Baby Lilies for Baby Willie

I do believe I've mentioned that The Other Mommy rocks! Late this afternoon she arrived with gifts from The Littles, pictures of The Littles, and flowers! She came in holding a beautiful arrangement of white baby lilies and white roses and the card read, "Baby Lilies for Baby Willie!" So, so sweet!




In the picture she had of The Middle, he was blowing a kiss to me! I'm telling you, The Other Mommy puts Mary Poppins to shame!

She'd taken the Kidlets shopping to buy gifts for their new little brother. My Girlie chose a stuffed Eeyore and My Big Boy chose a stuffed Pluto. They explained to The Other Mommy that there was a Pooh and a Rabbit in Jack's crib at home, but no Eeyore or Pluto. I think The Middle may be confusing Pluto with Piglet, but we can always get a Piglet later.


We sat and visited while I pumped. On my last trip back from the NICU, the wheelchair I pushed held a giant bag of preemie nursers so I could pump right into them and feed them to William later. It was really good to have The Other Mommy visit. She and The Beloved would be our only visitors due to the swine flu policy adopted just recently. Two visitors only. Ever. But alas, she could not stay long. I had a feeling that The Littles were running her ragged with the sudden upset to their lives. And The Other Mommy never does anything half way. I know for a fact she was knocking herself out to make sure their stay in her home was as pleasant and fun as possible. She rocks!

NICU

For my second trip down that long hall to the NICU, I was armed with premedication and the nurse set me up to push a wheelchair for balance. It was a painful trip all the same, but my Little Jax was waiting. Once there I did the 3 minute scrub and then manned my wheelchair. And got lost. It seemed I'd forked right when I should have forked left. I made it there by way of seeing other babies who were truly tiny and being assisted by ventilators. Their incubators were draped to keep out light. Some of them were laying on glowing blue lights. As I pushed along the hall I thanked my God that Jack was doing well.

I was just in time to open Jack's isolette and change his diaper. And then something wonderful! "He poopied!" I said to the nurse. "That means his bowel is intact, right?" She came over to see the meconium. "Yes, that's what that means. I've been waiting for that!" And more good news, his oxygen had been reduced to .25L. His vital signs were all stable and had not wavered. Once again, he was taken off the oxygen to eat.

He was allowed out of his isolette for another 30 minute period. It took him almost that long to eat that ounce and quite a bit ran down his chin. The nurse said it might take him a while to learn how to suck, swallow and breath, but his wet diapers and now the poopy were indications that he was getting enough. The nurse showed me how to hold him upright and forward on my lap with his chin cradled into my hand and my fingers under his armpits to burp him. His little face was puffier than it had been and his little chin was no longer so pointy. His IV was now in his foot and I noticed that both of his little hands bore bruises and little poke holes from IV attempts.

Once he burped we had a few more minutes before he had to go back into the baby rotisserie. I sat looking at my newborn son. I was trying to take in all of him. His little face was now almost moon round and his eyes seemed to be even puffier. "Has he opened his eyes yet?" No, he mostly slept. Hadn't cried at all. Only fussed a little when he spit up. So we sat there, he and I. I whispered to him and noted that he turned his open mouth toward my finger stroking his cheek. His puffy little cheek.


I was trying to soak in this little being in my arms. I was trying to reconcile Down syndrome to my precious son. Clearly he had it. There was no denying his facial features. And the one straight line across each palm. The proof of the diagnosis was right there in front of me. But why didn't I feel heartbroken? Why was I not sobbing my eyes out? Why wasn't I filled with sadness every time I looked at him? Why wasn't that long trek down the hallway filled with dread? That is what I was expecting. But I was filled with anticipation while I waited for the secretary to allow me past the big doors and into the NICU. I wanted so very badly to rush my 3 minute scrub so I could see him. The trip down the long NICU hallway and one turn to the right was filled with urgency. I couldn't wait to feast my eyes on him. My Baby. With Down syndrome. This tiny little boy I was just getting to know, but felt that I'd known already for my whole life.

When the nurse said it was time I gingerly hoisted myself out of the rocking chair while holding him tightly to my chest. Once out of the chair and actually on my feet, it was really hard to straighten to a standing position. Once fully upright, I kissed his temple, whispered to him how much I loved him, and told him I would be back in a little while. And then I put him back into his toaster oven and tucked the U-shaped roll of blankets under his diapered bottom with a prayer to The Great I Am to keep him safe. I was sad indeed when I got back to my room and saw Jack's now empty isolette, seemingly abandoned there, along with his little socks.

