That Night

I arrived at the hopspittle dragging my rolling suitcase and had the diaper bag and two fluffy pillows in the other hand. The other hand that was also holding my cell phone to talk with The Beloved. We had a dilemma. There was no way he could make it from here to there before the birth of our son even if they waited until morning. We were both hoping against the odds that the docs would stabilize my blood pressure and either wait a few more days to deliver or even send me home. Should he leave now and take the chance that he'd miss the work only to have me sent home anyway? That money would make a big difference in the days after we came home from the hospital. And since there was no way he could make it in time for our son's birth, should he stay there until we knew for sure what was going to happen? There are long stretches of no cell phone coverage between here and there. Long, wide open spaces. What if there were complications? What if someone had to make decisions? What if The Baby had to be moved to a higher level of care...did I want him to stop closer and go to The Baby, or make a two hour long trip so I could discharge myself against medical advice and then we would both turn around to come back the way he'd just come? What to do...The Other Mommy had collected The Kidlets. Miss Susie had locked up the house. Our neighbor was looking after the dogs. The Beloved had asked if I could call someone to be with me. Grandma ME was still at work. Bits was sick. My Big Sis was hours away in the valley. Neither one of us have family nearby except for each other. We said our tearful good byes and I love yous and I strolled into the facility and muttered the much repeated words that by now I've come to hate, "Hi, I'm your direct admit from Dr So & So..."

So...I got an IV. After three tries. A large bore IV. And then they started pumping fluids into my already bloated body. And then they decided to stop that and started giving me boluses of something to bring down my blood pressure. They decided that if my BP bottomed out in surgery they would deal with it then and start pumping the fluids again. If I wound up delivering tonight. If. They monitored Jack with the pink and blue straps. It seemed that I was already having some mild contractions. Then they did other things to my person that I won't detail here, but I won't be needing to get up to pee! And more BP meds. A nurse came in to shave my belly. And then more BP meds. The OR nurse came into my room to review my orders and stopped short. At that particular moment, there were eight other people in my room doing something to me! And then! The Other Mommy appeared behind the OR nurse. She'd left the Kidlets with her husband and returned to be with me! Like I've often said, she rocks!

The appearance of the OR nurse was in itself news. Apparently we were going. Soon. But she had other news too. Good news! The head of anesthesiology was doing my case. She said "He's the best! I've had a spinal from him, and he's really good! He's the guy you want!" And then I guess the obvious question was who would be delivering me? "Oh that's another good one. This is your lucky night! It's Dr ER! You'll have our best anesthesiologist and one of our best surgeons!" And that was good news! Dr ER was the first doctor I'd seen at the PHC and had liked so well, and the one I'd hoped to have when my stitch was placed.

I was calling The Beloved to say that it looked like it would be tonight. Then I heard the OR nurse on her phone saying, "Yeah, blood pressure's good now. Yeah. yeah. She's had three doses, no four...come now? Roll? Okay, We're on our way." She hung up and I'd just barely had time to tell The Beloved that we were going right now. He said he loved me. He sounded as scared as I was. "Please be safe. Please be okay, both of you. I'm so sorry I'm not there." I said I knew. I knew. And that I loved him and I'd call him as soon after as I could. So this was really happening. Our son was going to be born without him here. But at least The Other Mommy was here and she was already suiting up to go to OR with me. The tears started in earnest as I handed my phone to her and they started rolling me down the hall.

Once in OR I was moved to the operating table from the gurney. Then I was instructed by a voice behind and above me to sit up and straddle the table. What followed is an ordeal that makes me want to cry to even recount. I've had several epidurals. They suck while they're being done. This time I was having a spinal. It also sucks to have that done, but a little more so! The shot into the back is nothing. It's that part where the dura are penetrated and the electrical zing and instantly deep bone penetrating ache that hits and spreads rapidly outward and down as the doctor first injects fluid into that space that gives me nightmares. And all the while I was being held by an OR nurse to keep my back curved and my shoulders forward, holding my belly, my baby, in the protective circle of my arms, and trying to breath, trying to hold onto Jack for just a little longer, tears silently rolling down my cheeks. I could feel my pulse in my neck. I thought my head might explode with the pounding of my heart. I was on the verge of panic when the nether voice behind me said that it was all finished and that I should start feeling numb any minute. I was assisted to lay back down. I could still move my legs, just barely, but I could still feel them! Was this normal? Yes said the nether-voice, once again above and behind me. Then the nurse started prepping my belly with orange fluid. People were moving all around me. Suddenly I had a bloody nose from the hydralazine I'd been give so much of. I tell a nurse. She says it's probably nothing. No, I can taste it I insist. "Well..." she looks around, "Here. That's all we have," and she handed me a thick blue sterile fabric OR towel. And then three nurses hoisted my now able to feel but unable to move body into a sitting position and held me while I blew. She seemed impressed that I'd actually gotten a bloody nose. "It's the hydralazine," smiles sympathetically. Then they all three assisted me back into position and the nurse resumed scrubbing with the orange stuff in wide circles, then wiping with cold clear stuff in wide circles. I asked if it was okay that I could still feel my tummy? "Yes," from the nether-voice, "We'll make sure you can't feel anything when it's time. Try to be calm. Try to relax so we don't have to put you to sleep." Relax? Was he nuts? They were about to rip my premature baby from my body and then who knew what kind of health problems he would have! Might as well set my head on fire and then tell me not to think about it! My own heartbeat continued to reverberate through my chest, neck and head. Then someone came rushing in, asking "Do we know for sure that this is Down syndrome?" Yes. "How do we know?" I piped up this time saying "Amniocentesis at 16 weeks." "Okay then." And the person rushed back out. And I laid there weeping quietly. Were we doing the right thing delivering him early? Wasn't it better to keep him in since my blood pressure was okay now? Couldn't I just stay in the hospital and keep doing what we're doing until closer to my due date? I was terrified. It was all I could do to not sit up on the OR table and cradle my belly protectively and order every one to just get away from me and my baby.

I kept looking over at the baby warmer which was now flipped on. People were gathering around it. Blue scrubs clad people. And they were gathering around me. A drape was hung in front of me, blocking my view. My arms were strapped and velcroed to arms that swung out from the table. I was aware of the blue masked doctor that was the nether voice injecting fluids from a syringe into an IV attached to me somewhere. Then was distracted by Dr ER in my vision, and I was vaguely aware that I was a little fuzzy suddenly. "Tracy! I haven't seen you since...well I don't remember when!" He was cheerful and smiling behind his mask, so I wiped my teary face against my shoulder and said, "Since you bailed on my McDonald Procedure!" He laughed and said "Well I'm here for this! This is the important thing, right?" As a nurse put a sterile gown on him, took the rip cord, and another nurse assisted him into sterile gloves. Then all was quiet. "Is my babysitter here yet?" I asked and got confused looks. "I'm sorry. My friend. She's also my babysitter. Is she here yet?" and she was finally allowed into the room to stand by my right shoulder.

I could see a few people's shoulders standing very close to me. I still had some sensation in my feet but no where else. "Are you cutting yet?" I asked. "No" says Dr ER. "Yes you are! I can smell burnt bacon." A nurse at my head says, "That's burnt protein, bacon smells good." Dr ER says, "Okay I am opening but I'm not cutting!" "Okay, cautery then." I asked him to tell me when he opened my uterus. "That's right, you're a nurse aren't you?" he asked by way of answering. I said yes, a very terrified nurse. The next thing I heard was, "We've got fluid. Lots of fluid. Wow, lots of fluid!" I asked if it was clear, he said yes and The Other Mommy patted my shoulder. Then I heard the tiniest of little cries. "Head's out" and I heard suctioning sounds and a few more tiny little mews. "Do you know what you're having?" from Dr ER. "A boy" I say. "You're right!" he said and finally I heard newborn crying, wailing, in a high pitched, somewhat weak baby voice. Jack's voice. My baby William. People were suddenly moving away from the table as I heard, "He's peeing on me!" from Dr ER. "There he goes again!"

You know those shows on TV where they hold the baby over the curtain for Mom to see? That didn't happen. They took him right over to the warmer and while en route I saw people once again stand away and heard that he was peeing again! He was surrounded by blue clad bodies and I could only see what I thought might be a very pink leg. And he peed again.


He was crying all along but it didn't sound to me like a very lusty cry. The Other Mommy went to the warmer and came back to tell me he was okay, he was fine, they were holding oxygen in front of him, but he was pink and wiggly and beautiful and that he looked like The Middle.








But why wasn't his cry more lusty? I waited a few beats and asked what his 1 minute Apgar was. 7. Not bad. Not 9, but not 5 either. Or 2. Every time he stopped crying I looked to The Other Mommy who quickly reassured me. She could actually see him but I was still laying down and could not. Oh yeah...I was still undergoing surgery and would not be scootching up to sneak a look at him. His five minute Apgar was 9. Okay. Nine is good. Nine is very good. Nine is great! No one scores a perfect 10 due to acrocyanosis of the newborn, which basically means their hands and feet stay blue. Finally they wrapped him up in a tiny bundle and brought him to me to see, to kiss, to whisper to before they took him off to recovery, where I was assured I would join him very soon.








