13/14 Days and Counting!

Throwing on the brakes

As early as three months ago I was running after the kids, working as a transcriptionist part time and coaching field hockey! I used to wonder what it was like to take a few hours out of my day and just sleep and relax in silence with a good book. What a stark contrast to those hectic weeks from where I sit at the present moment. Part of me thinks I should relax and just enjoy this down time now because it most likely will not happen again for another 20+ years or so. The other part of me is screaming to saddle up my horse and ride her around the paddock or jump on the riding mower and mow the lawn for a couple of hours. No, I still have no desire to fold 18 loads of laundry a day...that I do not miss and gladly leave in the hands of my capable husband.

But, what I am learning through all of this is that I can settle and feel calm. Before this hospital stay I really did not think I could ever experience what calm was. It is in my nature to run and be active and normally an hour a day of peace, which occurred each night before I went to sleep (my reading hour) was enough to send me forth into another day...well, that and a few hundred cups of caffeine would do it.

NOW...

We think we have a date! I was updated by my OB this morning that we tentatively have a date blocked off for the OR; February 12th. I believe her office was waiting on one other phone call to confirm, but that it was moving in that direction. Secretly I have been hoping for February 11th, which is the Feast Day of Our Lady of Lourdes. I think that would be a nice day to be born. I don't think any of my children have a Marian Feast day.

The plan, so they say, will be to take me down on the morning of the 12th at 8 a.m. to Radiology to have the balloon catheters inserted. This should take an hour. After that I get wheeled to the general OR for the surgery. I will be put under general anesthesia and intubated. IF I do not need a hysterectomy, then the surgery will take about an hour. If they get in there and there are problems and a hysterectomy is warranted, then the surgery should be about 3-4 hours.

My hope is that I will be back to my private room that I am in now after recovery and the baby goes to the regular nursery and we can go home in five days. I suppose worst case is the baby goes to the NICU and I go to ICU. I don't anticipate the worst case scenario though.

THEN...

Eleven months had gone by since the completion of the miscarriage and D&E when we found out we were expecting again. My reaction to the positive pregnancy test has usually been the same for at least the last three; one of disbelief. It's a completely different feeling when you are "trying" to get pregnant and you view the pregnancy test. It's quite a different story when you are "surprised" by a pregnancy test. I don't say this in a negative light, only that it is just different.

When the shock wore off and my hands stopped shaking I told Kevin. I believe his reaction has been the same over the last three pregnancies; he will say something to the effect of, "Are you kidding? You are kidding right?" or "Stop!" It is always followed by a joyful smile though. Kevin is just as open to life as I am and I don't think he has ever put a limit on the amount of children our house would accept. But, with all the complications of the last delivery and then the miscarriage we both felt much apprehension; joyful that we had been blessed by God and cognitive of the fact that God must have a reason for this little soul to be here, but apprehensive still the same.

While Kevin and I felt much joy and our friends at our Parish were overjoyed as well, we knew there would be those people out there who would not be so happy. There are many folks, sometimes even those we love, who do not "agree" with having a large family or with those convictions we, as a family, adhere to strongly. We have been told by many of our friends of horror stories of being humiliated or put down when making the "we're having another baby" statement to those they love. I have pondered the reasons for a negative reaction to the announcement that another baby is on the way and tried to really figure out why others would not be in favor of a little life being born into a loving home. I suppose I will never quite understand and really, it's the reality of life. It's not always roses.

I remember one time about two to three years ago taking one of the little ones to the bathroom during Mass. There is this large statue of St. Philomena, whom I knew nothing about before this pregnancy. At the foot of the statue someone had laid a Holy Card with a small description of who she was. I took the card and put it in my missal and once and again I would look at it. When I found out I was pregnant this time I knew there would be difficulties down the road so I pulled out the Holy Card. I am not sure what exactly was drawing me to this particular Saint as I have recourse to many different Saints. I had this feeling from the very beginning that this baby would be a girl and at about eight weeks I started a perpetual novena to St. Philomena asking her protection and prayers on our behalf. I also promised her her namesake in exchange for her prayers. I hadn't told Kevin that part at the time!

I remember one night at dinner the conversation turned to naming the baby. We still didn't know at the time whether she was a boy or girl so we all tossed around some names. In my heart I knew that if it was confirmed that she was a girl her name would be Philomena Anne and was searching for just the right time to announce this to my husband. I did eventually tell him and it took some time for him to get used to the name because it's not very popular in this day and age. I also bought a couple of books on her life, which both of us read.

At 17 weeks I went in for my ultrasound and yes, it was confirmed she was a girl!

What words can do

It really is very amazing what a few words of encouragement can do for a person. About once a week I have my half hour of insanity, which I believe my husband is steadily starting to anticipate, when I flip out and tell him that I am coming home. I hit a wall each week and it's not like it's at the end of the week or on a particular day, it's just when the moment hits. I think being here I am internalizing all the stress of what is going on both with my own health and that at home. In the end all it really takes are kind words of encouragement to get me through to the next week when I will likely go off on another tangent My husband usually offers these words to me, reminding me of the importance of being in a hospital setting in case things go bad. Often I will also get a "scolding" from my sister-in-law Shelby and she probably doesn't know how grateful I am for her strict words and dose of reality. She is no stranger to the world of hospitals as she spent nearly a year with her son Clayton over at Children's Hospital going through devastating seizures on a constant basis. I know she knows exactly what she is talking about and heed her warnings that I know she gives me out of love. She is probably the strongest woman I know. My best friend Kelly also provides me with a soft, but clear reasons for staying put. Both she and my sister-in-law and watch the children once a week so Kevin can go into the office to get work done. Shelby, my sister-in-law has 5 children and Kelly has four. I often am amazed at their generosity in taking into their homes 5 additional children for an entire day. Then there is my sister who has also volunteered her time coming over and cleaning and ironing, which I KNOW she hates! She travels an hour and 15 minutes north to get to my house. My brother Joe has come to our rescue on more than one occasion stopping in after work to watch the children during the "witching hour." God bless him. He was able to experience his first diaper change by himself. You go Joe! My personal heroes. May God grant them all speial favors and blessings upon them.

Now...

I had a long consult today with my OB. She waiting on a call back from my prior OB before she would set a surgery date. Apparently, through the course of her conversation with my prior OB she was told that I had actually ruptured my uterus. My current OB was confused as to the terminology used in the OP report that stated a "partial dehiscence" was seen. From what my OB was told, the only thing holding my little Nicholas in the uterus was the outer membrane of the amniotic sac. I was blown away.

At this point she is pushing for a delivery at 35 weeks to totaly avoid the chance of me going into labor. I am hoping for February 11th, the feast day of Our Lady of Lourdes. My OB is hoping for the 12th. I think Our Lady will intercede and get me the 11th :) In that case I am looking at 14 days. Really not a long time in the grand scheme of things.

