Life is Flowers

Had a much less stressful appointment on Tuesday.  Of course, as expected it wasn’t without it’s tear-works.  Those Phillips girls know how to put on  a waterworks show even with positive and hopeful news.  After waiting for 45 minutes to get in to see the Dr. and then playing musical exam rooms we finally made it to the ultrasound room.   Now, while I’m sure every woman in the known universe will tell you that the T.V. (no I don’t mean television) ultrasound is far worse for the woman and that the man should just shut up and be glad he’s not sitting on the table in her place…I beg to differ.  Now before the horde attacks me with indignation at the nerve I could have at even saying such a preposterous thing, let me explain by letting you in on the male thought process while sitting in the tiny cramped room full of medical equipment:

“I hate doctor’s offices.  At least that’s not me sitting up on that table half-naked with tissue paper sticking to me.  Oh, crap.  Did I say that outloud?  If I did she’s going to kill me.  La la la la la la la la la la.  NASCAR.  Football.  Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.   I could so use a beer.  Where the hell is this doctor so we can get the hell out of here.  I wonder who won the football game last night.  Oh wait, the wife is talking to me.  What did she say?  Quick, I need an answer.”

“I love you dear!”

“That should do it, always distract them with the ‘I love you.’”

Says the wife, “Are you even listening to me?  What did I just say?”

“Oh crap, crap, crap!”

Now, women don’t seem to understand how hard it can be to fake paying attention sometimes, and then if we’re ever caught, we have to work on the fly to come up with some excuse by distracting you with things that you rarely here after the wedding day.  The sweet little nothings you long for but only hear when we’re looking for something in return, like silence while trying to watch the television.  That’s a lot of stress.  A LOT of stress.  Clearly more than the meager amount you may be facing while waiting, not for the ultrasound, but rather for a photograph of you unborn child(ren).  Whom, by the way,  you are sitting and deciding on names for.  You don’t even know the sex yet and already you are coming up with your short-list of names.  In the meantime while you are filled with excitement over seeing the little one(s) floating around and forgetting about the hell they are putting your body through as you are amazed at the miracle of life, contemplating whether you like ‘Bill,’ ‘Billy,’ or ‘William’ better.  The male is still thinking about how he’s going to avoid the wrath of a crazy, emotionally unstable pregnant woman.  All the while hoping that he makes it home alive and in one piece.

Right, totally not why you are reading this though is it?  Okay.  Fine.

Update – The Next Two Weeks

Dr. Maddox is on-board and completely non-judgemental and on board with whatever decisions we make.  He will do what is necessary for a positive outcome for our babies.  So, here’s what is coming up.

1. Thursday, August 27, Edie is getting the first-half of her first trimester screening done to identify risks for chromosomal abnormalities (i.e. Down’s Syndrome).
2. Thursday, September 10, Edie is getting a nuchal translucency test.  Which looks for the possibility of fetal abnormalities (i.e. cardiac issues).  Neither are sure things and only identify possiblities.
3. Friday, September 11.  Edie is scheduled for her cerclage.  It will be an outpatient service and should only involve being in the hospital for a few hours at most.  Upon returning home that afternoon bed rest will commence for the ‘long haul.’

If all goes well, Edie will be on bed rest at home for quite awhile.  If the cerclage is not holding its own than she will be hospitalized for close supervision, but everything is being taken one step at a time.  By our request, she will be watched over by both the hopeful and positive OB and the depressing Grinch of a high-risk specialist.  Together, we hope they will be able to effectively extend the pregnancy and provide all the information necessary to deliver these babies in a timely manner.  Here’s hoping two heads are better than one.

On a much needed lighter note.

We have undertaken the completely futile task of potty training Isabel, although our approach has been far to passive for the likes of many, we move forward nonetheless in our attempts to reduce our daycare costs (There’s a non-potty-trained-child premium).  However slowly, I mean ssssssllllllllooooooowwwwwwwwlllllllllyyyyyyyyy, there has been progress.  In fact even last night our little Isabel amazed us all with a feat that would rival even the best of the boys.

I stepped briefly out of the bathroom to continue a conversation with Edie (clearly lying on the couch eating Bon-Bon’s contemplating her next diabolical scheme to rid the world of mean people,while simultaneously pondering the ramifications of Sharon’s incarceration in a mental hospital while still not telling Nick that he is the father of her unborn child, not to mention answering all the Jeopardy questions before Alex could even finish reading the answer.)  I was not abandoning our daughter to the confines of our non-kid-friendly bathroom unprotected from the dangers of mildew and an overflowing mini-trashcan.  She had a roll of toilet paper to protect herself from any danger she would be facing.  Or, so I thought.

“Daddy, lookee I poop-eed. I poop-eed daddy.”

