Crappy day

Well this one is hitting me like a wall. I don't know how it started. I've been feeling pretty bad ever since one of my friends' baby was born at 28 weeks and I saw her pictures on Facebook. It brought everything back so vividly. I can even hear the beeps of the alarms in B's NICU (neonatal intensive care unit). Then, for some stupid reason, I read about the new British Prime Minister, who lost a little girl due born prematurely. She was just 10 days old.

And here I am, bawling my eyes out while J is napping next to me. Tomorrow, O and B would have been 18 months old.

It's difficult for me to imagine how they would have been if they had survived. Since they were born so early, who knows what disabilities they would have had. Maybe they would have had cerebral palsy. Maybe they would have been blind, or deaf, or on an oxygen tank. Or maybe they would have been just fine. Happy, little twins toddling around with a big smile, black eyes and black curly hair. There are no words to explain how much I miss them and how much I would give my life just to hold them for one hour.

I feel so guilty, not only because J is here, warm, alive, healthy, happy, and that's more than a lot of people will ever have, but also because if O and B would have survived, then he would have never lived. They were our family: two children, one boy, one girl. Perfection. Many of the women in my support group speak of a huge gap in their family... I have lost my entire family and had to build a new one. The guilt is terrible... if it weren't for my sweet babies dying, this little boy would have never been. I can't imagine my life without his smiles and his baby smell, but I also want my twins back.

Crappy crappy crappy day

And then came a rainbow...

On Saturday 17 April, my life suddenly made sense again... Jeremy Alexander was born safely into my arms, screaming and healthy.

But let's back up a bit: as you all know, I was diagnosed with intrahepatic cholestasis of pregnancy at 35 weeks. This condition is what caused one of my friends' sweet baby boys to be born into Heaven. I was determined to monitor this very closely. Two days after my initial blood test, I went back on my own initiative to have another one taken. I didn't even tell my OB about it :-) The same evening (Friday), I was admitted to L&D for strong contractions every 20 min. My wonderful, dedicated, patient doctor had me stay overnight because I was worried and in his own words, he has learned that a mother's instincts are always right. In the morning of the 17th, he came in to see me and the contractions were gone. He said he would be back in the afternoon to sign my discharge form. He came back at 2pm, with a concerned look on his face: my "secret" blood test had come back and my acid levels had doubled in just 2 days. Jeremy had a 50/50 chance of making it to term, and no one was willing to risk it. I was immediately scheduled for a c-section even though the Bean was only 36w2d.

I called hubby, who was on his way to pick me up from the clinic, and told him that our baby was coming NOW. I think he had quite a few speeding tickets on his way to the hospital! I spent the next 1h30 with the doppler on my belly, being prepped for surgery. It was so surreal... I knew the Bean's lungs were at risk of not being mature enough, but since I had had two round of steroid shots during the pregnancy, it was most likely be ok. Walking into the OR, with the same anesthetist who was there for my stitch, with my husband by my side and my baby about to come was an incredible feeling. As I was laying on the table, I started crying uncontrollably because I was missing the twins so much. I think that I was getting the last crumbs of intense grief out, to be ready to fully welcome this new baby...

At 4.10pm, the silence in the OR was suddenly broken by the cry of a baby. I had never heard it and it was a complete, yet wonderful shock. The sheet in front of me was lowered and there was my baby boy! I think the image of this little man, screaming, kicking his legs, is going to be engraved in my memory for ever.

For the funny anecdote, my first comment was "he's tiny!" (5.4lbs) and my OB said "yes, but he's got a big willy! that's all that counts". Try laughing with a spinal and my belly opened... I love that man. If it wasn't for his dedication and his immense trust in maternal instincts, Jeremy might have never been born alive. Which is why our son's middle name is my OB's first name.

Hubby cut the umbilical cord, and then they put the baby on my chest for 10 minutes. It was the most amazing feeling. Even with a c-section, it was a wonderful experience. Great music playing on the iPod dock station, my arms were free, the anesthetist was taking the pictures so that hubby could focus on his newborn son, I could hold him and stroke him. He wasn't whisked away to a NICU. It was perfect.

While I was being stitched up, hubby went to the nursery with the pediatrician to check that everything was ok. I remember laying on the table, a bit dizzy, feeling like I was floating, and I kept telling my doctor:"Alex, seriously, thank you for everything". I was crying so much and I kept repeating "thank you, thank you, thank you." I was saying it to my sweet little angels O. and B., I was saying it to the world, to the cosmos, to God with whom I have finally made peace, to all the people that supported me during this pregnancy, to life, to destiny, to everything I could think of.

When I was wheeled back to my room, J. was still not there and I panicked a bit. I thought he was having trouble and the nurse was being a bit too cheerful for my taste! You know the tone that medical people take when something might be wrong but they don't want to worry you? That one. But it seems that everything was fine, and exactly 1h20 min after being born, J. was placed on my chest where he immediately started feeding! He stayed there for about 10 hours (I'm not kidding), because it's been proven that skin-to-skin contact is extremely beneficial for preemies. It was the shortest 10 hours of my life...

The rest is too crazy to write in just one entry. Suffice to say that J. is home, he is gorgeous, he is perfect, even when he wants to eat for 2h at 3am!

This baby saved my life. He is the light at the end of the tunnel. He turned darkness into light, death into life, sorrow into joy, despair into hope. They don't call them "rainbow" for nothing... O. and B. will always be our babies, they will always take a huge place in our hearts and in our lives. They are our guardian angels, a soft glow in our lives that will never go away. We have three children now, and it feels wonderful. I am so grateful to each one of you and to life in general. Miracles do happen, life does happen. I've got a baby to show for it

What's that now?

