32 wks 6 days

After "risking out" of midwifery care, I met with my new OB. She tracked my (impressive!) contractions, ordered an ultrasound and another fetal fibronectin test, told me to take it easy and sent me home. Neither she nor I were feeling too worried about anything.

Next day I got a call from her office. The test was positive, my cervix had shortened, it was possible that the baby might be on her way. They sent me to the hospital for a shot of steroids to help jumpstart her lung development and to get me on a Magnesium Sulfate drip to slow the contractions. 

One thing lead to another over the next six days. The Magnesium Sulfate depressed my central nervous system while the IV they gave me caused my body to overload with fluid. I began to struggle to breathe. They did a chest x-ray, an ultrasound of my leg and arm veins, an EKG, an arterial blood gas test, an echocardiogram. They put me on oxygen and took a million different vials of blood. They found fluid in my lungs (pulmonary edema) and a problem with my heart valve. They gave me furosemide to clear the fluid, but then I diuresed too far and my heart started to go into the danger zone. They rehydrated me with another IV, ordered another echocardiogram, more blood tests, another x-ray etc. 

When things finally stablized they let me go. I had 14 new holes in my arms from needles and cannulas. I saw white spots in my eyes when I stood up. The nurse told me, in the kindest possible way, that I could have died.

**

That's the quick and dirty summary of how it went down. I thought, as it was all happening, that I'd want to eventually write it out in vivid detail, but honestly, sitting here on my third evening home, I realize there's no real point in dwelling. It happened, it sucked, it's (hopefully) over.

Instead I'd like to talk about gratitude.

Over those six days I was in hospital, while I stared out the window or talked with the (very sweet) nurses, and while Jared sat or slept or read to me from the cot next to my bed, packages kept arriving at our home. They piled up on the porch. When I was released, I sat in our bed and Jared brought me box after box to open. These were presents, for the baby, for me. These were hand me down toys and homemade blankets and perfume and new nightgowns and fancy chapsticks and baby socks and little patterned dresses and boxes of chocolate. I opened them one by one, tissue paper spilling over the side of the bed, and I almost couldn't stand it. It was too much. It was this physical representation of the overwhelming love and support we've been receiving lately. And it was just a tiny portion of it.

There's nothing like a good struggle to make your realize how fortunate you are. Over the past few months, our friends and family have outdone themselves. Just when I think we've reached the peak of being cared for, I find there's a new level. As things have become harder for me, more and more people have come forward to pitch in. I can hardly keep track of their kindness. They have brought us home cooked meals and takeout; they have washed our dishes and done our laundry and dusted our tables and vacuumed our floors; they have cleaned the insides of our kitchen cupboards; they have flown in from other states to purchase and assemble ikea furniture; they have driven me to and from doctor's appointments; they have walked and played with and minded our dog; they have bought us groceries and put them away; they have called, and texted, and sent cards, and showered us with absurdly generous gifts for the baby; they have come over just to sit on my bed and gossip. All of this, often over and over again, without a moment's hesitation, always with a smile, and I seriously can't understand how I got so lucky. How do I have so many amazing people in my life?

Before this experience I had a hard time ever letting people help me at all. I was proud of taking care of my own business, of joking about hardship, of rarely "burdening" others. I was independent (and maybe a little aloof?) Deep down this was connected to a feeling of not deserving help, as if good deeds were tallied and reciprocated accordingly. What, after all, had I ever done to earn people's love and support and care? 

I realize now that that's not at all how the world works. People take care of you out of their own love and goodness, not because you've earned it. No one is keeping score. I hit the jackpot in the friends and family department, and I married an amazing man. I am lucky, pure and simple.

I don't know how I'll ever repay everyone. Likely I won't. There's no matching what has been done for me in these past months. So for now I'll just say: THANK YOU.

31 wks 2 days

I'm still seeing the midwives at the birth center until I can get in with a high risk OB. Today after my prenatal, as Jared was setting up my next appointment and I was trying to remain horizontal on the couch, I noticed the head midwife staring at me.

"Your pregnancy," she said, shaking her head a little and squinting her eyes, "is a complete mystery."

You're telling me, lady.

27 wks 1 day

The contractions kept doing their thing, but I kept cheating on my modified "bed rest." A slow walk around the block with the dog here, a quick trip to CVS there. I was feeling cocky. Since I had been checked by the midwife and seemed to be holding steady, I saw no real harm in a little fresh air or a teensy amount of exercise. Jared needed to fly out for a conference in Pittsburgh on Wednesday night and I insisted on driving him to the airport. "Driving is just sitting anyway!" I said.

That evening I began to notice some lower back pain and mild cramping, but I brushed it off. Pregnancy is full of weird aches and pains. The next day my mom and brother drove to town and we had lunch at my sister's place. I felt off. I had steady contractions throughout lunch and slightly worsening back pain and cramping, so after lunch I put my feet up and tried to relax. My mother knew something was up. "Some of the things you are describing sound like labor," she said, and I finally acknowledged I should maybe call the birth center.

I went in and the student midwife checked me out, tried to say some reassuring things, then went out to confer with the head midwife, Elizabeth. A minute later Elizabeth strode into the room and announced, "You're going on bed rest, but first you're going to the emergency room." They explained that my cervix had begun to soften and efface. I would need a shot to stop the contractions, which would hopefully prevent further changes or dilation. Then I was to go on bed rest, real bed rest, to take pressure off my cervix and help my uterus calm down.

My sister drove me to the hospital. They hooked me up to a monitor to chart the contractions and the baby's movement. She was kicking and flipping and as busy as usual. The contractions were 6 minutes apart. They stuck a horrible IV into my hand, (number one phobia right there) and then gave me a shot of Terbutaline in my arm. "This might make your heart race a little," the nurse said, flicking clear drops of medicine from the tip of the syringe. Within minutes my face was flushed and my pulse was zooming. I shivered and squirmed on the bed. The tube in my hand ached. The poor baby sensed my anxiety and she squirmed too.

