Life is Flowers

Cerclage day (otherwise known as the day Edie thought she was going to die from fright) was a success.  Michael drove me to the hospital first thing in the morning so that we could be there in plenty of time for the torturous preparations that needed to be done before the surgery.  I am not the most pleasant person when I am nervous/scared but Michael was amazing in his efforts to keep me sane along the way

At the hospital, we sat around for a while and then I was dragged kicking and screaming into the pre-surgery prep area all by myself.  OK… I wasn’t exactly screaming out loud but I certainly felt like letting out a good hearty scream of panic.  The nurse was real nice and she settled me into my hospital bed and gave me a wonderful pair of fun, hospital booties.  Another nurse came in to start my IV and finally Michael was allowed to come back into the room.  Whew!

A whole slew of people came in one by one to give me a bunch of info about the surgery and anesthesia.  Much to our dismay, we then found out that they were going to switch doctors on us.  Instead of the wonderful head of the high-risk department, my surgery was going to be done by 2 doctors that I had never heard of.  Needless to say, I was annoyed (especially because we had just met with the guy yesterday and everything was fine.)  We were told he had an unexpected meeting.  Annoying!

They did a quick ultrasound and then we just had to wait for a bunch more fluids to get in me before they could take me into surgery.  Apparently, it helps prevent my blood pressure from dropping too much with the anesthesia.  After I was all filled up, they came in to roll me away.  This was definitely the scariest part of the whole thing.

The operating room was freezing!  They transferred me to the table and sat me up for the spinal.  The spinal itself wasn’t so bad but I was shaking from nerves (and the polar ice cap conditions) so it was probably a little harder than it should have been.  They gave me a super-low dose of medicine so as soon as they gave it to me, they flipped me upside-down in the bed to allow the meds to flow to the proper area.   The surgery needed to be done in the Trendelenburg position (with my body slanted down towards me head) and I kept sliding off the table.  It was awful.  They had to slant the bed the other way and then try to push me back down.  I felt like a beached whale.  At some point, they even had to call someone else in to help move me.  What a way to start off the surgery.  At least they only had to do that twice!

The surgery itself was easy (for me at least.)  I didn’t even realize that they had started and then they were all done.  The only annoying part about the surgery itself was the fact that the doctors were constantly rambling in a language that I didn’t recognize.  I was really frustrated because I couldn’t figure out what they were talking about… were they having problems getting the stitch in?  Were they talking about my funny looking butt?  Were they talking about what they wanted to eat for dinner?  I would recommend that doctors do not ramble in another language unless they want to make their patient really stressed.  After it was over, they did a quick in-and-out catheter (because I wouldn’t be able to get up for about an hour and thought it would be nice if I didn’t pee the bed) and then they wheeled me into recovery.

Recovery from the anesthesia was very quick.  They gave me such a low dose that I could start to move my legs before I even left the operating room.  In less than an hour, the anesthesia wore off, I went pee (a prerequisite for letting me out of the hospital…good to know, huh?) and they paged Michael to come meet me in recovery so I could go home.

Everything was fine until about 1/2 way home when the pain meds started wearing off.  Wow did I hurt!  We were stuck in rush hour traffic and had a long way to go before we got to the pharmacy for more pain meds!  That was NOT fun!

We finally got home and the official start of bedrest began.  All in all, the surgery went well.  I bled a lot more than everyone said I would… and was in a lot more pain… but at least the stitch is in!  And hopefully, it will keep our little goober nuggets safe and sound for many months to come!

Nothing makes me feel older than having the doctors constantly point out that I am of “Advanced Maternal Age.”  Even when they don’t say it out loud, you can always find paperwork inconspicuously labelled “AMA.”  I’m 35 for goodness sake!  It’s not like I am 100 or something.  OK.. I know that they do it for a reason.  I have more of a chance for complications or chromosomal abnormalities because my eggs are old and stale from sitting around for 35 years…. but still!  Can’t they think of a better name like “Slightly-Higher Maternal Age” or “She’s Really Not That Old”?  They might as well just call me “Old and Stale Girl.”

