Are You?... The Question I Wish People Wouldn't Ask!

I had fun telling these stories. And I'm going to blog a little because I'm at the library, by myself, praying that the air conditioning on my car is fixed today, and because for once, I have time since I don't have the little boys here with me.

It was far more fun telling these stories yesterday, the second time around, than it was experiencing them first hand.

Some time after Maggie was born (okay very shortly after Maggie was born) people started asking me, not infrequently, if I was pregnant, when I wasn't.

It wasn't diastasis recti (which I can always read and write but maybe not pronounce correctly), since I had my doctor check and (miraculously?) have no separation (last time I talked about this at least a half dozen people suggested that so I thought I'd start there).

It was just that my muscles... aren't in the same shape that they were many, many pregnancies ago. Which I'm okay with, but which has caused some awkward moments that sometimes feel all the more awkward since I end up being the one comforting the totally embarrassed person who's just said something that probably shouldn't have been said.

It's not that people I know or family members are asking. That's different. Then there's at least a relationship and since I have been pregnant pretty often for the past ten years there's a basis other than the state of my abdomen that's the reason that they're asking.That's not what I'm talking about here.

What I'm talking about here are the inquiries from complete and total strangers who want to know about my little bun in the over.

Or worse (small town life and all, although this story is from before we moved and not now) the rumors that can be started by sagging muscles and people who just won't be convinced otherwise. because they think you're just waiting out the first trimester to tell everyone.

For those who prefer print to video I'll share one of the stories from today's vlog (I may have blogged about it years ago, but since almost eight years have passed I think it's fair game again).

When Maggie was about a month old I went shopping.  Maggie was with me. Sadie was with me. I was at the store that Paul was working nights at while he going to graduate school on the weekends.

It would have been around this time period

It was... a tough shopping trip. The toughest of tough. I was stumbling around, four weeks out from major abdominal surgery. I think Maggie was probably in her Moby, because she lived in that thing, but I know that I was wearing my c-section girdle and a skirt.

And I know this because apparently I'd lost enough weight that my skirt no longer fit and it fell down, around my ankles, and I did not feel it until I nearly tripped over it, while walking down one of the first aisles of the store.

Thankfully no one was around to see that spectacularly bad moment.

However.

When Paul went back to work that night he was met with plenty of rumors because everyone who had been working KNEW that I was pregnant again.

Because obviously I was pregnant again. They had seen my stomach, poking out from under that freshly born baby.

It looked pregnant.

Now generally I felt pretty... good... when I was wearing my c-section girdle... but this dispelled any illusions I had about not looking... totally pregnant.  Which I mean, is how it actually is, for most women, in real life, after they've had a baby.

Recovery takes time. It should take time. We've just had a baby. Those muscles took nearly ten months to get like that. They don't pop back into place five minutes after the baby's out.

-------

On my end, with time it has slowly (I feel like the word should be written stretched out the way I said it in my head... like "slooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwlllllllly....") gotten better.

And by "gotten better" I mean, people usually don't think I'm pregnant now, if  I don't wear things with an empire waist.

But I've gotten plenty of these questions in "normal" shirts and dresses, just to dispel any thoughts that that was the problem.

Time will tell if it improves enough that the questions disappear entirely.

I guess at least I can laugh about it? A lot?

At least outside the moment when it's actually being asked.


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38 and a half

The day before James arrived Paul snapped a picture of me in a new maternity dress I'd run across and it ended up being one of my favorite bump photos. 

It isn't quite the night before the baby is going to arrive (five more days!) but I ran across the dress in the closet and I thought I'd see how this time around compared with last time.  Because right now I'm feeling like my baby bump is pretty gigantic:

But it turns out that this time isn't all that different from last time (the top row shows the photos from 2014):

And I think I'll make my official baby size prediction. 

All of the other kids were either 21 or 22 inches.  And their weights were (in order): 9 lbs 4 oz, 9 lbs 1 oz, 8 lbs 12 1/2 oz, and 8 lbs 7 oz. 

So my guess for this baby will be 21 inches and 8 lbs 2 ounces. 

Baby should be arriving in less than a week! 

And the days seem to be somehow flying by and moving incredibly slowly depending on the moment, probably because I can't wait to meet her! 

Our Dramatic Saturday Evening

In the post about Sadie's first communion I mentioned briefly the trip to labor and delivery that I took on Saturday afternoon and how it really deserved it's very own post.

But it all really began on Friday night when just before bed I noticed some light spotting.

This is different, was my first thought, only because usually I don't have spotting in the third trimester.  There was no reason for the spotting, other than maybe carrying James around more than usual.  I didn't call my doctor though.

After having subchorionic hematomas during two pregnancies (and likely during Patch's too, since I had spotting at 6, 10, 16, and 24 weeks with him) spotting doesn't send me into a panic like it used to.

Sadie's First Communion was beautiful, but I spent a good portion of it wrestling with Maggie ("No, we don't touch the shoes of the person in the pew in front of us!  Even if we're being very quiet while we're doing it!"), who despite her best behavior was still a handful and I also spent it not drinking the 60 ounces of water that I normally would drink before noon when I'm at home.

We stopped by the house to get new clothes for a certain eighteen month old, since he was covered from head to toe in frosting and cake, and I ran into the house to use the bathroom.  When I stood up there was a rush of fluid.

I froze.  I waited.  It had stopped.  It had only lasted for a moment.  I held very still.  I felt completley normal.

As I collected James' clothes I was nervous.  When my water broke with Sadie it was only a trickle, far less than what I'd just experienced.  When it broke with Patch it was more like it was in the movies, where it goes on and on and you wonder how much amniotic fluid can be around one little baby.  This was somewhere in between.

