Birth Story

Tomorrow Judah will be two weeks old, and so I thought it was time that I share his birth story.

On Tuesday, November 15, I went in for a regular OB appointment. As I walked in, I got the usual ribbing about the fact that I was still pregnant. During the appointment, the nurse practitioner brought up the "I" word -- she asked if we had discussed the possibility of induction. I laughed and said that we had talked about it since the baby was measuring big, but that conversation had been based on a very hypothetical possibility since no one had expected me to go full term. After some discussion, we decided that I would be induced on Friday, a perfect day because my favorite doctor would be on call, and it was my PopPop's birthday. (If my PopPop were still alive and Judah had been born on the 19th, I would have totally been the favorite grandchild!)

I started making plans for the two remaining days I had before the baby would come, but I had this niggling idea in the back of my head that God had different plans for me.

I was right.

The next day I woke up feeling fine, but at 10:00 AM I started to feel out-of-sorts. I felt chilled and achy and lethargic. I took my temperature, and it was normal. But as the day progressed, I just felt worse and worse. I took my temperature again in the evening, and it was 100.9, which warrants a trip to L&D to make sure everything is okay with the baby. When I got there, we were checked in and then a nurse came in to hook me up to the monitors. We were delighted to discover that the nurse assigned to us that evening was Rhonda, the nurse who had been present when Isobel was born. Then the doctor came in. She told me that because of my fever, the fear was that I might have developed chorioamnionitis, an infection of the amniotic sac or fluid. The only way to determine for sure if I had developed this infection would be to do an amniocentesis, but since I was so far along, she recommended that I just be induced that evening. Since we had lost Isobel partially due to infection, we agreed.

Rhonda traded duties with another nurse, so she could be present at the birth. Since she had been with us when our daughter died, we were delighted that she would be present at the birth of our child who would live.

They started the pitocin and some antibiotics at 10:00 PM. I had heard horror stories about labor with pitocin, and I was still feeling crummy, so I assumed that I would want an epidural sooner rather than later. However, I was excited to discover that when I had the opportunity to move around a little bit, labor wasn't too bad. I decided to see how long I could go without an epidural, since I was enjoying being able to get out of bed. At 3:00 AM, the doctor came in and broke my water. She had a hard time getting the membranes to rupture. We laughed and I said, "Oh, the irony!" But afterward we wondered if the strength of my amniotic sac was what ultimately saved Judah's life back in June when we thought we were going to lose him.

After my water broke, labor was a whole different story. I thought I might die. I sent Rhonda to get the "epidural man," and the time we waited for him felt like an eternity. After the epidural was finally in place, I said to Rhonda, "I think I'm going to take a nap now." She examined me and said, "Nope, you're going to have a baby!"

Right before I started pushing, Judah's heart started to show some decelerations with every contraction. They put me on oxygen and became very intentional about coaching me to deliver him as quickly as possible. When he came out, the cord was wrapped once around his neck, but the doctor removed it easily and he started crying right away.

They grabbed him and placed him on my stomach, and Scott said, "It's another little boy!" I had a moment of what? I had been so certain that he was a girl! But let me be very clear, I am by no means disappointed! I love being a mommy to two little boys. But I was surprised.

Because of the heart decelerations and the possible chorioamnionitis, they took him away from me immediately and examined him to make sure all was well. Once they determined that he was healthy, they gave him back to me and let me and Scott have some time alone with him. I nursed him in the delivery room, and he latched on right away -- one of the ways he has already proven himself to be very different from his brother. Caden had no interest in eating until he was about three weeks old and couldn't have cared less about nursing until he was six weeks old. Judah is not quite two weeks, and he already weighs more than he did when he was born. Eating is his favorite thing!

We've been trying to settle into a routine at home. It's been great having Scott home on paternity leave -- I'm not quite sure how I'm going to do it without him! He's gone tonight, and I caved and put in a tractor movie for Caden. Those of you who know me know that I don't put the TV on for Caden unless I absolutely must. This was not an "absolutely must" situation -- I just was tired of saying no when he asked.

Caden has been showing some mild signs of jealousy, but on the whole, he's been an amazing big brother. We were getting ready to head out the door for the pediatrician last week, and Judah was in the crib, crying. I heard Caden go up to him and say, "It's okay, Judah, it's okay." I walked in, and he was holding Judah's hand through the bars of the crib. Judah had stopped crying and was watching his brother.

Tonight I sat on the recliner and held both of my boys on my lap, and my arms felt joyfully full. I feel so blessed and so grateful. It will be a learning curve to figure out how to do everything with two boys, but it is a lesson I will be glad to learn.

An Amazing Father

On the day that Judah was born I probably wept, not just teared up, more than any other day in my life. First, as most of you know, Judah's presence revealed the favor of God in resealing the amniotic sac after it ruptured at 14 weeks - nearly unheard of. Twenty five weeks of fear later, Judah was in our arms. My shoulders shuddered in gratitude.

I had just hung up the phone with Doug, the third in my family I called after Judah's 4am birth. And I was done. I needn't call 303-xxx-5000, Devon's number before she died after fighting breast cancer. I go more than days thinking about her and often think I'm cold hearted, but at that moment when I couldn't share the birth of my son with her, her memory was right there. She is my sister and was a companion in faith who understood some things very profoundly, and the spiritual joys in my life was one of those. Her absence on the other end of an uninitiated call caught me off guard.

A moment or two later, Isobel's absence was felt, a realization Heather and I shared in the moment with words. We'd already had more time with Judah than with Isobel. I began shaking my head from side to side.

I don't recall when in the hours after Judah's nativity that the next wave hit, a simple one: I have an amazing wife. Heather, we've experienced the weight of glory and the crushing

void of loss, and though I walk imperfectly with you, the penultimate lagrimas arrived with the realization that we share more than progeny, but one union. Five years after "I will" Judah's arrival that slipped a bit more into my soul. Oh. Oh my.

Some twenty five weeks ago, in the hours following the ruptured membranes that were to keep Judah safe, I was pouring out my overwhelming fears to God: "How can I help carry Heather though the death of a second child? How can I tax the brothers and sisters of St. Matthias with one more grief in my life? How can I endure the moments when, once more, my child slips from me?" Into these imprecise cries the Lord whispered to me an impression: peace. Not in words, but in as much clarity, God urged me to own that he wouldn't allow, this time, a deadly outcome. In my arms was Judah, not a wish, not a hope, not a promise awaiting fulfillment, but the very substance of the Lord's word to me. Judah is more than the miraculous act of God, but the possession of the rich food that is God's faithfulness. Here I wept and ended my weeping.

Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good! Psalm 34.8

He is an Amazing Father.

What's In a Name?

Names are really important to me and Scott, and as a result it has sometimes been difficult to come to a consensus about what we should name our children. But each of our three children has been given a name that is significant to both of us.

Isobel means "consecrated to God." We chose that name before we knew that she was a girl, or that we would be allowed such a short time with her. We had chosen three possible middle names, and when we learned that she would likely not survive, we settled on Grace. We knew that we would need a lot of God's grace to survive what was to come.

We had chosen Caden's name when I was pregnant with Isobel as well. We had originally chosen the name Caedmon. Caedmon was a British poet who wrote praise poetry to the Lord. We eventually truncated it to Caden. When I was pregnant a second time, it seemed appropriate that if we were to have a little boy, he should be called Caden, because the name means "warrior." We were so frightened about the possibility of loss the second time around that it was good to think that we had a little warrior in there. We chose the middle name Isaac because Isaac was the son God promised to Abraham and Sarah when they thought there was no hope that they would ever experience the joy of having a child.

