tuesday) and then it's go-time.

I'm having this baby next week... if she makes it that long. The clause I never want to add, but reluctantly must. It's all that is going on in my brain right now. She had hiccups three times this morning. Does that mean she is in distress? Is there meconium in the fluid? These thoughts never rest.

My OB said we have a decision to make-- will it be next Wednesday at 36w1d, or next Friday at 36w3d? She also said I could come in for daily NSTs if that is what gets me through. I just might.

Will we have a living child? Hopefully.
Will we have a living child with potential NICU time for either choice? Probably.
Will the 36w3d choice be wiser to avoid NICU time? Likely.
Can we wait that long, knowing we are putting her in danger even longer inside my body? Unlikely.

We both agree that we'd LOVE to wait until 36w3d, but really, we'd love to wait until 40 weeks! That's just not happening. The difference of those two days seems harrowing. Knowing the anxiety that I am currently experiencing, we might just be scraping it to Wednesday. And honestly, if these bile acids come back astronomically higher than my 132 (already over 3x the severe mark), Wednesday isn't going to be a consideration, but a decision made.

On Tuesday at my 35w appointment, I went from an induction date of 37w6d (without Cholestasis) to possibly 37w3d (diagnosed with symptoms) to 36 weeks. These decisions all happened in 24-hours.

We can handle anything that comes with alive. Of course I don't want my daughter to deal with NICU time. But I feel like my body is slowly trying to kill her and I just can't take that chance. If we're lucky enough to see her born alive, we'll handle anything that comes with being alive.

Probably more updates tomorrow after my NST.

35 Week Update

Today marks 35 weeks with Claire. I had my OB appt. this morning and things have definitely changed. I'm starting to be taken a lot more seriously.

After Friday's appointment that put me in low spirits and tears (marginal NST, measuring small, bile acid levels high and no one who cared...), I called Saturday to request the nurse put in a requisition for another repeat bile acids test and to add a liver function test to that. The nurse was not the lead nurse and could not authorize it, but she did write me a requisition that day and told me to wait until the lead nurse okays it before I have it done on Monday morning. I was in tears talking to her about this and she told me to go with my gut and that I'm the only one who would know absolute best. Essentially, she was giving me permission to break the rules and get the blood test without the blessing of the lead nurse and overseeing MFM.

Monday (yesterday) marked 10 days since I had my first blood draw and levels at 132. I scheduled an appt. for 7:30, knowing the lead nurse wouldn't be able to get back to me in time before the test to authorize it. I was breaking the rules, I guess. My body, my baby. And who cares if I'm paying and it doesn't increase their workload at all, right? Two hours after I got the test done yesterday, I received a call from the lead nurse telling me she spoke with the MFM (who is clearly not someone I like) and he concluded that 10 days won't make a different in my levels and not to bother with the blood test. I told her I already had the blood draw and if the levels didn't matter, then we'll find out.

While I have no training as a nurse, doctor, or even phlebotomist (though I'm pretty sure I could be one having had so much blood taken in these three years of babymaking), I know that blood levels rise and fall rapidly. I remember getting beta levels tested for my last three pregnancies and getting blood draws in the hospital daily to see increase and decrease in other levels. I had blood tests every other day after my miscarriage to make sure my levels were decreasing. I know levels can rise and fall quickly, so to tell me 10 days doesn't matter... false.

I've been plugging along with my diet, taking the meds they prescribed and had a list of questions to ask at my OB appt. today. I've been anxiously awaiting this appt.

My ultrasound was first and she measured the fluid at 13cm, which is absolutely incredible for me. I had Polyhydramnios with both Benjamin and Andrew, so checking fluid for this baby has been really important. At this stage with Benjamin, I was well on my way to 28cm. That's a huge difference.

She also did a growth ultrasound since my NST and OB visit on Friday caused that OB (who I never see) to question why I was measuring behind. Turns out I'm not since Claire is measuring 5lb.15oz. and in the 62nd percentile. All measurements were in the 35th/36th week range. I know those measurements are usually padded and often babies are born smaller, but to be near the 6lb. estimated range is great. A sigh of relief on that one. No growth restriction like that OB had me worried about on Friday.

The same nurse who gave me the unauthorized requisition to get a blood test helped me today. And you know what? Before this week, I'd never seen her before. She set me up with my NST and we were in business. Despite the NST taking about 45 minutes until my OB was pleased with the number of accels, she did do fine. My babies are never rockstars on these, it seems. But, she did move and it was tracked and her heart rate did elevate accordingly.

We chatted about the itching and how I'm still up hours at night showering and trying to find relief any way I can. My OB told me she was surprised to see such high numbers in me but not jaundice. That she normally does not worry much about Cholestasis as it is more common than people realize, she wasn't taking any chances with me especially, knowing we lost Andrew. Music to my ears. I talked about my diet and she said that people with gallbladder issues are often encouraged to reduce fat intake, so it can't hurt.

Then I asked if she would consider moving my induction date up so I didn't have to endure a weekend and it would put me closer to 37w rather than the 38w mark. She said she was on board and would be in talks with the MFM (different!) and they might want me to come in for an amniocenteses on that Friday before they make the call to induce early... but if it were her, she'd just push for a Friday (1/24) induction. Still hooked to the NST at this point, she came back and said the MFM is concerned enough about my levels that they want me re-booked for more bloodwork, but this time both bile acids and liver function test. Hmm... my intuition is stellar.