I have been particularly blessed with a truly wonderful nurse. She is a devout, practicing Catholic and we talk for a long time about all things Catholic. She has promised to bring me in Padre Pio blessed oil as she has a strong devotion to Padre Pio. I have asked her in the event of an emergency to please baptize my baby and she said she felt very honored. How good God is to send me such a wonderful nurse?

THEN...

By the end of April and beginning of May 2007 we found ourselves pregnant yet again. We must not be trying hard enough with NFP! All went well and then I started to spot. This is not unusual for me though. I have spotted with other pregnancies. But, I went in for a check anyway. They took me in for an ultrasound and I was blindsided by what I saw on the screen. The tech didn't need to say anything. I could see for myself that there was an empty sac in there. I asked him, "There's no baby in there is there?" He was pretty serious and told me there didn't look like there was. He brought the doctor in who confirmed this. They diagnosed it as a "blighted ovum." Somewhere along the line the baby just didn't develop leaving just the void of the amniotic sac.

I cannot explain the void in leaving the office. It was as if I was pregnant with no baby inside. I cried when I got to the car. I came home and of course started researching blighted ovums. There were sites where mothers had testified to being misdiagnosed as a blighted ovum only to have a baby "show up" at 10 weeks or so. I knew deep down that there was no baby. It was just my gut feeling. Sure enough on Mother's Day 2007 I started to bleed. I did opt for a natural miscarriage as I was hoping to at least deliver the sac and have something tangible to bury and not know that my baby, even though he was perhaps just some cells in the sac wouldn't be sucked into a vacume and gone forever. I had read about women feeling a sense of closure when they delivered or miscaried naturally.

I was about 8.5 weeks when it all started. Little did I know what a long road I was in for. I bled all summer long. By August I went to my OB and said I was so tired of bleeding and when would I pass the sac? She kept encouraging me to have a D&C and that there was probably "retained products of conception." I always hated that term.

By September I was losing hope on a natural miscarriage, but just as I was about to schedule a D&C, I started to really bleed heavily. I spent about three hours in the bathroom going through what felt like labor. I will spare you all the obnoxious details and tell you the amazing part about that night of torture. After about two hours or so I passed a large portion of the "contents." I carefully examined this tiny sac that I held in my hands. What I found was astounding. There was a tiny baby inside. I could clearly make out a tiny little spine. I cried like a baby for a long time and then called my husband in. I cannot recall if he could make out the spine or not.

Just the week before I had gone to a Hallmark store in search of a little box to bury the baby in. I came across a beautiful porcelain box with an outside picture of a mother holding a child in her arms. I thought this would be good. So after the delivery I gently placed the sac and baby in my special box. We named the baby Anthony. The next morning with all the kids around we dug a hole underneath a weeping cherry tree out front. I thought this was an appropriate place to bury him. The tree was visible from the dining room table and had a bird feeder where tons of birds came to feed. The weeping cherry always blooms bright pink each year. We placed flowers over the tiny grave and I remember Kevin saying some nice words and a prayer.

I never stopped bleeding. A week following the acutally miscarriage I called the OB again and told her I was still bleeding. I had been bleeding sine May and here it was September! She scheduled me for a D&E that week. The procedure was uncomplicated and went smoothly. I was healed by the end of September that year.

I still gaze on the little area outside under the weeping cherry and think about my son that was never born. I hope to take comfort in the fact that I did baptize the little sac and I pray he is in the presence of Our Lord, or at least in a state of eternal happiness.

God has lessons for all of us and there was some reason for what happened and we just have to trust that God knows what is best for our souls, even if we don't understand why at the time.

Start of another week

The Real Troopers

There are some things that have really struck me throughout my stay here at the hospital and even before I was admitted to the hospital about the people who surround us in our lives. I was just telling someone today that I believe that you find out who the real heroes are in times like these. Everyone keeps telling me to "hang in there" and "you're a real trooper," but I don't consider what I am doing to be all that heroic. I look at what other people are doing for my husband and children as the real heroes, especially all of those people who have a lot on their own plates to begin with!

We have had so many wonderful people just give selflessly of themselves and their time to reach out to us and give us a hand, really sacrificing at times their own comfort levels and family time. Sine I have a lot of time to reflect I cannot help but be amazed at these heroic helpers in our lives. They are giving of themselves voluntarily. They don't wait for us to call and say, "hey we could really use your help!" They call us and say, "What can we do this week for you?" Everyone is doing it in their own way too; some by just sending an email and reaching out and saying I am here for you and some by cleaning the house or watching the children so Kevin can try and get some work done. Voluntarily taking on five children is a huge deal and a huge sacrifice. I pray God blesses those who have gone out of their way consistently while the chips are down. I know God will bless them. I wonder if they know how much we truly appreciate them?

NOW...

Not much to report with what is going on with me. I am still testing negative for the fetal fibronectin tests, which is essentially telling the doctors that I won't spontaneously go into labor over the next seven days. I had one taken this morning and it was negative. I haven't dilated any more than I was when I first came in here. I am having consistent contractions some are pretty strong. but none, apparently that are changing the cervix at all. While this is great for Philomena who can remain inside me and grow strong it is another week that I am here in this bed watching the rest of the world move along. God must be trying to teach me something through this; what? I don't know.

While I sit here and watch paint dry there is plenty of drama to be had at home. It started earlier last week when John Paul started having red, itchy eyes. Not at all unusual for him because he has such bad allergies. But then he started getting all kinds of gunk in them. We were sure it was probably pink eye. Kevin has been applying warm clothes to remove the gunk and watching him to see if it got worse or better. So a couple of days pass when I get a call. Kevin thinks John Paul might have really hurt his arm playing on the trampoline. He felt like maybe it was broken. I believe we have had that trampoline for close to 6 or 7 years now. No accidents at all! I kind of always had a feeling like something was going to happen at some point with the amount of children that have been on and off that thing, I just didn't expect it to happen when I couldn't be there to comfort the one who got hurt. I told Kevin to bring him to the same hospital here where I was staying so I could go down and be with them in the ER. Anyone who knows John Paul knows he is a real optimist and he is always smiling. Same holds true for him even as he sits in my lap with a broken elbow. The only time this little guy was not smiling or happy was during the x-ray when they had him manipulate his arm into different positions. He didn't like that because it hurt. So he was casted on Sunday morning and picked out a purple cast! All his siblings have signed it. I can't wait to see him again so I can put my name to it as well.

After a few days Nicholas started showing signs of red eyes. At the same time Zachary has been complaining his one ear hurt. So Kevin took all three boys into the pediatrician this morning. We'll start with John Paul; he has pink eye in both eyes. Zachary has a double ear infection and Nicholas has pink eye in both eyes plus an ear infection. So if that's not enough, our little 7-year-old terrier, Sparky, is not doing well. He has had blood in his stool for a couple of days. We are treating him with a de-wormer in case it is worms. The other day Kevin was telling one of his bosses about all that was going on and the guy asked him if a plague of locusts had also descended on the house. I chuckled at that one.

