Well...Today I drove the hour and a half to see SmallTownMD for a 30 week checkup. Then I did a marathon grocery shopping trip. I had a big menu all planned out so that I could do a bunch of freezer meals for after the baby comes.
During the marathon shopping trip I had a few contractions. Not abnormal for me at all. I finished my errands and got on the road towards home. I noticed another contraction so I picked up my phone and noted the time. I kept driving. I had another contraction and picked up my phone to note the time. It had been 4 minutes. Still I kept driving, telling myself it was just the busy day catching up with me. 3 minutes later, another.
After 6 contractions worth of telling myself it would go away, I took the closest interstate exit and turned back towards the hospital. Towards the hospital where I had Matthew 6 years ago. The hospital that I prayed I would NEVER return to.
I had the Kiddo with me so I quickly woke her up from her nap and explained the best I could. I called the hospital and told them my name and that I would be arriving in about 20 minutes. They definitely remembered me. My nurse tonight is the nurse who checked my cervix upon my arrival 6 years ago and bolted from the room without saying a word. I'm not in the same room, thank goodness.
I was hoping it was all in my head, but no such luck. Regular contractions and a fingertip dilated. SmallTownMD, bless his heart, came right in and said, "I'm guessing you'd like some steroids!" It made me take back nearly every bad thought I've ever had about him.
So I've had terbutaline x 2, betamethasone, a bunch of IV fluids, and 2 ambien that obviously have not kicked in yet.
All things considered, I am doing ok. We are doing ok. I really do not want this little guy to come out yet, but I also know that 30.5 weeks + steroids = a better NICU situation than last time. At least that's what the brochure says. I'm also terrified they will decide to fly me out of this hospital because I have one too many contractions. I don't want it to be serious enough to ship me out.
The hardest part of today was letting my dad and his wife come get my daughter. If you've hung around this blog a bit you know I don't have the easiest relationship with my dad and the wife. But even more than that? I never enjoy a separation from my baby girl. I know she's 5 and a half. I know she'll be ok. But she was so worried about me. Jerry had to pry her little arms from around his neck to put her in the car with them. I miss my baby girl. I hate that she has to worry in her little heart for her mama and baby brother. I miss my dog. I wish I could go home.
Another thing that makes me seriously anxious is how fast information travels in my family. I called Jerry and my mom. Then I had to call my dad when it became obvious that I wouldn't be going anywhere tonight. Next thing I know my brother and my grandma are texting my dad, several aunts have texted me, my stepmother is out in the hall on the phone, and Jerry's mother is calling. I just need everyone to not panic and let me be the boss of everything right now.
It is actually progress for me to notice contractions with a pattern and come into the hospital less than 7.5 centimeters dilated. So yay! I guess a "fingertip dilated" is progress.
Hopefully my next post will be a boring one, but please pray for us until then.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
30 Weeks!
30 weeks is one of my favorite pregnancy landmarks. Its so comforting to reach this point and know the odds are just so much better than they were just a few weeks ago. I am so grateful to be going to sleep tonight knowing that, if this baby came tomorrow, I would most likely be dealing with an entirely different kind of preemie than Matthew was at 27 weeks.
My last ultrasound was a few weeks ago at 28 weeks gestation. Baby was estimated to be around 3lbs 4oz, up from 1lb 12oz at 24 weeks. That puts him at about the 76th percentile. Obviously these estimations can be off by quite a bit, but I find the steady growth pattern in each of his ultrasounds from 11 weeks on to be reassuring. He has consistently measured a week ahead of schedule (my dates aren't off, I think he might just be a chub.) Good growth is a reassuring indication that the placenta is functioning well. And for the first time, I noticed hair on the ultrasound. Matthew had quite a bit of hair when he was born at 27 weeks and Roo had a full head when she was born.
The entire appointment with Small Town MD was, for once, a positive experience. The ultrasound tech was the same woman who had done the ultrasound 4 weeks before. She remembered me, gave me a big hug and said she was so sorry for the way she frightened me the last time. She made sure to do some very thorough measurements and talked with me very openly, which I considered a blessing.
I passed my glucose tolerance test, and my favorite lab guy was working so I didn't even feel the needle going in. I love that.