I told her I already pushed for those and that I got the test yesterday (against the lousy MFM's orders). She wasn't pleased that the lab might take 7 days again at that particular lab, so she sent me over to the hospital next door for a rush of bloodwork with hopes to have the results by this Thursday or Friday, latest. We would discuss at my Friday NST. She even mentioned that if my levels are elevated more, they might be talking an induction in the 36th week instead.

Holy. Of course I don't want a 36-weeker, but if my levels are high, the baby is not safe inside me according to my fabulous OB and the new MFM who are taking this seriously. {Note: my fab OB did not know my high bile acid levels when she was nonchalant about my itching last week. Now that she knows, there's been a fire lit, it seems.} Yes, many outcomes around 37 weeks are positive with women who have Cholestasis. But my levels are high and I've been dealt the card once before. It appears now no one important is willing to take any chances.

They handed me a requisition sheet, booked my NST for Friday and said we'd discuss after my levels come in about my induction date. I was at the office for 2 hours. Oye.

As I was walking out, that unauthorized nurse who gave me that requisition sheet came in my room. I told her they were pushing for the exact same bloodwork I requested from her that the lead nurse and terrible MFM saw as irrelevant. I told her I guess my intuition was correct. She then told me again that I knew better than anyone and going with my gut was the smartest move. Smiles exchanged.

I went over to the hospital and repeated the bloodwork just an hour later. It wasn't 100% fasting like I'd done at the previous one (and yesterday's) and I had lots of sugar in my body from the NST, but hopefully we'll see some trends or a decrease. And bonus! While I was there, I was able to pick up Andrew's ornament from the SHARE tree we hung at the remembrance ceremony on December 10. Nothing says you're in this hospital way too much like killing two birds with one stone on a visit. It's not like the grocery store, and yet... feels so familiar. Cannot wait for that hospital to be a foreign place to me again. How's next month for a beginning?

All that to say... there's no definitive news, but bloodwork is in the works and an earlier induction is highly likely.

Risky Business

We're down to the home stretch at just over 3 weeks before Claire's scheduled arrival. And yet, I'm terrified. Not in the normal babyloss mom kind of way, but something additional.

All was going pretty smug and well (honestly) until the end of my 32nd week.

The amazing husband gave me a hand and foot rub and all I had to complain about was a demanding toddler, lower back and hip pain. Typical pregnant girl problems. The day after that hand/foot rub, I complained they both itched a lot. Chalked it up to cheap lotion or whatever.

Fast forward a few days at my 33w appointment. I mentioned the extreme palm and foot itching to my OB. She also said itching was normal in pregnancy. Listen, I know. It's not my first rodeo. My belly itched like crazy with Andrew and now it doesn't because it's been down that road a few times. But this hand and foot itching? It seemed... abnormal. My urine was also getting progressively darker, despite the insane amounts of water I have been drinking to hopefully cleanse this away. It wasn't dehydration. I can't possibly be drinking more water. And I was spending 3-4 hours up in the middle of the night itching my skin to scabs. The only temporary relief was showering and I have been taking about 3-4 each day... mostly in the middle of the night when the itching was at its worst.

Two days later, I called back to ask if I could be tested for Cholestasis. It's a condition in which your liver does not process bile acids properly and could possibly leach these acids into your bloodstream which are toxic at high levels for the baby. It's a simple blood test that takes forever to get back. Seven days. That's a full-on eternity when you're in late pregnancy. It's also rare. When I went in for the blood test, neither of the ladies administering had ever done one or seen that test. Oh, to be in the 1% again. It's getting old.

At my non-stress test yesterday (going 2x/weekly), Claire was sleeping and performed crappy (to my standards since I've been through plenty of these) but the OB wasn't worried because there were a few good accels. Then she measured my belly and told me I was measuring 2.5 weeks behind. What? I just saw my regular OB on Tuesday and she mentioned no such thing with the same measuring device. I suppose I can chalk that up to being subjective, but it wasn't the best news to hear after the NST was just marginal. Add a growth ultrasound to my fluid check ultrasound on Tuesday.

Then she told me my levels were in. My bile acids as of 12/27 were 132. That was eight days ago and since I suspected the itching was not just a no big deal sort of thing, I took matters into my own hands and changed my diet. I'm eating very low fat and just started a hot water and lemon juice cleanse each morning. I've upped my vegetable and Vitamin K intake and I'm living on hope. When I tested, I had just eaten pizza the night before and was not on any sort of diet before then. Perhaps, perhaps, that could have contributed to such high numbers. The idea is that if I lower my fat, there will be fewer bile acids my liver has to process and fewer to enter the bloodstream. We'll see if my logic is helpful.

If you do any kind of research (in medical journals or even Google...), you'll note that bile acid levels of 132 are high. Anything above 40 is high and risky. As in, risk of meconium in fluid, stained placenta and stillbirth. Yep, stillbirth. Lucky ol' me gets to deal with that fear again in another form. Yet, my OB, another practice OB and the coordinating MFM I saw all through Benjamin's pregnancy don't seem to be worried. In fact, they've told me that they've seen elevated levels many times before and none of those cases have ever lead to a demise. Ah, see that's where I lose my mind. Because you've never seen one, it doesn't mean I can't be your first case. And to have already lost a baby and have everyone scratching their heads after as to why? Not exactly the game I want to play.

The one silver lining is that I was prescribed Ursodiol, which is meant to help break up those bile acids and hopefully lower that number to a more manageable and less risky territory. But there are no guarantees. I took my first dose about an hour ago and will take them 3x/daily until I deliver. Of course the risk of stillbirth increases exponentially after 37 weeks. And those bile acids can spike at any time with no way of knowing because the blood test takes a week to come back!

