Sunday was my 37th birthday. I don't feel old yet, but 40 is just around the corner. At some point, most likely in the near future, I will feel old.
This year's birthday brought with it its fair share of memories.
Last year my birthday fell on a Saturday, it's one I will never forget.
I got up at 5 am to drive the two hours to my RE's office for the routine bloodwork and ultrasound I needed; standard fair for what was now my fourth IVF in a row.
Usually I was pretty stoic on these drives, but some reason that day, I fell apart on the drive.
I remember the sun was coming up and was so bright on my eastbound drive that it was nearly blinding. I guess the combination of it being my fourth IVF, my birthday, 5 in the morning and raging IVF hormones became the perfect storm despite the shining sun.
I sobbed the whole two hours.
I'm sure when I got there I looked like the crazy mess I felt.
It was hard, nearly impossible really, to believe this was going to work after so many failed attempts. I knew we were nearing the end of our treatment options and this could very well be our last shot at pregnancy.
Meanwhile, I knew my whole immediate family was at my parent's lake house celebrating the fall foliage while I was driving for more poking and prodding on what was supposed to be my celebration. It was all just too depressing.
Had I known then what I know now, what was to be the outcome of that last cycle, I would have driven joyfully. But we all know that with IVF there are no guarantees, no promises of a pregnancy or a new child. I knew that all too well, having failed far more times than I had succeeded.
Or course this year my birthday was far different. I had a baby to cuddle, to feed, to wake up for at 3 am. I did it all gladly, joyfully even. I spent a good part of my day celebrating - but I also frequently remembered how I felt the year before. It helped me see how thankful I was that my life looked and felt so differently now, so full with my new daughter in it.
It also helped me see with further clarity how hard the IF struggle can be, what a toll it can take, what it can steal from a soul and how it can color a memory.
It is, for good and for bad, what it is. I am better, and worse, for all of it.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
A few words about Bits
I'm not much for nicknames.
I like the names we gave our children, Max and Audrery Laine. I think they are cool, sort of classic-with-a-twist kinda names. (Until Max got uber-popular, but don't get me started on that) Oh, and by the way, if you don't agree, please don't say so here. After all, their names have already been given, nothing we can do about it now.
When Audrey was born she became Little Bits. I don't recall who coined the nickname, but I think it might have been my mom. Anyhow, I don't know why but it just stuck. So now she's Little Bits. Or Bits. She's also Sissy, which is what we called her prior to her birth and naming.
Not liking nicknames much, I find I love Little Bits. It's sort of akin to Half-Pint of Little House on the Prairie fame. It suits her somehow. And it's quite funny to hear Max call her Little Bits or Bits in his cute, high-pitched voice.
I have no idea how long this will last. I can't see her liking it much when she's, say, 13.
I like the names we gave our children, Max and Audrery Laine. I think they are cool, sort of classic-with-a-twist kinda names. (Until Max got uber-popular, but don't get me started on that) Oh, and by the way, if you don't agree, please don't say so here. After all, their names have already been given, nothing we can do about it now.
When Audrey was born she became Little Bits. I don't recall who coined the nickname, but I think it might have been my mom. Anyhow, I don't know why but it just stuck. So now she's Little Bits. Or Bits. She's also Sissy, which is what we called her prior to her birth and naming.
Not liking nicknames much, I find I love Little Bits. It's sort of akin to Half-Pint of Little House on the Prairie fame. It suits her somehow. And it's quite funny to hear Max call her Little Bits or Bits in his cute, high-pitched voice.
I have no idea how long this will last. I can't see her liking it much when she's, say, 13.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Triage
So sorry. Yea, she's cute... but still...
I don't have anything in the way of an awesome excuse. No one got hit by lightning. No one's face was mauled off by a bear. No one even has H1N1 - ok, SWINE - Flu.
The only thing worth mentioning is that my son had surgery when our baby was just 6 weeks old. Couldn't be helped, but it did cause a bit of extra stress for a few days. Nothing big, just one tube in the left ear and his adenoids out. Went fine, thanks for asking.
I took a crazy amount of freelance work when Little Bits was just 4 weeks old, but I figured, "better get while the getting's good," and I was right on. Turns out my client has now hired someone full time. Bummer. But that $$$ I will get for my writing will come in nice and handy, just in time for Santa.
I tell you these things as a lame attempt to explain why you haven't heard from me in ages. So sorry about that.