Roo has quite a fascination with medical-type stuff and always amuses people with her persistent questions during ultrasounds and dr appointments. Jerry didn't get to come this time so I had put a new cartoon on the ipad for her to watch. You know, buy myself some silence. I asked her if she wanted to go behind the curtain and watch Mommy get her blood drawn or stay in the little waiting area and watch her show. She willingly turned off the cartoon, followed me back, and proceeded to amuse the lab guy with about 20 questions regarding the composition of my blood. She later watched me get my rhogam shot with rapt attention as well. She definitely doesn't get this from Jerry; he gets visibly pale if anyone mentions a needle.
Small Town MD seems to get more comfortable with my care the farther along I get and he seems to listen a bit better to how I think my care should go. I haven't recently left his office feeling frustrated and like no one but me is willing to fight for my baby, so that's something anyway.
I had a little run-in with the medical receptionist in SmallTownMD's office prior to this appointment. When I was confirming the appointment the week after Christmas, I realized that an ultrasound had not been scheduled. When I requested one she says, "Well, there isn't an ultrasound ordered..." I patiently replied, "I know. I would like you to get Small Town MD to order one." She comes back with, "Well, okay....he isn't back in the office until next week..." I said that was fine and I would expect to hear back the next week.
I didn't hear anything so by Tuesday (3 days before my Friday appointment) I called and left a message stating that I would still like an ultrasound added to my appointment. She called back an hour later and says, "Okay, Small Town MD did place orders for an ultrasound, but you should know that it isn't considered medically necessary to have one at this point..." I did not stop to inquire as to whether this was her opinion or the doctor's. I did not care. I didn't bat an eye and I told her to get it scheduled and email me the confirmation. I was really irritated, but I refused to be made to feel as though I am being panicky or unreasonable. I can assure you, I am not. I do not bother my doctors outside of appointment time. I am polite and respectful even when I disagree with their opinions. I know what pregnant women can be like. I know it's hard to sit at a desk and take phone calls from obsessive patients all day and I try to sympathize.
But I also have to balance my desire to be pleasant with the knowledge that, should the worst happen again and I leave this pregnancy without my baby, I have to be able to live with the decisions I've made. I have spent hundreds of nights awake since Matthew died, dissecting every little decision we made during his pregnancy, his NICU stay, his death and the aftermath. If something happened to this little guy and I let some irritating medical receptionist guilt me out of having an ultrasound at 28 weeks (rather than waiting until 32 weeks as was apparently Small Town MD's original plan) I would never stop questioning whether that was the appropriate decision. For me, pregnancy is a balancing act. I have to learn my limits, learn what I can and can't handle. Just like I learned that ultrasound time is not share-with-family-time during this pregnancy, I am also learning the art of being cautious and guarded yet hopeful. I didn't say any of this to the medical receptionist. Frankly, it's none of her business and her/ Small Town MD's approval of me does not matter.
And so, in my balancing act between caution and optimism, I have now arrived at 30 weeks. Though it feels like pregnancy will stretch on forever, I know I am getting close to the end. It's time to start preparing a bit. I have picked up a few baby clothes, but I won't be taking all the tags off and washing them until Little One is actually home and in need of them. I'm not worried about converting the office into the nursery for at least the first 6 months, but I have started to go through all the old textbooks and unnecessary stuff I've been toting around. I won't have an office anymore after it becomes a baby room (my we are outgrowing this place---a complaint for another day, but a lovely complaint to have is it not?) so I will need to downsize. Roo's room also needs to be painted and her new bed constructed. I think it's only fair that her room gets done before the new baby's does anyway.
I had gotten rid of most of the baby gear I had from Roo, and much of it was pink and girly so I am in need of a lot more baby stuff than I had originally hoped. Bouncer, swing, infant carrier, play yard with bassinet (her old one got used a lot and has several cracks in the structure), new dresser. Since I no longer live in a lovely large metropolitan area, I figure we should purchase these items before the birth as much as we can. However, I will be leaving them in their boxes until the baby gets home. I don't want to take it all out and set it all up and then have to hide it all from myself should something go wrong. If I end up doing a massive Target run because the baby came unexpectedly and caught me off guard, so be it.
