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Baby

Millie Wants a Sister

Featuredby motheringmillieLeave a Comment on Millie Wants a Sister
Millie Wants a Sister

When I was two years old, I would yell out the window asking the neighborhood children who were walking home from school to come play with me. My parents decided to try for another baby when they saw how lonely I was. Millie has two brothers, two amazing brothers, and she’s definitely not lonely.

Unknown to us at the time of Crosby’s conception, both boys were born with a genetic syndrome called IFAP that they will endure their entire lives. I have a 50/50 chance to drop an egg with the compromised X-chromosome so it would be considerably irresponsible for us to have another baby naturally, due to this genetic condition (You don’t know what you don’t know but once you know, there’s no more unknowing).

Let’s talk about a 4th child, because we have been for over a year. Chris was not on board because we couldn’t guarantee that the baby would be a girl (Millie wants a sister) or most importantly, that the baby wouldn’t have IFAP. When we were at Crosby’s annual genetics appointment, I asked the doctor what our options were for growing our family without this syndrome. To Chris and my surprise, the genetic doctor was extremely optimistic about our chances of having a baby without IFAP through a form of IVF, genetic implantation. The guarantee of uncompromised chromosomes made us both considerably more interested in growing our family.

I’ve been told, “You’re crazy!” “You won’t fit in a regular sized car.” “Four children is too many!” And maybe I am, and maybe it is, but I can’t shake the feeling that we are missing someone in our family. Chris tried convincing me that the longing I felt was me missing my sister (who passed away in 2019) and while that is true, there are more reasons why having a fourth would complete our family.

Reason No. 1: We are Christian and we believe wholeheartedly that growing God’s Kingdom is of great importance. We are in a loving marriage and have been blessed with a beautiful home and finances that can support another member. We also have great family support; my mom moved up to Ohio from Virginia to be close to our family.

Reason No. 2 : I would do anything for Millie and she is adamant that she wants a sister. I understand why; I had a sister. I had the experience of sharing and stealing clothes, sticking up for her when others weren’t so nice, late night conversations about boys and our parents, and rules and breaking those rules. I had experiences as an adult with my sister; asking her to be my maid of honor, going out to bars and nightclubs, decorating our first apartments, and of course lots of shopping. If I am able to give Millie a sister, I want to.

Reason No. 3 : A kind of different reason (and maybe it’s not so different if you’re in a family afflicted with a genetic syndrome), but another reason why I would like to have another child (and specifically this way) is the knowledge that is possible to have a baby without this compromised chromosome. Absolutely nothing against my beautiful children with IFAP (we love you exactly the way you are). Chris and I have had many conversations about the possibility that our current children will resent the fact that this sibling would not have the syndrome; that we made a “healthy” child. Would they think that this is our “favorite” child? I think if it were a boy, there could be issues. Like, in some way our boys weren’t good enough and that is not at all the case. I want to experience this IVF process myself so that one day I could speak to my children about how to responsibly grow their own families, first hand.

So Chris called and set up a consultation with one of the clinics of reproduction and gynecology, and we had a virtual consultation about what we wanted and needed to grow our family. Our first meeting went really well. The doctor listened to our needs and was very affirming that we would be great candidates for this PGM choice. He explained how RGI would harvest my eggs and collect Chris’ sperm and after six days they would send the specimen off to the lab to be biopsied to tell us if any embryo was growing without the compromised chromosome. We would then implant an embryo without the compromised chromosome in hopes for a healthy baby. I questioned, “What happens to the embryos that have compromised chromosomes that we chose not to implant?” The answer was, “That’s your choice” and that is the moral dilemma that we are dealt. Those embryos, if implanted, would become people; babies; real life humans. Notice I’m saying if implanted. The reproductive doctor said he would not recommend these embryos for donation or implantation due to the genetic complication however, I’m thinking about my boys, Wells and Crosby, and how even though they have this syndrome, how perfect they are, and how grateful a family would be to have a child regardless of their syndrome. So, when does a life become a life? Are we OK discarding the compromised embryos? Are we okay discarding the healthy embryos we wouldn’t be using?

The next step in this process was going to RGI for an ultrasound screening to make sure that my ovaries and uterus looked okay for this procedure. I was a little taken back by the fact that I had to get a vaginal ultrasound while on my period! Normally, the OB does not want to see you while you’re on your period so I asked “What are you seeing while I’m on my period versus when I’m not?” and the doctor explained to me that this was the start of my cycle and the best way to know what’s going on is to have the most information possible and this gave him information about my follicles and lining that he might not otherwise have. Gross.

I went to this appointment on my lunch break (hindsight probably not the best idea) but I’m so low on sick days. Before I was taken back to the examination room, I took a video for Mill’s “maybe baby sister”. The lady at the reception desk started to tear up and said, “Oh my gosh, those videos will be so beautiful to share with your baby.” I got emotional thinking about what was to come.

I was taken into a room where two nurses were prepping to draw my blood. I was skeptical about having them do a blood draw when I wasn’t scheduled for one or gotten any sort of preauthorization from my insurance. They handed me a pamphlet that said this genetic blood test would be $300 out of pocket. I told the nurses that I did not feel comfortable doing the lab draw today and they audibly scoffed as they walked me back into the lobby. I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me.

I was asked to follow a nurse to the OB room and as soon as I was alone, I called Chris. I was bawling when I told him that I felt unprepared for this appointment. He assured me that we would just get the information and nothing had to be decided that day. He was able to calm me down before the doctor came in. I laid on the table with my feet up, bleeding while I was waited. The doctor told me that I had 11 follicles on my left ovary and 15 follicles on my right, which made him incredibly optimistic that I would have lots of eggs to harvest. I was stunned when he said, “This is excellent. All of these follicles will produce eggs and you can have as many healthy babies as you want.” I’m sure he meant for that news to bring me joy and that many women would be ecstatic hearing that however, I just started to cry. If I have all those eggs and I can have as many healthy babies as I want, why did two of them have this terrible syndrome and my daughter may be a carrier?

My heart hurt. I know the boys will have so many questions for me as they get older especially once they start realizing how different they are from their peers. I will say this again, I wish I could’ve known about being a carrier for IFAP before we started family planning but I don’t regret having my children or the people that they are because this is a part of them. I just wish we would’ve known that I had this syndrome so that we could have safely brought our sons into this world without having the daily struggles that they will have for the rest of their lives.

Next in the process were lots of blood draws – some I don’t even know what for; my genome mapping, infectious disease, etc. My 500+ panel (a carrier screening of mutations in DNA) came back completely perfect- ironic because I am a carrier of a chromosomal abnormality, because of it’s rarity, it’s not a mutation that’s checked on the panel. At one draw, I heard the tech sitting behind the desk say, “It was the ninety’s; everyone had crabs!” Ew.

Many hours were spent on the phone talking to our insurance company and the reproductive facility to find out what was covered financially and what would be out of pocket expenses. Ultimately, we found that once we hit our deductible of a couple thousand, everything else would be covered. I continued to check, double check, and triple check our coverage so there would be no hidden fees. We are so blessed to be in a position to be able to afford this process.

Chris scheduled his appointment to get his sperm analyzed and frozen for the week we got back from Disney. I was excited to go on a family vacation and also excited that when we got back, serious strides were being made in hopes of baby number four. While packing for Disney, I made sure to include a new package of pads in my suitcase because I hadn’t started my monthly cycle and I knew for sure I’d start while we were on our trip. Ugh, the worst; no one wants to be on their period on vacation. Throughout the whole trip, I never bled. I didn’t even spot. I chalked it up to the stress of the holidays and planning a family trip. The weirdest thing happened while we were at Disney, I heard my grandma say, “The best thing about being pregnant in December…” I told her right then, “Maw, I’m definitely not pregnant.” I don’t know what prompted her to say that but I reiterated to her many times that we were not expecting.

Once we got home from Disney, I was a week late starting my period. A couple more days went by and still, zero cramping. I was starting to get concerned so I brought it up to Chris and he calmed me down by reminding me of another time I had been late to start my period and how everything turned out fine (it was only a few months after Crosby was born and I was breastfeeding round the clock). Two days after our conversation, as I was getting ready for work, I realized that I hadn’t yet taken my morning pee and I had an unopened pregnancy test in the bathroom cabinet. I decided to test, what could it hurt? I knew I wasn’t pregnant and thought that the negative test would put me at ease. Of course when you’re thinking about using the restroom, you have to go even more so I ripped the test open and without hesitation peed on the stick.

Almost immediately it read positive. When I was pregnant with Mill the lines were so faint, barely there. This result was bold and very much positive. I genuinely didn’t know how to feel because I was in complete shock. I continued to get ready for work like a walking zombie; I can’t even remember what I chose to wear. All I could keep repeating in my mind was, “We are going through the genetic implantation process, we are going through the genetic implantation process, we are going through the..” and SURPRISE we get pregnant again the old fashioned way. My OCD and anxiety were not allowing me to be anything other than devastated because this was not the “plan”.

Chris was downstairs filling up my water bottle for work and when I came down, he could tell something was the matter. He pulled me aside and I showed him the positive test. I couldn’t even look at him; I kept thinking about how much he didn’t want another child this way. My doubts were clouding my brain. To my surprise, he pulled my chin up and smiled. He chuckled and said, “I expected this. It’s going to be okay.” I fell into his chest and he said, “It’s going to be fine.”

I called my best friend Lindsey because I knew she would understand my dilemma. She’s a mom of a son with a genetic birth defect, she has an autoimmune disease, and she knows my heart so intimately because of our thirty year friendship. She was so supportive of anything I said and felt. She reminded me of the autonomy I had over myself and that I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be pregnant, it just wasn’t the responsible plan I had created for growing my family.

