Last summer we acquired a tree house from my parents. The tree house is nothing more than four walls, a roof and a floor on stilts. It was so nice watching the boys use the tree house last summer as their pirate ship, boys only club, secret spy shack or anything else they dreamed it to be. We let them pick out the paint for their tree house and I was less than surprised when they chose bright green for the outside and a bright orange and blue for the inside. The tree house suddenly became less covert with it's lime green exterior, but they didn't seem to care.
Zach and Austin just left a little bit ago to go reclaim the tree house from our old rental home. My parents are meeting up with them there and they'll swiftly move it from that home to this one. Well, swiftly might be a loose term considering it's fairly massive. I didn't go with.
I thought I didn't want to go with because I'm still not feeling very well and I've been plagued by a cough, but now I know that it's also because seeing that tree house is going to be kind of painful. It's another reminder to me of what Hercules will never be able to do or see. I will never see him playing cops and robbers in that tree house and he will never have the privlidge of climbing up that ladder into a little boys perfect play place.
I can talk anyone's ear off about what happened. I can talk about the immense pain the night before Hercules was born and I can unflinchingly describe the week before it happened in great detail. I cannot, however, bare to discuss with people about what Hercules would have grown up to be and do, given the chance. It's not what happened that plagues me or upsets me, it's thinking and talking about what will never happen.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Dear Hercules,
Your oldest brother came home from school yesterday and cried in my arms. We had a hard time figuring out how to explain to him what had happened. The first thing he wanted to know is if I had picked something up. He was worried that I had done something or someone had done something wrong and that's why you wouldn't ever be coming home to us.
It would almost be easier if there was a simple explanation why I'll never find you playing in our backyard with your brothers. A simple explanation for why I'll never know if you had my eyes or your daddy's. But there just isn't a simple explanation to give, and the simplest answer we could give Austin was the truth, as unbearable as it is. We explained that a million things have to come together to make a perfect baby. If just one of those things is imperfect, then things happen that we can never anticipate. In our case, your home just wasn't good enough for you. We tried to explain that as much as we love you, that God needed you for something extra special (even if our plans seemed pretty special too). We explained that we won't be able to hold or kiss you, but that you hold a really special place in our heart.
Austin was really upset, and we are too, that we don't really know what you looked like. Austin thinks you maybe had blue hair, like the sky. We only got to see black and white photos of you. Maybe it's ok that we don't have a clear picture of what you looked like. It'll be easier to find you when we need you.
We don't have a special place to visit you like most families who lose a family member do. We don't have a grave or a bedroom. Not a place that you loved to visit or a toy you favored over the others. We thought maybe planting a tree up at the cabin would be a nice way to give us a place to reconnect, even though we know we can talk to you anytime. I know I do. We were thinking of a willow tree. I always thought they were so beautiful. And I know you would have loved going up to the cabin. There are a lot of things for little boys to do there. It's a perfect place for rain boots and messes.
We talked about you all last night. We spent some time enjoying the sunshine and even took our dog to the park. Austin thought he saw you on the way there, and I bet he did. He said you were way up in the clouds. He asks a lot of questions about what happened and I know that it breaks his heart almost as much as it does ours that we'll never be able to hear you laugh or see your first steps. We read the book that the doctor gave us, and it helped a little bit. The last page made all of us cry, and we decided from now on we'll just skip that page. I wish we could change the ending to our story that easily.
We are going to tell William and Wyatt tomorrow about what happened. I don't know if it will make any sense to them. They knew all about you, Hercules. But they are only 2 and 3, they probably won't grasp what it all means and they'll probably still pat my belly expecting you to be in there or yell good morning to you. It's alright, because you'll still be able to hear them.
I just needed to know that I was thinking about you a lot today. I love you.
It would almost be easier if there was a simple explanation why I'll never find you playing in our backyard with your brothers. A simple explanation for why I'll never know if you had my eyes or your daddy's. But there just isn't a simple explanation to give, and the simplest answer we could give Austin was the truth, as unbearable as it is. We explained that a million things have to come together to make a perfect baby. If just one of those things is imperfect, then things happen that we can never anticipate. In our case, your home just wasn't good enough for you. We tried to explain that as much as we love you, that God needed you for something extra special (even if our plans seemed pretty special too). We explained that we won't be able to hold or kiss you, but that you hold a really special place in our heart.