My classes start again tomorrow. Eek! I am trying to work ahead by about a week because I have a bit of a heavy credit load going this session. And also? A baby will be born SOMETIME during this session. So I may want to take a few days off from online schoolwork. I have a microbiology class and a history class along with my regular nursing class this session. The classes last for 8 weeks and can be pretty labor intensive so hopefully I'm not in over my head.
I think that about sums it up.
My last ultrasound was a few weeks ago at 28 weeks gestation. Baby was estimated to be around 3lbs 4oz, up from 1lb 12oz at 24 weeks. That puts him at about the 76th percentile. Obviously these estimations can be off by quite a bit, but I find the steady growth pattern in each of his ultrasounds from 11 weeks on to be reassuring. He has consistently measured a week ahead of schedule (my dates aren't off, I think he might just be a chub.) Good growth is a reassuring indication that the placenta is functioning well. And for the first time, I noticed hair on the ultrasound. Matthew had quite a bit of hair when he was born at 27 weeks and Roo had a full head when she was born.
The entire appointment with Small Town MD was, for once, a positive experience. The ultrasound tech was the same woman who had done the ultrasound 4 weeks before. She remembered me, gave me a big hug and said she was so sorry for the way she frightened me the last time. She made sure to do some very thorough measurements and talked with me very openly, which I considered a blessing.
I passed my glucose tolerance test, and my favorite lab guy was working so I didn't even feel the needle going in. I love that.
Roo has quite a fascination with medical-type stuff and always amuses people with her persistent questions during ultrasounds and dr appointments. Jerry didn't get to come this time so I had put a new cartoon on the ipad for her to watch. You know, buy myself some silence. I asked her if she wanted to go behind the curtain and watch Mommy get her blood drawn or stay in the little waiting area and watch her show. She willingly turned off the cartoon, followed me back, and proceeded to amuse the lab guy with about 20 questions regarding the composition of my blood. She later watched me get my rhogam shot with rapt attention as well. She definitely doesn't get this from Jerry; he gets visibly pale if anyone mentions a needle.
Small Town MD seems to get more comfortable with my care the farther along I get and he seems to listen a bit better to how I think my care should go. I haven't recently left his office feeling frustrated and like no one but me is willing to fight for my baby, so that's something anyway.
I had a little run-in with the medical receptionist in SmallTownMD's office prior to this appointment. When I was confirming the appointment the week after Christmas, I realized that an ultrasound had not been scheduled. When I requested one she says, "Well, there isn't an ultrasound ordered..." I patiently replied, "I know. I would like you to get Small Town MD to order one." She comes back with, "Well, okay....he isn't back in the office until next week..." I said that was fine and I would expect to hear back the next week.
I didn't hear anything so by Tuesday (3 days before my Friday appointment) I called and left a message stating that I would still like an ultrasound added to my appointment. She called back an hour later and says, "Okay, Small Town MD did place orders for an ultrasound, but you should know that it isn't considered medically necessary to have one at this point..." I did not stop to inquire as to whether this was her opinion or the doctor's. I did not care. I didn't bat an eye and I told her to get it scheduled and email me the confirmation. I was really irritated, but I refused to be made to feel as though I am being panicky or unreasonable. I can assure you, I am not. I do not bother my doctors outside of appointment time. I am polite and respectful even when I disagree with their opinions. I know what pregnant women can be like. I know it's hard to sit at a desk and take phone calls from obsessive patients all day and I try to sympathize.
But I also have to balance my desire to be pleasant with the knowledge that, should the worst happen again and I leave this pregnancy without my baby, I have to be able to live with the decisions I've made. I have spent hundreds of nights awake since Matthew died, dissecting every little decision we made during his pregnancy, his NICU stay, his death and the aftermath. If something happened to this little guy and I let some irritating medical receptionist guilt me out of having an ultrasound at 28 weeks (rather than waiting until 32 weeks as was apparently Small Town MD's original plan) I would never stop questioning whether that was the appropriate decision. For me, pregnancy is a balancing act. I have to learn my limits, learn what I can and can't handle. Just like I learned that ultrasound time is not share-with-family-time during this pregnancy, I am also learning the art of being cautious and guarded yet hopeful. I didn't say any of this to the medical receptionist. Frankly, it's none of her business and her/ Small Town MD's approval of me does not matter.
