Work Work Work Work work

Mark works on Sundays and is the only person trained to do the Saints shift. When our son was born, he tried to convince them to train a backup person in case I went into labor on a weekend. They didn’t, but neither did I. I had an induction on a Tuesday and delivered on a Wednesday. So once again, it was Saints season, and my due date was approaching. He kept reminding them. His rule was that if I went into labor Friday through Sunday, they would be SOL. I guess since I had the induction and a weekend birth didn’t happen last time, that would be the case. 

So here we were on a Saturday in the early stages of labor. Mark called his two supervisors to tell them sorry not sorry, but he wouldn’t be in the next day. They had to scramble to find someone capable enough to get a crash course. 

In triage, I was definitely having contractions every five to six minutes, edging closer to five. On Monday, my cervix was clamped shut and baby was very high. When I had the emergency visit on Thursday, baby was still high but I’d dilated to a 2, headed for 3, but not very soft. I figured with all of the contractions and with the time that had passed, there would probably be a big change. Nope. I was getting stretchy, at 3 moving to 4. Baby was still a little high. They kept me on the monitor for 30 minutes, checked all of that, and called my doctor. 

They needed me to dilate to 5 before I could be admitted. Because I was still only 38 weeks, I couldn’t get any sort of induction to get things moving. However, according to the nurse, my doctor “isn’t mean.” She said this with a wink. Sounds like maybe she would have helped things along if installed out. That would be nice, because I was getting tired of contractions and I couldn’t get an epidural until after I was formally admitted. 

Mark had to coach his sub over the phone, so he walked to the waiting area outside of my MFM doctor’s office. Since it was a weekend, that office was closed. It’s also accessed through the doors that we weren’t able to enter from the parking garage since it was a Saturday. As a result, it was dark and deserted. He was on the phone for over an hour. I flipped the tv to Family Feud (being Saturday, there was nothing else to watch) and texted with some people. Including, but not limited to, my friend who was going to be my long-term sub. She was going to have to take over withoutbgetting to shadow me as planned. But the best part of being friends with your sub is that you can text and keep up and help out the whole time with ease. 

After the nurse talked to my doctor, she said I needed to walk. She gave me another hospital gown to wear like a robe and showed me what to do with all of my monitor wires. I wandered around slowly for almost an hour. At one point, I ran into Mark. I could hear his voice echoing and followed it. I had to take a break by that point and sat in the lobby with him. When he finished coaching his sub, we walked together. I had to stop frequently to let contractions pass. We ran into one nurse coming on shift and two older women waiting for their niece  to go back for a c-section. They had the same names as my mom and her twin, which was funny. They said I looked nice and low. But I carry low, and people always accused the baby of dropping already, but that was never the case. Other than that, there was no one. That was nice because under my front and back gowns was nothing. And I’m not into being braless around people. 

After I was back in my room for a bit, the nurse came to hook me back up. About half an hour later, she came back and checked me. I was almost to 5 cm and my contractions were picking up. I was getting admitted! 

They rolled me down the hall to my labor and delivery room. It was a little after 6, 6:30 I guess. I immediately put in the order for my epidural. That didn’t happen until around 8. My nurses changed shifts in between rolling me to my room and getting the epidural. All of the nurses there are so nice and professional. I’m not the biggest fan of this Hospital, but I have loved the L&D nurses for both births and recoveries. 

I at one point said to the new nurse that I didn’t know how people could labor all the way to the end. She agreed. With the induction, I got my epidural pretty quickly because they knew I was definitely going to deliver at some point. Because this time they needed me to labor to a certain point and didn’t know how long that would take, I was not given the chance to get it early. And that sucked. 

As soon as I got the epidural, Life was so much better. I told Mark to use that time to go eat dinner and I banned him from the room until he’d eaten. He had to leave during the anesthesia anyway, so he may as well have been productive. 

By the time he got back, I was close to 8 cm. 

D-Day

With the cold my darling son brought home from school, I was absolutely miserable. I was allowed to take Robitussin for the cough and Tylenol PM to help me sleep. I took one Friday night. The coughing and sinus pressure plus the Braxton-Hicks contractions that returned Friday night were going to make sleeping difficult, and I got some pretty solid sleep out of the deal.

