Last week I went to an actual doctor's office for the first time in....over three years.
The week before that, I called my husband at work in a hysterical frenzy, sobbing into the phone. He had to come home, I said. He had to come home right now.
There was so much blood (sorry. stay with me) that I was sure I'd be passing out aaaaaaaaaaany second.
This is why I've been such a craptastical blogger lately, my friends.
Should I start at the beginning? Okey doke. Will do.
Two months ago I took my kids to their dance class at our homeschool partnership building. As I tried to eat the baby's snacks with one hand (she was 8 months old at the time), I had to use the other hand to hold my eyelids up. Tired. Tired. So, very, very, very tired.
So despite not having got my cycles back yet and despite my baby still nursing many times a day and night and despite the fact that I was still able to brush my teeth with toothpaste instead of baking soda without barfing, I did what every woman who's been pregnant eight times does- I took a pregnancy test.
Two lines, baby! Baby. Literally baby. A real new baby just for us!
After some quick math (women who've been pregnant eight times are very good at this particular kind of math) I realized these youngest two will be 17 months apart. Still not as close as the 15 months of our first two, but close!
Then everything was fine. I mean yes, cheese at 11 p.m., almonds all morning. But nothing, nothing, NOTHING as horrible as the two-steps-from-death I felt with Mary. Which of course, because three of those previous eight pregnancies ended in miscarriage, made me a little nervous. I'm supposed to be sick! I'm supposed to yacking every hour on the hour and unable to stand upright! I'm supposed to wishing that someone would accidentally push me off a cliff just to put me and everyone else out of our collective misery!
And then two weeks ago, on a Wednesday, it happened. After mild non-panic inducing spotting, I started bleeding. A lot. Tons. Scary amounts. Tommy came home from work. He got me hydrated. I took an iron supplement. We waited. It stopped. Then again Friday evening. Then again Saturday evening. Forget "two pads in an hour." There was so much blood and so many clots I had to (slowly. lethargically.) dig out the chux pads from last year's homebirth.
So much crying. So much uncertainty. And each morning I woke up to no more bleeding and a fresh bout of the same, mercifully gentle, pregnancy symptoms. I needed to know what was going on (as you may have guessed, I am loathe to visit any medical professional. Ever. Maybe if you sawed off my arm or something....). But I have no OB! Well, had none. And now it was the weekend. With more tears.
A lengthy, story-filled call to my midwife on Monday was followed by a lengthy, story-filled call to an OB's office that she recommended on Tuesday, which was followed by a call back with an appointment for an ultrasound the very next day, which was last Wednesday.
Oy, it is truly awful to get up on a table and wait to see whether or not your baby is still alive. I mean, that probably goes without saying but I just can't not say it. It is horrible.
Lights off. Screen on. Black blobs. White haze. And then a little leg. A moving leg. A tiny itty bitty leg that moved! And then the whole baby came into focus, a little cramped by all those black blobs (I'll get to those in a second) but totally, totally, miraculously, still there and still alive. Praise God!!!
So the deal is (hope y'all wanna know how a person can basically be hemorrhaging and not lose her baby, and besides the first answer of "God works miracles all the time, even when we don't think we deserve them", there's a medical answer too) that there are these "black blobs" which are really called "subchorionic hematomas." Here is a piece written in medical speak, but basically there are pockets of blood and tissue that have formed between the amniotic sac at the uterine wall, with the most concerning ones being around, and potentially behind, the placenta. If these pockets burst, there is mucho bleeding that has nothing actually do with the baby. Yay!
The super worst case, totally rare, probably nothing we actually need to worry about, not-so-yay part is that they can in some instances (rare!) interfere with the functioning of the placenta and/or eventually lead to placental abruption. Which is why we get to go back in next week for another ultrasound to see if the "blobs" have been reabsorbed by my body (best case scenario), if they've shrunk at all due to bleeding (there has already been more of that), or if they've grown (that would be lame). And I am only telling you this yucko part because, well, prayers are always welcome and I can't really be authentic and junk if I leave it out.
But honestly, the worst case scenario is HIGHLY UNLIKELY. Doctors, for good reason, just need to take the most conservative course of action, ya know? What's most likely is that everything will be fine and on or around November 22 (which is a Friday, by the way. Wink wink.), we will all get to meet Borobia Baby #6.
Because God is good and we live miracles every day.
Whew. Was that long enough for ya? Thanks for stickin' around.
|unrelated photo of Katie wearing her new favorite shirt|