In the meantime, I will be hopefully going in for another blood test to see if the diet (and few doses of Ursodiol) are working. It will take another week for those results and put me just under 36 weeks. I just might lose my mind in that week. If you call, I probably won't answer (like I haven't been anyway).

This baby would live if delivered today. It terrifies me to play Russian Roulette again, despite knowing she needs more time for maturity, growth, and lung development. This is the last time I can do this. It's simply too hard.

Feel free to comment with success stories. You know, if you know someone as unlucky as me who has had just about all the issues under the sun in pregnancy.

Fourth Tearful Christmas

You'd think having a 22-month old during Christmas would do the trick to rid me of the grief that plagues me every single holiday... and really everyday. But it hasn't. For the most part, I spent the time leading up to Christmas busy researching, purchasing, wrapping, shipping, etc. I spent time in the post office and directing most of my energy to the toddler running about me. I actually enjoyed buying gifts for people this year because each one was well thought and something I knew they would like. I've been well distracted and for that, I'm grateful. On days where we're not off to the children's museum, playhouse or storytime and distractions are at a minimum, I struggle the most. Today is one of those days.

I didn't do the decorating this year. I sat at my computer while my amazing husband worked around me to make our home look festive. I didn't participate. I haven't participated since the day before Andrew died. I want Benjamin to have a childhood filled with wonder and excitement, but I just have a hard time getting in the spirit around this time of year. His birthday was just 20 days ago. Another one passes on and another one we're left in longing for what should be.

I laid awake from 2:30-5:00 this morning with pregnancy insomnia, battling the fear I have of Andrew and Benjamin's little sister not making it out alive. I thought about how it was already Christmas morning and what that means to most families. I just don't feel the magic. Benjamin still doesn't understand Christmas or Santa or the decorations. All he understands is that the Advent house has a treat for him everyday. He wasn't very interested in opening presents.

I'm tired of being pregnant and fearful. I've done so well up until this week and now it's finally hitting me that we have less than 5 weeks to go until my induction and we're uncertain if we'll be bringing this baby home in a carseat or in something much, much smaller. I have some new complications that are plaguing me and having me rethink Andrew's death and if what I'm experiencing now is what may have also contributed to his demise.

I desperately want a normal birth experience and to bring a baby home without the worry. I fear that our induction date is too late that we'll end up with another stillborn baby. I fear that an earlier induction date will send us back to the NICU. I fear Benjamin may never realize what it's like to have a living sibling. I fear so much.

This is our fourth Christmas in this house. In Illinois. And it has never, ever felt right because our first one was robbed of all the magic by losing him. I sat in our formal living room alone after all the gifts and festivities this morning and just cried. I wished for the tree to be gone. I'm ready for December to end. With so many things to be thankful for, I'm sobbing because I miss what should be so, so much.

The Final Trimester

Well, this is it. I've entered the final trimester of pregnancy that I'll endure. It both terrifies me and thrills me that we've come this far with two babies after losing our first little love. That's a lot of weeks to cross your fingers and hope for the best.

A few things have been purchased for this baby, but none of which are uniquely hers. We bought another seat protector for our car and a crib sheet. We've been making arrangements that will hopefully become reality if we do have a daughter to bring home with us, but nothing is finalized to the point of certainty. I can just as easily use that crib sheet for Benjamin or chuck it. I even sucked it up yesterday and purchased the second seat for our stroller because I saw a deal that I didn't want to pass up. I sure hope that doesn't end up as a Craigslist ad instead.

The only other two things we'll definitely be purchasing are an air purifier for the nursery (since Benjamin will be using his in the big boy room) and a letter "C" to go in the nursery.

If she comes home with us in February, I'll be changing out the mobile in the nursery (we created after B came home alive) to pink birds and buying her some of her very own Aden & Anais blankets in a girly pattern. B is far too fond of his set to bother sharing.

As for pregnancy this go around... it's different. In general, the carrying part feels different. I can't even describe it. And then there's the part about my day job being different. I guess this is how it would've felt (minus the stress) if Andrew were alive and toddling around during my pregnancy with Benjamin. It's my first time parenting a toddler while gestating another. Let's just say that I'm not cut out to be a Duggar. This bending over, schlepping a toddler, dealing with tantrums business is hard work when there's a baby-a-cookin'.

Not just the physical demands, but the baby itself. She is not nearly as active as my two boys, which is maybe a good thing if she finally makes it home with us, but not so lovely during a high-risk pregnancy. As I have now reached my third trimester, the kick counts have begun, appointments are increasing, ultrasounds start weekly at 32w and NSTs begin at 34 weeks. It's all starting to become real.

Before now, I've lived in surprisingly calm territory using ignorance and busyness to distract. But now we're dealing with knowing that the baby would be alive when born. Yes, with complications and NICU time and all of that, but alive. These next 10+ weeks are going to c-r-a-w-l.

And quite possibly the greatest difference is dealing with my currently alive and well and high-maintenance toddler. He knows something is up and he's none-to-happy about the changes. He's been ultra clingy and mom-obsessed for the last couple weeks (a huge shift from not saying my name at all and choosing Daddy every time. Sort of love it and sort of hate it). Going upstairs for bath with Dad and without mom is equivalent to me abandoning him. At least that's what his shrieks and cries are telling me. It's heartbreaking. If I ask him where the baby is, he touches my belly. But really, he's never been around an infant so I have no idea if he even knows a baby from a bumble bee. Something tells me the transition to two living (gah) is not going to be a walk in the park. Not that anything ever has been. But just thinking that I might get to keep two of my babies would be worth the sleepless nights and endless tantrums.

