The answer to our prayers

I am beyond thrilled to introduce our daughter, Megan Elizabeth.



She was born at 7:50 a.m. on Thursday, May 29, 2008, weighing in at 7 lbs. 8 oz. and measuring 19.75 in. long.

She's just perfect. Perfect.

I'll get to the details and upload more photos soon; I'm just a little busy these days.

Funny how a year changes things

I realized today that a year ago, actually being pregnant seemed like the furthest thing imaginable or achievable. I was gearing up for my laparoscopy, in what I perceived as a desperate attempt to explain my unexplained infertility. I had begun to look at adoption books, thinking that would be the only way I'd ever have a family.

Funny, how in just one year, my life is completely different.

No, I don't have my family yet, so maybe I shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch, but this is the closest I've been since August 2005. And, even though Gummy isn't here yet, her finding her way into my life has been more powerful than I ever thought possible. She's saved me from myself.

When I read my blog entries from last year, I can see that I'm a different person now and in a completely different place. There are still those huge potholes in my heart where my grief will always live, but there are now more than just glimmers of hope that co-exist alongside my sadness. There is actual hope deep within me that seems boundless, which is something I haven't felt in a very, very long time.

I had always hoped that being pregnant again and working toward a happy ending would bring me the joy I've longed for.

Maybe this is the start of some wonderful things ...

An almost 29-week update

I had another routine OB appointment this morning, as well as my glucose screening, and I'm happy to report that all is still well. I'll know the results of my glucose test in a few days and hopefully I'll pass with flying colors.

Gummy is actually measuring a little ahead at just over 30 weeks, but it's no cause for concern. Although, it could account for the almost two-pound weight gain I experienced in the two weeks since my last appointment. Oops. But, again, everything else is normal, so I'm not going to fret over little discrepancies like that.

My OB today confirmed that Gummy's birth day will be May 29, at the earliest surgery time he can get.

Wow.

This is all coming into much sharper focus. In just over ten weeks, I'll be meeting my little girl. Our little miracle.

I've been wrestling with some feelings of unrest concerning having a scheduled C-section. There is that dreamy part of me that longs to have a vaginal delivery. But, the practical side of me doesn't see the point in tempting fate and knows that a C-section is a very wise choice - especially since my labor didn't progress last time and attempting a VBAC is risky in itself.

I discussed this with my OB this morning, and he agreed that a C-section is the smartest way to proceed with Gummy's delivery. I have a different set of risks and concerns than many women, and he strongly feels that the best scenario is to have a C-section with its controlled environment. Attempting a VBAC could turn emergent at any time and he just does not want me to have that kind of worry.

I felt better after discussing this with my OB. I guess I needed that validation that this was the most sensible decision considering our history and I wasn't a wuss for conceding to that logic. Getting our baby here in the safest way possible is more important than any longing I may have. After all, her safe arrival is a successful delivery in my book, regardless of the manner in which it happens.

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I went to the fabric store on Saturday with a co-worker of Mike's who will be making some items for the nursery. It was a lot of fun selecting fabrics, but scary too. The trip reaffirmed that we're truly invested in and believe that we'll bring a baby home this time. I can't try to deny it any longer. I've opened up my heart, making myself vulnerable once again. It took a while to happen, but it's wide open and there's no turning back. Please don't let it get crushed again.

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Mike and I have been slowly painting sections in our house - tomorrow will be five years that we've been here and the majority is still painted in builder white. Even though we thought we'd take the low road regarding painting the nursery, we realized that my ever-growing belly isn't getting any smaller and is becoming a bigger obstacle. So, we may end up repainting the nursery sooner rather than later so I'm not leaving tummy prints on the freshly painted walls. (Okay, I admit that I did do this once - just once - over the weekend.)

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This upcoming weekend we have our 3/D ultrasound. We're both very excited about seeing Gummy again and can't wait to see how much she's changed since our last scan. Plus, our big ultrasound wasn't as "fun" as it is for most couples, with so much looming over us regarding her heart, so we're looking forward to a more relaxed appointment. I wonder if she'll have my chubby cheeks - either or both chubby sets.

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And, some gratuitious belly shots:

For comparison, at 25 weeks:


And, at 28 weeks, looking rather weary:


As much as I've been enjoying this ride, I'll be glad to step off.

The storm before the calm

Tomorrow is Gummy Bear's big ultrasound and, hopefully, the day I get to hear the words, "Your baby is perfect healthy" - with those words being truly accurate.