And so, in my balancing act between caution and optimism, I have now arrived at 30 weeks. Though it feels like pregnancy will stretch on forever, I know I am getting close to the end. It's time to start preparing a bit. I have picked up a few baby clothes, but I won't be taking all the tags off and washing them until Little One is actually home and in need of them. I'm not worried about converting the office into the nursery for at least the first 6 months, but I have started to go through all the old textbooks and unnecessary stuff I've been toting around. I won't have an office anymore after it becomes a baby room (my we are outgrowing this place---a complaint for another day, but a lovely complaint to have is it not?) so I will need to downsize. Roo's room also needs to be painted and her new bed constructed. I think it's only fair that her room gets done before the new baby's does anyway.
I had gotten rid of most of the baby gear I had from Roo, and much of it was pink and girly so I am in need of a lot more baby stuff than I had originally hoped. Bouncer, swing, infant carrier, play yard with bassinet (her old one got used a lot and has several cracks in the structure), new dresser. Since I no longer live in a lovely large metropolitan area, I figure we should purchase these items before the birth as much as we can. However, I will be leaving them in their boxes until the baby gets home. I don't want to take it all out and set it all up and then have to hide it all from myself should something go wrong. If I end up doing a massive Target run because the baby came unexpectedly and caught me off guard, so be it.
My classes start again tomorrow. Eek! I am trying to work ahead by about a week because I have a bit of a heavy credit load going this session. And also? A baby will be born SOMETIME during this session. So I may want to take a few days off from online schoolwork. I have a microbiology class and a history class along with my regular nursing class this session. The classes last for 8 weeks and can be pretty labor intensive so hopefully I'm not in over my head.
I think that about sums it up.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
27 Weeks
Actually, it's 26 weeks and 6 days if you want to get technical, but my BBC app always starts the new count on Sunday and I have come to do the same. It's my cheat day, if you will.
Yesterday morning, I was just coming to the surface of consciousness. The baby always starts kicking away right when I am waking up. I wait for him before I get out of bed. When I was pregnant with Roo I waited for her too. This time he didn't start kicking. I laid in bed for another hour with my eyes closed, getting more and more frantic. Finally, just as I was about to dive for the Doppler, he fluttered around a bit. Enough to satisfy me for the moment, but not enough to alleviate my worries about his altered movement pattern.
So...I guess I have some mixed emotions about making it to 27 weeks. I'm so glad. For me, 27 weeks is a huge landmark to hit. I can't believe that those two little lines back in July have made it this far, but I'm so excited. There is a rational area of my brain that knows the odds are getting pretty good for this little guy. We are well past the age of viability. So far so good. Next week marks the beginning of the third trimester, and that's even better.
Yet I can't help but be somewhat transported back to that time in 2006 when I was 27 weeks pregnant. I had no idea what could go wrong. I had no idea what a 2 pound 3 ounce baby looked like. I didn't know what a placental abruption was. It is so hard to look back on the first time I was 27 weeks pregnant and know what we were in for, and know I can't do anything to stop it or change it.
I am trying really hard to just chill out and have a Merry Christmas here. My little girl is all about the magic of Christmas this year and I am so excited to provide that magic. I know I should be enjoying these days, that they won't stretch on forever. I mean, the odds are I will get to bring a baby home and/or get to go to work eventually, and she'll be off to school. The days where it is just she and I at home are numbered. I wish I could bottle them all up now when I know I am under-appreciating them. I could dole them out one at a time on those days in the future when I am missing her as she is now.
Particularly at 27 weeks, it is very easy for me to get sucked into the black hole of anxiety and grief. It is my goal this week to stay busy and focus on the things in my life that are good. Focusing on the good in my life is actually challenging for me every week, not just 27 weeks pregnant. It's just extra-important that I don't let stress and anxiety get the best of me this week. I'm trying to filter out all the outside stressors and just focus on my little family. I hope you and your family are able to do the same for the Holidays.