Austin was really upset, and we are too, that we don't really know what you looked like. Austin thinks you maybe had blue hair, like the sky. We only got to see black and white photos of you. Maybe it's ok that we don't have a clear picture of what you looked like. It'll be easier to find you when we need you.
We don't have a special place to visit you like most families who lose a family member do. We don't have a grave or a bedroom. Not a place that you loved to visit or a toy you favored over the others. We thought maybe planting a tree up at the cabin would be a nice way to give us a place to reconnect, even though we know we can talk to you anytime. I know I do. We were thinking of a willow tree. I always thought they were so beautiful. And I know you would have loved going up to the cabin. There are a lot of things for little boys to do there. It's a perfect place for rain boots and messes.
We talked about you all last night. We spent some time enjoying the sunshine and even took our dog to the park. Austin thought he saw you on the way there, and I bet he did. He said you were way up in the clouds. He asks a lot of questions about what happened and I know that it breaks his heart almost as much as it does ours that we'll never be able to hear you laugh or see your first steps. We read the book that the doctor gave us, and it helped a little bit. The last page made all of us cry, and we decided from now on we'll just skip that page. I wish we could change the ending to our story that easily.
We are going to tell William and Wyatt tomorrow about what happened. I don't know if it will make any sense to them. They knew all about you, Hercules. But they are only 2 and 3, they probably won't grasp what it all means and they'll probably still pat my belly expecting you to be in there or yell good morning to you. It's alright, because you'll still be able to hear them.
I just needed to know that I was thinking about you a lot today. I love you.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Dear Hercules,
You, my sweet little boy, had love beyond belief the moment we knew there was a you. Your brother's were starting to get really excited to talk to you, feel you (although we had yet to feel you kick yet) and most of all love you. That came so naturally to them, to us all. Loving you. I couldn't wait until all of you could play together. I knew they would make the very best big brothers for you. I knew I was going to be a great mommy for you, because your big brothers had already taught me a lot about a mother's love and strength. And I knew how lucky you were going to be to have your Daddy. He did such a wonderful job taking care of your brothers and they are the sweetest little boys.
It was last night, at 10:37 pm that I knew that we had limited time left together with you safe and sound inside of me kicking. Jumping. Waving. Turning. Twisting. We raced to the emergency room. Your daddy drove so fast, he was scared just like I was. When we got there, we got to see you on the ultrasound. Waving and moving all bout. You had a strong heartbeat, just like every time we were blessed to see you. The doctor said he was really sorry, but there wasn't a lot he could do for us. He gave me some medicine. And then he used that scary "m" word again that I can't bear to use. Your Grandma Susan took me home and Daddy stopped by the store to pick up things to try and take my pain away.
For two hours, I felt you fight inside of me. I cried and screamed in pain. I've never known pain like that. Nothing gave me relief. I took three hot baths to try and loosen up my lower abdomen. I tried percoset, a heating pad and multiple positions seeking a way to tolerate the unbearable pain. Anybody could touch my stomach and feel that something wasn't right. I was in so much unbelievable and unexplainable pain. I would go through that pain and then some if it meant you were still safe inside of me. I would give anything to have you still safe inside of me.
We raced to the emergency room at 3:00 am. I closed my eyes, afraid of what they would show me on the ultrasound this time, but once again you looked so healthy. A good heartbeat and you were moving. The doctor's had no choice but to start pumping me with pain medication. I felt instant relief. From the time I saw you to when I made it up to my hospital room, I lost you. In a moment, your home had given up on you. Relinquishing your right to fight. I know you would have won.
Your oldest brother, Austin, had named you. He picked out Hercules one night when he said goodnight to me and you. And I told him it was the perfect name until we could find out if you would be a boy or girl. You were a fighter, and had lived up to your name so many times already. I have no reason to believe this time would have been any different, had you been given the chance.
I felt your home come crashing out of me. I can't get over the feeling of your home. It's like it's on repeat, happening again and again. I just keep feeling it. I remember how much I cried for them to take it away from me. How angry your dad was when they didn't move fast enough. I don't remember anything past feeling this. I remember your dad holding one hand and your grandma holding my other. And I remember showing up outside the room for surgery. Your daddy was so strong and so brave. He found a way to comfort me, even though he needed it too.
