Ella B.

2009-10-21T10:32:00.000-07:00

When it rains, it pours. It's cats and dogs out there right now. Ella B. had her well check today. I brought in some pictures of her that highlight the problem I have long suspected she has with her hip. The problem that a lot of my family tried to talk me out of, the problem that some attributed to my purported flair for the dramatic. You know it's bad when I take zero pleasure in "I told you so". A mother knows.

You can really see it in this shot where she's sitting in her chair. She consistently leans to the side like this; she's unable to sit up straight at all. She cannot sit independently.

And this one of her standing up. Though it doesn't look like it, this picture was taken straight on. She looks like she's standing crooked. It's the hip.

They examined her closely. The rotated her hips this way and that; they measured her legs. They looked at the creases where her thighs meet her bottom and the ones behind her knees. The disparity pointed toward Congenital Hip Dysplasia. The X-rays confirmed the diagnosis.

Time, they tell me, is of the essence. We'll be discussing treatment options with the orthopedic surgeon tomorrow. Well, when you're reading this it will be "today". Wednesday, that is. We have to act now, before it goes on any longer. The longer it goes untreated, the worse the future complications. I'm hoping they'll put her in a brace for a few months and that will be the end of it. That's probably unrealistic; as I understand it that's the typical treatment for newborns, and she isn't one. In all likelihood, she'll be put under general anesthesia, her hip will be repositioned correctly, and she'll spend several weeks, perhaps months in a body cast.

We'll need a special car seat to accommodate the cast. We'll need to get really creative and skilled at diapering around a twenty five pound body cast. We'll have to keep an active, excitable seven month old entertained while she is rendered completely immobile. We'll have to worry about the long term effects of not just the problem, but the treatment. The body cast could affect her growth permanently, and her growth is already an issue. We'll have to pay some attention to our two and a half year old. But that's all stuff I know I can handle. I'm only mildly concerned about that. My only real thoughts are for my precious baby. I wring my hands over just how much her tiny body can handle. She's been through so much already. She's fought for her life before she has a concept of what her life even is. She's so strong, but at the same time so tiny. So fragile.

There has to come a point where enough is enough, and I have to believe I'm sprinting toward that point. I've kind of had it with the trials and tribulations this year has brought, and I'm ready to move into a little ease. A little luxury. Clearly there are mountains left to climb.

Musings

2009-07-31T08:26:00.000-07:00

I wonder if the day will ever come when I will stop feeling this urge to explain Ella to people. Like when people ask me how old she is and then fall into raptures when they learn she's a seven pound four month old. Will I stop explaining adjusted age someday? Will I stop talking about how she was a three and a half pound preemie? Will I want to?

I'm proud of her, I'm proud of how strong she is and of how far she's come. I want people to know how amazing she is. But there are some that look at me with sympathy in their eyes. Why? I ask. What's wrong with being little? How can you look at how I've been blessed and want to feel sorry for me?

Is she going to have to face this in her life? She may be less than five feet tall as an adult. Will people stare at her? Pity her? Tease her? Decide not to like her based on something that isn't in her control?

I worry about a future for her in which she'll have to face people who would ridicule her for her small size. Some days I curse my broken body for failing me, for failing my daughter. But above all I just love her; I just want to share her with the world so everyone knows what a miracle she is. How richly she has blessed her lives. How a world without her in it would not be as bright a place to live.

As I begin to understand that the struggle may not be over, that now we will have to face people who find themselves put off by her small stature and think that because she has a small body she is somehow less than capable. But my girl is strong. She won't have any problem doing what she's always done, since before she was even born, and that is blowing people away with her unending tenacity to live. And to be simply amazing.

Lucky Mama

2009-07-27T06:03:00.000-07:00

Ella B. is rounding the corner to four months old. Four months! As I realize her "birthday" is coming up next week I am struck by the difference between Ella now and Josh at this age.

At four months, Josh weighed thirteen pounds, was sitting up with very little assistance, and had been sleeping through the night for almost six weeks. He was grasping things and putting them in his mouth. He was eating rice cereal and starting on regular baby food.

Ella, at (almost) four months (adjusted age two and a half months) is now holding her head up pretty well, beginning to push herself up off the floor, and giving us a smile or two. Smiles that light up a sky without sun, to be sure. She does not yet weigh eight pounds. So far she has slept through the night a handful of times; if you define midnight to 5:30 as "through the night". She will not be starting cereal or baby food for another few months; we aren't sure what it will do to her fragile digestive system. We'll have to feed her her first bite of food in the doctor's office.

The differences are incredible, but they are a testament to how strong my little girl is. The last half of my pregnancy I was mentally preparing for a baby in the NICU at four months. I was contemplating surgeries and home nursing care. I had no idea she'd have come so far is so little time. She is amazing; every "first" is extra special because there was a time when we didn't know if she'd even be here to accomplish it.

I wonder if the day will come when I will cease to be in awe of her. I doubt it.

These are pictures of Josh and Ella, both at four months old, in the same toys and the same positions, for comparison. Incredible.

Welcome

2009-07-24T22:45:00.001-07:00

This blog is dedicated to my daughter, who has an amazing story that simply must be told.

Ella B. was never supposed to make it to today. She shouldn't have survived her perilous encounter with life inside the womb, and she certainly shouldn't have thrived so quickly after leaving it.

And leave it she did, all too soon. My daughter, Eloise Belle Delger, entered the world at a fragile three and a half pounds and sixteen inches long, only to show the doctors and the world that miracles can be modern.

Born too soon after battling Interuterine Growth Restriction IUGR) while I battled preeclampsia, she came into this world fighting and hasn't stopped yet. Her story is one triumph after another.

Get ready to fall in love; she is one amazing little girl. You'll find her story, up to today, in the order the posts were originally written, on the sidebar to your right. Enjoy. Thanks for sharing in my miracle.

Bring on the Rain (Originally Published July 21, 2009)

2009-07-24T22:00:00.000-07:00

It's pouring rain today. It has me thinking back to a day much like this when I was still pregnant with Ella B. It was right before my indefinite hospital stay. Things were really bad, and I was really down. I usually love the rain, but that day it was as if the droplets falling all around me were but a fraction of the tears I thought I would cry because we didn't know if my daughter would live. It was the darkest day of my life.

I was preparing myself for a baby too small to live, a baby so sick that she couldn't face life unassisted, a baby that may even be stillborn. The blackness that descended on me that day is indescribable. It was the day I remembered to shower, but only managed to shave one leg. It was the day I forgot to eat. It was the day I went to the grocery store, only to stand in the aisle crying because I couldn't find what I needed; they don't sell healthy pregnancies and babies at the corner market. It was the day I spent mostly on the floor, weeping and crying out to God to heal my baby. To make her grow and give her strength. I pleaded for the strength I would need to face what was to come.

It rained for three days following the worst day of my life. Three days spent in torment, despair, worry, but all the while clinging tenaciously to hope. Hope that some of the doctors said was a little irrational. Unrealistic.

As I sit at my dining room table this morning and watch the rain, I am struck by the difference between now and then. I am amazed at how the clouds have lifted. Today the rain looks like tears of joy as I gaze in wonder at my daughter, my amazingly strong, vibrant daughter whom we met so much earlier than was intended, and who was so much tinier than she was supposed to be...

But so much healthier than she was supposed to be. We were awestruck. I've never heard so many doctors say, "I just can't believe this!" There she was, almost four months ago now, three and half pounds and barely sixteen inches of frail body teaching us what faith means. What the power of God is. That miracles still happen.

Now I welcome the rain. These pure and beautiful drops of water that cleanse everything in their path. We have been washed clean, set free, and given this incredible gift of life. Now I am thankful for that bleak, dismal day when the world was crashing down around me. Without that blackness, we never would have had this incredible light.

I've been hearing people complain about all this rain we're having in Duluth. But I say? Bring it on.

Twelve Weeks Ago (Originally Published July 6, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:59:00.000-07:00

Twelve weeks ago today...

I was still in the hospital.

I had my daily biophysical profile ultrasound to make sure things were still progressing smoothly with the pregnancy that had landed me in the hospital for the previous four weeks.

Twelve weeks ago today...

This were not still going smoothly with the pregnancy.

So my daughter was born by c-section just a few hours after she fell short of passing the tests put forth in the biophysical.

Twelve weeks ago today...

Ella was born six weeks early after spending 34 perilous weeks in the womb fighting to grow, fighting to develop, fighting to even survive.

She weighed just 3 pounds, eleven ounces and was a fragile 16 inches long. This put her in the 3 1/2 percentile for size at gestational age.

Twelve weeks ago today...

I watched the doctor pull my tiny baby from my body, the place that was supposed to be her sanctuary for six more weeks, but was instead something akin to a ticking time bomb.

I watched them rush her over to an incubator where several doctors and nurses worked to get her to breathe while they stitched up my broken body.

Twelve weeks ago today...

I caught a glimpse of the strong, independent, fighting lady my daughter will grow into.

I saw her begin to breathe on her own after only five minutes of medical assistance. She burst out with her little cry, no louder than the mewl of a tiny kitten, just as they were beginning to prepare to intubate her.

Twelve weeks ago today...

Ella amazed us all when she first breathed on her own, then was able to regulate her own temperature, and finally was able to feed without the assistance of a feeding tube.

She was the smallest baby ever born at St. Mary's Medical Center in Duluth that spent no time at all in Neonatal Intensive Care.

Twelve weeks ago today...

This is what my daughter looked like when we tried to put a Preemie size diaper on her...

Or a Preemie size outfit...

Twelve weeks ago today...

She confounded all of her doctors, nurses, and family by being teeny tiny, but perfectly healthy.

After just four days in the hospital with me while we recovered from the C-section and endless weeks of bed rest, she came home to her family.

Today, at twelve weeks old...

She is approaching the size of an average newborn at seven pounds, three ounces and eighteen inches long.

Every time we're out in public people say, "Oh! A brand new baby! She's so tiny! Must only be a few days old!" Boy, are they astounded to learn she was born three whole months ago.

Today, at twelve weeks old...

She still wears Preemie size diapers, but we can buy them in the store now instead of online, which is the only place I could find to get diapers for a zero to three pound infant.

Now her diapers look like this...

And that little pink Preemie size outfit? Fits!

Dear Ella B. -

We call you Ella B. now, because your brother went from calling you "Ella Bella" to shortening it to "Ella B.", and isn't that just too cute for words? So, I hope it doesn't embarrass you too much when your Daddy calls you Ella B. in front of your friends when you're fourteen.

