So I have to tell you the story that has been a source of embarrassment for me since that fateful night in September when E entered the world. I bring this up now because J brought it up to one of my nurses the other day.
I had endured HELL! Picture the experience I have had with Zachary's pregnancy, with the same exact complications, but prolong it for a month, an that was E's pregnancy. It may have also been made a little worse by the fact that we were less financially stable, so there were more money issues, which made for more emotional issues. Plus E's pregnancy was planned.
Picture the scene. I had endured months of preterm labor and contractions. I had endured every prenatal test known to man. I had even had a fetal fibronectin done back then, which is no big deal to us now, but back then? There was only one lab in the entire country that processed them and the samples had to be flown out to that location. It was high tech and new-fangled then. We had even lost everything we had and had moved into J's mother's basement. It was bad. I had been to the hospital the day before, on August 30th, and of course it is me, so I wasn't dilated. But they could feel E's head pressing on the other side of my cervix, trying to make his way into the world. I got sent home, with a little red sleeping pill, to try to rest. We didn't know then about my cervical dystocia, so we were just waiting for some changes to take place.
The contractions never stopped. J had already called in at work several times because "this was it". But it never was. And this was a new job of his, as we had just moved to the area. So when the contractions were even worse the next day, I called the doctor on call for my OB. He didn't know me, but I was able to recount for him every test I had, the results, and when I had them. I could recount every hospitalization, every treatment for preterm labor. I told him that I frankly was not going to go the hospital unless he would deliver me. He told me to come in and he would assess the situation, but that he didn't have a full say, as he was not my doctor.
I will never forget that relief I felt. He came into my room at the hospital, took the monitors off of my belly and palpated my uterus as the contractions came and went. It was very intense, as he sat there staring in my eyes, with his hands on my belly, helping me to breathe through the contractions so I didn't tense up, giving him a better feel of what my body was doing. And he looked at the nurses, telling them that they should've done more, that I was having hard contractions, and that my body was trying to deliver this baby, but for some unknown reason, it was not working. (Later, while he was in there for a c-section, he found enormous areas of dense scar tissue and the cervical dystocia was diagnosed.) He left the room, saying he had to call my doctor, and returned to tell me that he was going to deliver after doing a surgery to treat an ectopic pregnancy, and I was prepped for surgery while he was doing that.
So fast forward an hour or two. I am strapped to the OR table. J is perched on a stool by my head. I am awake and hearing and seeing everything going on around me, but they had given me morphine along with my spinal, so I was in a sort of haze that is hard to describe. There was a surgical drape in place, so I was staring straight up. The only thing in my real line of sight was the clock on the wall. The initial incision was made at 11:52 PM on August 31st. But at 11:55 PM, the hands on the clock stopped moving. It seems the clock had died. We were stuck in August.
I certainly had more important things to worry about. I was having a baby 6 weeks before my due date. I had just survived the pregnancy from hell. But I had some good drugs on board and could not help myself.
"STOP!!!", I yelled. "It's August! We're STUCK in AUGUST!!!! August's birth stone is ugly. I want a SAPPHIRE in my mother's ring. Wait! Please, just wait 5 more minutes!!!"
E entered the world with the lustiest cry I have ever heard. 6 Weeks early, and all I could think was "his lungs are okay", as tears were streaming. The clock on the wall still said 11:55 PM, so the time on E's birth certificate was actually from the monitor that was recording my vitals. E was born at 12:05 AM on September 1st, 2001. His birthstone is a sapphire. The hardest, toughest gemstone next to the diamond. Believed by some to have healing properties. One of the most precious stones known. How very appropriate.
Am I silly? Yeah. Crazy? Most definitely. But I not only said it, but shouted it for all to hear. It was the joke around the Labor and Delivery unit of the hospital at least until I was discharged. And for our 7th anniversary, J did the most amazing thing for me. He was unemployed, and I was the breadwinner then too. But he saved every ounce of money he got--birthdays, Christmas, etc.--and he bought me an anniversary band with alternating stones of diamonds and sapphires. Precious to me for many reasons--the perfect symbol of our little family.
So the story of the sapphire came up again recently, when we thought Zachary was going to be delivered at 34 weeks or so. His birthstone would have been a diamond. But instead, since I am delivering in May, it is to be an emerald. Emerald is known as the Christian symbol of hope, and is also one of the most precious. It is supposed to represent harmony, wisdom, and love. To heal the heart. Oh, Zachary!
