Our adventure with Addy began sixteen months ago, when after two heartbreaking miscarriages, I began to feel the early symptoms of pregnancy yet again. My husband and I had started to come to terms with the fact that our son, Keegan, may be our only child. He was the center of our universe, and we would be okay just being the three of us. So when I peed on that stick and it almost instantaneously said "pregnant" in big bold digital letters so as not to be confused with little faint pink lines...I found myself negotiating with mixed feelings. Do I share the news with my husband and allow us to get our hopes up all over again? Do I keep the news quiet and silently wait for the "pregnant" to stop showing up on tests to confirm my deep seeded fear that we won't have any more children? Not to mention the fact that my husband was currently training to be deployed with the National Guard to Afghanistan, and I was living with my parents during his absence, so the timing of this wasn't exactly spectacular. This still gives me anxiety just thinking about the situation...
In my state of rushing hormones and being a lonely single mother, I pulled my mom aside to share the news. I'm pretty sure she had an idea of what was going on since the only time I had been able to peel myself off the couch was in an attempt to make it to the bathroom to vomit up whatever stomach contents hadn't been evacuated in the previous bathroom sprint. She and I both agreed that I needed to get to a doctor as soon as possible to A) confirm the pregnancy, and B) do anything I could to keep this baby. My amazing mother got to work at pulling strings with a doctor at the hospital she worked at to get me seen two weeks after the test came back positive. This would be the longest two week waiting period of my life, and believe me...I'm a military wife; I know waiting.
The two weeks came and went, and the day had finally arrived to see the doctor. I arrived early and braced myself for what I knew would be bad news. I couldn't get my hopes up, I couldn't go through feeling that loss again, and this time without my husband at my side. After giving my history of miscarriage and all things related to the nurse, Dr. Kennedy sent me for both labs and an ultrasound, explaining that I wouldn't be leaving that day without knowing for sure whether or not I was pregnant, and if the pregnancy was viable. Immediately, I loved her. I wanted to hug her and thank her a million times over, and she hadn't even confirmed anything yet. Just knowing I would have an answer, positive or negative, made the anxiety ease a bit. I made it through the blood draw well enough, and by the time I saw the ultrasound tech, I was tearing up. I just needed to know. She went through the usual protocol, "We're going to do a vaginal ultrasound, so disrobe from the waste down and I will be back to get started!"Always so strange, but by this point in the game...I had gotten somewhat used to being told to get naked from the waist down. Minutes later I was staring at my uterus and it's newest tenant. The tiny flicker gave me hope, I immediately wanted to call my husband to tell him the news, but I wanted to speak with the doctor first...I needed all the information before I let myself go there. I was ushered into a room and told that Dr. Kennedy wanted to go over some things with me. Shit. Here came the bad news. It turned out that my progesterone levels were low, low enough to be concerned. She explained that progesterone was how the baby survives until the placenta is able to support it, and that I needed to be put on a progesterone supplement to prevent another miscarriage. I needed to take the supplement every day, twice a day, until I reached 12 weeks, and if we made it to 12 weeks, I would be in the clear. She wasted no time in calling the prescription into my local pharmacy, and scheduling me for another appointment to see how the progesterone was working.
In an effort to save some time, I'll give you the highlights. The progesterone worked! I had a baby growing inside of me with the help of the progesterone, and I was cautiously excited. I had spilled the beans to my husband, my dad, and my best and closest friends who had been through both miscarriages with me and were just as excited as I was at the thought of a tiny human occupying my uterus. The goal was to make it to 12 weeks, which we did! I had another appointment to check my levels, and another peek at the baby to make sure all things were going according to plan, and was given the thumbs up to stop taking the progesterone. At this point, the baby was able to sustain life from the placenta which had now formed. I breathed a small sigh of relief, and put a mental check next to the box labeled "MAKE IT TO 12 WEEKS" on the pregnancy checklist in my head. The next goal was to make it another 8 weeks, to the coveted 20 week appointment where we would find out the sex of the baby.
