Baby Growing

My last blog post was on April 14, 2011. It was my last day of normalcy for a while.

The very next day, on April 15^th, I became ill. Violently ill. I was exactly six weeks pregnant when the sickness hit me, and the plush couch in our living room became my new safe haven.

From the outset let me just say, I get that a lot of pregnant women suffer from morning sickness. And I get that there are even some pregnant women who have severe morning sickness. But not very many pregnant women experience Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG).

I don’t expect anyone who hasn’t experienced HG to truly understand what it is. But I have had this condition with all my pregnancies, and at six weeks I was reminded why I will never get pregnant again.

I suppose you can catch a glimpse of what HG is like if you have ever suffered the absolute wretchedness of food poisoning. Most people know how miserable and exhausting just a day or two of that is. But try it for 28 straight weeks.

One of my biggest challenges early on in this pregnancy was explaining HG all over again. It was difficult trying to articulate to everyone exactly how I felt, and why I never wanted to get up off the couch or leave the house. Some of my friends, and even family members would question my sickness, tell me that I would feel better if I just tried harder, went for a walk, or that I was just exaggerating how I felt. Most people just didn’t get it. And that was frustrating.

During my first trimester I made a few awkward visits to the ER. I simply couldn’t keep enough water down to stay hydrated. Eventually the doctor put me on an IV at home, and prescribed a special pump that provided a constant flow of anti-nausea medication. Gus had the honors of jamming a new needle into my belly each night to keep the medicine flowing. I’m surprised he never passed out, given his deadly fear of needles. What a trooper.

Honestly, I’m not totally convinced the medication helped much. I still felt awful the whole time I used it. But I suppose it did help me keep my food down, which, in turn, helped eliminate the chronic dehydration and malnutrition I went through early in the pregnancy. Up to this point my bed rest had been somewhat self-induced. I didn’t move around much simply because I couldn’t. If I got up, even to go to the bathroom, I would vomit.

At about 18 weeks the ultrasound showed that I had an incompetent cervix. The doctor immediately wheeled me over to the hospital and performed an operation to sew up my cervix. The operation was quick, but the recovery was painful.

For the next six weeks I would either lay in bed or on the couch, rolling from my right side to the left every few hours. The only time I left the house was to go to the doctor, which was every two weeks. They typically did an ultrasound each time to monitor my cervix.

I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but during that six week span I had a very distinct impression that I should change doctors so that my baby could be born at the Fairfax Hospital. At 24 weeks and three days I saw my new doctor for the first time. Ten minutes after she did an ultrasound and checked my cervix I was rushed to the Fairfax Hospital and admitted to the High-risk Perinatal Unit.

Three hours later, I went into labor.

As I was being rushed off to labor and delivery, I had so many horrifying thoughts race through my mind. As I was lying on my side, in pain, I prayed that I wouldn’t have to bury another son. A mother should never have to bury her own son. I buried both of mine two years ago. The thought of that experience sent my heart racing.

My contractions were measuring two minutes apart. The nurse quickly shoved an IV in my arm, taped it up, and put me on a Magnesium drip. After about 45 minutes, my contractions stopped. And let me tell you something, that magnesium was awful.

After two days in Labor and Delivery, I was moved back to the High-risk Perinatal Unit. That’s where I called home for the next eight weeks, on full-time no-holds-barred bed rest. I was only allowed to get up to go to the bathroom. I was allowed a five minute shower but only if I sat down on a little plastic seat while I cleaned myself.

The doctors told me never to lie on my back, and I wasn’t ever supposed to sit up because that would stress my abdominal muscles, and it could start the contractions again. I was supposed to lie on my side, preferably my left, at all times. This was an order I had no problem obeying, since I would do anything humanly possible to keep me from having to go on that Magnesium drip again.

The one thing I never expected about my hospital stay was how totally draining bed rest would be. At home it was manageable. At the hospital it was miserable. Doctors really shouldn’t call it bed “rest.” For me, there was nothing restful about it. Because all I could do was lay there, I would sleep in small bursts. Thirty minutes here, 45 minutes there. No long stretches, ever, even at night. Nurses would come in at least once an hour to check on me, give me medicine, and check the baby’s heartbeat. I became very knowledgeable on the late night television schedule, and my iPhone was my best friend.

I did have trouble concentrating on things. Whenever I felt Leo move I would call the nurse. And whenever didn’t feel Leo move I would call the nurse. I was a wreck. And physically, I feel like bed rest destroyed me. I could feel my muscles twitching as they atrophied. My hips and lower back are, I fear, totally messed up from supporting all my weight in the same position for days on end. And the “special” bed in the hospital felt like I was lying on a rough slab of concrete. I’m sure I’ll need dozens of physical therapy sessions in the coming months.

The rest of the time in the hospital I was constantly thinking about my condition. I did hours of research on the Internet about babies and mothers in my situation. I wanted to be prepared for anything. Pregnant women are a pretty paranoid bunch these days anyway, what with all the things not to eat, do, etc. Throw in a high risk pregnancy and I can guarantee mental breakdowns. I had a lot of them.

Even though I had Gus and my family and friends, I still felt like I was in solitary confinement. I started to wonder what, if anything, I could have done differently. Then I would think about my precious angels, Jax and Rook, and what I could have done to save them. When you have nothing to do but think, your mind plays terrible tricks on you.

Four weeks into my hospital stay I took the three hour glucose test to check me for Gestational Diabetes. I, of course, did NOT pass the test. So, my reward was a strict no sugar diet coupled with finger-pricks four times a day for the rest of my pregnancy. I have a new appreciation for diabetics.

On Friday, October 14^th, I was 32 weeks along. The doctor unexpectedly came into my room and checked my cervix. In short, she said that it had done its job long enough and that they didn’t need to monitor me the way they had in the hospital. Shortly after she left, my nurse came in with my discharge papers.

I was finally going home!

Gus came and packed up my room, and within a half hour I tasted the fresh Virginia air for the first time in two months. It was pretty neat.

I was so happy to be home. I will not miss the view from my hospital room, the sleepless nights, or the nasty food. I had some really low moments in the hospital. There were plenty of times I just wanted to give up. I felt like I was going to crack and I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t WANT to do it anymore. It was so hard, the enormity so overwhelming, that I just didn’t want to be pregnant and I didn’t care. Sometimes I still feel guilty about that.

Thank goodness I had Gus. He came and saw me everyday in the hospital for eight weeks straight. He brought me a good dinner every night, did my laundry, and always smiled. He never judged me when I was at my most selfish, crying because I was uncomfortable or because I wouldn’t be able to do something. I never could have made it without him.

I also couldn’t have made it without my mom, or Gus’ mom. They watched Lilly basically my whole pregnancy. It has been a huge blessing to have them by my side. Whether it be here in our little apartment, or back in Utah or Idaho, they were her primary caregiver for months and months. There is no way I can fully express my deep gratitude for what they’ve done for me.

And to Alisha, Shasta, Wendy, Dennise, and all my church friends who have supported me and my family, I just want to humbly say thank you. I love you guys.