I was privileged to have our Parish Priest come out and administer the Sacraments to me which also included Last Rites. I feel about 100% better than I did when I woke up as if now I can have the baby and everything will be okay.

THEN...

Our family was still adjusting to the birth of our fourth child Zachary in the spring of 2005. Just when the dust was settling about three months after delivering Zachary we found out we were expecting again. It most certainly was a surprise. Eventually the shock wore off and I didn't really have a lot of time to dwell on the fact that I will have two of the five children only 12 months apart. The pregnancy with Nicholas was a bit easier than with Zachary's. My thyroid was behaving and the morning sickness seemed to be not as severe either. Nicholas' due date was in April 2006, but with two of my children being born preterm we were watching this one closely. March rolled around and we were anticipating the celebration of Zachary's first birthday. I remember having his little party after dinner and feeling off. Most pregnant women will tell you in retrospect that they just didn't feel "right" before going into labor. I chalked it up to the party and being 8 months pregnant. The very next day the exact same scenario played out that had played one year and one day ago. I felt some regular tightening of the belly you get with Braxton Hicks, but I just felt like I needed to go to the hospital. Kevin happened to be home and wanted to call his mother to watch the children, but I just felt like I shouldn't wait the 45 minutes for her to come to the house. So I drove myself, much to my husband's dismay. When I arrived I was examined and already 3-4 cm dilated. They readied the surgery room and my OB asked me if I wanted to wait for my husband to arrive. I told her I did want to wait now that I was there and being monitored. So after about an hour or so he arrived and they wheeled me into the OR. The C-section seemed to go okay. Nicholas was born at 5 pounds and 12 ounces. I knew he would probably be another NICU baby being born four weeks premature, but we were really hoping he would be strong enough to avoid intensive care, but after having some respiratory issues he was eventually placed in the NICU.

Kevin followed Nicholas off to the nursery and my OB finished up the section. As I was laying in recovery one of the nurses was joking about how all she could see was my OB shaking her head the entire time she was closing me up. I asked her why and she said, "I think out of frustration." I knew I would be getting a not-so-stellar report when she came in to see me. After I got back to the room my OB came in and sat down and looked me in the eye and said, "well that was a close call." I had what is called a dehiscence in the uterine wall which basically means when my OB cut through the skin and muscle and got to the uterus she could see straight through to the baby and that my uterine wall was already separating. Had I not made it to the hospital when I did or had I waited a few more hours laboring I would have ruptured and Nicholas or myself might not even be here. She says she sewed everything up nice and tight but advised that further pregnancies would not be wise. She followed that up with, "but I can't tell you what to do." I asked her to talk to me straight off the record and she said, "If you were my sister I would tell you never, ever get pregnant again." This was quite a bit to digest. While I wasn't of the mindset that I wanted 10 kids, we do have our beliefs which condone artificial birth control. We do our best and had permission and "grave enough reason" to practice Natural Family Planning, but I wasn't sure how well we could accomplish this task. I read up on it quite a bit after Nicholas was born.

We were both released about 6 days later. He did very well his first year. Like his siblings we knew he probably had a milk/soy intolerance and went straight to the same prescription formula that Zachary had been on. His first year was really very much a blur, but medically speaking he did very well.

I still have these moments of clarity (or is it insanity?) when I have trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that I have five children three of which for a year, were still in diapers. We have people ask us all the time, "Are they all yours?" While that question always leaves me puzzled as to what would lead a person to ask this question, I understand better now what a scene it must be to see a family out with five children scurrying about. It must be bizarre looking to the majority of the population who are quite comfortable with one, two or three children.

We live according to the laws given to us through the Holy Catholic Church and have faith that the way we are trying to live - is what is being asked of us by God. We know that saying "no" to artificial birth control" is the right thing because our faith tells us it is the right thing, yet we are still being responsible by doing what we need to do to protect my life and the life of a p0tential unborn baby. We trust that God knows what is best and if Natural Family Planning fails, then God must have a reason for it; God must want this particular soul here amongst us. We are the vehicle and God is the driver - the driver of a 15 passenger maxi-van nonetheless!

19 Days

It's Friday

I remember back when I was working full time what it meant to wake up on a Friday morning. There was a little more spring in my step as I would head out the door knowing that I had two days off ahead of me. Somehow getting to Friday was a big accomplishment. It still is, even on bed rest. Friday marks another week down for me and a sense of anticipation as we draw closer to "the day."

I have a Traditional Catholic calendar that sits beside me on my tray table. On today's date the block has St. Raymond of Penafort (Priest, Religious, year 1275) and St. Emerentiana (Virgin and Martyr, year 304) and I have written in the number 19; the number of days left to go before delivery. I am praying my delivery occurs on February 11th, the Feast Day of Our Lady of Lourdes. I am finding my stay here in the hospital has everything to do with numbers; how many contractions I have in a day, the baby's heart rate, my blood pressure, (most mornings a tech has to knock on my head to see if I am still alive because my blood pressure runs pretty low {88/38 one morning}). Some numbers are more significant than others like the cervical length. The shorter that number is, the closer to the end you get. The uterine wall thickness; if this number gets really small than surgery is imminent as we do not want the wall to get so thinned out that it will separate and rupture.

While numbers are part of my daily routine here, the one number I look at first thing in the morning and the last thing in the evening is the number I have written on my calendar counting down the days when my daughter will be born and the prospect of a normal life resumes.

NOW....

Today I went down for my Friday cervical length check in antenatal testing. The last time I was in there on Tuesday I left storming out of the unit after a horrible consult with one of the ATU physicians who treated me as if I had only about 3 brain cells working in my head. He could be right, but I felt like I was making a lot of sense! We had argued about my "plan of care" and date of delivery. Today was a much better visit. The results showed my cervix to be shortening. I am down to .244 mm. Last Friday I was up around .45 mm. I noticed that there were two docs consulting today and I asked specifically to be seen by the one I really admire and have a lot of respect for. He reminds me of a fatherly-type figure and when he is done consulting with me, he always gives me a hug. Little signs of affection when you are so isolated in the hospital can make your entire day! He basically said that if my fetal-fibronectin test turns positive; whenever it turns positive that they would move on the c-section right away. The fetal fibronectin test is a swab test that will indicate whether or not you will go into preterm labor in the next 10-14 days. I get this test done every Monday, so we'll wait and see what Monday brings.

When I got back to my room I saw a basket of fresh flowers from my husband, all my clothes were folded in my suitcase and a pajama-gram on my newly made up bed. The funny story about the pajama-gram is when I was here probably less than a week and they moved me into this private room - I get a knock on the door from the people downstairs who deliver packages and letters and flowers. It was a pajama-gram (box of new PJ's you can send to a person instead of flowers etc...). I was so excited to be getting a package. Well the label had the right room, but the name was not mine. Apparently, it was meant for the girl who was in here before me. It was a bit disappointing. I later told my husband about the package and he felt bad so here was my very own pajama gram! I made sure my name was on the box before I tore into it!!!