I waited until 8am, frantically called my OB, and they instructed me to go to the outpatient lab to get my HCG levels tested. I told them that this was not how I wanted or planned to get pregnant and I wanted all my options as soon as possible. My HCG results came back over 600 which was perfect for a five week pregnancy. I explained to my nurse that I wanted genetic testing done as soon as humanly possible because of our history with IFAP syndrome. She explained that to get into the MFM geneticist, we would first have to have an ultrasound in the books and one was scheduled for two weeks later.

Once the ultrasound was scheduled, I reached out to our IVF liaison to let them know I was pregnant “the old fashioned way”. I was disappointed telling them because it’s not what we planned and I hate letting people down. I was so surprised when they were incredibly supportive and congratulatory. They said, “Just let us know if we can help in any way.” Their kindness brought me to tears.

I started to feel excited for this new addition. I bought a Coach diaper bag (boujee, I know), the sweetest crocheted stork to use for the pregnancy announcement picture, and a mail-in blood test kit that I could take at 8 weeks because that would be quicker than the OB’s tests. Gender would tell us some of what we needed to know ie. a girl would at most be a carrier.

Chris and I told our out-of-state friends who happened to be in town that we were expecting. I told my friend Anna because we were going to be celebrating her wedding in Vegas and I didn’t want her buying any drink vouchers for me. I told my friend Madison from work because she asked me if I could do a leadership committee after school the next year and I had to tell her why I couldn’t make that commitment. Everyone we told was so excited for us which helped my mental state because internally, I was terrified that I was giving yet another perfect baby this horrible, genetic syndrome.

The day of the ultrasound, I was anxious to hear the baby’s heartbeat. I took a video for Millie’s “maybe baby sister” and walked in the office with butterflies in my stomach. To my surprise, this ultrasound looked different than any of the others I’ve had. The ultrasound tech asked me, “How sure are you about your schedule?” My response, “Pretty damn.” She said that the embryo sack was there but not a fetal pole yet. She said that I would need to have another ultrasound done before I could be seen by MFM and I was shattered.

I called Chris and said, “A six weeks fetus looks like nothing! Literally nothing! Why is anyone arguing about abortion before six weeks when it was just a little, black speck?!” The doctor called me the next morning and explained that there was one of two things happening; I was either off on my dates and this pregnancy was not as far along as I thought or this was an unviable pregnancy. My OB explained that I would either start bleeding or I wouldn’t and she set an appointment for another ultrasound two weeks later. I was shocked with how nonchalant she was and I honestly, how I was. I’m such a control freak but I knew I had no control over this.

A week went by and there was no bleeding. I was still pregnant and I was starting to feel more confident that I was wrong with my dates. While I was teaching the following Monday, I felt a familiar gushy feeling in between my legs. My mind immediately started panicking but I had a class to teach so we kept singing about the lunar new year. Between classes I ran to the bathroom and sure enough I had a quarter sized drop of blood in my underwear. The part of me that knew something was wrong was internally fighting the part of me that thought this was normal; incubation blood – it wasn’t that much.

I didn’t bleed anymore that morning. Not until 4pm when our staff meeting ended and I sat on the toilet and a clump of blood the size of a grape was sitting at the bottom of the bowl. I took a picture of it and sent it to my OB, am I losing this pregnancy? Thankfully, the nurse wrote back quickly and said that this wasn’t as much blood as I was thinking it was and to reach back out if there was more bleeding or I developed a fever.

I drove to pick up Crosby from my grandmas house and almost had to pull over, I was sobbing so hard my vision was blurred. I had crying welts all over my face when I saw my Maw rocking a sleeping Crosby. She immediately asked, “What’s wrong, honey?” And I squeaked out, “I think I’m losing this baby.” She cried with me. I had never told her I was pregnant but yet she knew.

Prayerfully, no more bleeding happened that night and there was no blood the next morning either. I was beginning to think that the nurse was right; maybe it wasn’t as much blood as I thought. I taught my classes all day without bleeding, I picked up my kids after school; Crosby first, then the bigs, and I was still good. Once I got home, I started making dinner – Taco Tuesday, when I felt the familiar rush of blood.

I went to the restroom and it was the same amount of blood as before, not too much but enough to make me worried. I finished making dinner but I could barely eat; I had no appetite. Chris cleaned up and I gave the kids a bath; they always get so messy on taco night. It was an early bedtime for the kids because I had 125 buckeyes to make for school (I promised my students, 480 total, that I’d make each of them a homemade buckeye if Ohio State won the National Championship – I’ll never do that again.) As I was coating the peanut butter balls with the melted chocolate, I started to feel intense cramping. I had to stop what I was doing in the kitchen and I laid down on the couch. The cramping continued and I put in for a sick day; I was feeling really miserable and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get the buckeyes done, let alone teach. Chris turned on, Suits and I laid on my side, praying that the pain would go away.

I remember saying to Chris, “These feel like contractions.” The hope of a new life in our family was slipping away and I could physically feel it. Fearfully, I got up to use the restroom, sat down on the toilet, and felt something really strange. I looked through my legs and was stunned by the sight of a horrific, coagulated blood clot the size of a cucumber, hanging out of me. It was so much. I stood up. I can’t accurately describe how it felt other than I felt all of it, like an after birth. I remember screaming, flushing the toilet, and crying into Chris’ chest. Our baby was gone.

The cramping immediately subsided. That euphoric feeling after you give birth and all the pain goes away? This was the same in that the pain went away but I felt empty and miserable. I called my OB and they instructed me to get my HCG levels checked again. I did. It was still rising. But not as much as it should have. No one tells you that after you miscarry, you continue to bleed for weeks. The smell of the blood was different than period blood and it made my stomach churn. I had to go back to work (I have zero sick time after three maternity leaves) while bleeding out the pregnancy. I got a UTI, which I have after every delivery, and the doctor chalked that up to the miscarriage. The next Taco Tuesday, I had a panic attack and sat on the floor in the kitchen and cried. I can’t remember a whole lot from the weeks after because I think my brain was protecting me from the mental pain.

I went back to the lab four more times during the month of February. My HCG had to decrease from over 4,000 to under 5. If my body wouldn’t do this naturally, I would have another ultrasound and possibly a DNC. Thankfully, my body understood the assignment and almost month later, my HCG returned to normal. Finally, the nurse at the OB’s office called me and said, “Well, I guess this saga is over. A miscarriage doesn’t mean you’ll miscarry again. It happens in nearly 1 in 5 pregnancies. Something must have been off in the chromosomes. You should have a period next month. Reach out with any questions.” This saga. Yeah.

After the kids go to bed at night, Chris and I can talk about grownup things. I remember him saying, “I can’t understand why all these bad things keep happening to you.” All I said was, “I keep waking up everyday, just like you.” I was struggling with guilt – women who get further along, those are the ones that should be grieving. Me? I was only 8 weeks and 4 days. I have three beautiful children. Why was I struggling to get out of bed? I didn’t feel like myself. I lost twenty pounds in less than two months. I saw two pregnancy announcements on Instagram who were as far along as I was and I wanted to shake them; don’t they know at eight weeks you could lose it?! Someone at work said, “When are you going to have a fourth child? You need a SATB choir!” My heart instantly broke yet I wore a smile like a mask. I reached back out to my OB and asked if they had any recommendations for therapists specializing in miscarriage.

I was first referred to an outpatient clinic that met virtually 6 hours a day, for nine weeks; one hour for individual therapy, one hour for couples therapy, one hour was group therapy, and then three hours of grief curriculum – every day. I told intake, “Thank you but I can’t do all of that. I have a full time job and three children.” They responded that this treatment is for women who can’t function because of their loss, many of them take FMLA to complete this program, and after an intensive 9 weeks, they are rehabilitated. I politely told them that if I found myself debilitated by grief, I would give them a call back and I thanked them for the work that they do for the women who need it. I felt guilty for wasting their time.

I reached back out to my OB’s office and asked them to refer me to a less intensive therapy. Like, a once a week for an hour type of deal. I was informed about POEM (perinatal outreach and encouragement for moms). They first matched me with a therapist who was Christian and had grief counseling on her “about me” page. During our first session, she told that everything happens for a reason. I miscarried because God wanted me to push into him and I wasn’t reading scripture enough. She recommend a devotional I had already read. I ended up canceling my next session with her – not because I don’t value scripture! But because I don’t believe the Lord had anything to do with my miscarriage. I believe that loss is of the world and not of Him at all. I believe Jesus wept with me and He was not condemning me for not reading more of the Bible. Still, I felt guilty for my lack of study.

I felt guilty for the moments that I wished we would’ve gotten pregnant through genetic implantation instead of naturally. I felt guilty that I had ever considered terminating the pregnancy because it wasn’t what we “planned”. I felt guilty that I lost a sibling for my children. I felt guilty because my husband didn’t want a baby naturally, but then I got pregnant and his feelings changed—only for us to lose the pregnancy and put him through an emotional rollercoaster. I felt guilty for doing a crap job teaching because my head was all over the place. I felt guilty for getting my nails done, dying my hair, and getting laser hair removal during the first weeks of the pregnancy when I didn’t know I was pregnant. I felt guilty that I wasn’t taking any prenatal vitamins before I got pregnant. I felt so much guilt because in my mind, I failed.

I contacted POEM again and they matched me with a different therapist; one who was familiar with miscarriage. Her “about me” said she was a mother, that she worked with NICU parents, had PTSD expertise, and specialized in grief counseling. Our very first session, she listened to me and validated my feelings. She helped me through navigating reaching back out to RGI in hopes that we could get back to where we were in planning for our future family. She told me that we would get my mind healthy for another pregnancy. I am so grateful to her and our continued work.