The Braxton-Hicks in the hospital felt like period cramps. They were gone when I woke up Friday. But by that evening, I started having occasional cramps. The type you feel when you’re about to rocket liquid shit. But it kept passing. (Not passing as in farts, but passing as moving on.) I figured out it was just more Braxton-Hicks and went to sleep.

I guess it was after the Tylenol PM was wearing off, but I woke up around 6 on Saturday morning feeling more of them. I was able to doze off in between and didn’t think much of them. Around 8, I was uncomfortable and awake, which was generally how my saturdays went. I was still feeling them, but they weren’t horrible. More annoying than anything. I got up around 9 to go to the bathroom again. And there was the horror show that was my mucus plug.

We always joke about “Have you had your bloody show?” It’s in “Knocked Up,” and the delivery has always made us laugh.

Welp. I did indeed. I didn’t have it with my son. I was induced and he had been content to try to go full term, but it was doctor’s orders. I went back to our room and woke Mark. I told him that I had actually had the bloody show and we laughed about it. It doesn’t necessarily mean delivery is imminent, so I didn’t give it a lot of thought. We heard a chorus of “Dadaaaaa” coming down the hall, so Mark obliged. By the time they came into the room, I had decided to start timing contractions. I didn’t say anything just yet. They were stronger and more annoying and were coming every eight minutes or so.

J had a nice snuggle session with me and we took some silly selfies while he ate a plain waffle. I had mentioned to Mark that the Braxton-Hicks were getting more annoying and more frequent, so I wasn’t ready to get out of bed. I decided to clue him in as the contractions hit 7 minutes.

 I’d been too tired to shower the night before, so I decided to take a bath. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sit in the tub if it was going to be delivery day. I also knew it would be nice to have smooth legs, in light of the fact that I had people holding them as I pushed for two hours the first time I delivered. I understood, while bathing, why women want water births. I noticed the contractions were now almost 6 minutes apart, so I told Mark to pack J’s suitcase. After I got dressed, I called my parents.

“What are you guys doing?”
“We’re just leaving (grocery store close to my house). Why?”
“I think I need you to come pick up J.”
Mom panics.
“Did your water break?!?!”
“No. But I lost my mucus plug and my contractions are six minutes apart.”
“We’re three minutes away.”

Mom and Dad picked up J. Mom was freaking out. I told her I wasn’t calling the doctor yet because my contractions weren’t close enough yet. She was not pleased. But I didn’t want to go in on a false alarm or get sent home based on not being close enough.

As it was, Mark’s brother and sister-in-law were coming in from Mobile that day to help. I get put on pelvic rest while pregnant, which restricts lifting, too. They came to help get rid of some furniture in the back room, which we are going to turn into a playroom/office. He called them to see how close they were, and they weren’t too far. So they came over and I sat on the couch and didn’t move other than to time contractions. They finished helping and left. Mark got lunch for us. Mom kept texting to see if I’d gone to the hospital yet and then chastised me every time I said no.

Finally, around 4, I was flirting with 5 minutes between contractions. I had Mark call my doctor because I didn’t want to get hit with a contraction while talking. I was so nervous. What if my doctor wasn’t on call? But then I realized she probably was. She’d been out of town the two previous weekends and rotates with two other doctors I’ve never even seen since they are all private practice located in different offices. He called, talked to the answering service guy, and we waited. I held my breath as his phone rang. I could hear that Cajun accent over the phone and almost cried. She was working this weekend. I was going  to have my own doctor deliver my baby. She asked to talk to me and said “Well, let’s go have a baby. Get to the hospital!”

We grabbed our stuff and slowly made it to the car. I sent a quick FB message to the event invite for the ladies night my friends and I were having, and everyone flipped out. We parked on the 4th floor, which is where the Woman and Child Center is, and walked up. Only then did we realize something important: it’s locked on weekends and holidays. You have to go in on the second floor. So we had to reload the car and slowly waddle to the car and then back to the second floor entrance. They set me up in the same triage room I’d been in on Thursday. It was getting very real very quickly. 

