Suddenly *Not So* Single Journey

I’m getting my exercise…

Tuesday, January 17th, 2012

Yesterday I was feeling so strong and ready.  It was Monday, one week after Kenna’s birth.  I made it home form the hospital late Thursday night.  It was time to get back in the swing of things.

As I was working away on the computer, I realized I had a message from Dana.  We have been online buddies for some time.  We belong to the Charlotte Media Group on Facebook.  (It’s very elite.  You have to be in some type of media and live in Charlotte…and be invited to join.  It makes me feel special.)  So, I read her message with enthusiasm.  She has been very supportive of us since Kenna’s early arrival.

The message?  She wants to write a piece about Kenna for the South Charlotte Observer.  Wow.  But I understand why.  Kenna is special.  She is tiny.  We are reminded of that every day.  And she is a fighter.  She wants it to be a story of hope.  That’s my kind of story.  Hope.  There is always hope.

And then, next thing I know…we discover she lives on the road behind mine.  This is Charlotte.  What are the chances?  Slim.  I can tell you that.  And yet my life is filled with connections and coincidences.  I love it.

And then, the next thing I know…we have agreed to be walking buddies and I’m walking over to meet her.  Only we did it the girl way.  We gave house descriptions instead of house numbers.  Did I mention that her street is a circle?  Oh, and I picked the wrong end.  So, I was walking and I was walking and my legs…felt great!  My belly…not as great.  And by the time I actually found her, after going back and forth and even down on the greenway in case I was supposed to meet her in back…I did find her.  We laughed about it.  Then Dana took  a look at me.

Dana: You look great.  How are you feeling?  Want to keep walking?

me: Sure.

I mean…I did have to get home somehow.  And I think she recognized that I was dying.

Dana: So, to your house then?

me: Oh, yeah.

So we went back to my house and talked for a while.  She had her daughter in a sling.  And it was so nice seeing a happy, healthy baby girl.  And yeah, I could imagine the girls playing together when they get bigger.  It was a great visit.  We have a lot in common.  And I look forward to getting to know her better.

Then I had lunch and pumped and prepared to go to the hospital.  That’s when I found out Kenna had a few issues and needed a surgical procedure and my permission.  It was rough, scary.  And I know I worry about it all more than S.  He is convinced that Kenna can weather anything.  He thinks it is just a matter of time before she’s a hundred percent and home with us.  I have tons of hope, but I know too much when I should rely more on faith.

Kenna pulled through like a champ and we reluctantly went home for the night.  We spoke to the doctor in the evening.  And I must have been feeling pretty comfortable because I fell asleep on the couch and forgot to call the hospital.

Of course, we’ve more than made up for it this morning.  I’ve had two heart stopping calls from the hospital already.  Yes, apparently the nurse caring for Kenna overnight stuck herself with one of the needles after drawing some blood.  And because Kenna is less that six months, they need my blood to make sure there’s no danger of HIV.  I’m not worried.  We’ve been tested so many times between the insurance and the pregnancies, we know we’re clean.  Ah, but it does mean another run to another doctor’s office after my appointment this morning.

The good thing is we can park one place and walk to all the others.  So we’ll start at my doctor’s office, go to the next tower over by covered walkway, and then finally the hospital by another covered walkway.  That should do it for my daily regimen of exercise.  I’ll be thinner in no time.

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Maybe the Clifford complex will work in our favor…

Monday, January 16th, 2012

Through the years I have joked that we suffer from the Clifford complex.  For those of you unfamiliar with this phenomenon, it’s the experience of raising the runt of the litter and having the little furry family member grow to gargantuan proportions…or at least end up super healthy and normal sized.  Yes, it has happened with cats, hamsters, Babbit, and dogs through the years.

I guess I was thinking about it the other day as Bishop wandered around the living room.  He has grown increasingly needy since I left one morning and didn’t come back for four days.  During that time, S did put me on the phone with him, which I know sounds ridiculous, but he’s our first baby, our biggest baby.  And he missed me and was a little worried.  Maybe even a lot worried.