You have brought immeasurable joy into our lives, little girl, and we are so blessed and proud to be your parents! We spent so many weeks worrying over you, praying for you, and living in a general state of hand wringing over your health. I'm surprised you didn't wink at us when you were born, Little Princess Pea, because all of our worries and stomach knots and fears amounted to naught.

You are a fighter. You are strong. You are brave. You are beautiful. We are amazed by you. You will do incredible things in your life; I know you will fly high and reach all of your dreams.

Happy 1/4 birthday, our beautiful girl, our miracle baby.

We love you,
Mommy and Daddy
And big brother too!

A Graduation of Sorts (Originally Published June 2, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Ella,

You rock.

Love,
Mom

So we just went from this...

The stupid car bed that I had to rent from the hospital and hated...

To this...

A real car seat! No more of that rented, icky, uncomfortable car bed jack assery.

We had to go into the NICU to have a car seat trial, where she is required to sit in the car seat hooked up to heart and oxygen absorption monitors for ninety minutes to make sure she can withstand the stress of being in an upright position for any length of time. As you can see, my baby passed with flying colors. She is, clearly, a Wonder Woman in the making.

Today? Is a good day.

Ooh! And don't forget to sign up for the contest! There's a Gucci bag on the line after all!

Ten Deep Breaths (Originally Published April 29, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:56:00.000-07:00

If I have learned anything from my experience with Ella so far, it is not to freak out prematurely. Interesting choice of words. She has taught me that anything is possible, that doctors and hospitalizations and specialists flitting about preparing you for the worst can all add up to a big fat nothing.

So I'm totally not freaking out here. I'm calm. Really. Yup, they call me Mrs. Not Freaking Out down there at the doctor's office, where we've been quite frequently, Miss Ella and I.

When Josh was a newborn, we spent a lot of time with or on the phone with the pediatrician because I was a newbie. I didn't know that it was OK for him to sneeze or have ten wet diapers in one day or touch something dirty - actually that's still really not OK - any of the other crap I called about that the entire medical staff surely spent hours laughing over. I was quite excited about the not freaking out over nothing aspect of having my second child. But Ella is a preemie and so I am a newbie again. I've never had a preemie before. I don't know what it is and is not OK for her to do or experience.

I did, however, have a pretty good idea that a red and oozing umbilical cord stump was likely unacceptable, so I took her in to her regular pediatrician (not the neonatologist) with a totally legitimate complaint. Yay me. Still not freaking out.

Turns out? It's not an infection like I thought. The freak out is trying to creep in. It is an umbilical hernia. Not freaking out! Not freaking out! Convinced of my calm yet?

This is, as the doctor patiently explained to me while I was frantically not freaking out in her office, fairly normal in preemies and may actually resolve on its own. It isn't dangerous - yet. What am I still not doing? I'll take What is Freaking Out for $500, Alex.

Our plan of "action" is, in my estimation, "ludicrous", yet what can I do? Take her to every doctor in town? Oh. Wait. I kind of did. Because the first one told me to put Neosporin on the stump where the cord fell off so it doesn't actually get infected. And then he told me to wait. Until she's six months old. That's five and a half months from now, I was able to sputter while in a state of decided non-freaking-out-ness. Turns out pediatricians in three other practices agree. So does the neonatologist. And the original pediatrician's partner, who is also her husband. I guess that consensus means there's no reason to freak out over leaving my daughter with a hernia for five and a half months to see if it resolves itself.

They say it isn't painful, and evidence supports that as she isn't acting like it hurts. They say that if it doesn't resolve itself in five and a half months that the surgery to repair it is fairly simple and straight forward. The word "surgery" totally doesn't make me freak out at all.

So now the waiting game is on, unless of course she gets an infection. Or she shows signs of it becoming painful. Or of, say, her intestines falling into the cavity. They say that the way her particular hernia looks there isn't any reason to think that will happen. But it isn't, you know, a guarantee. So that is certainly no cause to freak right out.

I'm just wondering how many times we'll see some sort of issue crop up and be told to wait and see, and I wonder if eventually all my blustering about, voracious reading on the subject(s), and perhaps going to medical school? will mean the doctors will give me a different answer than "wait and see".

Meanwhile, I'm taking ten deep breaths. And not even thinking about freaking out.

Please Leave the Gobbling to Me (Originally Published April 14, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:55:00.000-07:00

Several of you have emailed me and asked for more pictures of Ella, which is a good thing, because my fried, sleep deprived, yet deliriously happy brain has not yet regained enough function to put together words and sentences in any kind of form which would be pleasant to read. So I give you some pictures of my darling girl. Some which hopefully provide some perspective so you can see just how tiny she is and then marvel at the miracle that she's home in her bassinet instead of in the hospital in an isolette hooked up to tubes and wires. Some are of my darling daughter with her just as darling - if sometimes a little jealous - big brother.

My children are so cute, I totally understand the impulse to just gobble them up. But only I get to, so put that in your pipes and smoke it.

Enjoy.

Sometimes he just stares at her and says, "Tiny baby!". Of course, there are also times he looks at her and says, "My mama! Go way!" But I try not to capture those on film. They're not as cute as this.

It may take him awhile to get used to the idea that she's here to stay, but I think somebody loves his baby sister. Just don't ask him outright; he'd probably deny it. But then he's got a tough guy image to protect.

"Baby Tister, get up! Mama, Baby Tister sleepin' again!" Joshua would appreciate it if "Baby Tister" would stop sleeping all the time and wake up and play.

This is Ella next to one of her preemie outfits that is supposed to fit babies weighing up to five pounds. As you can see, if we filled it up with water, she could go swimming in it.

This is the matching onesie, also in preemie size, that floats down around her knees and rides up to cover her head every time she moves.

This is what Pampers would like me to put on a baby that weighs three pounds. I don't know where they're getting that this will fit babies zero to five pounds, but that's what they say. I think it'll be awhile.

Have you ever seen tinier - or cuter! - little feet?

And so concludes all that my exhausted brain can manage to come up with for a blog post. I hope you've not totally given up on me; I promise that not everything will be a gushing tribute to the most adorable children on planet earth. But really, can you blame me?

I Believe (Originally Published April 12, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:54:00.000-07:00

I believe...

...That my daughter is already one of the strongest women I know. And she's only seven days old. She has been fighting since the day her little heart started beating - about eighteen days after I became pregnant - and she continues to win this battle with her fragile body and fragile health.

...In the power of prayer. People all across the country have been praying for Ella, and God has heard our cries! He has touched her little body and made it healthy and whole. I cannot tell you how many times I heard in the hospital, I cannot believe this baby! She just shouldn't be doing this well! This is the smallest baby we've ever had in the regular nursery in this hospital. She's a miracle. I don't work on this floor, but this baby is the talk of the hospital and I had to come up and see her for myself.

...That doctors and nurses and specialists are worth their weight in gold, but there's nothing quite like a mother's instinct. Remember my last post? The one where I wondered and worried whether I'd be taking my baby home with me from the hospital? The one where I had to face the fact that she may end up in the NICU after all, and with a feeding tube? Well. My little girl is so incredible. The doctors thought she wasn't feeding well enough on her own, and that the only solution was to put her on a feeding tube until her suck/swallow reflex developed and she could nurse or drink from a bottle more effectively. She was trying to nurse, but tiring herself out quickly. I was cup feeding her, but she wasn't getting enough. She was quite jaundiced. They told me she'd never be able to drink from a bottle. Not even worth a try! They insisted. Heh. Because I had this problem with Joshua, I thought that her trouble with nursing might have more to do with the size of my, ah, nursing implements - ahem - than her ability to coordinate sucking and swallowing. I insisted she be given a bottle - just to try - and then if that didn't work, of course I would OK the feeding tube. But why not try? I thought. And you know? I was right. She latched right on to that bottle and drank like it was going out of style. Now I'm pumping every three hours and she drinks breast milk from a bottle at every feeding. She's well on her way to regaining that six ounces she lost in the first days after she was born.

...That I continue to underestimate my own strength. Each time we've faced a hurdle, I've wondered how we'll ever overtake it. Then we do and I look back and think, Huh. Maybe I really can do this. I keep pressing on, and things continue to go really well - much better than anyone expected. I know this is not about me; I am and continue to be in awe of the grace, power, and mercy of the Living God, who has brought us through the storm essentially unscathed.

...That bringing Ella home with me two days ago was an experience I may never top in this lifetime. No one expected that the culmination of weeks of bed rest, worry, anticipation, monitoring, ultrasounds, and preparation for the worst would be our little girl coming home from the hospital on the same day as her mama. And if it was in a car bed rented from the hospital instead of her posh (read: freaking ass expensive) pink car seat recently rush-shipped from Europe? Well, if that's the only price we had to pay, we'll consider it money well spent.

A Wrench in the Plans (Originally Published April 9, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:53:00.000-07:00

Ah, we were so close. Since she was born, Ella has amazed everybody with how well she's done. She's regulating her temperature, she's feeding well, she's breathing on her own. She was all set to come home with me tomorrow. We were this close.

I think the fact that she has behaved for all intents and purposes like a "normal" newborn has lulled us into this false sense of security; we started to take for granted that she would continue to laugh in the face of the odds against her. We've sort of been knocked off our pedestal.

For the most part she continues to thrive, but the simple fact is that there are some things her tiny body just cannot handle. One of those things? Sitting in the car seat. Before being released she has to pass a non stress test while sitting in the car seat for an hour. She didn't last five minutes tonight before her heart rate started to drop and she couldn't breathe.

If there is a feeling more terrifying than that which strikes when you see your child turn blue about the mouth because she's not getting enough air? Well, I cannot imagine what could possibly cause it.

This alone is enough reason to keep her in the hospital awhile longer, but there are other issues cropping up. Issues that in a term baby wouldn't be necessarily worrisome, but in a preemie? Well, they're taken more seriously. She's jaundiced, which is certainly common among infants in the first few days of life, but she's getting worse each time they test, not better. This indicates that she isn't feeding quite as well as we thought she was, and so in addition to likely requiring some intervention for the jaundice, she may also need a feeding tube after all.

We're going to see how things go throughout the night and make a final decision tomorrow. For now I'm only feeding her breast milk that I've pumped so I can measure exactly how much she takes in. She'll have another blood test in the morning to see where her billirubin levels are at. If that checks out, they may let her go home in a car bed.