A new wrinkle

My dad’s aunt (whose birthday was today) died the Sunday before I hit 38 weeks. Her funeral was scheduled for Thursday morning. I also had a regularly scheduled NST that afternoon, and we were going to schedule my induction for the following Wednesday. As a result, I took a half day off at work. Because I live in America and teach in an independent school instead of a catholic school now, I didn’t get any paid leave. I could do up to 12 weeks through FMLA, but I wouldn’t be able to afford that. I had five sick days roll over from last year plus three personals and seven sick for this year. That covered three weeks off. Then one week is our fall break, which wouldn’t count against me because no one was at work and I wasn’t missing anything and they didn’t have to pay my sub. So by taking six weeks off, four would be covered and I would only miss two weeks pay. Yay America!

But now that I knew I was getting induced on Wednesday, that presented a problem. It would have made sense to take off Monday and/or Tuesday, depending on what time my induction was scheduled. But now I had a funeral to attend. So I went in to make it a half day absent and would definitely go in on Monday.

They hadn’t been able to find a sub for me, but I convinced my amazing friend Melinda to apply. Spoiler alert: they hired her Thursday afternoon. Back to that in a minute.

But they wanted her to shadow me on Tuesday. So it looked like maybe I would at least go in for half a day Tuesday.

On the way to the funeral, we got into an accident. I was fine, baby was moving, no bleeding, and since I had the appointment in a few hours, we went to the funeral and then the reception at my aunt’s house. My car has a lot of damage, and our son was at school, but we were fine. Mark brought me to my aunt’s house and went home with my car since he wasn’t going to take it to work. My mom picks my son up from school every day, so she was going to bring me with her, pick him up, then bring me to my doctor appointment and then take us home.

We got to my doctor, and she immediately sent me to Labor and Delicery. I found out later it was so they could make sure my placenta was functioning properly in light of the accident, but she offered no explanation and ordered me straight to the hospital. I got to L and D and they sent me to the ER because it was a car accident. I spent a couple hours down there before getting cleared. They needed to make sure I was okay and cleared of trauma before L and D could see me. Then they brought me back up to one of the triage rooms up there and hooked me to a monitor and checked my cervix. At my appointment on Monday, my doctor said that I was “sealed up hard and tight” and the baby was “sitting in your throat.” When they checked me, I was starting to dilate and was almost to 2, but baby was still up high and my cervix wasn’t very soft.

When they sent me to the ER, I had my mom take my son to her house. Didn’t want him exposed to lord knows what in there. When I thought I was just going to be there for an hour or so at L and D, they were coming with me. But ER seemed like a bad place for a 2 1/2-year-old to hang out. So I spent more than an hour just hanging out  in the ER waiting room. A very conservative family was there because the grandma had fallen, and the nurses sat me in a wheelchair by them. They were very friendly and were good company. Grandma and grandpa were going to pray for me and I got to hear all about the family. It was an okay way to spend the afternoon. I bit my tongue over a few things they said, but they were sweet to me.

After half an hour on the monitors, the baby’s heart had two deceleration events. They weren’t major, but they were enough to make them keep me for observation until after 11 p.m. in events like this, they like to observe for 12 hours following the incident. Since it happened at 11 a.m., that’s why they had me stay until then.

Mark had been at work for a while and I told him to stay unless there was any reason I needed him. It was basically a longer version of my usual NSTs, so nothing he could do.

They wouldn’t let me have water because with the deceleration events, there was a chance of emergency c-section.

While I was there, I started feeling more of the Braxton-Hicks contractions. Some were a little strong and felt like period cramps. I was nervous and lonely and a little bored.

The nurses periodically checked on me and said that baby was behaving and they had a feeling that I would probably go home at 11.

While I was in the ER, my friend texted me to say that she had been hired, and my head of school sent me an email about it. I told her about being in the ER and that I would keep her posted. Once I found out that I was stuck until at least 11, she arranged a sub for the next day. My sub hasn’t done paperwork and fingerprints yet, so she couldn’t come in. But I would be at work Monday, so no big deal.

They scheduled a very intense ultrasound session for me. Eventually they came back with the results and said everything looked good and the nurses said it was looking like I’d probably go home. One even said she’d almost be willing to put money on those odds.