Bishop wasn’t the runt of the litter, but at the same time, he has grown much larger than the other dogs from his litter and is larger than the breed normally gets, too.  We did the research.  We fed him properly.  We loved him and doted on him and trained him to be the gentle giant he is today.

We currently have the biggest puppy and the smallest baby.  Quite the disparity there.

Suddenly it occurred to me…I shouldn’t worry so much about Kenna.

I really shouldn’t.  I am supplying prime grade milk for my little one.  We have done the research on preemies and micro preemies.  We have done everything we can do.  We have to be patient and wait for Kenna to pull through on her own, with the help of the doctors and nurses.  That’s the hard part…having so much of this be out of our control.

Our history should speak for itself.  We don’t do so well with fish.  Ah, but when we can touch and love on the being in our care, when we can talk and reason, they do very well.  Too well.  They grow up too fast.

So that call from the doctor should have come as no surprise.  Yes, Kenna is on the mend.  Her lungs are filling better.  Her oxygen saturation levels are stable.  Her oxygen levels have decreased.  Her kidneys are functioning better, so she isn’t as puffy.  Aside from the fact that she’s all of 9 ounces, she is practically the picture of health.  That’s my girl.

And today, she is one week old.  One week.  I would ask how one might celebrate that, but I guess I just did.

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It’s a lot of pressure…

Sunday, January 15th, 2012

Last night I spent a few hours responding to Facebook messages and emails from people I don’t even know.  As a blogger, I am used to doing that to some degree.  Oh, but last night was so much more personal.  And it helped me so much.  It helped us so much.

Strangers are reaching out to tell me how they are rooting for Kenna.  They tell me that they are praying for us, sending love and virtual hugs, and thinking of us often.  That is wonderful.  And for some reason, they tell me that I inspire them.  That is a lot of pressure.

I wasn’t so inspirational yesterday.

I have my moments.  For some reason, yesterday was one of them.  Yesterday was overwhelming.

I wasn’t feeling well at all.  I worry that the pre-eclampsia isn’t over yet.  My ankles and feet are swelling worse than they did during the pregnancy.  I had a headache that was a constant dull ache the better part of the day despite the ibuprofen and the percocet.  My c-section was hurting…not the incision…just everything.  And it looked like the bruising was spreading.

S was having an equally challenging day.  A job that he thought he was sealing yesterday, a deal that he was counting on to help us out of the hole…isn’t sealed and may even be dead.  The homeowner keeps changing the parameters of the project.  So, S came home stressed and cranky.  He was snappish.  And the problem is that when he gets in these dark moods, he doesn’t realize that he is cranky with me.

Most of the time, I handle it well, but not when I’m in a bad place, too.  Suffice it to say…rough day.  And a rough night.  And by the time I was back from the hospital, I mostly hid in the bedroom for a few hours.  I didn’t want to talk.  Finally, I decided to go speak with him before taking a bath.

me: Going to the hospital with me tomorrow?

S: Depends on your attitude.

Right.  Because the problem is with MY attitude.

me: So, no then?

And he was scowling at me.  And I was rather enjoying poking my bear.

I went in and took a long soak.  Really long.  And I didn’t run the jets.  And I didn’t move.  I just laid there and thought and planned.  I could hear him out in the living room.  And I heard him pacing outside the bathroom door.  And I knew he was worried about me.  For some reason, that gave me an immense amount of pleasure.  Immense.

Finally, he just burst into the room.  I was mildly annoyed.  Naked is not a good look for me these days.  And I’m not sure I want that memory emblazoned on his brain when I am finally healed and feeling sexy again.  He moved my bathrobe and sat on the floor beside the tub.

S: So, I thought you might want to talk.

me: No, you were worried about me.  I heard you pacing out there.

S: I thought you might be nicer to me when you’re naked.

And I couldn’t help it.  I laughed, which hurt, but was totally worth it.  Soon we were talking, which is what we normally do and always eventually do.  It’s why we work.

Next thing you know, I’m sharing all my fears, everything that is bothering me.  I’m admitting how weak and scared I am.  And he’s doing what he should have been doing all along, offering me love and support.  All was right in our world once more.