Right now I'm feeling torn. I'm worried about her, certainly. I'm disappointed that she may not be coming home with me. On the other hand, she needs to be where she's getting the best care, and if that's in the hospital? Then I need to be OK with leaving her here. I am OK with leaving her here.

I just need her to be alright.

Show Mama your war face, little girl! We'll be strong together and work our way through this, shall we? You can do it, baby. You've overcome so much already.

Ella? Meet the Blogosphere. Blogosphere? Meet Ella. (Originally Published April 7, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:52:00.000-07:00

Isn't my daughter gorgeous?

As I write this it is nearly twenty four hours exactly since she came into this world, her tiny cry sounding no different than a mewling kitten. As most of you know, had things gone according to plan, instead of writing this while holding my darling daughter on my lap right now, I would be in surgery waiting to meet her. Obviously, things did not go exactly according to plan. But this little three pound, fourteen ounce girl has all sorts of tricks up her sleeves.

Yesterday morning I went in for my final biophysical profile ultrasound. Out of a possible score of eight, she's always scored an eight in the past. This time? She barely squeaked by with a six. Couple that with the major heart decelerations she'd had earlier that morning and we knew enough was enough. It was time to be born.

They've been warning me for weeks what it will be like in the NICU. I've been as prepared as I can possibly be for a tiny, sick premature baby. But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for reality. There was just no way to imagine what happened yesterday. Had I not been there myself? I would never believe it.

You see, my little girl? Is totally healthy. Tiny? Yes. Sick? No. In need of oxygen? Other than for just a few minutes right after she was born? No. Regulating her temperature on her own? Why yes, as long as we keep her bundled in two blankets and double up on hats. Feeding on her own? Well, essentially. She isn't strong enough to nurse or suck from a bottle, so I have learned to "cup feed" her breast milk that I have pumped. "Cup feeding" is pretty much what it sounds like; it's just a tiny little rubber cup with a lip on it and with it I am able to give her a few droplets of milk at a time. Her little tiny tummy fills up pretty quickly.

What does all of this mean, you ask? It means, drum roll please, that my baby girl is not in the NICU! It means that we have every expectation of taking her home with us on Thursday instead of having to leave her in the hospital. As long as she continues to excel at everything, she gets to stay in the regular newborn nursery and come home with me in two days.

I simply cannot describe my joy. There are no words.

Happy Birthday, Ella Bella!

Holy Crap...(Originally Published April 6, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:51:00.000-07:00

It's happening today. Something was wrong on the ultrasound. Will have someone update later...

No Babies for Joshua, Apparently (Originally Published April 6, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:49:00.000-07:00

Oh, Joshua. My little man. He is about as over me being in the hospital as it is possible to be. He wants me home so badly. I second the motion.

Usually when he's here, he really wants to look at the babies in the nursery. We have a routine that we've never strayed from until last night. He comes in, plays with the buttons on the bed, and then he asks me to "catch a ball" the literal translation of which is, "hey Mom, chase these marbles around the floor as I drop fifty of them at a time, wouldya?" and then he says, "Look at babies, too, OK?"

So last night we finished up with the marbles and he said, "Look at fishies, too, OK?" Now, we usually mosey on over to the fish tank after the babies, so I was a little mixed up at the break in routine. He's nothing if not a creature of habit, my son.

"Don't you want to look at the babies?" I asked him. And then I (and apparently this was a mistake?) said, "You know, buddy, we're going to have a baby of our very own the day after tomorrow! Isn't that exciting! Soon we're going to take your baby sister home!"

He scowled fiercely at me and stomped his foot. "No babies! Just Mama!"

Oh.

This is the first I've heard of "no babies", but he means business. When it was time for him to go last night, he opened the door of my room for me like he always does, then he reached up his arms and said, "Mama up, Mama UP!" like he always does. But we have to walk by the nursery to get to the elevators. When we got to the windows, he scrambled to get down and ran past them as fast as his chubby little legs could go. He even coached himself along the way, "Run fast, run fast! No babies"!" Once safely past the windows he wanted up again. He buried his face in my neck, wrapped his arms and legs around me like a little monkey and said, "No babies please please. Just Mama."

I know he'll be fine. In fact, I am convinced he'll be the best big brother of all time. But for now? It's going to be an adjustment. I'm hoping once he sees "his" baby and has me home that it won't be that difficult of an adjustment. It will be, ah, interesting to see how this all plays out.

Meanwhile, I cannot believe I'm finally having this baby tomorrow!

Sunday Snippets (Originally Published April 5, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:48:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday again. My third or fourth in the hospital. Don't know which; lost track. But once again I find myself with a random compilation of junk that couldn't find its way into a real post, and so I list it here in hopes that it won't drive away all who read it. So just like last week, I warn you. You may want to stop reading now.

Snippet 1...Am I the only person who just found out about "Netflix"? I discovered it three days ago, and thanks to their "watch instantly" option, I've watched, in the last three days, the first two and a half seasons of The Office. I'm not proud. I've watched more television in the last few days than I have in my entire life. After I get out of the hospital (if that ever effing happens...) I'm putting the television in the garage. I think James will still want it, which is the only reason it's going to the garage and not the dumpster. He can have fun watching it from the car.

Snippet 2...Though I do tend to whine about this never ending story of a hospital stay, I do feel like I'm finally on the home stretch. In fact, my guess is I'll be discharged a week from yesterday since...

Snippet 3...Ella is going to be born on Tuesday! She's waited as long as she can wait, the doctors tell me. So they've scheduled us for a c-section on Tuesday and then I finally get to meet my baby girl. Finally. It's been such a long road. I would, however, do it all again. As much as this hospital stay (and sixty seven thousand other complications) has thrown our world into complete and total upheaval, it has at least allowed me to stay pregnant awhile longer and given Ella more time to (hopefully) grow and develop enough so she's not in the NICU too long.

Snippet 4...I cannot believe how tired I am. I literally lay in bed all day. Apparently, the hospital takes the words "bed" and "rest" quite seriously when they're put together by a doctor and applied to a patient, so I can only get up to use the ladies room. One might suppose that all the "rest" would mean I'm feeling refreshed and lively and ready to conquer the world, but, um, no. One would be wrong. I'm exhausted. I barely have the energy to work over the nurses that drive me insane, much less conquer the world. My day pretty much consists of Netflix, meals, and cat naps. Glamorous.

Snippet 5...Really? I just found out about Netflix? I need to get out more.

Nice Title: I'm Hired, Bitch Title: I'm Surrounded By Idiots (Originally Published April 3, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:47:00.001-07:00

Correct me if I'm wrong, but nurses are medical professionals, right? And my study of political science (or "poly-sci" if you're one of those "wear a scarf year round" types) did absolutely nothing to qualify me to do any sort of work or make any sort of judgement on a hospital patient, even if that patient happens to be myself? I'm pretty sure I'm right on the money here.

Why, then, does every. single. nurse. ask me where to put the horrible baby heart monitor belt of death? There's a pretty small geographical location where it can possibly go; a baby as small as mine doesn't command a ton of real estate, so already the odds are in the nurses' favor. They could pretty much slap it anywhere and find success. I've been here two and a half damn weeks; I've met every single one of them. They all know that I really don't have a sense of how the baby's lying or whether she's flipped over or even moved because, and I don't know if we've all caught on to this, she's half the size she should be.

I contemplated just pointing to random places when they ask me in a kindergarten teacher tone, "Now where's baby lying toda-ay?" ('Toda-ay' should read like a ten syllable word with an inexplicable jump in octave on the last 'ay'. Because, you know, I'm only four.) but I don't because they take what I say as gospel truth and they will not stray from it. No matter where I point, they stick to that one single spot religiously. They're like toddlers who know they aren't going to get what they want, but they persist in their irrational demands anyway. It's like a grown up tantrum. So this morning while it was tempting to tell her the heartbeat could be found in my chest, I didn't want her rooting around in my bra until I finally took the thing away from her and placed it myself.

Because that's what I have to do; I have to do it my damn self. Instead of just lying here at four in the morning and allowing the professional to get the job done, I have to putt around with medical equipment I'm not even sure I'm allowed to touch until I get it to work. They should be paying me to be here instead of the other way 'round.

Progress (Originally Published April 2, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:46:00.000-07:00

Today I feel the same kind of aaahhhhhhh relief that comes when a migraine finally looses its grip upon my brain and the long awaited absence of pain is just indescribably sweet. I imagine that I feel this way partly because a migraine has finally loosed its grip upon my brain just this morning and the long awaited absence of pain is just indescribably sweet. More importantly, though, I feel this way because the black cloud of depression that was settling over me has lifted, and again I can see the sun. Well, I could see the sun if I wasn't living in Duluth where the thing never peeks its damn head out from behind the clouds this time of year. But you know, the figurative sun. That one's easier on the eyes, anyway. Especially eyes recovering from a migraine.

Not only do I feel like myself again, not only to I feel hopeful and strong and ready to face whatever comes at me this week and next, but I'm also finding myself being (shudder) nice to the nurses. I have (eek) patience with them.

Take last night. My nurse couldn't have been a day over four years old. She was like Doogie Houser's baby sister or something. And she was irritating. And she couldn't complete simple tasks that I have learned how to do just during my hospital stay. I'm talking easy stuff like putting the monitors in the right place. Could I have snapped at her that I could do it myself and I didn't spend four years in nursing school? Sure. But I didn't. Could I have asked her who let her out of pre-school and let her play with a stethoscope? Yup. But I didn't. I'm really proud of myself for not withering this girl with my contempt. Because really? I didn't even hate her that much. It's just part of the new leaf I'm turning over.

Clearly, the other side of this leaf doesn't include refraining from mocking these people later in front of the whole world on the internet, but progress is progress.

And yes, I do think the entire world reads my blog. Bite me and my delusions.

Please don't misunderstand me; I still hate it here. I hate the bed, I hate the little monitor belts of death, I hate being separated from my family. But I'm not ready to take the hospital hostage and demand a helicopter on the roof to take me to Jamaica anymore.

Clearly, I have my big girl pants on. I'm making great strides here. I'm all about progress.

The Countdown Begins. Er, Kinda. Well, As Much as it Can, Anyway. (Originally Published March 30, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:44:00.000-07:00

Today is my last Tuesday of this pregnancy. This is one thing I know for sure, even if I know nothing else. That realization this morning did help pick my spirits up out of the deepest depths of the ocean, where you found them yesterday.