Ryan's ultrasound couldn't have been a better day for us - one that I cherish to this very moment. Mike and I playfully kept guessing if Ryan was a boy or girl, and it only took a moment after the ultrasound tech placed the transducer on my belly to see that he was indeed a little boy. And, what a beautiful little boy he was.

I wish so much that I could once again feel the innocence and joy I felt leading up to Ryan's big reveal, but I just can't. I have yet to feel distinct movement from this little one (we're sporting an anterior placenta this time around), so I'm somewhat disconnected from him or her. Plus, I physically feel so different this time than with Ryan, that if I didn't have the reassurance of the doppler, I'd swear I wasn't even pregnant, because I feel so normal. Just plump.

The holidays did a mighty fine job of preoccupying my mind so I didn't have time to conjure up every imaginable bad scenario out there. But now that the dust has settled and life is back to normal, every possible bad outcome is frighteningly vivid in my head. And I know that these thoughts are illogical, but that doesn't prevent them from popping up. I'm scared. I'm scared for us and scared for our little miracle baby.

I'm also terrified of history repeating itself - to go through a seemingly flawless appointment, only to be faced with a horrible reality in four months. Could life be that cruel? Absolutely. We all know it can be, so I can't pretend that I don't know what could happen, so I have to be prepared in case the other shoe really does drop. Tomorrow's appointment is Part 1 of 2, with Part 2 taking place on Tuesday in the form of a fetal echocardiogram. That's the appointment that will really tell us what we're dealing with, if anything. If we make it through that appointment unscathed ... well, let's get through it first.

All I can do is hope and pray that what I'm experiencing now is the worst of it, and after tomorrow's and Tuesday's appointments have passed, I'll be able to feel a sense of calm and be confident that we have received the most accurate diagnosis possible, and that this little one has been spared Ryan's fate.

Deep breaths commencing.

Adios, 2007

It was quite a year, in many respects.

Part of me is ready to close this chapter, but the other part of me isn't quite ready to turn the page for fear of leaving all the good stuff behind. It was hardly a stellar year by any means, but there were enough good things to make it a better year than the last couple have been:

I finally left an awful, unrewarding job to take the leap into self-employment.

Mike finally found doctors who offered good, sound diagnoses for his mental health issues and the last few months have been very kind to him - and us - emotionally.

We took a long-overdue vacation to Canada and were finally able to meet and visit with a dear friend and her Beloved.

After 26 gruelling cycles of trying to conceive, we finally grabbed that brass ring - and held on tightly.

We still have each other and are as much in love as we were at the beginning of this sometimes-difficult journey.

2008 is looking to be the year where a lot of sad chapters finally come to a close and we welcome bright, new beginnings.

Happy New Year.

Perspective

I've had lots going on in this noggin o' mine, but I was finding it too difficult to sit down and put things together in a coherent manner.

(I know - I've used that excuse before, and I apologize.)

I've been doing a lot of thinking about how things are now versus how I thought things would be if Ryan had come home. As much as I wanted and expected him to come home like most babies do, I now realize that his homecoming would've been nothing like what I hoped and dreamed it would be. There's no disputing he was a very sick little boy, and even if he had survived, it likely would've been months before he came home from the hospital. Even then, he would've been subjected to numerous heart surgeries, any of which could've prevented his homecoming and taken his life, too. It would've been a very tough life for both him and us.

And then I get to thinking about this beautiful little life that's growing inside me right now. He or she probably wouldn't have come to be without the loss of Ryan. I don't mean that in any sort of calloused way, but our life would've been so consumed with Ryan's treatment that there wouldn't have been room for another child in our life. And, as much as I still long for Ryan and wish he was here, I feel that this little one has the most special of guardian angels looking out for him or her.

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I'm extremely blessed to be in this position again - to form and nurture a new life. There have been several losses recently among my online support network, and it's made me really realize how fortunate I am. I am grateful every day that I wake up and find myself still pregnant, when so many other women are struggling to get where I am.

This pregnancy has brought me more peace and healing than I expected. It's been riddled with worry, too, but it's enabled me to put some of my demons to rest, once and for all. I had always hoped a subsequent pregnancy would do that, but I didn't know if I was setting my sights too high and what I really needed to do was find peace from within. Who knows - maybe I've done a little of both?

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Earlier this week I visited with my labor and delivery nurse - Robyn - that attended me with Ryan. I don't know exactly what has set her apart from so many people that I interacted with back then, but there's just something special about her. Plus, without her recommendation, I wouldn't be with my current OB, who I absolutely adore and respect.