Maybe that’s where the inspiration comes in.  Maybe it’s not that we are always perfect and know just what to say and do.  Maybe it’s not that I’m always full of sunshine and rainbows.  Maybe it’s that we are real, that we muddle through, that no matter what, at the end of the day, we love each other and work together.  Maybe that’s enough.

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Shell-shocked…

Saturday, January 14th, 2012

I think that would best describe how we’ve been the past week.

Let’s face it.  This has been a lot to take in over a very short period of time.  As much as I tried to prepare S, there is still no way to fully prepare for the reality of life with a preemie.  And our preemie is a micro preemie.

And a miracle.

I have wondered at S, wondered how he is taking it, how he is holding up.  I know he has lingering moments of frustration.  He can’t fix this.  He is supposed to be able to fix everything.  And this…we wait.  We have no control.  Even the doctors admit they have very little control.  Kenna has to do much of this on her own.

It’s frustrating.

We’ve been through our share of frustrations.  Really we have.  Many of you have been there to read about our relationship for the last few years.  You know the roller coaster that is our life.  It seems to have leveled out.  At one time it was like one of those new coasters that goes forwards and backwards, up and down, loops around…all that.  Now, it’s more like one of those wooden roller coasters.  There is plenty of excitements, the drops, the climbs.  It’s sturdy, but still exciting.

The torch has been passed.

My husband is no longer the consummate bachelor.  Now, he has morphed into family man.  How do I know?  That would be the conversations he has when he doesn’t know I’m listening.  There’s more honesty that way, not that he ever worries about hurting my feelings or offending.

Still, he was talking to one of the few remaining bachelors in the neighborhood.  The guy had recently started dating one of my mom friends.  They had known each other for years and hung out forever.  We actually discussed that it might be a great match.  And the tradition of finding love in the neighborhood would live on.  It’s good tradition.

The girlfriend was in a bit of housing crunch and had moved in…possibly temporarily…while she figured things out.  The guy…seems happy.  And S had given him a pep talk.  I shuddered when I considered what he might say.

S: You’re going to be shell-shocked for a while.  It’s a big change.  It can be really hard.  But you know what?  After you adjust, it’s really nice.  Having a family is really nice.

You probably could have knocked me over with a feather.  I’ve always known having a family is really nice.  And S gets it.  He’s gone through so many changes this past six months.  He’s a husband and now a father.  We talk of our hopes and dreams, of the life we imagine with Kenna.

The doctor called yesterday afternoon to let me know she was doing pretty well.  He commented on how headstrong she is, how stubborn and determined.  She sounds a lot like her father to me.

me: I can’t wait to fight with her when she’s a teenager.

Really…I can’t.  Her father will be shell-shocked those years as well.

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My first night home…

Friday, January 13th, 2012

They finally released me from the hospital.

It’s a double edged sword.  I’m happier being home with S and Keenan.  Bishop has barely been able to leave my side.  That’s lovely, but also frustrating.  He sheds.  And I need to stay hair -free.  I can’t get hair in the breast milk.

Ah, but let’s focus on the positive today.

• I’m home. Even without that handy dandy hospital bed to help me to my feet, home is better for my spirit.  And I have S to help raise me.  He clearly missed me.  And he’s hovering.  Last night was one of those nights that he couldn’t get me close enough while we watched television.  He held my hand and kept me close.  Nothing is more therapeutic than a little love, so a lot of love is definitely going to put my recovery on overdrive.
• Kenna continues to amaze. Yesterday, I received a phone call from the doctor.  That’s never good.  And he was explaining that they needed to put a central line in because her veins were lousy.  The central line would prevent her from being picked on a regular basis and ultimately wrecking her fragile veins.  She’s the smallest baby they have done the procedure on.  And she survived it.  She didn’t even have any desaturations or decelerations during it.  AMAZING.
• I have so many people offering us words of love and encouragement that I can’t help but remain hopeful. I have a hard time believing that any bad could come to her.  I have a hard time imagining that she won’t make it.  It just doesn’t seem possible.  And I would rather live my life hopeful than in fear.  So that’s what we’re doing.  We live with hope.
• We are mastering looking at the positive. I had some bad new yesterday.  About me.  The short version is that it looks like I have cancer in my uterus.  The longer version is here.  The bottom line was S’s reaction.  I worried about it.  I was afraid to tell him.  He has so much that he’s worrying about right now.