I was texting with friends for a while and my cousin Alicia decided to come keep me company. I was so grateful and it gave me more reason to keep Mark at work. He was able to leave a little earlier than usual because his relief guy got there early. He went home, packed a bag for our son, including at outfit for the next day because that was school picture day (I only remembered when his teacher texted out a reminder!), showered and had dinner since I couldn’t eat and he was afraid we’d be admitted and he wouldn’t get to shower, then brought everything to my parents. Around 11 the nurse came in and said “Feel like going home?” Yay! Baby and I were fine and getting released. We had quite a walk to the car because Mark arrived after the nearest garage was closed and parked in a weird lot. Took a lot of walking because a lot of entrances were not open. But we made it. Picked up our son, got me a bottle of water, and the. Stopped to make sure I could finally get dinner.

I was supposed to take it easy and was glad school arranged a sub already. I sent an email to my students to let them know that I would be back Monday and that everything was fine.

Friday morning, the Braxton-Hicks were gone. I had a nice, restful day at home and rode with Mark to pick up our son from school. He gets our way before I am allowed to leave, so I never get to pick him up. It was nice to dinthat two days in a row.

I was looking forward to a weekend of getting the house more in shape and relaxing with my lady friends at a Pizza, PJs, and Prosecco Night. We do this every few months. We wear pajamas and watch cheesy movies and eat and drink the title items. I was going tonbit have the Prosecco obviously, but was very much looking forward to one last night before things got crazy.

But otherwise, it was good.

While I had some scary possible diagnoses for my unborn child, the pregnancy was good. Mostly.

I never had acne as a teen. But this time, I developed acne on my right cheek early in and it stayed until after she was born. Almost three weeks later, it’s not all gone yet. I also had very intense nausea, starting before lunch and lasting until I was asleep at night. It lasted until probably 16-18 weeks. For my son, it was periodic, not predictable, and it lasted until about 13 weeks.  And the exhaustion was very real. I had the joy of doing this with a toddler around. I feel guilty over not being able to be the mom he deserved, but I was supposed to rest, was on pelvic rest, and felt miserable. My old friend sciatic pain returned. I’ve only ever had it while pregnant and it goes away as soon as I deliver.

Those scary possible diagnoses were awful. One by one we eliminated the possible problems. I got the all-clear from the second round of genetic testing. The cardiologist saw no real issues. And while smaller, the baby grew steadily. It was just a matter of making it as long as I could. With each passing week, I wanted to relax. We crossed the point of viability successfully and then hit the glucose test. I took the one-hour and failed. The same thing happened last time, so I wasn’t concerned. I took the three-hour test and didn’t fail, but I didn’t pass. One of the blood draws came back high but the others were all within range. So while I didn’t have gestational diabetes, she called me glucose intolerant. I had to cut out sugar. I could have a little each day (a diet I saw online said 130 g a day).

When I got my initial blood work done, my thyroid cane back under active. I’d suspected that for a while, because it had been low years ago. But then I lost a lot of weight and we discovered it kicked into overactive. She reduced my meds and it was still too much, so she took me off the meds. She started me on meds again, and rechecked it around the time of the first glucose test. It wasn’t where she wanted it to be, so she increased my dosage. For about a month, I gained no weight. My belly was growing appropriately and the growth scans were fine, but between increasing my thyroid meds and cutting out almost all sugar from my diet, I plateaued. Which, honestly, is fine by me haha. When I did start gaining again, it was very slow. Technically I gained less than 20 pounds the whole pregnancy, but due to the thyroid and the glucose intolerance, that is skewed a little.

At 31 weeks, my MFM suggested that I start the non stress tests. Previously, I started at 34 weeks. I was concerned about why she wanted them early, but it was just precaution due to my hypertension and the cord and placenta issues. So twice a week, that’s what I did.

At 37 weeks, my doctor went on vacation. I was terrified. I would be early term, but she would be gone. She has a private practice and is the only doctor. Two other OB/GYNs are in her same strip, and apparently they rotate being on call. One of those would have delivered if anything had happened. But I’d never seen them before. And I love my doctor. I didn’t want anyone else in the room doing what she does.

In addition, there was a chance of a tropical storm coming. And Mark had jury duty that week. Plus, it was Labor Day week, and people were already making jokes.

But I made it! I counted down the days until she was back in town. I knew she would be back by Sunday because she’s a Saints season ticket holder. And she would be in the office on Monday. If I could last until then, everything would be perfect.