Once in recovery I got to see my whole Baby for the time it took them to wheel me past his warmer and put my bed in place across from him. He was under a clear plastic hood to flood his air space with supplemental oxygen because he had been struggling for air.




He was pink and wiggly and I could hear him let out an occasional weak sounding little cry. The spinal had been removed and was wearing off. I could feel everything but I still couldn't move. The Other Mommy had gone with William into recovery and she brought my camera and hers over so I could see pictures she'd taken of him. The head of my bed was about level with Jack's warmer, so all I could really see of him was what I'd be able to see with my eyes level with his bed. She went over to take pictures of him several more times, and then brought them to me. Thank goodness for the digital age! She also fed me ice chips for my parched mouth. She is an angel!

A nurse came to start my PCA. She gave me a bolus of Morphine that took my pain level from 10 down to 9 1/2. She handed me the PCA button and I started watching the clock. This was way more pain than I'd had before. I was able to reach The Beloved and tell him that William was born safely and about his size and length, that he was doing pretty well but was getting some supplemental oxygen. He was tearful. I could hear it in his voice, in the sniffles he tried to hide. I described William to him. Told him how small he was. How perfect he was. "Kiss him for me" he said. I promised him that I would. He was going to try to get some sleep and then make the long trip home. As we hung up he said, "Thank you for being alright. Thank you that you're both alright." And then I had to hang up. My pain level was sky rocketing. Every ten minutes I hit that button hoping, hoping, to hear the beep that meant it was delivering a dose of pain medication. The nurse gave me two more boluses in addition to what I got hitting the button, but after 45 minutes all I could do was lay there moaning and listening to William's weak cry and trying to see something more than his feet and tummy and an occasionally waved hand. I could not understand why this cesarean was so much more painful than with The Littles, but I felt like my upper left abdomen was being pulled out of my body and held over fire. I finally told the nurse to call the doctor and get something else. "I want 2 mg of dilaudid and I want it IV!" She rushed out and came back not too much later, thank God above, to put me out of my misery. She got the orders and gave me the new medication. Oh. What. Relief! For the next little while I actually felt like I might live.


I then I finally got to hold him. Here was My Baby. The one I'd worried and fretted over so very much. Safe and sound. In my arms. The Other Mommy put him into my arms like the most fragile little piece of delicate glass that had ever been spun. I remember the most intimate of looks that passed between us as she handed him to me. It was a look that required no words. It was a look that said, "You got to hold him first and that is just so perfectly right, my friend, my sister, my Sometimes Mother!" It seems I didn't get to hold him for very long, not nearly long enough, before they were taking him to the NICU to be checked over and to have his first bath.


When I finally got wheeled to my room I was told that William would arrive in a while, that he was being seen by the neonatologist. I think by that point I was so out of my mind with pain that I was just grateful that he was getting the care he needed, that he was being looked after by a specialist. The Other Mommy stood by me, stroking my forehead and running her fingers through my hair trying to sooth me. Eventually the nurse brought another dose of the blessed pain medicine and I once again had some relief. Of all the ways I'd imagined how Will's birth story would unfold, I had always just known that I'd be beside my newborn, no matter how serious his condition might be, but I never once imagined that I'd be trying to hold myself in a fetal position to ward off such horrid torrents of pain.

What?

I'd gone to both the PHC visit for my regular check and NST, and I'd seen the endocrinologist today. I was starving by the time I got home, but I was also really tired and needed a nap. The Beloved had taken another out of town film crew job and I called him before settling my weary self down for a nap. We were engaging in chit chat, the small talk of what had made up our day here at home when my call waiting beeped. It was the PHC. They never called me after my visits. Never. I hung up with The Beloved to take the call. And then I called him right back. Dr someone-I'd-never-heard-of-before had been reviewing my labs and called the Beloved Dr S. They were both in agreement. I had gotten to 36 weeks successfully. I was maxed out on all the BP meds they were confident in giving me. They thought the baby had baked long enough. It was time to go to the hospital. Now. It was go time. And The Beloved was hours away. Crap!

What followed was a fury of phone calls and packing for The Littles and The Newest, Soon-to-be-in-my-arms, and myself. The baby shower dress I'd finally found wound up in a heap on the floor while I madly stuffed the remaining things I'd need into my borrowed suitcase. And I was going to miss my baby shower. I whipped out a fast email to everyone who had RSVP's telling them that we were off to the hospital again and not to come until they heard from me again. Crap!

Miss K, one of the gals from the ART who visit the Kidlets four days a week, helped me install the car seat and pack the van. Miss Susie was here to turn The Littles over to The Other Mommy. And off I went alone, having kissed and held The Littles one more time, promising that both Mommy and Daddy would be home soon and we'd be bringing Little Jack with us. I was really hoping the docs could get my BP under control again and that I'd stay pregnant. If Jack was born now, he'd be almost a month early. I guess I'll miss my 36 week ultra sound. Crap!

What's in a Name?

Let me just say, I am celebrating because I finally found the dress that I wore to both The Oldest's and Middle's baby showers! Now we're all set to go!

When I printed my pregnancy announcements I was extremely mindful of several things. First, everyone would be surprised, to say the least. Second, they would all be finding out almost halfway through my pregnancy. Third, the bigger shock would be that the baby would have Down syndrome. I tried to be encouraging. I tried to be upbeat. And I asked people for support rather than condolences. I included a line along the bottom to send name suggestions to my email account, and many did!

After months of deliberations, The Littles were still pulling for Jack. Secretly, so was I. Then not so secretly. The Beloved vetoed it. Among the slain were such noble names as Logan, Trent, Trevor, Holland, Cooper, Conrad, Colton, Zach, Max, Ashton, Liam, Addison, Christian, Benjamin, Joseph, Timothy, Jacob, Adam, Blake, Chase, Gray, Luke, Nicholas, Lucas, Theodore, Zachary, Jace, Jarrett, Caden, Erik. And all of my favorites, Mayhew Eggbert Wyborn Ethelwulf.

We've never been a family to choose names that could be shortened to other names. Especially with Our Littles. The Beloved specifically vetoed Elizabeth for The Girlie because it could be changed to Liz or Beth or changed entirely to Betty. Nope...no names here that can be shortened. If you know our family, you already know that our children's nicknames are those of our own design - well - The Beloved's own design. We've also chosen classic spellings. Why saddle a kid with a lifetime of having to spell their first names when they're already doomed to spelling both of their last names? Although, in today's twist-your-kids-name society, even the classic spellings are going to be oddities.

So this particular evening, The Beloved and I were once again engaging in The Great Name Debate. Having been through this process a few times already, I was prepared for a long verbal siege. He is too, too skilled at taking any name I suggest and before the name is even off my lips, he's already listing a stream, a veritable river, of the mean names school kids can change it to. Or add to it. Or shorten it to. In example I offer the name Richard. Every one knows what Richard gets changed to. And Peter? I won't go there. Anyway, I'd prepared for battle, girded my proverbial loins and taken up my proverbial armor. Kinda funny to use war words in relation to what we chose! Especially since the battle fizzled before it began.

The Beloved and I had discussed William Wallace before. You know, The Great Protector of Scotland, although the movie Braveheart took great artistic license portraying the facts. We also were great fans of King Leonidas of Sparta. Both names have great potential. Will, never Bill, (never!) Willie, Leo...so I brought both of those up again and suddenly we had a name. William Leonidas. No fighting, no negotiating, no building of fortresses and no taking up arms. We'd chosen a name without bloodshed. Another irony.

We sat back proud of ourselves. We'd done it. Without screaming or crying or gnashing of teeth. The Beloved had a secretive lopsided half smile on his face. And then he said something that made my heart swell even more than when he'd worried that William might never know the love of a companion. We'd already agreed that he'd need a namesake of strength. The Beloved said, "There's another way to look at this. He's going to have challenges from the first moment he's born. Neither of these two men backed down from their challenges."

The Middle was named for a strong character in a John Wayne flick. The Girlie was named for, well, she has a name I really liked. Noble, huh? And Little William is being named for honorable men who rose to meet the needs of their country. And unlike either of The Littles names, I can call William Will, or Willie, or Leo. Or Jack. We are breaking our own rules by using names that can be shortened, but Jack started it with his extra chromosomes!

If you don't know the history behind either William Wallace or King Leonidas, I invite you to read all about it. These were two tough dudes!