I woke up, and put my hand on my stomach. It's been my resting place since I knew you were in there. I liked thinking that maybe your hand was outstretched and we were somehow high fiving, or like we were touching through glass. I always rested my hand there, eager to be closer to you. I couldn't feel the little bump that had started to form in the last couple of weeks. I searched for it, but it was gone. I left my hand there, feeling my loss.
Your Daddy met me in my room and told me that we had lost you. He told me you were a boy and my heart broke a little more. It was one of those things I had looked forward to doing. Finding out if you would be a boy or girl. Your dad kept telling me you would be a boy, but we both knew it wouldn't matter as long as you were healthy. We were going to share that moment with your big brother Austin. It was going to be a surprise for him, a special thing because he had already started taking his role as big brother seriously. He would hug me close and whisper to me that he was hugging me and you. And he took really good care of me and you when I started getting sick.
I'm glad I know that you are a boy. I thought I didn't want to know, that it would hurt to much knowing. But your daddy was right. He told me he was thinking about whether or not to tell me, but then decided he wanted you to have an identity. That he didn't want you to be an it. You could have never been an it, regardless. You'll always be Hercules.
The doctor told me that there is nothing we did or could have done. From the moment you were born, your home wasn't ready to take care of you. That giving birth to you was not meant to be. I can't begin to wrap my head around how that is possible, when you were so perfect every time I saw you. It's going to take me a long time to make sense of it all.
The limited time we shared was one of the happiest and most hopeful times in my life. I wish that you could have been with us much longer than you were allowed to. I wish that a lot of things had happened differently. Tonight, I'm going to read Austin a special book the hospital gave us. Maybe reading it to him will help us both find some peace. It's called, “We Were Gonna Have a Baby, But We Had an Angel Instead.”
I miss you terribly. I hope you know how much you were loved and wanted by us. I'll keep talking to you when I feel like it's just all to much for me. I don't know if you can hear me or not, but it gives me comfort being able to talk to you like I used to.
I love you.
It was last night, at 10:37 pm that I knew that we had limited time left together with you safe and sound inside of me kicking. Jumping. Waving. Turning. Twisting. We raced to the emergency room. Your daddy drove so fast, he was scared just like I was. When we got there, we got to see you on the ultrasound. Waving and moving all bout. You had a strong heartbeat, just like every time we were blessed to see you. The doctor said he was really sorry, but there wasn't a lot he could do for us. He gave me some medicine. And then he used that scary "m" word again that I can't bear to use. Your Grandma Susan took me home and Daddy stopped by the store to pick up things to try and take my pain away.
For two hours, I felt you fight inside of me. I cried and screamed in pain. I've never known pain like that. Nothing gave me relief. I took three hot baths to try and loosen up my lower abdomen. I tried percoset, a heating pad and multiple positions seeking a way to tolerate the unbearable pain. Anybody could touch my stomach and feel that something wasn't right. I was in so much unbelievable and unexplainable pain. I would go through that pain and then some if it meant you were still safe inside of me. I would give anything to have you still safe inside of me.
We raced to the emergency room at 3:00 am. I closed my eyes, afraid of what they would show me on the ultrasound this time, but once again you looked so healthy. A good heartbeat and you were moving. The doctor's had no choice but to start pumping me with pain medication. I felt instant relief. From the time I saw you to when I made it up to my hospital room, I lost you. In a moment, your home had given up on you. Relinquishing your right to fight. I know you would have won.
Your oldest brother, Austin, had named you. He picked out Hercules one night when he said goodnight to me and you. And I told him it was the perfect name until we could find out if you would be a boy or girl. You were a fighter, and had lived up to your name so many times already. I have no reason to believe this time would have been any different, had you been given the chance.
I felt your home come crashing out of me. I can't get over the feeling of your home. It's like it's on repeat, happening again and again. I just keep feeling it. I remember how much I cried for them to take it away from me. How angry your dad was when they didn't move fast enough. I don't remember anything past feeling this. I remember your dad holding one hand and your grandma holding my other. And I remember showing up outside the room for surgery. Your daddy was so strong and so brave. He found a way to comfort me, even though he needed it too.