They performed a Fetal Fibronectin test and a very fat, very gruff doctor walked in and told me that if the test was negative, I could be nearly certain I wouldn't go into labor in the next two weeks. If it was positive, I would be staying in the hospital, given steroids to help the baby's lungs develop, more Terbutaline, and then I would maybe go into labor. "But," he said, giving me a rheumy eyed glance, "you look healthy. Probably just dehydrated." He scribbled some notes. "How many weeks?" he barked at the nurse. She told him and he said, as he walked from the room,"Well, at least it would live."

An hour later the test came back negative, and we were free to go.

The Terbutaline took all night to wear off. I tried to sleep but was troubled by strange half-waking nightmares. My body was so tense I could no longer tell if I was contracting. By morning I was shaky and drained. My sister and her husband grocery shopped for me, brought me lunch and cleaned my kitchen, Jared booked a flight back from Pittsburgh. My midwife checked in via text and I told her the contractions had slowed somewhat, which seemed true, but a few hours later they picked up again. If I switched positions in bed, reached to my bedside table for my glass of water, or got up to use the bathroom my belly would distend into a solid ball. I tried to lie very still.

Two days later they come every 3-5 minutes as I lie in bed, and instantly if I move at all. Nothing seems to calm them. I drink my water and my coconut water and take magnesium and cramp bark even some red wine and I try to find a difference and there is none. I do not move for hours on end and still they come. They are painless. I won't know until I see the midwife again if they have caused further cervical changes.

I do know my baby will not be born in the next two weeks. I don't know for certain what happens after that.

26 wks 2 days

The contractions started at 22 weeks or so, only I didn't understand that's what they were. They were painless. I'd feel my belly get suddenly rock hard and I'd think, wow, my little acrobat must be doing some crazy new trick in there.

It was only a few weeks later, when it started happening basically all the time, that I thought to Google "pregnant, sudden tightening of the belly" and realized what was going on. These were Braxton-Hicks contractions, and they were a good thing. They were my body's way of "training for the marathon of labor." I was pleased, because if this was my body gearing up, and it was starting this early and with this crazy frequency, then I was surely going to be a rockstar at giving birth in February.

But there was just one hitch. Every article I read about Braxton-Hicks contractions contained this line, "If you have more than four contractions in an hour, you could be experiencing preterm labor. You should call your doctor and head to Labor & Delivery." My belly tightened for what was probably the 11th time that hour and I thought, um...

I called my midwife, who is level-headed. "The concern of course," she said in her soft British accent, "is preterm labor. But it doesn't seem like you are having any other symptoms." She was right, it was just these massive quantities of contractions. She asked a few questions, made some hm sounds, and then told me to drink a bunch of water, a half a glass of wine, and to spend the weekend doing nothing. I was to keep track of any contractions and report back to her on Monday.

Tiny glass of wine in hand, I Googled until I eventually found, huddled on corners of pregnancy message boards, little groups of women who shared my symptoms. They contracted when they walked the dog, when they folded laundry, when they bent to tie their shoes, when they sat up quickly, when they sneezed, when they where thirsty, when they had to pee, and when they were just lying on the couch with their feet propped on pillows. None of their contractions seemed to get worse, or to follow a timeable pattern. Most of them had been to Labor & Delivery at least once. Some were given medications that made them tremble and their hearts race. Some were put on bed rest. Some were given Magnesium IVs. Some sought second and third opinions and were told completely contradictory things. No one knew whether they should stay in bed or get exercise, no one knew if the drugs were working, and no seemed to be able to tell them their odds for preterm labor. They each at some point were given the term "irritable uterus" which is a catch-all diagnosis with no standard of care. "May or may not lead to premature delivery," the one website about it read.

I contracted all weekend but had no other symptoms. The contractions never formed a pattern, never got stronger, never went away. I found more women on older message boards and followed their stories. Some went into labor before 30 weeks and had micro-preemies who stayed in the NICU, but most seemed to make it almost to term. They had their babies at 35 and 36 and 37.2 weeks and they considered this a triumph. "Baby born a month early, but I'm finally free from my angry witch of a uterus!" they said.

Before this, the idea that my baby could ever come early had never once crossed my mind. My siblings and I were each born nearly two weeks late. We were big babies, fully cooked at 8 and a half and 9 and 10 lbs. I could have imagined a million things being wrong with my baby, or with me, but coming early couldn't be one of them. Now I didn't know what to think. 

All was inconclusive at my checkup. I was contracting the entire time, but there was no dilation or worrisome changes, the baby swam and kicked around and had a beautiful heartbeat, my blood pressure was low. So what was happening? My midwife couldn't tell me. She gave me some magnesium powder and instructions to take the next two weeks as easy as possible- no exercise, no stress, but that was all she could do. "This might just be your normal," she told me with a sort of consolatory smile.

So now I'm on "modified bed rest," which means I lay around all day even more that I used to. If I have to do something like carefully walk the dog or flip a load of laundry I lie down immediately afterwards. I spend a lot of time reading stories about irritable uterus and try to spot patterns or find clues. I worry about preterm labor. I stop worrying. I contract a lot. I worry some more. I throw up (yes I am still doing that!)

I'm trying to take it easy mentally, trying to focus on happy things like the baby's energetic kicking or the comic hugeness of my belly. I have been sewing little things, and reading Ina May's Guide to Childbirth, which I find enormously comforting. If the baby comes early, I live in a city with good care. And if this is just "my normal" and I go to term, at least my belly will have had a lot of practice.