Days are going by in a rush... a mad, happy, crazy rush. I do have thoughts, from time to time, that would make good blog posts. But for the most part I am so darned busy with the day-to-day events that I rarely have a free moment to think, let alone write.
I'm hoping this will change. I do have much to say. We just got back from 4 days in Chicago which was so much fun and totally recharged my marriage. Note to self - gotta get out with my husband more often and remember we are not slaves but actual adult people who like a good band and a few drinks.
So hang with me. I will get into a routine. One of these days.
Meanwhile, my baby is three months old already. How'd that happen???
Time, she is a cruel temptress. I am sometimes tempted to wish her away for better or easier days, only to desperately call her back in regret. Good thing she doesn't listen to me, either way.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Why
I had a dream last night in which I was an alcoholic. It was odd. I was drunk and friend of mine's husband confronted me in the dream. Among other things, he asked me if I'd ever gone to a support group. I was sure he meant AA, but in my mind I thought of infertility and answered, "you have NO idea how many support groups I've been to," and then I just started sobbing.
Again - just a dream.
But then this morning I awoke to this comment left on my last post:
I, too, agree that science only takes you so far. But your words left me a little bit hurting, because I have tremendous faith, and yet have had four IVF cycles (and am in the middle of number five) without even so much as a chemical. Is God ignoring me? Am I not good enough to get the extra help from God so I can finally have the one thing I want more than anything?
I dunno, I'm not saying I disagree with anything you've said, I'm just saying it's hard to read because I'm still in the trenches.
It bothered me on a few levels. First, I never meant to insult those who are still "in the trenches". I apologize for coming across that way.
To explain - I've heard graduated IFers express the general sentiment that their doctor is a miracle worker or even a "god" because he or she "got them pregnant".
The post I wrote last time explains why I have trouble with that sentiment.
Not that I don't think REs are wise and good and certainly help people like me have biological children. But, I do have trouble giving the REs ALL of the credit. After all, I did plenty of IVF cycles that failed where the REs did, basically, the same things. So what made the difference? I believe a combination of wise medical choices and God. I simply can't leave God or my faith out of the equation.
But now, on to the objection. I get it. I really do. I asked that very question a million times (if once) during my IF journey (which, by the way, I am still on. We still have those seven embies to contend with.)
I asked God why me? Why my DH? Why do we have to be inflicted with this? Why do we need help at all? Where was God's grace when He was dolling out fertility? Where was He during the 4 IVFs I've done that failed? Where is He when someone else, like my comment poster, goes through IVF and fails? Where was He for the "in real life" friend I have who failed to conceive after SIX IVFs while myself and the only other woman in one of our support groups both gave birth within months of each other? Meanwhile, she's also suffered a failed international adoption attempt? WHY?????
I joined several Christian support groups during my struggle with secondary infertility. We talked and talked about this very issue and came up with the following:
1) It's ok to be angry with God
2) We don't know why we are suffering, and may never know
Number one was and is very important to me. I had to know it was ok to tell God I was angry with Him. After all, wasn't the death of my high school boyfriend tragedy enough? Why now, after finally having a full life and loving husband, was another tragedy waiting for me just around this bend? Hell yea, I was angry. Still am to some degree. But the thing is: God is big enough to handle my anger. I can tell Him how hurt and angry and sad I was and He will still never abandon me. That's big. What friend of mine would still be around after I unloaded on her, or him, like that?
Number two is the kicker. I know some people find meaning in their struggle. Some say they feel they are better parents for the wanting. Some say they would have never adopted but for the loss of their fertility. Some say they'd never have become a doctor or lawyer or child advocate... or that they'd never have been as close to their spouse. But there's still that hurt that laces all of those positives. There's still the pain that accompanies the lessons and gains. Do we ever really get over that pain? Maybe, maybe not.
For me, I can find good in my IF journey if I look. I can even find good in death if I look hard enough. But why, why did I have to suffer all that? I will never know this side of heaven. To know the answer would be to see inside the mind of our Creator Himself. That's just not going to happen.
So I wish I had the answer to "why".
But I did join every support group I could find. I did seek the answers until I was worn slick from the seeking. And I refuse to go back to the bottle and drink myself into the shadows.
I just have to live with not being able to answer that - for my comment poster or for myself. I hang onto the fact that God would never give us one bad thing - no snake when we ask for a fish.