Judah's middle name, Kessler, is a name from Scott's family. Scott was very close to his maternal grandfather, and that was his middle name. The Kesslers were a family who took in Scott's great-grandmother when her stepfather was unkind to her, and so she honored them by naming her son after them. The name Judah was one I liked the sound of, and then when God rescued us and saved his life, it seemed particularly appropriate, because Judah means "Praise the Lord." We are so humbled by the gift of his life, and we are so thankful he is here and well, there is nothing really to say except, Praise the Lord!

It's a ...

BOY!

We are pleased to introduce

Judah Kessler Campbell

11/18/10

8 Pounds 14 Ounces

21 Inches

"The time has come," the walrus said ...

My mom and I have been getting a lot of phone calls and emails asking whether or not the baby is here yet.

Nope.

Not yet.

But very, very soon.

I had an OB appointment today, and things are definitely progressing in the right direction. I will either go into labor in the next couple of days, or I will be induced.

So many people are saying to me, "Oh, I bet you're ready to have this baby." Or, "I'm sure you're sick of being pregnant." And while my back hurts like nobody's business and is screaming at me right now, urging me to say, "Yes! Let's have this baby," the truth is that I am really enjoying just being pregnant. No emergencies. No fear of preterm delivery. No restrictions. Just normal. Sure, I'm uncomfortable and tired, but that's because yesterday I did the grocery shopping.

Let me repeat that. Yesterday I did the grocery shopping. 

When my membranes ruptured on June 1, I didn't expect to be able to do anything throughout the rest of this pregnancy. I thought I'd have the cerclage removed, get taken off of bedrest, and I'd have the baby. I didn't expect this little reprieve that I have gotten. As a result, something like grocery shopping that seemed like a chore six months ago, made me feel like a real human being again.

I am anxious to meet this little darling, and I'm not at all sorry it will be happening in the next four days, but I feel like this time I've had has been a blessing.

I mean, goodness gracious, five months ago we were just trying to make it to 24 weeks -- that was our goal. But on Thursday I will be 39 weeks pregnant. That's almost nine months. What a miracle! I never expected this. I never expected to be this pregnant in my life. I am so thankful.

And I will be so thankful to meet my baby this week.

The snow is here!

When I was pregnant with Isobel, I was due in February, and I was terrified that I would go into labor in the middle of a blizzard. Everyone to whom I confessed this fear was very encouraging. Two across-the-street neighbors, both experienced mothers and homebirth proponents, told me that if worse came to worst, they could help me deliver the baby. Scott just rolled his eyes at me and told me that he could get us through any kind of weather to the hospital just fine. And one of the teenagers I worked with at the time told me that the hospital could send a helicopter for me. When I asked where the helicopter was supposed to land in the Glen, she shrugged and said, "Oh, you can just shimmy up the rope ladder -- no problem." (SB, you know who you are!)

Despite these fears, as you know, Isobel was born in October. And though on that day it seemed as if the weather should be grim and drear, when we left the hospital without her, the sun was shining.

Caden was due in October, but born in September, and again, the weather was fantastic. No blizzards, no slippery roads, no whiteout conditions. Just lovely sunshine.

With this little one, I have been anxiously watching weather.com for the forecast for the last thirty days. And each time I saw that the temperature was not supposed to dip below 55 or so, I would breathe a sigh of relief.

But it seems as though my luck has run out.

The snow has come.

Don't get me wrong, I love the snow. Or, actually, I love being inside with a warm blanket, a cup of tea, and a book while it snows outside. But really, I don't mind it when it's cold. And to be completely honest, I'm no longer too worried about the possibility of delivering a baby at home during a blizzard. Do I want that to happen? No. Is it likely to happen? No. And I've spoken to the nurse practitioner at my OB's office about the ramifications for the baby due to my GBS if that were to happen. The answer is that, while it wouldn't be ideal, there's no guarantee that the baby would be infected. I would just need to tell the paramedics right away.

So, why am I so concerned about the weather then? Well, it's a very shallow reason, but it's my reason nonetheless.

I don't have appropriate clothing for the weather.

I have never been hugely pregnant when the weather has been cold, so I have very few warm maternity clothes. And when we learned that we shouldn't have any more biological children, I made the choice not to purchase any more maternity clothes. It just seemed silly to invest in something when I would only wear it for a few months. Also, since I was on bedrest, why bother? Who would see it anyway? Plus, with the weather being as nice as it has been, I didn't think I needed to buy any winter clothes.

But here I am, almost 38 weeks pregnant (!), with very little left to wear. And with my swollen feet, the only shoes that will fit are flip flops or my ever-so-attractive Crocs. I bought one more long-sleeved t-shirt yesterday, and I will likely wear it every day until delivery so I get my money's worth out of it. (Don't worry, I'll wash it in between.)

You all must have been praying really hard, because I'm still pregnant. It's absolutely incredible, and I am so thankful for every day I get to experience as a "normal" pregnant woman. I took Caden to the pediatrician on Monday, and I felt like a real mom again. My strength has been building up reasonably quickly so I can now wash an entire sink full of dishes without getting shaky. (Ahh ... the simple pleasures.) I've been loving this time with Caden. We've gone to the library for storytime and to the playground. And it's been great.

But now that the snow is here, I'm ready for this baby to come. I'm anxious to meet him/her and learn what his/her name is. I'm looking forward to the challenge of parenting two little ones. I'm looking forward to moving forward.

I'm ready. Bring it on.

I Was Wrong

Okay, so I have to confess ... I was wrong.

About a lot of things.

Despite the fact that one of my doctors kept reminding us that, "We've changed your physiology yet again -- you can't expect things to be the same as they were last time, we expected this baby to arrive with the same timing as Caden. When my cerclage came out on Monday and I was released from bedrest, we thought I'd go into labor right away.

Um ... no. It's almost a week later, and I'm still pregnant. In fact, I'm 37 weeks, which is considered full-term. Wow. This will be my only child who was not a preemie.

We thought that this baby was measuring so big that there was no way the doctors would let us go past next Friday -- that I would be induced very soon.

Um ... no. In fact, it appears as though this baby's apparently prodigious growth has slowed down a little bit. At our last growth ultrasound, the baby was measuring just sightly above average. As a result, I doubt I will be induced.

I thought that I'd be able to come off of five months of bedrest and just resume my old life with no difficulty.

Um ... no. On my second day after being released from bedrest, my mom and I went to Target to buy some California Baby soap and lotion for the new baby. We walked in, went directly to the baby soap, looked briefly at the maternity clothes, bought Caden a new tractor shirt (he had outgrown his old one), and checked out. That's all. And I was completely exhausted by that thirty minute outing.

While I've been loving having no doctor-imposed restrictions, I've been very frustrated by my physical limitations. I really would like to walk Caden to the playground just down the street from our house, but there's a (very) slight hill, and honestly I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to make it back up the hill. I'm in that bad of physical condition. (Also, any of you who are friends with Scott on Facebook might have read that he saw a mountain lion just down the road from the playground. I'm a little bit afraid that Caden would look like a delicious appetizer and I would look like a very slowly-moving main course, so I've been hesitant to venture down there on my own.) Readjusting my idea of what my life should look like now has been a struggle for me. I want to be able to do everything, but even standing long enough to wash the dishes leaves me tired and shaking.

I've had to reconsider a lot of my old assumptions with this portion of the pregnancy. I have never been pregnant this long, and I have no idea how much longer I will be pregnant. I've become one of those stories that all bedrest mamas hear about: A woman was on bedrest for umpteen weeks, while the doctors desperately tried to keep her pregnant for as long as possible, and when she was released from bedrest, she didn't go into labor.

