It's been a minute and a bit since I last posted, hasn't it? Sorry but life has a tendency to get in the way and Foggy Mommy Brain has hit me hard this time round.
For those who don't know, we welcomed a little bundle of boy into our family back in September. A little teeny tiny 5lb5oz baby boy named after his late Great-Grandfather Rodney and his Grandpa Al. He is a firecracker and has been since he was born-after a 24 hour labor, he couldn't wait to join us so he beat the dr into the room by 5 minutes.
Not long after he was born though, we found out his sugar levels were dangerously low. As in undetectably low. The pediatrician ordered an IV and some oral glucose but after two days without any sign of his sugar levels stabilizing, we were sent to the NICU.
We ultimately spent almost 3 weeks there with me going home every few days to get more clothes and see the rest of my family. That few weeks span ended up being the hardest weeks of my life thus far. I was recovering from giving birth and my newborn was in the NICU. I was living out of a suitcase in a lonely hotel room in an unfamiliar city. I wasn't able to do more than hold my baby, feed the occasional bottle, and change his diapers during the hours I spent with him in the hospital and I certainly couldn't stay with him all day/all night. If I was with R, I couldn't be with my family but if I went home and saw them for a few precious hours, I was away from my baby. And on top of it all, my grandmother passed away while R was still in the hospital and I wasn't able to make it for the funeral. I've never felt more torn. I was dealing with the emotional upheaval of having given birth, being away from all that I knew and was familiar with, a beloved family member passed on but I couldn't be there to say my goodbyes, and my baby wasn't getting better as fast or as well as we'd initially hoped so our stay was getting extended almost daily. Thankfully, just as I hit my breaking point and didn't think I could handle another bit of bad news without breaking down, R started improving and after another week, we were finally told we could go home.
But coming home had it's own struggles that I wasn't prepared for. Suddenly I went from having all these medical professionals to help me with his care and answer my questions to having to do it all by myself and second-guessing everything. There was always a doctor or nurse nearby and monitors attached to the electrodes that showed his vital signs but at home, there was just me. That first week home was so hard because I was so scared he would have another dip with his blood sugars and I wouldn't know it. I was nervous because after three weeks of hearing the beeps, boops, bee-bumps of the monitors I'd grown used to telling me what my little boys' vitals were, I suddenly had nothing. He was colicky and fussy, I was pumping and bottle feeding while trying to transition him to breast feeding (which wasn't working), and he refused to sleep unless he was cradled in my arms. You can just imagine how this all felt to me-emotionally drained, physically exhausted, still recovering from childbirth me. Yeah...
But, as it usually happens, things have gotten better. My nervousness and fears have faded, R's colicky tummy has settled, and, while nursing didn't pan out and my milk supply has dropped significantly, I'm still able to pump a little bit to feed him along with his formula bottles.We've slowly found our way through this whole experience though and we're doing really well now. R is gaining weight and meeting his milestones on time so the dr is happy and doesn't think there will be any lasting effects of his rocky start to life. For that, I'm SO grateful.
And I've found the good that's come from this.
I've learned that even though I've been through so much over the years with my mental health struggles and my infertility/recurrent miscarriage experiences, I can endure even more than I ever thought possible. And come out stronger for it.
I've seen just how much me and my family are cared about. During that three weeks R was in the hospital, we had so many people reach out to offer help. Whether it was babysitting or meals or coming out to see me while I was staying with R or a phone call or text to let me know we were being thought of or prayers of hope and healing being sent our way. I've never felt so much love as I did during that time.
And I've experienced the kindness and caring of the many doctors and nurses who went above and beyond to ease my fears, care for my baby, and help both of us get through those trying weeks in the hospital.
I also learned that I was one of the lucky NICU moms. After a while, I was at least able to pick my baby up and hold him in my arms. I could feed him his bottles once he transitioned back to oral feeds. I could talk to him, sing to him, snuggle his sleepy little self in my arms, and we got to go home after *just* 3 weeks. Some NICU babies are there for several weeks or even months and some moms can't do more than talk to their baby through an opening in the incubator.