We press on. Keep hopeful.

The Middle Name

Claire has a middle name already.

Andrew and Benjamin share my father-in-law's first name, Steven, as their middle name. I love that the name was carried through my boys to connect them. This being a girl and our last child, we are choosing a name from my family's side. If this baby were a third boy, his name would have been Charlie John-- Charlie as a "C" name we like and John as my father's first name.

But being that this baby is a girl, we are still choosing from my family's side. Believe it or not, my great grandmother is still alive at 98-years-old and has a beautiful spirit. She's always laughing and smiling. Her name is Madeline Mae. While we love both names, our daughter will carry her middle name as well.

Claire Mae.

A is for Andrew, B is for Benjamin and C is for...

The Wilsons are adding a final child to our clan this winter. Exactly four months from today, I am due with our only daughter and last child. I will never be pregnant again after February 11, 2014 and that couldn't make me more excited for this winter to arrive. Yes, Chicago winter. Bring it.

We've discussed at great length about adding more children to our family. We birthed two beautiful boys and only have one here to raise. He's a dream. A total bad boy at times and definitely mischievous, but such a salve that we needed so desperately. And he's nearly 20 months now if you can believe it! While we're thankful Andrew's little brother is in our lives, we know he loves other children. It's hard having lost our firstborn and having a second son but still being parents with only one child in our home. It just seems like Benjamin should have someone else, of course. Our family will always feel that way about Andrew missing. When Benjamin was born, I wanted him to have a sibling even more knowing we should have two here now. And because of our desire to give him that, we are pregnant once more. Fourth pregnancy, third child and only daughter.

Because this is our last child, I don't have any qualms about discussing names and details, mostly because there's nothing left after this. If this baby comes home with us as we hope (in a carseat, to clarify... ugh), we're 100% done. If something happens, we won't be able to handle the additional grief and still be the parents Benjamin needs, so we will not try again and therefore will be 100% done. The thought of losing two of our children brings me to my knees. Nothing is ever guaranteed and we know that.

Long before Andrew was even found to be a boy back on our second wedding anniversary in 2010, we had chosen a girl name. If Andrew had been a girl, he would've been Claire. If Benjamin had been a girl, he would've been Claire. And now that I'm really pregnant with a girl, she is Claire! I love that this name has been constant in our decision for all three of our babies. Not to mention, we love the A-B-C ritual of naming our children. Right after Benjamin's birth, my friend Brooke sent us a book to commemorate the birth of our new baby boy and also remember our first boy.

Each of the first three pages of this book prints the name of each of our children. The book is A My Name is Andrew and the first page is about a boy named Andrew who lives in Augusta. The second page is a girl named Becca who has a brother, Benjamin. The third page is about a girl named Claire who lives in Connecticut. It's an alliterative book, as you might have gathered, but still awesome that all three of our their names are on the first three pages.

Since this has been one of the least sarcastic posts ever on this blog, I must end with a little extra edge. Compliments of my friend Caroline who is also due with her second rainbow this winter... I wanted to add what we were chatting about during our brainstorming session about when I'd "out" myself on the ol' blog.

"C' is for Claire but also stands for caution --  we are still so scared. Also, be cautious of any silly things you might say regarding the assurance this baby is coming home in that carseat, because "C" also stands for crazy town and I might just go there.

All in good fun, of course, but really, it's another pregnancy and another mixed bag of emotions, exhaustion, and grieving our firstborn who would probably love to know he has two siblings who will also always wonder and grieve the brother he would've been. A great one-- I'm sure.

Here's to another 4 months of anxiety and hope. And burning those maternity clothes.

Pregnancy Revisited

I'm just now starting to really think back on my pregnancy with B. For these last couple months I've been thankfully distracted and purposefully trying to extricate myself from the mess that it caused me mentally and emotionally. It's really quite damaging.

To think pregnancy would ever be as carefree as society makes it out to be. And the paradox of the whole 9 months it seems is that it is all of those things; wonderful and terrifying all at once. It's magical. And in the same breath, it's frightening. It's amazing to consider that a human life is created within ones body and then goes on to start that whole cycle again. And no more than a breath later will I tell you that the very last sentence I typed also makes the risk so incredibly high that it's almost not worth it. Almost. But wow is the reward rich. If all goes well, of course. Otherwise it could be right up there as the greatest failure of your life.

If those baby showers and nightly prayers and belly creams could just ward off the fear and trepidation that is held within each breath of pregnancy for a baby loss mother. Because we know better.

It's because of this fear that I'm already looking ahead to my next, and hopefully final pregnancy. I already well up with fear just thinking about it, but I know if we wait too long, I'll be as mess, too. I'm not talking about babies anytime this year, but it wouldn't be crazy to assume that we'd jump back on the crazy train of emotion and fear next year at some point. I want B to have another living sibling to grow with. In order for that to occur, I need to accept the fact that pregnancy will be in my somewhat near future. And the longer I wait seems even crazier because that would be stringing myself along in this fear and anxiety of pregnancy and loss and potential further loss if we wait years. I can't imagine going back to this insanity in a few years and digging up those skeletons of emotion to wear on my sleeve (or on this blog).

It's almost like pregnancy itself is like reliving loss or a loss itself. It's that traumatic as you hold your breath and cry, begging and pleading that you won't be chosen for the reaping this go around {Yes, I totally did just use a Hunger Games reference. But it was fitting, no?}.