We have no doubt that my body doesn't want to work the way it should -- I require medical intervention to stay pregnant long enough to have a healthy baby. That is not in doubt. So, for me to have stayed pregnant so long is a bit of a surprise. We do have some physiological explanations for this -- the development of scar tissue is one possibility. But I think I know the real reason.

God is cool.

I hope to have a baby very soon, but if I don't I'll just try to take each day at a time and appreciate the miracle this pregnancy has been.

Uncharted Territory

Today I am 36 weeks and 5 days pregnant.

This is officially the longest I have ever been pregnant.

When I was pregnant with Caden, the doctor removed my cerclage and then warned me that I was unlikely to go into labor right away. (Statistically, only 11% of women who have had a cerclage go into labor within the first 48 hours of having a cerclage removed.) Our doctor thought that I might need to be induced in a couple of weeks because he was measuring big. Lo and behold, 15 hours later I was having regular, painful contractions. Less than 48 hours after my cerclage was removed, Caden was in my arms.

When my doctor removed my cerclage yesterday, she again warned me that it was unlikely that I would go into labor right away. And this time, it appears to be true. Scott and I thought it would probably happen pretty quickly, because I was having painful contractions on the way to the hospital. But since then, these contractions have slowed down considerably and show no signs of becoming regular yet.

Don't get me wrong, it is very clear to us that I needed a cerclage in order to stay pregnant as long as I have. As soon as it was removed, I instantly dilated. But I guess my body has decided this whole being pregnant thing is okay after all.

I don't know what to expect anymore. Before we left for the hospital, Scott picked up the house, we packed a bag for the hospital, we packed a bag for Caden and sent it with my mom to her house, my mom took the dogs ... we were all ready for an imminent delivery. But now that it appears this baby is going to wait a little while, I'm not sure what to do next .... Sure, I still have a ton of stuff on my to-do list that needs to be addressed, but I was kind of in the mindset that it would have to wait until the baby came.

I'm not complaining by any means. This little respite has already been fantastic. Yesterday, I was able to pick up Caden for the first time in months. He laughed and asked me, "What doin', Mommy?"

As far as I'm concerned, I will do my best to enjoy the days (or weeks?) I have left before this baby comes. I'll take my son to the park. I'll organize my house. And I'll go on walks. And I'll just enjoy the sensation of being a (relatively) normal pregnant woman for as long as it lasts.

(Nearly) Wordless Thursday

I know it doesn't quite make sense

as a catchy blog post title,

but

all I can say is,

today I am 36 weeks pregnant --

wow.

Just ...

wow.

I am humbled.

Above and Beyond Expectations

This Tuesday began a marathon of doctor's appointments that won't end until the baby is born: Tuesday--orthopedist and obstetrician, Thursday--obstetrician, Monday--pediatrician, Tuesday--obstetrician, Wednesday--cardiologist .... You get the gist.

And, you know what?

I am thrilled beyond belief.

I wouldn't be having all these appointments if I weren't as far along as I am now.

The doctors say we have exceeded all expectations. I am 35 weeks pregnant today. Only one more week and, although the baby would still be considered a preemie, it would be safe to deliver. Caden was born at 36 weeks, and his only preemie issue was that he had no interest in eating. (Those of you who know my son know this is no longer a problem for him!)

Even though everything has been going so incredibly well, I think it never really seemed possible we would get here. I've had frequent moments of doubt where I cried out to God, "I believe--help my unbelief!" Sure, once the doctors confirmed that the membranes had resealed and the fluid levels looked fine, there seemed to be no reason to doubt that we would see October come and go before this baby made his or her grand entrance. But, still, I couldn't see that far ahead, I've been engaged in a different kind of marathon up to this point: I've been putting one foot in front of the other, just trying to get a little bit further on the journey. But now I can see the finish line. It's closer than I expected--I can finally see that it's possible to get there.

I don't know why God chooses to answer some prayers and not others. I don't know why some babies live and some babies die. I do know that the fact that this baby is still alive has nothing to do with me. It has nothing to do with how good I am (because I'm not), and God certainly doesn't love me any more than the women whose membranes break and don't reseal. It's not about me. I also know that God doesn't love me any less than the women whose babies are born far too early, but survive. I don't know or understand God's reasons. But what I do know is this: The healing and protection of this baby is a gift from God. I do not take that for granted.

I am uncomfortable and irritable and just plain big right now, but I wouldn't trade any of that for anything. When this baby is born, I will hold him/her up to the world and say, "Look what God has done."

Miracles

I received a phone call on Monday afternoon from my ob's office, letting me know that my titers are currently 1:2! Now, our understanding has always been that once the titers went up, they wouldn't go down -- but mine have apparently gone from 1:4-1:2. At my next appointment we'll be sure to ask my doctor to clarify how this happened.

Regardless of the details, we are beyond thankful for this news. This means no inter-uterine blood transfusion! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your prayers. We have been blessed with so many miracles during this pregnancy: the resealing of the membranes, the stability of the titers, the lack of infection, that fact that tomorrow I will be 34 weeks pregnant.

My handicapped parking permit expires today. When I got it, I couldn't comprehend this day -- it just seemed so far away. Only 20 more days until I'm released from bedrest. I will wait, and I can wait -- I'm just so excited for the day to get here. I can't wait to meet our little miracle and introduce him/her to all of you.

Blessings to you all.

Well ... that explains a lot!

The past couple of weeks I have been feeling extra uncomfortable and just plain big. I didn't remember my belly being much larger than this with Caden and wondered how much more I would be growing with this baby.

When we went in for my 33-week appointment on Thursday, the tech kept measuring the baby over and over and kind of muttering to herself in a thick Russian accent. Finally, she looked at me and asked, "How has this baby been measuring?" I answered, "Big!" And she sighed with relief and said, "Good. I didn't want to scare you when I told you he or she is currently measuring six pounds."

Wow.

Six pounds.

Caden was born at 36 weeks and weighed six pounds and fourteen ounces.

Even if I don't go into spontaneous labor after cerclage removal, there's no way the doctor will let me continue to full term -- I could end up with a ten-pound baby!

There is no reason to think that this is anything but a big, healthy baby -- I don't have gestational diabetes, and all the other indications are good that this baby is doing very well.  He or she has fat cheeks (like his/her siblings), and on the ultrasound I got to watch him/her sucking.

When I consider that in June we were facing the prospect of another one-pound preemie, my heart is overwhelmed with thanksgiving. Now, if our baby is a preemie, he or she will weigh more than six pounds. To me, that feels like a gift. 33 weeks is a gift. When we were at labor and delivery on Monday for my contractions, I was frustrated, but not frightened. To be here instead of facing delivery at 24 weeks is such an amazing miracle.

Many of you have asked about my titers. I had my recent draw on Thursday, so I should hear about my numbers on Monday. I'll post here and let you all know.

Blessings.

Okay, God, I'm Listening ...

I've been working really hard on being obedient to God as of late. Sometimes when I'm praying, I hear the small, quiet whisper that could really only belong to the Lord, and two things happen:

1. I don't want to do it. Whether it be from pride, or convenience, or whatever ... I don't want to do it. Even if it's the simplest thing ever.