I woke up, and put my hand on my stomach. It's been my resting place since I knew you were in there. I liked thinking that maybe your hand was outstretched and we were somehow high fiving, or like we were touching through glass. I always rested my hand there, eager to be closer to you. I couldn't feel the little bump that had started to form in the last couple of weeks. I searched for it, but it was gone. I left my hand there, feeling my loss.
Your Daddy met me in my room and told me that we had lost you. He told me you were a boy and my heart broke a little more. It was one of those things I had looked forward to doing. Finding out if you would be a boy or girl. Your dad kept telling me you would be a boy, but we both knew it wouldn't matter as long as you were healthy. We were going to share that moment with your big brother Austin. It was going to be a surprise for him, a special thing because he had already started taking his role as big brother seriously. He would hug me close and whisper to me that he was hugging me and you. And he took really good care of me and you when I started getting sick.
I'm glad I know that you are a boy. I thought I didn't want to know, that it would hurt to much knowing. But your daddy was right. He told me he was thinking about whether or not to tell me, but then decided he wanted you to have an identity. That he didn't want you to be an it. You could have never been an it, regardless. You'll always be Hercules.
The doctor told me that there is nothing we did or could have done. From the moment you were born, your home wasn't ready to take care of you. That giving birth to you was not meant to be. I can't begin to wrap my head around how that is possible, when you were so perfect every time I saw you. It's going to take me a long time to make sense of it all.
The limited time we shared was one of the happiest and most hopeful times in my life. I wish that you could have been with us much longer than you were allowed to. I wish that a lot of things had happened differently. Tonight, I'm going to read Austin a special book the hospital gave us. Maybe reading it to him will help us both find some peace. It's called, “We Were Gonna Have a Baby, But We Had an Angel Instead.”
I miss you terribly. I hope you know how much you were loved and wanted by us. I'll keep talking to you when I feel like it's just all to much for me. I don't know if you can hear me or not, but it gives me comfort being able to talk to you like I used to.
I love you.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Cause for panic
This whole week, I've been surviving on the premise that this is all temporary. Except for the first day, when I lost all of that blood. Even then, I had a feeling that it would all work out. Hercules would be protected and this would all be just a nightmare.
I was able to do that because I couldn't feel any pain in my stomach. The bleeding had come and gone without any indication of it happening besides of course the blood. I told Zach, after the bleeding had started up again after our second hospital visit, that I wasn't going to worry or even panic. I would save my concern for when I could feel it coming or happening. When I could feel some kind of pain that would call for panic.
Last night provided a cause to panic. I had a bad feeling when I went to bed. When the bleeding initially started last Sunday, the only indication was a terrible back ache. That was all. Nothing more, nothing less. When I went to bed last night, my back was aching and I was feeling really nauseous.
I couldn't have anticipated that I would wake up at 2:31 am to a large amount of blood. I spent the rest of the night holding my lower stomach in pain. Every time I moved, I felt a stab of pain. I couldn't find a way to manage sleeping even remotely comfortably. I prayed that the bleeding and pain would go away, but it's 8:14 and neither have showed any signs of slowing down.
I was prepared to make my case at the doctor's office today. I had a list of reasons why I would be breaking free from bed rest. I would not tolerate a no. I was excited about being able to return to my job, which I genuinely love. And I would finally be able to stop worrying Austin, who tell me every morning and every night, "Maybe you'll feel better tomorrow, Jack? I hope you do."
I don't have any expectations for today or for what the doctor will say at my appointment. I'm just hoping that I make it through today and then the next and the next until this nightmare is over.
I was able to do that because I couldn't feel any pain in my stomach. The bleeding had come and gone without any indication of it happening besides of course the blood. I told Zach, after the bleeding had started up again after our second hospital visit, that I wasn't going to worry or even panic. I would save my concern for when I could feel it coming or happening. When I could feel some kind of pain that would call for panic.
Last night provided a cause to panic. I had a bad feeling when I went to bed. When the bleeding initially started last Sunday, the only indication was a terrible back ache. That was all. Nothing more, nothing less. When I went to bed last night, my back was aching and I was feeling really nauseous.