I'm reveling in the fact that I am for once in these last few years not wishing myself pregnant. It feels bizarre. I'm enjoying parenthood with all its ups and downs and just so extremely thankful we made it past the finish line with only emotional scars that will hopefully fade to absence by the time I'm past my childbearing years. My childloss scars will always be present, but these pregnancy scars may fade away.

Physically, I'm nearly back into my jeans after a month off sweets and eating much healthier than I was during pregnancy. It wasn't crazy to assume that I could dust off 1/2 box of Cheezits because I totally could and did on many occasions. Whatever got me through the day with a live child a growin'. Now that he's here and still sustaining life through me, I feel the need to make up for lost time somehow. Eat better and be more conscious of what is being consumed for his health and my overall mental and physical health as well. Every stretch mark and every inch of wear and tear was worth it. For both of my children. The one I parent for the world to see, and the one I parent in my heart.

To donate to the Rasmussens, please see their donation website. To read their story, click here.

The Story of a Little Brother

I spent part of this week writing out B's birth story and NICU stay. It's seven pages, y'all. I wasn't sure exactly how to draft it via blog without making you read for hours. That's why it's taken me so long.

So here we go. Here's B's birth story.

The Beginning - Wednesday, February 22nd.

I spent the day at work. I was training my replacement and planned to complete my final day before B’s arrival (induction scheduled for 2/29/12) on Friday the 24^th. Things didn’t quite go as planned. Like they ever do! Lunch at 12:15 consisted of a PBJ, string cheese, and celery sticks. I scooted out to my routine OB appt. after work at 3:15 and my husband came with me. He hadn’t been coming to all of them, but he came this time in case there was any chance we might be getting an earlier induction. I had my last NST on Monday the 20^th and was set to have another NST on Thursday the 23^rd. 

My OB appt. yielded some surprising results. My OB told me that she thought we needed to head right on over to labor and delivery (like right then) and start my induction. I was 36w6d. The reasons in her recommending were the following: our history of unexplained loss, excessive amniotic fluid discovered during a BPP at the Perinatologist’s office during my NSTs (like over the high level) which could cause the cord to come first if I my water were to break and a potential demise, being 3cm dilated, having Braxton Hicks contractions every 3 minutes, and the fact that B hadn’t been moving a ton and scoring 8/10 on his last two NST/BPPs. The concern was that he was scoring 10/10 for weeks and then started scoring 8/10. Considering all we’ve been through, the logical choice was to induce. Of course, we knew that also had risks. For one, he would be barely term and likely have some symptoms of a preterm baby—mainly lung immaturity. They don’t give steroid shots to babies past 34 weeks… so that wasn’t an option. We just had to hope for the best. I was also at risk of an emergency c-section (though not a terrible thing if successful) since my water breaking could mean the cord rushes out. But the likelihood of having a live baby was good… so we decided to induce a week before our scheduled induction date. We were meant to have a leap year baby, but he was coming much sooner. My OB wanted me to head straight to L&D, but I wanted a shower and to pack some things since we had nothing ready. We headed home (3.5 miles from the hospital) and packed things in a fury. I took a shower and we were off. We were home maybe 30 minutes tops. And who was she kidding? I wasn’t about to walk through the doors of that hospital and into Labor and Delivery without my husband. I could not do this alone.

We arrived at the hospital close to 5 p.m. I sent an email at 4:33 p.m. to some BLM friends to let them know. To say that we were terrified was an understatement. There were tears of fear and excitement in the car. Tears about going into labor and delivery where Andrew was born and where we said goodbye. Where we had our 24-week scare with B. Where we had our D&C after the miscarriage in June. We’ve never had good news there… but were hoping this experience would be different. I made sure that the awful doctor who delivered Andrew and dealt with our miscarriage was not the on-call doctor. She wasn’t. Phew. We were checked into the room closest to the OR just in case the cord were to come first after they broke my water. There wasn’t a single other patient in L&D that evening. I was grateful.

It starts.

Our first nurse was also our discharge nurse during our stay with Andrew. It was only fitting that she checked us back in for the birth of our second son. She attends the same church and has mutual friends. She also shared some intimate moments with us about her own grief journey this past year and let us know she was praying for us. She started me on pitocin around 5:30 and my contractions were growing stronger. B’s heartbeat was strong but at times would send us freaking out because he would move or the belt would shift. Ray and I would not take our eyes off the thing for the entire induction process. No joke. One of us had to be watching it the entire time, despite the nurses assuring us that there were two additional nurses monitoring his heartrate.

The delivering doctor came in (who also performed my D&C…lovely) and broke my water. What a weird feeling! With Andrew, I didn’t feel it because it happened as I was pushing. Because I had an abundant amount of fluid, they were literally fishing it out for minutes upon minutes. I asked how much water at one point and my doctor told me that a gallon wouldn’t be unreasonable. No cord came. Phew. Around 9 p.m. I was around 6cm dilated and still feeling pretty great. I didn’t need the epidural quite yet, but I knew that it would only be a matter of time and the nurse kept asking if I wanted it. What I really wanted was to pee… and I knew a catheter would be administered along with the epi. Around 9:20 p.m., the anesthesiologist came on in and made sure to stick me (twice) and finally managed to get that epidural moving.

