As the Womb Turns, Chapter 2

Or, our second high risk pregnancy.  So, how does one prepare themselves to embark on this journey again?  The true answer is that you cannot truly be fully prepared to do this again.  The first time I had some degree of ignorance about the true outcome.  It is true that ignorance is bliss.  I did not have access to the full arsenal of interventions that time.  This time I feel somewhat better prepared to battle the weakness of my body.  Everyone is more informed and better prepared to try and ward off preterm labor and hopefully preterm delivery. 
The first step in the prevention plan was to put in a cerclage, I actually ended up with two.  If you have never had a cerclage all I can say is that it is a truly surreal experience and not one I am anxious to repeat.  Since having the cerclage placed I have been on restrictions.  I was on bedrest for several weeks and just recently allowed to be upright more often.  My doctors have instructed me that I am not to lift anything and only allowed limited activity.  The hardest part of this is not being able to pick up and care for my son.  We are lucky in that we have family available to help us.  So far our moms are taking turns living with us during the week and Justin is on baby care on the weekends.  It is kind of bizarre having our moms live with us, but we are so grateful that they are able to help us. 
I am also taking medications to help keep my uterus relaxed.  My midwife told me about an herbal tonic called Welcome Womb.  I am also taking magnesium tablets which will also help keep things relaxed.  This week my mom and I had the pleasure of learning how to give me progesterone injections.  Thankfully, I only have to have them once a week. 
I have chosen to look at these discomforts and inconveniences as a small price to pay for a healthy close to term baby in the end.   
I will continue to hope for CHU, CHU, CHU.

What About the Fathers?

As I am slowly gestating our second child, I find myself reflecting on my first pregnancy.  Surprisingly, I have not been reliving the traumas, but remembering my feelings of expectations and what was happening in our life at the time.  I remember waiting to hear the heart beat the first time, waiting to feel those first flutters of movement, waiting to get big enough so that people would know I was pregnant.
Lately, I have been thinking more about my husband and how this was all perceived by him.  By the very nature of pregnancy the focus is on the mother and the child.  Fathers can be easily overlooked.  I am guilty of this, it is hard to fully engage with him at the end of a long day when I am past the point of being exhausted and feeling nauseous.  I know that he is feeling stress and pressure from his job.  He is also worried about paying the bills with another little one on the way.  I know that he carries a lot of the fear from Oliver's birth, we both do.  He has never really opened up about what went on during the summer Oliver and I were in the hospital.  When I was in therapy we did discuss what went on to an extent.  He read all the books I read.  While he has never written in a journal, I hope he does find an outlet for all the fear, pain, and uncertainty that we lived with.  I haven't pushed him to open up, because if he isn't ready then what is the point.   
I understand that it can be very painful to revisit those buried emotions, but once you let them out the healing begins. 
So, I guess my point in writing this is to remind us not to forget the fathers.  They need emotional support as much as the mothers.  I think society expects them to be stoic and handle everything that is thrown at them.  These men aren't superhuman even though we would like to think so.  Perhaps NICU's need to have some groups for the fathers to help them through this awful experience.  Having a medically fragile child puts a huge amount of strain and stress on a relationship, and a relationship is not just about the mother.  BOTH partners need support, individually and together. 
So, in this month of prematurity awareness, go and support a father.

Patience

Patience, it is something that I struggle with much of the time (all of the time really).  I have a hard time waiting for things.  I am the person who can't wait to open presents, I am guilty of snooping around to try and find them.  My husband was aware of this trait of mine when he was planning to propose.  When he would come and visit me I would look through his suitcase when he was in the shower trying to find the ring I was sure was in there somewhere.  The stinker kept it in his Jeep!
Since having Oliver I have learned to be patient.  I haven't had a choice in the matter.  I had to be patient and wait for him to be ready to be held the first time.  I had to be patient and wait to nurse him.  I had to be patient and wait to bring him home.  I know that I was being given a lesson to slow down and let things happen on their own time.  Things do not work out how they are supposed to when you rush them.
Since things have settled down with Oliver life has taken on a slower pace.  I honestly like it that way.  I enjoy spending time cooking for my family.  Some of the things I make take a lot a patience, like the yogurt I made this morning.  It takes several hours, but is so worth it.  Sure, it would be very easy and convenient to go to the store and grab some pre-made yogurt, but I like knowing what exactly is in this yogurt.
We also use cloth diapers with Oliver.  Washing and drying them does take some time, but once it is part of your routine it is no big deal.  This of course will get interesting this spring when Pumpkin makes an appearance.  Ultimately, I just like cloth.
So, I am learning to be a more patient person, but I still have a long way to go.    