Anyway… because of my “Advanced Maternal Age,” the doctor recommended that we get a Nuchal Translucency screening to check for chromosomal abnormalities (such as Downs Syndrome and Trisomy 13/18) before they stitch me up.  The Nuchal is just an “ultrasound on steriods” and they combine the findings with a bloodtest to determine my odds of having babies with chromosomal abnormalities.  The Nuchal was like torture as it took an hour for the babies to flip in the proper position for the tech to take her measurements.  I thought that my stomach was going to rip open from all of the pressure.  I almost drowned in ultrasound jelly!

We got the results right away and in a rare moment of good luck, we actually received fabulous results.  Before the screening, we had about a 1 in 253 chance of having a baby with Downs Syndrome and a 1 in 451 chance of Trisomy 18/13 (purely based on my risks as a mom with “Advanced Maternal Age”   After the screening, we supposedly have a 1 in about 3,000 chance of Downs and 1 in 9,000 chance of Trisomy.

As a bonus, they have this fun graph that shows your adjusted age based on the risks and it says that I have an equivalent risk of a 20 year old.  I am only 20 years old now and I have paperwork from my doctor to prove it.  So there! 

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.

Soooo, the appointment today was pretty uneventful, and while not my first time going to an OB appointment for a pregnancy, it never ceases to be an uncomfortable experience, and I’m not even the one on the table.  With that, we’ll just fast forward to an hour later.  As expected it is a bit too early to see anything on ultrasound, but we were seen earlier than the “standard” patient given the history of incompetent cervix.  In the past the transition from “everything looks great” to “Oh, Sh@#!” happens very quickly so it was crucial to get in early and get everything laid out to tackle this issue as well as give us time to find a new doctor if we don’t believe that our current doctors are going to do everything humanly possible to make this pregnancy work.  Good news is that there is a great plan in place to deal with the incompetent cervix issue, these are some of the best doctors around, and we’ll be delivering at one of the best (possibly “the” best) hospitals in Northern Virginia.  More good news is that bed-rest isn’t guaranteed, although still a possibility.  (We were told that 10-25% of cerclages are placed on bed-rest.)  While not doomed to bed-rest, limited activity will be necessary.

Next week is an appointment for a formal ultrasound, and hopefully they’ll be able to get a good look at the baby.  The week after that is an appointment with a specialist who deals with high risk pregnancies and will perform the cerclage which will be scheduled for around twelve or thirteen weeks.

In the meantime the food aversions, cravings, mild morning sickness, and a constant feeling of tiredness continue.  In fact tonight Edie went to bed at 8:15 pm which is completely unheard of.

On a positive, and completely unrelated note – after multiple failed attempts to transition Isabel to a bed from the crib, it looks like it might stick now.  She went to sleep in her bed tonight and didn’t get out.  Now, if she’ll just be willing to give up that pacifier.

I had a dizzying conversation with Mommy Inc. regarding the whole “I’m 6 weeks pregnant” thing. Of course; I being the thick headed goon that I am; I insisted that my interpretation was right and she had no idea what she was talking about. What’s sad is that this being our fourth pregnancy we should have this figured out by now.  I think we’re both still a little confused.  Okay, maybe it’s just me.

Soooo.  Today Mommy Inc. is six weeks pregnant but that is a complete and utter conspiracy by doctor’s everywhere because when you are 1 week or even 2 weeks pregnant you’re not actually pregnant. What?!? So you’re not really pregnant until you’re two weeks pregnant? Okay, remind me to explain to my daughter that when counting at school you can just skip numbers one and two.  Or that whereever my next job is my employer should pay me for the two weeks preceding my start date.

But it get’s worse. Let’s just accept that you’re six weeks pregnant. Let’s say you decide to look up on the internet or in a book what exactly is brewing inside of you. Here we go, page 86, week six. No, no, no. You may be six weeks pregnant but hey we need to look at week seven because your first week of pregnancy is actually days 1 through 7 (again, even though you are not actually pregnant).

So, I’m pretty sure that Mommy Inc. is four weeks pregnant unless you are talking to a doctor in which case she is six weeks pregnant and if you want to look up what is going on inside she should look up week seven not week six. But then again, maybe not.

So to avoid any further confusion we’re just going to say that Mommy Inc. is pregnant and install a pop-up turkey timer.