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.