When I got back to my room there were messages from The Beloved. The first one was to tell me he would be home in a few hours. The second was a progress update, and where was I? Was I sleeping? The third one was to tell me he was almost there, and where was I? He was getting worried. Call me. He sounded relieved when I got him on the phone. Where was I? It might have been the narcotics and it might have been the relief that we seemed to have turned full circle since I watched scared silly as Willie was taken from me that morning, and it may have just been sleep deprivation. It had completely slipped my mind that The Dear Daddy knew nothing of this whole day so far. I said I'd been down to the NICU to visit the baby. At the alarm in his voice I quickly backtracked to this morning, the respiratory distress, that he was doing really well now, that the cardiologist said he would be fine. "He's doing alright now?" He was alarmed. I kicked myself for blurting it out that way. "Yes, he's doing really well, his oxygen has been turned way down and I've gotten to hold him and feed him and change his diaper and the nurse said his vital signs have been great. He's doing good. Really." I told him how sorry I was that I'd just blurted it out but he said it was okay, I had enough on my mind worrying about the baby. He said he'd be here as soon as possible.

A New Day

With morning came a little difficulty in nursing. Jack latched on fine, but kept coming off and going back to sleep. I'd heard that Ds babies could be sleepy. This seemed to be what I was seeing. The morning nurse came on duty and assessed me and then moved Jack back to his isolette to assess him. She undressed him so she could see his chest movements. And then she called one of the NICU nurses to assess him, because he seemed to have some accessory muscle use and some sternal retractions. The NICU nurse brought an SpO2 monitor and hooked it to Jack's little foot. He wasn't saturating well. He remained nice and pink but he'd started having nasal flaring. The NICU nurse called a respiratory therapist and she put him on "blow-by" oxygen and his saturations improved and he stopped having retractions, but once again, my newborn was surrounded by medical personnel. After a few minutes they took the O2 off and his saturations dropped. They did this a few times with the same results and then phone calls were made and then the decision to take him to the NICU. All I could really do was watch while they wheeled in a giant covered isolette. The nurse handed him to me to kiss before they closed him up naked except for his diaper in the isolette and wheeled him away.


The nurse said that NICU would call me as soon as I could visit him there. She gave me pain meds and recommended that I try to sleep.

I must have cried myself to sleep thinking about all the things that must be going on in my tiny little baby's body that had him suddenly struggling for air. I was terrified in the way one can only be from knowing that my child, my infant, was in trouble and I could do nothing about it. I remember thinking that this was the begining of big troubles. I woke up to the phone by my bed ringing. The voice on the line introduced himself as Dr Somebody or Other and said he was William's cardiologist. His WHAT? My tiny little baby had a cardiologist? He'd done a Doppler color flow and an echocardiogram on Jack's heart. The reason for the distress he explained was that Jack has a small VSD, an opening between the ventricles, and that it was so small it would likely close within a few days. He said he was 'in house' if William had any more problems. If I had any questions I could call him. So. That was the problem. A small VSD. That was music to my ears. I could deal with a small VSD. That would likely close within a few days. That would not require surgery!

When I hung up the phone with the doctor I buzzed the nurse to take me down to NICU. She brought a wheelchair and helped me get loaded into it. Once in the NICU I had to stand at a sink and do a three minute scrub. The NICU secretary set a timer for me. It was a long three minutes. I couldn't wait to see my baby. Once done I was loaded back into the wheelchair and taken down the longest hallway of my life. Jack must be in pretty good shape, because he was farthest down at the end, the secretary explained. She stopped just outside of a diamond shaped room with stars and moons in the floor and embossed in the ceiling tiles.



A nurse was standing at a covered isolette with a pink baby inside. My Baby. My Jack. My William.


The nurse said he was due to eat in 30 minutes, that in 20 minutes I could take him out of the isolette to diaper him and then I could sit in the rocker to feed him. She explained that the cardiologist had ordered that he be bottle fed until the VSD closed. She explained that he shouldn't expend extra energy nursing until his heart was healed. She showed me how to open the little doors so I could touch him. He was once again naked except for a diaper. The nurse had snuggled him into a U-shaped roll of blankets and explained that it would help him feel secure. There was an IV tubing coming from under wrapping on his right hand. I could see the hub sticking out and noticed the IV pump for the first time.


He had a tiny little cannula in his nose, and EKG patches on his tiny chest. An SpO2 probe was wrapped around his tiny foot and glowed red.

There was a minuscule blood pressure cuff on his bitsy little arm. I looked at the monitor. His vital signs were all good, the nurse said. He'd stabilized, she said. While I stood there stroking his hand with my thumb, his fingers tightly wrapped around mine, the nurse explained that his oxygen had been reduced to .5L, so if he did well with his next feeding, he would likely stay off oxygen. She pulled a chair up to his isolette so I could sit by him while holding his hand. His tiny little hand. I asked if he had opened his eyes yet. No, not yet. Not since she'd admitted him to the NICU, and she'd been at his side continually.