I couldn't have anticipated that I would wake up at 2:31 am to a large amount of blood. I spent the rest of the night holding my lower stomach in pain. Every time I moved, I felt a stab of pain. I couldn't find a way to manage sleeping even remotely comfortably. I prayed that the bleeding and pain would go away, but it's 8:14 and neither have showed any signs of slowing down.
I was prepared to make my case at the doctor's office today. I had a list of reasons why I would be breaking free from bed rest. I would not tolerate a no. I was excited about being able to return to my job, which I genuinely love. And I would finally be able to stop worrying Austin, who tell me every morning and every night, "Maybe you'll feel better tomorrow, Jack? I hope you do."
I don't have any expectations for today or for what the doctor will say at my appointment. I'm just hoping that I make it through today and then the next and the next until this nightmare is over.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Letters to Hercules
Every once and awhile, the boys like to leave messages for special people on Facebook. I write what they tell me to write and we both get a kick out of it. The following is a message from William to Hercules. Whatever the boys say goes in regards to their messages until they tell me to stop writing. Here is William's letter to Hercules:
Hercules,
I love you Hercules! I love to get Hercules a really baby hug. And a kiss! And the baby eats a baby food. Feel better and I love you and Jacki. You have two eyes, baby. Get baby milk! And umma ummma, that's all! Oh, and Hercules can kill dragons. 1, 2, 3. Three pieces of dragons.
Love, my big brother William
(William has dictated his name and Hercules name be larger than the rest of the text.)
Hercules,
I love you Hercules! I love to get Hercules a really baby hug. And a kiss! And the baby eats a baby food. Feel better and I love you and Jacki. You have two eyes, baby. Get baby milk! And umma ummma, that's all! Oh, and Hercules can kill dragons. 1, 2, 3. Three pieces of dragons.
Love, my big brother William
(William has dictated his name and Hercules name be larger than the rest of the text.)
Friday, April 22, 2011
A good day
Last week, I would have gauged a good day by what I had accomplished. If someone asked, "Did you have a good day today?" I would think back and give a calculated response based off the things I had and had not done.
This week, I gauge a good day by whether or not I made it through without crying. I gauge it by whether or not I had woken up to blood or spotted at all that day. If I can keep my food down, it's a plus but not a determining factor in whether or not I had a good day.
Today, was a good day. I feel pretty grateful to be able to say that. A good day. Sounds so nice to me. I was able to get out of bed, long enough to do a little bit of Easter shopping. It was something that had been weighing on me. I couldn't help feeling disappointed that I probably wouldn't be able to help out with the shopping. I was able to put on jeans and even a little makeup. I felt like a queen.
The day was made complete with a nice lunch in bed with Zach. If nothing else, this has brought us a lot closer. I loved just laying in his arms today. It felt like the nicest place to be.
The icing on the cake, maybe the whole cake, was a blood free day. Who knew I could take days without blood for granted?
This week, I gauge a good day by whether or not I made it through without crying. I gauge it by whether or not I had woken up to blood or spotted at all that day. If I can keep my food down, it's a plus but not a determining factor in whether or not I had a good day.
Today, was a good day. I feel pretty grateful to be able to say that. A good day. Sounds so nice to me. I was able to get out of bed, long enough to do a little bit of Easter shopping. It was something that had been weighing on me. I couldn't help feeling disappointed that I probably wouldn't be able to help out with the shopping. I was able to put on jeans and even a little makeup. I felt like a queen.
The day was made complete with a nice lunch in bed with Zach. If nothing else, this has brought us a lot closer. I loved just laying in his arms today. It felt like the nicest place to be.
The icing on the cake, maybe the whole cake, was a blood free day. Who knew I could take days without blood for granted?
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Every time the bleeding slows or stops, I breathe a sigh of relief. Every time, I feel a blanket of security embrace me as I naively tell myself "It's over. It's all going to be ok." I have set my self up for devastation numerous times now.
I can't help but feel heartbreak every time I feel me and Hercules taking steps backwards. This time, the bleeding started early in the morning. I was sleeping when I could tell that it had started. It's frustrating to know that even resting can trigger the bleed. It makes me feel helpless and a out of sorts. If moving causes it and resting can trigger it as well, at what point will this nightmare be over?