THEN...

For some reason the birth of my fourth child, my second son, is a bit foggy to me. I know his birth was about as traumatic as John Paul's and maybe I have taken on some of my husband's traits of blocking out the little details about it. Zachary was born in March of 2005. Earlier the year before we had decided to leave our suburban home; a town in which I had grown up and was very familiar to me, to a home with more land. It was a big step for us, but we knew that with a growing family it would be for the best. But what I hadn't realized is how deeply this would impact me and stretch my comfort level to the max with such a significant move. We had put our home of 8 years up for sale at the beginning of the year 2004. An offer was made within 3 days. Within 9 days all the papers had been signed. It was a whirlwind from there and we made settlement on our new 3.75 acre home complete with a two stall barn and horse paddock in March 2004. The first night we moved into our new home I wound up in the driveway crying my eyes out and had an overwhelming feeling of dread and loss. I suppose it didn't help that the people who owned the house before us left it filthy.

At any rate, by August that year, feeling a little more settled in, we found out we were expecting baby number four. I was hoping the pregnancy would have gone as smooth as the previous two, but morning sickness hit early and hard. The strange thing about this morning sickness was that the antinausea pills, which had worked wonderfully for my prior three pregnacies was not working at all. I kept getting sicker and sicker. I was also noticing that I was losing large amounts of hair and my weight was dropping significantly which, at the time, didn't seem too strange because I had been so sick. By the end of September I was hospitalized and they drew a bunch of labs. It turned out I was hyperthyroid. I was released after a week and sent to an endocrinologist. He informed me that I had Grave's disease. He said I probably always have had it but it was magnified with pregnancy. So I went on hyperthyroid medications and I was feeling significantly better by November. The holidays came and went. My due date was April 19th and by the end of January I had come down with a bad virus that was going around. The coughing and sneezing eventually turned into pneumonia. At the same time I was going through a horrible fall out with a family member and I think between the emotionally stress and the physically stress my body just said that's it.

A couple of days into my 36th week I started to feel those familiar Braxton Hicks contractions on a regular rhythmic basis. I got worried and called my husband, wh0 came home right away. He called his mom to watch the kids. After 45 minutes she arrived and off we went. When I got to the hospital I was alread 3-4 cm dilated so they prepped me for surgery. The C-section was fairly uncomplicated with the exception that the wound site was oozing (I know, probably too much information!) after they closed me. Apparently, it wouldn't stop so they had to reinforce the surgical site with some special mesh.

Zachary Christian was born and weighed in at 6 pounds. He was having respiratory issues so they whisked him off to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit and given a C-pap to help him along. This time my recovery from the c-section wasn't too horrible. I was up the next day and able to sit in the NICU with my son for most of the day. He was breathing room air and doing well until the feeding started. I did inform the nurses that I wanted him on hypoallergenic formula because of all the allergy/intolerance issues we had with the other children. The problem was that he wasn't keeping it down. This also was not a new thing for me or Kevin as all of the other children had reflux to one degree or another. His reflux seemed to be a little worse and sooner than the other kids though. I told the nurses he was a refluxer. So mid week they sent him off to radiology for barium swallow/upper GI which would show if he was refluxing. Sure enough he was refluxing, so the NICU pediatricans decided to start him on two different medications for reflux, Zantac which is an acid blocker and Reglan which is a motility agent and helps the food move faster through the digestive system. Within a day or so of Zachary going on these meds we noticed he started having funny twitching movements or jerks. Sometimes we saw it in his torso, sometimes his head would twitch and sometimes his limbs. Either Kevin or I was planted by his little isolette 24/7. We notified the nurses of this movement problem he was having and the NICU pediatrician was called who also saw what we were talking about. She ordered an EEG to see what was going on. We feared a seizure disorder. We were getting close to the end of the first week and really hoping he could just go home with us, but between his feeding difficulties and now this movement disorder it wouldn't be likely.

The doctors put him through several tests which included an EEG, and an MRI of the brain, which he had to be sedated for and that was scary. There were no real irregularities that had shown up, regardless, the team wanted to put him on antiseizure medications - the riskiest of those phenobarbital - a barbiturate that has sedative and hypnotic properties to it. My husband said, "no way!" He was pretty adamant about it too. We were furious to find out that they had administered the phenobarbital against our wishes. Nothing seemed to work though. He was still twitching.

By the end of the first week, I was essentially discharged, but the hospital was kind enough to give me a "nesting room" so I had a place to go to shower and eat and take a nap if I needd to and still stay with Zachary. I was missing my children so much and told Kevin I wanted to go home to see them for one night. So he came and got me and we left the hospital later in the evening. We were on the Atlantic City Expressway, on our way home, when Kevin noticed some headlights in his rear view mirror which appeared to be getting closer and closer. He started to move over into the right lane to let this guy pass us. Well, the other driver was going a little too fast and wound up clipping the back of our car. The next few moments, as I remember them happened in slow motion and by the guidance of many angels. The car started to spin. I remember screaming in horror and actually had time to think in those split seconds, "what will Zachary do without his mom by his side? He is all alone in the hospital right now." I remember Kevin being calm and collected. His right arm automatically went straight over to shield me and he managed to steer our spinning car with his left hand. He kept saying, "It will be all right...It will be okay." The next moment I looked up and we were facing forward, parked along the guardrail of the Expressway off of the left lane about a mile from our exit. I thought I was going to hyperventilate and noticed my hands wrapped in a protective manner around my belly as if to hold it together. I was amazed that we were not hit by any other cars that were on the Expressway at that moment. That, in and of itself, was miraculous. Kevin got me quickly out of the car and into the grassy median area. The car that hit us was on the other side of the road. This guy got out after about two or three minutes and ran across the two lanes to see about us. He spoke broken English and had a Russian accent. We had called 911 and they were sending police and ambulance and when he saw I had recently given birth he ran back to his car. Almost at the exact moment I said to Kevin, "you better get his plate number," he pulled away and left the scene. We were both checked out by the ambulance squad and the cop took our statement. The car was totaled so we couldn't drive home. The officer was kind enough to drive us the two miles or so to our house. My mother in law was watching the children for us that night. I remember walking in, my adrenaline still racing and hearing her say, "Bella has the flu. I just got done changing her sheets."

I think it's a blessing that God gives the human mind the ability to go numb because I honestly think the mind gets "full" and cannot process too many traumas all at once. That's how I felt...numb.

We returned to the hospital the next day. I had the nurses take him off the Zantac. It had a strong peppermint flavor to it and I wanted to see if his feedings would improve if we took that medicine away. I had always managed the other children's reflux by raising the head of the crib or thickening up the formula...never by meds. He was still having these strange jerking movements, but otherwise stable. We took him home at the end of week two and promised to follow up with the pediatric neurologist that week.