Ever heard of intrahepatic cholestasis of pregnancy? It's not only a word that can get you lots of point in Scrabble, or make you look very intelligent in a party. It's the name of a nasty pregnancy-related condition which affects 1-2 women in a 1'000. And guess what?? I'm one of them!! Lucky me.

To put it simply, it means that the levels of acids in the bile rise, spill into the bloodstream (and the placenta, of course) during pregnancy. If not managed in time, it can cause stillbirth. The only symptom is intense itching.
So when I started scratching my legs like a mad dog this weekend, I didn't wait a second and called my new favorite OB. He ordered a blood test and confirmed yesterday that I had this lovely disease. Oh joy. Just another thing to worry about.

After a massive breakdown last night, hubby called Dr. D. and got him to agree to deliver this little monster earlier than planned. The baby will still be full-term (37 weeks) and will be at less risk of stillbirth. Which means that I have another 7 days to freak out before finally holding our miracle in my arms. That's going to be 7 days from hell. Wish me luck!

Freedom is within reach

35 weeks 1 day: just 6 days to go on bedrest! Well, that's what I'm telling myself. My new doctor wants me to keep "taking it easy" until the end. And since I have no idea of what his idea of taking it easy implies, I'm going to do as I wish. I mean, the man was so not concerned about my cervix at the last check-up that he didn't even bother to measure it. Hence, taking it easy means no dancing, no marathon running, and no pole-dancing.

Oh ok...time to come clean: I won't be able to get off bedrest, even when I'll be allowed to. Boohoo. Let me explain. For the non-mums and non-pregnant ones, pregnancy is not as easy and glamorous as one might think. I'm actually very angry at Heidi Klum for spreading the image of a 9 months pregnant woman strutting around in heels and designer clothes, with a glowing skin and a big smile. Damn her. Truth be told, the third trimester is very ugly. My face is fat, my hair is impossible to keep under control, I have pimples popping up randomly, and I've lived in sweats for the past 5 1/2 months. But that's not what will keep me on my couch. My feet will. If I stand or sit for more than 30 minutes, my legs swell and my feet resemble furiously those of an elephant. Plus, they hurt. How the hell does Heidi bloody Klum manage to walk around in heels?!
My walking around in 6 days is promising to be very interesting and challenging.... I'll let you know how it goes. If you see someone hopping around in town, with very fat and red legs, that's me.

On the growth side, little Bean is still well, little. I will definitely have a skinny long-legged baby. But the little monster is growing within the same range so the new Dr. D. told me not to worry too much. Huh? Has he met me?? I have been worrying about every single little thing for the past 246 days. Worrying is my natural state of being. Good thing that it goes hand in hand with motherhood :-)

There's something new...

Let's start with the great news: I'm 34 weeks and my rock star of a cervix is measuring 3.8cm! I decided I would no longer worry about it, nor these stupid BH contractions.

But there is something new to worry about: the Bean is tiny...

On Monday, I got a call from Dr. G's office, telling me he had to take an emergency leave of absence. When I asked when he would be back, I got a very Asian reply:"we will keep you posted". They have mastered the art of talking while not saying much. A day later, I started hearing scary rumors. Hong Kong is a tiny place, with a small expat community who loooooves to gossip. I got a mail from a friend telling me Dr. G had had a stroke. What?! My cesarean is scheduled for the 29th and my doctor has a stroke?! Panic aboard. I needed to get to the bottom of this. So I called his office and my conversation with his nurse went like this:

Me:"I've heard Dr. G had a stroke, and I'd like to know where I can send flowers" (haha, lame excuse to get the truth out of her)
Her:"No, he didn't have a stroke"
Me:"Ah?..."
Her:"..."
Me: "..."
After 2 minutes of silence, I gave up and hung up the phone. Damn her.

I found another high-risk OB working in the same hospital, highly recommended by several women with pregnancies as complicated as me, and he agreed to seeing me. Very nice man, and very thorough. I like him a lot. BUT he freaked me out. My little Bean is apparently measuring 2 weeks smaller than he/she should be! The head is big, but the tummy is tiny. We're going to need to follow the growth very closely and...wait for it... possibly deliver early if the Bean is not growing well! Pardon my French, but WTF?! I've worked so hard to get to term, and now something I have no power over is going to make the Bean premature. It's so demoralizing and depressing.

I got home, worried, and then did what no pregnant woman should ever do: I googled. Google is an evil tool. Within 5 minutes, I was reading all about a condition called intra-uterine growth restriction (IUGR), that can cause stillbirth. A full-blown panic attack ensued before my hubby took the laptop away from me. I'm going to have to spend the whole week worried sick, overeating to try and get this little one to put on weight and not knowing what's going on. I'm honesly tired of this pregnancy. I just don't get a break.

Gotta go get preemie clothes and diapers now... :-(

Contracto, ergo sum

I just found an article that describes exactly the tribulations I am going through these days with my very pissed off irritable uterus:

My Uterus and the Terrible Twos

A lot of time and energy has been focused on my cervix, and rightly so, as it has been cause for concern, however, the real pain-in-the-ass, sulky brat of the family is my uterus. The cervix is the quieter one, gamely struggling along, trying its utmost to do its bit for the great good.

But my uterus…. What a total *****. I know you aren’t supposed to say that about your own body parts but I am nothing if not honest. As I have previously mentioned I suffer from an irritable uterus (it’s a real thing), but my uterus takes this medical diagnosis a step further is just plain bratty. My ute is exactly like a typical two year old toddler, going through that ‘terrible twos’ phase.