Showing posts with label childbirth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childbirth. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
33 Wks, 1 Day: Relief
Yesterday,on what was to mark my 33 rd week of pregnancy, I went to see my doctor. It all started like it normally does--I went into the little vestibule where they check weight and blood pressure. I got on the scale, and the nurse got concerned, made me step off and back on again. I had lost 5 pounds since last week. Same scale, roughly the same clothing. And I know it wasn't all water weight because I was never really swollen to begin with. I told her it was probably right, that I haven't been able to eat all week. Which prompted the question: "What's wrong?" And so the floodgates opened. I told her a brief synopsis of everything, and as I was sitting there, the high-risk clinic nurse, who sees only us problem patients, came walking in, saw me crying, and got in on the conversation. Before I knew what was happening, they were crying too from my story.
So we go into the exam room, and she hands me the little disposable sheet, to which I just handed it back to her, telling her no, I'm sorry, I just cannot tolerate an exam right now, as I am in too much pain. She agrees and in less than 2 minutes, the doctor comes in. It's the one I like, and he comes through the door with a hearty "Duuuuuuude, what's UP????" This is why the L& D nurses refer to him as "Surfer Boy". He's young, and blond and tan, to go along with that personality. But he is also the one who listens to me, who promised me I would not suffer any longer than necessary, who finally offered me pain relief.
So we talk. I tell him I am miserable, as the tears start again. By the way, I think this is the first time he has seen me cry in all of this. We talked about the ridiculous number of trips to the hospital, the brethine pump's future with all of this tachycardia, and more. As soon as he said "36 weeks", I started crying yet again, and told him no, that I couldn't. Because then when I come back at 36 weeks, someone else would change it to 38 weeks, and so on.
Then he looked at me and said "No, I'll do it!" At which point the nurse handed him a calendar. I heard something about amnio, then something else about the next day. Huh? It has really been a long time. I remember the amnio with E taking almost a week to get back. I literally started laughing at this point. Amnio at 36 weeks, then c-section the same week? I could deal with that. 3 weeks.
Then he started explaining. We think of lung maturity, because that is the biggie at this stage in the game. But we want his brain to be developed, too. And his bowels. Nectrotizing enterocolitis is a big one in preemies. I agreed. "Plus," he said, "Little Dude wouldn't be able to eat yet!" At which point I laughed again. This is honestly the first time someone has referred to Zachary as "Little Dude" instead of the "baby" or "fetus".
He wanted the amnio on May 13th, but the perinatologist is unavailable on that day, so it was scheduled for the 12th instead. I was going to have my c-section, assuming amnio results are favorable, on the 14th, but now we aren't sure. I asked him after the date was changed, and he said they would call me, that he had to look at his schedule, that he should be able to find an hour in there somewhere. That was almost comical and completely strange to me: something this big and life-changing on my end is just a spare hour to him. Weird.
So the bottom line is that I am staying on all of this junk: the brethine pump, the monitor, etc., until then. He admitted that the pump isn't doing the trick, but that he is afraid it will be even worse for me without it. He refilled the pain meds and told me to continue taking them, that I was fine so long as I used discretion. I told him that was not a problem,that a few years ago, I had to have my knee reconstructed, and I am so leary of pain meds that I took about 10 total through that entire process, but that I was actually needing them now.
He ended the converstaion with this: "Please tell me you aren't having any more!" No, I'm not. But they all keep telling me this, and I wonder if it is a concern for my well-being or a concern for them, not wanting to deal with another of my pregnancies. They cannot say I didn't warn them--I had been telling them, as early as my first appointment, that it would get bad, long before it actually did. I consider that fair warning.
So in a little over 3 weeks, I will be holding my youngest son in my arms. Somehow, since finding this out, I have been able to relax a little. I'm still hurting and exhausted, but this knowledge has instantly made it more tolerable.
So we go into the exam room, and she hands me the little disposable sheet, to which I just handed it back to her, telling her no, I'm sorry, I just cannot tolerate an exam right now, as I am in too much pain. She agrees and in less than 2 minutes, the doctor comes in. It's the one I like, and he comes through the door with a hearty "Duuuuuuude, what's UP????" This is why the L& D nurses refer to him as "Surfer Boy". He's young, and blond and tan, to go along with that personality. But he is also the one who listens to me, who promised me I would not suffer any longer than necessary, who finally offered me pain relief.