I changed and made sure I had everything we needed to go out to lunch like Sadie had requested.  Then we left.  In the car I whispered to Paul that I thought maybe my water had broken, but I wasn't sure, so I guess we'd wait and see if anything happened.

At lunch everything was fine.  I didn't have a single contraction.

After lunch Sadie asked to drive down and look at the new house (which still deserves it's own post, but I'll share one picture in this one):

At this point the worry that my water had broken seemed far away.  I'd probably just had one of those accidents that sometimes happens when an increasingly large baby is sitting on your bladder doing gymnastic exercises.  Even if I had used the bathroom approximately thirty seconds earlier...

So it didn't worry me that while our current home is less than a mile from the hospital, the new house is about half an hour away.  After all, everything seemed fine.

We were almost to the new house when the first real contraction hit.  That this was a real laboring sort of contraction, I had no doubt in my mind.  I'd never even felt contractions like this when I was in labor with Patch.

This was a contraction of the variety I had shortly before Sadie was born.  I looked at the time and recorded it on my phone.

But it was only one. And by the time the second one hit, four minutes later, we'd already driven by the house.  The third one was three minutes later.  When the fourth and fifth and sixth came, two minutes apart, I told Paul to turn the car and head straight for the hospital.

I called my OBs line and about fifteen minutes later go a call back from the doctor on call at the hospital.

"I know what you're going to say but... I thought I'd call anyways.  I'm 30 weeks and 5 days pregnant.  I had some light spotting last night.  Around lunch time I had a rush of fluid, but I wasn't sure what it was... and now two hours later I'm having contractions that are two minutes apart... They've been that close for almost half an hour now.  Okay, that's what I thought.  We'll be there as soon as can."

And of course she said to come in immediately.

The next half hour was excruciating.  The contractions were like clockwork, every two minutes, and they were increasingly horrible.

By the time we arrived at the hospital and I said goodbye to everyone I was certain I wouldn't be coming home any time soon.

They whisked me into triage and checked the baby.  She sounded good, but she was transverse, so they had a hard time getting the sensors to stay in place and pick up anything.

I lay on my side and waited.  Laying down was much, much better.  The contractions stopped, altogether, almost immediately.

See, I thought to myself, if I just went home everything would have been fine.  Except I knew going home when the contractions were that strong and that close together hadn't been an option.  Not at 30 weeks.

Both the resident and nurse were convinced that my water had broken, and immediately ordered three tests to confirm it, all of which came back negative.  I was a little bit dilated, more than I had been in the past, but not enough to worry about.

This didn't totally reassure me.  When my water broke with Sadie all the tests came back negative too, for hours after it had happened.  It wasn't until I was being wheeled in for my c-section after five hours of pushing that there was a rush of amniotic fluid that was actually detectable.

The resident was worried that I had a tear at the top of the amniotic sac and that a little fluid had leaked out.  She did an ultrasound and the fluid levels still looked in the range of normal.  Baby's head was squarely against my right side and her feet were squarely against my left (she's our third baby that spends almost all her time transverse).

She explained that all the tests were negative but she just had a gut feeling after everything that had happened that there was a tear... which was a big deal because treatment would be entirely different depending on whether or not my water was partially broken.

She explained that the sac might reseal, but that I'd have to watch very, very carefully for any fluid leaking at all.

When the contractions had stopped for an hour I was sent home, with orders to drink as much water as I could and to stay in bed.

I tried to sit propped on some pillows while Sadie opened her presents, but quickly realized that being flat on my back was pretty much the only option left to me.

For the rest of Saturday and almost all of Sunday I stayed in bed.  I managed to sit up for around an hour, propped on pillows, twice on Sunday while cuddling with the boys, but anything else caused the contractions to come roaring back, and after sitting up I was exhausted.  Still by Sunday evening I could actually sit up and eat dinner.

On Monday I tentatively got out of bed.  We had accidentally double booked appointments and I there was one that I really couldn't miss for James and Patch if it was at all possible.  I sat up and was... fine...  I rested as much as possible and while the contractions briefly came back after Maggie's speech session, they went away when I laid down again and I was okay to take Sadie to ballet while Paul fed the little kids dinner.

This morning we're back to the little constant Braxton Hicks contractions that mark the second and third trimester in any pregnancy for me.  I'm less nervous than I was yesterday and far less nervous than I was on Sunday, and am making every effort to take it easy (Paul has been a huge, huge help both playing with the kids all day and being up with James for much of the night).

I do wonder if there was a tear that resealed itself, and I'm praying that this little one stays put for two more hopefully drama free months.

Now to go drink as much water as I possibly can to hopefully prevent any more contractions from having an excuse to start!

Updates: Pregnancy, Puppy, Migraine Meds, and Maggie's Words

25 weeks arrives tomorrow (which basically means it took me three days to write this since as I hit publish I'm at 25+1) and I have been meaning to add another update for all of week 24, which ends in all of two hours (if I manage to finish this post tonight). 

I went to my doctor's appointment last week and discovered that my doctor learned about my repeated calls the entire week between the hospitalizations, after he readmitted me to the hospital the second time.  You see, after I came in sobbing and was re-hospitalized with a kidney infection, he went back and looked in my chart and was surprised to see I'd been calling all week long complaining of being in terrible pain.  

So when I brought up my concerns about being afraid of not being listened to if I called in, as had happened all week, he explained that it had been discussed and that the people involved knew that I had ended up back in the hospital as a result of what had happened.  

And then I explained a little more about how the conversations had... unfolded... (like when I said I was in terrible pain and I was told "well you sound better, so that's what I'll be telling the doctor." except apparently no one was telling my doctor anything at all.).  

However at the moment it seems that both the flu and the kidney infection are behind us (I hope!  I really, really hope!).  

