Sleepless

While pregnant with Frank, I had an awesome condition called pregnancy rhinitis.  I've had seasonal allergies my whole life but this was different.  No itchy eyes, but buckets of snot in my nose, in my throat, and in my tummy (not helping the morning sickness any).  I started supplying my own tissues at work because the government-subsidized ones just weren't cutting it.

At night the post-nasal drip was my enemy.  I tried everything pregnancy-approved--neti-pot, saline spray, humidifier, sleeping sitting up, everything--but my throat hurt with each swallow and sleep was elusive.  I told myself it was good practice for when Frank arrived and tried to grab sleep when and where I could.

Then on a Monday night in early February I reached my breaking point.  I was so tired and so frustrated.  I got out of bed feeling flushed with my heart racing.  My husband asked what was wrong and I started crying.  I couldn't sleep and I felt funny and I didn't know what to do.  I told him I was scared to go to sleep.  We both thought I was having a panic attack so I rode it out and tried for sleep again.

I still couldn't fall asleep in bed so I went to the recliner.  That didn't work so I tried bed again, this time with more pillows.  I still couldn't sleep.  I tried the couch, putting in a DVD that I know so well, I doze off to it often.  That didn't work.  I was still scared to fall asleep.  Then that feeling returned--heart racing and feeling hot all over without actually having a fever.

I took out my blood-pressure cuff that my doctor had earlier told me to hide from myself fearing that I would worry unnecessarily each time my BP was slightly elevated.   188/108.  I woke my husband up and told him we needed to go to the hospital, then called the on-call physician who agreed with my decision.

That's when everything started unraveling.  That's why even now when I can't fall asleep, I think of Frank and that night and the weeks that followed. 

One

One.  We only planned on having one.  One child would be perfect, we thought.  So when we found out there was a serious problem with this pregnancy, it felt strange to start thinking about the next.  It felt like we had our one, our Frank, and thinking about another baby was like cheating on him.  But it was the only hope we could feel at the time and we let it in.

Yesterday, three months after delivering our Frank, we received the autopsy results.  Our baby was as perfect as possible, small but "grossly normal."  Such an odd turn of phrase but that's what it says.

What wasn't normal was the placenta.  We knew there had been a blood clot and thought that was all that kept Frank from getting what he needed to continue growing.  We had been told that, barring any other complications, the chance of having another placental blood clot in a future pregnancy went from 1 in 1000 for the general population to 1 in 100.  1% was something I could accept.

As we sat there in the doctor's office I thought we would get the same information as before.  That didn't happen.  The placenta was a mess.  My chronic hypertension, which up until the end had been well controlled, screwed up everything.  The placenta was a quarter of the size it should have been and the vessels were severely damaged.

So what does that mean percentage-wise?  The doctor said he didn't know exactly and would be referring us to a specialist but best-case 30% chance of recurrence.  Not 1%; 30%.  That's a helluva gamble.

I'm scared.  I want a baby.  Right now I want the baby I had--I want Frank--but I know that someday I want to try for a healthy little brother or sister for him.  I want to nurse my baby; not just have painfully swollen breasts and another baby to bury.  And I don't want to become so detached from a pregnancy, a baby, for fear of that 30%.

I want to be a good mommy and that might mean being Frank's mom and no other baby's mom.

The boy who made me a mom

I'm not going to lie.  Mother's Day was rough.  Frank should still be in me for another week or two but here we are, approaching 3 months since he was stillborn.  My husband and I kept things simple and avoided large gatherings, especially those of the public variety.  We took flowers to my mother-in-law and some to Frank's grave.

Usually when I visit his grave, I kiss my hand and press it to the ground where I think his head lays.  I do this multiple times and I tell my baby how much I love him.  On Mother's Day I knelt and kissed the ground directly.  The grass was cool, tickling my lips and reminding me of the day I got to kiss Frank, the day I became a mother.  I cried but I also smiled because Frank made me a mom and that is the best gift he could give me.

The photos here are from the moments after his birth.  We expected to only feel pain and sorrow that day because we already knew Frank's heart had stopped.  We certainly felt plenty of that but we were surprised to feel immense joy as well.  We were so happy to meet our baby boy.  We loved on him like any new parents would, studying his features and marveling at this beautiful baby that came from us.

Although it was hard to hear "Happy Mother's Day" this year, it would have been harder to not hear it.  To go without acknowledging the little boy who made me a mom would have been to deny the joy his short appearance in our lives brought to us.

The past couple of days have been rough.  My neighbors had their baby boy on Tuesday and brought him home yesterday.  They're lovely people and I'm glad they have a healthy boy but my happiness for them and my sadness for my own boy are all mixed in together.  I go between bawling and feeling numb.

I miss my Frank so much and I long to hold him again.  I want to kiss his rosy little lips and study his features.  I want to count his tiny toes and fingers and marvel at how beautiful he is.  I want to watch my husband smile down at our baby, chest swelling with pride.  I want our family to be whole and healthy.