The weeks went by, the husband came home and left again, and a snow storm in February turned my 16 week appointment into my 18 week appointment. Since my mom was a physician recruiter for the hospital where my appointments were, she would meet Keegan and I at the office, and stay with him while I was poked and prodded and weighed like cattle. His daddy being in Afghanistan and only being with mommy 24 hours a day, seven days a week had lent itself to some serious separation anxiety and fear of strangers poking at mommy. Having my parents around through all this was amazing...especially when it came to Keegan. The nurses and doctors were all aware that my husband was in Afghanistan, and when he went to a remote base in the Afghan mountains, we were nervous that he may not be able to find out the new of the baby's sex with me via FaceTime in two weeks during the regular scheduled 20 week physiology scan. I begged and pleaded with the nurse to see if they could squeeze me into ultrasound to take a peek and see if the baby would give us an idea of the gender while I had the husband a FaceTime call away. The nurse, through streams of tears of her own, said they would squeeze me in and take a peek! The ultrasound tech happened to be the wife of a former marine, and when she heard our situation, bumped another patient to fit me in. I also felt the need to hug her and cry all over her. Just like Keegan, the baby was stubborn, already proving it was definitely my kid...wiggling and crossing it's legs just right so that the "business view" was obscured. Just when the ultrasound tech was ready to call it quits, the clouds parted (and so did the baby's legs) to reveal the lack of anything between her legs. "I think we are looking at a little girl! I can't give you 100%, but I would say 98% sure it's a girl! Just wait another 2 weeks for the big scan before you run out and buy all pink!" There were tears in Ft Wayne, Indiana, and in the mountains of Afghanistan that day as my husband and I heard the news that we would be welcoming a baby girl into our family. A baby girl to complete our family. After two miscarriages, our miracle baby girl was on her way.
The next two weeks flew by, at 18 weeks pregnant, keeping up with my crazy red headed child was becoming more and more difficult. Not that I was huge yet, just that his endless supply of toddler energy and my depletion of energy due to growing a human were not a good combination. There were many days spent curled up on the couch falling asleep to a Disney movie, only to be woken up by a poke in the ribs when the movie was over. When the 20 week doctor's appointment came, it wasn't nearly as exciting as it would have been had we not already been told what the sex of the baby was. Yes, I was anxious to see the squirming baby girl, but I was more excited to get confirmation that I was allowed to start replacing the fire trucks, dinosaurs, and all things blue with pink, pink and more pink.
I remember that appointment vividly, as if I already had some sort of intuition that something wasn't right. The ultrasound tech was one that I hadn't seen before. Whether she was new or we just hadn't crossed paths I'm not sure, but I was immediately aware that she seemed preoccupied during my scan. Unlike my previous scans, this one was more in depth. There was a checklist of things the tech was supposed to check, measure, and take pictures of for my doctor to review, all standard procedure. The warm goo was squirted onto my cantaloupe of a belly, and she began manipulating the wand to find baby parts to measure. She fidgeted. She fidgeted like a two year old trying to sit through a dinner at a restaurant. She readjusted her seat, she flipped her hair back and forth, she adjusted the seat again, all the while wiggling the wand over my belly and taking pictures and measurements. I remember this vividly because I can remember thinking, "this is so unprofessional..." As she continued with the scan, she confirmed that our baby was in fact a girl, and that the shopping could commence. YAY! I remember the ultrasound being very long, baby girl wasn't cooperating again (this is a theme with my pregnancies...Keegan was a stubborn little fetus too). I was told to roll to one side, and then the other, trying to get baby girl to readjust so that the ultrasound tech could get a better shot of her heart, or a correct measurement of her femur, all the while adjusting her seat, flipping her hair, and then...chewing the piece of gum she popped into her mouth like a cow re-chewing it's breakfast. She admitted that the baby was being difficult, but that she managed to get all the pictures she needed. I was sent to see my doctor for the usual blood pressure check, and to see how much weight I had gained. Dr. Kennedy came in and went over the scans with me, showing me baby girl's strong heart, her brain that was developing, the shot that showed two functioning kidneys, and her astonishingly long legs, which the doctor thought had to be a mistake. "She's measuring really big, I think we need to do another scan to check this measurement..." I let her in on the fact that my handsome husband was a whopping 6'5", and that Keegan was also a very long baby. She seemed to accept that as being the reason for baby girl's super long legs. She said everything looked perfect.
As with most pregnant women (I refuse to believe I'm the only crazy one), I had my usual worries throughout my pregnancy. Was I eating the right things? Was the baby okay? How was Keegan going to adjust to being a big brother? How in the hell was I going to do this without my husband? How was I going to recover from a repeat cesarian section with a toddler and a new baby to care for? The usual frantic pregnant lady blunders. All the usual stuff, coupled with the history of miscarriage, and facing the birth of a baby without my husband kept me on the brink of sanity for the rest of the pregnancy.