As if I needed another reminder that prematurity stinks

A new chapter in our lives has begun.  We recently found out that we are expecting our 2nd child.  Instead of feeling excitement and joy at the news we were shocked and scared.  I feel robbed of those good feelings of expecting a new child.  I am glad that we had the meeting with the MFM doctor this spring so we know what the plan of action will be this time.  But there is still that undercurrent of terror that I know both my husband and I feel about this.  I so desperately want those rose colored glasses, I want that overwhelming joy and excitement that expectant mothers feel.  Instead I find myself hesitating to tell people, I am worried that they will question us about this.  I dread the insensitive comments that are made without thinking.  I worry that people will not be excited for this baby, as our experience with Oliver is still so fresh in their minds. 
I feel like an awful and ungrateful person when people ask me if I am excited about this pregnancy, and I tell them that I hope to be there eventually.  I so want to be able to let go of the fear and relax and enjoy this pregnancy.  It is so hard to do when you have seen too much and watched your first child suffer and fight to survive.
I do have a feeling that things will be alright in the end with this pregnancy.  I also had this feeling with Oliver, but the road from pregnancy to a healthy baby at home was a long, hard, scary, and painful road to travel.  I don't want to travel that road again, but ultimately I understand that things are in God's hands. 
My husband and I are hopeful that with the interventions planned for this pregnancy that I will get to term or darn close.  The MFM doctor couldn't guarantee that I would make it to 37 weeks but felt like I could make further than 27 weeks.
We are also planning ahead on some things this time around.  Trying to get some projects done now.  I will have a bag packed in the car once I get close to viability (lets face it husbands and dads pick out really random clothes when you are not there to direct things.).  I am still working out as I anticipate my activity level drastically dropping once I get to my second trimester.  I feel a great need to get things set up and put in place sooner rather than later.  I want to get the room set up this time, there is something special about this that you don't realize until you don't get to do it. 
Does this make me a pessimist?  Perhaps but I prefer to look at myself as a realist. 
So here's hoping for the best.

Hellllloooo Ladies!!

Lets just say that the last month has been interesting and entertaining for Justin and I.  Once Oliver became a toddler his social butterfly tendencies and personality have come out full force.  Oliver has always been interested in other people and has never minded being held by unfamiliar people.  Now that he is starting to make different sounds and can change the volume and pitch of his voice he enjoys using it.
We recently returned from our first family vacation out in Estes Park, Colorado.  Oliver spent the hikes in a carrier on our backs.  I think he thought it was a throne.  As soon as we hit the first trail Oliver started his welcome wagon routine.  He "talked" to everyone he saw.  He was so excited a few times that he sprayed the back of my neck with spit after demonstrating his outstanding raspberry blowing abilities.  He kicked us, pulled our hair or hats, and screamed in our ears in his excitement to see all these people.  If someone did not acknowledge him he would stare them down until they were out of his field of vision.  He would eventually pass out and take a nap, usually about 10 minutes before we arrived at our destination.  After his brief catnap he was refreshed and ready to continue his greetings.
Fast forward to this past Sunday.  Oliver pulled out all the stops to impress the 7 month old little girl sitting behind us.  She was very serious and unimpressed with Oliver's efforts.  As soon as she and her mother sat down behind us Oliver's eyes lit up.  He got a HUGE grin on his face and began "talking" to her.  She did not respond.  He started his peek-a-boo routine in an effort to win her over, once again he fell flat.  He decided that perhaps she just hadn't heard him so he increased the volume.  Again he got nothing from her.  He was getting desperate.  He figured that he might as well show her his A game and show her just how much he can drool while eating crackers and talking at the same time.  She was unimpressed.  He tried to give her a dose of her own medicine and ignored her for a whole 5 minutes (yeah that would show her!).  Finally he couldn't stand it anymore and whipped around and stood holding onto the back of the pew staring at her and showing her all of his teeth and proceeded to grind them together in his effort to impress her.  He ran through his act again only at a much, much louder volume.  I think his plan was to wear her down over time.  My husband and I tried to distract him and keep his professions of love to an inside volume.  He would not be deterred and we began to sweat and think about taking him out to sit in the library for the remainder of the service.  Then a lovely distraction happened and the offering plate was passed.  Oliver was enthralled with the ushers and could not take his eyes off of them.  Ahhhh sweet silence.  Once the offering was done it was game on again.  Thankfully the service was almost done at that point.
I think Justin and I will have our hands full when our social butterfly gets older and can walk.  I would advise parents to lock up their daughters. 

Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

Dear Oliver,
One year ago today you entered this world.  It was not how either of us wanted to start off our relationship.  I so wanted to snuggle and kiss you and let you know that all was right with the world.  Unfortunately, you went from me to a plastic box.  Your daddy was so proud to have a son, and walked with you to your new home.  We both had to wait to have those special Hallmark moments with you.  Perhaps Hallmark should develop a line of preemie cards to celebrate those unique preemie milestones. 
I was allowed to hold you long before I worked up the nerve to kiss you (I was so afraid of giving you germs).  Your daddy and I were terrified of you getting sick, you were so tiny and fragile, but you had a feisty side.  You were such a strong boy through all those weeks laying in your fish tank and hooked up to various noise makers.  You took all those needle pokes, ultrasounds, and eye exams in stride.  I felt like I needed to witness these events as they were part of your story.  It made me ache inside to hear you cry in protest and pain and know that I could not comfort you. 
I know in so many ways you were so much stronger than I was.  Most days I just wanted to grab you and take you home and forget about the nightmare our life had become.  You had so much to overcome and you did it!   
You came home and did wonderful.  You kept daddy and I on our toes.  Daddy and I love to give you snuggles and kisses.  Your personality is coming out everyday and we love to watch you explore your world. 
We are so glad that we were chosen to be your parents.  Your daddy and I have loved to watch you grow and change in this past year.  You are a true survivor and have shown us just how precious life is.