I started pushing around 12:10 a.m. and had 9 full contractions of pushing before B was born at 12:42 a.m. on February 23, 2012. He was born at just barely 37 weeks. 19 inches long and 7lb. 6oz. Andrew was the exact same weight. <3 We heard him cry and it was quite possibly the best sound I’ve ever heard. Ray was over taking photos while the nurse was handling all of the cleaning, vitals, and measurements.

B had arrived. But all was not well. Again.

About 2 hours later after skin-to-skin time and we were all cleaned up, we were wheeled down to Mother-Baby for the first time. We had never been down this hall. After having Andrew, we stayed in L&D the entire time until we were discharged. The nurse was extremely sensitive to our needs and took us down a back hallway and away from our dreaded delivery room where we said goodbye to Andrew.

Transition to Mother-Baby. But not for long.

Once in Mother-Baby, things were going well… until they weren’t. Again. He had his first bath... Ray took photos and then headed down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

I surrender!

I pity the fool who tries to mess with my mama.

The nurse then wheeled B down to the nursery to take his vitals around 6 a.m. It seemed like a long time, so I sent Ray out to check on him. Right there in the nursery was the neonatologist and a team of nurses surrounding his bassinet. Something was wrong. It turns out B started choking in the nursery and they had to save him. Save his life. They took him down to the NICU for monitoring after because it’s protocol to keep a child for 6 hours after an “episode” occurs. He had his second choking episode in the NICU. He was officially admitted at that point. This is where they asked my permission to give him formula.

And this is where I lost it. 

I was a full-on mess of emotions. My first son died. My second son nearly died. And now they admitted him to the NICU and are giving him formula. Formula is obviously not the devil, but when you envisioned this perfect skin-to-skin and rooming-in time with your baby and they have now taken him away because he is sick and can no longer be in contact with his mom… it’s very emotional. I felt like that was the last straw in having no control.

Once admitted to the NICU, they performed an x-ray on his lungs. Leave it to me to be in the 1% again. Born at just 37 weeks (full term) B was diagnosed with Transient Tachypnea of the Newborn (TTN). Basically, it’s fluid in the lungs that wasn't able to be fully extracted as he exited the birth canal and because he was slightly pre-term. There are no long term effects and it is usually gone within 72 hours, especially with the assistance of forced oxygen via tube. Once diagnosed, they inserted the oxygen tube and hooked him up to 25% forced oxygen (we breathe 21%). They slowly weaned him off the oxygen as time progressed and his breathing began to improve over the course of the next two days.

Does this look comfortable to you? Didn't think so.

Vitals: Heartrate, breaths, oxygen level

Once in the NICU, B needed  to go 24-48 hours under observation without any drop in his blood oxygen level before they would release him after they removed the oxygen. Because B was considered preterm and was not breathing properly at birth, this caused him to struggle with feeding—because the body can only handle one fight at a time. He was given a feeding tube in the NICU that they were feeding formula into—Gerber Good Start Gentle. I had lots of tears over this. They asked my permission to feed him and despite wanting him to be an entirely breastfed baby, I knew he was also fighting for his life and should not be deprived of nutrients that could help his lungs and body heal faster. He only used the feeding tube a handful of times in the NICU, but it still hurt watching them put the tube down through his nose. Seeing your brand new baby fight for his life is simply terrifying. In the meantime, I was seeing a lactation consultant between B’s feedings (of which we were at every single one) to assist with pumping. She even visited the NICU during his feeding a few times to assist with latching (of which didn’t go so well… but I learned quite a few techniques to use with a young baby). He was also fed colostrum in addition to the formula. Our schedule the entire time he was in the NICU consisted of the following:

• Go to B’s feedings—change his diaper, bathe him, hold him, and put him to breast… then feed via bottle or tube with breastmilk and formula.
• After about an hour, leave to go pump back in our room at Mother-Baby.
• Interruptions by various doctors, consultants and nurses.
• Sleep for about 1.5 hours. Rinse. Repeat.

Andrew was never far away.

This of course was only until we were discharged from Mother-Baby. That story to come later. We really envisioned having our son room-in with us. I even wrote countless emails to my fellow babyloss friends during my pregnancy about how terrified I was that they would take him away from me after I delivered. I was induced, so it was partly my fault, but I could very well be typing another demise story had we not induced either. It’s tricky. In addition to not rooming-in with our son as we envisioned, we were forced to walk by the room I delivered Andrew every single time we went to visit B in the NICU. Room 120. On the corner, just down the hall from Mother-Baby. We walked by about 20 times a day, at least. A room I never wanted to go near again. Ever. 

Unfair connections.

On B’s second day in the NICU, we walked by Andrew’s room and then the room next door… and I saw something all too familiar. A falling leaf on the door of a room in Labor and Delivery. That same falling leaf was taped to our door after delivering Andrew stillborn. There was a couple behind those closed doors that lost their baby and I walked by visiting my (living) son in the NICU, knowing the grief journey they were embarking on, just as we did 15 months prior when Andrew died. I wanted so desperately to walk in and tell them I understood. That I have a son in heaven. That this journey is the most excruciating one they’ll ever endure and one that is so incredibly unfair. Instead, I just cried. Because I know that grief in such a raw form. I was thankful this time that I was walking to see my living child, but I knew that his lung issues and episodes could have very well ended in another demise. That I could have another falling leaf on my door.

Inside the NICU doors.