Yesterday morning, I was just coming to the surface of consciousness. The baby always starts kicking away right when I am waking up. I wait for him before I get out of bed. When I was pregnant with Roo I waited for her too. This time he didn't start kicking. I laid in bed for another hour with my eyes closed, getting more and more frantic. Finally, just as I was about to dive for the Doppler, he fluttered around a bit. Enough to satisfy me for the moment, but not enough to alleviate my worries about his altered movement pattern.
So...I guess I have some mixed emotions about making it to 27 weeks. I'm so glad. For me, 27 weeks is a huge landmark to hit. I can't believe that those two little lines back in July have made it this far, but I'm so excited. There is a rational area of my brain that knows the odds are getting pretty good for this little guy. We are well past the age of viability. So far so good. Next week marks the beginning of the third trimester, and that's even better.
Yet I can't help but be somewhat transported back to that time in 2006 when I was 27 weeks pregnant. I had no idea what could go wrong. I had no idea what a 2 pound 3 ounce baby looked like. I didn't know what a placental abruption was. It is so hard to look back on the first time I was 27 weeks pregnant and know what we were in for, and know I can't do anything to stop it or change it.
I am trying really hard to just chill out and have a Merry Christmas here. My little girl is all about the magic of Christmas this year and I am so excited to provide that magic. I know I should be enjoying these days, that they won't stretch on forever. I mean, the odds are I will get to bring a baby home and/or get to go to work eventually, and she'll be off to school. The days where it is just she and I at home are numbered. I wish I could bottle them all up now when I know I am under-appreciating them. I could dole them out one at a time on those days in the future when I am missing her as she is now.
Particularly at 27 weeks, it is very easy for me to get sucked into the black hole of anxiety and grief. It is my goal this week to stay busy and focus on the things in my life that are good. Focusing on the good in my life is actually challenging for me every week, not just 27 weeks pregnant. It's just extra-important that I don't let stress and anxiety get the best of me this week. I'm trying to filter out all the outside stressors and just focus on my little family. I hope you and your family are able to do the same for the Holidays.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Just Give Me the Drugs
I like controlled environments (and I cannot lie).
I'm not afraid to say it. I enjoy a good scheduled c-section. Not that I've ever had one that was exactly scheduled.
You know those moms that are all, "I want to push this baby out myself with no drugs to numb the pain?" Yeah, that's not me at all. I really admire those women, but I admire them in the way I admire adrenaline junkies. I think it's awesome that you like to go hangliding from the tops of snowy mountains. But me? I'm a bit afraid of heights and I think I'll just stay here on the ground, thank you very much. During my nursing school rotations through L & D I became even more admiring of these women. They rock.
It's just that I feel like I always have to defend myself when I say I've had c-sections. I'm really not a wimp. I feel an obligation to tell inquiring people that I was fully dilated and pushing with no drugs on board with Matthew, but when they started squawking about bleeding and placental abruption? Hell yeah I let them give me general anesthesia. I wanted my kid out. Alive. And they pulled that off. Mission fricking accomplished.
When I found myself pregnant with Roo, I didn't even really consider a VBAC. I was pregnant 6 months after Matthew's death, and I wasn't in the mood to test the strength of my uterine incision. AT ALL. Dr M (the exalted first perinatologist who died the year after my daughter was born and is thus unavailable to me during this pregnancy) did suggest one, but he seemed ok when I declined. Until one hot July day when I wandered casually into L & D and asked to be checked for dilation as I was feeling a bit "off." The nurses and Dr M were shocked to find I was at a 7.5 and could feel absolutely nothing. Dr M couldn't help himself and told me I had a great shot at a VBAC. Perhaps if Matthew had survived past his NICU stay I could've considered it. Under the circumstances, I went with the original plan. I didn't want to labor and wonder if it felt like last time and if that was a bad sign. Or if my daughter was still okay in there. Or if my uterine incision was going to hold up. It was a decision made out of fear but I don't regret it.
During my postpartum visits, Dr M and I specifically discussed the possibility of a future VBAC. He felt very strongly that I should not have one after 2 c-sections. Because the issue was a moot point at that time, I didn't press him on the matter.