So we talk. I tell him I am miserable, as the tears start again. By the way, I think this is the first time he has seen me cry in all of this. We talked about the ridiculous number of trips to the hospital, the brethine pump's future with all of this tachycardia, and more. As soon as he said "36 weeks", I started crying yet again, and told him no, that I couldn't. Because then when I come back at 36 weeks, someone else would change it to 38 weeks, and so on.
Then he looked at me and said "No, I'll do it!" At which point the nurse handed him a calendar. I heard something about amnio, then something else about the next day. Huh? It has really been a long time. I remember the amnio with E taking almost a week to get back. I literally started laughing at this point. Amnio at 36 weeks, then c-section the same week? I could deal with that. 3 weeks.
Then he started explaining. We think of lung maturity, because that is the biggie at this stage in the game. But we want his brain to be developed, too. And his bowels. Nectrotizing enterocolitis is a big one in preemies. I agreed. "Plus," he said, "Little Dude wouldn't be able to eat yet!" At which point I laughed again. This is honestly the first time someone has referred to Zachary as "Little Dude" instead of the "baby" or "fetus".
He wanted the amnio on May 13th, but the perinatologist is unavailable on that day, so it was scheduled for the 12th instead. I was going to have my c-section, assuming amnio results are favorable, on the 14th, but now we aren't sure. I asked him after the date was changed, and he said they would call me, that he had to look at his schedule, that he should be able to find an hour in there somewhere. That was almost comical and completely strange to me: something this big and life-changing on my end is just a spare hour to him. Weird.
So the bottom line is that I am staying on all of this junk: the brethine pump, the monitor, etc., until then. He admitted that the pump isn't doing the trick, but that he is afraid it will be even worse for me without it. He refilled the pain meds and told me to continue taking them, that I was fine so long as I used discretion. I told him that was not a problem,that a few years ago, I had to have my knee reconstructed, and I am so leary of pain meds that I took about 10 total through that entire process, but that I was actually needing them now.
He ended the converstaion with this: "Please tell me you aren't having any more!" No, I'm not. But they all keep telling me this, and I wonder if it is a concern for my well-being or a concern for them, not wanting to deal with another of my pregnancies. They cannot say I didn't warn them--I had been telling them, as early as my first appointment, that it would get bad, long before it actually did. I consider that fair warning.
So in a little over 3 weeks, I will be holding my youngest son in my arms. Somehow, since finding this out, I have been able to relax a little. I'm still hurting and exhausted, but this knowledge has instantly made it more tolerable.
Friday, March 26, 2010
28 Wks, 5 Days: Gah! Something Irking Me
Okay. Notice how I start every post with "Okay" or "So"? Ha! Anyhow...
I've been reading a lot of blogs lately. And I have noticed something. There seems to be this trend of looking down on mothers who do not choose a 100% natural childbirth. And electing to have a repeat c-section? OMG, I must be evil!
Maybe it's me. Maybe the 2 awful, horrendous pregnancies I have endured have clouded my judgement. But I thought the end result desired in a pregnancy was a healthy baby and mother. Call me silly. Yes, I realize that c-sections and medicated births can have an impact on the baby and mother that would not be present in a natural childbirth situation. But sometimes, natural childbirth is just not possible and not advisable. I don't think the fact that my sons' births were/ will be highly medicalized makes me any less of a woman or mother. I don't think a woman who goes through natural childbirth is any more deserving of a big decal on her SuperMom costume. After all, I went through 4 months of contractions with no pain meds with E, and am on the road to doing the same with this one. And these weren't little uterine hiccups. These were Contractions, capitalized intentionally. 2 to 3 minutes apart. For hours/ days/ weeks/ months on end. So yeah, I have a c-section scar. But I bet I am more deserving of superhero status than the woman who endured 12 hours of this stuff. And in the end (of E's pregnancy and God willing, this one as well), there was a healthy baby. I call that a success. And in no way see how it means I failed or that the medical establishment failed me.
So what of these natural childbirth plans? I think they are fabulous. I truly mean that. I am all for women being empowered and knowledgeable of what they can do. And I agree that not everyone needs a medicalized birth experience. But some of us do. And even if there is a slim chance of any type of deterioration of mom and/ or baby, why would one even chance it?
Which brings me to the concept of freebirthing. This angers me more than anything. Don't know what it is? It is the concept of women giving birth at home with no medical assistance at all. Not even a midwife present. Just mom and whomever she deems fit to be there to witness the miracle of life. The advocates for this practice will tell you that women have been delivering babies like this for as long as we have been here. Yep, true. Very true. I'm picturing ol' Aunt Gertrude in a log cabin or shanty somewhere, back before we had a road system, hitching up her sweat-drenched skirts and trying to push out a baby. Yes, women used to do it all of the time. Not because it was radical or better for them or baby, or because they had some notion that this empowered them. They did it because they had no other choice.