The Blahs, The Blues, The Doldrums

I have the blahs. I should be energetic but I am not. Ten people have already RSVP'd to my shower. It's a week away. I should be excited. But I am not. By this time with both of The Little's showers, there were twice that number who had RSVP'd. And this was a huge surprise after all, this pregnancy. Why weren't more people RSVP'd yet? Why weren't more people calling to say they would be there to celebrate our Newests arrival? Was it that people thought we were out of our minds for having another baby? Hello-ooo...I was supposed to be infertile. I have to admit that our immediate family dynamics have changed quite a bit with friends and families moving out of state and in some cases, partings of the way. Up until I'd sent the pregnancy announcements saying that Jack would have Down syndrome, I'd been in frequent communication with two of my oldest best friends. Since then however, I'd only received the occasional forwarded email, and not even that from my oldest childhood friend. Was that it? Were people too uncomfortable around me now? Was it Jack's Down syndrome? Even feeling this way about my upcoming shower, I still knew that was not the source of my ills. The shower would come, we would have a good time playing silly games, and the people who could come would be celebrating with us. Those who were out of town or working that day, and those who did not think a celebration was in order, well - they wouldn't be there and would miss the fun.

I have figured out what's wrong. I am not proud of it, but I know what it is. Jack is due in less than a month. We've known all along that the docs all planned on taking him early for both our sakes. So that leaves less than 3 weeks. At my last PHC visit, the doc was supposed to schedule my cesarean, but he put me off until next week. He said either the day before Thanksgiving or a few days after.

So here it is. I'm about to see just exactly what I've been worrying about since July 8th. We're about to find out just how severely our Youngest Son will be affected by this thing that's come into our lives called Down syndrome. And I am terrified. I am not ready. For all of my research, for all of my preparation, for all of the information I have shared with The Littles and The Beloved, I have no idea what to expect. And I am scared. Will we even get to hold him right away or will it become immediately clear at birth that he has a huge heart defect and must be swiftly swept into the NICU? Will he have the dreaded intestinal atresia and require surgery within days or even hours of birth? Will his heart suddenly stop beating before he can be born, as I've read happens to many of these little extra chromosomed babies? Except for dying in utero, all of those other worries can be fixed. They can all be taken care of eventually. What weighs heavy on me right now is more base and shallow. It has nothing to do with Jack's value as a baby, or of God's love for him. I am not proud of this, but will he look funny? Will he be ugly? Will his eyes slant so much that he doesn't look right? Will I be repulsed at the sight of my own baby? I've read about mothers who felt embarrassment and even shame when nurses came into their rooms and saw their babies. Would I be that mother? Would I be embarrassed or even ashamed of my own flesh and blood? My baby?

We already know that the Swine Flu scare has the hospital instituting a strict policy of only two visitors throughout the hospital stay...the same two visitors. No more. Am I more upset that my support network will be unable to visit, or relieved that I won't have to show my baby to anyone? What is wrong with me? Who thinks this way? That really was a fleeting thought, that part about being ashamed of my baby. I don't feel this way. But I am already missing having the happy, smiling, well wishing visitors laden with kisses and hugs and snuggles for the baby...but it's because I secretly fear in my heart that even if the hospital hadn't instituted the strict visiting policy, that no one would come anyway. Because he will have Down syndrome. He will be different. And that hurts deeply. I'd much rather feel like dirt about myself for thinking that I wouldn't love my baby than to see actual evidence that others will not show him love. I have big enough shoulders to weather the hurt. He will not. He will be just a tiny little baby deserving of love. It kills me to think that he won't have it. I know we will love him. We already do. But this birth, this emergence from the womb where I have kept him safe - this will be different. I won't be able to protect him from all of the world's hurts. I'd much rather delve deep into self loathing than to admit that Jack will be born into a less than welcoming world. That hurts deep. And I am ashamed that I will not always be able to protect him.

Coming Home Outfit

When I was pregnant with My Girlie, Bits and I spent an entire morning and afternoon trekking 90 miles away to the nearest Babies R Us. Now they are everywhere, but in 1999 they were few a far between. We shopped until we dropped and at the end of the day, she'd purchased The Girlie's coming home outfit. She'd gone to one of my ultrasounds with me and the good doctor wrote down the baby's gender on a piece of paper and handed it to her. It was forever sealed in an envelope after that. At least until we came home from the hopspittle with our sweet pink bundle. The slip of paper is in her baby book now. The outfit she chose was an adorable little white puckered fabric footed number with a matching jacket and bonnet. Neither girlie or boyish.

When we finally succeeded in getting pregnant with The Middle, poor Bit's health had tanked so Grandma Emmie chose his coming home outfit. It was a sweet little European style wrap in baby blue with doggy bones embroidered on it, with a matching beret, booties and a blanket.

With the shower announcements having gone out, Grandma Emmie asked me what I needed for Jack. Good golly, what didn't we need? I thought. So...I asked her to buy the coming home outfit. And today she brought it over! It is the softest blue plushy fabric I've ever touched. It's like a wrap around jumper and has a tiny little blue shirt to go underneath. It has snaps at the shoulders and a matching hat. It's footed. The bib of the outfit has a red ladybug buzzing around a sweet beige teddy bear and in the buzz stitching it says, "Together at last - - -" Perfect! Now he can be born because he has his coming home outfit.

All Hallows' Eve

Let me go on record as saying quite officially that I do not like Halloween. I don't. There - I said it. In this household, that makes me the bad guy. So be it. I'll wear it well. I loved Halloween as a child - what kid doesn't? And I have great memories of several years where The Big Sis and I dressed up and went trick or treating. I was a teenager by then and she was shorter than I, so we got away with it when people assumed I was along to keep my lil' sister safe. Of course we usually ingested a fair amount of a certain appetite altering substance before we hit the free candy streets, so it was the perfect activity! Right up until the laziness set in and we just wanted to sit down. Anywhere. These were the days before cell phones were everywhere, so we generally had to approach a house and I'd explain that my sister had eaten too much candy and was sick, could they please call our dad. Then our 'dad' (my youngest older brother) would come and get us. But I digress. I'm a Mom now and not supposed to have any knowledge of such things. Then there was the year, having long abandoned my 'substance' days, that I went to the Fall Festival at our church as Mary. You know, the mother of Jesus? I'd already started dating The Beloved, but he was not the churchy type and was working that night anyway. So, my ex-pseudo-boyfriend (long boring story) still feeling the sting that I was dating someone else and dared to be happy, felt perfectly justified hauling me before our pastor so I could explain my costume. "I think this is inappropriate! I think it's blasphemous!" The pastor scratched his head while they gawked at my midsection and said the words over which I will forever giggle, "I don't know %&$#@. This is October. According to the Christian calender, Mary would have been about that big!" If that hadn't been bad enough, he then patted the e-p-b's belly, much bigger than my hidden pillow, and said, "You could have dressed up as Mary! Where's your costume?" I nearly wet myself with not laughing while the e-p-b stood there nearly choking on his own gall! Good memories. But back to now...

Halloween at our house starts early in the month with The Beloved announcing at various times, "Only ten more days!" "Only six more days!" "Only..." you get it. The Littles also get it. Only x number of days until we all trek out one frosty night to go to The Halloween Store. That's what it's called, and he loves to tease them until it's time to actually go. Sometimes we buy costumes, and sometimes we just get things to complete costumes. And they always come home with a skull. Or a bag of bones. Or a complete skeleton. Or plastic spiders and rubber rats. Yuck! These are not my kids! They aren't. This time of year, they are soley and completely The Beloved's kids. I had more times that I dressed up as witches and mummies that not as a kid, but I never found any interest, much less fun, in playing with skulls, bones and rubber rats. Like I said, this time of year, these are not my kids. They're his!

I have long thought that women who are pregnant at Halloween are really lucky to be able to paint their bellies into a pumpkin. I'd never had that luck until now. The Oldest was barely rounding in October and The Middle was 6 weeks old for his first Halloween. But this year I have Jack! A Jack-o'-lantern! So...Miss Susie found the big box of water color paints and hauled it out of it's hidey hole. We picked out colors and found brushes. I had an idea of how I wanted Jack's o' lantern to look. I thought I'd paint the basic outline myself and fill it in and let the kids paint in the eyes, nose and mouth. And then I had a good look at my belly. It was nice and round and stuck out there...but there was also a five pound bag of fluid hanging below it. Pretty! Not! Jack's pumpkin would look more like a giant upside down orange pear. Okay...new plan. I will stay down most of today and first thing in the morning tomorrow, when I've been flat all night and I'm less likely to have the under-belly-bag-o'-jelly, we will paint Jack's pumpkin!

It never happened. I woke up that morning with a giant bag of jiggle hanging mostly to the left because that's the side I'd spent most of the late morning on. The Beloved suggested that I wear the belly shorts with the wide band and keep it tucked under Jack so that the fluid would disperse. So I tried it. Bless him, he was truly trying to be helpful with this ridiculous thing I wanted to do...but all it got me was deep ugly grooves on the lower third of my belly and a fluid shift to an undesirable location. The fluid did to disperse to 'there.' You know, there! And further up my belly. It was awful. My mid-section looked like a giant white plucked turkey, complete with the pock marks where the feathers were pulled out. And it was all over my belly. In medical jargon it's described as "orange peel skin" but it looked more like a plucked turkey. And my 'there' region, what you can see with closed thighs, looked just like the back end of the plucked turkey that you tuck under the legs before you truss the turkey up to hold in the stuffing. Only my stuffing was on the outside. At this rate, my Jack-o'-lantern was going to look more like an ugly orange warted gourd. Crap! I kept the paints out just in case the swelling went down, but it never happened. I'd thought that if we couldn't paint me for Halloween, maybe for Thanksgiving then. Jack would be even bigger then and maybe he'd stick out farther than the bag-o-bleck!

