It has been years since I have developed a photo. That is sad. I’m hoping to get into the habit of doing 10-20 a month from here on out, and maybe even starting to [drumroll] scrapbook again. The four I have never done a page for deserve it. While I gather my materials for this renewed venture, I’ll be putting the pictures on Picasa, too. Be sure to stop over there from time to time to see what we’re up to.
In four years, I’ve…
- had four children, almost five
- celebrated four anniversaries and one second honeymoon
- mourned the loss of loved ones
- moved
- regularly attended four different churches
- traveled to Virginia, Pennsylvania, and many places in Ohio
- had a children’s book published
- grown vegetables from seed
- seen a house go up ground-breaking to house-painting
- taught kindergarten through third grade
- made some fun crafts
- made some yummy food
- had a ball blogging about it
Thanks for coming along on the ride. Vaya con Dios!
All along, my due date was a certainty. Now with these recent issues regarding the pregnancy, the doctors thought it best if I be induced a week, or even two, early. I had a hard time with this at first, not wanting to add any more stress to Micah’s preterm life if possible. Eventually I could see the sense of ‘planning’ her birth- we didn’t know if we’d make it to the hospital if I labored too fast, we didn’t know how the labor and delivery would go with one live baby and one deceased, we didn’t know a whole lot. So, I scheduled D-day for April 27.
Luke had started his time off work the weekend before this, taking the kids out to different places so I could get some rest. Monday the 27th, he took them to the library in the afternoon. I was sitting on the computer, looking at blogs, when I noticed that I was having a contraction. Again. 11 minutes after the last one. To humor myself, I sat and kept track of the next few. Sure enough, 11 minutes apart. Hmmm. Luke came home after I’d been tracking for about an hour, and I then got up to go to the bathroom. I noticed I was walking a little funny; not just stiff from sitting for over an hour, but like I was in labor. I got into the shower, thinking that this would help the contractions go away if they weren’t to amount to anything. Luke was highly suspicious of my mid-day bathing, and of course wanted to know what was going on. I lay down after the shower to see if the contractions would continue, and they did seem to stop, or at least slow down. Now I didn’t know what to do. If it wasn’t the real deal, sitting around wouldn’t be an issue, but if it was, I wouldn’t have much time to debate the best course of action, so Luke had us head for the hospital.
On the way there, things picked up again, making me glad we chose to come on in, even though we were only hours from my induction. But at the hospital, the pains fell into a really sluggish non-pattern, something I normally would have labored at through the night and maybe even the next day. But I couldn’t have known that. Late that night, they put me on pitocin, and I requested an epidural. I’m no fan of these, but since there were so many different ways the labor could go, I thought it best to be prepared pain-wise. It felt silly, though, because I was in no pain. The anesthesiologist asked me what my level of discomfort was on a scale of one to ten, and I just looked at him. Zero, okay? But I didn’t feel like explaining so many times that this was precautionary.
So, Luke and I sat there all evening, watching movies on his laptop, counting away the minutes and hours. Long about midnight, I really thought things had progressed like I was close, but an exam showed me to only be at 4 centimeters dilated. My OB decided that I had a while, and disappeared to some other part of the hospital (maybe his office?). At around one o’clock, the nurse had me lay back on my side, thinking that this would speed things up. It did, but it also caused me to start feeling the pain of the contractions on my left side. Weird. I thought of a lady I used to know who had that happen when she had an epidural- only experiencing half the pain. It was tolerable, but from the feel of it, I was pretty sure I was close.
After a few pushy contractions, I said to Luke, “I think she’s coming out; look and see if you can see her.” The nurse came around and sure enough, Micah was crowning. I pushed her out very easily, good thing, since the OB still hadn’t returned. 
I have to praise our good nurse here- she delivered Micah, with Luke’s assistance, and I was glad to have her expertise in the absence of the doctor.
It took some time before Micaiah’s body was delivered. Seems like once Micah was born, my contractions stopped and everything just shut down. The OB was present by this time, and had to help things along. Luke got to see her first, and asked me if I still wanted to. I said I did, and am so glad. At first, she was tucked into a little ball, like a baby bird, and it was difficult to discern what she looked like. But then I started to be able to recognize her legs, arms, and head for what they were. She really did look similar to her image on the ultrasounds I had had, like the five-month-old fetus she would always remain.
The nurses took her body away to try to clean it up a little. When they brought her back, I was even more pleased with what I could recognize- ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes, beautiful long legs and arms. It appeared that her palms, pads of her feet, and eyelids were some of the last things to form before she died. It was so neat to see and know that she had fingerprints and footprints. Fearfully and wonderfully made.