While I deeply grieve the loss this pregnancy, I don’t feel comfortable referring to a future baby as a ‘rainbow baby.’ No shade to anyone who uses that term because everyone heals differently and I can appreciate that. I want to honor my next experience (God willing) in its own space, but I also want the next pregnancy to be its own journey; without it being defined by the one before it. Heck, I don’t even wear the used hospitals gowns when I deliver because what if someone died in them? A new life deserves to be welcomed without the shadow of loss tied to it.

Since starting to open up about this loss, I have realized many women who I love and look up to have also had similar experiences. Before I experienced a miscarriage, I used to think, “Why wouldn’t mothers want the support of their friends and family and talk about it?” Well, now I know. It hurts. And it’s personal. And I’m moved to tears of the vulnerability of the women who have spoken about their losses with me because it’s made me feel so much less alone.

I haven’t been able to blog about anything else until this one was finished because the blueberry inside of me deserved a post on this feed. It’s only been a few months but I am starting to heal – heal in the fact that I can read this without sobbing and throwing my phone across the room. I am forever grateful for my faith, my husband, and my children.

To my children, someday you will read this and instead of it giving you a real life experience of life through genetic implantation, this teaches a different kind of life experience; loss. Incredible loss.

Baby

Jackhammers

by motheringmillieLeave a Comment on Jackhammers
Jackhammers

Blue balloons welcomed us home; it was Saturday. Millie and Wells both had special stuffed animals to give to their baby brother. A nurse at the hospital gave us stickers, “big sister” and “big brother”; they were so proud. They both took turns holding Crosby and kissed him on his head. I felt so good to be home.

To make sure Crosby was eating enough through the night, we supplemented with the soy-based formula from the hospital, in addition to my breast milk. He was lethargic from being jaundiced and didn’t want to wake to eat. My milk had finally come in; I was pumping at least 3oz of white, thin milk every session. We made an appointment with the pediatrician for Monday morning for a weight check.

We were unable to book Crosby’s appointment with our regular pediatrician because her schedule was full so we had to see another doctor in the practice whom we didn’t know. When we were checking Crosby into his appointment, the receptionist asked if we had been exposed to Covid in the last ten days. I was honest and told her that I was currently Covid positive (I should’ve lied). We waited a long time before the doctor’s assistant came out to inform us that I could not go back into the room with Crosby; I was told that I could go to my car and they would put me on speaker phone for the visit. Oh heck no. I said, “It has been five days since I tested positive for Covid. If I wasn’t on maternity leave, I’d be expected to go back to work today and teach 500 children. Why can’t I be in the room, masked, with my newborn?” The aide came back after speaking with the doctor and said I was allowed to go back into the room with Crosby.

The medical assistant stretched Crosby out on the table and measured him an inch shorter than what he was measured at the hospital. He shrunk? My emotions were already heightened from the debacle in the waiting room and now I definitely had an attitude. We took off Crosby’s clothes to weigh him and found that he had lost more weight since leaving the hospital. How? I couldn’t believe it. I felt so defeated. The doctor came in and immediately told us that we needed to take Crosby to Nationwide Children’s Hospital to run some tests because he was concerned that Crosby could have brain damage from the lack of nutrition. I got defensive, “My milk just came in. I’m going to take him home and feed him even more. We do not need to go to the hospital for testing.” The doctor told me that if I did not take Crosby to the hospital that he would call Children Services. With that, I started to cry, like ugly, gasping, desperate cry. The doctor asked to examine Crosby. He took one look at his umbilical cord and said, “You’re not only going to the hospital for his weight loss but I am calling the ID unit, Crosby has an infected umbilical cord.”

Omphalitis is an infection of the umbilicus and/or surrounding tissues, occurring primarily in the neonatal period. It is a true medical emergency that can rapidly progress to systemic infection and death, with an estimated mortality rate between 7 and 15 percent.

The doctor left the room to call the hospital to let them know to prepare a room. I was an emotional wreck; how did this happen? Chris and I both noticed that Crosby’s cord site looked different than Millie’s and Wells’ did, but we didn’t know it was from an infection. We felt like failures for not realizing something was wrong. Thankfully, while the doctor was away, our regular pediatrician came in to see us. She reassured me that I was doing everything right in regard to breastfeeding. She told us that if weight loss was the only issue, she’d send us home but she looked at his umbilical cord and agreed that we needed to get it looked at by the infectious disease doctors at the hospital. She explained that the umbilical cord is a direct portal to his insides and that we needed to treat the infection, quickly.

We rushed home and I packed a bag for me and Crosby. I had just cleaned out my hospital bags. I never expected to be packing them up again. When we checked in at the hospital, the receptionist gave Crosby a toucan chime-toy to hang on his car seat. It was a far walk to the infectious disease unit – probably too long for someone who had just given birth days before. Once we were in our room, a nurse came in and took vitals from Crosby. A resident doctor took pictures of Crosby’s umbilical cord site. It was decided that Crosby would be put on antibiotics for a possible infection. If the redness and swelling of the site went down, we’d know that the medicine was doing it’s job. We were warned that if Crosby were to have a drastic fluctuation in body temperature, they would have to perform a spinal tap. I prayed to God that a spinal tap would not be necessary.

Two nurses came to administer Crosby’s IV. They couldn’t find a vein in his little arm. It felt like an eternity that I sat and listened to my 5lb baby boy scream. Tears soaked my face mask. The blood they eventually were able to draw, clotted. I came up out of my chair. I asked, “How?” The nurse said, “It happens.” and continued to reassure the younger nurse that she was doing a good job. I said, “Doing a good job is keeping the blood viable from my son. You should be moving it!” When they were finally done taking multiple vials of blood, they capped the IV and swaddled him tight so that he couldn’t pull it out.

My face was so swollen from crying and Crosby was exhausted from crying. It was getting late and Chris and I decided that he would go home for the night to be with Millie and Wells. Chris helped me figure out how to order dinner. I set up my “bed” on the squeaky recliner chair next to Crosby’s metal crib. Chris didn’t want to leave me and Crosby. He said that leaving us in the hospital was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

I was trying to breastfeed but feeling so self conscious about how much I was getting so I was also pumping (which was not coming easily with the stress). I was asked to label my bottles and call the nurse anytime I pumped or needed the milk from the fridge. Every diaper that came off Crosby had to be weighed. We went through three swaddles that night; he peed every time I’d change his diaper. Between diaper changes, feeds, IV antibiotics rounds, and vital checks, I did not get any sleep. Around 3 am, Crosby felt cold to the touch. I frantically called the nurse and she checked his temp, which was normal, praise God. They found Crosby a baby hat and I watched the Elvis movie.

At 7am, the jack hammering started. Construction was taking place below our room. I couldn’t have slept if I wanted to. Chris came back just in time to hear from the doctors during their morning rounds. From what they could tell, Crosby’s umbilical site seemed less inflamed. His cultures had not grown. They told us that if he stayed on this trajectory, we could possibly go home at the 24 hour mark. With that good news, I was finally able to catch a few hours of sleep.

At the 24 hour mark, the doctors hadn’t come back in to speak with us. We asked our nurse if going home was still on the table and she told us, no. Every test resulted in Crosby responding well to the antibiotic and we were given no reason other than “further observation” for making us stay another night. I voiced that the hospital wanted us to stay because they could charge our insurance 10k a night for the room (a room with a squeaky chair and construction noise). If we chose not to stay, we’d have to sign a release saying we were leaving against the doctors wishes and in turn, our insurance might not pay for the services we received. We decided to stay for “further observation”.

We FaceTimed with the kids so that they could see Crosby and me. It was devastating telling them we weren’t coming home yet. Then the thoughts of never bringing Crosby home crept in and I couldn’t stop crying. I needed my kids, and sleep, but that I night I wouldn’t have either. Chris left to be with the big kids and I turned on some movie with J-Lo.

I was wearing a pad the length of my arm. My “bed” sheets kept slipping off the back of the second, squeaky chair. I was expected to log all feeds (which was incredibly difficult because once fed, Crosby would sleep on me and I was afraid that moving would wake him). Nurses were in and out of the room every two hours doing vital checks. IV antibiotics were administered every 8 hours which meant a 2AM beep and flush. I should’ve been drinking more water. All this to say, when the lactation consultant showed up in the morning, I was miserable to her. She wanted to weigh Crosby before and after a feeding and I yelled at her to get out. It was his infection that was making him lose weight, not my breast production. I was an emotional wreck and the jack hammering continued through morning rounds.

When the doctor came in, she saw that I was distressed. She was super comforting and reassured me that Crosby was getting better and stronger. She agreed that his swelling was lessening and that he was responding well to the treatment. Chris came in during her examination and we both exhaled when she told us that we would be discharged before noon. A nurse explained to us the schedule of his medicine and how much to give him. She told us that it would be most pleasant for Crosby if we gave him the medicine with him sitting up for 15 minutes. We were instructed to go to the pediatrician the next day for another weight check and exam. Before we left, I gave the nurse our left over meal cards for another family to use during their stay.

The pediatrician told us that because of the trauma to the umbilical cord site, Crosby could have a herniated belly button. If he does, he could need surgery before he turns five to correct it.

I desperately wish I could “re-do” Crosby’s first week in this world. We will never know how Crosby got an infected umbilical cord; could’ve been a nurse, the aide who bathed him, the doctor who circumcised him, even me.