Spring came and went and summer hit on the lake in Michigan. I was a swollen, sweaty, beach ball smuggling mess. I was trying to be a good mom to Keegan, my little ball of unlimited energy, all while trying not to be a narcoleptic beached whale...it was a tough balance. We spent our week days going to the park and getting ice cream, and our weekends out on the lake soaking up what little mommy and Keegan time we had left. I was documenting my growing belly in pictures for the husband to see, I was taking video of baby girl rolling around in my belly so he could experience the joys of baby #2 right along with me from halfway around the world. We tossed names around, always throwing them out, vowing to find one soon. All of our standby names had either become super popular since Keegan was born, or someone we knew had stolen them before we had our chance to name #2 (which is what my mom had started calling the baby, #2). We finally settled on a name, with a little less than six weeks left in the pregnancy. Adalynn Grace, Addy for short. My great grandmother passed away the previous summer, so we knew that we wanted her middle name to be Grace. Adalynn was something we compromised on because we originally liked Addyson, but everyone started naming babies Addyson. Adalynn just stuck.
Before I get to Addy's grand arrival, I should say that after the physiological ultrasound I did not have another ultrasound. I wasn't sure what was standard, with Keegan I had an ultrasound appointment after being hospitalized at 22 weeks with high blood pressure. I read the books, asked all my pregnant/mommy friends and the general consensus was that I would have a scan at 32 weeks. It didn't happen. I peed in the cup, they took my blood pressure, and they weighed me, and said that was it. I asked why I wasn't being send for the standard 32 week growth scan, and the doctor told me that because of the scheduled c-section, there really was no need for another ultrasound as long as my labs were fine and nothing was wrong. This made sense in my head. It didn't matter how giant the baby got, they were going to slice her out anyways, but it didn't stop the nagging in m head that I needed to see the baby, just to make sure everything was still okay. Call it mother's intuition, or just the overly paranoid lady who had been through two miscarriages, I felt like they should have done at least one more ultrasound to check on things. In retrospect, it wouldn't have changed anything, but it would have eliminated all of the drama and trauma from Addy's arrival.
And on July 22, 2013...our Adalynn Grace was born...and everything changed forever.
The weeks went by, the husband came home and left again, and a snow storm in February turned my 16 week appointment into my 18 week appointment. Since my mom was a physician recruiter for the hospital where my appointments were, she would meet Keegan and I at the office, and stay with him while I was poked and prodded and weighed like cattle. His daddy being in Afghanistan and only being with mommy 24 hours a day, seven days a week had lent itself to some serious separation anxiety and fear of strangers poking at mommy. Having my parents around through all this was amazing...especially when it came to Keegan. The nurses and doctors were all aware that my husband was in Afghanistan, and when he went to a remote base in the Afghan mountains, we were nervous that he may not be able to find out the new of the baby's sex with me via FaceTime in two weeks during the regular scheduled 20 week physiology scan. I begged and pleaded with the nurse to see if they could squeeze me into ultrasound to take a peek and see if the baby would give us an idea of the gender while I had the husband a FaceTime call away. The nurse, through streams of tears of her own, said they would squeeze me in and take a peek! The ultrasound tech happened to be the wife of a former marine, and when she heard our situation, bumped another patient to fit me in. I also felt the need to hug her and cry all over her. Just like Keegan, the baby was stubborn, already proving it was definitely my kid...wiggling and crossing it's legs just right so that the "business view" was obscured. Just when the ultrasound tech was ready to call it quits, the clouds parted (and so did the baby's legs) to reveal the lack of anything between her legs. "I think we are looking at a little girl! I can't give you 100%, but I would say 98% sure it's a girl! Just wait another 2 weeks for the big scan before you run out and buy all pink!" There were tears in Ft Wayne, Indiana, and in the mountains of Afghanistan that day as my husband and I heard the news that we would be welcoming a baby girl into our family. A baby girl to complete our family. After two miscarriages, our miracle baby girl was on her way.
The next two weeks flew by, at 18 weeks pregnant, keeping up with my crazy red headed child was becoming more and more difficult. Not that I was huge yet, just that his endless supply of toddler energy and my depletion of energy due to growing a human were not a good combination. There were many days spent curled up on the couch falling asleep to a Disney movie, only to be woken up by a poke in the ribs when the movie was over. When the 20 week doctor's appointment came, it wasn't nearly as exciting as it would have been had we not already been told what the sex of the baby was. Yes, I was anxious to see the squirming baby girl, but I was more excited to get confirmation that I was allowed to start replacing the fire trucks, dinosaurs, and all things blue with pink, pink and more pink.