After we got settled at home we started researching reflux issues and seeing if there were any ties to seizure-like disorders. I was on a reflux message board one day about a month after we were home and there was a post on there from a mother and it read, "Reglan danger, please read!" Of course, immediately I opened the thread and read the warnings about how Reglan is not even approved for pediatric use and can cause "Parkinson-like syndrome" if administered to babies. Big light bulb moment for both Kevin and I. Immediately we discontinued the Reglan and within a few days he had no further twitching or jerking movements. How is it that the NICU nurses, pediatricians, pediatric neurologists and his own pediatrician at home did not know this was a side effect of the medication? I lost a lot of trust in the medical world at that point in time.

Zachary did pretty well and at about 3 months after his birth we received a letter from the state that indicated he had tested positive in the hospital for a possible genetic disorder. Apparently this test is part of a mandatory battery of tests they run on all babies before they were discharged. So off to the pediatric endocrinologist we went. She ran a series of tests and counseled us that she didn't think he would have any problems and that the growth hormones seem normal. She said sometimes preemies will test positive even if they aren't because they are born so little.

At a year he was due for a follow up MRI as requested by the pediatric neurologist we had been seeing since Zachary's birth. This was supposed to be a routine MRI. I was nervous because of the risks of putting a child under sedation. We went to the Children's Hospital for his MRI. They sedated him and did the MRI. Upon coming out of sedation we noticed Zachary was very irritated. The nurses said some kids transition from sedation better than others and some kids get very irritable. We were given instructions on how to care for him in the next 24 hours. Half way home, ironically right around the area of the Expressway where we had our accident, Zachary really started to wake up and he was freaking out! He screamed and kicked the rest of the ride home and when we got in the house it just got worse. We could barely hold him down. He couldn't walk because he was so woozy from the sedation, but he wanted no parts of anyone. We had to physically restrain him. After about two hours of this, I called the radiology department and told them the trouble we were having. She said to wait a little bit and eventually he would completely come out of it. "Eventually" meant another 4 hours of physical restraint, kicking and screaming. We were exhausted! He eventually went to sleep. We later found out that Zachary was the one in 50 children who experience irritable, combative and aggitated side effects of sedation. We would later find that this side effect runs in the family as Bella experienced a similar reaction to her MRI, but that's for another entry.

We got the results from the MRI the next day. There was a finding in the white matter of the left frontal part of his brain. We were told that we would have to have a repeat MRI in 6 months. Overall, he has done really well. His next MRI proved no changes to the defect. He went through a lot in his first two years, but he is a lovable, strong-willed little boy today, all the better for his experiences!

Little Crosses & Little Blessings

Little Crosses

Being confined to a hospital bed I suppose one could come up with 100 different crosses to talk about a day! I hope to take at least more than half of them and offer them up as a sacrifice. I would love to say I offer them all up, but sometimes I just feel too darn sorry for myself to let them go.

This is my third hospital stay since mid December. The first week I was here I stayed in labor and delivery for most of the week. The L&D room was so nice; big and spacious with a big shower stall and nurses who come into your room in an instant. But towards the end of the week I stabilized and they moved me to antepartum. I was put in a room after dinner at some point. I had no roommate, thankfully, but then at around 11 pm my nurse tells me, "you'll be getting a roommate in a few minutes." I had this sense of dread. This woman was in the early stages of labor and she had her husband with her and several visitors come and go. I suppose it wasn't too, too bad, but after two days I was released home.

The second stay at the hospital was only for two days, but this last one when they admitted me for the duration was the one I worried most about. I was put in an antepartum room in the middle of the night on the first night. I had a roommate. The floor was completely full and with only four private rooms on the floor, my chance at having my own room was dismal. This whole roommate thing was a big cross, besides knowing that I would be in the hospital for four more weeks. She kept the TV on all night long and as most trad moms do NOT watch MTV or VH1, this was a very big cross to endure.

I suppose the only other cross that I am whiny about and not completely letting go of is the lack of a hot shower. Even a warm shower would be nice; one that doesn't make all the hair on your arms stand up. Yes, I realize there is a lot I take for granted at home.

Little Blessings

But it seems as if my Saints in heaven are watching out for me and the Lord has blessed me with little blessings for my measly efforts to offer up some of the big ones to Him. I sleep with a fan at home. I always have since I was little. I love the sound of the white noise and I prefer the temperature to be cooler than warmer when I sleep. Anyone who is addicted to fan-sleeping (you know who you are!) knows that going somewhere and trying to sleep without that soothing background noise can make for a long night. My MTV roommate was discharged and I had a semi-private room to myself. My nurse informs me that one of the private rooms may be opening up and I was first on the list to get it! I was thrilled!!! And if that wasn't a blessing, she goes on to say, "Would you like a fan for your room?" ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YES! I was curious as to why she would ask me that out of the blue. She said she was a "fan-sleeper" so she always makes sure to ask her patients if they want a fan knowing how hard it is to sleep without one. Sounds silly, but I considered that a humongous blessing!

Another little blessing that came along was my first warm shower. This happened for the first time last night. I started running the water about 10 minutes before I got into the shower because the nurses on this floor tell me the heater that heats the water for the floor is way on the other side and I would have to run the shower for a bit. It never helped before. But I gave it a shot. Yesterday was not a good day for me but when I reached in to feel the frigid temperature, to my surprise it was very warm. It was a good night.

NOW...

There's not much by way of update. I have heard from my OB this morning. She has a call in to my previous OB. She wants to talk to her about all that she saw with the last surgery. Apparently after her "face to face" call on the phone, my OB will be over here to have a "long talk" with me about a delivery date. As I think I mentioned in my first post we don't all agree on a date for the surgery. I am leaning towards the 35 week mark. My gut and my instinct say to prolong this pregnancy past 35 could be a potential danger to me and Philomena. I sure hope we get a date soon so that I have some kind of idea when all this will take place.

THEN...