Baby

Baby No. 3

by motheringmillieLeave a Comment on Baby No. 3
Baby No. 3

Chris and I celebrated our 7 year wedding anniversary and four weeks later received a belated gift – we were pregnant. I told Chris by leaving clues around the house however, he was not thrilled by the news. (We had just come to the decision that we were going to wait another year before trying again…whoops.)

I did not tell our family until after the 8 week ultrasound and honestly, their reactions weren’t what I was expecting; my father-in-law said to Chris, “Come here and let me slap you.” My brother said, “Don’t you know about condoms?” My grandma said, “I’m never babysitting for you on your anniversary again.” All joking aside, it was incredibly disheartening.

Because we weren’t trying to get pregnant, I was anxious about what I did and did not do, not knowing I was pregnant. I wasn’t taking folic acid or a prenatal. I had been in a hot tub. I drank alcohol. My OB reassured me that everything would be okay and that I didn’t “mess up” the baby.

Chris and I celebrated my 30th birthday in Chicago while my in-laws watched Millie and Wells. This was the first time I had been away from Wells over night. We FaceTimed and bought the kids souvenirs. To my surprise, I didn’t feel nauseous at all and we did tons of walking, went on a skyscraper tour, sat in the sun, went to two concerts, and ate lots of different foods – zero illness or fatigue. It was a great trip.

A week after Chicago, the sickness set in. The OB recommended a vitamin and sleeping pill concoction to ease the nausea however, I didn’t feel comfortable taking it. Sleeping came easy and actually helped the nausea; I would be asleep in bed by 9pm. Wheat Thins, grapes, and unsweetened tea were my nutrition. Brushing my teeth and clearing my throat were the worst; I’d throw up every time.

I swore this baby was a girl; I was super sick when I was pregnant with Millie but not Wells. Chris and I decided that we were not going to find out the gender of this baby. Having a girl and boy already, we would be prepared either way. Many people were supportive of our wanting to be surprised. Our OB said that less than 5% of his pregnant patients wait to find out the gender. We were excited to give ourselves such a big surprise.

Like clockwork, at 14 weeks, I was no longer sick. I began taking one baby aspirin every night to best deter the preeclampsia I experienced with Millie. My newest ailment was a clicking in my lower back, which my OB called sciatic nerve pain. (I found out later that this was actually my SI joint.) It clicked the worst at night, going up and down the stairs, or if I was doing housework. I started going to a chiropractor that specialized in pregnancy adjustments and this seemed to help for about a week at a time.

We didn’t tell Millie and Wells about the pregnancy until they started to notice. Wells would smack my stomach and say, “Big, big belly.” Millie noticed when I picked her up from school one day and I was wearing a form fitting dress. She said, “Is there a baby in there?” Millie and Wells were both excited when we told them they would have a new sibling in March. Millie wanted the baby to be a girl and Wells of course, wanted the baby to be a boy. On the way to ballet one Saturday morning, Millie said from the backseat, “Mommy, let’s talk baby names. I like the name Cora.” Wells liked the name William (Baby Shark’s fish friend) and Catboy. We gravitated to calling the babe, New Baby.

At our 20 week ultrasound, we found out that the baby’s legs were measuring in the 7th percentile. We were concerned so the OB scheduled another ultrasound at 26 weeks to make sure the baby was developing appropriately. (At 26 weeks the baby’s femoral length was in the 14th percentile and the OB was not concerned.) I was struggling to connect with this pregnancy because I couldn’t call the baby by name. We decided to do a 3D ultrasound so that I could see the baby’s face. Millie and Wells came to this appointment with us. This baby was so cute and looked so much like his/her siblings.

Third trimester was rough. My hips ached, especially in the mornings, I had so much pelvic pressure, and I was peeing every hour. At 33 weeks, my ankles and feet got really swollen. I was instructed to go to labor and delivery to get preeclampsia blood panels drawn. Thankfully, everything came back normal and I was able to go home. The doctor on call had four children herself and gave me some advice on how to make it through the duration of my pregnancy. She recommended that I sleep on a wedge pillow instead of on my left side. Fortunately, my grandma had a wedge pillow that I could borrow and within two nights of using it to sleep, keeping my hips straight and not collapsed on each other, my hip and pelvic pain reduced significantly. This doctor also recommended pelvic floor therapy because she was confident I’d have a uterine prolapse in my future…terrifying. When I told this to my OB, he disagreed with her and said there was no validity to her statement. Only time will tell.

We celebrated Wells’ third birthday with a great party. Family and friends came and most everyone commented on how “big” I was. “You didn’t look this huge the last time I saw you!” and “You’re as big as an elephant.” and “Sit down. You’re making people feel bad.” and “You’re ready, aren’t you?” and “If you get any bigger, you’ll pop!” It’s bizarre how pregnancy gives people the freedom to speak upon another’s body. All I wanted to do was throw an awesome birthday party for Wells – no attention on my body or the new baby.

After Wells’ party, my schedule was free to welcome the new baby. Because we chose not to know the baby’s gender, I went through both Millie and Wells’ premie, newborn, and 0-3 month clothes and washed and organized them. Chris and I packed (and triple checked) our hospital bags, we set up childcare for Millie and Wells, I stocked the fridge, Chris set up the pack-and-play, all in preparation for the babe.

Two weeks after my first labor and delivery visit, my OB instructed me to go back in because of high blood pressure (140/95). My feet, ankles, and fingers were swollen. The back of my legs felt numb. I had gained 10lbs in a week. I developed a constant headache. Gestational hypertension had set in and my OB planned an induction for the day I hit 37 weeks. I was nervous, anxious, and excited all at once. While I was hooked up to the monitors, a nurse asked, “Are you feeling those contractions?” I thought I was just hungry. The monitor also showed two deviations in the baby’s heart rate. An ultrasound tech measured my amniotic fluid – all normal. I was told to report back to labor and delivery if my BP was higher than 160/110. I was to check my BP three times a day and elevate my feet as much as I could. I was released for the night with an invitation to come back the next week.

My last day at work was bitter sweet; I would definitely miss my students. My colleagues gave me good luck wishes but it wasn’t until I was asked, “Are you nervous? Giving birth is scary.” that it kicked in that I was leaving to have a baby. I started to tear up because with that one question, I felt seen. I was nervous. Yes, this was my third pregnancy but every delivery is different. The night of my induction, I procrastinated going to the hospital because of my nerves. At 12:30AM, Chris and I went to labor and delivery to start the induction.

Because of the time of my induction, the main hospital doors were no longer open and we had to enter through the emergency room doors. We were scanned and all our bags were searched. (Two hospital bags, my purse, my camera bag.) When we got up to the labor and delivery floor, we could tell they were working with a skeleton crew because it took at least ten minutes for anyone to check us in. When someone did come to enter my information, it was a elderly woman who struggled to type. I was hot, nervous, and getting increasingly anxious so I sat down in a wheel chair for the rest of the intake.

Almost an hour after we arrived, a nurse finally came into the delivery room. She was old and seemed completely clueless to the situation so naturally, my blood pressure started to elevate. She asked, “Why are you in today?” Are you kidding? The BP monitor started to beep. Pointing to the flashing screen I said, “That’s why.” I was hooked up to monitors, my IV was inserted, my temperature was taken, and I was Covid tested. The nurse asked me if I knew how my OB wanted to start the induction. How was I supposed to know? I asked Chris to pull up my blog post about Wells’ delivery. We found that I started with a cervix ripening medication called, Cervidil. The nurse requested this of the resident doctor who then explained to us that they do not use Cervidil anymore. He said we could start on Miso, which I remembered taking with Mills delivery. He inserted the Miso, told me to get a mole examined by a dermatologist, and the contractions started.

Just as I started to dose off, the head nurse came into the room to tell me that my Covid test came back positive. You’ve got to be kidding me. That morning, I felt really tired, dizzy, and anxious but I chalked it up to the hypertension. I remember texting a coworker that I was experiencing my “monthly illness” from the snot-nosed kids that we teach, and she responded, “I hope it’s not Covid, it’s going around again.” That prompted me to take an at-home Covid test, which came back negative and set me at ease. That afternoon, I had an appointment with my OB and I mentioned to him that I was not feeling well. When he checked to see if I was dilated, I almost passed out. I took a nap when I got home and on the way to the hospital, I told Chris that I was feeling much better – praise God because birthing a child is hard enough when you’re healthy. I asked the nurse to give me another Covid test – there’s a chance it could’ve been a false positive, right? She tested me a second time and it also came back positive. My mind was racing; did Millie and Wells get this? Will my in-laws get Covid from watching the kids? Will I have to isolate from the baby? I started to cry. My baby was inside my Covid-positive body and I was going to have to deliver being riddled by the virus.

The nurse reassured me that the treatment I would receive wouldn’t be any different from any other patient because I was Covid positive however, there were protocols and rules the hospital required:

– Anyone entering the room would be in full PPE. Chris and I were encouraged to mask.

– In addition to Chris, I could only have one additional visitor for the duration of my stay; no birth photographer for this delivery, Mill and Wells couldn’t come to the hospital to visit, and I had to chose between my mom and grandma in the delivery room.

– Chris could not leave the room to get ice, water, coffee, etc.

The head nurse told us that 90 percent of women who give birth while Covid positive, do not pass the virus to their newborn; this was reassuring. The baby would be Covid tested during the routine newborn check. She was optimistic that having Covid while pregnant would have given the baby antibodies that would be helpful once they were born. I prayed the baby would not be born with Covid or contract it from me once they were here.