2. I find a way to convince myself it's not God's voice.

I'm a pretty rebellious person, quite frankly. Just ask my parents and my husband. But I want to be obedient to God, and I've been working on really listening and really obeying. Last week, I thought I heard God telling me to do something, and per usual I hesitated. It was small and seemingly insignificant, and truthfully it was to my benefit, but I still didn't want to do it. It just seemed weird. But after some back and forth waffling, I finally said, "Okay, God, if you say so," and I did it. Nothing profound happened with the action itself. I wasn't rewarded -- I didn't win the lottery or run into a friend I hadn't seen in years or anything else like that. Being obedient didn't change anything visible in my life. But my relationship with God ... that's a different story. You see, that one small bit of obedience opened a path between me and God that hadn't been there for a long time, and my prayer time that day reflected that. I could feel God with me in a very profound way, simply because I chose to trust and obey.

Now, what happened yesterday unfolded in a very different way. I was praying when I had a strong sense from God that I was supposed to go to Labor and Delivery triage. So I quietly said, "Yes, Lord, I've learned my lesson, and I know to obey you no matter what," right? Nope. I was back to square one apparently, because what I said was, "What!?! I feel fine, and you want me to tell Scott he has to stop what he's doing to take me to the hospital? Plus I have work to do! What would I tell my doctor? What would I tell the triage nurse? This is not you, God. This is just my paranoid inner voice. If you want me to go to the hospital, you need to give me a pretty definitive sign, okay?"

How's that for obedient?

But throughout the day I began to have frequent -- albeit painless -- contractions. I was following my doctor's instructions for my modified bedrest and sitting down most of the day, but I still couldn't get my body to settle down, and some of the contractions were so intense they were making me feel breathless. Eventually Scott encouraged me to time a few of them, and when we discovered that I was having up to six contractions an hour, I called my doctor, and sure enough, she sent me to triage.

In Labor and Delivery, they hooked me up to a monitor, and we quickly discovered I was having regular contractions. Fortunately, these contractions had not caused me to dilate, so they could still safely stop them. After four hours in the hospital, two shots of terbutaline, one dose of procardia, and an IV of fluids, everything settled down. I was sent home with instructions to take it easy and come back if anything seemed wrong.

Now, I might have gone in to triage even if I hadn't heard God speak, but I doubt it. I wasn't in any pain and am no stranger to painless contractions. I know that they affect my body in ways I can't afford right now, but I think I might have still brushed them off as nothing. What's worse, I was willing to brush off God when He told me there was something going on that might threaten my baby. And I listened to the doctor before I listened to Him. Holy cow!

There's a lot of good news in this story: My regular contractions were stopped, and I've only had two since I got home. I did not need to be hospitalized. My cervix wasn't affected by this contracting. We got to hear the baby on the monitor and learned that he/she is very healthy. But most importantly, God didn't abandon me because of my hard-headedness. He reached out to me and gently said, "Go." I am so thankful for this. I'm glad to know that no matter how many times I mess up, He will take me back.

I will never be the completely obedient daughter God desires for me to be -- I'm too self-centered and stubborn, and I'll never quite get it right. I know this. But I am going to do my darndest to listen to that still, small voice of God and to put aside my own nonsense and obey.

Mommy's Nose ... Daddy's Toes

I woke at 2:59 a.m. today, and I stayed awake until 3:20 -- just as I have every October 2 for three years.

You see, my  little girl was born just before 3 a.m. on October 2, 2007, and she lived for twenty minutes before she slipped from this world into Jesus' arms.

Two days before she was born, I had some cramping and bleeding, which my obstetrician waved off as "likely to be nothing." The symptoms continued, however, and I was sent to labor and delivery "just in case." I felt silly -- like I probably was worried for nothing -- but when the triage nurse examined me, the look on her face told me immediately that something terrible was happening. In fact, I had gone into labor, and my amniotic sac was bulging. I was put in a hospital bed with the head tilted downward, and I was wheeled into a room where I was told that they would try to keep me pregnant as long as they could. I was given a drug to stop my labor, received a steroid injection to assist in maturing our baby's lungs, and was taken to the operating room for an emergency cerclage. The anesthesiologist tried multiple times to get a spinal block in before ultimately deciding to put me under. I woke shortly thereafter to see the doctor's face hovering above mine, looking grim. She informed me that my water had already broken and I had developed an infection that was threatening my life as well as my baby's. I asked her if my baby would die, and she said, "Probably."

Probably.

The most painful word I have ever heard.

I was wheeled back into my room where I was in hysterics until the effects of the anesthesia finally wore off. Then I was simply broken.

We had originally planned to be surprised by the gender of our baby, but we asked to be told before the baby was born so that we could pray for her by name. When they told us we were going to have a little girl, we smiled through our tears at one another and said, "Isobel."

The next several hours we began to plan for what was to happen next. We met with the NICU doctors who told us the odds for Isobel's survival at such an early gestation. They were not good. But my infection was getting steadily worse. The doctors had warned us about the possibility of the infection going septic, and Scott was becoming frightened. We prayed that when she arrived we would know what to do -- fight to save her, or let her go. We weren't worried about the possibility of disability -- we just didn't want them to hook her up to tubes and machines if there would be no chance of survival.

They induced my labor. Then we waited. Finally, just before 3 a.m., I began to feel pressure, and I called for a nurse. She examined me and said, "Let's have a baby," and called my doctor and the NICU staff. As we waited for everyone to arrive, I began to shake. It only took a few pushes, and Isobel entered this world.

As soon as I saw her, I began to cry. She was so tiny ... I just knew... But they whisked her away and began to examine her. It only took a few moments, and the NICU doctor pulled Scott aside and told him that Isobel's heart wasn't strong enough to survive. I saw Scott take a deep breath, steady himself, and say, "Give her to Heather." They wrapped a hot water bottle in a blanket, placed her on that, then wrapped her up and put her in my arms.

And then -- miraculously -- time slowed down. As we reflect on that horrible/wonderful night, we are amazed that we we able to fit so much into a life that was just twenty minutes long. It didn't feel rushed -- it felt like grace.

I touched her chest, and she moved at the feel of my hand. I marveled at her tiny, perfect face. I watched her little body struggle to breathe. Scott and I were given time alone with her, and we sang to her I'll Fly Away and Amazing Grace. A dear friend of Scott's had come to pray for us and he sat in the waiting room until Isobel's birth so he could baptize her. Our family members who were able to be there came into the room and witnessed her consecration into God's family. And they were there as she silently slipped away. Scott put his fingers on her tiny chest and announced that she was gone.

When our family, friends, and hospital staff left us alone again, Scott unwrapped her and we looked at her tiny fingers and toes, which were long like Scott's. We kissed her darling button nose, and we cried. A nurse came to see if we were ready for them to take her away, and we said no. When the nurse came a second time, we gave Isobel to her -- we were afraid if we didn't we wouldn't ever be able to say goodbye.

I've regretted that for three years now.

I wish I'd held her all night.

But a few days ago as I sat remembering and regretting, I realized that if I'd held her all night, it still wouldn't have been enough. If I'd held her through the next day -- or the next week -- it wouldn't have been enough. Nothing short of a lifetime would have sufficed.

Three years later, I set my alarm clock for 2:59 a.m., but I woke before it went off. I woke Scott, and we sat awake in the night remembering the twenty precious minutes we shared with our little girl. She was tiny, and the time was short -- but the impact on me was huge.