This is the birth story of my third child - my first son, John Paul. Bella was only 6 months old when we discovered that we were expecting baby number three. It was a little surprising because it was so soon after the birth of our second. My pregnancy was fairly uneventful with John Paul with the exception of being sick for four months. His due date was at the end of December 2002. When December rolled around I was very busy with holiday preparations and the time seemed to go by pretty quick. I had switched OB's after the birth of Bella and we were fortunate to find a pro-life OB only 10 minutes away. He had been in practice for 35 years or so. It was December 22nd and I was 39 weeks. I woke up that day with a check list of things I still needed to get done before Christmas. I was out shopping and remember feeling very crampy and basically just not right. I still walked all over the department store determined to get everything done. Later that night I decided to rest and get off my feet. The crampiness was still there but only off and on. Earlier in the week my husband and I had purchased our first really "nice" box-spring and mattress set. It was so wonderful to sleep atop a double pillow-top mattress. Anyway, we turned in for the night and at around 1 am or so I woke up suddenly and found my water broke....all over the brand new mattress. I wasn't feeling any contractions, but we called the OB who told us to head over to the hospital. We got there within a half hour and as we are walking up to Labor and Delivery I had my first real whopper of a contraction. It was like someone punched me square in the belly. Once I was through that first one we made it to the L&D room. They made me change into the beautiful hospital gown that makes any woman feel just radiant inside. After getting settled and having another big contraction, the resident OB came up to check me. I will never forget these words he said to me during the exam. First, "Wow, you are fully dilated!" And then, "Is this an elbow I feel? A foot? Two feet?" I proceeded to tell them in a not-so-calm fashion that that was impossible. He had been head down for the entire last trimester practically. No, they insisted - he was breech, a double footling breech. The next unforgettable thing the resident said to me was, "Well, you have two options; we can try to manipulate the baby into place manually and this will be done with no drugs because it's too late for anesthesia or you can opt for an emergency C-section." Manipulate? Manually? NO DRUGS? My mind was spinning and I would have rather plucked my eyeballs out with a dull butter knife than go through the pain of "manually manipulating" my unborn son! I told my husband I couldn't make that decision. So he suggested the C-section seemed to be the safest option. At that moment, my OB comes rushing in and a whirlwind of activity begins. I remember watching my husband standing behind as I am swiftly wheeled out of the room. He had this hollow, empty look on his face.

The next thing I remember, and I remember this so clearly was the doctor being handed the iodine and him pouring it on my belly as the anesthesiologist was asking me incessant questions about what I was allergic to and if I had heart problems and a plethora of other questions which I had a difficult time answering. I just wanted to know where my husband was and why he wasn't there by my side. At the same time, a nurse is trying to insert a catheter and she was getting visibly frustrated because I was squirming too much. Imagine that? A pregnant woman, fully dilated and going through contractions, watching iodine being poured all over her belly...not sitting still. The nerve of me. She finally said in a very stern voice, "Kelly, you are going to HAVE to sit still." Now, I consider myself to be a fairly reasonable, although Irish-tempered woman, but I am telling you if they hadn't strapped my arms and legs down I would have belted her in her face.

The next thing I clearly remember like something out of a movie was my OB gowned up and gloved and a scalpel in his hand and I begged them, "please, please put me out." The mask came over my face and I was out.

My poor husband is watching various medical personnel running in and out of the OR. The anesthesiologist, apparently came out to talk to him and ask him if I was allergic to any medications. This poor guy, my husband couldn't even answer the questions! All he wanted to know is if me and my son were all right. He tells me much later how terrifying those moments were to him.

I woke up in a recovery room and everything was foggy. They leave me in there for another two hours or so and then I remember being in what I thought was the baby nursery, but was actually the neonatal intensive care unit and they wheeled me up to a little isolette where I saw my son for the first time through very groggy eyes. I remember the tubes and lights and everything looked very medical to me.

They took me to my room and as they were trying to transfer me to my hospital bed I got sick. Now, I can tell you that when you have had abdominal surgery and you have to throw up - well the two just do NOT mix very well. I felt like one of those circus girls who stands at the bullseye with an apple on my head, only the sword thrower misses the apple and nails my stomach several times over.

Apparently the OB couldn't get my son out so he had to do extended cuts on both sides of the abdomen to extract him. When they did pull him out he was not breathing. His APGAR score was a 2/4. His lung had collapsed at birth and they needed to put him on a ventilator. Still, surprisingly, John Paul Francis was my biggest baby weighing in at 7 pounds and 3 ounces. We both spent a very long week in the hospital. He came off the ventilator and did very well, quickly bouncing back. He did have some issues with apnea so we were sent home with an apnea monitor.

My OB finally came into my room and explained what had happened during the surgery and he said, "You can never, ever have another vaginal birth again." I was happy to be going home and kept his consultation with me tucked in the back of my head for the future. The nurses later tell me that my OB had been considering retiring for some time and after my son's birth announced that this could be the surgery that sends him into retirement!

22 days OR MORE

NOW...

It's been a frustrating day. I took my weekly Tuesday trip down to antenatal testing. They do a biophysical profile on the baby each week to make sure she is meeting all the good milestones like "practice breathing" and making sure there is enough amniotic fluid etc. She - Philomena - always passes with flying colors, thankfully.

The torturous part about the trip down there is that they wheel you down in a wheelchair and park you in the hallway where you hurry up and wait for a tech to come get you. Can I just watch paint dry instead, please? My usual wait in the "chair" can be from 15 minutes to 35 minutes. One time "transport" forgot me and I sat there forever until I decided I would go ahead and take the elevator myself up to my room. Wheelchairs are not the most comfortable places to be when you are 8 months pregnant.

Philomena did well once again today, passing all her tests like practice breathing etc. The problem I am having is with the perinatologists in general. A perinatologist is a "specialist" in the area of maternal/fetal medicine. They get your chart and review your ultrasounds and try to give you their best medical opinion on how to manage your case. The problem is that these doctors never once will perform a hands-on exam. They only know you via your chart.

I have had three preterm babies all born at 36 weeks gestation. My last baby was born the day I turned 36 weeks. When the OB got in to do the c-section I had a dehiscence or "window" meaning my previous scar sites were separating to the point where at moment the site would have opened and we all would have had a real emergency on our hands.

A very real risk for moms who have had prior c-sections is uterine rupture. If your uterine wall separates (typically at the original scar site) the baby has nowhere to go except into your abdominal cavity where he or she has under 10 minutes to be delivered. There is a 7% mortality rate for the mother who will hemorrhage on the table with a uterine rupture. So naturally, my instinct and mother's intuition, which by the way means nothing to a "specialist" says don't go anywhere near 36 weeks. I base this instinct on the fact that I also rarely feel any labor pains until I am fully dilated and ready to be delivered, which in my case could prove to be fatal for me and the baby as laboring of the uterus would most likely cause it to rupture. Of course the group of perinatologists do NOT agree to take me at 35 weeks gestation primarily because of liability issues. So one of the docs got my Irish way up when he refused to hear my reasons why I don't want to go all the way to 36 weeks. I explained that I am not thinking only about myself and the great risk of uterine rupture that I run, but the 7 other lives who depend on me! I explained that I consulted with one of the Intensive Care Unit pediatricians who concurred that treating a 35 week gestation baby was not much different than a 36 week baby.

The perinatogists will hear nothing of it and the doc who was consulting with me actually stopped me mid sentence and said "we are not having this conversation. We will agree to disagree." I suppose I wouldn't mind as much if he just made some sort of sense; if his reasonings were consistent, but they were not. He contradicted his position and opinion several times, something that does not easily escape a person as skeptical as myself! He wouldn't allow me to call him on his contradictions either; it just annoyed him all the more.

I am not sure what God is trying to teach me other than to be still and know that He is God. Typically I am the type of person who plans way ahead. I am organized and I like to know exactly what is going on so having to just sit and wait to see if something catastrophic will happen is extremely unnerving to say the least.