The kidney pain is slowly getting better and better, but it's flared up a couple times (like this morning!  Stairs are harder on kidneys than one would imagine when they're healthy) with enough intensity that I was willing to agree to the every day antibiotics for the rest of the pregnancy to prevent it from coming back again.  

About a week into the four times a day antibiotics the pain came back pretty sharply, and we narrowly missed having to head back to the hospital, and so I'm pretty set on avoiding that happening again if it's at all possible.  

Still at 0 lbs weight gain from all the sickness...
hopefully with the medicine I finally asked for to take care of the morning sickness
that will change.

Patch is talking up a storm.  I'm pretty sure that at the end of the year he won't need an IEP anymore, or speech.  He tells us exactly what is on his mind all day long.  

His goals in life right now, include carrying Puppy (who he finally told us is actually named Bubble Puppy) absolutely everywhere, no matter what he's doing, and moving into a farm.  Preferably a farm with a big red barn like this one:

Every time he sees a farm he starts yelling "Home!  Home!" out the car window.

In other news, a certain someone is thriving since starting a daily migraine medicine.  

After trying a few other things (magnesium...) and tracking Maggie's migraines since fall, I agreed with her neurologist when he suggested that something preventative was in order.  

During the whole of January and the first half of February she was having about 15 instances a month of her pupils being dramatically different sizes, and besides that she seemed to be having obvious headache symptoms at least once a week, so I went to the pharmacy and picked up the bottle of tiny pills.  

After two days I asked Paul if he was seeing what I was seeing, but he wasn't quite sure.  By the end of the first week there was no doubt, and he was seeing it too.  

She was calmer and more social at home.  Instead of going upstairs and laying down in her bed and pulling the covers up over her head (a definite clue on headache days) she would stay downstairs and play.  She's less likely to cry if her sister coughs.  And she's just all around happier.  

We seem to have found something that's working and I'm hoping that as I continue to track the differences in her pupils we see a dramatic reduction there as well (I've been watching and I think it is less, although it still happens occasionally... three times this month so far, instead of around fifteen).  

We did have one major meltdown this week.  

It involved going on a shopping trip.  Everything was going well but the boys were fussy, so in between stores we decided to swing by a park that was nearby.

The park happens to be at the converted school/autism center where Maggie goes for speech therapy once a week.  We've gone here before just to play and it's been fine, but this time I didn't talk about how we were just going to play before hand.  Big, big mistake.  

We arrived and Maggie got out of the car and bolted towards the front doors (which were locked because it was the weekend).  

I realized my mistake.  I took her hand and led her towards the playground, explaining that there was no school today, we were just there to play at one of their three awesome play grounds.  

She could not be convinced.  She kept telling me "Homework! Homework!" (I'm not even sure how she knows that word) and trying to go back to the doors.  Tears followed.  

Finally, after a very long five minutes, she found a pile of leaves near one of the doors on the playground side and decided to play with Baby Mermaid over in it.  Her siblings all joined her, ignoring the play structure.  

Happiness was restored.

She was especially thrilled when James crawled all the way over to play with her:

And she finally got to go to speech yesterday, where she spent a great deal of energy trying to sneak over and move the items on her visual schedule from the To Do column to the Finished column, even though they were among her favorite activities.  Like swinging:

On a final note we had a major victory yesterday.  It took the form of a tiny conversation.

As we were walking to the car for speech, with Maggie's little hand clasped in mine, I heard her tiny voice say "My tummy hurts me!"

I stopped and stared at her.  A sentence?  With two pronouns that were actually correct?  And that were telling me something?

"Did you just say 'my tummy hurts me'?"  I asked.

"Yeah." She said and then climbed into her car seat and waited for me to buckle her up.

And suddenly I had information that I could use to help her, information that with our tough little girl, I never would have been able to figure out on my own.

I may get a few dozen fragments about mermaids a day, but that sentence is a huge deal around here!
And that is the latest as we embark upon these last days until Easter!  This Lent has been a unique challenge this year, but we're in the home stretch!

3 Trips to the Hospital and Sorting Through These Feelings

It's been a hectic few weeks and I've been processing them slowly and thinking about writing everything down for the last few days, but wrangling the house back into shape after three trips to the hospital has taken all of my energy and I'm still battling the mountain of laundry that grew exponentially during my time away.

This is a little lengthy, but I need to get it all down in one place to process everything that's happened.  I'm kind of sad. I'm kind of angry.  And after slowly becoming more confident in the type of care I'd receive if something went wrong, I'm kind of back where I was in August 2011.  Or October 2011.

I'll also start by saying that throughout all this baby has been doing good and moving lots! I'm incredibly thankful for that!

Trip #2...

It started the last Thursday in February when I was suddenly in excruciating pain.  I hadn't, at that moment, had a UTI in over a decade, but this was that familiar old pain amped up on steroids.  I'd heard that UTIs could be worse during pregnancy (and easier to acquire) but this was nothing like I'd imagined.

I called my doctor's office and found that if I'd called first thing in the morning they could have gotten me in, but it was 1 pm and Clinicals were over and there wasn't a doctor in the office, but they could pencil me in for tomorrow afternoon.  Fighting back tears I said I'd try urgent care because I didn't think it could wait.

Before I could walk upstairs to grab my purse the back pain hit hard.  And it gave me pause.  I called back, this time crying because the pain level had gone from high to very, very high, and was sent straight over to Labor and Delivery at Sparrow Hospital.

They took me straight back to a room, and I made about fifty trips back and forth between my triage room and the bathroom before the conclusion was reached that I had a UTI.  I still hadn't taken anything more than Tylenol at this point, and the pain level was still excruciating.