It's not easy having endured so many losses and so many trials on my journey to motherhood and I'm so incredibly thankful that my arms are full again. After 11 miscarriages, I never thought I'd get the opportunity to have another baby but I did. He's truly my miracle baby because I nearly lost him more than once during those rough first months and then his rocky start after birth just makes me even more aware that I'm very blessed to have the family that I do.
So in this Christmas season, this time when we celebrate the birth of yet another baby, take the time to count your blessings to and to say a prayer of thanks. I know I sure am.
Wednesday, December 13, 2017
Monday, March 13, 2017
The Hardest Thing Is To Hope
Let me tell you a story.
Back in the middle of January, two inquisitive little children found their mother's stash of pregnancy tests. Tests she needed to have on hand so as to find out if she were expecting as soon as possible in order to start her medications right away. Tests she both loved and loathed. Loved because that positive test may mean another child to love. Yet equally loathed/despised/utterly hated because those two pink lines also mean the odds of this mother carrying that child to term are so dismally low.
But I digress.
The boy and the girl decided this crinkly blue and white package was something to investigate. After all, it MUST be a present or something fun to play with or a cool gadget to show off to Dad, right? With a quick rip and a toss of the wrapper, the digital pregnancy test was reveal. Huh, that's interesting but what do you do with this thing? Eh, just toss it in the corner and let's go find our books. So off the brother and sister scampered, leaving the test laying there.
Their mother walked by a few hours later and saw that test. Out of the packaging. Not able to be saved for the next 'I just KNOW I'm pregnant' moment. She knew she wasn't that month. The chances were slim to none and she just didn't have those inklings. She'd even been checked out a few days prior and the result was negative. Besides, it hadn't been happening as easily as it had before. There were those two positive tests a few months back but that ended so fast and it was the first positive in a year and a half. She just couldn't be pg again so quickly. No, she was definitely NOT pregnant.
But something about that test wouldn't let her just toss it in the garbage. The mother picked it up and stared at it for the longest time, debating what to do with it. She'd spent good money on it after all and since it couldn't be saved til next month when it was opened, why not just use it now? It would only read 'Not Pregnant' and she could then throw it away knowing it had been used and not totally wasted. (Thus is the mindset of a woman who has a stash of pregnancy tests in her bathroom at all times. You NEVER waste a pregnancy test by throwing it out unused. E.V.E.R.)
So she did. And three minutes later, her world spun when the test blinked 'Pregnant'. She kept waiting for the 'Not' to show up too but it didn't. She shook the test, thinking it was faulty. She rubbed her eyes and blinked several times.
But the test still showed 'Pregnant'
Finally, she could no longer NOT believe it.
Looking at that one word being displayed by this little white plastic contraption, she realized that life was changing once again.
And she was right.
If you haven't guessed yet, this is my story. It's how I found out I was pregnant way back in January. Unexpected. Somewhat unhappily. Yet definitely undeniable.
And let me explain the 'unhappily' part. You see, pregnancy is not an easy joyful time for me. It's a time of terror, tears, and trauma. I've had lost 12 babies over the years and I have spotting/bleeding in the first months even with my successful pregnancies that makes it very difficult to enjoy those weeks. I have to have bloodwork done frequently in the first weeks, multiple doctor appointments in the first months, and usually 2-3 ultrasounds by 12 weeks. I'm on 2-3 medications from the moment I find out I'm pregnant til 14 weeks minimum and those meds make me drowsy, sick, trigger spotting, and extremely dizzy. My history means I have extreme anxiety, crippling fear, and even a touch of PTSD according to my therapist. In other words, I'm under incredible stress in my first months.
All of this means it's so very VERY hard to hope. Fear is my constant companion for weeks on end and even now, I still have my moments where it beats back every scrap of hope I have mustered.