I still don't know where the end is; I still don't know what this week is going to bring, but I do know that one way or another, I will have a baby by this time next week.

I'm trying not to worry about what that means; I am not focusing on the possible complications and risks of prematurity and such extremely low birth weight. I can always be optimistic that she's grown miraculously in the two weeks I've been in the hospital, but that's a little tough. In the six weeks before I was admitted, we did two growth measurements. She gained in that entire time less weight than she should have been gaining each week. So we are anticipating a little tiny girl weighing ever so slightly over three pounds.

I cannot even begin to describe how much better that is than we first thought. Three pounds is much more doable than one and a half. Thirty five weeks is ever so much better than twenty eight. I really do have so much to be thankful for.

Ella is truly a miracle child. The doctors suspect that her growth problems are due in part to my high blood pressure, but also to a placenta that didn't attach correctly and a misplaced umbilical cord. The fact that the pregnancy has progressed this far is truly an instance where I can see the hand of God in my life. If the doctors are right and these problems are caused by placental/cord abnormalities, there's just no way I should still be pregnant. I should have miscarried. Barring that, I should have gone into premature labor long before now. But I didn't. I have been able to cradle her seven months and three weeks, allowing her to grow and develop and have every expectation of health in the future. I didn't do that on my own power, I assure you.

As this sense of peace settled over me this morning, I realized something. This caught me totally off guard. I never imagined myself in this kind of a position. "Shocked" does not begin to describe the feeling. But God was not surprised. He didn't jump out of his skin like I did when the doctors discovered my baby wasn't growing. He didn't sit in frozen horror when they told me she'd have to be born early and described everything that could go wrong. He was not even surprised when I (more than once) crawled into His lap and beat my fists against His mighty chest until all my strength was gone. He knows my anger and he knows my grief and he knows my every racing thought. He holds them in His hands for me and offers to carry the burden. Reality is, He's been carrying me all along.

And so I face today with new resolve, new energy, and a new outlook. Whatever happens, I have been given a precious gift. Whenever my daughter comes into this world and however sick or healthy or small or big she is, she is mine. She is proof that miracles still happen.

Just Waving as My Life Passes Me By...(Originally Published March 30, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:43:00.000-07:00

Since I've been in the hospital...

...The seasons have changed from winter to spring.

...My sister went from engaged to married.

...Movies I wanted to see are no longer in theatres; they are now replaced by ones I've never even heard of.

...My son has gone up one size in clothes.

...And two sizes in shoes.

...The longest walk I've taken is from my bed to the ladies' room - three feet away.

...My son has learned the meaning of words he never should have had to know. Words and sentences like, "Miss you, Mama." Or, "Mama get home." And, "Please please Josh-a stay with Mama!"

Most days I'm barreling through like a marathon runner who knows there's an end in sight and has little but the goal in mind. Today? Well, today it was nearly too much to drag myself out of bed for that three foot walk to the washroom.

Am I on Candid Camera? (Originally Published March 28, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:41:00.000-07:00

Seriously, how can this be happening? I'd like for the drama to stop please, so I can work on getting and staying out of panic mode.

Last night, when it was time, once again, to attach those stupid belt monitors, there was trouble from the first. As soon as the machine started picking up Ella's heart rate I could hear it going a mile a minute. Now, babies have really fast heart rates compared to adults. Ella's baseline is between 140 and 150 beats per minute, but this? Was out of control.

Last night she spent almost three minutes between 195 and 210. Which makes me wonder, how often does that happen when we don't know about it?

The first thing they thought was that I had an infection that she was also having to fight and the stress on her little body was too much. But I didn't have a fever. Nothing showed up in the blood work.

Soon we watched her heart rate sink back to normal. Quicker than than I could say, "thank goodness for that!" we watched it continue to sink. And sink. And sink.

125...

119...

102...

94...

83...

77...

62...

56...

At this point a flotilla of nurses surrounded my bed trying to get it to come back up. I had to switch positions. I was put on oxygen. I had my stomach pushed and pumped on to get her to move a little bit and get her heart going.

It worked, but again I wondered, how often does this happen when we don't know about it?

She look OK on the monitor for the next hour. Not great, but OK. Within the range of normal. Then it happened again; she had another major deceleration this time at the peak of a random contraction. This indicated that she wasn't tolerating her environment very well.

The doctor gave orders to prepare me for an emergency c-section. I had to put on a hospital gown. I had to have blood drawn in case "something" happened during surgery. They inserted an IV. Apparently, when things are serious and the baby needs to come out, like, yesterday they put you under general anesthesia; the epidural just isn't quick enough.

So I was ready...ish. As if I had a choice.

But then we saw on the monitor that she was all of a sudden picking up steam. I was having more contractions that she was tolerating just fine, and her heart rate suddenly totally normalized itself. After all that ruckus, they decided to play the wait and see game again. They continued to monitor us throughout the night, and she never had another issue. She looked like she always does; a strong little baby who just isn't ready to be born yet.

So I'm still pregnant, but I'm not happy. These are my questions for my doctor today. Since he couldn't be bothered to bestir himself last night, I had to see one of his partners of whom I'm not exactly a fan, and she really didn't tell me anything.

Question 1: Um I realize you were not on call? But am I to understand that I was to have a stranger who is no more familiar with my case than what she read in the chart perform my c-section?

Question 2: What are we doing here? Seriously, we panic, then we calm down. We panic, we calm. It never ends, and my nerves are frayed. At what point are we going to, a.) panic and do something or, b.) be calm and stay there for another week and a half until the scheduled section?

Question 3: What am I missing? What are you missing? These problems didn't just magically crop up; they're presenting themselves for a reason. Clearly all is not well. Are we ignoring signs of distress because we don't want them to be there or was last night really not as big a deal as it was made into? And if so, why was I all but wheeled into a surgical suite?

Question 4: Who decided I was to have an emergency c-section and who then overrode that decision without even seeing me? Who was right?

I'd better get some good answers today, because my mama bear claws are officially unsheathed.

Life on the Outside (Originally Published March 27, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:40:00.000-07:00

I've been on the "inside" now for over a week. My hospital room may not have bars, locks, or guards (except for the few retired Nazi SS officers turned nurses) but it is no less confining. Certainly I do not enjoy being cooped up here indefinitely, but there are reasons bigger than myself. I miss my life on the outside.

I miss stupid things like driving and wearing real shoes. I miss lighting scented candles all through the upstairs after I've given it a thorough cleaning. I miss real clothing, real food, and a real life. Most of all, I miss my family.

Joshua visits me every day and James will be back in Minnesota before we know it, but obviously it isn't the same.

It appears Josh is beginning to feel the strain. He's very happy staying with my mom and Poppa Bryan (my mom's "not husband" is what I think I'll call him). They're both so close with him and I am so grateful for their help. I don't know how this would all work if they weren't around. Actually, it wouldn't work if they were not here; my mom, in typical mom fashion, has totally taken over, completely relieved my mind and heart from any worries about Joshua's safety, happiness, or well being. I know he's thriving there, I know he couldn't be in better hands if he can't be in mine. But. He's mad at me. Like, really really mad.

He won't come to me, he doesn't let me hug him. Today he forgot himself for a few minutes and held my hand as I walked with him to the elevator when it was time for him to go, and then he said, "Mama comin'? Miss you mama. Mama coat on!" When I explained to him I couldn't go with him just yet he just looked at me with these huge sad eyes and then walked over to Poppa Bryan and got on the elevator without another word or glance. How do I possibly get a two year old to understand this situation? I can't. I find comfort in the fact that he is perfectly content at Grandma's house and that in all likelihood he won't even remember this season in his life.

But right now my heart is, if not broken, then definitely bruised. Today I feel like I have to choose between my children and the feeling is not a pleasant one. I know I have to be here for Ella; I have to do everything I can to make sure she's as healthy as she can be, but it feels like Josh is paying the price for that.

I almost wish he would cry and scream and stomp his feet and have a tantrum; that would be better than what he does, which is so heartbreaking. He puts his hands in his pockets and hangs his head and tears silently trail down his chubby little cheeks. He misses me, and he doesn't understand why we can't be together. I miss him like crazy.

This is quite a storm we have to weather. I'm a little concerned about just how battered and bruised we will be when it's over. There's still such a long road ahead...

Get Comfortable, This May Take a Moment (Originally Published March 24, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:38:00.000-07:00

Every time I just begin to settle into "new normal", which around here comes quite often, some other new and unpleasant thing crops up and forces me to adapt once again. I? Am a creature resistant to change. I am proof that evolution is but a theory that is not based in reality, because I never would have evolved. I would have remained a little one celled creature because change? Kinda pisses me off.

It's funny how this process has ordered itself. I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. I'd known for awhile, I think. It was not my first rodeo, after all. But then when the call came from the nurse (OK, in all honesty, I called her because she wasn't fast enough for my legendary impatient ass) that confirmed we were quite in expectation of an interesting event, I felt this rush of joy. This sense of awe and wonder. I'm pregnant. It's quite a feeling. I understand that for some women, that sensation actually lasts longer than fourteen minutes until the symptoms and worries and fears kick in such as is the case with me.

I was sitting downstairs playing with Josh; James was upstairs doing, um, "James stuff". I got nuthin'. But he, with his super bionic hearing (not my loud booming yelp of joy) knew what the phone call was all about. I ran up the stairs and he, bless his big heart and mighty strong back, picked me up and spun me around. It was a repeat performance of all the other times I was able to tell him I was pregnant. We always treated the news with the exuberance it deserved before allowing the caution to set in. We didn't know, after all, if it would be a successful pregnancy. I was only about six weeks along at the time.

But then there she was! We saw her little heart beating furiously away on the ultrasound; just as when we saw Josh's, James remarked that it looked like a tiny light bulb flashing on and off. Unlike with Josh, James didn't faint this time. Tough guy.

Slowly I settled in. I started coming up with baby names and nursery decor. I knew in my heart it was a girl though just about everyone around me tried to convince me otherwise. Still rubbing it in that I was right, by the bye. As the weeks passed my anxiety lessened. Never has a sigh of relief sounded so loudly as the one I let escape from my lungs when we reached the second trimester and the chance of another miscarriage was so drastically reduced.