But I still wish I could answer that for you, anonymous. I really wish I could.
Again - just a dream.
But then this morning I awoke to this comment left on my last post:
I, too, agree that science only takes you so far. But your words left me a little bit hurting, because I have tremendous faith, and yet have had four IVF cycles (and am in the middle of number five) without even so much as a chemical. Is God ignoring me? Am I not good enough to get the extra help from God so I can finally have the one thing I want more than anything?
I dunno, I'm not saying I disagree with anything you've said, I'm just saying it's hard to read because I'm still in the trenches.
It bothered me on a few levels. First, I never meant to insult those who are still "in the trenches". I apologize for coming across that way.
To explain - I've heard graduated IFers express the general sentiment that their doctor is a miracle worker or even a "god" because he or she "got them pregnant".
The post I wrote last time explains why I have trouble with that sentiment.
Not that I don't think REs are wise and good and certainly help people like me have biological children. But, I do have trouble giving the REs ALL of the credit. After all, I did plenty of IVF cycles that failed where the REs did, basically, the same things. So what made the difference? I believe a combination of wise medical choices and God. I simply can't leave God or my faith out of the equation.
But now, on to the objection. I get it. I really do. I asked that very question a million times (if once) during my IF journey (which, by the way, I am still on. We still have those seven embies to contend with.)
I asked God why me? Why my DH? Why do we have to be inflicted with this? Why do we need help at all? Where was God's grace when He was dolling out fertility? Where was He during the 4 IVFs I've done that failed? Where is He when someone else, like my comment poster, goes through IVF and fails? Where was He for the "in real life" friend I have who failed to conceive after SIX IVFs while myself and the only other woman in one of our support groups both gave birth within months of each other? Meanwhile, she's also suffered a failed international adoption attempt? WHY?????
I joined several Christian support groups during my struggle with secondary infertility. We talked and talked about this very issue and came up with the following:
1) It's ok to be angry with God
2) We don't know why we are suffering, and may never know
Number one was and is very important to me. I had to know it was ok to tell God I was angry with Him. After all, wasn't the death of my high school boyfriend tragedy enough? Why now, after finally having a full life and loving husband, was another tragedy waiting for me just around this bend? Hell yea, I was angry. Still am to some degree. But the thing is: God is big enough to handle my anger. I can tell Him how hurt and angry and sad I was and He will still never abandon me. That's big. What friend of mine would still be around after I unloaded on her, or him, like that?
Number two is the kicker. I know some people find meaning in their struggle. Some say they feel they are better parents for the wanting. Some say they would have never adopted but for the loss of their fertility. Some say they'd never have become a doctor or lawyer or child advocate... or that they'd never have been as close to their spouse. But there's still that hurt that laces all of those positives. There's still the pain that accompanies the lessons and gains. Do we ever really get over that pain? Maybe, maybe not.
For me, I can find good in my IF journey if I look. I can even find good in death if I look hard enough. But why, why did I have to suffer all that? I will never know this side of heaven. To know the answer would be to see inside the mind of our Creator Himself. That's just not going to happen.
So I wish I had the answer to "why".
But I did join every support group I could find. I did seek the answers until I was worn slick from the seeking. And I refuse to go back to the bottle and drink myself into the shadows.
I just have to live with not being able to answer that - for my comment poster or for myself. I hang onto the fact that God would never give us one bad thing - no snake when we ask for a fish.
But I still wish I could answer that for you, anonymous. I really wish I could.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
To Whom Thanks is Deserved
I sent out Audrey's birth announcements today. They are beautiful works of art I sprung for after a local baby photographer came to shoot Audrey and Max as "models".
I addressed one each to the three doctors who helped us through this journey. One for my peri, one for my OB and one for the doctor who helped us conceive her in the first place.
I look at her now, all chubby cheeks, fat baby thighs and smiles, and can hardly believe she is that also the blastocyst in her baby book. It's a weird disconnect to see a group of cells and my baby girl at the same time. The only word I can think of is: awe.
I'm forever grateful for the help of all of our physicians along the way. But I don't believe my RE "got me pregnant". After all, I did six IVFs total and have two kids - do the math. Even the best doctors, the most sophisticated technology and the latest techniques can't "make me" get pregnant. All of that science only goes so far, and then there's God. The REs put those embies and blasts inside of me and then just... waited... and prayed.
I am forever grateful for the medical help.