I can't help but feel heartbreak every time I feel me and Hercules taking steps backwards. This time, the bleeding started early in the morning. I was sleeping when I could tell that it had started. It's frustrating to know that even resting can trigger the bleed. It makes me feel helpless and a out of sorts. If moving causes it and resting can trigger it as well, at what point will this nightmare be over?
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Maybe Hercules isn't a bad name afterall...
Yesterday, Austin came into my and Zach's room to cuddle. We were talking about Hercules when he casually asked, "Hey Jack, how did Hercules get in there?" I know, from previous experience, that utilizing the technique of distraction is not effective when it comes to Austin. He wants and needs answers.
I suggested we find him some big brother books from Amazon, that might just give him the answer to his many, many questions he has about Hercules. We went upstairs and picked out a handful of books that Austin liked. I was just about to purchase them when Zach joined us upstairs. I went to readjust on the couch when I felt as if I had peed in my pants. I discreetly went to the bathroom, hoping I could hide my embarrassing situation. I remember thinking, "and so it begins." I had heard plenty about pregnancy incontinence, but thought I was a little early on in my pregnancy to be having issues already.
Instead, when I went into the bathroom, I discovered that my pants were soaked with blood. I called for Zach and he immediately called his sister in law to watch the boys. In the time that passed until she arrived, I couldn't stop sobbing. The amount of blood indicated to me that the day would end in a loss.
We discovered, as Zach raced us to the nearest hospital, that the Camry can reach 115. To me, it didn't feel like we were moving fast enough. We soon discovered that the nearest hospital lacked the facilities, machines and doctors to care for a bleeding pregnant woman. They transferred us to the Mankato Clinic Urgent Care (trying to save us an ER bill). Once again, we jetted off in the Camry. The bleeding had yet to show any sign of slowing down.
After visiting the Mankato Urgent Care, they booked us an all inclusive stay in the hospital overnight. The rest is kind of monotonous, no eating, no walking and a lot of discomfort. The doctor ordered a comprehensive ultra sound. The bleeding had significantly slowed down and the hospital discharged me the next morning (4/18) with moderate bed rest.
On 4/19, we set off again for the hospital. The bleeding had gone from absolutely nothing to a huge concern in a matter of seconds. We found ourselves housed in a hospital bed overnight once again. Thankfully, this time we were able to meet with a doctor who actually seemed intent on providing us real answers on why this was happening. The placenta had began tearing away from the uterine wall in two places and was causing significant bleeding. Hercules isn't in danger as of right now, but the danger increases if the two places don't have time to heal. It could begin to impact the amount of nutrients Herc gets.
I know now that I was kept overnight the first night because of the amount of blood loss. We are very, very fortunate that the baby is ok. I honestly didn't see a scenario on Sunday that ended with me coming home from the hospital with Hercules safe and sound inside of me.
The only cure is taking it easy. This isn't something I'm generally accustomed to, but knowing the stakes makes it a bit easier. I'm home now, resting in bed. Zach has created a "limited excuse for moving" environment. Most things I need are within reach. My only exceptions for movement, courtesy of doctors orders, are food and bathroom.
I suggested we find him some big brother books from Amazon, that might just give him the answer to his many, many questions he has about Hercules. We went upstairs and picked out a handful of books that Austin liked. I was just about to purchase them when Zach joined us upstairs. I went to readjust on the couch when I felt as if I had peed in my pants. I discreetly went to the bathroom, hoping I could hide my embarrassing situation. I remember thinking, "and so it begins." I had heard plenty about pregnancy incontinence, but thought I was a little early on in my pregnancy to be having issues already.
Instead, when I went into the bathroom, I discovered that my pants were soaked with blood. I called for Zach and he immediately called his sister in law to watch the boys. In the time that passed until she arrived, I couldn't stop sobbing. The amount of blood indicated to me that the day would end in a loss.
We discovered, as Zach raced us to the nearest hospital, that the Camry can reach 115. To me, it didn't feel like we were moving fast enough. We soon discovered that the nearest hospital lacked the facilities, machines and doctors to care for a bleeding pregnant woman. They transferred us to the Mankato Clinic Urgent Care (trying to save us an ER bill). Once again, we jetted off in the Camry. The bleeding had yet to show any sign of slowing down.