We went in for the routine twenty week ultrasound. It was kind of a family event; my mom was there along with James and Josh. None of us could wait to find out if the baby would be of the pink or blue variety. Mainly because we had some serious dough weighing on the answer. Which I won, by the way! When the sonographer confirmed my suspicion the baby was, in fact, a girl, I felt another surge of happiness so great I'm sure I'll never forget the feeling. I would have felt the same had the baby turned out to be a boy, certainly, but there's something so special to me about having a daughter.

But then he got down to business. He confirmed the presence of all the necessary equipment - lungs, heart, heartbeat, arms and legs, you know. That technical medical stuff. I was already dreaming of the little pink dresses I would put on that pretty little girl and wondering if Gucci makes shoes for infants. (They don't, but when she's a toddler? We're totally in business.) When it came time to take the measurements the tech suddenly got very quiet. Never a good sign. Then he said, "I'm sure it's nothing". Also the COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF HELP. Though I was twenty weeks pregnant, little Ella was measuring a full three weeks behind the growth curve; she was the size of a baby at seventeen weeks gestation, not twenty. That's a big deal in the land of fetus-ville, as we would learn in the coming months. Still, they thought perhaps I had my dates wrong - I knew I didn't, I keep a damn calendar - or that perhaps the measurements were just "off". Ultrasound measurements do have a two week margin of error, so the only thing we could do was wait. Wait ten. more. weeks. to find out what, if anything, the problem was.

Fast forward to the first of February, and I found myself in Minnesota. Visiting. But I knew, I felt as I had for a long time that something wasn't right. Though everyone in my life tried to reassure me, I knew that all was not well with this pregnancy. So I saw a doctor here in Duluth, I couldn't even wait until I returned to Bozeman, and learned what it feels like not to enjoy being right.

That is when I started sharing my trials and tribulations with the world at large here on the internet. If you wait patiently, I'm going to set up a link that will take you to all of them at once so you can catch up on the story should you feel so inclined. I have so much time on my hands and boredom in my mind in this hospital bed that I've learned all sorts of tricks on the computer. Like how to get pictures from my camera to the computer, for example. It isn't magic after all! But instead of a recap of what most of you already know, I'm going to take you to last night.

Since I've been in the hospital - six days to be exact - I have to be on monitors that measure my contractions (few) and Ella's heart rate (so far so good - mostly) for two hours every time the nurses change shifts. That means I do it from five to seven in the morning, one to three in the afternoon, seven to nine in the evening, and midnight to two in the morning. Someday I'll write about my deep and abiding love for that particular brand of misery. But not today.

Last night at seven thirty I was busy muttering about House being a re-run (seriously, how can they do that in the middle of the season?) when I heart the thumpthumpthumpthumpthump of Ella's heart rate on the monitor slow to thump. Thump. Thump.

Thuuuuuuuuuuump. Thuuump.

Until it finally picked back up again in about thirty seconds. Can everyone say, "panic"? Here's the thing; despite all her problems, she has looked basically good on all the testing. Her heart rate is always strong, blood flow through the cord is always good, she has good movement for the most part, that kind of thing. So to see this sudden decline was, um, terrifying.

The doctor explained to me that while it's difficult to make a "bad" baby look "good", it's relatively easy to make a "good" baby look "bad". Meaning, I collect, that this could be nothing more than an isolated incident and not yet time to panic. It also meant, however, that I had to be on the monitors all. night. long. Which? Sucks. I mean, I hate to complain, but seriously. It's 2009. Can they not come up with technology that works a little better than this crap? The monitors are held onto my belly with scratchy little belts and they slip off constantly. This means that I did not sleep all night because I had to hold the thrice damned thing in place.

Cranky I am.

Thankfully, her heart tones picked back up and we didn't see anymore big problems last night. Crappily (Crappily? Really? That's the best I can do?), I now have to be on the monitors much more often, which brings me back to my original point; if I were Michael J. Fox, change in cirucumstances would make me turn into Teen Wolf. That's how much it annoys me.

I stumble between feeling angry that this is happening to me, indescribably grateful that things have gone as well as they have, considering, and then guilty about being angry in the first place. So many moms have it so much worse than I do. And then I just get pissed again, because really? I have to physically hold this thing on my stomach even longer each shift now?

I just wonder when the changes will become too much for me to bear. When will it get too hard? And then, if it does, what happens next?

This is Me Being Positive (Originally Published March 22, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:29:00.000-07:00

Picture it. Me, a few days ago, checking my email. Which I do often because, let's face it, comments! Comments! Like to see my inbox filled up with comments! Sure enough, some were there. And then there was one from the lovely Swoozie at Mommy Kingdom, who is a new reader of mine. On the day she found me, I did the courtesy peek at her blog and lo and behold, loved it! Visit her now, OK, well not right now, finish reading this first. But then when you're done here, pop on over, you won't be sorry. I'm so glad she found my blog, because it means I found hers. So, yay and stuff.

But I stray from the point, friends. On this particular day this particular comment from Swoozie contained some news that I shall never tire of receiving. An award! For me! This award, actually:

It would seem to me that I, a self professed whiner, would not be a candidate for a "lemons into lemonade" award, but perhaps I come across as slightly optimistic to others. Hmm...I'll have to work on that. But seriously, I was delighted to see that she thought of me when passing this award on to ten bloggers of her choice.

So in the spirit of turning lemons into lemonade and therefore earning the right to display this award on my sidebar, I will now attempt to look at the bright side of my current circumstances. Which I'm sure most of you know, I have railed against quite virulently in my last few posts. But now? I present to you...

THINGS ABOUT BEING IN THE HOSPITAL THAT DON'T TOTALLY SUCK

*I am one of the lucky extended stay OB patients who gets to take a shower every day. Furthermore, I can stay in there as long as I want. This is something I could never dream of doing at home lest my two year old burn the house down while I'm in there. Or, say, draw on the furniture. That was a fun day.

*I don't have to watch Sesame Street, because while Josh visits me every day, his favorite show is already over by the time he gets here. The fact that he knows this doesn't stop him from asking, however. OK, do I miss Bert and Ernie just a little bit? Maybe. But if you tell anyone I shared that I'll deny it.

*It's never cold in here! Remember my three bazillion posts about how cold it is in Minnesota? Well, these Duluthians keep their hospitals warm, at least.

*I got the nurses to agree to change my bedding every day. Which leads me to think that I might be slacking off at home, since I only do ours once a week. I lurve the feeling of slipping between crisp, freshly laundered sheets. Even if they are hospital sheets.

*Um? Hmm. I'm not sure I have another one. But I am patting myself on the back for coming up with three.

And as we all know, great privilege brings on its heels great responsibility. And so it now falls to me to present this award to ten fellow bloggers who I think capture the spirit of turning lemons into lemonade even better than I do. That should not be hard to find, folks.

My first pick is Sassy Pants Freckle Face who always manages to twist things about for the good, no matter what life throws at her. She's great...go check her out if you haven't already.

Now we have Jill and Justine, the dynamic blogging duo, well kinda. They actually use their respective blogs to ridicule one another - you know, in addition to other stuff - which is something I can totally get behind. They are two of the closest sisters I know of, and both of them have been so wonderfully supportive throughout this difficult time I'm facing. I have loved getting to know them through email the last several weeks. You will love them too, their blogs are both hilarious. You can find Justine at Tiney's Froggy Bloggey and Jill at Jill's Believe It or Not.

Finally we have TraceyTreasure at Green Eyed Momster. Yes, I said "finally", meaning last, and yes, I can count. TraceyTreasure makes four, not ten. But this is not an award about what a good rule follower I am, so I can do whatever I want. Now then, Tracey is a joy to read and it has been lovely to get to know her through her blog. You'll enjoy her too. Now go...read her.

Follow all the links I so painstakingly provided for you. You better listen to me, or instead of making lemonade, I'll just throw the lemons at you.

Bitter, Party of One! (Originally Published March 19, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:27:00.000-07:00

James and Josh just left the hospital. They were here with me all morning, Josh on his best two year old behavior and James doing his best to be positive for me.

I don't feel very positive. I'm walking on a tightrope. If I fall to the right, my baby could be stillborn. If I fall to the left, she'll be born with lungs that don't work and have who knows how many complications, handicaps, surgeries, hospital stays, et cetera.

So I hold my arms out to the sides and gingerly put one foot in front of the other. I manage, hour by hour, to hold this precarious position of in between, to live in this limbo that exists in the hospital with nurses scrambling in and out, boredom setting in, and nothing but time to contemplate the current state of affairs.

I can't relax.

I can't let go.

After Sunday my poor son will be separated from both his parents. James has to go back to Bozeman and I am stuck in the hospital. I am a complete failure at juggling; where I was once able to keep all the balls in the air I am now hardly able to even lift my head under the weight of all this stress. And my son gets the total short end of the stick.

James has to go back. I get it. But I don't have to like it. I know everything he does is for the good of our family; I know that there are things he absolutely must finish in Montana before he can move here permanently, and I know there is a deadline to get them done. My head understands it, encourages it, even applauds it. He's taking care of all of us, and he needs to. But does my heart wish he could just drop everything and ride to my rescue? Yes. Yes it does.

Paging Bitter, party of one!

Wait a Minute. Strike That. Reverse It. (Originally Published March 18, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:26:00.000-07:00

Whoa. My belly is still suspiciously swollen. There's still something squirming around in there. Yup, it's my baby. Yup, I'm still pregnant.

We had another growth measurement today. We were all set to deliver. We almost did. But her lungs are very underdeveloped even with the steroids. So when weighing the risk of still birth because we wait to long to deliver and the risk of complications in the NICU because her lungs are so immature, we decided that for now, she needs a few more days, or hopefully even a week, to beef up her little tiny lungs a little bit.

The extra super sweet part is I've been admitted to the hospital. They need to be able to monitor her status constantly because her growth is extremely retarded. It's simply a matter of time before the placenta or cord or a combination thereof stops functioning altogether and she's in grave danger. So I'm here, in the labor and delivery ward indefinitely. There's really no way to predict when the risk comparison will reverse and it will be more dangerous for her to remain in utero, but when the time comes, they can have her out in under a minute once I'm in surgery.

So while I'm not pleased about being in the hospital, the day has turned out better than I'd hoped in that right now we have a better option than for her to be born with severe lung problems. It feels good to be doing something to help her even if it means I have to be in hospital bed from now until what seems like eternity and watch bad daytime TV.

At least I have internet access. And James is getting good at sneaking me edible

The Time Has Come...(Originally Published March 18, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:25:00.000-07:00

Barring any unforseen circumstances (read: miracles) Ella will be born today, in just a matter of hours, in fact. And so begins our new, um, adventure? In having two children. That panicky screaming you hear in the background? Just me.