At five am, my cervix was rechecked. The Miso softened my cervix but I hadn’t dilated much more. If time wasn’t an issue, I would’ve had another round of Miso however, my OB was getting on a plane for Chicago that evening and I desperately wanted my OB to be there. He knows my history, calms my anxiety, and he’s great at making sure I don’t tear. The resident doctor was adamant that a balloon foley was our quickest option for further dilation. I was nervous about this method because I had never had it done before. With the balloon foley, I would also have a urine catheter and I knew that would only add to my discomfort. The doctor said he was fine with me getting the epidural before the insertion of both catheters so I wouldn’t have to feel either. I asked, “How long does an epidural last?” It can be effective for 18-24 hours. I needed to have the baby before 6pm if I wanted my OB to deliver so that gave me 12 hours. We had a plan.

A lady entered the room and introduced herself as the CRNA, Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist. She sat down and asked, “Are you in pain?” To which I replied, “Not yet.” She asked, “Why are we doing this epidural?” This question irritated me. Am I not paying thousands of dollars for this medicine? I went on to explain the rationale. Did she not discuss this with the doctor? She began to talk to me about first time mothers who are afraid of pain – I stopped her and said, “This is my third rodeo. I have given birth without an epidural but this time I am choosing not to. If you’d like to discuss this pain management plan with my doctor…” She changed her tune. “No no no.” She agreed to give me the epidural but told me it was going to be painful because she didn’t have the pains of the contractions to hide it in. I sat up on the side of the bed and prayed to God I wouldn’t be paralyzed.

The CRNA advised me to sit crisscrossed, if it was comfortable, while the epidural was administered. I told her I was an elementary school music teacher and sitting crisscrossed was second nature. Chris stood in front of me to my left and the nurse stood to my right. The numbing needle stung. Then came the pressure. It felt like the needle was tunneling it’s way into my body. We made small talk about her children’s piano lessons and the downtown construction. My right leg jolted out and I almost kicked the nurse. It was taking so long, why was it taking so long? Finally, it was over. A cold trickle ran down my back and within ten minutes, I was completely numb from the waist down.

The nurse inserted the urine catheter and the resident doctor inserted the balloon foley, both of which I couldn’t feel because of the epidural. At 12pm, the nurse tugged on the foley but it did not come out. An hour later, she pulled again, and the ballon popped right out; it was the size of a clementine and it dilated me to 5cms. At 2pm, the doctor broke my water with what looked like a crochet needle. When I couldn’t feel my water break, I began to feel anxious. I wanted the epidural to be less numbing. I felt so helpless; Chris and the nurse had to move my body on the peanut ball because I couldn’t lift my legs. I felt so heavy. The CRNA came in and instructed me that the medicine was working exactly how it should and even though I couldn’t feel my lower half, it was responsive.

My Maw rubbed my legs and Chris scratched my head. It was enough to calm me through the last centimeters of dilation. I told my nurse that I was feeling a lot of pressure in my rear so she checked my cervix and informed me that I was 10cms dilated. I felt glad. I felt ready. Before she called in the doctor, she asked me to do a practice push and as I pushed through my next contraction she said, “Okay, okay. Stop. Stop pushing.” The nurse got on her phone, “Room 105 is ready to push.”

The nurses were like a NASCAR pit crew; raising the bed, turning on the bright lights, gowning the doctor, all in preparation for the birth. I made small talk with my OB about the baby coming before his flight for Chicago. He said, “With your next contraction I want you to push.” I crunched my upper body towards my knees, bared down, and I heard him say, “slow, slow” but I couldn’t stop what was happening. My body was pushing the baby out. In one push, I felt the baby’s body leave mine. The doctor placed the baby on my chest and I heard my Maw ask, “What is it?” The nurse answered, “It’s a boy.” He was crying and soaking wet. “Happy Birthday, baby boy.”

Chris cut the umbilical cord for our third child. I was relieved to hear that I did not tear and my placenta came out in one piece. The nurse told me, “That was the most efficient labor I have ever seen.” My legs were starting to tingle as the epidural started to wear off; I welcomed that feeling over the anxiety I experienced with the numbness. I changed my gown and watched as the nurse examined the baby. The baby’s oxygen rate was low at first but after a minute of an oxygen mask nearby, it went to normal range. Chris was standing over him, talking to him, taking pictures, and telling me how beautiful he was. The nurse stamped the baby’s feet into the baby book. I noticed quickly that he had a gap between his first two toes like his father. The baby weighed 6lbs 9oz. He was brought back to me for skin-to-skin.

This sweet, alert, baby boy latched quickly. He held on tightly to his daddy’s finger. He passed his newborn checks and scored a 9 on the Apgar scale. He tested negative for Covid; thank you, Jesus. He cried while he was given his first bath but once we was all clean, he calmed and we were able to take pictures of him on the hospital bed in the same position as Millie and Wells when they were born. Everything was going perfectly until he lost 12% of his body weight.

After many visits with the lactation consultant, I agreed to supplement his feeding with donor breast milk while my supply was still coming in. I would feed him from the breast and then pump. While I pumped, he was fed the bottle of donor milk. After 24 hours of feeding this way, he gained a little weight back.

I desperately wanted to go home. I missed Millie and Wells like crazy. I also knew my milk supply would increase in the peace of my own space. The doctors were okay with us taking him home as long as we took formula with us as a means of supplementation. We agreed, signed the appropriate papers and headed home to introduce Millie and Wells to their new baby brother, Crosby James.

Baby

Wells’ Speech Part 2

by motheringmillieLeave a Comment on Wells’ Speech Part 2
Wells’ Speech Part 2

Wells’ speech therapist’s contract was not being renewed by the Help Me Grow organization that Wells receives services. We were devastated to hear this because Wells had gotten comfortable with her. At our last session, she gave me a packet of information about a motor speech disability called, Apraxia. After working with Wells for six months, it was her professional opinion that I look into this with his next speech therapist. Huh? – I thought he was just a little behind…

Before meeting with his new therapist, I Googled Childhood Apraxia of Speech. I learned that it’s an uncommon disorder where Wells would have difficulty making accurate motor movements when speaking. In CAS, the brain struggles to develop plans for speech movement. With this disorder, the speech muscles aren’t weak, they just don’t perform normally because the brain has difficulty directing the movements. CAS is treated with speech therapy and the Help Me Grow program set Wells up with a speech therapist who has advanced training and expertise in Apraxia.

Jody, his new speech therapist, met with us to give Wells an evaluation. She heard the dropping of consonants, the inconsistency of speech patterns, and saw his frustration when we couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. She was quick to inform us that while CAS couldn’t be diagnosed until age four, Wells most certainly has a motor speech delay – something he won’t just grow out of. Therapy is the only treatment for CAS and we go two/three times a week.

When we repeat words how Wells pronounces them, back to him for example, “ickey” for Mickey, he tells us we’re saying it wrong. He knows how words are supposed to sound, he just can’t make his mouth do it. It’s heartbreaking to see him struggle. To speak correctly, Wells’ brain has to learn how to make plans that tell his speech muscles how to move his lips, jaw and tongue in ways that result in accurate sounds with normal speed and rhythm. He can make the “m” sound however, he cannot connect it so it sounds like “mmm” space “icky”.

In six months, Wells has mastered isolated consonant sounds “h”, “m”, “s”, “p”, “b”, “f”, “w”, and “sh” at the beginning of words. We are practicing those sounds with syllable combinations ie. “fa” and “moo”. Kinesthetic movements help Wells remember how to correctly manipulate his mouth. Right now, we are working on the word, “open”. He does not naturally put the “p” sound in the middle of the word. We practice by making a big, “o” with our arms and then move our hand under our chin like we’re blowing a kiss. When the words are broken down, Wells has more success.

Wells will no longer receive paid services through the Help Me Grow organization when he turns three. At three years old, children can receive disability services through their public school system (pre-k). We have decided to not enroll Wells in the pre-k program through our district. The school only offers a half-day service, four days out of the week and that does not work with our work schedules. To make sure Wells is supported with his speech needs, we will continue to see Jody and charge our health insurance for the visits.

Speech therapy at two years old : Wells often falls asleep in the car before we get to speech therapy. He runs down the hallway like Sonic, and counts the stairs when we leave. When he wears snow or rain boots, they often get in his way during floor activities so they usually get thrown off. Wells will randomly get into a yoga pose. If an animal is brought up, like a frog or bunny, he’ll act it out. It’s fun and I’m always proud of him.

lifestyle

But I Get Up Again

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But I Get Up Again

Maw yelled to the kids, “Stay off the rocks around the pond; they’re wobbly!”

On an unusually warm day in early March, Millie and Wells were playing on my grandmas patio. Wells was finding pebbles (Presumably putting them in his mouth. Once, he spit out four rocks into my hand.) and Millie was rearranging a fairy garden as I tidied up their things, preparing to leave for the day. We waved goodbye to Maw as I backed out of her carport. I called Chris to meet us at the park on his way home but not five minute later, I called him back to tell him that both kids fell asleep. Babies sleeping in car seats always look so scrunched.

Unbeknown to me, Maw decided to leaf blow her patio. Without following her own advice, “Stay off the rocks around the pond; they’re wobbly!”, she stood on the rocks to blow away fallen leaves. I received a phone call from my mom, “Don’t freak out.” Maw was on her way to the hospital.

While leaf blowing, Maw stood on a wobbly rock and fell onto her hip, precisely on the edge of her patio step. She turned herself onto to her stomach and army crawled back into the house where she contacted my uncle, trying to avoid an ambulance ride. While she waited for him to arrive, she crawled herself into the kitchen and ate a lemon cookie. Who’s grandma breaks their hip and struggles into the kitchen to curb her sweet tooth?!