My gorgeous niece, who is two, is going through a similar phase, where her entire vocabulary seems to be made up of the phrase “I don’t like it”, said in an extremely whiney tone. If you make her orange juice, she doesn’t like it and wants berry juice etc. Her favourite dish from yesterday? She doesn’t like it today. Cheese? I don’t like it. This dress? I don’t like it. Ah don laaaaak ittt.

My ute is like that. But worse. Everything irritates my uterus. Full bladders, lying too long on one side, clothes that press even gently on my belly, the list is endless and sadly it is growing.

The equivalent of the ‘throw yourself on the floor tantrum’ behaviour exhibited by my uterus is for it to tighten up and get hard in the manner of a BH, bordering on a contraction. In other words behaviour requires my most immediate and urgent attention. Behaviour that if not placated will start off labour. My ute has got me by the balls.

As the list of “I don’t like it’s” gets longer, so my world gets smaller. My uterus has now decided that it HATES me to sit for longer than about 45 minutes. After this time it will make its displeasure clearly known and force me to lie down to appease it. So my favourite weekend pastime of going out for breakfast with my husband is no longer.

Apparently sitting in the passenger seat of a car is also now not acceptable. Any thing longer than 10 mins drive and I get a big BH. Which means I can’t attend the family gathering on Sunday for BIL’s b/day, or drive to the baby shop to get any more things. Funnily enough my uterus doesn’t mind me standing or walking around. I just may not sit as this squashes it and it ‘doesn’t like it’. Of course I can’t do lots of standing or walking because of my long-suffering cervix. So lying down it is. Which is a pity because I would love to use this time to write, but even half lying, half sitting is apparently a no no.

It would appear that my one little luxury left over, a facial, is also now no longer acceptable, after yesterday’s session my uterus performed the whole day. I have never met a sulkier brat in my life. Apparently lying on my back forces my uterus to squash a little and press on my bladder, my ute hates my bladder even about as much as it hates being squashed, lord knows why, and so now hates facials. If my poor bladder gets even slightly full and DARES to encroach on the ute’s territory, the ute will respond viciously with a severe tightening. Never mind that the ute is actually taking up space previously reserved for the bladder. The bladder is petrified. As am I to be honest.

And don’t think this sulky brat behaviour ends at night, oh no. We will go to bed apparently all on good terms, my cervix, bladder, uterus and I, when my uterus will decide my bladder has upset it somehow. Cries of ‘you’re in my space’ and other winging follows. And beware the consequences if I feign extreme exhaustion / sleep. A mother of all tantrums will follow with a tightening that basically forces me to get up, have a quiet word with my bladder, empty it to make space, make sure every one is happy again, rearrange the pillows and hope that we all go back to sleep. This happens several times a night, for example the previous night it was 11, 12, 12:20, 2, 4 and 5. And not just any pillow under my belly. The ute doesn’t like that pillow or the other one, only this one. I just love nighttime.

In fact sometimes the uterus gets so sulky I am not even allowed to rest my hands on my belly to feel the kicks and movement. Oh no. It just wants to be left alone.

Luckily for me I can recognize the signs of a tantrum coming on quite easily and can immediately distract my uterus, the only time I can’t is if I am sitting because then there is no stopping the irritable cow. Sigh.

And so, while my cervix the one forcing me to take it easy, it is my uterus that is completely ruling my life and defining my world. I am a slave to the whims of my uterus.

More drama

Oh boy...I'm getting so tired of having an incompetent cervix AND an irritable uterus.

Yesterday, at 33w2d (cervix still closed at 3.5 with only micro-funneling), I decided it was time to treat myself to a massage to ease my physical pain. And since one of my good friends was having her baby shower in one of the 5* hotels here, I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone and have the massage at hotel's spa. Before leaving, I starting contracting mildly but frequently. But as soon as I got into the taxi, it stopped. Then it started again when I got to the spa. Then it stopped when I laid down on the massage table. Then it started again, but stronger, after my massage. By the time I got down to where the shower was, the contractions were 30 seconds apart and coming hard. I only stayed 10 min and then excused myself to hurry home back to my couch.

BUT the Hong Kong Sevens are happening right now. It's part of the Sevens World Series in rugby and kind of a big deal. All the taxis were taken, I was standing at the hotel's taxi stand for 30 min, contracting like crazy and with no prospects of going home. And hubby was at those damn Seven's, incapable of getting to me. I had a meltdown right there, in the middle of Hong Kong, sobbing and hyperventilating. Things were really bad and I thought that I should go to that dreadful hospital. So I went back into the hotel, and lied to the concierge (a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do!), telling him that I was having my baby and needed to get into a taxi ASAP. Poor man, I think I freaked him out. Within 2 minutes, I was in the only available taxi around (how did he do that??) and I was on my way to the hospital. It dropped me off there, and by the time I was on the table for monitoring, I wasn't contracting anymore. All this was happening with hubby on the phone, going "what's happening? what's happening?". Luckily, I got discharged after 1h, back into a taxi, and home in my bed around 8pm. You can't imagine how miserable I felt, and am still feeling. I cried the whole way, the entire evening and a bit more this morning.
I know I'm doing this for the best reason in the world, but man it's tough! The ONE time that I want to see my friends who have been so supportive during these dark months, I have to make a mad dash for the hospital after 10 min. And all that time, hubby is at the biggest HK event of the year, drinking beer and having fun. NOT FAIR!