Imagine my surprise when 6 years later the new perinatologist tells me he'd be "willing to try a VBAC" for this pregnancy if I so desired. I was actually kind of annoyed. I've seen the current research. I know the chance of uterine rupture does not increase drastically between the second and third c-section. I believe it's something like a 3% rate of uterine rupture for VBACs (correct me if you know different). I quickly informed him that while he might be willing to take that risk, I was not so willing.
It angered me because 3% might seem like nothing to him. But percentages and statistics? They don't comfort me at all. Anyone know what the chance of a 22 year old pregnant non-drug abusing female having a placental abruption during the course of a normal pregnancy is? Around 1 in 200. Significantly less than 3%. How about this one. What are the odds of survival to hospital discharge for an infant born at 27 weeks gestation? Somewhere around 90% of these infants will survive to hospital discharge. At 28 weeks those numbers increase to 95%. You would think my son and I would fall on the favorable side of one or both of those statistics, right? Yet we did not.
The first thing I said to him was, "Dr. M felt very strongly that I was not a good candidate for a VBAC after he performed a c-section for my daughter. I can't ask him why he felt that way. Why do you think I would be a candidate?" He quickly backtracked and said he wouldn't consider me a prime candidate, but that he'd be willing to let me try if I desired. Right.
He also then mentioned that I would have to come camp out in his city from 36 weeks on. And obviously pitocin is a contraindicated wonder in my case. Pitocin increases the strength of uterine contractions, which is not a desired effect in VBAC patients due to the extra strain on the incision scar. This means that if by some chance I did not go into labor on my own by 41 weeks, I could not be induced and would have to have the c-section anyway. No thanks.
It is my true heart's desire that doctors seriously quit asking me if I'm interested in a VBAC. Ever again. I am not. I have no desire to risk my life, my child's life, and my uterus. I like the idea of holding my baby son in my arms an hour or two after checking into the hospital. The goals here are: baby out alive, mama out alive, with as few shenanigans as possible.
My second wish is for other women to not hassle me for my obstetric history and desire to continue with the form of birthing that works best for me. I'm seriously happy and respectful of your desire to "feel everything" during labor. Me? I'm hoping to feel nothing but joy. Hopefully I'll be seeing you natural birth ladies on the other side. With both our healthy babies in our arms.
I'm not afraid to say it. I enjoy a good scheduled c-section. Not that I've ever had one that was exactly scheduled.
You know those moms that are all, "I want to push this baby out myself with no drugs to numb the pain?" Yeah, that's not me at all. I really admire those women, but I admire them in the way I admire adrenaline junkies. I think it's awesome that you like to go hangliding from the tops of snowy mountains. But me? I'm a bit afraid of heights and I think I'll just stay here on the ground, thank you very much. During my nursing school rotations through L & D I became even more admiring of these women. They rock.
It's just that I feel like I always have to defend myself when I say I've had c-sections. I'm really not a wimp. I feel an obligation to tell inquiring people that I was fully dilated and pushing with no drugs on board with Matthew, but when they started squawking about bleeding and placental abruption? Hell yeah I let them give me general anesthesia. I wanted my kid out. Alive. And they pulled that off. Mission fricking accomplished.
When I found myself pregnant with Roo, I didn't even really consider a VBAC. I was pregnant 6 months after Matthew's death, and I wasn't in the mood to test the strength of my uterine incision. AT ALL. Dr M (the exalted first perinatologist who died the year after my daughter was born and is thus unavailable to me during this pregnancy) did suggest one, but he seemed ok when I declined. Until one hot July day when I wandered casually into L & D and asked to be checked for dilation as I was feeling a bit "off." The nurses and Dr M were shocked to find I was at a 7.5 and could feel absolutely nothing. Dr M couldn't help himself and told me I had a great shot at a VBAC. Perhaps if Matthew had survived past his NICU stay I could've considered it. Under the circumstances, I went with the original plan. I didn't want to labor and wonder if it felt like last time and if that was a bad sign. Or if my daughter was still okay in there. Or if my uterine incision was going to hold up. It was a decision made out of fear but I don't regret it.
During my postpartum visits, Dr M and I specifically discussed the possibility of a future VBAC. He felt very strongly that I should not have one after 2 c-sections. Because the issue was a moot point at that time, I didn't press him on the matter.