Another aspect that is nerve wracking to me is the fact that I have lightening fast labors that are rarely painful until the very end. I mentioned the birth story of my first child yesterday. I believe my entire active labor was 5 or 6 hours, which is a pretty small amount of time for a first labor.

THEN...

We found out we were pregnant with our second child in January 2001. My oldest daughter had turned 3 that month. The pregnancy itself went smoothly. I was sick for about five months, but right away knew to ask for antinausea pills to avoid the complications we had with our first child. I had switched OB's and was now seeing a specialist in Center City Philadelphia. Other than the drive into the city with each appointment, all went well. I assumed that because I had preterm labor with my first that my second may come a little early. Her due date was September 29, 2001, the feast day of St. Michael the Archangel. I remember the fateful day of September 11, 2001. I was in my living room waiting for our new couch to be delivered when everything started unfolding in New York City. I was petrified! I kept thinking, "what if today is the day I go into labor? My child will be born on such an awful day in our country's history." Fortunately, our unborn daughter hung in there and decided to born on her date - a feat that would not happen again in any of my pregnancies!

I was cooking a lasagne in the kitchen. Everything was done. While cooking I had felt a lot of braxton hicks contractions (painless tightening of the uterus). When they started to become a little painful I put the calls into my husband, OB and sister. How fortunate we were that my sister and her husband were scheduled to have dinner in the city that day! My husband came home and picked me and my daughter up and off we went. As we drove the contractions became very much more painful, but I still thought I had a lot of time. I remember sitting in city traffic only blocks from the hospital and pounding on the car window to get out because the contractions were coming on fast and strong at that point. It hadn't even been two hours yet.

We got to the hospital and were rushed up to labor and delivery. I was almost fully dilated. I remember the nurse saying, "I am not sure how fast anesthesia can get here. You may have to go without pain relief." She might as well have said I was sentenced to die by lethal injection! I was to hear those words with my next child as well, but we'll leave that for tomorrow's entry. Fortunately, the anesthesiologist was readily available. While waiting on him my water broke and I thought I would die from the pain. Remember what a baby I am with physical pain. I got the epidural and immediately starting pushing and within minutes we knew something was not going right. My primary OB was not on that night. This was a different OB from the same practice and sweet as could be, but the look on his face towards the L&D nurse told my husband and I something was wrong. I was told to stop pushing and the OB got the vacume out. I asked what was wrong and he said my daughter's heart rate had dropped very low. Isabella Rose was born after two and a half hours of labor from start to finish! She had the cord wrapped around her neck two times. It took a minute or two to hear those wonderful cries every parent waits for, but she eventually did cry. She was having a little difficulty regulating her breathing so it was a tense first few moments.

My sister and her husband had rushed to the hospital in time to pull my oldest daughter out of the room. Jordana adored Isabella from the moment she saw her.

I later found out that the OB who had delivered Bella was not a pro-life OB like his partner. This OB who delivered this beautiful life to us would also stand in that same room and perform an abortion on a woman if she so chose. I felt sick when I learned this. I didn't even know that an OB, whose primary job is deliver life would on the same day destroy a tiny baby's life without giving it a second thought. A friend of mine had just casually asked me if I knew if my OB was pro-life. What a peculiar question I thought.

We went home after two days in the hospital. Bella had relatively few problems in her first year. She started sleeping through the night at about two and a half/three months. She did not tolerate milk, but did take soy and did well. We only had one real scare with her. When I took her for her 4 week pediatric visit, the pediatrician paused as he examined Bella. He palpated her belly a while and said she had a double hernia that would need to be repaired through surgery. He would schedule it for the following week. My brain could not absorb what he had just said. All I could think about is that my little 5 week old baby was going to be put under anesthesia and have to have abdominal surgery. You could probably ask my husband for his account of the day of surgery, but I guarantee he will have blocked it out of his brain. He is incredibly strong and calm in moments of panic and pressure and is a considerable source of strength to me, but when it's all said and done, I think he just erases the pain from his mind to better cope. I do remember going into the hospital's pseudo-chapel and praying the rosary during the surgery. One of the hardest moments of that time was not being able to feed my daughter. She had to be fasting for something like 6-8 hours before surgery. What could be harder for a mother than to deliberately NOT feed your own child and listen to her cries of hunger, yet I know there are millions of mothers around the world who hear that cry everyday because of poverty and circumstance. God have mercy on those mothers and bring them comfort!

Bella came through the surgery just fine and did very well. The only other issue that arose with Isabella that first year was that she had to be casted on her legs. She was bow-legged and this needed to be corrected by placing casts on both of her legs. This happened at about 7 weeks old. She didn't seem to mind and adjusted quite well. The rest of her first year went so smoothly, thanks be to God.

23 days

That's the magic number. Twenty-three days to go. It's a chlly, gray January day. It has snowed on and off all day. The gray weather matches the gray mood within these four walls, though thanks be to God that mood has brightened a bit as the days widdle down to zero.

I suppose I should give a little background of how I found myself confined to a hospital bed while my five children and husband are left to fend for themselves at home.

This is my 7th pregnancy and will be our family's 6th child. We're having a baby girl in no more than four weeks from now. Her name will be Philomena Anne as I have promised dear St. Philomena her namesake if she sees me successfully through this turbulent pregnancy. St. Anne is also my patron and has been a devoted friend in heaven for a long time now. From what I am told my little unborn Philomena is now 4 pounds 2 ounces at best estimation. I am 32 weeks pregnant with her. My journey to best rest with my little Philomena began 11 years ago...

My first child was born 11 years ago. I was 28 years old and my husband Kevin was 26. We were thrilled to learn of the pregnancy in May 1997. The thrill soon wore off when in June I was suddenly struck with hyperemisis gravidum from Greek hyper and emesis and Latin (how our Traditional Catholic hearts love to hear the latin!!!!) gravida; meaning " excessive vomiting of pregnant women." Not pretty. At the time I was working at a Radiology practice as an assistant. I worked in the "reading room" with 5 or 6 Radiologists. Think of the reading room as the "bat cave." It's dark all the time with the exception of the white lights that illuminate the x-ray films. I only saw daylight when I went into the kitchen for a break. I would hang all the films for them and call in patient diagnoses. So when severe morning sickness struck, I would sneak into the bat cave, thankful that the darkness would mask the green tint of my face. It wasn't a fun time having to throw up in the employee bathroom. By the end of July I was still vomiting and had lost 12 pounds which back in the day put me at around 100 pounds. The good old days....

By August and no relief in sight and missing many days of work, I returned to my OB and begged and pleaded that they DO something for me...anything...just please give me relief so that I can see something other than the inside of a toilet bowl. On the particular day that I went to the OB's office, my regular OB was out and the partner saw me. He said these words that I will never forget, "Well we can give you some antinausea medication to help relieve your symptoms." I didn't know whether to smack him or hug him. Why hadn't someone mentioned this little white-pilled wonder two months and 12 pounds ago????