When the 20 minutes had passed, the nurse showed me how to raise the lid on the isolette so I could change William's diaper. Then she had me sit in the rocker on the other side while she wrapped him in a blanket and then she lifted him into my arms. She took the oxygen off but his IV was still running. She said he had to eat 35 mls. That was barely an ounce, but the doctor had calculated what he needed to eat. I finally noticed that he was getting TPN. She showed me how to keep him upright to eat. He was quite messy about the whole affair. I'm pretty sure that at least 1/4 of that ounce had ran down his chin. His cute pointy little chin. It took a long time to feed him because he kept falling asleep. When the nurse put him back into the box she said she would try to leave his oxygen off as long as he did well. I took a few more pictures to keep with me until I could have William back.




By the time he'd eaten the required amount, I was done in. The NICU nurse called my nurse and said, "Mom needs pain meds and an escort back." The NICU nurse said she'd burp Jack and put him back into his bed. My nurse arrived and gave me a pain shot. They both helped me into the chair. I was just barely able to stand because I was hurting so badly. The NICU nurse said that if I came back in exactly 3 hours, I could feed him again. I noticed as my nurse wheeled me away that Jack's isolette was decorated at the foot with a bright blue piece of paper with his name on in, thin strips of blue ribbon, and stamps of baby footprints. Sweet!

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That simple little act of kindness, that personalizing of his isolette, let me leave him for a while and still know that not only was he was being taken care of, but that he was being cared for.

Love at First Sight

Sometime around two am The Other Mommy went home. She'd had a full eventful day to say the least, and we both knew The Middle would be up before the chickens.

It was about four in the morning when a nurse came in wheeling "A visitor" for me. When I finally got to hold my little William the first time with just the two of us, all of my fears and worries fell away. I held him to me and pressed my lips to his temple. "There's my little Stinkerie," I whispered, "I missed you baby." Over the next little while we made another attempt at nursing and I got to know my newborn. I say 'another' because I have the proof of pictures that The Other Mommy took in recovery that we did try to nurse then.


It seemed like I'd had only minutes with him then, and I have only the vaguest memory of holding him to my breast and helping him to latch on, and wondering if I could indeed live through the pain in my body.

And now here he was in my arms to savor. His little face was pink and rather round, puffy. He did look quite a bit like The Middle, but rounder, in a "same but different" kind of way. His head was shaped perfectly. His little eyes were puffy and shut tightly, with little lines across the lids. His little mouth was pursed tightly into a rose bud. I could see his eyes moving under the lids. I wondered if he was dreaming or trying to figure out how to open his eyes. He had a smattering of delicate light brown hair. I first checked to see that all three sections were present in both pinkie fingers. They were. He had one straight simian line along both palms. I pressed my lips to his miniature hands, kissing them both. His eyes may be a little tilted, but it was hard to tell with him so puffy. His nose was perfectly shaped, tiny little bridge and all. And weren't his ears supposed to be very small and set too low? They weren't. His ears looked like any other newborns ears and they were set the perfect distance between the corner of his mouth and the corner of his eye.


I laid him in the bed in front of me and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His arms were just the right amount of fleshy. His elbows pointy. I counted his fingers as they gripped mine. I lifted his shirt to see his belly and chest, noted the clamp around his now purple inked umbilicus. Remembered how broad and robust The Middles' chest was at birth, noted how small and narrow Jack's was. Smiled at how huge the newborn diaper was on him. His back was smooth and soft under my lips. His little legs were kicking out in rhythm. He was small. 5 pounds, 15 ounces, 18 1/2 inches long. But he was perfect. And he was mine all mine! As I watched him draw up into a little ball, legs tucking up, arms drawing in, I wondered where the soft floppy baby was? Wasn't he supposed to be soft and floppy? He wasn't. He was just like both of The Newborn Littles. I lifted both tiny feet to my lips. So sweet. Where was that sandal-toed gap? Wasn't he supposed to have that? He didn't. He had charming sweet feet. And the second toe on the right foot was a little larger than all the rest. It overlapped a tiny bit. My thumbs on his soles felt just right. I kissed them again and then fished out some tiny little white socks for his feet. Even with the cuffs folded down they went almost to his knees. Sweet little round baby knees.

The nurse brought me another magical dose of pain relieving potion. When I could finally ward off fatigue no longer, I wrapped William up tight and settled him in next to me for a nice sleep. No longer under my heart, but right next to it. Right by my side, held in the circle of my arm, my lips on his forehead for easy access to kissing. My last thoughts were of how I'd first slept with both of The Littles this way. And now it was William in our newborn bed. Just where he should be.

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.