And I did.

That Sunday night, we were about to leave my parents’ house when my aunt called to tell my parents that my dad’s aunt, my grandmother’s sister, died. Her funeral was set for Thursday.

I saw the MFM the Tuesday of week 37. Her recommendation was to deliver at 39 weeks. Last time, she said that to prevent him from getting too big because they overestimated his size via ultrasound. This time, it was about getting the baby away from the cord and placenta. In addition, my OB/GYN has already mentioned that new study where they said inducing at 39 was better anyway, so I was sure she’d want to do that. I also had to go to the MFM office for an NST, and everything was fine. But once again, baby wasn’t cooperating and kept coming off the monitor, so it took a while.

On Monday of Week 38, my doctor decided that we would set the date for induction at my next appointment, which was Thursday. I caught the bad cold my son brought home from school (he started pre-k 2!) and couldn’t take anything. I can’t take Sudafed because of my blood pressure and I can’t take couldn’t take most other things because I was pregnant. I was allowed Robitussin and could take Tylenol PM to get sleep.

School had not been able to find a sub for me and I convinced my friend to apply. I was planning to work until I couldn’t. With my aunt dying, I was going to have to swap out days. I would take off Thursday and go to work Monday.

On the way to the funeral, we got in an accident. I felt fine. I had my seat belt under my belly and the airbags didn’t deploy. The front end of my car on the passenger side got a lot of damage. Since I felt fine and felt the baby move and wasn’t bleeding or anything, I went to the funeral. We went to my aubt’s house after and then I rode with my mom to pick up my son. She was driving me to my NST appointment. If I hadn’t had the appointment, I would have called her after the accident. But since the appointment was only a few hours away, I just waited. When I showed up to my appointment, she sent me to the hospital to Labor and Delivery. They sent me to be cleared by the ER. I had Mom take my son home and was there all alone. I was seated by a nice family. A little too conservative and religious for my tastes, but they basically adopted me for the duration of my wait. But they were very genuine and it was nice to have company. After a few hours, I was able to go up to L&D again. They put me on the monitor and told me I had to stay until 12 hours after the incident. That meant I was there until 11 p.m. Mark was at work and Alicia came to keep me company. They wouldn’t let me have water because if anything was amiss, I would need an emergency c-section. Baby had two decelerations at first but the NST was beautiful the whole rest of the way. They discharged me around 11  we picked my son up from my parents’ house.

While I was in the ER, I found out my friend accepted the position of subbing for me. I needed to take it easy on Friday, so school got a different sub to take my class.

I’d been hard and tight with no signs of dilation on Monday. And the baby was “sitting in your throat,” according to my doctor. While I was in L&D, I had dilated to 2-3 cm but it was still hard and baby was still way up high. I had a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions, some powerful, but they determined I could go home.

I was on a break

I haven’t posted much this year. I was afraid to post. But up until 16 days ago, I spent every day of the year pregnant. Surprise! I had a second baby. And again, I didn’t want to post because of how my past is.

We never thought we’d have one child, let alone two. We were grateful to have the perfect son that we were somehow able to have. We never wanted to only have one. However, we wished and almost hoped. When I went for annual exams, my doctor would ask if we wanted another. I said if it was a guarantee that it would be a successful first attempt, I’d be okay with it. But with my history, that seemed impossible. We always said if one would happen, we wouldn’t be mad. We assumed it would never happen and settled into acceptance that we would have an only child.

And then, the week in January where it “snowed,” I realized that maybe something was up. I’d had a digital test leftover from before. It was still good. And it came up positive. And I cried. I didn’t know how to feel. I assumed my body would slip into its old habits. I didn’t let myself feel anything. And I said nothing to anyone. Not even Mark.

Right after his birthday, I broke the news to him. And much like before, we didn’t talk about it or hope or anything. It’s such a weird place to be in. Here you are, with incredible news. You don’t share it. You don’t allow yourself to think about it. You just go about your business like your world isn’t about to change.

I mean. I thought about it. Every time I went to the restroom and braced myself. Every time I could barely hold my eyes open after work. Every time I picked up my increasingly heavy toddler. Once I hit six weeks and got much stronger nausea than I did for any other pregnancy. Every time I pretended to drink alcohol because it was Mardi Gras or school Gala or St. Patrick’s Day or a wedding.