Miss Susie helped the kids scoop out their pumpkins, since I was officially too weak to even carve them. I helped them draw the faces before carving and then took up my dutiful position as camera man and journalist for the event! The Kiddles even picked out and carved a little pumpkin for Jack!

Halloween night saw The Middle dressed up as Bumblebee of the Transformers and The Oldest as Hannah Montana of, well, Hannah Montana. The Beloved took them out looting and pillaging while I kept the home fires burning and handing out candy to trick or treaters. The Kidlets pooped out fairly early and were back home before I knew it. And when I saw the bags of loot they had, I understood why. The were loaded! The Beloved reported that there were very few houses giving out candy and that there were very few kids out this year. On a Saturday. Weird. I'd had only perhaps five groups of kids ring our doorbell. Consequently, folks weren't giving one or two pieces of candy...they were dumping handfuls into their bags. I'd done that too!

34 Weeks, NST & Dr Skeevy

This will be a long post. As I write this I am closing out my 34th week. And I've had yet another trip to the hopspittle. I went for my NST on Tuesday and it all went very much as usual. I waited. I peed in a cup. I got my BP checked, weight checked, pee checked. No new news. BP was still high. My blood sugar was fine. My weight was holding at 55 pounds. Shudder! Roughly 20 more pounds and I'd be back to my heaviest weight ever. My pee continued to show a very mild protein spill, no sugar spill. Then I went out to wait my turn in the big comfy recliner with the pink and blue straps wrapped around Jack and I.

Finally they call me in and as I waddle down the hall to the chair, I see a sight that sends chills through me. It was Dr SF. When I'd first found out that this pig was one of the doctors who practiced at the PHC, I'd asked specifically that I not be seen by him. I'd said at the time, all those weeks ago, that I'd sooner stick my hand into a running garbage disposal rather than be seen by him. I actually said that. I'd been assured that Dr ER and then later Dr RF would be my only physicians. But he was here this particular day. Dr RF has the day off, so Dr SF was filling in.

Back up to when I was 5-6 weeks pregnant with Hannah. I'd gone to see Dr SF for a one time visit because he could take me that very day. At 11:00 am. And his office didn't open until 11:45 when someone finally showed up to let us all in. His waiting room was filthy, and actually had mismatched office furniture stacked along one wall. The remaining walls were lined with big sagging couches that I'm sure had all been found on the side of the road or by someones garbage cans. Or were rejects from a crack house. The carpet was badly stained but none of the teenage girls with their bellies under their chins and their cell phones to their ears seemed to notice. My friend Bits and I were the only adults! We waited until 12:45 when the gal behind the desk said the good doctor was finally on his way in. Then we waited for another hour. It went down hill from there.

Bits and I were shown into a hot bathroom with two folding chairs and a TV set up on the sink vanity and a VCR sitting precariously on the toilet. The faucet behind the TV was dripping and Bits kindly offered to let me sit closest to the door, "Just in case that thing shorts out and catches fire." Really? Yes, really. We exchanged glances and sat in the chairs, shuffling for space in the tiny room with the gal who was not going to wait for us to either move or sit down to shove a cassette into the VCR. She pressed play and then stomped on both of our feet making her exit without saying a word. What followed was a grainy image of the pig that I have forever renamed Dr Skeevy. The recording was Dr Skeevy's way of introducing himself to new patients. It went on for an hour while this hubric ass described his talents and expertise. Who does this? Who? He even had a portion dedicated to describing in detail how discreetly everything would be handled for those opting to abort. I don't know why we didn't leave right then. It must have been like when you come upon a scene of a horrible accident. You know there's going to be blood and gore, but you look anyway. We kept watching. And yes, I know the word is hubris, but that would require sentence restructuring, so I am making up my own words again. I can. It's my blog! Eventually Bits did have to leave but I promised I'd call her as soon as I got out.

I was shown to a tiny exam room where I was told to undress completely and was given a sheet. Not a gown. A sheet. I asked why I had to disrobe completely and I was told that Dr Skeevy would do a complete exam. I said I'd specifically told the gal who gave me my appointment that I was only here for a one time visit to determine if the baby had a heart beat; there was no need for a full exam. She said, "Your choice" and walked out without pulling the curtain across the doorless entry. I guess this is what you get for $350.00 cash and being in too big a hurry to wait for the doctor your insurance will cover to have an appointment sometime after next summer. Then I waited some more. I woke up to see Dr Skeevy smiling down at me. Make that leering. He was pissy but said that he understood I was just there for a trans-vag ultra sound and not interested in the full exam. And he got right to it. He found Hannah's heart beating. He said there had been a twin and that it had died. He showed me a large bubble with nothing in it. And he said Hannah would die. Her heart rate was in the 70's. Too low. Probably today or tomorrow. Certainly by the end of the week. And he sat there smiling up at me saying that I should schedule a D&C with the gal at the desk. For tomorrow.

I went down to the van and called my beloved Dr S. I hadn't seen him since my pregnancy with The Middle. I told him what Dr Skeevy had said and done. Including suggesting that I schedule an abortion. His first words were, "My dear. I am so sorry you even considered going to Dr F. We have had many, many disagreements about his practices. Come here tomorrow and I will see you." Okay now, I have been an ICU nurse for my entire career. To date I can count on maybe 3 fingers the times that a doctor has even hinted at maligning another doctor. It's a boys club of the highest order. It's just not done. At my appointment with the Beloved Dr S the next day, he also did a trans-vag ultra sound. "Tell me what you see," he said. I described the little bubble with the baby's heart beat and said I'd judge it to be about 150. "161" he said, letting me hear her. "What else do you see?" he pressed. I described a yolk sac and a broken bubble that I thought might be the corpus something or other that is left behind when the ball of cells that will become the baby burrows into the endometrium. "Correct," he said. "Exactly correct. You can come to work for me if you decide to become a tech," he joked. He patted my leg and said that the broken bubble was likely Dr Skeevy's dead twin, either that or he was unable to recognize a yolk sac. He also said that Dr Skeevy's low heart rate of 72 was my own uterine thrill. "Do not go back to see him my dear. Come back to me in four weeks and I will follow you again." My beloved Dr S!

Okay, so fast forward to now. The tech was checking Jack's reactivity and as always said it looked just fine. At the end of 30 minutes, she tore of the strip and took it to the doctor to check. She came back and slipped it into a brown envelope and slid it into the back of my chart, just like always. Then she said the NST was fine, but the doctor wanted to adjust my BP meds. And in walked Dr Skeevy. He sat on a stool and started looking through my chart. Without even looking at me he stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Dr F." I didn't shake his hand. He said my BP was still high and that he wanted to add another agent. Then he asked my age and allergies. "You are too old to have a baby" he said, "This is no good. Lets add another agent. That's a med-i-cine to bring down your blood pressure" he said, finally looking at me. Really? And here I'd confused it with a med-i-ca-tion. Stupid me. So he writes out a script and reviews what meds I'm already taking. Then he gets to the lab section. Reviews those. Notes out loud that none of my slightly abnormal labs have become any more abnormal over the course of my pregnancy. "This is amazing. You are really old and yet you are doing relatively well." He's a charming man. But it's about to get really good! He handed me the script, stood up and turned to walk away, but then he turned back and asked if I'd had prenatal testing. "You know, tests to see if the baby's genes are okay?" Oh, I'd thought it was to check the baby's jeans for proper fit. I felt almost smug when I said "Yes. I had an am-ni-o-cen-te-sis at 16 weeks which shows trisomy 21." I wasn't prepared for what followed next.

This giant incredible filthy no good ass of an excuse for a human being actually slapped his hands to his face, pulling his cheeks down enough to distort his face and said, "Oh. My. God." Damn him to hell, he does not worship my God. "This is no good!" he said, taking the script out of my hand and sitting down. "You need to go over to the hospital right away! You need to be delivered! Your blood pressure is dangerous! You need to be delivered by tonight if not this afternoon!" I took a deep sigh. I said that I was only 34 weeks, my blood pressure and labs had not changed, and asked quite frankly, "Why is this an emergency now?" He said I was "e-clamptic" and that I had to be delivered "to-day." I said that the labs I'd had drawn two days ago didn't indicate pre-eclampsia, much less had I had any seizures, spots, hyper-reflexia, protein spills or headaches to indicate that I was suddenly eclamptic now that he knew my baby has Down syndrome. "How do you know this terminology?" he asks. I tell him I've been an ICU nurse for 15 years and that I've done my fair share of high risk pregnancies. "Well all the same, you could still have a stroke. You are going to the hospital to get that out," pointing at Jack. Bastard. I looked Dr Skeevy in the face, something he was incapable of doing for me. I said I was not going to deliver my baby at 34 weeks, that I was going home to take a nap and then meet my children's buses and spend the evening with them. But the guy wouldn't give up. "Call someone to get your kids. Ask a neighbor or something." This went on for another 15 minutes, while he dictated orders for my admission to the nurse.