In some ways, I am worse for the wear. At the time, people told me, "Oh, you'll get over it." or "You'll have more children." The first is absolutely untrue. I don't think anyone who has lost a child -- or the hope of a child -- ever gets over it, whether it be due to miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal death, illness, accident, or infertility. I may be speaking for myself, but I've found that although each day gets a little easier, it never completely goes away. Instead, what happens is we put one foot in front of the other, and we find a new way to live our lives without our children in them, but the loss is always there. Two days ago I was watching TV, and a commercial came on that featured twins who had each been one pound at birth. They looked as if they were currently about five pounds. I burst into unexpected tears. Why didn't my one-pound baby survive? That story is not the only time I've been surprised by grief. Sometimes it's the little girl I see who has wispy brown hair and dark brown eyes, or it's the advert for the father/daughter dance. I'm more brittle these days -- more prone to shatter at the slightest impact.

The second happened to be true for us -- we did have another child -- but that doesn't negate the pain of the loss we experienced. There are times I look at my family at dinner and it becomes painfully apparent that there should be one more chair pulled up to the table. And I have had moments where I'm snuggling my amazing, darling son on my right arm, and I realize that my left arm feels achingly empty. One is so much less than two.

But in some ways, I've also changed for (what I think is) the better. I discovered in those twenty minutes with Isobel exactly what it means to completely love someone. I know I need to cherish the time I have with my loved ones -- in my best moments I know exactly what a gift they are to me. I learned that it's impossible to rely upon my own strength -- that all I can do is my best and then I need to hand things over to the Lord. I know what it feels like to put my head on my heavenly Daddy's chest and weep. And though it seems counterintuitive, I've also learned that I need to trust Him -- after all, He's the one holding my baby. I don't always do it perfectly (as I've mentioned before), and it's often more difficult to trust Him now, but I can more clearly see the need for me to give myself over to Him.

Now, let me be perfectly clear: I do not believe that God caused Isobel to die in order to teach me some sort of lesson or to bring about some sort of greater good. God chose not to save her, but that is different from Him killing her. I don't believe there was some sort of higher reason for her death, either. The reason she died was because there is sin in the world. Full stop. But, even though God didn't cause her death, He can work through her death to bring beauty from the ashes. And my call is to listen to God in order to hear exactly where He would bring good from this pain -- that's what I need to do to bring honor to God and meaning to Isobel's life. I haven't heard yet what He wants me to do -- what beauty He plans, so in the meantime I'll do my best to put aside my contrary and rebellious nature, be obedient, and wait.

Scott and I feel very protective of our little girl. After she was born we were able to get two pictures of her while she was still alive. In the pictures she is very tiny and clearly very ill. We have them hanging in our bedroom so that we can control who sees them -- not because was are ashamed, but because she is so precious to us. I haven't ever posted them online, but I'm going to do so today. The reason is that I want you to see my little Isobel, to know her for the tiny, perfect person she was. She was real. She made a huge impact on my heart and in my life.

Dear Jesus, on my sweet baby girl's third birthday, please hold her, give her a kiss, and tell her how much we still love her and miss her. Amen.

In Which I Speak of Titers

Last week, I went in for a regular ob check and ultrasound, and while I was there I had my blood drawn for my monthly antibody test. Tuesday I received a call from the lab informing me that unfortunately they had sent my blood in for a jak test rather than a jka test and I needed to come back in. Though I was slightly miffed, a dear friend reminded me that this was a very easy mistake to have made, so I sucked it up and my mom drove me back to the hospital on Thursday.

Yesterday I received a phone call from my obstetrician's office informing me that my antibody titers had gone up to 1:4.

This is still in the safe zone, and the baby won't have life-threatening complications from the current level of antibodies in my blood. However, every time the titers go up, they double, so the next place they could go to is 1:8.

1:8 is in the danger zone.

Now, the titers may never go there. I may stay at 1:4 until November and there will be nothing to worry about except for some jaundice to deal with when the baby is born.


If the numbers do go up next month, from what I understand, we'll be looking at two possibilities:

1. The baby will receive blood transfusions while he or she is still in utero.

2. If I am far enough along, it will be safer to deliver the baby and treat him or her outside of me.


Since we have treatment options (and my titers aren't there yet), I'm not panicking. However, this does raise our anxiety level a small notch. Please pray for this little one. Pray that the titers remain at 1:4 for the rest of the pregnancy and that we make it safely to 36 weeks or beyond.

Thank you so very much for lifting us up--we would not be this far without our prayer warriors.   

Two years ago...

Two years ago today, I woke in the wee small hours of the morning with some painful cramping. I'd had my cerclage removed the day before and was taken off of bedrest. However, I'd been cautioned that it's rare to go into spontaneous labor immediately following a cerclage removal, so I brushed off the cramps as nothing more than Braxton-Hicks.

Throughout the day I continued to have these cramps, and though they became more frequent and stronger with each passing hour, I vehemently insisted to anyone who dared suggest otherwise that I was not having contractions! Scott calmly stated that even though these were not contractions and I was clearly not in labor, he was going to stay home from work--just in case. I stomped around all day, franticly and obsessively cleaning and organizing the house. Every time a cramp hit me, I would double over out of breath.

Scott had tennis that evening, and we still didn't have a crib, so we decided that I'd go watch him play tennis, and afterward we'd run to Babies R Us to choose a crib. But on the way to tennis, Scott kindly suggested I time these not-contractions I'd been having all day, and we discovered that they were five minutes apart. Scott made a quick phone call to the tennis club and we drove straight the hospital instead.

The next day--almost twelve hours later--just as the sun was rising, our six pound, fourteen ounce little blessing made his entrance. He squawked once, then proceeded to look around the room wide-eyed. I remember asking the nurse if my baby was okay, because he was so quiet. But he was just taking things in--figuring out this strange new place.

His birth happened so quickly that the nurse plopped him on my chest and covered him with a blanket without telling us if he was a boy or a girl. Scott and I were crying and kissing and looking at our precious child, and for a few minutes we forgot that we didn't know if we had a son or another daughter. Finally, I looked up and said, "Wait! What is it?" The nurse laughed and said, "A baby!" Scott pulled the blanket off and checked and announced to the room, "It's a little boy!" And I said, "Well, hello, Caden."

Since that moment, we've had the most challenging, most rewarding, most precious two years of our life. I am so thankful that God chose me to be Caden's Mommy--he's a special little boy, and I've loved to watch him grow and learn. And I've learned so much from him as well.

Tomorrow we will wish you a very happy birthday, Caden Isaac. We love you so very much, and we are so thankful that you are in our life!

Big Blessing!

Yesterday we had a growth ultrasound and our regular ob check--everything looks great. I'd regale you with a list of all the things that are right on track (blood pressure, cervical length, yada yada), but you've all already heard it.

The only new thing to report is that they are currently estimating our baby to be 3 lbs 12 oz. That's big! According to babycenter.com, at this gestation our baby should be weighing about 2.5 lbs, so we're way ahead of the curve. I've been tested for gestational diabetes (one factor in producing large babies), and the test came back negative, so this is likely just a big baby. Scott and his siblings were all big babies, and both Caden and Isobel were big for their gestations, so I'm not surprised.

A few people have asked me if it makes me nervous that this baby is already so big, and the answer is no. There are a couple of reasons for this:

1. To my reckoning, a 3 lb 12 oz baby seems so much more likely to survive if born now...not that we have any current indication that I'm in danger of delivering early, but still I feel more relieved with every ounce that this baby gains.

2. There's no way I'm going to carry this baby to full-term. I was reading an article on cervical cerclages and I learned that only 11% of women who have cerclages go into spontaneous labor in the 48 hours following the removal of the cerclage. I went into labor with Caden 15 hours after my cerclage was removed -- that puts me in the 11%. Now, I'm already aware that every pregnancy and every baby are different (believe me, I'm very aware of that fact). However, based on my history, it seems entirely likely that I will go into labor shortly after my doctor removes the cerclage. We are trying to schedule this for the first week in November, which would be 36 weeks gestation. Even assuming that my body surprises us and decides not to go into spontaneous labor, my doctors will not let me carry this baby to 40 weeks. There are too many risk factors with the size of the baby and the jka antibody I carry.