Still when they pounded on my back the pain didn't get worse, and so, I was told, it probably wasn't a kidney infection and I was sent on my way with a five day supply of Keflex and a checklist of reasons to come back.  The resident I saw stressed the importance of coming back.  "I had a woman with pyelo in the ICU last week."  He said.  "I don't think you have a kidney infection yet, but if it gets worse, come back."

The pain had begun to ease up by the next morning, but by Saturday I was really sick.  I was on day three of a horrible headache that had begun around the same time as the UTI, and sometimes when I laid back tiny fireflies would dart across my vision for up to five minutes, which isn't one of my normal migraine symptoms.

Admission #1...

On Sunday I sent Paul to the store to get a replacement for our broken thermometer (those things don't last long in this house) and found that I had a fever well over the 100.3 that was supposed to send me back to Labor and Delivery.  I realized, as I glanced at the checklist, that I'd had a few of the symptoms for at least two days.  By then it hurt to breath and to move.

I headed back to the hospital.

The only thing I hate more than going in to Labor and Delivery when I'm not in labor is going to the ER for any reason whatsoever, but it was Sunday and it was getting harder and harder to breath and everything hurt.

I explained why I was there to a resident with plenty of attitude who repeatedly asked "why'd you come in today?" in a tone that made it clear that she didn't think I should be there and patiently explained that they had given me a checklist with five reasons to come back, and that upon looking at it I had realized I had three of those five reasons, and so I'd returned.

Finally the resident from the first day came in.  He was far more worried.  He ordered tests.  He listened to my lungs and said he couldn't hear any air moving through my right lung.  And he ordered a flu test.

Within a few hours I had been admitted and was shuffled up to a large room at the top of the hospital for observation, because I was only 21 weeks and 6 days and I'd need to be 24 weeks to be admitted to the Special OB unit.  By midnight the nurse had come in to tell me that I did in fact have Influenza A and that every person who came in my room would need to have their faces covered in a mask and their clothes draped in gauzy yellow paper.

Monday dawned and I felt worse.  A resident came up and listened to the baby.  Another came up and did an exam and told me I'd need to stay for at least another day so that they could continue to watch my lungs.

I asked if someone could tell my OB's office that I was there and the resident responded:  "If you get sick enough that we need to bother an attending and let them know what's going on, then we will."

I rolled my eyes, waited until she'd left the room and called my doctor's office to let them know that I was in the hospital in case my doctor happened to be over doing rounds.

This, I would later come to realize, was a mistake.

A few hours later another OB came up and listened to my lungs.  My oxygen levels were fine, but breathing was hard.  I'd asked for an inhaler (my asthma is super mild when I'm not pregnant and has been mild during this pregnancy) and was told that because I'd been tachycardic the whole time I'd been there that they couldn't let me use an inhaler.  "You're going to need to stay overnight so we can keep an eye on your lungs," she repeated before she left the room.

In the afternoon another person in a white coat walked into my room.  She told me she'd come from my doctor's office and wasn't I feeling better?  A little, I said, mostly out of politeness.  I mean if the pain level had been at 9 when I'd come in it was hovering around 8 now.  After 20 hours the codeine cough syrup had finally arrived.  That was something.

She listened to my lungs.  I needed to work on taking better breaths or I'd have pneumonia soon.

But didn't I want to be back in my bed at home?

Of course I did. I mean, who wants to be in the hospital unless they have to be?  I wasn't having fun hauling that IV pole around to go to the bathroom every half hour.

I'll be getting your paper work together and discharging you, she said as she turned and walked out.

I was stunned.  I still.hurt.  Everything still hurt.  Breathing hurt.  I felt panicked at the idea of going home in that much pain.  I've felt that way one other time.  And I ended up being really, really sick.

Glancing at the prescriptions she'd set down on my table I read her name and saw that it was followed by CNM.

It took a second to commute.  Certified Nurse Midwife.  Two OBs had examined me and said I needed to stay.  A midwife had come in and was readying my discharge papers.

When she came back I explained that while I wanted to go home I really, really felt like I shouldn't be going home.  The pain was excruciating.  I'd be up running around taking care of four kids with the flu.

That wouldn't really be so bad, she told me.  Go home and snuggle with your kids in bed.  I started to cry.  She gave me a look of absolute pity and stood up and walked out the room.

I pleaded with the nurses.  They thought I could stay, but couldn't do anything.  Two OBs had said I needed to stay.  Could I see one of them?  Could I see anyone?

They were apologetic, but I'd been discharged.

After wheezing across the parking garage and sobbing in the car for ten minutes I drove myself home.

When I got there I laid in bed, burning up, despite the many medications I'd been given before I left.  I took my temperature.  100.5.  I called my doctor's office where a sympathetic nurse told me she'd tell my doctor right away and call me back.

I took my temperature again. 101.1.

She called, but it was immediately clear that her entire manner had changed.  "I talked to the doctor and to B (the CNM) and so I've heard what's going on.  You just need to get through this.  There's nothing we can do."

"I haven't been able to keep down solid food in four days."  I sobbed.  "I have a fever of 101.1.  I've had the most excruciating headache for five days now."

"We've made our decision and you just need to get through this.  I'll call you tomorrow and check in."

That night was long.  I was burning up, but so were the kids.  While Paul was up with Patch, I stayed up with James.

The next day she called back.  "How are you feeling?" She asked.  "Terrible."  I said.  "Any better?"  She replied.  "Not at all."  I wheezed.  "Well you sound better.  So that's what I'll be telling the doctor.  I'll call to check on you tomorrow." "Ask him when I should worry that I haven't been able to keep down food in five days."  "You haven't been able to keep down food in that long?"  "I told you that yesterday."  "Well, you just need to get through this.  I'll call tomorrow."