Most of all, though, I am forever grateful to God for giving me these two precious gifts. I know IVF is a roll of the dice. There are those who do the most invasive of infertility treatments and yet their arms are left empty. I know this could have turned out differently. Although, when I look at my two children I can't imagine them not being here.
I am left humbled, and grateful and mindful of the IF journey - those who have come before and those who are still struggling with their deep desire to have a child. I will always feel a part of that world, and always pray for their miracles, whether I know them personally or not.
I addressed one each to the three doctors who helped us through this journey. One for my peri, one for my OB and one for the doctor who helped us conceive her in the first place.
I look at her now, all chubby cheeks, fat baby thighs and smiles, and can hardly believe she is that also the blastocyst in her baby book. It's a weird disconnect to see a group of cells and my baby girl at the same time. The only word I can think of is: awe.
I'm forever grateful for the help of all of our physicians along the way. But I don't believe my RE "got me pregnant". After all, I did six IVFs total and have two kids - do the math. Even the best doctors, the most sophisticated technology and the latest techniques can't "make me" get pregnant. All of that science only goes so far, and then there's God. The REs put those embies and blasts inside of me and then just... waited... and prayed.
I am forever grateful for the medical help.
Most of all, though, I am forever grateful to God for giving me these two precious gifts. I know IVF is a roll of the dice. There are those who do the most invasive of infertility treatments and yet their arms are left empty. I know this could have turned out differently. Although, when I look at my two children I can't imagine them not being here.
I am left humbled, and grateful and mindful of the IF journey - those who have come before and those who are still struggling with their deep desire to have a child. I will always feel a part of that world, and always pray for their miracles, whether I know them personally or not.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Three Weeks In
Well, three weeks in and the adrenaline has finally worn off. Last night I was so tired that at 9:40 when Audrey needed to nurse I told DH to go give her a bottle of expressed breast milk - I was simply too tired to sit up and nurse. It was that bad.
Thankfully today I feel a bit better - but there's a to-do list a mile long and "nap" isn't even on it.
I'm too tired and scatterbrained to write a coherent post. Sorry. I'll leave you with one of my favorite photos so far.
Thankfully today I feel a bit better - but there's a to-do list a mile long and "nap" isn't even on it.
I'm too tired and scatterbrained to write a coherent post. Sorry. I'll leave you with one of my favorite photos so far.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Part Two
OK, where was I. Oh yea, my OB came in to attempt the version.
I was lying at a decline with my feet slightly elevated due to the blood pressure and passing out issues, but it was time to go.
My OB quickly introduced me to his partner, another OB who would help with the version - did a fast u/s to make sure Sissy was still in the same place (she was) and that the cord wasn't in a dangerous spot, say around her neck (it wasn't).
With one final, "are you ready?" they began to push - and I mean PUSH. My OB had her head and the other OB had her body/feet and they were honestly pushing so hard it felt like they were sitting on me. It didn't hurt (thanks epi) but oh the pressure! I could feel that she had moved, but they couldn't get her beyond transverse or the sideways position. It took about 45 seconds but it seemed like an hour.
They stopped, let go and she immediately went right back to breech. Again, I could feel her move. I still felt faint, blood pressure still wildly low, but baby was doing all right and I was hanging in there.
"Can you stay with me?" asked my OB. "If you can hang on we'll try to flip her the other way. She's moving a lot in there, just not all the way around."
"Yep," I said, one word, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
They started again - mauling my belly, grabbing baby parts, trying to make her do a forward roll. This time I could really feel it. I could feel them pushing her up into my diaphragm as they tried to make her butt roll up toward my ribs. It hurt. My epi wasn't all the way to my diaphragm so I could feel it and it took my breath away, literally, because she was getting pushed up so high. I closed my eyes and began to try and breathe deeply to stay relaxed and calm can catch my breath. The older of the two nurses silently came over and took my hand.
I've never had anyone hold my hand during anything before, but I needed her somehow. I gripped her hand and continued to focus away from what was going on. Which is why the rest is very hazy.
All I know is this: all of a sudden the pushing stopped. They told me to lie on my left side then pushed me into that position before I could comply. Then the nurse who was holding my hand gave me this oxygen mask and told me to put it on and breathe deeply - then she put it on for me. The next thing I knew my OB bent over and put his face in mine. His eyes were big, blue and a little wild.