My uncle did not feel like he could safely lift my grandmother so begrudgingly, Maw went to the hospital in a squad. I was desperate to be with her but due to COVID restrictions, only one person could accompany her during her stay. Maw refused pain medication. She was taken for an MRI where it was determined she had a fractured hip bone. The next day, she received a full hip replacement.

Thank God the surgery went well.

The next day, Maw went home to recover. I was in disbelief with how quickly she was discharged. Maw had two weeks of around the clock, family supervision. I stayed over one night, Wells came with me because I was still breastfeeding, and that helped to lift her spirits. It was difficult to see her in pain as she maneuvered her way on and off the bed. I ordered her a hip kit that had long levers to help her with her independence without having to bend at the waist. I also installed a toilet lift so she didn’t have to squat down to use the restroom. She had physical therapists come to her house and they were extremely kind. “Most seventy year olds haven’t left the bed yet and you’re getting around so well!”

As Maw was healing, she also felt guilty for leaving me without childcare. She watched both babes while Chris and I work and with this falling accident, she was out of commission for at least six weeks. I called thirteen child care facilities, desperate to find a reputable establishment that would accept my kids in the middle of the school year, and most could not accommodate both children. Finally, I found a school that could take both kids however, they were almost $3K a month – completely out of our budget.

We were incredibly blessed with beautiful people willing to help us during this stressful time. My friend Lindsey was available to watch the kids on her days off and my friend Shauna babysat the kids while she worked from my couch. My friend and co-worker Amy spoke to her in-home childcare provider who was able to watch my kids on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She was affordable, an easy commute, and had glowing recommendations from other teachers who trusted her care. She was reliable and kind. This was a God send.

A week into our new childcare schedule (Chris watched the kids while he worked from home on Monday and Friday, Tuesday and Thursday the kids went to Rhondas, and Wednesday was a wildcard.) we noticed bite marks on Wells. One on his arm and one on his foot. I noticed that the size of the bite mark was small but there were a lot of teeth. It was confirmed that a little girl with dwarfism was eating Wells up. We found out that she had done this to other kids before and with a new baby brother at home, she started biting again. Another bite happened on his belly and one on his leg. His parents were mortified. Wells learned to say, “No bite!” Which came out as, “O ite”. They actually became sweet friends.

Millie loved playing with the children all day. There were two girls her age; they’d put on tattoos, draw pictures, make necklaces, and put on singing performances like JoJo Siwa. Millie would help me pack their lunches the night before; picking out what fruits and vegetables she wanted included. For breakfast, I would put a pack of pop tarts in Millie’s lunch bag and it was her job to share one with Wells. Millie’s social interactions confirmed for me that she was ready for preschool in the fall (more on that in a later post).

Rhonda was so great with our Vegan lifestyle. If there was a birthday celebration, she would make sure there were dairy-free cupcakes for my kids. She gave every child an Easter basket and ours had vegan treats and thoughtful, personalized gifts. The kids noticed that others were eating chicken nuggets for lunch so Millie mentioned that they eat vegan “chicky nugs” at home. Rhonda bought them and kept them stocked in the freezer. It was extremely comforting knowing the sitter was accepting of our dietary needs.

Since starting childcare outside of our home, our family has never been more sick. Someone has had a snotty nose, sore throat, fever, goopy eyes – you name it, since March. We were in and out of doctors appointments every other week; amoxicillin for ear infections, two different eye drops, Tylenol Fever Reducer, Tylenol Cold and Cough. We had a fully stocked pharmacy in our medicine cabinet. Anytime I would try to plan something fun for us to do on the weekend, Millie would spike a fever and Wells would have snot hanging from his nose. We rotated viruses around the house. The germs from childcare were worse than my first year teaching (and I thought that was a kick to the immune system). I’m praying that Millie will have some antibodies to help her with the germs she’ll be around in pre-K.

Wells’ second birthday party was postponed – if we had the party on its scheduled date, it would have been the day Maw got home from surgery. A month after the party was originally supposed to be held, we threw Wells a shark themed birthday and Maw was there to help us celebrate. Maw didn’t let her hip keep her from the kids during the holidays. Millie and I went over to Maw’s house for Saint Patrick’s Day and we decorated shamrock cookies with green glitter and crafted a clover garland out of toilet paper rolls. For Easter, we went to Maw’s community celebration where the kids got to hunt for eggs and win door prizes. It was fun for the children but I was concerned about Maw getting hurt; she could have fallen down, gotten pushed over by a kid, tripped. etc. My anxiety was high.

Three months later and Maws hip healed. She was diligent with her therapy and put in the hard work to feel better. She has a gnarly scar. Her knee is giving her trouble but the hip surgeon mentioned that her knee locked up during the surgery – it could be something she gets work on down the road. She watched a video of a hip replacement on FaceBook and the force that was used to hammer the joint in place could have very well been what affected her knee. Wells will continue to need childcare in the fall and we will split the week between Maw and Rhonda. This will allow Maw to schedule appointments during the week and some much earned rest time after running after Wells.

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Speech Delay

by motheringmillieLeave a Comment on Speech Delay
Speech Delay

A cognitive speech delay refers to the condition of children whose speech function is significantly below the expected average for their age.

Wells was such a ham at the pediatricians office for his 18 month appointment. He proudly walked onto the scale, waved at every nurse in the hallway, and peeked his head into another room to say, “hi” to the doctor. As we waited for our visit, I was given a behavior and intellect survey. I quickly became aware of what the average 18 month old could do and what my son could not. “Does your child put two words together to make a short phrase?” We clap when Wells says half of a word correctly. “Does your child say 50+ words?” Does “eee” count as a word? I looked over at Wells, sitting with his ankles crossed on the table, and my eyes begin to well.

His doctor reassured me that because he’s male and has a talkative older sister, we shouldn’t be worried. “It just hasn’t clicked for him yet.” I asked about a speech therapist however, that was not an option for Wells because he had no other signs of delayed development. She said, “He’s content; it’ll come. Model speech. Incorporate more sign language and give him choices.” I was told at his two year appointment we will reevaluate, which put a timeline on us, and that pressure was heavy.

Wells’ hearing has been checked. When he was born he didn’t pass his first hearing exam in the hospital; he had womb fluid in his ears. Before we left the hospital, Wells passed his hearing test. At eighteen months, Wells understands what we ask of him; cognitively, he is fine. Wells has great social skills; he plays with his sister and other children. Wells might not speak words yet but he communicates through pointing, body language, sign language, and grunts. Every adult is, “mama” right now (which absolutely destroys Chris because he still doesn’t say, “dada”). When Wells would call Chris, “mama” Chris would respond, “No. Say, ‘dada. Da-da’”. After doing some research, we learned saying, “no” to his vocalizations could actually hinder him from attempting to speak.

Following some advice from my best friend, Lindsey, I began following some vocal pathologists and speech therapists on social media. Watching their stories and reading their posts made me feel like we weren’t alone with Wells’ speech delay. A particular post caught my eye that read, Early Intervention; not “wait” and see, check and see. The post was about support for children 18-36 months old with cognitive delays. Our pediatrician said that insurance would not cover speech therapy until he turned two however, this program was state funded as long as the child qualified. I decided to fill out the questionnaire and I received a phone call within a week to schedule a virtual evaluation.

For the virtual evaluation, Millie got doughnuts with Mawmaw so Chris and my full attention could be on Wells. Signed into the Zoom meet was the Help Me Grow service coordinator, OT (occupational therapist), and a speech pathologist. Chris held the phone and I played on the floor with Wells with the toys that HMG recommended; blocks, Little People, books, Melissa and Doug knob puzzles, balls, etc. The therapists asked questions about his daily routine and his skills. We were all so impressed with how much Wells was showing off. He acknowledged the specialists, he stacked blocks 12 high, he identified colors and body parts, he jumped like a frog, and made animal sounds!

The specialists were using the Bell Curve to determine if he would qualify for state-funded therapy. He scored extremely high in the motor skills and comprehension categories. Once his speech score was included, it dropped his score significantly but not enough to qualify for state funded help. I was devastated. Without hesitation, I began advocating for Wells and the help that I knew he needed. I mentioned that we had taken advice from a speech therapist that I work with and that we were not seeing improvement in his speech. I reiterated the frustration we feel, especially Wells, when he can’t communicate his needs. Thankfully, the speech pathologist on the video conference heard me. She said, “My clinical opinion trumps the Bell Curve score. It is my opinion that Wells needs intervention in expressive speech and I will take him on my case load.”

The next step was to meet with HMG to compose an IFSP (Individual Family Service Plan). An IFSP is provided based on the concerns of the family and the child’s needs. The plan must include: an assessment of a child’s present levels of development, a statement of goals, support services that will be put in place to achieve those goals, date services will begin, and the identification of the service coordinator. A re-evaluation is done every 6 months. Wells’ goals were to expand his expressive vocabulary and to use family names ie. Mia, Dada, Papa etc.

We were able to schedule in-home meetings, twice a month. Wells’ speech therapist’s name is Katie and she is extremely kind. We meet around Wells’ nap time so he’s not been in the best of moods however, she lets him draw in her planner and he loves that. She listens to Wells while he plays and gives Chris and I ways to better communicate with him. Our first assignment was, “imitation”; getting Wells to copy the faces we made and then asking him to repeat a word. We also were encouraged to sing with him and let him fill in the words. Katie also told us to stop saying, “Wells say …” and since we’ve stopped putting him on the spot, he’s picked up more words. Because Wells is so active and advanced in his motor skills, Ms. Katie recommend we add repetitive words to movement like, “One, two, three, jump!” Verbal routines and elimination ie. “ready, set, go” multiple times then “ready, set” and he should fill in the blank with “go”. After a month of speech therapy, Wells seems more confident in trying new words.