I went out to the van to call Dr S. I explained the situation with Dr Skeevy. I explained what I remembered of my labs, that the baby's reactivity on the NST was just fine, That Dr Skeevy had already signed off on it, and that he'd been perfectly content to send me home with a script until he found out the baby has Down syndrome. "I believe you my dear." Then Dr S excused himself and put me on hold. When he came back on the line he said Dr Skeevy had just called him and that he'd said my labs were all severely abnormal and that the NST was grossly non-reactive. "Do not worry my dear. I would believe anything you said before I would believe him that the sky is blue. I have more faith in your knowledge than his. But I want you to go over to the hospital overnight to get your blood pressure better controlled. I disagree that you should deliver this early, but please, my dear, go get your blood pressure a little better controlled. Will you promise me that?" Okay, so I promised that I'd go as soon as I could arrange care for the Kidlets, as The Beloved was working out of town, and he promised me he'd see me at the hospital tonight. Eeesh.

I made a zillion phone calls on the way home and checked into the hopspittle by noon. I had orders in hand for IV solution, lab draws and another 24 hour pee test. That was it. The admitting nurse called Dr Skeevy four times but he never called back to give further orders. I'd had no lunch and it was past dinner time by the time Dr RF was on call, so he gave orders for the night nurse. Dr S arrived just before 8 pm. Good thing too! Dr RF, having listened to what Dr Skeevy said, ordered a Magnesium Sulfate drip and the nurse was explaining all the side effects I was likely to have. Dr S said not to start the drip. The nurse was a little peeved now that she had conflicting orders. "Well she's set to deliver either tonight or tomorrow, are you planning to do an amnio to see if the lungs are good?" Dr S said that he'd spoken to Dr RF, and that he'd been given inaccurate information. He said that he'd reviewed my current labs and that I would not be delivering any time soon, that I was just here for my blood pressure. He wrote orders for several other agents to try before starting a Mag drip. He also said that she should remove the fetal monitor and just check every 4 hours. He took my hand and said that he was deeply sorry for what I'd been put through and assured me that my labs had not changed, they were just as I'd reported to him, and that Jack would be staying put!

I went home the next day, once the 24 hour pee test was completed, with a script for Labetolol 300 mg three times daily. It was increased the next day to four times daily. And Dr RF said that when I return on Tuesday, we will look at the dates and decide when to schedule my delivery!

Sausage Toes and Ham Hocks

Notice the unopened enticingly salty, crunchy and delicious Tostitos bag at my feet. My Middle brought them to me to open for him as I was snapping the picture. He will have to eat them in his room, far, far away from me, or I will dive into that bag of heavenly sodium face first!

Saw the doc today...results of my 24 hour urine are still bad but really no more so...still hovering around renal insufficiency, but not failure. A1C (Measure of glucose stuck to hemoglobin) is just fine! I'd been down for 18 hours before I went to the doc, so my legs were closer to normal, but the nurse was super grossed out by the "bowl" of water sitting under the "Snake-bump!" It's not pretty. There will NOT be a photo of that! She kept staring at it and poking it! Its okay though...she was Dr S's tech during The Middle's pregnancy and we actually had a lot of fun and giggles over it! And it was all laid out bare for an hour long NST - Snake was very busy and kept moving his heartbeat away so it took FOREVER!

Costco

We went to Costco today...one stop shopping. I'm not supposed to be out, but someone has to buy groceries and the kids do all the fetching and lifting. A cart boy loads the van and the kids unload at home. It's good to have indentured servants! We were just about to leave when I spotted a woman with a stroller and a lot of extra stuff attached to a sleeping baby. A little girl. Who clearly had Down syndrome. I approached her and asked her if I could show my kids the sleeping baby. She said yes,
so I pointed out the pink feeding tube taped to her little cheek and entering her nose. I said "Jack may well have one of these," and I patted my tummy. The woman smiled. Next I pointed out the nasal cannula in her bitsy little nose, and the
portable O2 condenser. Again, I said, "Jack may have one of these too." I thanked the woman profusely and as she moved on I explained to the kids more thoroughly what those tubes were for. I didn't want to hold the woman up from her shopping, but I could have kicked myself for not asking if I could contact her. Is this nuts? Am I losing my marbles? Maybe she didn't want to be in touch with me. She was very gracious, but after all, I did practically assault her and her child! (I didn't touch her or the baby, and I told the kids not to wake up the sleeping baby, but now that I'm home I think it was extremely bad behavior on my part!) Have I lost my humanity for the chance to prepare my kids for something Jack may not even need? I didn't even ask the woman the baby's name or age or anything remotely sensitive to the baby! I'm feeling like an animal right about now.

A Sad, Sad Loss

Last week I received an email from the only other pregnant woman at the DSALA New Families Barbecue. She delivered their tiny son stillborn at 28 weeks. They tried for days to stop her labor to no avail. When it was clear that the baby had indeed died in utero, the doctor was dedicated to getting him born whole and intact so that they could hold him and say goodbye.

I was stunned for days. And I was afraid it would happen to Jack. And every time I started to really worry about it, Jack would start doing flips. It's like he knows when I worry about him. Then again, he is right under my heart.

When I was talking with The Beloved about this family I was tearful and sad, but he knew there was something else too. "What is it? What's bothering you besides their baby dying?" I very quietly said that as bad as I felt having the thought, at least they had another chance now. To have another baby without Down syndrome. I felt like crap on a cracker for admitting it. But My Love said, slowly and gently, "They might be thinking that way too. I'm sure they're really sad. You know what it did to us. But they might be thinking the same way." And he folded me in his arms and said, "And don't be thinking that our baby is going to die because you had that thought." He knows me too well. I don't want Jack to die. I don't. It would kill me. Just like I'm sure it's killing them. But like them, I still wish Jack wasn't going to have Down syndrome. It just hurts so much still, but the idea we could lose him hurts too much to even think about.

More Weirdness

A few nights ago I woke up in the middle of the night with a wicked compulsion to pack my bag and the baby's bag. So I did. So far, it turns out to have meant nothing.

Last night I dreamed that I was anxiously waiting for some big event at a very elaborate theater with a huge stage all draped in burgundy velvet curtains. The inside of the building was extremely ornate with tons of carved rich wood. The curtain went and something very special began. I have no idea what, but the feeling was there. The orchestra was set up on the stage and some youngish people with Ds were performing a beautiful wind and string ensemble. They were there to honor members of the audience, all of them children with Ds, but my "group" of youngsters had not yet arrived. Finally, midway through the first performance, a few women were leading a large group of well behaved, Sunday-best dressed, spit shined, sparkling toddlers to their seats. To their parents! And one woman was carrying an infant carrier. He was finally here in he building with me! I ran to see him. And yes, I SAW HIS FACE! He was beautiful. He was also about 6 months old! I had a million questions, but his guardian up until this point had suddenly disappeared. Where was she? I had questions! He was olive skinned like My Girlie, not peaches and cream like The Middle. He had chubby pink cheeks and an oval face, with some wispy soft brown baby hair. His eyes were olive green like The Oldest's were at birth. He was my baby. My son. Finally here. So what does it mean? I'm chalking it up to the unknown on the as yet mystery date of his arrival and the anticipation of waiting. Of course, the elaborate setting would be the birth event. And along side my lust for head banging rock music, I have a passion for classical as well, especially winds and strings. As I saw him finally, everything else faded away...just the music and my beautiful boy remained. In this dream the musicians on stage were others who came before, to herald this new little life into being. Angels? Maybe. A celebration?
Certainly! The happy ending...

Misery

I've tried not to complain too much, but I have been MISERABLE! For about the last month, my misery has steadily worsened. I'm sure I could feel worse, but I'm miserable all the same. The Beloved sees it. And the other day I blubbered all over him about it. He said, "It's never been like this before. You weren't like this with The Littles." And it's true. My feet and legs no longer even come close to even remembering their normal size when I lay down. It feels like a bruise from my toes to my hips. My undies leave deep grooves all the way around my body from the fluid. My toes feel like they're squished into a size 5 shoe even when I'm barefoot. They feel like fat sausages and I think they will rupture if they get any bigger. I am constantly nauseated now. Not a day goes by that I don't spend at least half of the day gagging. Last week I felt something trickle down the outside of my right calf. As I realized it was fluid leaking from my skin, the left inside calf started Leaking too. My abdomen is so big that the only tolerable position is propped up semi-recumbent on one side or the other with a pillow to support my girth. And don't even get me started on the joint tingling and numbness. Between the cervical stitch and a large fibroid where Snake's head usually is, every movement takes my breath away. It's good to feel him move, and I mentally encourage him to keep it up, but it's gotten rather painful! And again with the damned hemorrhoids! I've been DILIGENT about the stool softeners and I am not constipated...it's all the danged fluid. I dread going pee because there's no support while sitting on the toity and unless I keep my legs and butt muscles flexed and tensed, the 'rhoids just push right out. How the hell do you relax enough to pee that way? The Beloved finally insisted that I explain my weird contortions every time I rise from any position. It's a little embarrassing telling the one you are intimate with that you have New Jersey hanging out of your ass. It hurts to adjust any position and when I have to stand up from any position it feels like a cheese grater scraping against my hiney. I've had fantasies about holding a pop sickle between my buttocks! Gross, huh? And I broke a fingernail! Although, gratefully, not while I was tending to my rear end! Suffice to say, I am ready for him to be born. Every day that he stays in there is good. But I can't wait for mid-November to get here. And while I was pouring all of my physical complaints out to him in a blubbering mess, I actually said words that make me feel like crap on a cracker. I sobbed into his chest, "And after all of this, after all this pain and misery and suffering, we won't even have a happy ending!" And I wailed louder and harder so he held me and rocked me.