In the NICU, B was undoubtedly the biggest baby among the six others. The others were all super preemies and B was the only one close to term. Ironically, most of them were not on oxygen because they were given the steroid shot to develop their lungs before birth. One of my nurses in Mother-Baby told me that they had three cases of TTN babies in the NICU that week alone, so it’s not uncommon. However, the other babies in the NICU were there mostly for maturity issues. They needed to grow to term before being released. We watched another baby come and go in the NICU after also having an episode. She was stabilized, thankfully and was released. But to hear the panic alarm and the neonatologist and other NICU nurses rushing to get another baby was awful. Since I was not by his bedside when he had his episodes, it scared me to watch the process unfold as if it were my own child.

Friday, February 24th. The next day.

We had a social worker come by our Mother-Baby room to talk with me about PTSD. She said it sounded like I probably had some of it creeping in since we have a history of loss and now a traumatic experience of our second son being born with complications. She wanted to know I had support in place—that I would be okay. How someone with such strength and independence became someone who must struggle and lean on others for emotional support is hard to swallow. To know I’m listed as a person to watch is even worse.

Friday also marked the day of B’s echocardiogram on his heart. They were hearing a slight murmur which is common in newborns, but because he was having lung issues, they wanted to rule out any connection to heart problems as well. Because they only perform these ultrasounds on specific days, we went ahead with it. We held B’s arms and soothed him for the entire process of an hour. It was painful to watch our son being prodded like that, but thankful to hear that the only detection was the normal valve that shuts on its own once the baby is born. Check that off the list of potential problems. Phew. The rest of the day was a blur. 

Saturday, February 25th.

At 2:00 a.m., B was released from oxygen completely. He had been being weaned during the 24^th and was finally oxygen-tube free by our 3 a.m. feeding on the 25^th. It was such a joy to see him not only breathing on his own, but free of that darn oxygen tube. Of course he still had his feeding tube as the NICU nurses insisted he was not eating well—and in fact he was not. He needed to improve his eating and be off oxygen without any episodes for 24-48 hours before they were willing to release him to go home with us.

No more tube! Yay!

But I still have this stupid tube. Get it out. Please.

Discharge day. Fighting to stay.

In the meantime, I was being discharged from Mother-Baby… the place where I was meant to be recovering but seriously felt totally recovered hours after giving birth (no joke, I could’ve gone for a jog). We had nowhere to go and most certainly were not willing to leave our second son at the hospital by himself. I could not show up pregnant for the third time at that hospital and leave for the third time without my child. I just couldn’t. And go home to an empty home again? Not going to happen.

The OB from my practice came in to see me in Mother-Baby and said he would not perform B’s circ until he was out of the NICU. However, when we went in to see B at his next feeding, the circ had been performed (sans drugs—this doc doesn’t use them). Our concern was that now that B was off his oxygen, he had to perform well at feedings before they would release him. But what baby is interested in downing a bottle (especially a preterm one, no less) that just had a circumcision? In addition, he was receiving his Hep B shot that day as well and we felt doomed from the start. We wanted him eating and the NICU required a certain amount in 30 minutes and made it very clear that if he didn’t “pass”, they would not be discharging him.

He fed well without a tube, but after his circ was feeling a little exhausted. The NICU nurse was incredibly rude (though the majority were SO wonderful and there is no doubt to us that they saved his life) and came over yelling at us and telling us that we clearly were not reading his cues and that they would be taking the last 9ml and putting it through the feeding tube. The kid just had a circ and a Hep B shot! I’m not sure I’d be hungry either! We were so frustrated because as we know it, he’ll eat when he feels like it. At this point we felt like we needed to give him an exact amount and no more at feedings—just so we could be discharged. We felt like we had to withhold more food if he wanted it because then he might not feed as well for the next meal (big lunch, small dinner… was our concern). That last 9ml potentially cost us another day in the NICU because he had to wait a full 24 hours and only be bottle fed in order to be discharged. 

So now he's eating. And no longer has TTN. Time to go home?

As of Saturday, he was no longer on oxygen, was eating without a tube, and was stable for over 24 hours… yet he was not being released. We told the NICU that we did not intend on leaving the hospital and placed a complaint with the lead charge nurse of the hospital for the behavior of the NICU nurse who was treating us as though we were inept… despite us being at every single feeding he had and her only being there for a 12-hour shift. We had the patient advocate in our Mother-Baby room and the lead nurse assuring us that although we had to check out of Mother-Baby by midnight, that we would not be kicked out of the hospital. The NICU nurses (though not the grouchy one) pulled together and told us we could stay from 12 a.m.-7 a.m. in the NICU conference room. It had a loveseat, two chairs, a coffee table, and a floor. It was also 5 steps from the NICU doors. We immediately checked out of Mother-Baby and schlepped our stuff into the room. You know, the room where they tell parents their child is terminal. It was awful knowing this, but we simply had nowhere else to go and home just was not an option. We were not missing a feeding and we were not leaving our son behind. We slept restlessly in the room and then moved our things to the hospital lobby and stashed them behind a couch before B’s next feeding. 

Why not just stay in the Ronald McDonald House?

The hospital has a Ronald McDonald House that was set to open in January… but obviously it was still not open despite the statue of Ronald in the lobby, a big sign up, the ribbon cutting being reported (with pictures!) in the paper, and everything. Apparently some bureaucratic document had yet to be signed to officially open its doors. Super. Here we are staring at Ronald in the lobby of the hospital and napping on the lobby couches. 

There's Ronald... now where's the house?

Camping out.

Bye, Bye NICU - Sunday, February 26th.