Robyn periodically asks my OB how I'm doing and he told her I'm finally pregnant. (He had my permission, as I know this is a HIPAA violation in the usual sense, and I wouldn't want anyone thinking that my OB took it upon himself to tell her.) So, with the cat being out of the bag, I figured she was due a visit from me.

During our conversation, the thing that struck me odd was how highly my OB regards both me and Mike. To Robyn, he commended us for being so strong and for not giving up the pursuit of our dream. I guess it's really strange how different perceptions can be, because I don't view myself as being strong at all; I've merely done what I had to do with the lot I was handed. My desire to have a living child will always outweigh my fear of losing another one, and the only way to fulfill my dream is to not give up on it, because I would be giving up on myself.

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Three weeks ago I had my first trimester screening and ultrasound to assess my risk for Downs and Trisomy 13/18. All the baby's measurements were good and right on track, and after the combined results from my ultrasound and bloodwork, my risk for all conditions dropped significantly. I'm still at an advanced risk for Downs due to my age - getting old is soooo much fun - but the odds are 99.7% in our favor. Sigh.of.relief.

I'm still having trouble with this odds thing, but I'm working at putting more faith in what I've been told as being accurate. This is a really big thing for me because we were that 1 out of 139871943 cases (I made up the number, but our odds with Ryan were less than .0001% for him to have the combination of defects he had.), so it was 100% bad for us. And, it's an awful feeling when you're singled out and you're that "one."

Most of my friends and family feel that this little one is going to be perfectly healthy and get to come home since we've more than paid our dues. But, as most of you know, life doesn't reason things out like that, so I know in the back of my mind that the other shoe could drop at any time. We don't get a "get out of jail free" card just because Ryan died. It would be nice if there were guarantees like that, but there just aren't. It's life, not a board game, and I need to be prepared.

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On January 10th we'll have our Level II ultrasound to check the little one's anatomy, and hopefully we'll get a peek at "the goods." I'm feeling it's a girl this time around, as are most of my friends and family, but I'd love, for Mike's sake, if this current bundle was a boy. But, obviously, I want a healthy baby more than I want one gender over the other. Then on January 15th, we'll have a fetal echocardiogram to check his/her heart. This particular appointment has me feeling a bit anxious for obvious reasons. But, all I can do is hope for the best possible news at this point, because I can't change anything.

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Here's how our little miracle looked three weeks ago:

The first picture was the one decent profile shot the tech got. S/he still looks a bit alien-like, but definitely more baby-like. In the second picture, the tech turned on the 4D function and our little Gummy Bear looked like a little person - look at that face!

Keep breathing

This afternoon at 2:30, we're having our follow-up ultrasound to hopefully get a peek at the resident in my belly ... and to hopefully see a deal-breaking heartbeat.

I'm 7 weeks 5 days as of today. If we saw a gestational sac and a yolk sac at just shy of 6 weeks, surely there should be lots going on in there today, right?

But, I know from my own unfortunate experiences and from those of others that we may not get the good news we've been hoping and begging and praying and waiting for. And, I'm prepared for that. I just hope that all my preparation for disappointment will be for naught, and there will be a beautiful little flicker on that ultrasound screen.

Now I just have to remind myself to keep breathing.

No vacancy

I guess it's time to take the sign out of the window, because it seems that a new tenant is ready to take over Ryan's old home.

My first prenatal appointment was today, and I can't even begin to explain how relieved I am that it's behind me. The build-up to today has been agonizing and I haven't been sleeping well, thanks to overactive pregnancy hormones that are wreaking havoc on my once-peaceful slumber. It's a difficult thing when your safe haven (bedtime) suddenly becomes a battlefield, and all your fears and worries manifest themselves into terrifying nightmares.

But, apparently, vivid dreams are quite usual in pregnancy. Mine just aren't the normal kind of feel-good dreams with fluffy white clouds and beautiful rainbows. But, my life isn't like that, either, so I guess I can't expect my dreams to reflect that - at least not yet.

By today's ultrasound measurements, I'm six weeks along. There wasn't a definitive resident in that gestational sac, but there was definitely a yolk sac and lots of reason for us to trust and believe that our little resident will be moved in and settled within the next two weeks, when I have my follow-up ultrasound.

I'm very grateful that I have such a caring OB now, because I felt so abandoned by my last one after Ryan died. I was always met with pitying looks from the front desk staff the moment I entered the door. Everyone there knew what had happened, and I always hated the feeling of dragging my black cloud of doom with me into their happy baby practice. I was a sad reminder of what can happen, and I threw off their statistics. But my new OB, as well as all the staff, has been so hopeful in helping us grow our family. Sometimes I think Dr. B. had more faith in our success than I had in ourselves.