It's Official. I'm This Close to Insane (Originally Published March 10, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:24:00.000-07:00

My hip is already begging me to stay home. It doesn't want to be set on fire again. While I sympathize with it, the burning must commence as planned. I'm on my way soon to get my second round of betamethasone steroid shots that should beef up Ella's lungs in time for her to be born next week. It goes in my hip, and it feels like liquid fire.

Right about the time you start to say, "Oh, that wasn't so bad," you instead scream out, "Why are you setting me on fire! What are you using for a syringe, a blow torch? A flame thrower?"

Still, it is a pain I welcome, because it is something tangible that I can do for my daughter that will help her in the months ahead. They say this round of shots can reduce the incidence and severity of respitory distress syndrome in preemies by as much as fifty per cent. I'd get them every day if it would help. In fact, I asked. But no, yesterday and today are all she needs.

Her impending birth is starting to become very real to me. As it is right around the corner now, I find myself unable to focus on much else. Now I'm dreaming about it, in fact. Since we found out about her growth and development problems, we've been picking out different animals and things that are about her size, just to give us something to look at and compare. So far she's been the size of a gerbil, a kitten, Josh's koala Pine Cone, and so on. In this dream I had last night, I went in for the C-section as planned, and the doctor first pulled out a gerbil. "Nope! Not it!" He declared. And then he threw it across the room. Then he did the same with a kitten, Pine Cone, a book, and something I think was an office tape dispenser. As I looked around the room, there were different teams of doctors and nurses for each object taken out of my belly, and they were intubating all of them just in case one of them was the "real baby". Meanwhile, the doctor doing the surgery was getting pissed, yelling, "Where is that DAMN baby?" And I was getting pissed at James because he kept laughing and saying, "No wonder YOU were so BIG even though the BABY was so TINY." I never did get to the part in the dream where a baby was actually born; I woke up in a cold sweat and panting my lungs out before that could happen.

I cannot believe I just admitted to having any kind of episode involving "sweat". Gloss over that particular tidbit if you please.

I couldn't sleep after that, so I spent the rest of the night - from about 2:30 on - watching a Dirty Jobs marathon, because, mmmm. Mike Rowe. My Mike-y helped me forget this terrifying dream of giving birth to animals and tape dispensers. Hopefully when I get home today and take a nap, he'll be the one in my head instead of Pine Cone.

You Bet I'm Angry (Originally Published March 9, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:21:00.000-07:00

As I sit here waiting for the next hour to pass before I can get on my way to yet another biophysical profile ultrasound to check on my teeny tiny little baby, it occurs to me that this is just plain unfair. Nobody should have to go through this.

It's not like pregnancy is a "magical time" for me; I've never enjoyed being pregnant. But that was because the physical state is really just so unpleasant. We all know this. But still, with Josh and the first half of this pregnancy with Ella, there was this overwhelming sense of joy, a feeling of wonder and contentment - even through the heartburn and vericose veins. Even with the high blood pressure and bed rest.

The joy is still there, the wonder is still there, but the contentment? Every feeling I have is overshadowed by this fear that something is going to go terribly wrong because she has to be born so early. There's so much apprehension, nervousness, and let's be honest, terror in my heart that I don't know what to do with it all.

Today I start steriod shots to speed her lung development so she's "ready" to be born next week. "Ready" indeed. She isn't anymore ready than the man on the moon, yet she can't stay put either, can she? Phrases like "rock and a hard place" and "devil or the deep blue sea" come to mind. Does it make sense that I'm angry? I'm angry this is happening to our family. I'm angry I have to spend so much time letting other people take care of my son. I'm angry that James can't be here yet. I'm angry that I have to have these steriod shots, that I have to just accept the fact that I'm powerless to fix this. I'm angry that I can't fix everything for both of my children. I'm angry that my little girl, who I'm already desperately in love with, faces so many struggles already in her little life. A life that will begin in intensive care, hooked up to machines and tubes and wires and a life that will require the care of more than just her mama's expert hands. Because her mama's hands just aren't expert enough.

I didn't realize until this all spilled out just how angry I am. You bet I'm angry, and I'm going to stop feeling guilty about it.

Still Pregnant, Still Pithy (Originally Published March 3, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:20:00.000-07:00

And so I am to remain pregnant for another week. It feels funny to be excited about that, to actually want to stay pregnant as long as possible. When I was pregnant with Josh, I couldn't wait for it to be over. I hated being pregnant. I was miserable. The truth is I'm still not all that enamored of it, but being faced with the possibility of premature birth pretty much puts the swollen ankles and sore back in perspective.

Still, it looks like Ella will be born in two weeks, when I will have reached 33 weeks gestation. This still puts her seven weeks shy of her due date, but in general, babies born at 33 weeks tend to do very well. She'll need to stay in the NICU for an undetermined amount of time. She'll need help breathing, feeding, and regulating her body temperature. But the chances are somewhere in the neighborhood of 98% that she won't have lasting complications from being born almost two months early. Everything I've read, everything the doctors and specialists have told me seems to indicate that will be the case. Still, I seem to live in the other two per cent...

But my hopes and spirits are high. It's much better to know what's going to happen even if it isn't what I wanted to hear. At least the wondering is over. At least, well hopefully, we'll make it to 33 weeks. She still has three biophysical profile ultrasounds to pass before then. They check her heartbeat, the way she moves, whether she's practicing breathing, and how well blood flows through the umbilical cord. As long as these things all check out, we go to March 18. If they don't, we go from the office to the surgical suite. Thank God she's passed so far, and there doesn't seem to be any indication that this will change in the future. However, these things aren't exactly the most predictible phenomena on the face of the planet, given the struggles we've had so far.

In any case, I am as prepared as I can be I think. I have all the stuff I need; the clothes, the accessories, the designer diaper bag. None of which I'll need for a pretty long time. But the stuff is the one thing in this whole situation I can actually control, so control it I am. I may not be ready physically or emotionally, but by God I've got stuff. So I guess that will have to be enough for the next two weeks and then I will learn how to be a parent to a two pound baby in intensive care. I will also learn to be patient with my two year old, even though he, in his upset over not being with me as much as he's used to, drew all over the new couch and love seat with permenant ink. I'll remember to thank God for scotch guard and the ability to give hugs and understanding instead of raised voices and spankings because I know he doesn't know how to express that he misses me. I will also remember to go to his house and draw all over his furniture some day. His wife may not like me.

My next two weeks will be spent making as many final preparations as I can, trying to enjoy what may very well be my last two weeks of pregnancy ever, and willing this little baby to grow. We're certainly not out of the woods, but at least we've found a path and can begin making our way.

Tired of Hearing This Yet? (Originally Published March 2, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:19:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm tired of feeling it, quite frankly, but I can't help it. I try to find the humor in my life, I try to enjoy what are surely the last weeks of this high risk pregnancy, I even try to pretend sometimes that everything is normal. But I've never been all that good at fooling myself. I can always tell when I'm lying.

I have yet another biophysical profile ultrasound this afternoon - in about an hour actually - and I can't help but have all this anxiety over it. It doesn't matter that I'm having these tests done every time I turn around. It doesn't matter that everything indicates I'm going to be able to stay pregnant until I reach 33 weeks. All that matters is that once again I must move from the knowledge that everything is as OK as it can be to the terrifying unknown exacerbated by a silent ultrasound technician.

She no longer tells me what she sees; she waits for the doctor. I get that, but I don't want to be kept in the dark even for that short period of time. I realize the person who does the ultrasound is not an OB, but she knows what she's looking at. She could clue me in. I'm much better at facing down a known foe than trying to battle an invisible force.

So here I go again. Off into the great unkown. I already have the shakes.

A Pound of Flesh (Originally Published February 26, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Idiots in Charge,

Seriously? Is this how we're going to treat our veterans? I'm not, like, living in the Twilight Zone or anything? Did Tricare Reserve Select, our military health insurance, really tell my husband - the one who spent nearly two years in Iraq and ten years of his life in the army - that when he's honorably discharged in May we won't have an extension in coverage unless we want to pay upwards of two thousand dollars a month? You're telling me I have that right?

You see, that would have been nice to know. Remember when we called you last week to pre-authorize anywhere from fifty to seventy five thousand dollars a month in NICU care for our daughter who will be born prematurely and with significant health problems? Did you think maybe we want to suck those charges up on our own in a few months? Did you think that we have offshore accounts set up for any additional medical costs stemming from her prematurity and extremely low birth weight? Perhaps you thought we'd perform any surgeries she may need ourselves? Or that we'd just bag the home nursing that might be necessary if she has persistent lung problems because we can't find an extra thousand dollars a day?

When James starts his new job in Duluth, they'll want him there ninety days before giving him benefits. He cannot start in his new position until May. Though I don't feel I'll meet with any greater success necessarily, I thought I'd appeal to you before lobbying congress to extend the calendar this spring so we won't have a lapse in coverage. Because, Tricare Reserve Select, this is absolutely appalling to me. We may have a little bit of money, but we don't seventy five grand a month. We don't have the resources of, say, YOU, a government insurance agency. What we do have is a family that has made huge sacrifices for this country. We've lived through sleepless nights of wondering whether James is alive. We've lived through torturously long separations. We've played the sometimes pretty crappy hand the army has dealt us for ten years. And we've done it all with a smile on our faces humming the Star Spangled Banner. What more do you want, a pound of flesh?

Best,
One Pissed Off Army Wife

A Bright Spot on the Horizon (Originally Published February 24, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:17:00.000-07:00

Phew. My first appointment with the perinatologist went very well, especially considering what I was expecting. I am back home instead of in a hospital bed, which is huge. She even modified my bed rest so I can have longer periods of light activity during the day. And by light activity I pretty much mean walking to the mail box and back, but even that much feels simply awesome.

I was scheduled to have an amniocentisis today, which had me positively shaking in my Guccis, but it turned out all that quivering was for naught. I opted not to do it. The doctor thinks that there is a less than one per cent chance of Ella having a genetic disorder and that there isn't reason to deliver in the next five days until my next biophysical profile ultrasound. So, the risk of my water breaking after the procedure outweighed the benefits of ruling out genetic disorders the doctor would be shocked to see and her lungs have at least one more week to mature.