After visiting the Mankato Urgent Care, they booked us an all inclusive stay in the hospital overnight. The rest is kind of monotonous, no eating, no walking and a lot of discomfort. The doctor ordered a comprehensive ultra sound. The bleeding had significantly slowed down and the hospital discharged me the next morning (4/18) with moderate bed rest.
On 4/19, we set off again for the hospital. The bleeding had gone from absolutely nothing to a huge concern in a matter of seconds. We found ourselves housed in a hospital bed overnight once again. Thankfully, this time we were able to meet with a doctor who actually seemed intent on providing us real answers on why this was happening. The placenta had began tearing away from the uterine wall in two places and was causing significant bleeding. Hercules isn't in danger as of right now, but the danger increases if the two places don't have time to heal. It could begin to impact the amount of nutrients Herc gets.
I know now that I was kept overnight the first night because of the amount of blood loss. We are very, very fortunate that the baby is ok. I honestly didn't see a scenario on Sunday that ended with me coming home from the hospital with Hercules safe and sound inside of me.
The only cure is taking it easy. This isn't something I'm generally accustomed to, but knowing the stakes makes it a bit easier. I'm home now, resting in bed. Zach has created a "limited excuse for moving" environment. Most things I need are within reach. My only exceptions for movement, courtesy of doctors orders, are food and bathroom.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Hercules
On Saturday, Zach and I had the chance to sit down with Austin and tell him our wonderful news. I was confident that he would be pretty excited. He was, after all, the one who had suggested we had another child to fill the picnic table. Austin is also the one who picks up baby items when we go shopping to see if I like them, "not for now, but when there is a baby."
Austin takes his role as big brother very seriously. It was really important to us to make sure he heard the good news from out mouths first. I want him, and all the boys, to be involved in whatever they want to be and as much as they can be.
After showing Austin our ultrasound pictures of the baby, I could see his excitement. Numerous questions followed and a huge hug ensued. He couldn't wait to tell everyone. This included his entire kindergarten class on Monday at school and anyone else he happens to come in contact with.
Today we started up our baby talk again. Just before bed, Austin called me into his room. "Jack, can I say goodnight to the baby?" Sure buddy! "Ok. Well, do you think it's a boy or a girl?" I'm not sure bud, does it make a difference? "Well, I had some names in mind. If it's a boy, I'll call it Hercules and if it's a girl I'll call it Brittany." Hmmm. Well, Hercules is an interesting name.
We compromised by calling the baby Hercules until we find out if it is a boy or girl, and then we'll find a less star struck name.
Austin takes his role as big brother very seriously. It was really important to us to make sure he heard the good news from out mouths first. I want him, and all the boys, to be involved in whatever they want to be and as much as they can be.
After showing Austin our ultrasound pictures of the baby, I could see his excitement. Numerous questions followed and a huge hug ensued. He couldn't wait to tell everyone. This included his entire kindergarten class on Monday at school and anyone else he happens to come in contact with.
Today we started up our baby talk again. Just before bed, Austin called me into his room. "Jack, can I say goodnight to the baby?" Sure buddy! "Ok. Well, do you think it's a boy or a girl?" I'm not sure bud, does it make a difference? "Well, I had some names in mind. If it's a boy, I'll call it Hercules and if it's a girl I'll call it Brittany." Hmmm. Well, Hercules is an interesting name.
We compromised by calling the baby Hercules until we find out if it is a boy or girl, and then we'll find a less star struck name.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Dreams do come true
In early February, I woke up from a vivid dream of a beautiful baby girl that I had given birth to. I remember reaching over to ask Zach if he liked the names I had picked out, when I realized it wasn't real. I couldn't understand the disheartened feeling I had. I had just started a new job and things were going really well for us and our little family of five. I was content and generally happy with my life. Regardless, I remember feeling sad that morning. The baby girl was so beautiful and in my dreams I had become so attached to her.