"We're going to the OR, NOW," was all he said.
Deep in the back of my mind I understood what all this meant. The baby wasn't doing well. I knew this was a possibility but didn't fully realize it could happen so fast. I could hear my OB yelling at the nurses to unhook me from the wall and my IV poll and then, just as suddenly, I was careening to the OR on my bed with my OB running, yes running, beside me. He was trying to explain on the way that Sissy's heart rate had dropped and we needed to get her out right away. I managed to ask him how low and he said, "in the 70s" which I knew to be very grave indeed. Then he had to push someone out of the way and leap over something else while running down the hall, so I decided to shut up.
We got to the OR and my cocky-yet-competent anesthesiologist was already there. I'd never seen nurses and doctors get OR ready so fast. Everyone was running and shoving things at me. I had to drink some sickeningly sour fluid for my stomach bile. I had to have my epi upped to spinal block level. The anesthesiologist was trying to explain what I could expect, "tell me if you are nauseated, tell me if you feel faint, tell me if you feel this pinch..." I was scared to death that I would feel them cutting into me. Other than that, I was scared for my baby.
My OB bent over me again and told me he'd monitored her heart rate one more time and it was much better, already in the 120s, but he didn't care, he wanted her out - now. I couldn't even answer, not that I would have argued with him.
They put up that nifty curtain so I couldn't see the gore - I saw my DH's face behind one of the surgical masks, was asked if I could feel "that pinch," felt two or three big tugs and could hear her cry. It was that fast. I didn't even know they had started. My OB told me to look up and held her over the curtain for me. The only things I saw were her eyes and hands - for a split second. I couldn't help but think it wasn't enough.
Later I was told that from the time they put the curtain up, it took my OB less than one minute to have her out.
One minute.
They gave her, wrapped up, pink and goopy and crying, to DH and told him to go sit by my head so I could see her. She was so tiny and beautiful; they let me touch her face and her hands. Then she had to be taken to the special care nursery for two hrs. She had fluid in one of her lungs and it needed to be sucked out - and she was breathing a bit fast so they wanted to watch her. Still, they assured me she was fine - better than fine.
I was bummed that they took her away, but DH followed and promised a report.
Just then, I started to feel very nauseated. That anesthesiologist pushed something in my IV and I wasn't sick anymore. Just like that. He then gave me a big dose of morphine and talked to me a bit more. He talked to me more than anyone else did during the whole section. I was grateful for him telling me what was going on - even if I could barely nod at the time. All I could say was, "I can't breath." He explained to me that I was numb now all the way past my diaphragm and that no, I most likely couldn't take a deep breath, but that shallow ones were all right and that I wasn't in any real distress. Still, it was a horrible feeling.
They finished sewing me up (I could hear them staple me like pages in a book - it was very surreal) then they sent me back to my room.
My blood pressure stayed down, way down, so I got more fluid and more epinephrine. I also got lots of sideways looks from other nurses when they found out I'd already had 8 bags of fluid. They kept checking my catheter to see where the water was going.
About an hour and a half later, that first young nurse came in and told me she'd go check on my baby. "If they say I can bring her to you, I will."
I panicked. Oh how I wanted her. But my legs were numb, I was still very faint, my arms felt like lead weights and I still couldn't breath. She returned carrying a very small bundle of blankets and laid her gently beside me, in the crook of my right arm. I couldn't move or really look at her, but I knew she was there and safe, and that was enough.
I was lying at a decline with my feet slightly elevated due to the blood pressure and passing out issues, but it was time to go.
My OB quickly introduced me to his partner, another OB who would help with the version - did a fast u/s to make sure Sissy was still in the same place (she was) and that the cord wasn't in a dangerous spot, say around her neck (it wasn't).
With one final, "are you ready?" they began to push - and I mean PUSH. My OB had her head and the other OB had her body/feet and they were honestly pushing so hard it felt like they were sitting on me. It didn't hurt (thanks epi) but oh the pressure! I could feel that she had moved, but they couldn't get her beyond transverse or the sideways position. It took about 45 seconds but it seemed like an hour.
They stopped, let go and she immediately went right back to breech. Again, I could feel her move. I still felt faint, blood pressure still wildly low, but baby was doing all right and I was hanging in there.
"Can you stay with me?" asked my OB. "If you can hang on we'll try to flip her the other way. She's moving a lot in there, just not all the way around."