I remember that appointment vividly, as if I already had some sort of intuition that something wasn't right. The ultrasound tech was one that I hadn't seen before. Whether she was new or we just hadn't crossed paths I'm not sure, but I was immediately aware that she seemed preoccupied during my scan. Unlike my previous scans, this one was more in depth. There was a checklist of things the tech was supposed to check, measure, and take pictures of for my doctor to review, all standard procedure. The warm goo was squirted onto my cantaloupe of a belly, and she began manipulating the wand to find baby parts to measure. She fidgeted. She fidgeted like a two year old trying to sit through a dinner at a restaurant. She readjusted her seat, she flipped her hair back and forth, she adjusted the seat again, all the while wiggling the wand over my belly and taking pictures and measurements. I remember this vividly because I can remember thinking, "this is so unprofessional..." As she continued with the scan, she confirmed that our baby was in fact a girl, and that the shopping could commence. YAY! I remember the ultrasound being very long, baby girl wasn't cooperating again (this is a theme with my pregnancies...Keegan was a stubborn little fetus too). I was told to roll to one side, and then the other, trying to get baby girl to readjust so that the ultrasound tech could get a better shot of her heart, or a correct measurement of her femur, all the while adjusting her seat, flipping her hair, and then...chewing the piece of gum she popped into her mouth like a cow re-chewing it's breakfast. She admitted that the baby was being difficult, but that she managed to get all the pictures she needed. I was sent to see my doctor for the usual blood pressure check, and to see how much weight I had gained. Dr. Kennedy came in and went over the scans with me, showing me baby girl's strong heart, her brain that was developing, the shot that showed two functioning kidneys, and her astonishingly long legs, which the doctor thought had to be a mistake. "She's measuring really big, I think we need to do another scan to check this measurement..." I let her in on the fact that my handsome husband was a whopping 6'5", and that Keegan was also a very long baby. She seemed to accept that as being the reason for baby girl's super long legs. She said everything looked perfect.
As with most pregnant women (I refuse to believe I'm the only crazy one), I had my usual worries throughout my pregnancy. Was I eating the right things? Was the baby okay? How was Keegan going to adjust to being a big brother? How in the hell was I going to do this without my husband? How was I going to recover from a repeat cesarian section with a toddler and a new baby to care for? The usual frantic pregnant lady blunders. All the usual stuff, coupled with the history of miscarriage, and facing the birth of a baby without my husband kept me on the brink of sanity for the rest of the pregnancy.
Spring came and went and summer hit on the lake in Michigan. I was a swollen, sweaty, beach ball smuggling mess. I was trying to be a good mom to Keegan, my little ball of unlimited energy, all while trying not to be a narcoleptic beached whale...it was a tough balance. We spent our week days going to the park and getting ice cream, and our weekends out on the lake soaking up what little mommy and Keegan time we had left. I was documenting my growing belly in pictures for the husband to see, I was taking video of baby girl rolling around in my belly so he could experience the joys of baby #2 right along with me from halfway around the world. We tossed names around, always throwing them out, vowing to find one soon. All of our standby names had either become super popular since Keegan was born, or someone we knew had stolen them before we had our chance to name #2 (which is what my mom had started calling the baby, #2). We finally settled on a name, with a little less than six weeks left in the pregnancy. Adalynn Grace, Addy for short. My great grandmother passed away the previous summer, so we knew that we wanted her middle name to be Grace. Adalynn was something we compromised on because we originally liked Addyson, but everyone started naming babies Addyson. Adalynn just stuck.
Before I get to Addy's grand arrival, I should say that after the physiological ultrasound I did not have another ultrasound. I wasn't sure what was standard, with Keegan I had an ultrasound appointment after being hospitalized at 22 weeks with high blood pressure. I read the books, asked all my pregnant/mommy friends and the general consensus was that I would have a scan at 32 weeks. It didn't happen. I peed in the cup, they took my blood pressure, and they weighed me, and said that was it. I asked why I wasn't being send for the standard 32 week growth scan, and the doctor told me that because of the scheduled c-section, there really was no need for another ultrasound as long as my labs were fine and nothing was wrong. This made sense in my head. It didn't matter how giant the baby got, they were going to slice her out anyways, but it didn't stop the nagging in m head that I needed to see the baby, just to make sure everything was still okay. Call it mother's intuition, or just the overly paranoid lady who had been through two miscarriages, I felt like they should have done at least one more ultrasound to check on things. In retrospect, it wouldn't have changed anything, but it would have eliminated all of the drama and trauma from Addy's arrival.
And on July 22, 2013...our Adalynn Grace was born...and everything changed forever.
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