She didn't call.  An amazing pediatrician from the kids' office did, because Paul had taken the girls in after a week of the flu, and she was extremely worried that I'd been sent home.  But my OB's office never picked up the phone.

Paul wanted me to go back to the hospital.  He told me I needed to go in every day.  "But what would that do?"  I'd sob.  "They'll just send me home.  My doctor's office sent me home.  I'll get some obnoxious brand new resident who'll let me know I'm wasting their time coming in like last time. They say I just need to toughen up and get through it."

I asked him not to call the office.  It wouldn't do any good. No one was listening.

The next day, midway through the day, the pain was through the roof.  And this time it was unmistakable.  I'd completed the antibiotics but the UTI was back.  I couldn't keep food down. I'd been sick four times and knew I was getting dehydrated, but I had an OB's appointment in the morning.  If I could just get in and see my doctor, who had up until this week been an amazing doctor, things would be okay.

That afternoon the nurse called back.  She was much, much nicer and was almost apologetic.  "You're seeing the doctor tomorrow?" she asked.  I wondered how much that played into her new tone.  I told her the UTI was back, that I was throwing up more than ever, but I thought I would be okay until morning.

I was wrong.

Friday morning arrived after a long, painful night.  My appointment was at 9:15, but I couldn't wait.  Walking down the steps to the laundry room was excruciating.  Every step I took felt like I was being punched in the back.  The pain wrapped around my abdomen.  I had Paul drop me off at my doctor's office at 8.  I had a feeling I wouldn't be home soon.

Limping down the hallway to my doctor's office I fought back tears.  At the front desk I sobbed that I was there early, but it just hurt so much, I couldn't wait.

They immediately brought me back and within ten minutes my OB was telling me that I was going to go straight to triage to be checked into the Special OB unit.  It seemed that the UTI had turned into a kidney infection and I'd need IV antibiotics for at least a couple of days.  He also thought that in addition to the flu, I had a gastro virus that was going around town.  

I limped across the Sky Walk and got lost trying to find my way to Labor and Delivery from the different entrance.  A woman in scrubs saw me and rushed over and asked if I needed a wheel chair and then guided me to L&D triage, where I passed on the message that I was supposed to be admitted.

And I waited.  And waited.  A tough looking young man pacing the halls stopped and asked if I was sure I was okay.  A very pregnant woman asked how far along I was, and admitted that she'd thought I was in labor because I was obviously in so much pain.  A timely coughing fit brought the receptionist out and she brought me to the Special OB unit room herself, since they hadn't made their way over yet to get me, and an amazing nurse took over.

I should not be in that much pain, she said.  We need to get it under control.  After eight days of Tylenol and agony it was nice to hear.

The photo I snapped while FaceTiming with them.

A grey haired woman showed up to transport me to get a sonogram.  The number of children I had was asked and the most uncomfortable conversation of the hospital stay followed.  "Why?" She said, stunned.  "Why would you have that many children?"  After a cheerful answer about how much we love them and how fun they are, she launched into a tirade about how annoying children are, how they whine and fight and are always saying "That's mine."  She had a friend with two children and they were horrible.  Always bickering.  "Better you than me." was the sentiment expressed repeatedly before we made it down to the ground floor.

I was extremely relieved when a different man appeared to transport me back to my room once the sonogram was over.

Back in the room the IV was started.  Dilaudid began to numb the pain.  When it came roaring back within an hour Norco was thrown in. In between restless naps I began to wonder what would have happened if I hadn't been admitted when I was.  If I was in this much pain as the Norco and Dilaudid wore off, what would I have felt like without it?

Rocephin arrived in a little bag.  The tiny bag of antibiotic would battle the infection.

A woman arrived to draw blood.  "How many children do you have?" She asked. "This is number five?  Why?  Why? Why? Why?"

I was getting tired of that question.  Extremely tired.

In the morning I could finally refuse the Dilaudid.  By the second day of antibiotics the painkillers were no longer necessary.

Still down about 5 lbs from my pre-pregnancy weight...
hoping that changes soon.

And on the third day my doctor visited and told me that I could go home as soon as the sensitivity test on the culture was completed.  I'd be on antibiotics for another 10 days, and then I'd be taking something to prevent the infection from coming back, every day for the rest of the pregnancy.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

This time I was ready to go home.  The panic that deep down something was still wrong was gone.

Once I was discharged it quickly became clear that being up and about wasn't quite the same as being in a hospital bed.  I couldn't stand up for more than three minutes without feeling like someone was punching me in the kidneys.  And driving anywhere, with the many, many potholes in Michigan roads, was pretty unpleasant.

But now, on Thursday, I'm starting to feel more like myself.  We went to the park yesterday.  I have an alarm set to tell me to take the antibiotic every six hours.

But I have to admit I have considerably less faith in both my doctor's office and Sparrow Hospital than I did two weeks ago.  And I'm just praying we get through the rest of this pregnancy as uneventfully as possible.  Because I have no faith that anyone will listen to me if something goes wrong.

Should I Fast While Pregnant or Nursing during Lent?

I first wrote this post in 2011 and while I would change parts of it if I were writing it today (I'm definitely more aware of how difficult it is to give up meat when you have other major dietary restrictions), it's a topic that I still see come up every year around this time and I thought it would be the perfect time to repost it.  And while I don't stress it in this post because I was so focused on nursing when I wrote it, the same definitely also goes for those of us who are pregnant during this Lenten season.  When you're body is nourishing others it's not a great idea to deprive it of nutrients.
      