I had thought I might like to see her again before I was discharged from the hospital, but those moments after birth were just enough for me to say goodbye to the little one who had spent the last months inside of me. As I was discharged from the hospital with Micah, Micaiah was released to the funeral home to be cremated. Luke brought her home to me that next week in a little white box, his other hand holding a bouquet of dogwood blossoms. We think we might plant a that kind of tree in the spot we bury her, but aren’t sure.
It’s been quite an experience- the joy and the sorrow so intertwined. Any time I start to feel bad about losing Micaiah, I have to thank God for gaining Micah. It is hard to watch her grow and change, and know that there was another who would look just like her right now. But that was not to be. Hopefully, our little twin won’t mind double the kisses and hugs that we have to give.
Our church had VBS last week- a western theme. The scans didn’t turn out real great, but I thought I would put them up anyway. Can you tell who is a little timid around animals?
A blog…is like a pet.
You feed it (with words), you groom it (changing themes), you take it for walks and let people ooh and ahh over it and make smoochie noises (comments). You even have to clean up after it sometimes (filtering spam).
Time comes in the life of every pet, and blog, where it must end.
My time is July 7. I chose this date because it will mark four years I’ve been at this thing, and it is time to call it quits.
I’ve had so much fun sharing in our huge internet community, and am glad I have this much of my writing and stories in one place that can be saved and stored. For the past year, I haven’t had as much to say, and I don’t want to have one of those blogs that just sit there with a post on the front page from 2007. (No offense intended if you really liked that year and want to stay parked.)
So, I’ve got one more week to enlighten and encourage (smirk). Here’s your last chance to copy a recipe for dinner (Monkey Brains, anyone?), dessert (Black Bean Brownies, anyone?) or for anytime (Oatmeal Rhubarb Cookies- for all that diced rhubarb you have in your freezer. Oh, you don’t have any rhubarb in your freezer? Must just be me in the Rhuby Fan Club- got some from last year’s harvest in there, too). Also, if you start here to visit any of the links I have, copy those somewhere else, too. Luke is going to save all my stuff and shut this down sometime in the next month. ‘Consider It Done’ will again be an available blog name. So will ‘Monastic Casket’.
And because I like to go out with a boom, I would covet your comments telling me what you liked about the blog. I need six more comments to make 1000 comments on here in four years. That would be awesome to achieve. (Of course, most of them have come from one person- thanks, Angela! ) There have been over 630 posts, which average 160 posts a year. Hmmm- so that is what I was doing when dinner was late.
Thanks so much for reading. I still owe you a fab finish to the twins’ birth story, and I couldn’t leave without talking about food somehow, so you aren’t rid of me yet.
Now turn off your computer, and go outside and enjoy this weather we are having!
It was during this hard time in the pregnancy that we decided to name the twins. The active dancer we called Micah, and our little wallflower we named Micaiah. Both names mean “Who is like God?” Even though we had opted for a surgical procedure to try to save the twins’ lives, we knew that their futures really were in Someone’s hands Who has no equal.
I was to remain on bedrest for at least two weeks, then go back to OSU for a checkup. Midway through the first week, however, I had a routine OB visit already scheduled, and was told to go ahead with it. It was there that we had an ultrasound and discovered that Micaiah didn’t make it. It was a real shock to me; I had been praying for them so hard and really believed that the LORD was going to restore Micaiah’s health. This was a milestone for me- a time I will always look back upon with joy, beyond the obvious sadness of the moment. Here was a time I had so much faith, more faith than usual, in a certain outcome, and was so sure of that outcome that I was in total disbelief at the different outcome. I’m so glad the LORD put me in a situation where, for the most part, I think I responded correctly, in faith. But, oh, it was so hard laying there, watching the doctor hover over her still body, looking for that flutter that would indicate a heartbeat. It seemed to take hours. Then, the doctor called in the other OB, to verify, and time continued to crawl.
I’m not usually on this end of sorrow. The two doctors shared their condolences, the first of many such sentiments I would hear over the next few months. I almost feel worse for the person who has to say they are sorry to hear my news, than I feel for myself, because I know what it is like to be in their shoes, trying to think of something to say. It’s a necessary part of life, to experience both sides of loss.
The pregnancy from here progressed by the book, since there no longer were two babies needing nourishment. I loved seeing Micah grow bigger at each scan, but it was painful to see how much bigger than Micaiah she would grow. I hoped that Micaiah’s body wouldn’t be damaged by Micah’s increasing size; I wanted to see her when she was delivered, intact. Maybe we could even get footprints. The doctors all warned me not to expect anything of the sort, that since she would be in there a while after she died, that many changes could take place. But all along during ultrasounds, I could recognize her, still in that little hammock taking a long nap. Even though it would be hard, I looked forward to the day I would see both of my girls.