I revved up my fatherly excitement on my fine abilities to potty train a toddler while barely doing more then helping her steady herself while she takes off her diaper.  Yes, folks I am a stellar dad that few, neigh any can compare with.  My potty training skills will be famous around the world.  I will have book deals and the multitudes will line up eagerly awaiting for me to sign their portable toddler toilet seats.  They will put my face on the back of bathroom doors everywhere as a sign of encouragement for toddlers……..Hmmmm, okay let’s not put my face in every bathroom in the known world.  That would just be disturbing.

I went to the bathroom to help out with the unmentionable duty necessary post poopy.  Isabel kept pointing at the “poopy”, alas I saw nothing…..at first.

Uh Oh!  What’s all over the floor? and the toilet seat?  and her leg?  And mommy’s Edward and Bill Entertainment Weekly?  In fact two whole feet plus away from the toilet?!?

Ahhhh haa!  My little girl can whiz just like the boys, and she’s got distance!

Yeah, what proud moments of fatherhood and embarassing stories for her wedding day.

Where do I even begin….

Last Thursday was our appointment with a high-risk specialist.  Last Thursday was the worst day of this pregnancy so far.  We have been preparing ourselves for years.  We knew that if we were to get pregnant again it wasn’t going to be easy for anyone.  We knew a cerclage was going to be necessary.  We knew that a premature birth was likely.  We have been educating ourselves for this scenario.  We felt confident and prepared.

Problem is, we never planned on twins.

Twins (multiples) it’s probably one of the worst things you can hear when you have an incompetent cervix.  Or so we thought at first.  We processed the ‘twin’ news and again rebuilt our confidence that while that will make things even tougher it was not an insurmountable problem.  We’ve lost too many children.  We don’t intend to lose anymore.  Then the high-risk specialist decided to throw another monkey wrench at us…

“Selective Reduction.”  AKA Selective Abortion.  AKA Killing your unborn child.

I was stunned to hear it, even though I knew that was something they would throw out there.  I was quite honestly speechless.  I didn’t even know how to process what he was saying.  On top of that, it was clearly the doctor’s preference.  A lot of emphasis was placed on killing a twin rather than what can be done to save them both.  Granted the odds of saving both…they’re not so hot.  In addition, the treatment for incompetent cervix while fairly standard has an outcome that is disputed by doctors.  No one seems to agree whether cerclage or bed rest are effective in prolonging pregnancy.

But…there is a chance.  There is hope.  These twins will have a better chance than Christopher or Alexander ever had.   The twins do not have a voice of their own, but as their parents we will do the same we would do for our three year old daughter.  We are their voice and we will fight for them.  They will be granted everything medically possible to give them whatever chance we can offer them.  We will not rely solely on the recommendations of our doctors we will draw on our previous experience and the experience of a community of fellow parents who have been through this as well.  We will be aggressive with our doctors and we will demand nothing less than the full and complete cooperation of a doctor who will stand behind us 100% with the goal of delivering our twins into the world alive, and healthy.

There will be sacrifices, we’re not in denial about that.  The death of our other children clearly put a strain on our relationship.  It took years to return to a state of normalcy.  Now we have a daughter to support and care for as well.  Now we have ridiculous commutes and a crappy economy that has ruined our ability to sell our home.  The deck is stacked against us.  But somehow we always manage to survive what is thrown at us.

In the end, I still aim to hold my healthy living twins in my arms and laugh in the face of incompetent cervixes everywhere.

So, it’s the day before the first ‘official’ ultrasound and I get a call from Mommy Inc.  I can tell she is in the car driving home.  Uh Oh.  That can only mean one of two things.  A – She’s sick, B – well… Daycare called to report that little Iz was vomiting and needed a pickup.  Guess, I was going to miss the appointment on Friday since I certainly can’t go in Mommy Inc.’s place.

Fast forward to Friday. 10:12 AM EDT.  Mommy Inc. calls me after her appointment kind of crying, sort of not. I’m not even sure what I would call it.  She’s odd, so I just chalk it up to her supreme oddness. She starts telling me that everything is okay and fills me in on the appointment.  ‘I saw the baby’s heartbeat and everything’s okay and baby ‘Bee’ is okay too.’ What?  What’s a baby bee?   Huh?  The baby beat?  You already told me you saw the heartbeat?  What? What is a ‘bee?’

Oh!  She was talking about Baby ‘B’ as in not Baby ‘A’

We’re having twins of the fraternal sort.

I’m not entirely sure why Isabel wants to be difficult about what she eats. The meatballs in her spaghetti are not going to hurt her. That macaroni and cheese is actually good and contrary to belief does not contain flesh eating bacteria or alien worms, and the yellow sauce is really just cheese.  Besides, apparently she has ingested her own pee in utero.

As your baby matures inside you, much of that urine will be excreted into the amniotic fluid, swallowed again by your baby, and then excreted again in a continuous cycle.  (What to Expect When You’re Expecting, Week 7)

I would think even brussel sprouts would be an improvement over that.

Our little 1/4 inch squishy is kicking my butt!  How is it possible that something so beautiful can make you feel so awful?  I have been laying on the couch literally all day while my wonderfully, amazing hubby has been taking care of everything.  I am so lucky.