I whined and moaned all morning, telling the world (aka my husband and my dog) that I was fed up with this pregnancy, that I couldn't do it any longer. Then I got online, googled "34 weeks preemie" and that was enough to give me another boost in motivation to make it on bedrest another 2 weeks and 5 days. How come it's harder at the end than it was at the beginning?

I've cancelled any "wild" plans of getting out of my house for the next 19 days. That little experience cured of thinking that it was ok to move around a bit more now. Bouh :-(
I think I should send a thank-you card to the concierge of the hotel. Or I'll just send him a picture of the Bean once he/she is here!

32 weeks

...and I'm not even that excited. No that's not true, I'm happy to have reached 32 weeks, but only because it's on the way to 34. After my Chinese-public-hospital trauma, I will not relax until I'm safe to be accepted at the very nice clinic perched on the tallest mountain in Hong Kong. Yes, I'm superficial but I think that after 18 weeks of bedrest and with no prospects of ever getting off my couch, I deserve la crème de la crème.

Talking of bedrest, I raised the issue today with Dr. G.: when or rather, will I ever go off it?! All I could get from him was that he would progressively give me more freedom "depending on how my body reacts". Ugh, that's not good news. My body usually reacts to more activity by contracting more. I'm trying to prepare myself for the possibility of a 22 weeks bedrest. That's right, that's 5 1/2 months of my life spent laying on a day bed in my living room.

Now for the good news: despite all the contractions, the beloved cervix remains closed at 3.5cm, which is wonderful. And the big headed Bean is growing well. Yes, my baby has a big head. But it's filled with brains and my baby will be the most intelligent baby ever.

We met a doula for the first time today. (A birth doula is a labor support person who provides continuous emotional, physical, and informational support to the birthing woman and her family before, during, and after birth).
I was afraid she was going to be some hippy trying to force us into a natural birth, at home, in a bathtub. But she was absolutely lovely, modern and didn't say anything against our decision to have a planned c-section. On the contrary, she was very supportive, talked us through the whole process and made us feel very comfortable about it. I was on the verge of tears throughout the entire meeting, not only because of my raging hormones, but because we finally met someone who understands what we are going through and takes all the parameters into account. In short, I love her.
She gave us the idea of burning a CD to play before and during the surgery, to make us feel better. The idea is wonderful, but hubby has already put "Gimme Shelter" (yes, the original version!) on the playlist. Note to self: must remember to switch CDs before leaving for the hospital.

A night in a Chinese public hospital

As us French say: oh la la! I just got home from the most dreadful 24 hours of this pregnancy.
Saturday (yesterday), I got into a bit of an argument with hubby which, if I have to be completely honest, was prompted mostly by my raging hormones. But let's not tell him that.
Anyways, I got so upset that I started to have contractions every 30 to 90 seconds. As I have a very irritable womb, I just tried to calm down and see if it would go away. It didn't. After 4 hours of suffering, I had had enough and we headed to my OB's private clinic for monitoring. This time, the nurse was much nicer! But once again, I had to explain my entire history, with much details. I'm getting a bit fed up with the face people pull when they hear the twins' birth weight. Oh well.
After 10 minutes of monitoring, it was confirmed that I was indeed having small contractions every 30 seconds. Dr. G. ever so conservative, said he didn't want to take any chances. I thought that meant I would spend the night in his very luxurious clinic, in a nice private room. How wrong I was...

Within 15 minutes, he had informed the biggest public hospital in Hong Kong that has a NICU (neonatal care unit) that I was on my way AND booked an ambulance for me! I freaked out slightly, especially since I was hoping not to have to spend time in the hospital during this pregnancy. Also, I am quite traumatized from last year's experience. I hate ambulances and I hate hospitals. Thankfully, hubby was allowed in the ambulance with me.
When we got there, I was put in the most hideous bright pink hospital gown and they immediately strapped me to plenty of monitors, while doctors poked and prodded me. I was still contracting, but I couldn't feel all of them anymore. The cervix looked long and closed, and the Bean was moving well.

Now, about that hospital: try and picture a Third World hospital. Something you only see on TV. Well that's where I was. Sort of. Ok, I might be exaggerating a bit but it was dreadful. The only visiting hours are from 6-8pm, even for husbands! Everyone is walking around in these bright pink outfits, with plastic slippers and socks, which deeply offended my inner fashionista. All the beds are next to another, without any privacy other than rainbow colored curtains. Let's not even talk about the bathroom. That's right, singular. The lights are only dimmed at night, and everyone around me was moaning, tossing, turning, coughing, texting, etc. I barely slept. The food is very Cantonese: I had congee (a very viscous rice porridge) and a boiled egg for breakfast. My diet for the whole time there consisted of the Twix, Mars and Snickers that hubby had gotten from the 7/11 downstairs.
One of my friends who spent 12 weeks on strict bedrest at the luxurious private clinic, followed by a week at this university hospital said that 3 hours there were worse than the whole 12 weeks before.

The next morning, I got monitored again. If I was still contracting, they would keep me another few days. But luckily, everything was quiet (by my standards) and I was finally allowed back home. I will never ever complain about home bedrest, I swear! I love my bed, I love my couch, I love my home-cooked meals, I love my computer, my TV, my home.

I went into the hospital, and came back out with the Bean still in my belly. This is my biggest victory so far.

Could I be getting used to this?

As I enter my 17th week on bedrest, I find myself having less and less bedrest-related tantrums. Usually, I would break down at least once a week, cry, rage and make my poor little hubby's life absolutely unbearable for a whole evening. Imagine a grown woman having the same tantrums as a 2 year old, but horizontally. Yep, that's what I look like during these "episodes".