But Hope is strong. It keeps quietly to itself until something comes along to fan the flames-a positive ultrasound, another day closer to being out of my high risk months, passing my loss milestones, etc.
No matter how much my mental and emotional strain conspire to stifle Hope, it's never happened. No matter how many losses I've had, I've never lost Hope that I'd have another child.
But, oh, is it hard sometimes...
Back in the middle of January, two inquisitive little children found their mother's stash of pregnancy tests. Tests she needed to have on hand so as to find out if she were expecting as soon as possible in order to start her medications right away. Tests she both loved and loathed. Loved because that positive test may mean another child to love. Yet equally loathed/despised/utterly hated because those two pink lines also mean the odds of this mother carrying that child to term are so dismally low.
But I digress.
The boy and the girl decided this crinkly blue and white package was something to investigate. After all, it MUST be a present or something fun to play with or a cool gadget to show off to Dad, right? With a quick rip and a toss of the wrapper, the digital pregnancy test was reveal. Huh, that's interesting but what do you do with this thing? Eh, just toss it in the corner and let's go find our books. So off the brother and sister scampered, leaving the test laying there.
Their mother walked by a few hours later and saw that test. Out of the packaging. Not able to be saved for the next 'I just KNOW I'm pregnant' moment. She knew she wasn't that month. The chances were slim to none and she just didn't have those inklings. She'd even been checked out a few days prior and the result was negative. Besides, it hadn't been happening as easily as it had before. There were those two positive tests a few months back but that ended so fast and it was the first positive in a year and a half. She just couldn't be pg again so quickly. No, she was definitely NOT pregnant.
But something about that test wouldn't let her just toss it in the garbage. The mother picked it up and stared at it for the longest time, debating what to do with it. She'd spent good money on it after all and since it couldn't be saved til next month when it was opened, why not just use it now? It would only read 'Not Pregnant' and she could then throw it away knowing it had been used and not totally wasted. (Thus is the mindset of a woman who has a stash of pregnancy tests in her bathroom at all times. You NEVER waste a pregnancy test by throwing it out unused. E.V.E.R.)
So she did. And three minutes later, her world spun when the test blinked 'Pregnant'. She kept waiting for the 'Not' to show up too but it didn't. She shook the test, thinking it was faulty. She rubbed her eyes and blinked several times.
But the test still showed 'Pregnant'
Finally, she could no longer NOT believe it.
Looking at that one word being displayed by this little white plastic contraption, she realized that life was changing once again.
And she was right.
If you haven't guessed yet, this is my story. It's how I found out I was pregnant way back in January. Unexpected. Somewhat unhappily. Yet definitely undeniable.
And let me explain the 'unhappily' part. You see, pregnancy is not an easy joyful time for me. It's a time of terror, tears, and trauma. I've had lost 12 babies over the years and I have spotting/bleeding in the first months even with my successful pregnancies that makes it very difficult to enjoy those weeks. I have to have bloodwork done frequently in the first weeks, multiple doctor appointments in the first months, and usually 2-3 ultrasounds by 12 weeks. I'm on 2-3 medications from the moment I find out I'm pregnant til 14 weeks minimum and those meds make me drowsy, sick, trigger spotting, and extremely dizzy. My history means I have extreme anxiety, crippling fear, and even a touch of PTSD according to my therapist. In other words, I'm under incredible stress in my first months.
All of this means it's so very VERY hard to hope. Fear is my constant companion for weeks on end and even now, I still have my moments where it beats back every scrap of hope I have mustered.
But Hope is strong. It keeps quietly to itself until something comes along to fan the flames-a positive ultrasound, another day closer to being out of my high risk months, passing my loss milestones, etc.
No matter how much my mental and emotional strain conspire to stifle Hope, it's never happened. No matter how many losses I've had, I've never lost Hope that I'd have another child.
But, oh, is it hard sometimes...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)