We decided to have Micaiah’s body cremated, and to bury her on our property. In my last month of pregnancy, I contacted a local funeral home to ask about cost and what to expect as far as procedure. To my surprise, they didn’t charge at all for the cremation, considering it a service they do for the community. They were very kind in explaining how things would go in the hospital and after my release. I also spoke with the head nurse of labor and delivery in that last month, to make sure they were aware of my circumstances before I got there. My doctors had said that Micaiah was technically considered a miscarriage, since she died so young. I worried then that her body might be misplaced or discarded against my wishes in the aftermath of delivery, and wanted to be certain that wouldn’t happen to her. The head nurse assured me that every deceased baby, no matter the gestation, in this kind of situation, would be handled respectfully and according to my plans for their care.
That was such a relief to me, and I looked forward to D-day even more, knowing that I had good people looking out for me at the hospital and funeral home.
I’ve reached the halfway point. There hasn’t been much to blog about, since my menus are pretty normal and I usually eat the same as the family. Some foods I am supposed to avoid are: milk, cheese, breads, grains, pasta, and potatoes. It will be sad when I discover what of these items are the hardest on my system. Any of them would be missed. I figure I’ll stick to the rules for the rest of these forty days, then slowly introduce each one separately, to see what I can and can’t tolerate.
Eating this way has helped me to lose some baby weight, which is good. This has made me feel pretty good, with energy that lasts through the day. I’ve been noticing that I don’t need so big a portion of food at any given time, and try to only eat until I feel full. I used to not pay attention while I ate, and would often feel overfull before I stopped.
I think Phase Three is supposed to be the guide for a lifestyle of eating this way. It will be interesting to see how closely I can stick to that long term.
Early the morning of my level 2 ultrasound, I was sitting in the light of our Christmas tree, checking for movement. We now knew both babies were girls, but didn’t yet know they were identical. Once I was able to feel the twins’ kicks, and even distinguish one baby’s from another’s, I wasn’t as uncertain going into doctor visits anymore. But that morning I was unsettled. There was movement, but from only one place.
During the scan, the tech went through her measurements of Baby A, and we all noticed how active she was. Then, when she looked at Baby B, I noticed how this baby’s head looked a little squashed, and she was lying on her side like someone napping in a hammock. The tech had trouble taking some of her measurements, but during all of this initial stuff, I still didn’t realize anything was wrong.
After a really long wait, 3 medical personnel came in and shared with us that our girls were suffering from a disease called Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome. Basically, the placenta was giving Baby A too much, while not giving Baby B enough. There was an incredible amount of fluid in Baby A’s sac (making me incredibly huge and uncomfortable), and next to nothing in Baby B’s. The sickness was severe; if we did nothing, they both could die. If we wanted to try to help them, there were a few different options, but we would have to do something right away. They wanted me to be admitted that evening to the hospital. I remember the shock I felt after they all stopped talking. Luke and I looked at each other- What now? After they left us alone, we embraced and prayed about the situation. We knew we could not just do nothing, but we weren’t sure what to do, either. The nurse who worked with the OB on our case there at OSU talked with us further about the situation, and we decided that we would go home for the night and pray about what to do the next day. There were two different procedures on the table: one was to just drain off some of Baby A’s fluid, and hope that Baby B would recover once that extra weight was off her. The other was to go in with a laser and try to cut off some of the blood vessels in the placenta that were feeding into Baby A, so that both babies could get a more equal share. We talked about it, called friends and family to pray about it, and asked my OB his take on it, and decided the next morning we’d go in for the laser procedure.
I had to have an epidural for this laparascopic surgery, my third one. Everyone was so nice in the operating room; they understood what an upsetting thing this was, to have the twins be in danger. Plus, this procedure was rather new, so it was like I was contributing to their research, which made me feel good. When they set me back on the table, though, my blood pressure dropped really quick, and I felt like I was dying. The doctor and the nurses were all gathering around my head, rubbing my arms and talking to me. It was awful. I kept saying Psalm 103 to myself to try to stay awake (and I think people who enter Heaven quoting Scripture might get something special…kidding!), until finally I started to feel more normal. At least as normal as one can with no feeling from the ribs down.
I was awake the whole time, only a little sedated, so I could hear them talking while they worked. “This one? Where’s its origin?” or “Look at that bunch there…” Kinda weird.
Before and after the procedure, I was visited by my paster and one of the elders. After the procedure, my pastor read Psalm 103 aloud, and I cried.
I was taken to a room where I would be kept overnight, and then in the morning the doctors would check on the babies to see how they tolerated the surgery. It was a double room that I shared with a girl who was having preterm labor. It seemed like every hour she had to wear a fetal monitor for a few minutes, so I kept hearing that galloping sound throughout my stay. It didn’t bother me, though- I don’t think hearing a healthy baby’s heartbeat ever could.
Morning came, and I was hopeful. I’d been feeling movement all night, so I was reasonably certain things were fine with the twins. My hopes were confirmed when both babies showed strong heartbeats via ultrasound. We were so happy.