Millie and Wells met a little girl while watching the penguins swim at the Newport Aquarium. Millie introduced herself right away, full name and age. The little girl introduced herself. Wells puts both hands on his chest and said, “Wells”. I got tears in my eyes; I was so proud of him. He knew what the girls were saying and without being prompted, he joined the conversation. He also has started babbling. It’s not often but it is encouraging because he is using his tongue, “dee di do do da da”. When he uses his little voice he has the sweetest smile on his face – he knows it pleases us.

Here is a running list of Wells’ said words (not all consonants are there but he attempts) :

  • Mama
  • Mawmaw
  • Gam
  • Eat
  • Couch
  • Hi
  • Bye
  • Bean
  • Corn
  • Drink
  • Wells
  • Bath
  • Mickey
  • Blue
  • Red
  • Yellow
  • Pink
  • Bluey
  • One, Two, Three, Four, Five
  • Green
  • Eyes
  • Teeth
  • Nose
  • Mouth
  • Toes
  • Read
  • Run
  • Mine
  • No
  • Beep
  • Warm
  • Cold
  • Hot
  • Home
  • Mouse
  • Up
  • Down
  • Out
  • Yeah
  • Clean
  • Swing
  • Please
  • Slide
  • Phone
  • Crying
  • Quack
  • Meow
  • Car
  • Yum
  • Cream
  • Candy
  • Ice
  • Ready

Everyone has an opinion on Wells’ delay and the resources we are giving him. I’ve heard, “Once he starts talking you won’t get him to shut up!” This comment was not helpful. When we are dealing with Wells completely melting down when he can’t communicate his needs, his verbal skills when he’s older does not help him now. “Boys are late talkers, he’s fine.” My son is more than fine. He is beautiful, healthy, and intelligent. He is getting help for a diagnosed delay. “It could be worse.” Chris and I are very blessed and we are aware that Wells’ speech delay is a mild impairment compared to other children who have more severe delays. We also know that this is our reality and we are trying our best to provide Wells with the best possible resources to be successful with speech and will continue to aide him with any other aspect of life.

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Welcoming Wells

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Welcoming Wells

At 33 weeks pregnant with Millie, my OB instructed me to go to labor and delivery. I felt miserable; pounding headaches, swelling to point of discomfort, dizziness and fatigue. I left the OBs office completely unable to accept the reality of induction. Instead of rushing to the hospital, I had my husband take me to Arby’s. As I pumped ketchup onto my tray, a lady grabbing napkins said to me, “If you have a girl and see blood in her diaper, don’t be alarmed, it’s her hormones.” What? Suddenly, I had lost my appetite for ketchup.

33 weeks came and went during my second pregnancy yet, everyday the thought of preeclampsia was a very real concern. I checked my blood pressure with an at-home monitor, I constantly analyzed the size of my ankles, and I actually iced and elevated my feet at night. 34 weeks into my pregnancy, we lost my step-father due to a massive heart attack, just four months after unexpectedly, losing my sister. I was fearful that the grief and stress would throw me into labor but thankfully, the baby stayed put.

37 weeks of pregnancy is considered full term; something I never was able to experience with Millie. I still feel a tinge of guilt for not being able to carry her longer. I was ecstatic to have made it to term with this pregnancy and also surprised I didn’t feel entirely miserable. Don’t get me wrong, the pelvic pressure was painful and sleeping comfortably was a challenge, but life wasn’t completely intolerable; nothing like what 33 weeks pregnant with preeclampsia felt like. My OB said we made it to term because of the daily dose of baby aspirin but I like to think that he was comfortable in my sisters arms, in heaven.

At 37 weeks and 6 days, I started having contractions seven minutes apart. Laying in bed, I would check my phone with each pain; 3:07, 3:14, 3:21. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, I was being woken up by my alarm. As I was getting ready for work, my husband urged me to stay home and call the doctor. Wanting to save my sick time, I went in to teach. During my planning period, I called my OB to tell him I had contractions through the night. He responded, “get to labor and delivery”. I drove home, snuggled with Mill on the couch, and waited for my baby daddy to come home. My husband packed the car, we kissed Millie goodbye, and this time, we didn’t stop for a cherry turnover.

When we arrived at the hospital, we were sent into triage where a nurse took my temperature, blood pressure, checked my lungs and pulse, and she gave me a sani-wipe and cup to collect my urine. As I sat down on the toilet, I opened the wipe and simultaneously, it jumped out of my hands! The wet wipe flew through the air, nearly six feet, before hitting the tile floor! Reactively, I screamed and then I couldn’t stop laughing! My husband and the nurse thought I was crazy but it kept the atmosphere light; labor terrified me after my experience with Mill.

My vitals were normal except my blood pressure, 118 over 96. The nurse explained that the reading was a mistake; the bottom number “didn’t match” the top number. She checked it again; 135 over 95. She seemed concerned that the readings were slightly elevated so she was going to consult the resident doctor on duty. Of course I was stressing thinking that the pre-e had returned but there were no traces of protein in my urine, so that kept me sane. Waiting for my blood pressure to go down, I ate a bag of mini pretzels, watched an episode of Friends (ironically, it was the episode where Rachel and Ross are at the gynecologist), texted my parents, and peed again. The nurse returned, checked my BP, and it was even higher than before! Over and over again, the cuff would squeeze my arm, release the pressure, and I would dauntingly peek at the numbers on the monitor; my blood pressure remained high. The resident doctor, who looked younger than me, asked about my birth plan. I explained to her that if the preeclampsia had returned, I wanted a c-section, which had been discussed numerous times with my OB. She began explaining to me why she would not give me a c-section, even if the pre-e had returned. I stopped her and said, “I know that I am able to elect for a cesarean birth.” I was no longer interested in speaking to this resident. My blood pressure reading was highest after that conversation.

My OB was in the hospital giving a tour to a newly hired doctor in the practice, so he stopped by my room to discuss my, “options”. He told me that he was admitting me for gestational hypertension. He explained that my history with pre-e made him too concerned to send me home with an elevated blood pressure. The doctor informed us that there were risks to induction, especially premature lung development, particularly in boys. A day before Millie was born, a steroid shot was administered into my leg to better develop her lungs. Unfortunately, there is no evidence shows the steroid being effective after 34 weeks of pregnancy, so the shot was not an option this time around. There is a fine line between gestational hypertension and pre-eclampsia and my doctor thought the induction outweighed the risks, given my history. Gestational hypertension is a form of high blood pressure and it occurs in about 6 percent of all pregnancies. Delivery heals the mother from the hypertension.

I was being induced for a vaginal birth, with a c-section as plan B if my blood pressure continued to rise. The doctor promised me that this delivery would be different than my first and that I was being closely monitored. I signed some papers, shoved my underwear into my purse, and tightly held my husbands hand as we left triage. I was full term. This baby spent weeks longer in utero compared to Millie. I’ve done this before; affirmations I told myself walking to labor and delivery.

We started the induction at 4pm with a twelve hour dose of cervadil; a vaginal insert that ripens the cervix. Like a tampon, the medicine is attached to a string. Unlike a tampon, it is placed super far up the vaginal canal (I swear, the nurse was elbow deep). The first four hours on the cervadil were a breeze – mild cramping. My grandma brought Millie to see us before her bedtime. This was the first night that I wasn’t sleeping under the same roof as her. It broke my heart when she didn’t want anything to do with me. She was scared of the machines and my IV.

I was uncomfortable during the next four hours as the contractions grew stronger and closer together. Around 3am, I wanted the epidural but I was only 3cm dilated. The resident OB wanted to wait on ordering the epidural until I dilated further so he offered to give me pain meds through my IV to take off the edge. I urged both him, and the nurse to consult with my doctor because we had discussed this exact situation after my traumatic experience with Millie. I had dilated so quickly with her that I was unable to get the epidural and I did not want that to happen again. Thankfully, they consulted my doctor who approved the epidural.

I gave birth to Millie without an epidural and I was not about to do that again. Although, I was scared that the epidural would hurt, that I would move during insertion and become paralyzed, that it wouldn’t take, or that the baby’s heart rate would drop, I was terrified of another natural labor. I was overwhelmed with the pain from the contractions so I pulled up a video of Millie on my phone, to focus my energy on her pure joy. As I watched, tears rolled down my cheeks; partially due to the pain I was experiencing but also because of my love for her. I was assured that the anesthesiologist was the best they had. He was an older man who talked me through everything he was doing. My husband was asked to wear a mask and a hair cap while the procedure took place. He held my hands as I sat up straight, at the edge of the bed. The medicine felt like a bead of cold water rushing down my spine. I do not remember any pain during insertion. Slowly, my legs started feeling heavy and I knew the epidural had worked.

Pitocin was administered and for the next two hours, 4:30-6:30am, I experienced some mild cramping. The epidural provided great relief to the clinching pain of the earlier contractions. My grandma had joined us in the birthing room. Her presence was calming as she rubbed my legs. My birth photographer, Sarah Shambaugh, arrived and began taking pictures of the process. Around 6:30, it felt like I needed to poop; nothing hurt, I just felt a sense of urgency. I remembered feeling that way before Millie was born and I knew it was time to push. The nurse examined me and sure enough, I was fully effaced and 9.5cm dilated. The nurse called my doctor, who was twelve minutes away. Longest twelve minutes of my life.