So, no, I'm not worried that I'll be having an 11 lb baby -- I'm pleased that this little one is packing on the pounds and getting bigger and stronger each day, preparing to be born. Grow, baby, grow!

I love boring appointments!

I haven't posted about my medical status in while, and the reason for that is that everything continues to look really good--there just hasn't been anything to update. But after a very routine appointment today, I thought it would be a good idea to let everyone know how Baby Campbell and I are doing.

My fluid continues to look awesome. Since the doctors determined that my membranes resealed, we haven't been terribly concerned about fluid levels, but it's still nice to know that there's enough of a cushion around the baby. 

This baby is a mover and a shaker and has flipped several times, but today he or she was head down. I know that we're still early enough that this could very easily change, but it's still a relief to know that right now he/she is in the right position. Because of the location of my placenta, I don't always feel him/her as frequently when he/she is head down, which causes me a little bit of panic from time to time. But I'm trying to be faithful, so I take a deep breath, pray, and then poke him/her until he/she moves again. 

My antibody titers went up a month ago to 1:2, but we're still within the safe range. If they get to 1:8, we'll need to monitor the baby for distress. 

I had my one-hour glucose test last week, and everything came back fine. So no three-hour test for me! Yay! 

Blood pressure was good, temperature was normal, pulse was normal, etc. In other words, this was a very boring appointment--praise the Lord! 

We've made our next four appointments for ultrasounds and ob checks, and when they gave us the printout of the days and times we're to come, my eyes filled up with tears. We're scheduled all the way through the end of October. The next appointment we'll need to make is to have the cerclage removed, and then I will either have a baby or I'll have a short reprieve from bedrest before this little blessing arrives. It's miraculous that we've made it this far, and yet for the past number of weeks our appointments have been so uneventful it's hard to believe that 13 weeks ago we were in crisis. Here I raise my Ebenezer. We are here by the help of the Lord. Looking at that last appointment date in October, I am overwhelmed by how far we've come. 

And thank you, all. We would not be here without your intercessions or without your practical help.   

So, although I've jokingly said that this was a boring appointment, we did get to see the baby. The ultrasound tech was kind enough to let Caden hear the heartbeat twice (since that's his favorite part), and she also got some really great images for us. I'll leave you with one. Scott thinks it looks like a boy. What do you think? 

 

Letting Go

A few weeks ago Caden fell off the side of Scott's recliner and landed on his head. He was fine. Just a very small scrape on one side of his head from where he brushed the leg of the end table on his way down, and a bruise on the other side where he landed. He wasn't even messing around on the recliner (which he's known to do despite Mommy's reprimands) -- he was just standing on it and tipped over. After he had calmed down and Scott and I had ascertained that he didn't have a concussion or any permanent injuries, I joked that it was a pity we didn't have one of these. But even though I was joking, I am ashamed to admit that there was once a time I was sorely tempted to take this measure to protect my son. I never would have gone through with it (I would have been mercilessly teased by my husband), but nonetheless, there's something appealing about the idea of taking that one extra step to protect my child.

I am that mom. When Caden was a newborn and was finally sleeping stretches longer than two hours at night, I would poke him and wake him up, just so that I knew he was still breathing. When I would make the 15 minute drive from my house to church, I would stop two or three times along the way to make sure that his hat hadn't fallen over his face and obstructed his breathing, that I had remembered to buckle his car seat, and then I would poke him to make sure he was still alive. When he was four months old and he unexpectedly projectile vomited all over me, I had a brief moment where my thought was, "Well, this is it. He's going to die from this."

I know that there are those of you who are thinking, Well, of course she's paranoid. After all, she's lost one child already. And for those of you who are thinking that, thank you for your generous spirit toward me. I'd love to blame my paranoia on the loss of my daughter, but the truth is, I think I would have likely been that mom anyway.

When I was a young babysitter, I would sneak into the babies' rooms after they were asleep and gently put my hand on their chests. I would count their breaths until I got to 20, and then I would leave the room. An hour later I would do the same thing. When my best friend's twins were playing on the second-from-the-bottom step on their carpeted stairs,  I held my breath waiting for them to fall. The imaginary emergency passenger brake in our car is well used on the highway when Scott is driving.

Despite being frequently smacked upside the head with Matthew 6:25-34 by God and well-meaning friends, I am a worrier. It's one of my many sins, but probably my most persistent besetting sin.

I'm a glass-half-full kind of girl in many circumstances. I can see the positive in most people, I usually have a good attitude about life's challenges, and mostly I'm content in my day-to-day circumstances. (By the way, this is less true right now. I am pretty grouchy when I'm on bedrest!) But even though I can frequently look at the bright side of current circumstances, it's future possibilities that bury me. I have a very active imagination that runs away with me in a very bad direction when I start to think about what might happen: I can picture exactly how the car accident is going to happen and what it's going to look like, I can imagine the worst-case scenario when Caden decides to climb on the bookshelf, and I can envision what the outcome will be the next time Copper barrels through the house without watching where he's going. I see all these things clearly in my head, played out like a movie.

It's not only about my irrational fears of catastrophic accidents and horrible situations -- I just like to be in control. (Hence the imaginary passenger brake.) I think that if I'm in control, everything will be all right. After all, I know to make sure that Caden isn't eating poisonous mushrooms, or climbing on a precarious rock, or heading down to the creek -- and no one else will think to watch him properly. (Just so you know, I am aware that these are illogical thoughts.)

I've fought against this side of myself ever since Caden was born. I wanted him to feel comfortable going to other people, so I didn't want to be the only one who ever held him as an infant -- but I knew he was safe in my arms. I want him to be brave and secure in his physical abilities, so I want him to climb and explore and run and jump -- but every time he does, I feel like my heart is about to stop. I don't want to pass along my fears to him, so I bite my tongue when what I want to say is, "Get down from there! You're going to fall!" I don't want to instill any sense of uncertainty in him. Of course, I want him to have a healthy sense of caution, but I also want him to try new things and figure out what he can do. It's just hard for me to let go. I want to send him outside in hockey pads and a helmet.

But since being on bedrest, I've had to learn to let go.

It started when I was released from the hospital. We stayed with my parents for a week while we sorted out what it meant for us that I was on complete bedrest. The first or second night I was there, I remember gritting my teeth and saying to Scott, "I know I'm not in charge, and I'm not trying to to micromanage you, but it is causing me a great deal of anxiety that it is 8:30 and Caden is still awake." To his credit, Scott took Caden and put him to bed then. But this wasn't able to continue. With me being unable to lift Caden, change his diaper, or hold him while he fell asleep, and with Scott taking on all the other responsibilities of the house, the schedule began to slip. And I had to let it go.

Before being hospitalized when my membranes ruptured, I had only been away from Caden overnight once -- and I cried that night. We rarely left him with a babysitter other than our family, and I would frequently check in to make sure everything was okay. Once I was home from the hospital, that had to change. My mom had taken the bulk of the responsibility of Caden's care for a couple of weeks, but it wasn't fair to ask that of her for the duration of the pregnancy. She has her own life to live. So, we had to reach out and ask for help from our friends. That meant that others were taking care of Caden, making sure that he didn't eat the mushrooms or topple off the slide. I had to let go.