I don't know how people who are chronically ill cope. I have relief in site and they do not. And yet, I've seen people who remain pleasant and chipper in the face of it all. I think they must be saints.

Decorating the Nursery, 32 Weeks, and a Blank Little Boy

Today The Littles and I decorated the nursery. We hung the Cow Jumping Over the Moon and some sweet stars that were hand painted by the Incredible Miss S for The Middle's nursery. He was happy to donate it to Jack's nursery. I'd also saved some small shelves and knick knack cubes from The Middle's nursery.



Decorating Jack's nursery took me back to when I'd decorated nurseries in our first home. First for My Girlie, and then the new Big Girl Room across the hall for her while I redecorated the nursery for The Middle. I never in a million years thought I'd be decorating another nursery.


This is a picture of my Mother's rocking chair. It was in each of The Little's nurseries, and it is draped with a blanket I'd cross stitched years before we were expecting The Girlie. That blanket has also been in each of their nurseries.

The beautiful loaner crib from Auntie Bits!

While we measured and marked and hammered I described for The Littles how much fun it had been decorating each of their nurseries.


Note the teddy bears The Girlie has placed in the bouncer and the car seat!

When we were finished they each brought some of the treasures from their babyhood to share with Jack. Beloved books, dog eared bunnies and bears, and even a few baby toys I had no idea they'd pilfered from the donation pile. It was a fun time and when we were finished, the shelves and cubes were filled with treasures from The Littles to their New Little Brother.


This particular view is of Jack's mirrored closet doors and in it's reflection is the changing table and a picture of "Fireworks Tonight" that I won at the NRA banquet when The Middle was just tiny.

I am 32 weeks along today. So I started actually packing the diaper bag and putting things I'd need into a small suitcase loaned to us by Grandma Emmie. The invitations for our baby shower will go out tomorrow. The Incredible Miss S will be out of town and Grandma Emmie will have to work that day, so that has me sad.

At my NST this past Friday I saw a little boy with his mother, also pregnant and waiting to be seen. The little boy was in his stroller looking very dull and uninterested in any thing. He looked to be about two years old. He had no toys. He didn't look around. He showed no interest in the television on a cartoon channel. He didn't wiggle or squirm to get out in all the time I'd sat there watching him. Occasionally he looked at his mother. Once he made a loud grunting cry and the mother produced a small bag of cheerios. He cried louder and the mother produced a bottle, and popped it into his mouth. So she sat there holding a bottle in his mouth while he sat in his stroller. He stared off at nothing in the empty air and sucked his bottle, never once attempting to hold it for himself. I'd seen him move when he cried, putting his fists to his eyes, and kicking his feet, so clearly he could move. But he had no interest in holding his bottle. His face was dirty, as were his hands. And his facial features were quite clearly those of a child with Down syndrome. Except for the time he cried for his bottle, his mother gave him no notice. None. Even a mother who's holding a sleeping child will look down at her little one now and then, maybe stroke a brow or swipe away a wayward lock of hair. Not this mother.

I've spent hours thinking about this. I'd first noticed the little boy when his mother was in line in front of me waiting to check in, then saw them again minutes later in the waiting room. Same dull blank look. I recalled that every medical site I'd gone to said that all children with Down syndrome have mental retardation. Every site said it ranged from severe to mild/moderate. Very few sites even suggested that it could be, upon very rare occasions, if you closed one eye and squinted with the other one, when the moon is 3/4s full, minimal. Nope. No hope there. After worrying about this for hours I finally decided that this little boy was dull because he'd had no stimulation. I'd already looked into the Regional Center for Our Baby. Maybe that mother had not. Maybe that mother expected nothing from him. Maybe that mother had not been offered services for him. Or maybe he was severely retarded. Or maybe she was too deflated to engage him. Or maybe there was something else besides Down syndrome. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I'd never know. I did know that no matter how mentally retarded Our Baby may be, I would still cuddle him, still look at him while he sits in his stroller, still touch his cheek, still wash his face, and still give him some baby toys in case he wanted to at least look at them. I don't know the circumstances of that little boys life, but I know that I can't shake this deep sadness for his blank stare life.

Progress

For the last 2 weeks I've been having an NST every Tuesday and Friday. Baby Boy's heart looks good. I had to do yet another 24 hour pee test too. My butt hurts, my legs are like tree stumps and I have zero energy. My tailbone hurts so bad that I've taken to hoisting myself to standing with my arms and have made the dread mistake of sitting in the the armless chairs at the dining room table. To sit I reverse the process, much like a harbor crane gently settling a 40 ton cargo container onto a barge at the docks. I don't know if I'm the cargo container or the barge.

I have completely given up The Battles of the Underwear War and have settled yet again for the next larger size of panties. They still leave dents in my belly from all the fluid, and they still cut off circulation to my legs, especially the right leg, but they are at least tolerable. For now. I picked up some last minute things for the diaper bag and bought a small fridge for our bedroom. I'll ask Miss Susie to move our spare microwave in there tomorrow. When I was nursing The Middle I was starving all the time. And since The Middle ate every two hours, The Beloved took to sleeping in the living room until I'd stopped nursing The Middle.

The purpose of his sojourn to the living room was supposed to be getting some sleep without getting disturbed by The Middle every two hours. The real result was that he'd still gotten disturbed by his wailing. Not only was our first home poorly insulated, but it was small. Sound travelled. You would have to leave our house and enter the neighbors house across the street in order to not hear everything in our house. The Middle always awoke just knowing he was in the process of starving and always issued a suitably shrill and loud wail of alarm with his first waking breath. Waaaa-aaa-aa! The Beloved was just about getting back to sleep when The Middle expressed his displeasure at being burped, along with more shrill wailing and sounding of alarms. And then sleep at last...only to be once again awakened by The Milk Cow trying to quietly sneak past his not sleeping form to get into to the kitchen to forage for something to eat. Anything. I was starving all the time while I nursed The Middle. I clearly remember watching the microwave count down so I could shut it off before it dinged. I also remember eating less than hot whatever just so I didn't have to take the chance on the microwave dinging again. And I'd still have to sneak back through the living room before The Middle made any noise. So...this time I will have my own neatly contained survival chamber in our bedroom...TV, fridge, microwave, food, telephone, bathroom...down the hall, across the living room, and down the long hall away from The Beloved who will be sleeping soundly in the front room. We hope!

And speaking of the front room, it only needs to have a table moved out of the way and it will finally be finished. Ready for a Christmas tree. All the clutter cleared away and a space once again large enough to hold a fully decorated tree and the two Littles in a mad frenzy of torn wrapping! The only thing in there now are several bags of The Littles outgrown clothes. I finally shopped for the kids winter clothes and got all of their too small clothes out of their closets and drawers this past week. I'll call the donation center tomorrow to have them picked up. I'd thought about saving The Middles clothes for The Newest, but then I reconsidered. There was the 7 year gap for one, and the now entirely depleted storage space in the garage for another. No, I'll just buy new.

So all of our big tasks are completed. All we have to do now is stay pregnant a little longer until The Ducky can be born safely.

Dr S 30 1/2 Weeks

Today The Girlie and I went for our visit to the Beloved Dr S. Today My Little Snooks weighs 3 pounds and 12 ounces! Dr S says his growth is right on track. There is some shortening of his arm bones, but not the leg bones. His brain and kidneys are still the same with no worsening of the dilation. Dr S says that the mitral valve regurgitation has resolved, but there is some evidence of slight tricuspid valve regurgitation. Slight. And we have new pictures of Baby Face!

My baby shower is set for November 14th! The invitations will go out shortly. I've been frantically searching for the dress I wore for both of The Little's baby showers but so far, no good. I cannot imagine I would have thrown it away, even with the weight loss, but I cannot find it!

The Beloved and I have been discussing names. So far we have Benjamin, Theodore and some variation of William Wallace. We also like Amadeus of the awesome composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. I'm still liking Jack. And there's a favorite game of mine that I never thought I'd ever get to play again! I make up names and deliver them to the curious strangers who are brave enough to ask, "Do you have a name yet?" This weeks winner is Eggbert Wyborn Ethelwulf! I deliver that zinger with a straight face and suitably proud glow, watch the person's face crumple and try to recover with a lopsided smile, and then walk away stifling giggles! It is truly evil, but it is so much fun!