Today was difficult, too, because I couldn't stop thinking about Ryan. I looked at the picture of his sweet face that sits next to the bed, and I couldn't help but think about all the wonderful and exciting appointments he and I shared. And, I hate that he can't be there to share in them this time, too, as his little brother or sister makes their way into our life. I know he's there in spirit, but I'm missing the physical part of him that I can't have.

The next two weeks are going to go by terribly slow and I know there will be no guarantees at my next appointment, but I'm feeling positive enough that I'm ready to accept and believe that I can finally take down my "vacancy" sign and trust that this tenant is here to stay.

Is it a small world after all?

After Ryan was born, he was transferred to the "big" hospital, and I joined him the next morning. Since my OB didn't have privileges at the other hospital, my care was transferred to one of the attending doctors - someone I had never met before.

My new doctor and I kept missing one another throughout my hospital stay, as I spent the majority of my time in the NICU with Ryan, and my new doctor, Dr. S., was busy delivering babies. Our first exchanges were through handwritten notes that were left in my room, but Mike and I finally met Dr. S. just after dinner on the evening of August 11, a few hours before we lost Ryan.

I'm not sure how I expected Dr. S to look, but my idea wasn't anything close to the real deal. When he first entered my hospital room, I wondered to myself, "who is this geeky-looking doctor coming into my room?"

Dr. S.'s eyeglasses sat so low on his nose that I feared they'd slip right off his face and fall onto the floor. His stark-white doctor's coat was at least a size too small, and the wrong size was accentuated by the sole button pulling the coat together in the middle of his chest. His hair looked a bit disheveled. And, when he entered my room, it was as if a giant gust of air blew in, as his demeanor and personality were on the high-strung side.

He sat with Mike and me for a few minutes, asking how I was feeling and how Ryan was doing. The conversation lasted all of five minutes, before his pager beeped wildly, letting him know that another little life was ready to enter the world.

After Dr. S. rushed out of the room, Mike and I looked at each other with matching bewildered looks and commented, "That was strange."

And, it was strange. I'm not sure how else to explain that first encounter with Dr. S., because he was so different than all the other doctors and nurses I had met, that "strange" seemed to be the most fitting way to describe him. And, it wasn't a bad kind of strange - just a different kind of strange.

The morning after Ryan passed away, there was a flurry of visitors, some I don't even remember, regrettably. I mostly remember hearing lots of, "I'm sorry for your loss" and condolences of that nature, but not much else. My mind was too wrapped up in trying to accept the horror that had unfolded just the night before to be too concerned with remembering people's names or faces.

About mid-morning Dr. S. came by to check on me and to see how we were handling what had happened to Ryan. He pulled up a chair and said he had a few things to share with us that were important enough that he didn't want to beat around the bush, but he didn't want us thinking he was being insensitive - he only wanted to give us honest advice, both clinical and personal.

Dr. S. also lost a son. Again, my memories are somewhat sketchy on that last morning at the hospital, but I believe his son was killed in a car accident. So, he understood some of what Mike and I were feeling and wanted to offer his personal experience from what had happened when his own son died.

First, he told us that we could not allow what happened to Ryan to interfere with our marriage. He said the last thing Ryan would want would be for us to divorce because of losing him. He continued to explain that he had witnessed other couples experience what we had, and many parents began the blame game, blaming their spouse for what had happened. Both Mike and I assured him that that wouldn't and couldn't happen. And, we both sincerely meant that, as we knew that neither of us was to blame for what had happened.

Second, Dr. S. said that we shouldn't allow what happened to interfere with our dreams of expanding our family, because Ryan would want us to go on and give him brothers or sisters and be happy. Our lives shouldn't end because Ryan's did.

Lastly, he suggested that I begin taking 4mg daily of folic acid (the recommended dosage is a mere 400mcg), since there are many medical papers supporting evidence on the advantage of extra folic acid to help prevent heart defects.

Then Dr. S. asked if it would be alright to say a short prayer, and all three of us prayed together before once again being interrupted by his pager.

He wished us luck as he hurried out of my room, and once again, Mike and I were left wondering what had just happened, because Dr. S.'s visit left us both with a very powerful feeling. We both sat there, speechless, absorbing all of the honesty that Dr. S. had shared with us - honesty that came not just from him being a doctor, but also from being a person who's lived through a horrible experience, too.