But I still maintained some control. I never let anyone take him if they were going to take him more than 20 minutes away, and I actually preferred if they watched him at my house. That way I could still feel like I could protect him in some way. But it wasn't realistic to ask people to give up their days to stay at my house, and I've recently gotten some new projects from work that require my full attention, so it wasn't practical to ask people to stay here. I had to let go.

A few weeks ago, my lovely and generous cousin Jenni offered to take Caden during the day on Wednesdays. I trust Jenni completely. She's a mom with three children of her own, and she's a very responsible person, and I love the idea of Caden getting to know his cousins better. And, quite frankly, we need the help. So I accepted her offer...but with trepidation. It has nothing to do with Jenni. Like I said, I love and trust her completely. It's that she lives an hour away, and no one will be in the car to step on the imaginary passenger brake if something were to happen on the highway.

As Jenni drove away with Caden that first morning, I fretted and worried, and then I handed it over to God. As my best friend constantly says, "I have to remember that He loves my children more than I do." I can't follow Caden around with a safety net, watching for him to fall. For one thing, I need to give him space to grow and learn in order that he will someday become the man he's supposed to be. For another thing, I can't keep him safe. This is probably the greatest lesson I learned with Isobel. I can love him, and I can do the things I'm supposed to do to protect him and help him grow, but in the end, I am not the one in charge. And if I hold on too tightly, it will ultimately hinder him from reaching his full potential, and it won't guarantee that he'll be safe.

I always knew that I was going to have to let go someday -- someday just came a little sooner than I expected. Don't worry, I'm still going to hold on to an appropriate amount of control. I still insist on a reasonable bedtime, I still make sure that Caden eats fruits and vegetables every day, and when he climbs on his new play set, I'm watching from a window or from a chair in the yard. When he finally goes to school, I'll volunteer in his classroom and get to know his friends. But I'll try to stand a little farther back with each passing year, so that he can make his own way. And I'll hold my breath and fret, and then I'll give him over to God. I'll let go. Because after all, He loves my children even more than I do.

24 weeks!

Looks like we made it...to 24 weeks at least. This is a big day for us in many respects.

If our baby were to be born now, he or she would have a fighting chance at survival. As I said in a previous post this is still an incredibly early gestation, and our child would be considered a micropreemie. We would have a lengthy NICU stay followed by the likelihood of some long-term health consequences, but it still means the possibility of life over death. We of course are still fervently praying to make it to 36 weeks, but 24 weeks is a good place to be.  

This day is important in another regard, because today I'm not in the hospital. When my amniotic sac ruptured ten weeks ago, we were told that if my membrane did not reseal I would be re-hospitalized at 24 weeks. At this time I would have been given antibiotics to further protect the baby and me from infection, and I would have started to receive steroid injections to help the baby's lungs develop. (I received these while I was in labor with Isobel, but she was too ill from infection to benefit from them.) I could have been hospitalized for days or months--there is no way of knowing.

Thanks to your prayers, the skill and diligent care of our doctors, and the grace of God, I am writing this post from the recliner in my house instead of from a hospital bed hooked up to IVs. Because my membrane was healed, this morning instead of driving to the hospital to check in for what could have been a potentially long and unpleasant stay, I was able to sit on the porch and eat cereal with Caden and later watch him dance around the living room with his tractor. This gift is huge.

For the blessing of healing and the grace of 24 weeks, I am overwhelmed with gratitude. 

Survival Stories, Milestones, and Realizations

So, we did it. We went camping and survived.

Caden did not wander off into the woods and get lost. He did not fall into the fire. He went eight days with no bath (and a mother repeatedly coaxing him into her lap to clean off as much of the grime as she could with baby wipes), and lived to tell the tale. (For the record, I think the dirt is permanently imbedded in his toenails.) He caught lots of bugs, slept in a "big boy bed" in the trailer, and ate more S'mores than I like to admit.

The dogs survived without getting eaten by a bear or kicked by a bull (at one point we camped in the national forest very near a large herd of cows).

Scott managed to squeeze in a little relaxation time while being the sole working member of our party. He set up and broke down camp, prepared and served meals, went on "hikes" and bike rides with Caden (the hikes always ended up being shoulder rides), cleaned up the dishes and the trailer, and drove the suburban whenever we needed to get somewhere.



I sat in a camp chair with my feet up and stayed pregnant.

I can't say I wasn't anxious during this trip. In past years it has felt liberating to have no cellphone reception--to be so far away from the rest of the world. This time, when the signal bars disappeared, I felt like I was without a safety net.

I also realized during this trip that a great deal of the joy I have while camping comes from the tasks I perform: I like coming up with creative outdoor meals to fix. I like setting up camp. I like hiking. It felt very strange to be a bystander during those activities.

However, all fears and disappointments aside, it was great to be out of the house, in the woods, and with my family. We haven't had time with just the three of us for quite a while, and it was really wonderful that we were able to get away.

Remember in my previous post where I mentioned that Caden was throwing terrible temper tantrums and was showing moments of extreme defiance and disobedience? Well, the temper tantrums have lessened significantly, and while he still has his disobedient moments (I had to call Poison Control two days ago because I caught him eating toothpaste. He was fine--just a slightly upset tummy), he is much more obedient and seems to test us less. I think he just needed to be with Mommy and Daddy and for things to be as normal as possible for a little while. He's still very two, but he's more like the boy he was before I was hospitalized and put on bedrest.

While we were camping I passed a very significant (to me) milestone in this pregnancy: 22 weeks and 4 days. That's the gestational age at which our little Isobel Grace was born. I subscribe to a Web site that sends me email updates with information about how the baby is developing. But at 22 weeks I don't need to see the updates--I know exactly what a 22-week baby can and can't do. A 22-week baby can survive outside of the womb, but it is unlikely and is not without long-term medical consequences. A 22-week baby can breathe--but not for long without help. A 22-week baby can feel her mama touch her chest, and will move in response. My 22-week baby was just over one pound and was 11 inches long. For someone less who was less than than a foot long, she occupies a lot of space in my heart. And for someone so tiny, her absence in our life is weighty.

Passing the 22 weeks and 4 days milestone is significant to me, because each day that goes by after this day in my pregnancy is a day where lungs can develop, a heart can strengthen, and the baby can grow bigger. Each fraction of an ounce this baby gains is one step closer to being able to survive. Like I have said before, we are being bold: We are praying that this baby makes it to 36 weeks safe and sound, and right now there is no reason to believe this will not be the case. Praise Jesus.

I had an appointment yesterday, and I was curious to see how things were going with the baby after our camping trip and after my significant milestone. Turns out I needn't have worried. My fluid level is perfect, the baby is growing right on schedule, my blood pressure is great. The doctor joked that if everything continues along these lines, he'll have to call me normal. I told him I thought that would be very weird.

But despite the fact that everything is going so well, the truth is, I will never have a "normal" pregnancy. I will always have some sort of restrictions that are necessary for me to carry a baby to term, and quite frankly that's disappointing.

I have taken up a bit more activity since my doctor lessened my restrictions, and I can tell when it has been too much. And it doesn't take a whole lot for it to be too much.

I've been getting up with Caden in the mornings. If I lower the crib rail, he can climb out with just my hand to steady him, and I don't have to lift him (which I will be unable to do until November). Then he and I have cereal together (pretty much the only meal I can fix right now) on the back porch. Scott then has to bathe him and get him dressed.

I have discovered that I can coerce Caden to climb into my lap to have his diaper changed if I offer him an M&M, but the getting up and down to get the diaper and wipes, then to wash my hands and retrieve the promised M&M does take its toll.