Nothing incredible happened this week so I'm puzzled as to how zen has overtaken my life on bedrest. Maybe it's because I've spent a whole week being nearly contractions-free (oh wait, did I jinx it now??). Or maybe it's because I'll be 31 weeks tomorrow and that brings me a whole week closer to the Holy Grail of Pregnancy: 34 weeks. At 8 1/2 months, I can deliver at a regular hospital, not one that has a neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) and the Bean would not suffer from long-term health damages nor stay for more than a week or so in the hospital. Getting me there is Dr. G's ultimate goal. Any week further is pure bonus, according to him. And since the Bean has already gotten the steroid shots to mature the lungs, all is well in High-Risk Pregnancy Land.

Getting back to my new found state of zen. Could it be that I've be institutionalized?? Did bedrest break my natural rebelliousness? I'm very ashamed to admit it, but I'm starting to feel quite comfy on this bed. Being vertical brings all kind of aches and pains that - I am told - are common to the 3rd trimester of pregnancy. My back hurts too much, my feet swell and I waddle. Yes, waddling hurts. Well, it hurts my pride. I have turned into a sea elephant that's quite happy to lounge on the beach (couch) all day. I don't even know what I would do if I were suddenly taken off bedrest. Which I'm not even sure is going to happen anytime soon. When I asked my beloved Dr. G. about it, he wiggled his head in pure Bollywood style like only Indians can do and said "maybe". Hmm...what should I make of this? Is it maybe yes or maybe no?

Not that I really care anymore. All I would like is to be allowed to sit behind my sewing machine a few hours a day. Oh, and to go shopping for baby stuff. And a nice cup of (decaf) coffee with my girlfriends wouldn't hurt either! But as soon as I set foot on the ground, all these fantasies go out the door as I am painfully reminded of my huge and clumsy body. So it's back to the couch. Aaaah, that feels good...!

30 weeks

Ha! I made it to 30 weeks! I honestly NEVER thought I'd make it that far but here I am :-) And I'm not even complaining about all the aches and pains of the 3rd trimester. Well at least, not too much.

The journey to get here has been long and difficult. And it's not even over yet. I've been having so many Braxton-Hicks contractions that I was convinced I'd go in labor at 29 weeks. I've spent 114 days on bedrest so far. My hips are shot, my legs are hairy, my face is puffy, my back is killing me but hey! I'm 30 weeks! I'd never thought I'd be happy to be in my 30's...

Quick Bean update:
Heartbeat is good (I should know; I check it every 10 minutes on my doppler), fluid levels are good, movements are good but a bit erratic due to my anterior placenta and growth is good. Bean now weighs 1.6kg (3 lbs 5 oz), which is double of my little boy and nearly triple of my daughter's weight. Oh, and my cervix whom I now love and revere measures 3.6cm, without any funneling nor dilation. Yipee!

The only problem is, things have been going so well that it can't possibly last that way. Can it? I keep waiting for something bad to happen. Oh, the journey of a high-risk subsequent pregnancy on bedrest...

29 weeks

Busy busy week. Tuesday, I had to go to the hospital to get the steroid shots to mature the Bean's lungs, just in case I go into labor early. These shots have to be taken 12h apart, so after my first shot in the morning and a few hours on my dear couch, hubby and I decided that enough was enough and that we deserved some real couple time. Before going back to the hospital, we treated ourselves to the amazing Avatar 3D movie and some popcorn. I didn't run around, I didn't walk more than needed but man it felt good to go out with my husband!

But by the time we got back to the hospital, the Bean hadn't moved in a very long time, which is very unusual. Especially given all the brownies, popcorn and soda I had had. I immediately went into panic mode but I was trying to control myself. I told the nurse that I hadn't felt any movement for more than two hours, hoping that she had a doppler somewhere in her pockets (don't all nurses do?). She paged my OB, who told me to come straight up to labor and delivery ward to get monitored. By then, there was no more controlling my panic. I nearly fainted in the lift - I couldn't bear the thought of losing another baby and I was a total mess. We were ushered into a delivery room with a midwife. I laid on the table and she strapped the monitor to my belly. 2 minutes of utter silence. According to hubby, I turned a greenish white. All the while she was looking for the heartbeat, the midwife was asking me STUPID questions about the twins! She didn't even say "sorry for your loss" or anything like that. She saw my c-section scar and asked what it was. I was like, what do you think it is?! Then she asked me why I hadn't delivered the twins naturally, even though she knew I had a stitch in. I told her they had done an emergency c-section and all she had to say was:"but why? I mean, at 25 weeks, it's not worth trying to save them". I took all I had not to punch her in the face.

Anyways...coming back to the current baby. Finally, there was a heartbeat! And lots of kicks, but I couldn't feel any of them. We could hear them on the monitor, but my belly was still. Blood came back to my face and I was all shaky. I was monitored for about 1h, after which Dr. G. came to see me. According to him, the Bean has turned towards my back and since I have an anterior placenta, it's no surprise I couldn't feel anything. Phew!

Thursday was my regular check-up (3.5cm, thank you very much) and since it was Cheating On Bedrest Week, I went to my friend's baby shower. I was so much fun! The only problem is that I am really not accustomed to seeing more than 2-3 people at the same time anymore. I didn't know where to look, who to talk to or what to do! Prolonged periods of bedrest have apparently turned me into a socially inept woman. I wish I could've stayed longer and worked on my social skills but I felt so guilty being away from my couch that I quickly got a taxi back home. Then I decided that this coming week, I would do penance for having been such bad bedridden Mommy: I am not going to leave my couch for anything else than sleeping and bathroom trips! I really won't. Strict bedrest, like in the old days. Ugh.