From there things started looking slightly more cheery. By the end of October though I had a sharp pain in my belly. We went to the ER and found that besides the pain I was also regularly contracting. I was only 6 months pregnant at the time. No one could seem to tell us the nature of the pain so they sent us home. Later that evening, the pain became unbearable so my husband drove me back to the ER looking for some answers. My OB showed up this time (yes, the one who never thought to offer me the little magic pills!) and found the source of the pain - a degenerating fibroid. I forget now how big they said it was, but it was a decent size because they promptly put me on morphine. Being a non-drug user and having never taken a single drug in my life more powerful then Tylenol, I could see where a person could just go crazy off this stuff. They gave me some sort of pump that would give me measured dosages. I just remember that week as being 7 days filled with pushing that awesome red button!

The only thing that didn't go away was the contractions and since it was way too early to deliver our little girl, I was put on Brethine or Terbutaline to help ease the contractions. While this drug did work it also made me extremely jittery like having 17 cups of coffee a day. My magic number with my first pregnancy was 36 weeks. My OB told me that at 36 weeks I could stop taking the Brethine.

I took a leave of absence from my job at that point and played the waiting game. My daughter was due January 28, 1998, so on January 1st or so, I stopped taking the Brethine and went into labor shortly thereafter in the early morning hours of January 3rd. I was having regular, but not too painful contractions and went to labor and delivery around 8 am. At first I was naively thinking to myself that labor really wasn't all that bad until about an hour later I had a contraction that just about sent me crashing through the walls into the adjoining room, which personally, I think would have been more pleasant than the monumentous pain I was now experiencing. Okay, I admit it I am a big baby in the pain department. I have the mental strength of a warrior, but physical pain is a different story. Where was my morphine drip now?? I was given Pitocin, a drug to help "move labor along" sometime before noon and an epidural to help with the pain. I told my husband, who is notorious for being cranky when he does not eat to go to the cafeteria and get something to eat. Off he goes. Ten minutes later I am feeling this weird urge to push. I tell the nurses who met my announcement with much skeptisism. They poo-poo'd me for a bit and finallly consented to check me. Sure enough, I was fully dilated and ready to go. I frantically paged my husband a 911 and he sprinted out of the cafeteria to my bedside. After an hour of pushing and realizing what the St. Paul meant when he said these words from 1 Timothy 2:14-15, "And Adam was not seduced; but the woman being seduced, was in the transgression. Yet she shall be saved through childbearing; if she continue in faith, and love, and sanctification, with sobriety." Yep. That about sums it up. That was the hardest hour of my life and the best hour of "work" I had ever done.

My daughter, Jordana Mae was born at 1:18 pm at 6 pounds and 8 ounces. I spent the next 6 hours in isolation, alone in my hospital room. Jordana was born with a little respiratory distress. She was "caving" her chest as she was breathing so that kept her in the nursery to watch her. My husband never left her side, which is what I wanted, but the loneliness of those six hours in my room, recovering from birth, was probably all part of the saving process a woman goes through for the good of her own soul.

We went home in two days and she did great....for a bit. She wouldn't breastfeed because her sucking reflex wasn't as good as that of a baby born full term. I tried and even had a "lactation specialist" help me out. This specialist could have been a military sergeant or a prison guard or perhaps an interogator for the CIA. Yeah, it was that bad. At the end of each interrogation, I mean training session, I was in tears and my daughter was no closer to getting the appropriate nutrients a premature baby should have been getting. I was told to pump the breastmilk. I did what I was told because being a first time mother I believed that if I didn't provide my newborn with breast milk, well she might not ever be smart enough to be a nuclear physicist or an astronaut. If I *gasp* went to formula, she may not ever make it past the 5th grade! Yes, I am being sarcastic, but this was how bad it was.

So the pump arrived. It was this blue machine the size of a small safe. I will never, ever forget hooking this contraption up to me for the first time and turning the power on. I remember thinking that this thing would suck my entire body into the blue box much like what you see in the cartoons. So my day was pumping, feeding, changing diapers, pumping and feeding some more. Jordana began showing signs of colic at about four weeks. I was very perplexed because she was getting breastmilk which was suppose to be the last thing in the universe to give my child colic. The drill at night was something like this: She would wake to eat. I would feed her, put her back down to sleep, get the monster pump out and pump for 20-25 minutes, take the milk to the freezer and go back to sleep. By the time that was all done my daughter was awake again in less than two hours for another feeding and the process would start all over. She was getting crankier and crankier by the day. She wouldn't allow us to sit and feed her, we had to pace with her up and down the floors in constant motion to get her to finish her bottle.

Exhausted after two months of this, I finally broke down and bought some milk based formula. Her colic continued to get worse and now she started having ear infections. We still had to pace to feed her. So the pediatrician tells us to switch to soy. I switched to soy and it only made things worse because now she was colicky, not sleeping, and constipated. I will never forget her tiny little fists curled up as she ate. She would constantly curl up in a ball and turn red. Something was really wrong. By five to six months and extremely sleep deprived and exhausted and after the third ear infection, we took her back to the pediatrician. He didn't see anything wrong. He said maybe she needs tubes. Having had enough and having a great insurance plan at the time I made an appointment at the pediatric allergist. He did some scratch skin testing on her and we found her to have a slight allergy to milk. The allergist said even though her skin testing did show a glaring positive to milk and soy he advised that we try a hypoallergenic formula. It was like night and day. This little 6-month old baby was transformed practically overnight! She started sleeping better, though not through the night until she was 12 months old, but sleeping longer spans and she wasn't curling into a ball anymore. It was like a miracle.

I had my own struggles during those first six months or so. I had the blues like they say most mothers will get after the birth of their child. It's called postpartum depression, but all the books will tell you it will only last for a couple of weeks and then subside. It never subsided for me and I didn't make the connection that it truly was postpartum because I was so sleep deprived. I assumed my moods were so horrible because I wasn't getting any sleep. I clearly remember driving places and not knowing how I got there; what roads I took or even what time I left. I couldn't complete a single thought in my head to save my life. It was a mixture of stress, anxiety, sleep deprivation and postpartum depression that contributed to my sorry state in life at that time.

One day while at the grocery store I noticed some herbal supplements in the vitamin aisle. I found one that said it was good for helping treat depression. So I bought this bottle of St. John's Wort. It did seem to help and life was becoming a little more manageable for both my daughter and my husband and I. It would be three and a half years before our next little one would come along. I will tell her story tomorrow.

For now, I will sit here and try to be patient and look forward to my trips downstairs to the antenatal testing unit as my big "day out." I go twice a week. I liken it to my trips out to Barnes and Noble book store when I am home and our family is running like a well oiled machine. Every so often my husband will tell me to get out of the house and go somewhere to relieve some stress; I am guessing this is good for his own sanity as well as mine. The problem is going one floor down in the hospital in a wheelchair and not being able to read anything except these awful women's magazines is a bit different than going to my favorite book store, grabbing a hot cup of tea and heading for the history or psychology section of the bookstore, but it will have to do for now.