Imagine my surprise when 6 years later the new perinatologist tells me he'd be "willing to try a VBAC" for this pregnancy if I so desired. I was actually kind of annoyed. I've seen the current research. I know the chance of uterine rupture does not increase drastically between the second and third c-section. I believe it's something like a 3% rate of uterine rupture for VBACs (correct me if you know different). I quickly informed him that while he might be willing to take that risk, I was not so willing.
It angered me because 3% might seem like nothing to him. But percentages and statistics? They don't comfort me at all. Anyone know what the chance of a 22 year old pregnant non-drug abusing female having a placental abruption during the course of a normal pregnancy is? Around 1 in 200. Significantly less than 3%. How about this one. What are the odds of survival to hospital discharge for an infant born at 27 weeks gestation? Somewhere around 90% of these infants will survive to hospital discharge. At 28 weeks those numbers increase to 95%. You would think my son and I would fall on the favorable side of one or both of those statistics, right? Yet we did not.
The first thing I said to him was, "Dr. M felt very strongly that I was not a good candidate for a VBAC after he performed a c-section for my daughter. I can't ask him why he felt that way. Why do you think I would be a candidate?" He quickly backtracked and said he wouldn't consider me a prime candidate, but that he'd be willing to let me try if I desired. Right.
He also then mentioned that I would have to come camp out in his city from 36 weeks on. And obviously pitocin is a contraindicated wonder in my case. Pitocin increases the strength of uterine contractions, which is not a desired effect in VBAC patients due to the extra strain on the incision scar. This means that if by some chance I did not go into labor on my own by 41 weeks, I could not be induced and would have to have the c-section anyway. No thanks.
It is my true heart's desire that doctors seriously quit asking me if I'm interested in a VBAC. Ever again. I am not. I have no desire to risk my life, my child's life, and my uterus. I like the idea of holding my baby son in my arms an hour or two after checking into the hospital. The goals here are: baby out alive, mama out alive, with as few shenanigans as possible.
My second wish is for other women to not hassle me for my obstetric history and desire to continue with the form of birthing that works best for me. I'm seriously happy and respectful of your desire to "feel everything" during labor. Me? I'm hoping to feel nothing but joy. Hopefully I'll be seeing you natural birth ladies on the other side. With both our healthy babies in our arms.
Friday, December 21, 2012
The Hardest Days to get Through
I am now 26 weeks pregnant.
It is not possible for me to birth a 24-weeker. I can’t have a 25-weeker. I can no longer be caught in a nightmare
scenario where I am 23 weeks pregnant, in labor, and having to argue with Small
Town MD about whether interventions to prevent delivery should be
attempted. Those nightmares, at
least, have passed. We are down to less
than 100 days of pregnancy remaining.
Something to celebrate.
I’m not
going to lie, 27 weeks is looming.
Matthew was born at 27 weeks and I can’t help but be horrified as we get
closer to that gestational age. This
baby is still so little. In both of my subsequent pregnancies, I have
been just emotionally raw around this time.
I expect it. You know, like flu
season. Yet the brutality of it all is
something I can’t prepare myself for in advance, even though I live it every
single day, not just at 27 weeks pregnant. I mean, how could it have gone down
like that? What if it happens again? I have just been a wreck. Can’t focus on anything. Irritable.
Restless. People call to talk to
me and I can barely tune in at all. I
nod along and inside I am just thinking, “I can’t listen to this right now. I can’t believe this naïve person is calling
and expecting me to participate in this conversation when I have a pregnancy to
get myself and a fetus through.” Don’t
get me wrong. These are people that I
love with all of my heart, and I care about their problems. I’m just in my own little isolated world
right now. It really sucks in here,
actually. It will all be worth it if I
get to walk away with my little guy in the end, but I guess I know that it
doesn’t always work out that way.
The PlacentaCrisis of 2012 certainly hasn’t improved my psychological state. Thank God for my Doppler. This little guy is pretty cooperative when it comes to moving in a reassuringly regular pattern, but if he dares to oversleep? I whip out that Doppler. So far it has done nothing but provide reassurance. I was a bit cautious about purchasing one because I wanted to avoid any can’t-find-the-heartbeat crises that a Doppler might cause, but I think waiting until I was a bit into my second trimester took away much of that risk.