So I read some research somewhre that sort of drove me crazy a little bit. I wish I had the link now, but it said something to the effect that the rate of infant death has actually increased with the medicalization of childbirth. Really? Seriously? That must completely demonize medicine and make us all want to freebirth, right? Ummmmm, NO! Where were these statistics from? Were there ways of tracking our vital staistics back then that there are now? I can say, as a healthcare provider, that patient deaths are tracked very thoroughly. We have very accurate ways of keeping these statistics. But this was not always the case, and certainly wasn't the case when women did not have the medical options they do now. When Aunt Gertrude gave birth in her shanty. I can see how this would make it look like the medicalization of childbirth has increased infant mortality, but quite honestly, I don't believe it one bit.
So why risk it? I know from professional experience that even a full-term, seemingly healthy infant can take a turn for the worse and require some sort of resuscitative measure in an instant. In that instant, would you not want someone there to intervene on your baby's behalf? Does this mean we all need to submit to the narcotics and epidurals and elective c-sections? No, absolutely not. But I would at least want someone there with higher qualifications than basic CPR, and some equipment that may become necessary. Well, there is always 911, right? Ha! Have you ever called an ambulance? I remember a time I was having an anaphylactic reaction. Me. A registered respiratory therapist who could tell the operator exactly what was going on and how dire the situation was at the time. I could feel my airway closing up and knew it was a matter of minutes before it would become sealed off and I would need to be intubated then or would die. It still took them 9 minutes to get to my house. When you have a neonate who needs to be resuscitated, 9 minutes is a lifetime.
So if you want the natural, unassisted childbirth, there are options for you. There are birthing centers where you can do your thing, but there is help nearby if needed. There are midwives who will come to your home who have the training and wherewithal to know what to do in an emergency. And yes, there are highly credentialed physicians and specialists to help with the most complicated of deliveries. They will even allow you to come up with your own birthing plan. But please do not jeopardize your child's life. And do not look down on me for not taking the same path you did.
I've been reading a lot of blogs lately. And I have noticed something. There seems to be this trend of looking down on mothers who do not choose a 100% natural childbirth. And electing to have a repeat c-section? OMG, I must be evil!
Maybe it's me. Maybe the 2 awful, horrendous pregnancies I have endured have clouded my judgement. But I thought the end result desired in a pregnancy was a healthy baby and mother. Call me silly. Yes, I realize that c-sections and medicated births can have an impact on the baby and mother that would not be present in a natural childbirth situation. But sometimes, natural childbirth is just not possible and not advisable. I don't think the fact that my sons' births were/ will be highly medicalized makes me any less of a woman or mother. I don't think a woman who goes through natural childbirth is any more deserving of a big decal on her SuperMom costume. After all, I went through 4 months of contractions with no pain meds with E, and am on the road to doing the same with this one. And these weren't little uterine hiccups. These were Contractions, capitalized intentionally. 2 to 3 minutes apart. For hours/ days/ weeks/ months on end. So yeah, I have a c-section scar. But I bet I am more deserving of superhero status than the woman who endured 12 hours of this stuff. And in the end (of E's pregnancy and God willing, this one as well), there was a healthy baby. I call that a success. And in no way see how it means I failed or that the medical establishment failed me.
So what of these natural childbirth plans? I think they are fabulous. I truly mean that. I am all for women being empowered and knowledgeable of what they can do. And I agree that not everyone needs a medicalized birth experience. But some of us do. And even if there is a slim chance of any type of deterioration of mom and/ or baby, why would one even chance it?
Which brings me to the concept of freebirthing. This angers me more than anything. Don't know what it is? It is the concept of women giving birth at home with no medical assistance at all. Not even a midwife present. Just mom and whomever she deems fit to be there to witness the miracle of life. The advocates for this practice will tell you that women have been delivering babies like this for as long as we have been here. Yep, true. Very true. I'm picturing ol' Aunt Gertrude in a log cabin or shanty somewhere, back before we had a road system, hitching up her sweat-drenched skirts and trying to push out a baby. Yes, women used to do it all of the time. Not because it was radical or better for them or baby, or because they had some notion that this empowered them. They did it because they had no other choice.