"Yep," I said, one word, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
They started again - mauling my belly, grabbing baby parts, trying to make her do a forward roll. This time I could really feel it. I could feel them pushing her up into my diaphragm as they tried to make her butt roll up toward my ribs. It hurt. My epi wasn't all the way to my diaphragm so I could feel it and it took my breath away, literally, because she was getting pushed up so high. I closed my eyes and began to try and breathe deeply to stay relaxed and calm can catch my breath. The older of the two nurses silently came over and took my hand.
I've never had anyone hold my hand during anything before, but I needed her somehow. I gripped her hand and continued to focus away from what was going on. Which is why the rest is very hazy.
All I know is this: all of a sudden the pushing stopped. They told me to lie on my left side then pushed me into that position before I could comply. Then the nurse who was holding my hand gave me this oxygen mask and told me to put it on and breathe deeply - then she put it on for me. The next thing I knew my OB bent over and put his face in mine. His eyes were big, blue and a little wild.
"We're going to the OR, NOW," was all he said.
Deep in the back of my mind I understood what all this meant. The baby wasn't doing well. I knew this was a possibility but didn't fully realize it could happen so fast. I could hear my OB yelling at the nurses to unhook me from the wall and my IV poll and then, just as suddenly, I was careening to the OR on my bed with my OB running, yes running, beside me. He was trying to explain on the way that Sissy's heart rate had dropped and we needed to get her out right away. I managed to ask him how low and he said, "in the 70s" which I knew to be very grave indeed. Then he had to push someone out of the way and leap over something else while running down the hall, so I decided to shut up.
We got to the OR and my cocky-yet-competent anesthesiologist was already there. I'd never seen nurses and doctors get OR ready so fast. Everyone was running and shoving things at me. I had to drink some sickeningly sour fluid for my stomach bile. I had to have my epi upped to spinal block level. The anesthesiologist was trying to explain what I could expect, "tell me if you are nauseated, tell me if you feel faint, tell me if you feel this pinch..." I was scared to death that I would feel them cutting into me. Other than that, I was scared for my baby.
My OB bent over me again and told me he'd monitored her heart rate one more time and it was much better, already in the 120s, but he didn't care, he wanted her out - now. I couldn't even answer, not that I would have argued with him.
They put up that nifty curtain so I couldn't see the gore - I saw my DH's face behind one of the surgical masks, was asked if I could feel "that pinch," felt two or three big tugs and could hear her cry. It was that fast. I didn't even know they had started. My OB told me to look up and held her over the curtain for me. The only things I saw were her eyes and hands - for a split second. I couldn't help but think it wasn't enough.
Later I was told that from the time they put the curtain up, it took my OB less than one minute to have her out.
One minute.
They gave her, wrapped up, pink and goopy and crying, to DH and told him to go sit by my head so I could see her. She was so tiny and beautiful; they let me touch her face and her hands. Then she had to be taken to the special care nursery for two hrs. She had fluid in one of her lungs and it needed to be sucked out - and she was breathing a bit fast so they wanted to watch her. Still, they assured me she was fine - better than fine.
I was bummed that they took her away, but DH followed and promised a report.
Just then, I started to feel very nauseated. That anesthesiologist pushed something in my IV and I wasn't sick anymore. Just like that. He then gave me a big dose of morphine and talked to me a bit more. He talked to me more than anyone else did during the whole section. I was grateful for him telling me what was going on - even if I could barely nod at the time. All I could say was, "I can't breath." He explained to me that I was numb now all the way past my diaphragm and that no, I most likely couldn't take a deep breath, but that shallow ones were all right and that I wasn't in any real distress. Still, it was a horrible feeling.
They finished sewing me up (I could hear them staple me like pages in a book - it was very surreal) then they sent me back to my room.
My blood pressure stayed down, way down, so I got more fluid and more epinephrine. I also got lots of sideways looks from other nurses when they found out I'd already had 8 bags of fluid. They kept checking my catheter to see where the water was going.
About an hour and a half later, that first young nurse came in and told me she'd go check on my baby. "If they say I can bring her to you, I will."
I panicked. Oh how I wanted her. But my legs were numb, I was still very faint, my arms felt like lead weights and I still couldn't breath. She returned carrying a very small bundle of blankets and laid her gently beside me, in the crook of my right arm. I couldn't move or really look at her, but I knew she was there and safe, and that was enough.
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