Due to
my history of placental abruption, I like to think of my subsequent placentas
as being indestructible. Learning that
this placenta has the potential to be less than anatomically perfect is of
concern to me, even if Small Town MD doesn’t seem to be appropriately
alarmed. When an innocent friend
suggested that I should be reassured by the doctor’s lack of concern, she was
treated to a 5 minute theory of mine wherein I propose that Small Town MD may
not be intelligent enough to be concerned.
It may be that Small Town MD does not fear for his license. It may be that Small Town MD believes his
usual laid back, good ole boy style will see him through having me as a
patient. But it will not, my
friends. If ever this man should fear
for his medical license, it is now, when he has me as a patient. Because, one misstep with me….Nevermind. I’m obviously coping well. I just think it would be unwise of him to not
take my care VERY seriously. He knows I
delivered a 27 weeker in his tiny rural hospital after an uneventful pregnancy,
so he should know to be vigilant. I
honestly don’t harbor much resentment towards the doctor that delivered
Matthew. She would be overseeing my care
in this pregnancy because I know she’d do a great job and be hyper-vigilant,
but she is no longer practicing in this area.
But this guy? He has a huge
warning flag in the form of a 500-plus page medical record, and I think he should heed that warning. There.
Tirade over.
In my years of experience with grief since Matthew died, I’ve learned that there are times when it’s best not to fight against my instincts. Right now, I really just feel like hunkering down and not leaving the house much. I like being close to home so that I can best control my stress levels and blood pressure. I do feel alone and isolated. Living on the frontier certainly adds to that feeling. In past years I’ve tried to force myself to interact and live a life with a full social schedule during times like these, but it never really worked. His birthday, the anniversary of his death, and anytime I feel pregnant and emotionally vulnerable are now all completely acceptable reasons to hide out a bit. Maybe it’s not the healthiest way to get through, but it does get me through.
So here I am at 26, almost 27 weeks along. Go team. I swear I get a bit more relaxed after 27 weeks, and even more cheerful after 30. One day at a time, right?
The PlacentaCrisis of 2012 certainly hasn’t improved my psychological state. Thank God for my Doppler. This little guy is pretty cooperative when it comes to moving in a reassuringly regular pattern, but if he dares to oversleep? I whip out that Doppler. So far it has done nothing but provide reassurance. I was a bit cautious about purchasing one because I wanted to avoid any can’t-find-the-heartbeat crises that a Doppler might cause, but I think waiting until I was a bit into my second trimester took away much of that risk.
In my years of experience with grief since Matthew died, I’ve learned that there are times when it’s best not to fight against my instincts. Right now, I really just feel like hunkering down and not leaving the house much. I like being close to home so that I can best control my stress levels and blood pressure. I do feel alone and isolated. Living on the frontier certainly adds to that feeling. In past years I’ve tried to force myself to interact and live a life with a full social schedule during times like these, but it never really worked. His birthday, the anniversary of his death, and anytime I feel pregnant and emotionally vulnerable are now all completely acceptable reasons to hide out a bit. Maybe it’s not the healthiest way to get through, but it does get me through.
So here I am at 26, almost 27 weeks along. Go team. I swear I get a bit more relaxed after 27 weeks, and even more cheerful after 30. One day at a time, right?
Thursday, December 20, 2012
After the 14th
About the tragedy at Sandy Hook….what do I say about this
disaster? I’ve started several posts
about it, but they all sound completely egocentric. Ironically, I think a person has to be just a
smidge egocentric to have a blog in the first place, but still. It’s not what I’m aiming for when speaking of
this subject. Looking at pictures of
those beautiful babies….I don’t know how anyone can see them and NOT hug their
children a bit tighter. I’ve spent so
much time staring at pictures of their little faces, so similar to my own
little girl’s face. I pray their
families can get through this. I pray our nation can find a way to get through this crisis united together.
Have you heard about Ann Curry’s 26 Acts of Kindness? Elizabeth from E Tells Tales also wrote a
beautiful post on the subject here.
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