Oh that nausea. Lasted from before lunch until I fell asleep at night. I lived on ginger candy and Coke icees. I barely ate. And I developed a peanut butter aversion, which was devastating. Two and a half weeks postpartum, I still haven’t eaten any. I have to work up the nerve.

I didn’t call my doctor until 9 weeks. I couldn’t get an appointment until 11 weeks. They were as shocked as we were. The first visit confirmed a single baby in the uterus with a heartbeat. And I still didn’t tell anyone. But I did get closer to accepting that this was probably a viable pregnancy and I almost let myself get excited.

The next week, I saw the scary but excellent maternal-fetal medicine specialist. Everything seemed okay, but at 12 weeks, you can’t really see much to be sure.

After that appointment, we finally told our immediate families. But that was it. Just parents and siblings.

I had the quad screening done because I would deliver at 39. And the test showed that there was a higher risk for the baby to have Down’s syndrome. It wasn’t a “yes, you have a child with it,” it was a “hey, there’s actually a fairly large risk that your baby may have it.”

The MFM asked me at my next visit to get a second test run to see more conclusively if this was real. Why? Because the umbilical cord has two vessels instead of three. A healthy cord has two arteries and one vein. Mine had one of each. And a 2-vessel cord means something could be very wrong. What I was facing: a Down’s syndrome diagnosis, a baby with heart problems, restricted growth, or a non viable pregnancy. I wasn’t given a printout of the ultrasound that day but was given paperwork for an appointment with a pediatric cardiologist and the second blood test, Materni-T 21, to check chromosomal abnormalities. I also barely held it together until I got in my car. I sat in the garage and sobbed hysterically. I finally calmed enough to drive. I had to go to my parents’ house because they were babysitting and Mom knew something was wrong as soon as I walked in.

I’d told my head of school about my pregnancy and then shared it with my teaching cohort. They were the only work people who knew. And once I got this scary news, I didn’t want to share with anyone else.

Somewhere along the way I had my class’ major presentations and got through then without vomiting on anyone and not losing my cool on anyone. When that quarter-long project ended, we went to Miramar Beach for Caroline and Gordon’s wedding. I’d come clean to our friends because I knew it would be impossible to hide.

We also had to tell extended family because we were going to mg cousin Kate’s wedding the following week. I had my class overnight on the north shore the day before that. I couldn’t help carry much and I had to take it easy. Once again, I had placenta previa. Also, while I had a weird section of the placenta that wasn’t working when I was pregnant the last time, it didn’t prove any harm. This time, in addition to previa and the bad cord, the cord had a marginal insertion. My fears increased with all of this.

My cousin Alicia, as my son’s godmother, wanted to get him a big brother T-shirt. I asked her to please hold onto it because my already high-risk pregnancy (advanced maternal age, MTHFR, and chronic hypertension, in addition to 5 first trimester miscarriages) was now very high risk. I didn’t want to have the shirt and have my worst fears come true and then to be stuck looking at the shirt.

I had to wait until June 7 to see the pediatric cardiologist. I had to wait a few weeks to hear the chromosome test results. Such a relief to learn that the test came back normal. But because I didn’t know what the cardiologist would find, I was afraid to share my news with other coworkers and my students. I eventually told my coworkers, about two weeks before school let out. It was graduation night, we went out for drinks, and I had to tell them why I was just having tea and not a margarita like the rest of them. Come to find out, the two male teachers who came with us on the overnight knew, because my partner teacher had to tell them I wasn’t being lazy or too good for things... I was a high risk pregnancy. And they kept the secret and did so very well.

School ended and I finally was able to see the pediatric cardiologist. After a lengthy and intense ultrasound session, they concluded that the baby’s heart looked fine. There was the caveat that since the baby is small, something could be missed. But in all subsequent ultrasounds with my MFM doctor, things appeared fine. I had to continue seeing the MFM doctor, though, to monitor growth. If growth slowed or stopped, the baby would have to come by c-section as soon as they discovered the growth issue. Thankfully, the baby l, though never in the top percentiles, continued to grow and stay relatively on target.