  Every year I see the question come up on the Catholic forums. Are nursing and/or pregnant mothers excused from the fast? There is always immediately a flurry of responses. For the most part they are filled with common sense. But then the encouragement starts... as in "I'm nursing and I'm fasting and I still have a ton of milk. You should do it too." These answers worry me (more on that below). Anyways here is the formal answer to whether or not we're required to fast, which will be followed by my own experience with the matter:

"Those who are excused from fast or abstinence Besides those outside the age limits, those of unsound mind, the sick, the frail, pregnant or nursing women according to need for meat or nourishment, manual laborers according to need, guests at a meal who cannot excuse themselves without giving great offense or causing enmity and other situations of moral or physical impossibility to observe the penitential discipline."

From EWTN's Fasting and Abstinence

Now many of us can give up meat. I know that, as I design my food schedule on a budget, we have plenty of days that, unintentionally, don't include meat. And since eggs and dairy products are allowed, it's pretty easy to get adequate protein in other ways (we tried Greek Yogurt recently, I believe it was Yoplait, and it had something like 13 g of protein! It's hard to beat that in anything! And for those worried about health it has 0g of fat! And it was tasty!).

Fasting, however, is an entirely different thing. And the mentality that many of us can fall into can be dangerous. We may think "well she's only nursing x number of time a day... How much can one day of fasting in a week (two during this first week) really affect my milk supply." For some, rare women, it may not be much. But for many of us, the result would be dramatic.

When Sadie was almost one I thought I'd be okay "cutting back" on Ash Wednesday. She was eating a lot of baby foods and while she still nursed quite a bit I didn't think that one day would really affect my milk supply all that much. Besides, I told myself, I would still eat two small meals and one big meal. I wouldn't be doing the whole bread and water thing. Really the main difference was that I was cutting out snacks.

I was fine all day and so was my milk supply. Then it was bedtime and I was faced with a very hungry baby. And suddenly it was gone. I had no milk. And I had a baby who lay next to be and sobbed herself to sleep.

It took over a day for my milk supply to return to normal. And in that time I had a miserable, hungry, cranky baby and a dribbling supply of milk that slowly returned as I ate.

You may be able to nurse and fast. But there's a good chance you may not. And why would anyone want to risk finding out? I think we can all agree that the babe in our arms isn't included in the fast.

Sure, some little bit of pride in the back of my head tells me I can fast every single year. After all, I'm only nursing... well let's see... six.... or seven times a day... and Maggie gets a lot of her food from baby food these days... I tell that tiny thought to be quiet. It's not what's best for my baby. And that is the important thing.

There's very likely plenty of time in the future for fasting. For now, if you're a nursing mom, accept your exemption and know that sometimes it's harder not to fast when everyone else is fasting and you'd really like to join them (aren't we an odd bunch! Really, wanting to fast?).

Besides, there are many of substitutes we can make. Give up the internet (okay, I'm not doing this, but I've heard of brave souls who do!). Or your cell phone (that would be easy for me... I'm always forgetting mine. I haven't seen it in two weeks although I suspect it's dead at the bottom of my diaper bag). Or television! There are lots of sacrifices we can make that don't affect the well-being of our children.

Just pick something that has become a distraction in your life and see how the next forty days go without it!

Tiebreaker: And the baby is a...

I started out wanting to wait out the whole pregnancy this time to find out whether baby was a boy or a girl.

But Paul really, really wanted to know... and so we finally struck up a deal that he would know and I wouldn't.

Which lasted for almost a month, before I realized that I just wouldn't be able to handle him knowing while I didn't know.  

So yesterday, at 17 weeks and two days, I went in for an ultrasound.  

I came home with a bunch of cute photos of the highlights:

And a video:

And I announced the news that Sadie had been waiting to hear.  

I'd had a strong feeling about what we were having, and Paul claimed to be totally certain.  

I'd only had bad morning sickness and three time a week migraines with the girls.  And since morning sickness and migraines have plagued the first trimester, and are now a big part of the second trimester, I was guessing pink (as was Paul).  

Almost immediately when the tech began the ultrasound, the baby was in position and we were able to see that our little tie breaker is in fact going to give me a chance to pull out the boxes of fluffy dresses and the cute pink and purple onsies out of the basement.  

Which works out well since our boys were born in October and November and our girls have birthdays in June and July, meaning that the sizes should be pretty accurate for the seasons again.

Sadie was elated and ran around the house excitedly telling everyone. 

When told Patch said "okay" in a totally disinterested voice.  

And that is our big week for day month!  

I can hardly believe that we're to the point where they can already tell!  Halfway point, here we come!  

17 Weeks!

Yesterday we hit 17 weeks and so I thought I'd show my first real bump picture from this pregnancy.  

And somehow I managed to not be looking when any of the photos were actually snapped.  So this was as good as it gets:

Tomorrow's my latest check up!

This pregnancy is speeding right along!

A Little Scare at 13 Weeks

Today I had my latest OB appointment.  It's only been three weeks since the last one, since my doctor is watching things a little bit more closely than in the past because of the scares we've had so far.

A little over a week and a half ago I unexpectedly took another short break from blogging when the subchorionic hematoma started doing it's hemorrhaging thing again, for three long days, and the stress of waiting to see if everything would be okay (along with nine days of migraines!) was a little bit too much for an writing inspiration to come through.

This morning, however, things were going well.  I dropped Maggie off at therapy after managing to keep her from diving into not one, but two snowbanks, and as I handed her lunch to her therapist this conversation followed:

Maggie's therapist: "Say bye, bye!"
Maggie:  "Bye, bye!"
Me: "Bye, bye!"
MT: "Say, love you!"
Maggie: "I love..." (turning and coming towards me and almost giving me a kiss and a hug in her hurry to get back and play with her friends) "pizza!!!"

I was still chuckling to myself when I arrived at the hospital.  Maggie's sense of humor has been shining through of late and she can always make me smile when she's in a silly mood.