Third trimester, here I come!

Ha! I made it! I am now officially in my third trimester of pregnancy, a stage I've never reached before. It feels totally exhilarating, even if all the books, friends and websites say it's the most uncomfortable time of a pregnancy. But to me, it's a small victory and I'm looking forward to these 10 last weeks of uncomfort.

My 28 weeks check-up yesterday showed the same amazing cervix holding firm at nearly 4cm, which for someone who was born with a 3cm cervix is completely unbelievable. The Bean is also doing very well, spending its days hiccuping (which I am told by Dr. G. that it's a very healthy sign) and is now 1.2kg (2 lbs 6 oz). That's more than double the weight of my little girl. If the Bean were born now - but I'm working on that not happening - its chances of survival are 96%. The risks of long-term damages are still pretty high, which is why my beloved Dr. G. is going to give me the lung maturation steroid shots next weeks. Just in case. Last year, all my doctors at the hospital were all desperately waiting for me ot reach 24 weeks so they could give me these shots, and the last one was given to me while I was in labor. It's such a weird feeling to hear my OB tell me that it's only a precaution and that he doesn't think I'll go in preterm labor! But it's a nice feeling :-)

I've decided to treat myself as a reward for making it this far, after exactly 100 days on bedrest. I am going to have a wax! Don't laugh. And don't pull that face either. You have no idea what it feels like to see my body go to waste. When you spend more than a quarter of a year on bedrest, your body image and self-esteem takes a blow. The only areas of my body that I can take care of are my face, my hands and to some extend, my belly (not stretch marks so far, yay!). I give myself mini-manucures once a week and do tons of these awesome Japanese sheet-masks that make you look like a ghost but leave you with the softest skin. Everything below my belly has not been given any TLC for a while, since I cannot reach it anymore. So today, super hubby is driving me to the nearby day spa and will pick me up when I've said my goodbyes to my hairy self. Now if only I could also manage to go to the hairdresser and have a pedicure...

Cold, insomnia & bedrest

I'm very cranky these days: I've got a cold and I cannot sleep anymore.

See, the thing about being ill and insomniac while pregnant, is that there is not much you can do about it. Most medication is not suitable for pregnant women.
I googled "cold during pregnancy" and this is what came up:

- Drink lots of water: no kiddin'... not only am I drinking about 2L water a day (that's half a gallon, my American friends)
- Drink tea with honey and lemon: I've had so much of this, I'm sick of it and it's not working.
- Put a humidifier in your room: I live in Hong Kong, it's like living in a giant humidifier.
- Rest a lot: hello? What do you think I'm doing all day long?

So I called my OB's office to know what more I could do, and the nurse cheerfully told me to drink lots of water and rest a lot. I controlled my crazy pregnant self instead of shouting abuse to her, and calmly told her that I was already on bedrest and if I drank any more water, I'd become liquid myself. And oh miracle, she said I could take Panadol and Strepsil! Hallelujah. You should have seen the smile on my face when my housekeeper came back from the pharmacy with the goodies.

That leaves only one problem to solve: insomnia. Another quick googling informed me that 78% of pregnant women suffer from insomnia. While I appreciate that misery loves company, that fact is not going to help me sleep. I wake up every night at 5am, then cannot go back to sleep until about 7am. And since I am not a napper, I spend my days in a sleep deprived state. Which is not helping with the above mentioned cold. Some might argue that it's a good thing, that my body is preparing me for motherhood. Thank you, body, but I'd rather stock up on sleep while I can. My middle-of-the-night googling kindly informed me of what I could do:

- Drink a cup of hot milk: that sounds very nice, but how do I get my hot milk, when it's 5am, that hubby is on business trip and that I'm alone in the house? Huh? How do you suppose I do that?
- Sleep in a recliner: the only way I am allowed to spend my life - ok, the next 3 months - is horizontally.
- Get up and do something else, such as reading a book, listening to some music, etc.: my problem begins at "get up".

How I long for the days of medication and sleeping pills. I hate bedrest.

One year

Yesterday was the twins' first birthday. I got so stressed about it in the days leading up to it that I was having constant Braxton-Hicks contractions. Luckily, they were not changing my bum cervix, but they're not nice to have either. If you've ever tried them, they feel like someone is doing abs for you: your whole abdomen gets tights and you get slightly out of breath. Try doing that once every 8 minutes!
The waterworks started on the eve of their birthday. I didn't want it to be already a year. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet it seems like it was yesterday. I can't believe I'm still standing and that my marriage is stronger than ever. I never thought i could live without them, yet here I am. My babies have shown me so many beautiful things in this world, through my tears. They are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. The grief is still there, lurking in the background. I know it will never go away, but I know how to let it wash over me when it comes. Their Dad and I think of them every day. We miss them every minute of our lives and they are a part of us forever. But they have sent us a new life, kicking and swooshing inside me (yes, babies swoosh) and this gives us hope. There might be a future after all...

On the medical side, things are absolutely great. Wait, is that going to jinx it? Ok, let's say things are good, so far - knock on wood. Mr. Cervix is behaving, at 3.8cm despite this week's contractions and guess what Dr. G. said?! When I asked him how often he wanted to see me from now on, he replied that he would see me every week until 38 weeks. He actually thinks I can get to 38 weeks!!! Wooohoooo! Oh, and things get better: he already told me that I would be off bedrest at 34 weeks, in just 8 weeks. Thank God for that, because my veins are popping on my hips, my back is killing me and my legs are hurting all the time. The usual joys of bedrest. Really need to get that massage this week or come 34 weeks, I won't even be able to stand up anymore.