Fatigue, mild nausea and a gut feeling led me to take a pregnancy test in early March. I took it before leaving for work one morning. After anxiously awaiting the results for half an hour, the test failed to deliver any. I went to work and thought little of it. When I returned home, I casually checked the garbage. I picked up the test, curious to see if the results had finally developed. Two lines. Pregnant. I took the second test in the box, dubious to trust a test that took so long to provide results. Two lines. Pregnant.
I wasn't sure how to tell Zach. I couldn't gauge what his emotions would be. This isn't something that was planned, but I certainly don't and didn't view it as a mistake. The baby was conceived by two people that love and care for each other. A baby is never a mistake or inconvenience. I hoped that Zach would share in my philosophy.
Zach, as I had hoped, shared my mixed (but overall happy) emotions. We were two people, in love, about to be married that were having a child together. We decided it would be best to tell people until after the first appointment. I didn't want people to be fretting over the pregnancy and I was concerned about what the first appointment would tell us. I couldn't bear to get other people excited and then have bad news from the appointment.
Fast forward to the events of last week, and everything changed. I didn't want to tell people about the baby anymore because I wanted to shelter it. The baby is not and was never a mistake. I didn't need to tell people my exciting news, only to hear them give their condolences or look at me as if a tragedy had just occurred. My baby is not a tragedy.
I did manage to blurt the news to people I wish I could have told in better ways. I was filled with emotions and didn't feel like people would be able to grasp the full scope of what was going through my head without this crucial detail.
On April 4, 2011, Zach and I went to our first appointment together. He held my hand as we listened to our babies heartbeat and watched as the doctor took its measurements. Our baby is 4.73 cm and approximately 11 weeks and 3 days. Our due date is October 19, 2011. We cannot be more excited for this and I hope that you all will share in our joy.
As far as Zach and I go (because I am sure you are curious how the baby is affecting us), we are in a really beautiful place right now. We took a trip to the North Shore, just the two of us. It gave us a wonderful opportunity to really talk about what happened. I don't feel the need to share all of the details, but I do want you to know that shockingly and confusingly enough, I feel like we are in a healthy place. I feel in my heart that things will work out with me and Zach.
Fatigue, mild nausea and a gut feeling led me to take a pregnancy test in early March. I took it before leaving for work one morning. After anxiously awaiting the results for half an hour, the test failed to deliver any. I went to work and thought little of it. When I returned home, I casually checked the garbage. I picked up the test, curious to see if the results had finally developed. Two lines. Pregnant. I took the second test in the box, dubious to trust a test that took so long to provide results. Two lines. Pregnant.
I wasn't sure how to tell Zach. I couldn't gauge what his emotions would be. This isn't something that was planned, but I certainly don't and didn't view it as a mistake. The baby was conceived by two people that love and care for each other. A baby is never a mistake or inconvenience. I hoped that Zach would share in my philosophy.
Zach, as I had hoped, shared my mixed (but overall happy) emotions. We were two people, in love, about to be married that were having a child together. We decided it would be best to tell people until after the first appointment. I didn't want people to be fretting over the pregnancy and I was concerned about what the first appointment would tell us. I couldn't bear to get other people excited and then have bad news from the appointment.
Fast forward to the events of last week, and everything changed. I didn't want to tell people about the baby anymore because I wanted to shelter it. The baby is not and was never a mistake. I didn't need to tell people my exciting news, only to hear them give their condolences or look at me as if a tragedy had just occurred. My baby is not a tragedy.
I did manage to blurt the news to people I wish I could have told in better ways. I was filled with emotions and didn't feel like people would be able to grasp the full scope of what was going through my head without this crucial detail.
On April 4, 2011, Zach and I went to our first appointment together. He held my hand as we listened to our babies heartbeat and watched as the doctor took its measurements. Our baby is 4.73 cm and approximately 11 weeks and 3 days. Our due date is October 19, 2011. We cannot be more excited for this and I hope that you all will share in our joy.
As far as Zach and I go (because I am sure you are curious how the baby is affecting us), we are in a really beautiful place right now. We took a trip to the North Shore, just the two of us. It gave us a wonderful opportunity to really talk about what happened. I don't feel the need to share all of the details, but I do want you to know that shockingly and confusingly enough, I feel like we are in a healthy place. I feel in my heart that things will work out with me and Zach.
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