Rollercoasters Aren't Always Fun

Our four-year old son's school called today around noon to tell us that he had a 102-degree fever.  So Wayne rushed to pick him up since he was on his lunch break anyway and I've been plagued by contractions all day today.  I think I overdid it yesterday because I was out and about working, then at home making cooking for seven boys, four of them ravenous teenagers. At this point, the contractions are like white noise to me ... I've almost forgotten what it feels like to not have a belly that's rock hard like a clenched fist all the time.  The pain in my right lower abdomen hasn't resurfaced too much today ... only once in a while to remind me that life can be so boring and vanilla when there's nothing to worry about.  Yeesh..  I'd really like my "bitchy" not "irritable" uterus to chill out.  Maybe it's a good thing we're parting ways after the baby's born.  My uterus and I obviously don't see eye to eye and it's only pissing me off.

Wayne and I had a nice talk last night.  He had been distant and really quiet since the doppler ultrasound with Dr. T last Thursday.  I knew that the percreta diagnosis was weighing heavily on his mind.  Sometimes I would turn around and catch him staring at me with this funny look on his face.  However, every time I asked what was bothering him, he would answer -- in that totally guy way of his -- "Nutthin."  Of course I knew he was lying.  How could there be nothing?  He just sat through two doctors' appointments within the span of four days where he was told that his wife could bleed out at any moment or be left with some serious complications.  The man was obviously sh!tting bricks.

I almost wrote about this a few days ago, but I wanted to give him some time to process everything before I did because what he's going through is also sitting badly with me.  His agita is giving me agita.  

If I had written about this before, my first line would have been, "My husband is pulling away and shutting down," because that's what he does when he's stressed.  I always rib him that he'd never make it as an emergency first responder in a fire ... we'd all be screwed.  So he's been putting around the house and his office pretty much in a daze, not saying much. One night, I found him lying on our bed holding his eyes with one hand and rubbing his temple with the other.  A few times, when my insomnia kicked in because my brain wouldn't shut off, I whispered his name in the dark to see if he was awake. He always answered me immediately so I knew he couldn't sleep either.  I think it was his way of keeping "watch" in case something happened in the middle of the night.  His macho, defend-what's-his mentality was kicking in big time. Finding out that you've got this major, potentially life-threatening condition is bad enough ... I imagine being the partner who might be left behind with five kids is pretty sucky too.  We talked about this and I joked to him that no woman would touch him with a 10-foot pole with five boys in his care, no matter what he does for a living or what he makes.  He didn't laugh.

So last night, we're watching "Masters of Sex" on Showtime. (No pervy people, it's not porn. I wouldn't write about THAT here. Ha! Surprisingly I DO have some boundaries.)  It's that show about famous sex researchers, William Masters and Virginia Johnson.  Dr. Masters was also a famous obstetrician who routinely treated infertility or high-risk cases.  It was the episode where Dr. Master's daughter, born at 24 weeks was delivered stillborn after his wife started to bleed.  (My money was on her having a previa.)  Of course, with everything we're going through, I just shook my head disbelievingly, "Really?  Serious?  You have GOT to be sh!tting me."

That got Wayne and I talking and he finally opened up.  "I haven't been this scared in years," he said.  I asked when the last time was.  "When you were down at Beekman [Hospital] with Josh.  It was the uncertainty, the lack of promises and guarantees.  I didn't know what to expect because everything was so new."

Here's the thing, even though this has been a turbulent pregnancy, this isn't our first time on this rollercoaster. When I was 28 weeks pregnant with Josh, our firstborn, I went in for a routine exam, only to be told I was 2 centimeters dilated and admitted into the hospital for preterm labor.  I was so young and green that I didn't even realize that the tightening feelings I had every now and then were contractions!  I wound up giving birth five days later at 29 weeks after having been told by a home healthcare nursing agency that I wasn't really in labor and that perhaps my stomach pains meant I had to go to the bathroom.  I almost gave birth in the cab on the way to the hospital, but managed to hold out for 15 minutes after I WALKED through the doors of the L&D operating room.

Josh in 1996, born at 29 weeks weighing 2 lbs 14 oz, measuring 16 inches.
I think he's 2 or 3 days old here.
He needed mechanical assistance to breathe for over a month.

Daddy and Josh

Then came Spike, who was born at 27 weeks after they couldn't stop the preterm labor contractions and learned that I had a uterine infection -- listeria, of all things -- causing the contractions. The doctors told me that because of my high fever -- 104.5 degrees -- that there was a good chance the baby would come out with meningitis and suffer from brain damage, or blindness, or deafness. They would have to take the baby in an emergency C-section, but even then, they couldn't guarantee a successful outcome.  We were so terrified then too.  I'll never forget how the anesthesiologist very somberly told us that because of my high fever, he couldn't place an epidural for fear of the spinal site becoming infected.  Instead, he would need to put me under general anesthesia with the severe caveat that, again because of the fever, they couldn't guarantee that I would wake up.

Here's Spikerman.  He was born at 27 weeks at 2 lbs, 2 oz, measuring 14 inches. (That's my hand next to him.)
Like all babies, he lost 10% of his birth weight in the first 3 days of life.
Unfortunately, it took him 2 weeks to gain that weight back. He's about 5 weeks old in this photo.
He was on oxygen for the first 5 weeks of life, which is an amazingly short period for someone of
his gestational age.

My sweet little  man ... 

After that, things got hazy, but Wayne was given the choice in the event something dire occurred, who he wanted to give priority to ... the baby or I.  He never told me who he chose, but I'd like to think it was the baby ... you know I don't go through all of this without something to show for it in the end.  So before I was wheeled into the OR, we cried and said our tearful goodbyes.  I hadn't seen him cry since Josh was born, eight years before.   I told him everything I thought he'd need to go on without me.  For the record, to tell someone you love that it's okay to love someone else is hard.  You really need to be at that precipice where you think there's no going back.  That's where we were in 2004; I sure hope we don't find ourselves there ten years later.  That would really bite.  

Okay. It's off to bed to go hover over my sick little Weetheart, like I always do when they come down with something. I also have to be at work early in the morning.  It's my last week!  After this, I get to breed and brood!  Egad -- whatever will my posts be like then?

xo,

L