The birthday girl

Back to the world, after a 5 days internet crash!

I am now one year older and none the wiser. AND I got to go out for my birthday!! I went to check up on my beloved cervix on Thursday and lo and behold it measured a whooping 4cm! That's the best measurement so far. My cervix has suddenly become the king of cervixes. After seeing those wonderful numbers and the even more wonderful baby, my OB gave me permission to go out for lunch as long as I didn't walk to much and kept it under 1h. Which I did.

Oh the feeling of fresh air on my face. Friends sharing a meal with me, sitting at the table. Dumplings on the beach. Holding my hubby's hand. I don't think anyone can understand how wonderful it felt.
It was a good thing my outing was limited to one hour, because I very soon started to be sore all over. My body is not used to being upright anymore, or to carry the weight of my bump. I was kind of relieved to get back on to my couch: how sad is that? Friends came and went all day, and I received so many flowers my house now look like a funeral house (in a good way, if there is such a thing).

This delightful weekend was topped off by the victory at the Aussi Open of my fellow countryman, the one and only, the Master, the Genius: Roger Federer! The third set was so nerve-wracking I started having contractions and had to hide under the covers for the entire tie-break to avoid stress-contracting. Did I mention I was a total Federer fan? I am the ridiculous girl with a Swiss flag painted on her face at all games, waving a Swiss flag and ringing a Swiss cow bell. Yup, that's me.

Lil bro visiting

My little brother is over visiting from Europe for a week. It is his first time in Asia, and it's literally killing me not to be able to show him around. I love the city I live in, and I wish I could share all the wonders of this place with him, but no, I'm stuck on this couch, giving him subway directions. Bouh.
Luckily, I have the best husband in the world, and he is taking time to take my brother to all the cool places, the horse races, the bars, etc. Just wish I could be part of the fun! Oh well...

Another good thing about having my brother over, apart from his company, is all the wonderful Swiss chocolate he brought me. I had the brilliant idea of putting it (my husband calls it "hiding it") in a box under my daybed, and I can munch on it any time I'm a bit hungry. Unfortunately, it is a known side-effect of Swiss chocolate that you are always hungry when it's in the proximity of where you spend 14h a day. Another side-effect is that it makes me look like a baby walrus. I should probably stop going through half a bar in one go, twice a day. Or I should stop complaining about my bum being pregnant as well. Either one. I think I'll go for the latter, because you can't take another benefit of pregnancy away from me! It's bad enough that I can't show off my bump all over town, go to prenatal yoga classes, shop for maternity clothes (oh wait, I do that. Ok, scratch that one), go to antenatal classes and buy stuff for the upcoming baby: don't take stop me from stuffing my face! It's the last thing I've got. Oh don't I sound melodramatic...

The good news today is that I am reaching 25 weeks! That's my first milestone. So now everybody cross their fingers for my OB appointment tomorrow morning. If all looks good, I will ask him if I can go to the restaurant for my birthday on Saturday. So if I get permission from Dr. G, I'll walk from the car park, to the restaurant (35 steps, I counted last time), holding my husband's hand (which I haven't done in 3 months). Bliss...

Now go cervix, go! Make it happen! I'll give you more chocolate if you measure above 3.5cm!

Life on pause

The thing that people fail to understand with bedrest, is that we "bedresters" spend our lives waiting for everything.

Take now for instance: I am hungry and mouth-watering at the idea of a granola bar (don't ask me why). Well, the lady who helps around the house is out walking my dog and she won't be back before another 30 min. So, I wait for my granola bar. Or, it's getting dark now but no lights are on. No one is home, so I wait in the dark. Or I would need more little squares of fabric for the quilt I'm making for the Bean, but I need to wait until my sewing girlfriend comes over and can cut them for me. So, I wait for my little squares of fabric. Starting to get the picture?
And it's like that for literally everything! I need more of our pictures printed to finally finish the wedding album, I need stamps, I need to wrap the baby gifts for a friend, I need to get the nursery started, I need to look for a new apartment since the family is getting bigger, I need to sort out all the paperwork that's accumulating on my desk, I need to help organize a friend's baby shower, I need to get a new cartridge for the printer. I need, I need, I need.
See what I mean?

Before life on bedrest, I was the girl who always got everything done. My dear friend M. compares me to some mutant born of the union of Monica Geller and Bree Hodge-Van der Kamp. To-do lists were my lifeline and efficiency my second name. Now I'm just laying here, with my life on pause, and not getting anything done. Buhuhu.

Now I'm starting to see what Elizabeth I or Marie-Antoinette's lives were like: you can't do anything by yourself and get up to get that book if you bloody want to! But at least, they got to rule countries and live in Versailles.

One of these days...

Today is one of these days.
A day when grief grips you in its icy claws and won't let go. A day when I cannot overcome the violence of the loss, nor the overwhelming fear of losing again. The events from the night I gave birth to the twins and the two days of my son in the NICU come back to me with all their violence and sadness. The months of intense grief when all I could do was stare at the wall, numb with pain. I am afraid of reliving it all, with this baby. I know it could all happen again. I can't do anything else than crying today. Lack of sleep and bedrest make things even worse. Just one of these days...

Packages

I might as well be honest with you all: I am, always have been and always will be a serial shopper. Try as he might, my lovely husband never managed to put a halt to it. A damper, yes. A halt, definitely not. As soon as the bedrest sentence fell, I could see the relief in his eyes, knowing I wouldn't be able to shop for the next 6 months. Little did he know what would happen... *evil laugh*

ONLINE SHOPPING! Ha! He thought he could take me out of the shops but he didn't see THAT coming! And it's all benefit is double for me: not only do I get to fulfill my need for shopping, but I get plenty of packages every week, delivered right to my door! It's like gifts! For me! By the time they get here, I've forgotten that I paid for all that, which makes it all the better. My favorite is buying books at The Book Depository: not only do they deliver worldwide for free, but they ship the books one at a time. So all I need to do is buy 10-15 books at a time, and I'm guaranteed 10-15 days of packages. How clever!