If Caden is barricaded in the living room, I can sit in my recliner and supervise, but he has figured out how to open the bathroom door and get into mischief (hence the toothpaste incident).

I had been optimistic about taking on more with Caden, but two days ago I had to come to the realization that I can really only care for him on my own for two hours a day max. Anything past that and I start having contractions and have to lie down. All pregnant women have what are called Braxton-Hicks contractions. These are painless contractions that basically prepare the uterus for giving birth. For most women, these are very common and nothing to be concerned about. But my body responds a little differently. For some reason we don't understand, Braxton-Hicks contractions cause me to dilate and go into preterm labor. So anytime I feel these, I have to take them seriously.

But what do I do when I'm having contractions and Caden is climbing up the side of the bookshelf? I know this is a little overly dramatic, but whose life do I protect? The baby inside of me? Or the little monkey shimmying toward inevitable disaster?

I can take on a little more than before. And I am taking advantage of that by spending as much time with Caden as possible, but I can't do it all and still do what I need to do for this baby in my belly. As much as it pains me to say it, I need help. And with Scott heading back to work tomorrow, the need for help has become more pressing.

Please, look at our care calendar. If you can spare an hour or two to take Caden to the park, or help me get him down for his nap, or if you want to have him come play at your house for a bit, we would be so grateful.

It's hard for me to ask for help, but three days ago I had such bad contractions after doing too much with Caden that I couldn't do anything but lie on the couch for hours afterwards. It was an uncomfortable realization for me. I want to be able to do it all, and I just physically can't.

If you can't help with Caden care, we are still desperate for your prayers. We know that the miraculous healing of my amniotic sac came about due to your intercessions on our behalf, and we still have 13 weeks to go before we hit that 36 week milestone.

Thank you for all you have done and all you are doing for us. God bless you.

Free at last! (Well, sort of...)

We had an appointment with my regular OB on Thursday, and she gave us some really good news: My fluid was at 16!!!!!! (As a writer, it generally pains me to use such an overabundance of exclamation points, but I felt this situation merited it.) 

The baby's heart rate was wonderful, and he or she has been kicking like a champ--it won't be long before Scott will be able to feel him or her move. We are still determined to be surprised by whether the baby is a boy or a girl. We thought our nurse practitioner might have spoiled it because she referred to the baby by a specific gender pronoun, but she insisted that she has no idea and had just randomly picked a gender to refer to the baby. We love her, so we'll trust her on this one. 

I had my third anti-jka antibody blood draw on Thursday as well, and we should hear those results next week sometime. Because of how low they were last time, we don't anticipate that they'll have spiked for this test, but we won't know for sure until we receive the results.

I had an appointment with my cardiologist on Friday for an ekg and general exam, and everything looks great with my heart as well. I'll have an echocardiogram in two weeks to double check, but I'm sure everything will be fine. Because of the heart problems I had after Caden was born my cardiologist wants to monitor me monthly to be on the safe side. This adds up to a lot of doctors appointments, but I'm more than willing if the end result is a healthy take-home baby. 

The punch line of this list of good news is that my OB has lightened some of my restrictions. In her words: "You are doing so well that there's no need to torture you for the rest of your pregnancy just because I want to be cautious." 

I still can't chase Caden or pick him up, I'm not allowed to drive, I've been specifically instructed to refrain from all housework, and I'm supposed to remain seated or reclined as much as possible. But I have been given permission to have a little bit more activity as long as I'm not having contractions. This means I can leave my house more frequently, and most importantly, we can actually go on a small vacation. Scott's going to pack up our trailer, and we're going to head for the hills. We won't go too far from Colorado Springs--if there's an emergency I want to be able to get back to my doctors. I trust them and I love them, and if anything happens I want them driving the bus. If we get out there and it's too stressful for Scott to be wrangling a little boy and two wacky dogs without my help, or if I'm having any signs that the trip is affecting my health or the baby's health, we'll turn around and come home. But the possibility of a small escape feels heavenly.

So, without further ado, we'll be taking off in the next couple of days. Scott has updated the care calendar from August all the way through October, and if you can help at all during that time we would so much appreciate it. 

We love you all, and we thank you for your prayers, your care, and your help. We'll see you when we get back!  

20 Weeks!

Yesterday I passed the 20 week mark of pregnancy. Officially I'm now halfway there! (Though everyone would be mighty surprised if I made it to 40 weeks.)

I had a doctor's appointment today, and things continue to look really great. Fluid was 12.7 cm, the baby is right on track developmentally (in fact, our little bug is slightly big for his/her gestation--no surprise), and my health is looking good as well. And today the doctor actually used the word "reseal!" The doctors are going to continue to monitor me closely until I hit the 24 week mark, and this is for two reasons: First, for our peace of mind. Second, from a physiological standpoint the scar tissue that forms on the amniotic sac will be at its strongest 10-12 weeks from the date of rupture. After the 24 week mark, if everything still appears to be going well, I'll be treated as a "normal" high-risk cerclage patient.  

We got some photos of our little sweetheart today that took my breath away. They weren't able to make a disc for us this time, and this is a photo of a photo and not the highest quality, so I hope you can see what we saw. I wept when this image appeared on the screen--this baby looks just like his/her sister, Isobel.

What a sweet little blessing.

Two hours!

I had a great appointment today. We had our regular AFI ultrasound, and the fluid was 12.9 cm, which is incredible! Then they did an exam to see if they could tell if I was still leaking amniotic fluid. The doctor checked very closely, did a ph test, looked at a slide under a microscope, and didn't see any fluid at all. This is such awesome news. I just kept saying, "thank you, Jesus," over and over.

No one used the word "reseal" during the appointment, but I can't imagine any other way we would have seen these results. Thank you, Jesus. The doctor doesn't want us to take any risks, so I'm still on bedrest, but no longer complete bedrest. (This is as long as things remain stable and I'm not contracting.)

I'm now allowed to be up a total of two hours each day. These are not consecutive hours--this is a daily total. But it means I'm no longer dependent upon other people to bring me food, and it means if Caden is a stinker and throws my book across the room, I can go get it without asking for help. Obviously, I still need to spend the majority of my day reclined, I'm not allowed to do anything active (including housework), and I will not be able to pick up Caden until after the baby is born, but two hours feels like a huge reprieve. This morning I was able to walk from my doctors' office to the valet parking instead of getting a wheelchair.

We still have several weeks to go, so please continue to pray for us. But in the meantime, know your prayers are being heard and answered. We thank you for lifting us up.  

Happy Anniversary

Four years ago today I married the man of my dreams.

If I had been asked to list the qualities that were important to me in a partner, Scott would have met them all: He is slightly serious, which I need to balance out my flakiness, but he also has a silly side I appreciate. He enjoys camping and the outdoors. He loves good quality food, and he enjoys the theater. (Not musical theater, which I have to admit is a serious character flaw.) He loves food from different cultures--especially sushi and Indian food. He has a kind heart, and he loves children and animals. And most importantly, he loves the Lord.

I knew he was the man God had chosen for me.

Little did we know as we stood in front of our loved ones and recited our vows that "for worse" would come much sooner than we expected. We lost a daughter, a sister, a cousin, and a grandfather all within a short of amount of time, and our already bruised hearts were further hammered with each painful loss.

In the midst of this grief, I can't say that we did things perfectly. We haven't always treated one another the way we should. We haven't always cared for one another the way we should. But despite this, we've always clung to one another and clung to the Lord. I could not have weathered the storms of the past years without Scott by my side. I need him, and I am so grateful he is mine.

Happy Anniversary, Scott. I love you.