The Tour & Monsters

Tonight I toured the birthing center at the local hopspittle where the Jackster will be born. It was quite an awe inspiring moment to walk into the birthing room and see the warming table all decked out and waiting to receive a fresh baby. I won't be delivering in one of those rooms because I'm having another cesarean, but the table will be the same exact thing waiting to receive our pink, wet, wiggly Baby Boy. If all goes well and he isn't whisked off the the NICU right away. Yes, that's what I thought as I approached the warming table. This worry is killing me. Next the nurse giving the tour walked all of The Waddles down the hall to see a room we'd be in after delivery. While we walked, another older mom sidled up to me to ask if this my my first or last. She mentioned that she thought it was her last because she was 43. I said I was 44 and we engaged in a little joking commiseration about how much harder it was on our bodies at our ages. She seemed open and friendly so I asked if she'd had any prenatal testing. She got a look on her face like maybe I'd farted and said "Oh noooo! We would never do that!" Clearly, the only people who test are monsters. "We're Christians," she now said with a pinched face, "We don't do that!" I let the space increase between us and moved to the side and as others came between us I muttered "Oh." And for the remainder of the tour I stayed as far away from her as possible. The way she said those few words made me feel dirty. Her words made me feel unworthy. Unclean. Why I felt this way is beyond me. We are Christian. We opted to test. We braved The Hard News. I started researching right away to find out how to care for My Baby with Down syndrome. And I've stumbled upon stories that sometimes battered my soul. Some families who do prenatal testing are given devastating news. Their babies will not live. The few that do survive pregnancy will survive birth by a few hours at most. If you can stand having your heart broken, you can read about Sweet Little Eliot. Just seeing his picture while trying to create a link has me crying and feeling deep soul wrenching pain once again, and I didn't even read through the story this time. That family did indeed get devastating news. And they still chose to give their Dear Little Eliot a chance at life. Stories like theirs have made me come to know that Down syndrome is so totally doable. People who choose to test are not monsters. I don't know why that woman's words made me feel like filth, but in the end it just made me even more protective of My Sweet Spud.

DSALA Barbecue

This was a big day. I took The Girlie with me to the DSALA New Families Barbecue. I left The Middle at home. I didn't want to have to explain 552 times why this person looked that way or why that person spoke funny or have to field a million other questions. He's just 7 years old on September 14th, and very inquisitive. He doesn't really have any idea what Down syndrome means. Showing him what Down syndrome looks like would not be helpful for him. He would think nothing of asking someone "Why do you talk like that?" Or, "How come your baby looks funny?" He is autistic, and while he is extremely verbal and social, he very frequently lacks the the ability to determine what should not be said out loud. I am quite certain that he would stare. Anything he sees that is new and different will often be described in great detail, with adjectives most adults don't possess in their vocabulary, in a loud excited voice. And he loves an audience! I can easily imagine we might have been invited to leave NOW after one inappropriate comment drew attention and an audience formed. The boy loves to entertain and while he often displays insight and compassion beyond his years, he is just 7 and just as frequently can be as thoughtless and outspoken as only little kids can be. I didn't want to have to police him that day and I didn't want him to have a miserable time being under constant surveillance.

I took My Girlie because she has had an immense interest in the blogs I've looked at, especially of the pictures of the babies with Down syndrome. She was frequently my little sidekick those long summer months while I trolled the Internet looking for information. If there is anyone as worried about bringing Jackie Boy home, it is my sensitive Little Girlie. She turned 10 just days after we discovered our pregnancy, but she is the child who worries and frets over concerns in their minutia. I thought it would be a good environment to expose her to the facial features and the odd speech syntaxes of children who have Down syndrome. She is also on the autism spectrum but she is the quiet and introspective kind. She is the gal who hangs back from the crowd until she is comfortable joining in, and I knew for certain that when she had questions she would take me aside and whisper them. And I knew there would be questions. I'd already been telling her that The Dumpling may well have a feeding tube in his nose. He might eventually get one in his tummy. He might need to have a clear plastic tube under his nose to give him oxygen. He might be really soft and floppy. He would likely have a flat nose and the almond shaped eyes that tilt that she'd seen in so many of the pictures we'd found online of babies with Down syndrome. This would be a safe environment to expose her to all of this and more, and she did indeed get to see that some of these babies and toddlers had this equipment, and that it was okay. We'd spent the hour long trip to the valley discussing what to expect.

What I didn't expect was that she would find an instant friend within minutes of arrival, but that is exactly what happened. These two pre-teens hooked up and were together constantly until it was time for us to leave. When My Girlie admitted that she had trouble understanding her new friend, she just patiently started over and repeated things until she was understood, sometimes just saying them in a different way.

I also didn't expect that the little girls Mom would embrace me with such love and compassion. I was one of two pregnant women expected to be in attendance, but I was the first to arrive, hours before the other woman. So my new friend and I sat at a cozy table under a shady tree sipping water and getting to know each other. While I told her about my pregnancy and concerns for My Baby, she told me about her experiences with her own sweet girlie and the Down syndrome community in general. At least twice while I was speaking, her eyes welled up with tears and spilled over. It was like she was feeling my pain and fear in her heart. And she didn't try to placate me with empty promises. She told me what to expect and that it was going to be much different than anything I could imagine so far. She said that no matter what problems arose at his birth and after, there would be a support network to help us. She said I would find the strength I needed and that the DSALA would always be there with answers, support, personal visits if needed, and all the encouragement I could want. She said that Jack would be more like my other two babies than different. And she insisted that Jack would emote more love and devotion than I could fathom, even more than either of The Littles had. She was so wise. She was also honest and compassionate with me. She never minimized my concerns and she embraced me from the moment we met. When I finally said good bye to her at the end of the evening, amidst hugs and well wishes, I told her that she'd been a true blessing being the first person that I met. And she was!

Now we didn't sit under that tree the whole evening. She invited a woman she knew with a 5 month old baby girl over to join our group and after a few well placed questions designed to make me feel comfortable asking my own questions, she wandered off and allowed us to get to know each other a little and for her to let me hold her baby! This was my first ever experience with a little one with Down syndrome. And she was so very, very much like any other baby! Sweet, soft, wide eyed, and beautiful as only a baby can be! And then another newer mom joined our group and she also let me hold her almost 6 month old little girl. Again, she was just like any other baby. She was a little softer and had less muscle tone, but she was a sweet bundle of babiness and goodness, just like any other baby! Between the two of them, they shared their pregnancy stories and birth stories and answered a million questions from me. They explained what had been difficult and scary about their babies' health at birth and now, what was helpful, what wasn't, how to deal with families who were scared and friends who didn't know what to say, and just made me feel better about everything. They made me feel that just maybe it was going to be alright after all.

Then I wandered around meeting other families while My Girlie and her new friend sat together in a hammock swing sharing girl talk. The people I met were encouraging and helpful and embracing. Most allowed me to hold their babies. I don't think anyone said no, but I didn't ask everyone either. Some babies were eating, some were sleeping, but all of their parents shared information and encouragement. When dinner was served I loaded up My Girlie with plate and a soda and she quickly joined her new friend at a table to eat. I took my plate and found a space at a table and sat listening to the conversation, joining in at times, but mostly just sat watching these people who had managed to go on with their lives, mothers who continued to keep track of their active typical children while bouncing a baby with Down syndrome on the hip, men who continued to be loving husbands and attentive fathers, couples who remained a strong unit, people who were still living their lives. Their good lives. I was encouraged. Mostly I was relieved. We would be alright. Looking at these families, I thought we might just be better than alright!

Lazy and Large

I've gotten really lazy about keeping my journal, but I just can't seem to whip up enthusiasm for much these days. I'm not sad or depressed, I am just really tired all the time. At the moment there is very little that feels as good as laying down in my feather bed, bunching up my goose down comforter and snuggling into my eight goose down pillows. With the fan and the air conditioner on!

Today I am 28 weeks along. If The Baby Dear is born now he will have a good chance of survival. I spend a lot of time researching still and reading blogs of other families with a baby who has Down syndrome. It's encouraging to see their pictures and read their stories. I'm getting a better idea of what to expect when Baby Dear comes home. The Beloved and I were talking about it this evening. He expressed more of his concerns. Will he get picked on? Will it be worse or more hurtful than for the average child who gets picked on? Will he even know he's being ridiculed? Will he be able to have a job a little more meaningful than the Wal-Mart greeter or a bag boy? I have to admit that I've wondered this very thing myself. Then he voiced the concern that nearly broke my heart. "Will he ever know the love of a woman?" I have read several accounts of people with Down syndrome getting married so I pulled up a few from the net so he could read them. Of one of the couples, the young man is actually an accomplished concert pianist, but he also plays several other instruments quite well. He and his wife live independently. After The Beloved read the info on the net he sat back and said, "We'll just have to work hard to make sure he gets all the therapies you've been telling me about and help him to live as normally as possible."