I waved at the receptionist to check in for my appointment and then settled in for a short wait.  Soon I was asking my doctor questions about Meniere's and pregnancy (because mine is definitely flaring up even though my salt intake has been even lower than it was before the pregnancy) and the migraines and then I lay back and waited for the dopler to find a heartbeat.

A minute passed and then another.  For at least five minutes my doctor patiently searched for a heartbeat (they might have been some of the longest minutes in the history of the world).  Then he stopped searching and announced that we'd be going across the hallway to look for the baby on the ultra sound.

I was very thankful that I didn't have to wait even an hour for an appointment with their ultrasound tech.

The moment that the ultrasound wand touched my stomach the baby appeared on the screen and the doctor could see movement.  Soon even I could see a tiny limb waving back and forth.  Disaster averted.

The doctor did point out that he could still see a 3 cm blood clot and said it was fairly likely that there would be more bleeding in the near future, which is nice to know before hand, to somewhat mitigate the panic that happens whenever bleeding occurs, especially on a large scale, during pregnancy.

So now I'm back to once a month appointments and I'm hoping that this clot goes away without any sort of drama so that things can continue (or should I say begin?) to progress smoothly.

I'm hoping for a boring 27 weeks from here on out!

Our Big News

I bugged Paul all day Wednesday to give me the green light to write this post.  And he did.  So you think that I would have gotten around to writing it before Saturday night, when James, who has been asleep for approximately 27 minutes (but who's counting) is bound to wake up, trying to convince me that he's starving, beginning our first round (tonight) of night weaning, which right now means that we try to make it to midnight before his first feeding.  Or at least 11:30.

That, if I'm totally honest, is the real reason I haven't written much lately.

The other day I counted how often the 14-months-old-tomorrow-boy woke up during the night and it was five times between 8 pm and 12 pm and then an additional seven times between 12 pm and 6 am. That's twelve wakings in ten hours for anyone who's counting.

So night weaning it is.  Last night he only woke up three times instead of five during that first four hour stretch, which I'm telling myself is progress.

But to get to the actual point of this post (which you may be surprised to learn isn't about night weaning), I'll begin by saying that we've had quite the week.

And this past week has changed our plans for the next couple months, mostly because we realized that at this point asking for prayers might be more important than keeping the Big Secret, a secret.

Towards the end of October we were thrilled to learn, when two little lines appeared on a small collection of tests, that our family was again growing.

In the past I've been able to keep that secret for approximately ten seconds.  This time I asked Paul if maybe we couldn't keep the secret a bit longer, and since I'm always the one ready to shout it from the rooftops, he agreed.

I joked that, since winter in Michigan was moving in fast, I could probably keep the secret until the baby was practically ready to be born.  Paul reminded me that I'd have to shed my fluffy down jacket some time before the baby's due date, which happens to be the Fourth of July.

Maybe, I insisted stubbornly.  Sometimes we still have snow in April.  Which isn't July, he pointed out.

There was spotting at six and seven weeks, but it wasn't that big a deal.  Or so I told myself, trying to really believe it.  Spotting is always scary.

I believed that it was okay more than I believed it when it happened at seven and ten weeks with James (which we found at twelve weeks was a subchorionic hematoma) and I believed it much more than I did when it happened at six, ten, sixteen, and twenty weeks during my pregnancy with Patch (when it happened at six weeks I raced to the ER, hysterical, because I was sure I was miscarrying).

This time I called the nurse's line the next day to let them know what was happening, and she asked if I'd gone to the ER, and I said "nope, it's not like there's anything they can do" feeling like I'd finally learned something from all those past moments of fear and she'd agreed and told me to call back if it started up again or got worse.

A week ago Friday, at nine weeks and four days, it got worse.  And it continued to be worse all weekend.  I tried to stay in bed.  Or at least lay on the couch.  I burst into tears at random times when I was the only one in the room.  And I couldn't eat because there was still morning sickness all the time, along with clots and other things that steadily sapped my hope of getting any good news on Monday when I would hopefully be able to see my doctor.

At 8 am on Monday I'd already called my doctor's office a few times, just in case they were there early.  When I got through they only had one appointment left, in the afternoon, and it wasn't with my doctor.

Paul dropped me off and drove with the kids to Maggie's speech appointment, and I waited, feeling increasingly hopeless, as the doctor I'd met approximately two minutes earlier searched for a heartbeat.  I thought of how they'd hardly been able to find James' heartbeat at eighteen weeks, because of an anterior placenta, and hoped we wouldn't face a similar scenario at that moment.

Just as I'd begun to feel my heart sink further, we heard the rapid sound of a baby heartbeat and he assured me that it sounded good.  It's not too slow, I asked worriedly.  A slow heartbeat was how we knew that things were going wrong with Christian at twelve weeks.

I asked about an ultrasound, but he was sure that since we'd heard a heartbeat we didn't need one.

I undoubtedly looked desperate when I got out to the receptionists desk and she asked me when my next appointment was.  "In two days." I said.  "We can push it back a couple weeks." She replied, looking at the form the doctor had filled out.  "I was hoping I could keep it." I said quickly.  "You see if the bleeding hasn't stopped by then I'm going to be having a nervous breakdown and I really want to see my doctor, because I'm almost completely sure he'll order and ultrasound, which will keep me from going completely crazy."

I was almost completely sure he'd order an ultrasound because he'd ordered ultrasounds for much less.  The receptionist took pity on me and let me keep it and two days later my doctor walked into the room and said that of course he'd order the ultrasound, maybe they'd even be able to squeeze me in that day.  He said that he couldn't promise me that I wasn't miscarrying, but he was able to find a heartbeat, going strong at 189 beats per minute.