My only issue is that Chinese postmen are very scared of big, black dogs like mine. To be fair, the "Caution! Fierce dog inside!" sign I have on my gate might not be helping. So they either try to call out from the front gate of my house or better yet for them, just drop a notice in my mailbox. My poor cleaning lady is now making daily trips to the post office for me. Note to self: must give her a raise very soon.

A new kind of packages has begun to arrive. They don't have a receipt attached to it, and they are filled with love, gossip magazines and candies: my friends from all over the world are rallying to help me survive bedrest! I'm moved to tears every time I get a card or a package from them. Especially from the ones I've never met. You see, after we lost the twins, I joined a fantastic online support group for grieving mothers. There, I've made the best friends, who understand what I am going through and who've been at my side from day 1. They have never met me, live on the other side of the oceans, and they are helping me survive the bedrest and the anxiety of this pregnancy. And that, is worth a thousand packages from American Apparel.

24 weeks

Quick update: I finally managed to see my dear Dr. G. and all seems to be going well. I was complaining about all the aches and pains that come with strict bedrest and he started showing me all the exercises I could do when I got up to go to the bathroom. Hilarious to see this little Indian man wiggling his hips and standing on the tip of his toes! Oh, and I have the right to...wait for it...have a massage at home!! It may sound completely trivial to you, but to me, it sounds like Heaven. Aaaah, to have someone rub my back and my legs... Wait, does that mean I have to shave now? Right, first task will then be to find someone who can help me with that. Anyone?

When I got home, my dog was super excited to see me in a vertical position. She quickly put on a very annoyed, yet resigned look when I layed back on my daybed. She must think I'm the laziest human being ever.
Before my bedrest, she would tap at the door if she wanted/needed to go out. Then when I started laying on the couch all day, she would be very confused that I didn't react to her tapping. Now the poor thing walk to the door, looks at me, sighs, then goes back to her basket. I'm trying not to take it personally that my dog thinks I'm a looser.

Waiting on an old Indian man...

Once again, I am waiting. Every week, I have to see my high-risk OB and every week, he is about 3-4h late. Hmph... Don't get me wrong: I love my doctor. He is this old Indian man with a hilarious accent. Picture the Indian shopkeeper from the Simpson's with a lab coat.

He did a wonderful job with my cerclage and is like the superstar of OBs in Hong Kong. That's precisely where the problem lays: everyone wants to see him. The other problem is his trade: delivering babies. Babies have that annoying tendency of not respecting other people's doctor's appointment! They just show up whenever they feel like it, disrupting my entire schedule.
Now that I think about it, I don't recall a single time where he actually was on time for my appointment.

Now here's the thing about my weekly cervix check-ups: they are my only social outing of the week. It's the only time where I get to put makeup on, cute maternity clothes, shoes and to see people. You have no idea what a treat it is for me! I start thinking of what to wear days in advance, daydreaming about accessories and color-coordination. The morning of the appointment, I wake up as excited as a kid on Christmas day. You are probably thinking that I am a complete moron, but try living on your couch all week and you'll see what an outing will do to you.

So today, I have this new maternity top and I managed to squeeze myself and my big belly into a size 36 maternity trousers. This is probably the last time that'll happen, given that I am now happily gaining about 1kg (about 2 pounds, for my US readers) a week. Then I get to wear makeup, which I apply laying down in bed. It took me about a month to master this skill but I no longer look like a hooker or a sick person. And then I got the call..."Dr. G. has a patient in labor, we will call you when he gets into the office". AAARRRRGGGHHHH.

On my couch, all dolled up, super incomfortable in those pants but hey, you gotta suffer for fashion, waiting for an old Indian man...

About me

In January 2009, I was 21 weeks pregnant with twins. A boy and a girl. It was my first pregnancy, I was young, I was healthy and everything was going well. Right after New Year's, I went in for a routine check-up and was immediately put on strict hospital bedrest: I had a severe case of cervical incompetence and was about to lose the pregnancy. The doctors performed an emergency cerclage the day after. Basically, it's a stitch sewn around the cervix to prevent it from opening prematurely. It is usually performed much earlier in the pregnancy, before any changes occur in the cervix. Done this late in the pregnancy, the risk of infection is much higher.

After a month in the hospital, an infection made its way in the placentas. I went into labor and there was nothing to do to stop it. At 25 weeks, my babies were actually in the viability zone. But the infection was too much for them to fight: my daughter died after only 30 minutes and my son left us after 2 days in the NICU.

We were shattered, heart-broken and devastated. After much grieving, counselling, crying, doctor-shopping and talking, I got pregnant again. This time, we know what we are up against and although it is very scary, we are trying to keep the faith.

My cerclage was done at 14 weeks, and I was then immediately placed on full bedrest. I have the right to go from the couch to the bedroom, take one shower a day (sitting on a stool, like my GrandMa) and go to the bathroom. Other than that, I have to lay on my side. I have been doing this for nearly 10 weeks now, and I'm pleased to say that things are going well. My OB is happy and I am happy he's happy. I will be 24 weeks in 2 days, entering the viability zone.

This blog is about my journey through cervical incompetence, cerclage, grief, bedrest and hope.