So I read some research somewhre that sort of drove me crazy a little bit. I wish I had the link now, but it said something to the effect that the rate of infant death has actually increased with the medicalization of childbirth. Really? Seriously? That must completely demonize medicine and make us all want to freebirth, right? Ummmmm, NO! Where were these statistics from? Were there ways of tracking our vital staistics back then that there are now? I can say, as a healthcare provider, that patient deaths are tracked very thoroughly. We have very accurate ways of keeping these statistics. But this was not always the case, and certainly wasn't the case when women did not have the medical options they do now. When Aunt Gertrude gave birth in her shanty. I can see how this would make it look like the medicalization of childbirth has increased infant mortality, but quite honestly, I don't believe it one bit.
So why risk it? I know from professional experience that even a full-term, seemingly healthy infant can take a turn for the worse and require some sort of resuscitative measure in an instant. In that instant, would you not want someone there to intervene on your baby's behalf? Does this mean we all need to submit to the narcotics and epidurals and elective c-sections? No, absolutely not. But I would at least want someone there with higher qualifications than basic CPR, and some equipment that may become necessary. Well, there is always 911, right? Ha! Have you ever called an ambulance? I remember a time I was having an anaphylactic reaction. Me. A registered respiratory therapist who could tell the operator exactly what was going on and how dire the situation was at the time. I could feel my airway closing up and knew it was a matter of minutes before it would become sealed off and I would need to be intubated then or would die. It still took them 9 minutes to get to my house. When you have a neonate who needs to be resuscitated, 9 minutes is a lifetime.
So if you want the natural, unassisted childbirth, there are options for you. There are birthing centers where you can do your thing, but there is help nearby if needed. There are midwives who will come to your home who have the training and wherewithal to know what to do in an emergency. And yes, there are highly credentialed physicians and specialists to help with the most complicated of deliveries. They will even allow you to come up with your own birthing plan. But please do not jeopardize your child's life. And do not look down on me for not taking the same path you did.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
26 Wks, 1 Day: Perfect?
On Monday, I had my 26-week appointment. Other than losing 12 pounds last month, the pregnancy got a perfect bill of health: perfect blood pressure, perfect 3-hour glucose tolereance test results, perfect little heartbeat, perfect height of fundus. Perfect, other than the contractions and preterm labor that plague me.
By some pregnancy books, have started the last trimester and by others, it will not start until 2 weeks from now, at the 28-week mark. But either way, wow!!! At times, it seems like this pregnancy has lasted forever. At other times, it seems like the time has flown. And other than being on bedrest and having the preterm labor issues, I feel great. My body has adapted to the brethine pump, so I no longer feel the insane tachycardia and jitteriness that goes with it, even after they increased my dosages this past weekend. I'm not nauseated, don't have crazy heartburn, am not as sore as I was in the first trimester. Other than some pain in my left hip, which is sure to be nothing more than pregnancy-induced sciatica, and Zachary's wonderful kicks and punches, I wouldn't even tell you I feel pregnant. I do feel fat, but I have this great baby belly. With E, I just looked horribly obese, to the point that people couldn't even tell I was pregnant. But this time? Ummmm......not the case.
I am starting to get a little apprehensive about the delivery. My doctors tell me they are going to stop everything at 34 weeks, which is when I had E. I am having a repeat c-section and am not even given the option of a VBAC, but they won't even schedule it. One of the joys of having a scheduled c-section is that you know, without a doubt, when your child will be born. You literally get to pick their birthday. But they know that as soon as the brethine pump and progesterone shots are stopped, I am going to go into labor on my own, making any attempt at planning null and void. And I know that, after the prenatal care I have had, the close watch they have kept on Zachary, the steroids, and more, that they will deliver him then. But do I want them to?
This brings up a question of how truly lucky were we with E? I have learned in my line of work that a 34-week preemie can be perfectly healthy or they can have problems. It can go either way. E was perfect: over 6 pounds, which is big for a 34-weeker, but still small. I'm not sure, but even if he would have been full-term, he may not have even been considered low-birth-weight at that weight. He may have tottered on the edge of that line, but I don't think he crossed it. I remember him as baby: he was pefect. Petite features, pefectly proportioned. He was a little on the long side for his gestational age, making him even skinnier as his 6 pounds was distributed over more body length. And I didn't see him immediately after delivery, but I know he didn't even need suctioning, which is so commonly needed for c-section babies, as the trip through the birth canal doesn't occur to squeeze the fluid from the little airway. My mother-in-law was there, taking pictures of him, and I remember her telling me that he cried and screamed when someone would pick him up, but as soon as they laid him in warmer, he would be quiet and still and just look around, as if to say "leave me alone, people, and let me check out my new world". When I was finally taken to the recovery room, and got to hold him, he was perfectly quiet and still, laying there wrapped in his little bundle, on my chest. The only negative thought I could have about his birth is that he couldn't latch on, making our attempt at nursing in recovery awkward and leading to bottle feeding instead of breastfeeding as I had intended. That had as much to do with me as it did with him. Neither of us were in it at the time.