Our new day nurse was once again, the grouchy nurse! We told the lead nurse that we would not have her around our son anymore, so she had her apprentice taking care of B instead. She was being so incredibly nice to us after we placed our complaint. We still aren’t sure if she knew we complained. Maybe she learned to respect us more for caring so much for B? For advocating for him and taking charge as parents? We were absolutely the most involved parents in the NICU. Either way, we asked the apprentice on Sunday when our son would be allowed to come home. We stated the case that he had been eating off the tube (except that 9 measly ml they insisted he needed of which he immediately vomited up—who isn’t following his cues now?!), had been off oxygen for more than 24 hours and was stable, had no heart condition per his Echo, and was within normal limits of jaundice. What more did he need to pass on their scale and why were we, his parents, being left in the dark? Where was this magical checklist he had to pass that we weren’t familiar with? When asked, the nurse told us that she didn’t think it was likely he would be coming home with us that day.

Cue the anger.

Ray started becoming very vocal at this point. Right in the middle of the NICU with all of the nurses and parents around, Ray started yelling about how they were keeping us out of the loop, how they were forcing B to food that he did not want through a tube, and that the NICU is a business and that they obviously need to fill beds. Yikes. It was definitely a moment of desperation. Surely we know that those nurses and neonatologists saved B’s life. We are thankful they were there and for all the Level III resources they had to care for our son. But at this point, we just wanted to know what else our child needed to do in order to be considered “normal” again. Not feeding well is a newborn issue—not a NICU issue. A potential for jaundice is a newborn issue as well—not a reason to keep a child in the NICU. Another nurse who we didn’t love either (there were 2—the rest were awesome) yelled right back and told him that if we took B home, he’d end up in pediatrics because he was acting like a 36-weeker. We asked to speak with the neonatologist on duty. He was no help. He walked over and stated his jaundice and feeding was keeping him from being discharged and offered no support in his words. He was tested for jaundice every day and was not given the bili blanket or lights because, as they said, they don't treat for something that is not a problem. Well, if it's not a problem, then why isn't he home with us? Most parents whose children develop jaundice can rent a blanket and be on their merry way.

That afternoon, a new neonatologist was there and ready to speak with us. He made sure to explain that as long as B was feeding well for a few feedings, he would release him. He also told us that he’d like to see a less strict feeding schedule (what a concept to eat when you’re hungry and not exactly every 3 hours!) and to allow B to eat as much as he wants, whenever he wants. We were thrilled with this news, as it appeared someone finally understood our concerns and wanted our child to experience a normal schedule. We came in for our 3 p.m. feeding and he fed like a champ. 

Final field trip before B came home to live with us. To Target, of course.

We left the NICU and headed to Target for some baby items, as we were determined he would be coming home with us that evening. It was my first time out of the hospital walls since Wednesday when we were admitted into Labor and Delivery. Once we arrived back, we walked through those doors talking about how we were about to go take the “final exam” to be given rights to take our kid home. It was a huge slap in the face to feel this as we’d been trying to bring a baby home and be somewhat normal for 2 years now. We felt as though others were considering us incompetent as parents, yet every other child with “eating issues” is able to leave Mother-Baby with their parents after having that perfect rooming-in experience without any more than a “congrats, you can do it!” attitude. We wanted to feel a pat on the back from the hospital staff and the encouragement we so desperately deserved. We decided I would be the one to take the “final exam” of feeding B in front of them for the last time. 

Final exam canceled. You're free to go.

We spent that entire day on Sunday just kissing major butt. I was asking nurses their best techniques for this and that, reading ALL of the paperwork I received about newborn care (despite feeling equipped on the majority of it) in the chairs as B slept. Ray was reading The Economist to show he was intelligent and hopefully the NICU nurses would see we weren’t a couple of incapable, young kids. When we walked into those doors at 6 p.m. for his “final exam” feeding, they basically told us we could take him. We aren’t sure whether we passed the test with our behavior or if they just wanted to get rid of us… or if B really did convince them that he was fine to go home. But regardless, we were being discharged and would finally be bringing home our baby. The grouchy nurse took over at this point and could not have been nicer. We don’t understand it, but we just didn’t care at this point. We wanted out. Within an hour, we were on our way home with B strapped in his carseat in the back seat of our car. Coming home. 

The grouchy nurse had parting words for me as Ray pulled up the car:

“Just remember. Your kid is not sick, so you can treat him as normal as possible. All of his cultures, blood tests, and ultrasounds have come back negative and other than eating and being jaundice, he is totally normal."

What a concept. I seriously don’t know when the switch was triggered, but she all of a sudden realized that he was fine and that he needed to be coming home. Confused. As we drove away, we felt like we were making a jailbreak. Like they were following us to monitor or take B away. It was such a terrible experience to feel, once again, like we weren’t capable of handling things with our child. In order to give us the “full experience”, they brought a wheelchair and wheeled me out (despite being totally fine to walk) to the lobby for our final farewell—like they do for all the mothers leaving Mother-Baby. They took us out the same way we left without Andrew—when I was wheeled out with a bag full of mementos and without a baby. It was surely a numbing experience, but thankfully we were occupied with the idea that we were finally leaving the NICU. 

Under one condition.

Of course not without strings attached. The grouchy nurse told me about 5 times that we HAD to take B to the doctor the very next day to have them check him out for jaundice. It was a complete waste of a co-pay as we knew he was within normal levels and not a lot was going to change within 12 hours, but we obliged just to have our kid home. Like we suspected, the doctor told us he was fine and just to make sure he was spending some time in the sun, eating well, and pooping well. Our 2-week appointment is scheduled for Thursday.

He's home, y'all. He's freaking home.