I was instructed not to push until my OB arrived. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks in response to the discomfort I was enduring. I told my husband that I didn’t care to wait for my doctor any longer, as long as someone would catch my baby, I needed to start pushing. My bed was raised, nurses helped lift my legs into the stirrups, and a resident doctor began dressing to do the job. In that same moment, my doctor entered the room and prepared for the delivery. I breathed a sigh of relief while grimacing through a contraction.

Pushing was difficult because I couldn’t exactly feel what I was supposed to be doing due to the epidural. I was anxious to push and didn’t like the wait time between contractions. I forced all of my energy down and with every push, the baby moved further through the canal. My doctor was so supportive; using words of encouragement and massaging the tissue so I wouldn’t tear. My father snuck into the room and held up a “little brother” onesie as a means of encouragement. The thought was endearing but I also didn’t want my dad to see my vagina. My husband helped lift my head up towards my chest and my grandma pulled my legs back while I pushed. I could not understand why this labor was taking so long – comparatively to my three push labor with Millie. My OB used his hands to turn the baby’s head in a more opportune position. Impatient, I decided that I didn’t want to wait for the next contraction to start pushing again and that is when the baby progressed enough that my doctor could see the hair on his head. My husband looked – gross. My doctor predicted that the next push would do it; I would meet my son.

Clinched teeth, chin to chest, toes curled; all of the tension released when Wells was born. It is absolutely amazing how exhaustion and pain evaporate away the moment of birth. A wiggly, slime-covered, baby boy was placed on my chest and my entire being began taking him in; he was heavy, he was pink, he had hair, and he was crying. My husband cut the umbilical cord as nurses suctioned fluid from his mouth. We stayed skin-on-skin while my family met him. When it was time to feed him, he latched quickly and correctly, which made nursing simple. While he was on my breast, I felt the bottom of his little feet; so soft.

My sweet, perfect boy. Life may be unpredictable, but my love for you will forever be constant. Welcome to the world, Wells.

Baby

Zumbini

by motheringmillie2 Comments on Zumbini
Zumbini

Before I had a child, I knew I’d be the monitored screen time, oil using, breastfeeding, crunchy-kind of mama. When Millie was born, the television wasn’t turned on for weeks because I read in a parenting magazine that baby’s can sense when you’re multi-tasking, like folding laundry and watching Grey’s Anatomy. Multitasking can make a baby anxious so the tv remained off. My mom finally said, “You have to be able to put her down for a moment and the tv will help.” She found a channel called, Baby First and Millie was entranced!

The vibrant colors, the songs, the high-pitched voices, the close ups of baby faces; Millie loves it. There is a a flower in the corner of the screen and the petals change color based on the learning elements in that particular show. The best aspect of the channel, in my opinion, is Zumbini. I love to dance and Zumba is my favorite way to work out. Zumbini is a baby’s Zumba. It incorporates dancing, singing, instrument playing, ball rolling, etc. Millie loves to dance and sing to the short Zumbini episodes in our living room. She smiles and rocks her body – she is completely engaged! At the end of the show it instructs the viewer to, “Go online and register for a Zumbini class near you!” So, I did.

The class was being offered near my undergraduate campus so I felt comfortable with the location. The instructor was quick to answer all of my questions and she was just as helpful and kind when we met in class. I am a music teacher and a “retired”, collegiate Zumba instructor so one could assume that I would be judgmental towards another’s class however, I’m new at this parenting thing and I have nothing to gain from judging and everything to gain from creating experiences with Millie.

When registering for Zumbini, we received a book with the lyrics to all the songs in the class, music downloads, and a little doll (that has seriously won over Millie’s heart, she loves her, “TJ”). Zumbini promotes freedom for the children to do as they please as they listen the up-beat music. I dance with Millie on my hip, I dance in front of her while she sits on the floor, I play instruments while she puts hers directly into her mouth. At six months old, Millie was the youngest in the class however, everyone was willing to help her, they doted over her and her big, blue eyes, and it never felt like she didn’t belong.

The music from Zumbini, incorporates different languages, styles, tempo, and time. I like that Millie is exposed to such diversity. The class materials include rhythm sticks, scarves, miscellaneous percussion instruments, balls, and bongos. Mill has taken two, nine week sessions and we don’t plan on stopping. This girl is shaking what her momma gave her!

Baby

Managing Migraines

by motheringmillieLeave a Comment on Managing Migraines
Managing Migraines

I have always hated bumper cars. I would drive my car around the edge of the raceway, as to stay clear of the congested middle. The steering wheel, violently shaking, was difficult to hold onto. WHAM! Rear ended; stalked for the “bump”. My body jolts forward, my head ricochets off the back, and then nausea. This is exactly what has been happening inside of my head; bumper cars.

Light; crash! Noise; ouch! Touch; bam! Every sense was hypersensitive and I couldn’t focus. I didn’t have an appetite. I drank water and I ate salty food but felt no relief. I took two ibuprofen and still, no change. I tried to sleep but was frequently interrupted to breastfeed Millie. The pressure behind my eyebrows was difficult to ignore. I have never experienced headache pain like this before so this feeling was new and unwelcome.

I woke up the next morning with an unsettling, dull ache beneath my skull and I made an appointment with my family doctor. My 20/20 vision was distorted from the intense pain and driving seemed dangerous. Thankfully, my grandma was able to drive me to my appointment and I rested my throbbing head against the passenger side window.

I arrived at the doctors and was pleasantly surprised with the number on the scale. I was further impressed by my blood pressure, especially because eclampsia can occur after delivery and headaches can be a symptom. My lungs sounded fine and my heart murmur had subsided. After two neurological tests, I was told that I had been experiencing postpartum migraines. I immediately felt angry; yet another issue from pregnancy that I’ve never heard of. Postpartum migraines occur due to the hormonal fluctuations while breastfeeding; migraines can last for days at a time – great. I was instructed to lay in a dark room and stay on a regiment of ibuprofen; three pills, four times a day, with food. If I wanted to take migraine specific medication, I would have to pump-and-dump – not an option. I know others who dull migraines with caffeine however, because I don’t consume caffeine on a regular basis, my doctor did not think that caffeine would help me. I was instructed to go to the ER if the migraines got any worse. Thankfully, 48 hours later, the bumper cars stopped.

Preeclampsia, rupturing ovarian cysts, postpartum migraines; I’ll take it all as long as Millie is healthy. And praise God, she’s perfect.

Baby

Raising and Rupturing

by motheringmillie3 Comments on Raising and Rupturing
Raising and Rupturing

I assumed labor was the end of my gut-wrenching pain, doubling over from cramping agony, but cue ruptured ovarian cyst.

I delivered my beautiful baby, naturally. I dilated quicker than expected and therefore, could not receive an epidural. People have asked, “What does natural, childbirth feel like?” Well, have you ever been set on fire? Labor was long, exhausting, and painful but I kept telling myself that when it was all over, I’d be able to hold my precious baby. I love my daughter and I’m so grateful that she is here and healthy however, the birthing experience is not something I look back on with a smile.

Fast forward 14 weeks and I started back to work. My Wednesday was interrupted when I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my abdomen. I gasped, grabbed my gut, and leaned forward. Appendicitis? Cold sweats, dizziness, nausea – the pain wasn’t going away. I had to stop teaching, I didn’t want to pass out in front of my students! All too soon, I found myself laying in a hospital bed again with my post-traumatic-delivery-anxiety triggered.

After I told the nurse that my left arm was best for IV insertion, she persisted to dig around in my right arm, fishing for a vein. Why?! She switched arms and the IV went right in. I told her so. The saline flush had a skunky smell and the IV fluid made me feel cold. The pain meds were inserted and I immediately felt delirious. I was given additional meds to help subdue the nausea that the pain medication caused. With both medications administered, I couldn’t help but to worry about what was being filtered into my breastmilk. The doctor thought it would be safest if I would, “pump and dump” for the next 24 hours. This was an issue – My body does not create excess milk and while working full time, my storage isn’t built. I knew with this hospitalization, we’d go though every ounce that was stored.

I was wheeled into the CT scanning room and was given an iodine-contrast through my IV. My body felt warm for thirty seconds as the contrast entered my blood stream; my throat, bladder, and ears especially. Unfortunately, this was another med that one probably shouldn’t breast feed on. I was instructed to lay still as the scan took place; it didn’t take long, but the stillness allowed my mind to wonder about scary what-if’s. Once the scan was complete, I was wheeled back into my room and instructed to drink lots of water to flush the contrast from my kidneys.

I had dozed off waiting for the CT results. Wow did it feel nice to sleep without a baby. All too soon, I was woken up by the doctor with the results of the scan. Due to the amount of fluid in my abdominal cavity, he could conclude that I had a 2-3cm ovarian cyst rupture. He informed me that this is not uncommon 6-12 months after pregnancy, due hormone irregularities. Apparently, cysts occur often during ovulation but they don’t always burst nor cause horrific pain. Naturally, I wanted to know how to prevent the cysts in the future and he gave me two options; get on birth control to stop ovulation or get a hysterectomy. What?! I’m not ready to kiss my reproductive years goodbye! I also was not about to start taking birth control pills – hormone altering, cancer causing, weight gaining, mood swinging, “birth control” pills. As grateful as I was to not need my appendix removed, the possibility of painful ovulation every month was concerning.

Now, it’s just a waiting game; will the cysts return? Will they continue after I finish breastfeeding? It’s possible that if the cyst is 7cm or larger, it could twist my ovaries during rupture and cut off my blood flow to my reproductive parts – terrifying! The heating pad helped, so did hot tea and the fetal position however, dealing with that intense pain every month will significantly decrease my quality of life. The doctors don’t know the future anymore than I do, and in the meantime, I will be diligently praying big. Go away rupturing cysts; I have a life to live and a baby to raise!