So back to Zachary: If I let them deliver him at 34 weeks from horrific contactions that aren't producing cervical changes, am I taking too big a risk? Because delivery at that stage would be for me, not him. And doctors can tell me what they think the odds are, but even if I were to deliver at a perfect 40-week mark, no one can guaruntee a healthy baby. In this cruel world, babies that seem perfectly healthy in utero can emerge with anomalies no one could have predicted. I am saying all of this now, but at 26 weeks, I can already tell that the contractions are getting more frequent, are harder to make go away, and are more and more painful with each passing week. How bad will they be at 34 weeks? How much will I be able to take? Is the gamble too great a risk?
By some pregnancy books, have started the last trimester and by others, it will not start until 2 weeks from now, at the 28-week mark. But either way, wow!!! At times, it seems like this pregnancy has lasted forever. At other times, it seems like the time has flown. And other than being on bedrest and having the preterm labor issues, I feel great. My body has adapted to the brethine pump, so I no longer feel the insane tachycardia and jitteriness that goes with it, even after they increased my dosages this past weekend. I'm not nauseated, don't have crazy heartburn, am not as sore as I was in the first trimester. Other than some pain in my left hip, which is sure to be nothing more than pregnancy-induced sciatica, and Zachary's wonderful kicks and punches, I wouldn't even tell you I feel pregnant. I do feel fat, but I have this great baby belly. With E, I just looked horribly obese, to the point that people couldn't even tell I was pregnant. But this time? Ummmm......not the case.
I am starting to get a little apprehensive about the delivery. My doctors tell me they are going to stop everything at 34 weeks, which is when I had E. I am having a repeat c-section and am not even given the option of a VBAC, but they won't even schedule it. One of the joys of having a scheduled c-section is that you know, without a doubt, when your child will be born. You literally get to pick their birthday. But they know that as soon as the brethine pump and progesterone shots are stopped, I am going to go into labor on my own, making any attempt at planning null and void. And I know that, after the prenatal care I have had, the close watch they have kept on Zachary, the steroids, and more, that they will deliver him then. But do I want them to?
This brings up a question of how truly lucky were we with E? I have learned in my line of work that a 34-week preemie can be perfectly healthy or they can have problems. It can go either way. E was perfect: over 6 pounds, which is big for a 34-weeker, but still small. I'm not sure, but even if he would have been full-term, he may not have even been considered low-birth-weight at that weight. He may have tottered on the edge of that line, but I don't think he crossed it. I remember him as baby: he was pefect. Petite features, pefectly proportioned. He was a little on the long side for his gestational age, making him even skinnier as his 6 pounds was distributed over more body length. And I didn't see him immediately after delivery, but I know he didn't even need suctioning, which is so commonly needed for c-section babies, as the trip through the birth canal doesn't occur to squeeze the fluid from the little airway. My mother-in-law was there, taking pictures of him, and I remember her telling me that he cried and screamed when someone would pick him up, but as soon as they laid him in warmer, he would be quiet and still and just look around, as if to say "leave me alone, people, and let me check out my new world". When I was finally taken to the recovery room, and got to hold him, he was perfectly quiet and still, laying there wrapped in his little bundle, on my chest. The only negative thought I could have about his birth is that he couldn't latch on, making our attempt at nursing in recovery awkward and leading to bottle feeding instead of breastfeeding as I had intended. That had as much to do with me as it did with him. Neither of us were in it at the time.
So back to Zachary: If I let them deliver him at 34 weeks from horrific contactions that aren't producing cervical changes, am I taking too big a risk? Because delivery at that stage would be for me, not him. And doctors can tell me what they think the odds are, but even if I were to deliver at a perfect 40-week mark, no one can guaruntee a healthy baby. In this cruel world, babies that seem perfectly healthy in utero can emerge with anomalies no one could have predicted. I am saying all of this now, but at 26 weeks, I can already tell that the contractions are getting more frequent, are harder to make go away, and are more and more painful with each passing week. How bad will they be at 34 weeks? How much will I be able to take? Is the gamble too great a risk?
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