Actually, the perinatologist is optimistic that I can stay pregnant at least another three weeks. As long as Ella continues to pass her biophysical profiles, which monitor her heartbeat, movement, muscle tone, and blood flow through the umbilical cord she should be able to stay put until I am thirty three weeks along, which is excellent.

The wrench in the plans may come in the form of this problem of having a mature placenta. In addition to it being too mature, it also has some calcifications, which if they get worse, can mean Ella has to be delivered.

But overall I feel like I got some good news today. I am cautiously optimistic that I'll be pregnant another three weeks. The world that was only yesterday crashing down around me has decided to grant me a stay of execution.

It's a good feeling. It's like seeing a sparkling rainbow after a devastating storm. It may still be raining, even pouring, but there's hope. There are brighter days ahead.

The Storm (Originally Published February 23, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:15:00.000-07:00

I find myself with little strength left to write this. The more I tell this story, this latest news, the more I feel myself buckling under the sheer weight of it. But here I go...one more time.

I had my sixth biophysical profile ultrasound today. The last time they recorded her size was three and a half weeks ago. Today was the second official measurement. In that amount of time, almost a month, she has gained five paltry ounces. She went from being in the fourth percentile for size at her gestational age (which was bad enough) to being in the less than third percentile. Additionally, she is no longer growing proportionally. Her head is fairly significantly bigger than her abdomen and femur. To give you an idea of her size, the distance from her hip bone to her knee is a mere five centimeters. What is that, like two inches? She's about the size of a baby kitten.

The other major issue, because apparently there just weren't enough, is that my placenta (really pissed I had to take that off the list of words I don't say, because it is such a horrible little word) is as mature as you would expect it to be if I were full term. This means that as poorly as it was functioning before, it is worse now. It is only designed to work for forty weeks, and for whatever reason, mine decided to retire early. This is restricting Ella's access to vital nutrients and oxygen that should be filtered through the placenta (ugh, twice in one paragraph. Yikes) and is a big part of the reason she isn't growing.

Tomorrow I see the perinatologist for an amniocentisis to check Ella's lung maturity, other problems or disorders that may be causing the "Intrauterine Growth Restriction" we've been labeled as having, and also to determine just how much longer it is safe to be pregnant with this piece of crap placenta that cannot be prevailed upon to do it's freaking job. OK, that's three times I had to use that word. I have to go cast up my accounts now. Can't there be prettier words in the medical community? Can I help them out with some euphamisms for stuff like that?

Needless to say, this news today was pretty devastaing. Not at all what we were hoping for, but if I'm being honest with you, it's also not unexpected. But hear that song I put on this page? (All by myself, I might add. I'm becoming pretty computer savvy in my forced inactivity) As the doctors were bombarding me with this news, I closed my eyes and felt myself being wrapped in a strange, quiet sort of peace with these words running through my head. If you have the time, read through them; I'm going to write them out for you. If not, at least listen to the whole song. It's beautiful, and the message behind it is what is getting me through the day.

I was sure by now,
God you would have reached down
And wiped [my] tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again I say, "Amen"
And it's still raining

But as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands
And praise the God who gives
And takes away.

I'll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I've cried
You hold in Your hands
You never left my side
Though my heart is torn,
I will praise you in this storm.

I remember when
I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry and You
Raised me up again.
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
When I can't find You?

But as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls,
I'll raise my hands
And praise the God who gives
And takes away.

I'll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I've cried
You hold in Your hands
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn,
I will praise you in this storm.

A Big Day (Originally Published February 23, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:14:00.000-07:00

It's a nervous morning. The sun hasn't yet risen, but I can't sleep for thinking of what's going to happen today. I've been up for hours, tossing and turning, watching Lifetime movies in the middle of the night, and praying. Hoping. For good news today.

Today? I have my sixth biophysical ultrasound, and it will be the second one in which Ella's exact measurements are taken and we see exactly how much, if at all, my little pea in the pod has grown. We may also have a diagnosis...

Or not.

But I will know if she's bigger than James' hand yet. Or if she's even going to be before she's born.

I can't help but balk a little at this day as I face it alone. I wish James was here. This is news and crisis we should be facing together, but circumstances prevent it. I know he's doing everything he can to get here sooner, but I wish it could be today.

Today is a big day.

A Close Call (Originally Published February 19, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:13:00.001-07:00

If I could lay out the series of the last few weeks on a big piece of paper to look through them again, I would take a very sharp pair of scissors and snip yesterday from history.

My heart was racing. My blood pressure was through the roof. My whole person was filled with fear, anxiety, and just the least little touch of hope. I thought my baby was going to make her way into the world. Almost eleven weeks early. So, that was enough to scare this mama clean out of her Guccis.

*Sidebar* Even though I really did wear my Gucci flats to the hospital yesterday - not because I was overly concerned with my appearance but because they were the first thing I found in my mad dash to get out of the house - the "student intern" who was "in charge" of my intake still asked me if I was on WIC and informed me that Medicaid would cover my hospital expenses. Sigh.

Lesson learned - She has to say those things. It's not, unfortunately, a private hospital. In the future, remember that it is not wise to search about frantically for something to throw at her head.

You'll recall from yesterday that Ella wasn't moving at all on the ultrasound. Even after following the doctor's instructions to eat and then rest for two hours counting her movements, she still didn't budge. I felt only two little fluttery kicks all afternoon, so when I went back in to get checked, they admitted me to labor and delivery. Except they don't call it that here. They call it the Birthing Center. Shudder. Makes me think of midwives and bathtubs and inscence and the banging of native drums. Good for you if that's what you're into, but I'm a girl that wants to be pumped full of drugs and awoken peacefully when it's over, thank you very much.

*Sidebar* This is a teaching hospital. Which means there will be med students there. They will be expected to take part in my care so they can learn.

Lesson Learned - It is, in all likelihood, a good thing that new people are learning to practice medicine. While I may prefer not to have a ten year old in charge of my high risk pregnancy, they are supervised by doctors that have not recently graduated from pre-school. So it may not, in the future, be appropriate to ask where the med student's mommy is and inform them that they should go to the lost and found for help becuase said mommy is likely frantic she can't find her baby.

I really thought they were going to deliver her yesterday. When I came in they were setting up an incubator outside my room, actually.

*Sidebar* I freaking panicked.

Lesson Learned - Panic does not help the situation remain calm. It makes things worse. It may, in fact, cause me to say, lash out at the "student intern" and the Doogie Houser-esque med student.

I was monitored and tested for hours, the little students were paraded about on their little field trip to labor and delivery. Someone even gave them lab coats and stethescopes to make them feel like real doctors. It was cute. Med students, indeed.

*Sidebar* In the end, it was the med students that saved my fat ass. Because they took sooooooooo looooooong to march in and out of my room and ask me the same. effing. questions. forty thousand times, Ella totally rebounded. Her heartbeat was exactly where it should have been the entire time, and she suddenly decided it was time to start moving and grooving and was able to score eight out of eight on her biophysical profile.

Lesson Learned - Even though their timidity, lack of knowledge and experience, and continually asking me if I'm a smoker (ANSWER'S STILL NO!) annoyed me to no end, it is probably up to me to now write a little note of apology to those med students for all of the, um, let's call it discourtesy I served to them. Come to think of it, I should probably send flowers.

So I'm still pregnant. I'll now be having ultrasounds more often than just once a week to check her growth, development, and overall health. I can deal with that. I feel like maybe we're on a bit of an upswing here.

Still and all, "lessons learned" notwithstanding, I am not giving birth at the freaking teaching hospital.

Carry Me (Originally Published February 18, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

He is sometimes called the Great Physician. Good thing Ella and I are His patients, because wow, do we need a miracle.

There comes a time in the midst of crisis when terror strikes at your heart so fiercely that all you can do is let go the grip you have so tightly on what you imagine is your control only to allow yourself to be swept up and carried along by the Heavenly Father, the Great Physician, and realize that He's been doing so all along. He is who He is, no matter where I am.

Good thing.

Today that moment came for me when the ultrasonographer suddenly stopped chattering about everything and nothing because she knows my situation and is trying to keep my spirits up. She became silent. And still. She checked and rechecked, and brought a second pair of eyes into the room. They didn't give me an answer when I asked what the problem was. But I'm not an idiot. Maybe I'm not a physician, but I'm not stupid. I've had several ultrasounds. I knew she was supposed to be moving. It was obvious she wasn't.

I haven't felt her move much all day, but that's not necessarily abnormal; I don't notice much of the movement because of her tiny size. She's always been extremely active on the ultrasound before. But not today.

So I had to drink an energy drink. I had to roll about on the table, maneuvering my bulky belly back and forth in front of God and everybody. I had to get up and move around. I had to lay on each side. I had to endure the ultrasonographer pressing down on my stomach with a motion similar to CPR to try to get Ella to "wake up".

Babies in the womb do have sleep patterns. She very well may have just been in a deep sleep. Her heart rate was normal and her chest was expanding and contracting as she "breathed" amniotic fluid. But she wouldn't budge. We tried for over a half an hour to coax her into moving, but all we got was one little flutter of her left leg.

That was almost two hours ago. They told me to go home, eat a big lunch and have something sugary, lie down for two hours and count her movements. They wanted more than ten in the last two hours. I've felt two. So I am to give it one more half hour and then return for another ultrasound. I don't know what's going to happen.

I do know that I am at peace. I am resting in the care of the Great Physician, I am holding on to her strong heartbeat, and I am, at least for this one moment in time, strong enough to face whatever is thrown at me this afternoon. I have gone from living week to week to living minute to minute. That's going to have to be enough.

It's Always Better to Know (Originally Published February 17, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:10:00.000-07:00

Another week has come and gone. I'm preparing for more news from the doctor tomorrow morning. Right about now is the time I can't stop myself from feeling anxious, from worrying about what I'm going to hear.

It's always better to know.

I keep repeating that to myself. I don't always find myself very convincing. It's a curious position to be in, really. Right now my only knowledge is that from last week, which is that for now, it's safer to remain pregnant. I know she hasn't grown yet, but her muscle tone is good and she's hiccuping which means she's practicing a breathing rhythm. I know that her heart beat is strong and she's moving around with enough frequency to be in the normal range. I know I have an insane amount of heart burn even though my diet consists mainly of brown rice and whole wheat pasta.