I'm still seeing the doctor every week and having NSTs every Tuesday and Friday. And I've had to do another 24 hour pee test. It's cumbersome to haul those two giant bottles into the lab, but the worst part is having to remember to pee in the cup in the middle of the night, and then have to transfer it to the container instead of just jumping lumbering back into my squishy bed.

And I do mean lumbering. I have had to resort to a step stool on my side of the bed. Okay, so the bed is a full 38" off the ground, but before I got pregnant and gained 50 gallons of fluid, I could take a running jump from the doorway and still land in safety. And yes, I have actually done that running jump thing. On occasion. Now I can't climb into my own bed without the step stool and if I attempt getting in on The Beloved's side of the bed, that quite gracefully involves his hands on either side of my broad expanse of butt to hoist me up. Really makes a gal feel pretty! Especially when The Beloved takes a few steps back after I land just in case that tremor and rumbling sound is a precursor to the bed falling down. Yeah, I feel pretty!

Lions, Tigers & Bears

The Girlie has lovingly ensconced her stuffed animals into each set of equipment. There's a doll in the swing, a bear in the bouncer, a puppy in the stroller, and another bear in the car seat. I'm surprised she hasn't yet wrapped up a dolly to put in the crib! And the cradle too! She's really having fun with this business of preparing for her New Little Brother. Sweet girl. The Boy-O often brings me a book that he says he wants The Baby to have. So, I send him down the hall to find a good spot for it on the book shelves. He's preparing too!

Bad Dreams

With so much tumbling around in my head, I don't know where to begin! Keep reading and you may contact the local authorities in my area to send over the men in the little white suits! I had a nasty dream a few days ago. I'm used to the very odd and bizarre dreams of pregnancy, but this was over the top, and I think it was rather telling. The kids and I were at a BBQ somewhere. All three kids. Jack was a platinum blonde toddler - no I did NOT get to see his face! There was a little blonde girl about six years old, and an old man, and they were yelling at Jack. The old man was a morph between one friend's dad and another friend's dad. They were yelling "Sit!" to Jack and pointing to the dirt ground like you'd do to an errant dog you hated. Everyone turned to stare. There was such hatred and venom in the little girl and the old man. I reared up into my mother bear and stormed the man, backing him into a wall. I demanded to know was he going to play nice and treat ALL of my children like human beings, not animals. I was acutely aware of the fear rolling off of Jack and a scared mewing sound coming from him. The Girlie and My Boy-O surrounded him in their arms. The old man was scared and backing away from me but I stayed with him, towering over him. In what can only be the wonderful magic of dream graphics, his thin wispy hair was flowing over his balding head and his jowly cheeks were flapping in the wind caused by the force of my words! Neither of my friends dads are bald, but there it is. I woke up after demanding "Answer me old man!" Quite a nasty dream, straight out of the "Pit of Fears." I think the old man was a morph between my friends dad's because in real life, if you make eye contact with either of them, you are filled with loathing and horror and go take a long hot shower in a hopeless attempt to feel clean again. Okay, so that's dramatic, but they both have still, cold, dead, reptilian eyes. Shudder. I was glad to wake from that nightmare.

27 Weeks, Closets, Baby Gear

Tomorrow starts my 27th week. This is officially the last day of my second trimester and I'll start the third tomorrow! I'm still trying to adjust to the fact that I'm pregnant and now I realize that Baby Dear will be here before I know it. In my arms at last. It's also my Dearly Missed Mother's birthday. She would would have been, should have been, 77 years old. I miss her terribly, but I'd like to think she'd be happy with the life I have, with my career, with My Beloved, with the Littles, and I know she'd be supportive with The Newest. Dang, we need to name this kid! We have discussed the name Kenneth. The Girlie hates it - vetoed it immediately. The Middle is still pushing for a name one letter away from his. I vetoed that for obvious reasons! I already get their names confused as it is, and I often have to resort to "You! The one I'm yelling at!" And while The Beloved and I liked the name Kenneth in the evening, by morning he wasn't so sure anymore, and I have to admit that after kicking the name around a bit, I am not so keen on it anymore either.

Miss Susie helped me hang the brackets in the nursery closet. And then we installed the closet bar. That turned out to be another hammer-whacked-knuckle, freshly-applied-paint scraping event laced with much cussing. Again, on my part. But I did manage to avoid injuring Miss Susie with anything this time. The girl knows how to duck and she learns fast! Then we removed the closet bar when I realized it would have to come out in order to install the shelf above the closet bar. And that was accomplished with more knuckle whacking, paint scraping and requisite cussing. And then we re-installed the closet bar. And we put in a shelf about 3' from the closet floor to eventually hold bins of toys on top and below. We'd already figured out how to best install the shelf based on the aforementioned shelf. But this time it was only three feet off the floor and the shelf had to be clipped into the brackets from underneath. There is no comfortable position to either bend or squat when your midsection is the size of Jupiter and your butt is the size of - well, let's not go there. My girth prevented being able to hold the shelf because both the shelf and I would not fit in that closet, even with the doors removed and still be able to hold the shelf flat. So, Susie held from above while I crab-crawled on my side, absolutely unable to lay on my back and still be able to breath, to clip the shelf into the bracket. When we were finally finished we stood back to admire our handy work. I'm pretty sure I heard Miss Susie mutter an expletive under her breath. Okay, so she said it out loud. I've been a bad influence on her.

While The Middle napped, we left Miss Susie in charge and My Girlie and I went out to buy baby gear. I thought it would be a good to celebrate my Mother's birthday by doing something fun with My Own Girlie because I know she would have loved her so much. We had to go to several different stores, but we found the Winnie the Pooh swing at one store and the matching car seat/stroller combo at another. Then we went to yet another to buy a matching bouncy seat with a gift card we'd received from neighbors! It was tiring driving all over town, but it was a fun trip and it was nice to spend some time with just The Girlie and I. She was especially delighted when I headed toward the baby clothing section. I have the oddest feeling that I just can't get over. I keep thinking we will miss our baby shower. So...we'd better have some clothing! Between the two of us we picked out 9 sleepers and outfits and another pack of tiny white socks! My Little Girlie was thrilled to be part of the baby clothes selection process!

PHC, NST and Curtains!

So yesterday I went to the PNC for my regular check up. Again with the BP and the rechecks. Eeesh. Saw the doctor. No new orders, except that now I will be seen every week until I deliver, in addition to the twice weekly NSTs.

I spent the late morning sewing curtains for the Jackster's room. When The Littles got home from school we took another stroll along the dresser under the window to measure, mark and drill and hang the curtain rods. The Kidlets were a little grumpy that I had to iron all three panels before I hung them, but they were really tickled when they got to hold the ends while I threaded the curtains onto the rods. And of course, The Girlie maintained her position glued to my butt in case I might fall, while The Middle kept the look of distress pasted to his face in anticipation of me falling! News Alert: Woman safely disembarks from 2' dresser without injury. Film at 11!

And today I took my forth trip to the PNC for our twice weekly NST. All was well! Baby Boy wiggled away, the tech adjusted our straps, Baby Boy wiggled away, the tech adjusted our straps, Baby Boy wiggled away...

Cradle Linens

I started my day bright and early at the PHC for my Tuesday NST. Everything looked good and I actually fell asleep sitting there listening to Jacks little heart thumping away.

I went back to see the endocrinologist in the afternoon to review my labs and get another insulin adjustment. This time he says I don't need to come back for a month unless I see my blood sugars trending up. He said to call if they trend up and that I can increase both types of insulin by one unit until I can be seen. He said he wouldn't be so liberal with anyone else, but since I'd already indicated on my graphs which days I'd adjusted my dose independently, with good results, he was confidant that I'd keep my numbers in a tight range. He only wanted to see me sooner if I couldn't keep them under certain levels and needed help. I wasn't sure if I should be flattered by his confidence in me or neglected!

Once home I took a nap and then spent the evening measuring and cutting and pinning and sewing while I waited for The Dear Daddy to get home. The fabric I'd found while cleaning out the garage was big enough to make 6" bumpers, two sheets and a quilt for the cradle! I was pretty happy when I got it all in the cradle and stood back to admire it! Now our Little Bunny Boy will have a place to sleep in our room!

Declarations of Love

The last time My Love comforted me through a painful discussion, he said he knew I would be able to love this child. Tonight, quite unsolicited, he said he would love the baby too. He has refused to watch or read any of the information I've gathered, but he is accepting of The Littles learning to sign. Later he was holding me and rocking me back and forth and said he'd never be able to convince me of how deep his love was for me. He asked again, "How are we going to get through this?" I said simply, "Together."

Earlier today: Every time My Girlie catches me weepy she says the same thing, "Mommy (she never calls me Mommy except for these times, and only since Jack) I'm sorry Jack's going to have Down syndrome, but we'll all be okay. Jack will be loved. He already is!" She doesn't understand the hormones of pregnancy, that I might be weepy because I'm hungry and nauseated, or worried, or that it might be because it's Tuesday! She's always so quick to throw her arms around me and Jack, ready to comfort!