We love you so very much,
Mommy and Daddy 

Moo

A few months ago I submitted my story of my breastfeeding experience to a blog I follow.  You can check it out here.   I wrote it on a whim and didn't really think that it would be selected.  Well it was, and I was excited and nervous I hadn't yet opened up to others about the struggles I was going through.  Writing this post was my first step towards starting this blog.  The feedback was positive and I heard from many mothers who had similar experiences and thought they were alone.  The most important thing for me was a feeling of letting go of some of the baggage I had been dragging around.  I was in therapy at this point, but writing this really helped me feel like healing emotionally was possible.

An Empty Tank

Jean Watts

When a woman embarks on the adventure of pregnancy she never thinks about the struggles she may face.  I was that woman, I had visions of a natural childbirth and a baby that would latch on and start nursing within moments of birth.  I had plans to breastfeed my baby for at least a year, because that is what the women in my family all did.  Unfortunately, that easy natural birth was not to be.  I began having complications at 20 weeks and by 21 weeks was on hospital bedrest an hour and half away from home.  I delivered my son, Oliver, at 27 weeks 4 days by emergency C-section. 

My mindset had to suddenly and violently shift, I was no longer pregnant and my focus was now on producing milk for my tiny son.  I remember being propped up by my mother and a nurse to start pumping hours after the c-section.  I was determined to provide milk for my child.  I was terrified about my son developing NEC and knew that preemies that were formula fed had 18 times higher chance of developing this devastating infection. 

I had visions of producing gallons of milk for him.  The reality of my supply slapped me in the face the next day.  I would hook myself up to the pump and think about my child and hope for the milk to flow.  I was unprepared for the few drips that deposited themselves in the bottles.  I felt like my body had let me down on so many levels.  I was unable to carry a child to term, and now I was struggling to produce milk for him.  Matters were further complicated by a nasty infection I was fighting that had caused me to deliver early, each time I spiked a fever my already meager supply went down.  It would take a day or two for it to return to “normal” which was only at the most a half ounce from both breasts.  I was also concerned about the massive amounts of antibiotics and pain medications in my system being in my breast milk.  The doctors and nurses all assured me that they would not hurt my baby but it still worried me.  My life revolved around pumping every 3 hours round the clock, I had a love hate relationship with my pump.   

The lactation consultants were my angels, one in particular kept a close eye on me.  They followed all the NICU moms who were pumping.  They introduced me to the lactation room once I was finally discharged.  It took me a few weeks before I was fully comfortable pumping with other women in the room.  The lactation room was somewhat of a haven from the craziness of the NICU.  It was dimly lit and quite.  The women I met in that room became my support network.  We were all going through the same things and understood the emotional rollercoaster when you have a baby in the NICU.  It also showed me how low my supply was when compared to the other women.  I discussed this with my lactation consultant and embarked on a new adventure of trying to increase my supply.  I started taking fenugreek, keeping a log, hot showers, massaging my breasts, eating oatmeal, and drank a few beers, kangarooing when possible, and power pumping.

The addition of power pumping made for interesting evenings.  I would watch late night television and I would pump in 5 to 10 minute increments for one hour.  Power pumping gradually increased my supply and after a few weeks I was able to pump about 2 ounces each time.  It was a slow increase but an increase none the less; my son was getting breast milk for half of his feedings.  I was hopeful that I would be able to increase enough so that he would not need supplementation.  My other goal was that I wanted to have a supply so that when my son was strong enough I would be able to nurse him.  I desperately wanted that experience.

The day finally arrived when his neonatologist gave the okay to nurse my son one time a day.  I was beyond excited, but very nervous.  I had never breastfed and didn’t know how to start, plus he was still on oxygen and had an oral gastric tube.  His nurse called the lactation consultant to come and help me.  I was told to not get my hopes up since he was still so little and had all the tubes which might affect his ability to sufficiently suck.  The lactation consultant came for his next feeding and helped me position my son and he did the rest.  He surprised us all by latching on like a champ.  It was a wonderful experience and felt so much better than the pump.  Everyone said that once he could nurse my supply would increase, unfortunately that did not happen.  I still nursed him whenever I could, but mostly had to pump when he was in the NICU.  He was on a high calorie diet so we had to fortify the breast milk to 27 calories.  Once he was discharged I would nurse him then offer him a bottle.

At my 6 week post partum visit my midwife prescribed Reglan to help my supply.  The medication worked for me but unfortunately I also suffered from some of the side effects mostly horrible anxiety.  I took the medication for two months and then decided that I needed to stop taking it since I was not sleeping due to the anxiety.

Ultimately I was able to give my son 5 months of breast milk before my supply dried up.  It was a difficult and sad decision to stop nursing him.  I still wrestle with my feelings of failure and inadequacy.  I know that he got breast milk when it counted the most, and he is now a healthy, thriving, formula fed little boy.  Someday I will be at peace with my struggle.