But in twelve-ish hours I could have a whole new set of information. It's difficult for me to keep track of her movement, because she's so tiny I don't feel much of it. The way we know she's moving enough is because we see her tiny little body squirming all over the place on the ultrasound. I don't know if her heartbeat has remained in the range it should have over the last week. I don't know whether she's grown, though if she has it will be nothing short of a miracle. I know I certainly haven't gotten any bigger. Not where it counts anyway. If only her growth was proportionate to the size of my ever increasing ass. My daughter and I will have a talk about that one day...

It's always better to know.

But a big part of me wants to just wrap myself in the, if not excellent then at least tolerable news from last week, and subsist on it. Irrational though it may be, I want to work from there, from a point I know I can handle, because I don't know how to do anything else. I don't know how to give birth to a baby at 29 and a half weeks. I don't know how to see her in the NICU and not be able to hold her, to fix her, to make her well. I don't know how to keep it together for the sake of a husband who is trying so hard to keep it together for me.

The other day when we were talking, we figured out that if she's born now, or later for that matter but without much growth, she'll fit snugly in his hand. She measures the distance almost exactly from James' wrist to the tip of his middle finger. I look around at these little tiny clothes I've bought and the little tiny diapers I've already stocked up on and I think, these are way to big to fit on James' hand.

There are times I feel almost like myself, almost like a real person with a normal pregnancy. But the fear quickly crowds back in. The anxiety of what may happen in the next few weeks and the guiltly feelings that I can't squelch, even though I understand intellectually that this isn't my fault. My heart is not very intellectual. I can't prevent it from wanting to take this problem on and turn it on itself. If only I'd eaten more and gained weight at the beginning of my pregnancy. If only I hadn't had the margarita before I had any clue I was expecting. If only I hadn't forgotten my prenatal vitamins those times. If those baths I took only weren't so hot. If only if only if only.

But I must work from an informed position. Whatever I find out tomorrow I will deal with accordingly. I will do whatever I can for my daughter. Tomorrow I will have more information, hopefully some good news.

But whatever it is? It's always better to know.

Annoying Crap to Fix (Originally Published February 13, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:09:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm starting to get some strength back, well kinda, it's beginning to irk me how everything important in my life right now seems to be spinning out of control. I feel like some jerk has my life on the end of a piece of fishing line, and every time I see it and try to pick it up, he snaps it away from me and I have to chase after it again. So, not a big fan of that. I have decided then, to begin to handle some things I can control. Hopefully.

ANNOYING CRAP TO FIX: Being on bed rest is not very conducive to taking care of myself...some days I feel like there's no point in even getting dressed. Not surprisingly, however, feeling like a dumpy slob who wears her pajamas all day isn't helping my attitude. So...
PLAN OF ACTION: Force myself to heft my ass into the shower and real clothes every single day. Brush my hair. Shave my legs...well, the parts I can reach anyway.

ANNOYING CRAP TO FIX: Even properly dressed and coiffed, it's difficult to find hope most days. I suspect that my doom and gloom attitude is about 90% what's going on in my life and 10% that I've been in Duluth for three and a half weeks and I've seen the sun shine once.
PLAN OF ACTION: Write a strongly worded letter to the sun. It'll go something like this:

Dear Sun,

How about putting on a jersey and hopping in for the final play? Get me? No? Not picking up what I'm putting down? Allow me to put it another way. Shine, asshole! You have one damn job, you've been doing it your whole life, so let's make it happen, huh?

Best,
Little Miss in Control

ANNOYING CRAP TO FIX: Since I do have permission to spend some time in the swimming pool, which is my favorite activity while pregnant, it would be nice to have a bathing suit with me. I don't. Why would I pack a bathing suit to visit Minnesota in the dead of this dreary winter? I now regret my decision.
PLAN OF ACTION: Buy a freaking swimsuit, dummy.

Yeah, I'm keeping it together. Heh.

Update (Originally Published February 11, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:07:00.000-07:00

In a manner of speaking anyway. There's really nothing to report; although I guess they do say "no news is good news". So I have that going for me, which is nice. There hasn't been any change from last week other than my amniotic fluid levels have risen slightly, which is very good.

She still hasn't grown. Right now she should weigh a little over three pounds and be anywhere from ten to thirteen inches long. She weighs about a pound and half and is, in their best estimation, just about seven inches in length. This puts her in the fourth percentile for her gestational age.

So I am to remain pregnant for at least another week; each week I stay pregnant is a week in our favor. The doctor would like to get me to at least 32 weeks, and anything beyond that is a bonus. Let's all pray for that bonus, shall we?

In the meantime, I do have some great pictures of her to gaze at lovingly. She's absolutely gorgeous, this daughter of mine. Looks just like me, if I may say so.

Untitled (Originally Published February 8, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:04:00.000-07:00

Now that Ella could be born any time, it is occuring to me how woefully unprepared I am. I mean, I've done my fair share of shopping, but I don't have a car seat yet. I don't have her new crib. (Josh's was an heirloom that's traditionally been used for the first born of the first born). Plus, I want her to have a special girly one; one that I will save for her when she brings her son or daughter home some day. God willing.

I don't have preemie clothes. I don't have preemie diapers. In fact, I don't even know where to buy them; I've never noticed them in any store. Her room isn't done in the new house...actually it hasn't even been started yet.

When I came to Minnesota I was planning on returning to Bozeman until May, but now I'm here to stay it occurs to me I am without all the baby stuff of Josh's I was planning on using again, like the swing. The bassinet. The breast pump. Bowie B. - who was my stuffed puppy when I was an infant.

You see, I thought I had all this time. I thought all of this stuff was going to fall into place in the next eleven weeks, instead of, say, the next eleven hours. Or eleven days. Or whenever. It's the not knowing that makes all this so difficult.

And then it occurs to me that if she's born that soon, well, I won't need to worry about a car seat for awhile, will I?

I'm All Out of Words (Originally Published February 6, 2009)

2009-07-24T21:02:00.000-07:00

My life has been turned completely upside down. My baby isn't growing. She's in the fourth percentile, actually, for her gestational age. My amniotic fluid is low. I'm in Minnesota, my husband is in Montana, and he can't move here until May. He can visit, but he can't come to stay for three more months. I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't think. I can't eat. I can't form words on this page that convey anything close to the level of despair I feel at this moment, wondering if my daughter will survive. I'm having weekly ultrasounds to monitor her progress. Soon we'll need to make a decision about whether she's safer or more able to grow inside the womb or out. My job as a mom is to fix things for my children. I can't fix this. I'm at a loss. It's to painful right now, even to write about it. I'm not going to write about it.

Twit City (Originally Published February 4, 2009)

2009-07-24T20:57:00.001-07:00

The short version of the story is this: I came to Minnesota almost three weeks ago; you'll recall that James and I bought a house here and plan to move in May. My mom recently moved here and I came to stay with her after some shit hit the family fan, but then I had to extend the trip. So my doctor in Montana told me to establish care with a doctor here on account of being, you know, high freaking risk and everything. So I did. And my blood pressure is off the charts. So it really isn't safe to fly. It looks like I could be staying until James comes this spring, and he'll have to make a few trips out here in the meantime to see Josh and me. I'm monitoring my blood pressure daily to see where it goes, but so far things don't look all that promising.

That, however, is not my chief complaint today. Today? I must needs get off my chest how much I cannot stand the doctor I saw here in Duluth. Maybe I'm picky, just the least little touch hard to please, and perhaps I was spoiled by the best. doctor. ever. in Bozeman. But this whole office? Is invited to kiss my rounded derriere.

My visit went something like this:

8:30am - Show up fifteen minutes early to fill out new patient paperwork. Sit in waiting room.
8:45am - Try to find magazine to read so people won't talk to me. Continue to sit in waiting room.
9:05am - Move to different chair because idiot on left is a Chatty Kathy, and is discussing her hemmorhoids. Wonder why still sitting in waiting room.
9:20am - Mentally calculate the cost of parking and wonder at the new experience of actually having to pay for a place to leave my vehicle. Notify receptionist of continued presence in waiting room.
9:35am - Finally get called back. Attempt to reassure myself that the little 80 pound twit in scrubs can't possibly be my nurse; must be "take your daughter to work" day.
9:36am - Sit in puny chair while Twit asks exact same health history questions just answered on my new patient intake form. Resist snapping at her to give the whole "reading the chart" thing-y a go.
9:40am - Time to get on the scale, when Twit fires at me with this little gem, "Um, I'm going to need to ask you to get on the scale backwards so you can't see the number."
To which I respond with raised eyebrows, "Pardon? Must have heard that wrong."
"Oh no," Twit says, "you heard me correctly. It's our policy that overweight patients stand backwards on the scale so the number doesn't put them at higher risk for depression. You can't believe how your hormones fluctuate during pregnacy, so it's just safer this way. And it's our policy. Perhaps no one informed you of our policy?"

[Crickets]

The silent fury radiating from my person is, at this point, palpable. It wasn't long before my tongue untied and I was able to shoot back with, "You won't be able to believe how my hormones can make my FAT FOOT fluctuate it's chunky way into your SPINDLY ASS. I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Princess Pea. I own a both a mirror and a scale. I know what I look like and I know what I weigh. I also know I'm seven months pregnant. If anything? I have a much higher opinion of myself than reality warrants. So you may take your policy? Spread some butter on it and feed it to me. Because this fat girl is hungry, and supremely uninterested in your "depression risk" prevention. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Missy."

9:52am - Step off the scale - facing forward - and proceed to exam room. Anticipating another long wait, pass time by devising creative ways Twit could, say, get hit by a bus or choke on her half an apple and string cheese she eats every other day.

10:09am - New nurse comes in and says she's taking over. Hate this one only slightly less.
10:11am - Learn blood pressure is 166/110; the highest so far this pregnancy. Speculate that it is due perhaps, at least in part, to the antics of Twit.
10:13am - Go through entire health history for the third time, unable (unwilling?) to mask impatience.
10:25am - Eureka! Conclude that I must be on Candid Camera or one of those type of deals, because New Nurse that I Hate Slightly Less (don't have a nick name for her; she wasn't worth the effort) just informed me that in future visits (ha! Future visits! What a riot!) it is the office policy that I request a sample cup from the receptionist, which I am then required to, ah, fill at which point I am then expected to carry back out in the waiting room and hold in my lap until I am called back by the nurse.

Heh. If I can't even say the word? There's no way I'm holding it in my lap. In freaking ass public, no less. This woman? Out of her mind.

10:27am - End visit prematurely and resolve to find new doctor whose staff hasn't a.) recently moved from Bitch Street in Twitville or b.) recently escaped from the state hospital for the criminally insane.