The new year began as the old year had ended. I was in the hospital hooked up to a baby monitor for four days. Abby was so small that we had to adjust the monitor often. I barely looked pregnant. My amniotic fluid levels improved, I received my steroid shots for Abby's lungs and I learned how to give myself shots of blood thinner.
I had an ultrasound twice during my stay from the same ultrasound tech that had done my previous ones at Deaconess. She was so kind to us and it was a blessing to develop a rapport with her. She showed us the images that she was looking for. We learned that red indicated blood flow. She checked to make sure the blood was flowing between us through the umbilical cord.
I experienced a feeling of wonder knowing what was going on inside of my body. It was comforting to know that they would be able to see when there was a problem. I thought often of other mothers through the centuries that would go on through their pregnancy with no signs of trouble only to give birth to a still born child. I was grateful that we knew the problem and that we were doing everything medically and physically necessary to help the situation.
It was also very frustrating for me. I felt a tremendous amount of guilt and of motherly concern for my little baby. I had been reassured by both doctors that I had done all that I could and that I hadn't done anything to endanger my baby. I remember wishing for some outward sign. It sounds bad but it's easier to know there is a problem when you can see something externally wrong with someone. A big gaping wound, a bandage across the face, a casted leg. Instead I felt betrayed by my own body, a body that was silently and inexplicably severing my tie to my baby. Besides the normal feelings of tiredness pregnancy brings I had nothing outwardly wrong with me. I felt entirely healthy and laying in bed was tedious. I did it because I knew that doing anything else increased the blood that flowed through my body making the clots worse and the flow to Abby even less.
Aaron and I started the waiting game. He was my silent support during these days. Anyone that knows Aaron knows that he is not the most talkative guy but he was right there with me any time he wasn't in school or at work. He stayed with me and helped me feel safe and protected.
The time came to be released from the hospital. We knew what to look for on the ultrasounds. I had one every two or three days. I was put on full bed rest. I was allowed to make trips to the bathroom and to shower but other than that I was supposed to lay down. My sweet parents invited us to stay with them so that Aaron could attend school and work and I would have someone to take care of me during the day. They were a huge blessing to us.
My mom made me food and kept me company. It felt strange to feel perfectly fine and still have to lay around all day. I gave myself injections of blood thinner twice a day. It's odd to have to feel like a human pincushion. After getting over the initial shock of intentionally sticking a needle into myself it became more like a science experiment. I learned the best way to give myself a shot in the most painless way possible. After a few weeks of this I got pretty good at it. I know I could do it any time again if need but I am grateful that I no longer have to.
The TV became my friend as did books and my writing notebook. These were the days before streaming Netflix and DVR's. I watched a few episodes of ER until they inevitably had an episode with a premature birth. I watched the episode and looked at the little baby on the screen. It was tiny and probably fake but it made my heart ache. I didn't watch any more episodes of ER after that. My imagination ran wild with anticipation of problems. Although I love medical dramas it was a long time before I could watch anything baby related without bawling. It's just the way I roll.
I've always been interested in medicine and helping people in that way. Things like that don't usually bother me but my situation had changed. I realized when it comes to a member of your family especially a child, everything is personal. The feelings I felt are hard to describe. My closest description is a unending ache down in my stomach that never quite leaves, an anxious knot that just sits and torments. It was hard not knowing the outcome of a very delicate situation. Think an end of season cliffhanger times a million.
I felt another baby loss lurking there somewhere, knowing there was no way to stop it if it happened. I worried about it. I knew how devastating a miscarriage could be. But this kind of loss would be far worse. I knew that not all pregnancy ends with pink bows and chubby cheeks. I knew there was a very real possibility that my baby would not survive this. I knew that even if Abby did survive that there was a great chance of lifelong disability or impairment. Sometimes I wished to be ignorant of such things and to not know what it meant for her but being educated and having a undying thirst for knowledge gave me the gift of knowing possibilities for my child that perhaps a person less educated wouldn't know. It was a gift and a curse at the same time.
The goal that we set was to keep her inside as long as possible. 30 weeks was our goal week. We talked about it and prayed for it. If we could make it to that week, her chance of survival and developing problems greatly decreased. She was still very small for gestational age about half the size of other babies her gestational age. There was still some growth but not nearly what it should have been. As it was I prayed for any extra day my body would give me.
There were special moments for me during this time, too. I felt her fluttering kicks and movement. I could tell from very early on that she was a fighter. She was a tiny, tiny baby but she was already making her presence known. She especially liked music and when I would sing she would bounce around like a ball. I talked to her often when I was alone. I talked to her like she was a friend sitting next to me. It gave me comfort to do that. I knew she could probably not hear me or understand but perhaps in some spiritual sense it would help her deal with it like it was helping me.
I was not alone in this trial. Aaron was a constant support and encouragement. We would sit together and talk about what we were going through and about our worries. Like most men, Aaron doesn't deal well with crying. Growing up with a bunch of brothers doesn't prepare you for an emotional wife. I tried to be strong for him and to not be a ball of tears all the time. He was strong and sure like he always is, my bulwark in the battle for Abby's life. He felt from very early on that things would be okay. He had a tremendous amount of faith in the matter. He reassured me of that many times.
I talked with my siblings and my parents often. Aaron's parents were also there and supportive of us. Our ward rallied around us in a way that I will never forget. We had only lived in the Franklin Park Ward for a little while at this point maybe three or four months but it already felt like home to us. The ward held a special fast for us. They prayed in their homes for us. We heard from many of our friends and family who were praying for us and for Abby. There is something wonderfully sustaining in that kind of support. We already felt the presence of our Savior through this trial but having people around to support and care for us made our burdens so much less. We had so many thoughtful and heartfelt acts of Christlike love given to us that it truly buoyed us up. I'll always be grateful for those who went through that time with us.
In some ways we were very fortunate to know some of what we faced. Premature birth (born before 37 weeks) is very common, somewhere around 12%, 1 in 7 births in the United States according to March of Dimes. Most women who have a premature birth go into early labor that cannot be stopped. Many of those births are caused by some underlying problem with the mother or baby and are emergency situations. Our situation was a blessing in this way because we knew that it was going to happen we just didn't know when. It gave us time to prepare ourselves.
I am grateful for modern medicine and thorough doctors. I know that in no other time in history would Abby have survived. She would have died inside of me with no sign of what had happened. I would never have known there was a problem until it was too late. We also had time to prepare ourselves for what we faced. Nothing could completely prepare you for a situation like that but it was at least comforting to know we had things in place for when the time came. All we could do is wait and see what happened next.
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