He listened for a while longer, because the other doctor had noted that the baby was on the left side, and he'd found it on the right, and after he said something about wondering if it was twins I assured him that the other OB had found the heartbeat in the exact same spot.  And then we talked about some of the scary things that can cause bleeding, especially after four c-sections, and some of the not-so-scary things, like the subchorionic hematoma I had with James.

Two hours later I was staring at an ultrasound screen, praying that everything was okay.  Then I saw this.  The baby was measuring exactly on for the dates I'd given them:

Another subchorionic hematoma was quickly located and I watched as the newest member of our family squirmed and wiggled and kicked her legs on the screen(we totally don't know, but Paul is insisting that his baby-intuition has him seeing pink).

"We have to tell everybody!"  I said, when I got to the car.  Paul gave me that look he gives me when I'm passionately announcing something that's the exact opposite of what I was saying a short while earlier.  But I was remembering how prayers have carried us through those other scary times and I'd also realized that if we did have to say goodbye to this little one, I would never be able to keep this tiny life a secret from the world.

"Let's wait until Christmas!" he said.
"Let's tell them today!" I countered.

And finally, after extensive negotiations I promised that he could find out the gender of the baby this time (something I've been pretty strongly against, because I was hoping maybe it could be a surprise this time) and maybe I would and maybe I wouldn't but he wouldn't be telling me if I didn't, if he only would let me make the announcement ASAP.

So he made some phone calls.  And I made this banner on Pic Monkey, because I wasn't quite motivated enough to actually come up with a cute picture and make everybody pose for it in real life:

Besides, those little snow people were so much more cooperative than the little people that I would have been working with here.

Right now I am ten weeks and five days (Who's counting?  Me.  Totally me.).  Things are good.  I'm pretty sick, a result I guess, of those strong HCG levels they measured last Monday.  The hemorrhage, after 4-5 days, has finally stopped.  And I'm impatiently waiting for my next appointment, which will be at 13 weeks, when I'll hopefully begin to relax a little bit more as more time passes after this last scare.

And that is the very long announcement that doesn't look much like the Pinterest worthy idea I was carefully crafting a few weeks ago, but that brings the very happy news that sometime between Sadie's birthday and Maggie's birthday, we expect that we will be welcoming the newest member of the family!

Sadie's concerned that we may not be able to handle eating three whole cakes inside of two weeks, but somehow, I think we should be able to manage. After all, James is pretty serious about eating cake:

James Ignatius

He's here!  Today, a little after one o'clock in the afternoon, the newest member of our family, James Ignatius, was born via scheduled c-section.  

This was by far my easiest c-section (and the only only when I wasn't already in labor).  And we received the excellent news that the last c-section had healed very well with very minimal scaring!

I spent most of the afternoon in recovery, since my blood pressure was stubbornly low and kept dipping down to 70-ish over 30-ish, which meant lots of monitoring until, after several hours, it finally went up enough that I was able to move to a room.

Our little guy is doing great.  He's our smallest baby so far (so I have no idea why he felt so huge!) at 8 lbs 7.9 ounces and 21 inches. He feels so tiny to me now!

Now for the pictures that we snapped over the course of our busy day!

Waiting to be prepped for surgery.

It was almost time...

In surgery.
Waiting to hear that wonderful cry that would announce baby James' first breath!

Born!!!

Weighing in at 8 lbs 7.9 ounces!

Meeting Daddy and Mommy!

Footprints on Daddy's arm!

Our sweet boy... cuddling on Daddy's chest.

Swaddled and cuddling with Mommy!

 So far he's been a very calm, quiet little guy.  I have to keep insisting he wake up for long enough to nurse.  He's mostly interested in napping at the moment!

Thank you to everyone for your prayers and well wishes!  I still can hardly believe that this day has arrived!

One Last Post before Heading to the Hospital...

It's here!  The big day had finally arrived!

We'll be welcoming our new little guy some time after noon if everything goes as planned. The c-section is scheduled at 12 pm today, and we're supposed to arrive at the hospital at 9:30 this morning!

Last night Paul and I got to go on one last date before the new baby arrives.  For part of the date we went to Mass (which between the virus that I'd had for the last three weeks and the whole "try not to be on your feet" order from labor and delivery right before that I hadn't been able to do for several weeks) and I was able to go to confession and receive a special blessing in preparation of today's surgery.

Then we went out to dinner, marveling that the big day was almost here and just as we were about to head home I realized that I'd forgotten to have my pre-op blood work done all weekend long and we rushed to the hospital's 24 hour lab for blood tests before heading home.

Prayers are really appreciated today, both for the surgery and baby (and me) and for Mae since she definitely has separation anxiety when I'm not in a fifteen foot radius of where she is...

Now for a few last minute pictures... and since we made it to Mass I thought I'd even join in the WIWS fun!

What I wore to Mass... The blue dress is a maternity find I just couldn't resist from Thred Up (fact, when I have store credit I'm more likely to buy a dress that I wouldn't be daring enough to buy on my own... like a $300 maternity dress that is already hugely marked down that suddenly becomes $10 after credit is applied).  The maternity cardigan is from Target.  And the infinity veil is one of my own!

I had to share one picture of the dress. Okay, really it's a picture of the bump.  The giant beach ball sized bump that has definitely made getting around a challenge this month.  I am so, so ready for today.

And a few more of my favorite pictures from our fun last day before the surgery!

Mae has become such a ham around the camera.  She spent quite a bit of time at the park posing for pictures.  She would actually stop in the middle of doing something cute and hold a position and look over and smile at me until I snapped the picture (sometimes then running over to see the picture of herself).  It was pretty amazing!

Now to go finish getting ready! Thank you to everyone who has been praying for us through the this pregnancy and to those of you praying on this beautiful autumn day!  I can hardly wait to meet our little guy... and share his first pictures with you!