Mike and I have reminisced several times about that moment with Dr. S., now more than two years ago, and we've both carried his wise words close to our hearts. During our painful journey with grief, Mike and I have never once blamed each other for what happened, and we both understand that it was a horrible, horrible fluke of nature that cannot be explained. And, even though at times we're fearful of having another baby with heart defects, it has always seemed that giving Ryan at least one sibling was the right path for us to follow. That decision may not seem logical to some, but for us, if our hearts are leading us in this direction, then it must be the right choice even if we can't understand why.

Yesterday afternoon I received a call from my OB's office with information for my ultrascreen appointment, which is performed between 11 weeks and 13.5 weeks of pregnancy. The procedure is similar to a level II ultrasound, which is generally performed around 20 weeks of pregnancy, but my OB (and the genetics counselor) both felt that the screening earlier in pregnancy would help to ease our fears a bit, since they know we need all the reassurances we can get.

The gal on the other end of the phone gave me the pertinent details (date, time, location), and then said, "Oh, and Dr. S. will be performing the ultrascreen."

I was very surprised to hear this, as I thought that Dr. S. worked solely out of the big hospital and figured he didn't handle appointments of this nature. So, I told the girl on the phone that I was very pleased to hear that Dr. S. would be our doctor that day, because we already had an established relationship with him and felt confident in his knowledge and understood our history.

When I told Mike that Dr. S. would be our doctor for the ultrascreen appointment, his face lit up and a huge smile spread across his face as he uttered an excited, "Really?"

So, is this newest development a coincidence, or is it really a small world after all? Either way, I couldn't be happier.

That light IS getting brighter

It seems that my last entry was unintentionally open to interpretation by others.

No, I wasn't referring to "that" when I last wrote ... but with this entry, I am:


After 25 cycles unsuccessful cycles, it seems that we finally grabbed that brass ring on this one. And we did it on our own. No fertility medications. No clinical procedures. No poking and prodding. (Pardon the pun!)

I don't think a word exists to describe how I'm feeling at the moment.

I was honestly reaching a point where I was having serious doubts about being pregnant again, and during the cycle when I least expect it to happen, it happens. Our chances were the same as all the past failed cycles, so I'm not sure what was different this time that magically made it happen.

It's still very early, so I'm hoping this little jellybean sticks and winds up healthy. I think I just signed on for the ride of my life, regardless of the outcome, so I'm hanging on tight.

Very deep breaths and tightly crossed fingers.

What is that?

Do I see a faint glimmer of hope off in the distance?

I'm not really sure, but I'm hoping it gets brighter.

I didn't want to invest myself so wholly into this cycle, but I have anyway. So, now, I just have to hope that the outcome is the one I've been dreaming of for so, so long.

Deep breath. Fingers crossed.

Who's still with me?

Sorry to leave you all hanging with last week's teaser entry. I just didn't want to jump the gun by sharing the thoughts in my head before I talked to Mike to get his take on things.

So ...

We both decided that we're not quite ready to give up on our dream of giving Ryan a biological sibling.

I know, I know. You must be thinking, "Would she make up her mind already?!" I apologize for being wishy-washy, since I'm usually very content in my decisions and choices and rarely renege.

But, choosing to hang on to hope that we'll have another baby is a valid reason to reconsider our decision to adopt. Right?

I kept having feelings of doubt about whether I was ready to move on to adoption. I guess that's a perfectly natural way to feel, but I just haven't been able to wholly embrace the thought of adoption. I can't tell you why I can't accept adoption, but I just can't right now. My heart is telling me that the time isn't right just yet.

This reassessment of our decision came about after Mike and I went out for dinner and were talking about his mental health and what things we could do on our own to aid in his treatment. (Surprisingly enough, we have some very open and honest conversations over dinner ... at restaurants.)

I, point blank, asked him what it would take to make him feel better about everything in our life. Without a moment of hesitation, his reply was, "For you to be pregnant ... but no pressure or anything."

So, his response sparked a new conversation - one where we decided that neither of us is ready to give up trying for another baby. He wasn't ready to jump back into the craziness of fertility treatments, which is completely okay with me because I wasn't ready for that, either. But, he has faith that we can do it on our own; our time just hasn't come yet.

Admittedly, my own faith was renewed a bit last week by the news that a dear friend is expecting twins. She's experienced fertility obstacles similar to my own and lost her sweet baby boy, too. Yet, she became pregnant on an unmedicated and unmonitored cycle! Yes, miracles do happen!

How can an outcome like that not have a positive effect on someone like me? She's living proof that until my doctor says otherwise, I still have a chance, too, of having another baby. I can't turn my back on that possibility yet. I just can't.

My fertility window may be slowly closing, but it's open enough that a miracle can squeeze through when I least expect it.

Here's to the return of hope ... cheers!