Beginnings

This is the post where I tell Weston's birth story. For those of you still reading after that last sentence, I have put this one off for a long time. While Weston was alive, I only had time to tell our pre-birth story here and there between many more posts of real-time medical updates. This will be the last of the pre-birth story, and then there will be no more "Era of Hope" (pre-death) facts to tell. I made that up just now, and it seems fitting with my mood tonight. There are no words to describe or label our dashed hopes after Weston's death, so I'll just borrow a phrase from our good friend Dante: "Abandon hope all ye who enter here." It's not completely on point, but it'll do. I know Era of Hope is beyond cheesy, but the creative juices are low tonight.

Tonight, Shannon and I sanded Weston's cedar chest on the back porch. It was raining, and I was playing my Weston playlist. It was nice being quiet together, but sanding the chest was one of those activities that no husband and wife should ever ever ever have to do together. Shannon went back inside, and I went and stood in the rain for a while. I am a little prim and proper about certain things, so standing in the rain is not something I have ever done voluntarily. Except maybe back in the day due to excessive alcohol consumption, when I was decidedly less prim and proper. Anyway...I love Phoenix rainstorms, partly because they are so rare, but also because there is something hauntingly beautiful about rain the desert. We had a lot of lightning too. I found myself studying the sky and wondering what is really up there. I've never had the occasion to wonder about heaven so much. Now I'm more curious about Weston's new home.

So, back to earth, and Weston's birth story...

July 6, 2012 was a big day: I was 24 weeks pregnant, which meant that the baby was officially viable! I had joked that I would have a party in my hospital room if I made it to 24 weeks still pregnant. The steroid shots I had received to help Weston's lung development became fully effective at about 9:30 that morning. Dr. G did his morning rounds, as usual, and we were all very happy.

The night before I had had an episode of shortness of breath. It only lasted for a minute or two, but it was weird. Early on the morning of July 6, before Dr. G arrived, I felt some chest pain and left arm heaviness. It was also very minor. Blood clots are a big concern for patients on bed rest, so I mentioned my symptoms to Dr. G. He ordered a CT scan, chest x-ray, and Doppler study on my legs to rule out clots.

Now that I was 24 weeks, the frequency of monitoring the baby was going to increase. Up until then, my nurse would find the baby's heartbeat just long enough to get a heart rate once a shift (twice per 24 hours). Starting on that day, the baby's heart rate was going to be monitored 30 consecutive minutes per shift. Now that the baby was viable, they wanted to watch him more closely in case they needed to do an emergency delivery to save him. Before 24 weeks, there is virtually no chance of a baby being born alive, so they only worry about the mother, as I've said. So they don't bother with the more frequent monitoring.

Dr. G left, and my nurse came in to give me my pills. After she left, Dr. G came back, which surprised me. He told me about a former patient whose parents he had seen the previous weekend. This patient's water broke at 12 weeks, and I think she had similar placenta problems to mine. She remained on bed rest and made it to 30 weeks before she had her baby girl (that is a miracle). Lung development is a huge concern when there is no amniotic fluid. This baby girl had some lung struggles, went to Phoenix Children's Hospital for an experimental procedure, and went home healthy. Dr. G made it clear that this story was an outlier, but he was cautiously optimistic for a similar outcome with me. I was ecstatic.

A friend was planning to bring me lunch that day, and I was worried that all the extra tests would interfere with her visit. I wasn't too concerned that I had a blood clot, but I was worried about being carted all over the hospital and all the radiation.

Mid-morning, I went for my chest x-ray. I was so scared, and I still can't really pinpoint the source of my fear. Maybe it was because I felt so helpless. I was wheeled to another part of the hospital and pushed past door after door marked "Radiation! You will die if you go in here!" or something like that. The chest x-ray itself was not too bad, and I was taken back up to my room afterward.

My friend, M, arrived a couple of hours later with lunch and some other goodies. Her husband, J, works at the hospital and brought her to my room, so I got to chat with him for a few minutes too. I hadn't seen her in a long time, so I was anxious to catch up. Of course, they arrived to take me for my CT scan about 15 minutes after M got there. So, M had to leave, and I had to go to the emergency room for my CT scan, which is pretty far from the antenatal unit where I was living.

Before my CT, I had gotten stuck with another needle. They needed an IV for the CT scan, and this one was on my forearm, instead of my hand or inside of my elbow. I hate needles, and it hurt. I was anxious about the radiation and just the whole procedure in general. When I got down there, the radiology technician didn't like my IV and had to start ANOTHER one. I was so scared I was shaking, and the technician actually said, "You're really scared of this, aren't you, honey?" This guy was my age, not an old man, so I must have been a sight for him to call me honey. Then they put me in this circular machine that makes a loud noise. The contrast solution goes through the IV and into my body, so they can see the results more clearly. The contrast coursing through my veins felt like my body was on fire. It was awful.

Thankfully, they were able to do the Doppler immediately afterward, and it was relatively painless. Finally, I was taken back up to my room so I could rest. I was physically and emotionally drained, and starving. I had been gone over two hours. M had brought a giant salad with chicken from Oreganos. I wolfed it down quickly and laid down. My nurse also came in to do the 30-minute fetal monitoring.

About thirty minutes later, I began having excruciating pain in my abdomen. It was not contractions or cramping. I had had a similar episode when I was pregnant with Caroline, and it hurt so badly that I went to the hospital. Everything was fine, but they never figured out what it was. It went away by itself, and my OB and I guessed that it was trapped gas. Because I had laid down immediately after eating my salad (something they tell us not to do on bed rest, because sitting up helps our food digest), I just figured it was gas like the last time and would go away.

But it didn't go away. The pain was unbearable and began shooting down my leg a bit. Then it went into my back. I waited a few minutes, hoping it would subside (it was just gas, after all!), and it didn't, so I called my nurse. She came to my room with a concerned look, hooked me back up to the fetal monitoring device, and called the doctor.

Then, everyone was in my room, and they were all very concerned. I was mad at myself for getting everyone worked up about a little gas. I told them all about the gas episode with Caroline, and everyone ignored me. The furor was causing anxiety with me, which I knew was affecting the baby. The doctor wanted to do a vaginal exam (always pleasant), so I let him because I was a little concerned too. He said I was not in labor but that my uterus was very irritated. Of course it was irritated; I had been bleeding for three months! And I think I would know if I was in labor, dumb asses! I was getting more and more anxious by the minute. As if they couldn't sense my anxiety, I told them that my day had been awful, which was probably affecting my entire body and the baby, so could they please just leave me alone?!

After about an hour, the abdominal pain gradually subsided. A little while later, my nurse came back and said something I absolutely did not expect: I was being moved to the perinatal high risk unit for constant monitoring. I was devastated. This room had become like my home. I just knew that I would only be gone a few hours and that I would lose this prime real estate of a hospital room when I returned. More importantly, I knew and loved all my nurses. And most obviously, to no one but me, the baby and I were fine! There was no need to go to the high-risk unit!

Since everyone following this blog knows the eventual outcome of this story (and let me remind you that Weston's birthday was July 7), you know the obvious: I was in SERIOUS denial.

This has been difficult to rehash. It underscores the difficulty of, not only Weston's entire life, but the way in which he entered this world as well. He and I were incredibly cheated out of a joyful, peaceful birth and all of the cuddling that goes with it.

For the above reason, and the fact that this post is already pretty long, and because I'm still not ready to stop blogging about the Era of Hope, see paragraph 1 (lawyer friends: I almost wrote supra), I am ending this post now. I will finish Weston's birth story in the next few days.