S: So, if we hadn’t had Kenna, if they hadn’t had to cut her out of you, we might never have known.  You might have died before they figured it out.  We can fight this.  You’ll be fine.  Thank God we have Kenna.

Even I hadn’t thought to look at it like that.  I’ve still been feeling guilty that she couldn’t stay in me longer, that she has to fight so hard every day just to live.  We have a long road ahead of us.  We’re fighters.  And we’re so blessed.  Some people never know how much they are loved.  All I have to do these days is answer my phone, or check my email, or open Facebook.

Thank you everyone for sticking it out with us on this journey.  It’s never dull.  Thank you for the constant words of encouragement.  Thank you for keeping our spirits high and sharing so many stories of hope.  I hate asking for anything, but I love the inspiration.  Please keep it coming.  And I’ll try to keep the up dates positive and interesting.

How am I doing so far?

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Happiness is caring for Kenna…

Thursday, January 12th, 2012

Flowers from Dad and Vicki perk up my room

Mama Vicki made cupcakes for the doctors and nurses caring for us.

Kenna needs a lot of care

At the moment, we’re waiting on word from the NICU whether or not she is responding to the medicine that will close the hole in between her heart.  It normally closes on its own over the first couple of days of life.  The same cannot be said of the preemie heart.  We’ll see if the medicine works, or if we have to have surgery.  So, I’ll hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

In other news…I am bruising, red, and warm to the touch post op.  The doctor will be in to see what’s wrong with me.  I’m about half asleep most of the time.  So, I’m thinking it’s something that will be easy to treat.  I need more pills.  What I don’t need is another surgery or another reason to be stuck at the hospital any longer.

So far, I have convinced them to remove all my tubes and what not.  I managed to convince them to prescribe me some medicine to jump start my milk production.  I was frustrated that I was pumping and nothing happened.  This had never been a problem in the past.  And I didn’t need anymore frustrations.  I’ve started a regimen of regulin and it’s already working.  I’ve got milk.  I can help my baby.  And nursing is good for me, too.

I’ll be visiting Kenna in a little while.  She’s all mine…until daddy finishes work, then we share.  I love the way he loves her.  I love the way he sees her and talks to her.

We have a long haul ahead of us.  It’s only been a matter of days.  And the days are so long.  The evenings are even longer.  Sleep is short and necessary.

We’re hanging in there.  All of us.  Together.  The way it’s supposed to be.  With you help, your love, your support, and your prayers.  You give us strength to pull through.  Thank you.

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Keeping bad thoughts at bay…

Wednesday, January 11th, 2012

As I write this, we have just found out that Kenna is having trouble breathing.  More than before.  Enough that they are taking her off the ventilator and moving her to the oscillator.  This is a step back.  And here’s the problem…she only can take so many steps back before she has nowhere to go.

I want to believe that she can survive.  I want to believe this because she has defied the odds from the beginning.  Years ago, I was told it would be more challenging for me to get pregnant, given that I lost an ovary to a cyst.  Factor in my advancing age which was supposed to further hinder any attempts to procreate, and you can understand why S and I didn’t waste any time trying to get pregnant.

Yes, Kenna was part of our perfect plan.

We knew we were getting married and I wasn’t getting any younger…so we threw caution to the wind…or in our case, simply left it in the nightstand drawer…and Kenna was conceived.  The very first time we tried.  The pregnancy was going great.  We passed one milestone after another.  She measured bigger than expected at every ultrasound…until four weeks ago.  Suddenly…she had stopped growing.  She had stopped making amniotic fluid.  My pre-eclampsia was messing up the placenta and her circulation.

The bed rest was prescribed starting the Thursday before Christmas.  And all the looks on all the faces at the two doctors’ offices told me that they didn’t think she’d make it through the weekend.

But Kenna defied the odds and lived.

She was still kicking the following week, still with us at the next appointment.  We were both stable.  Mostly.  I would do whatever it took, even if it very nearly killed me.

And by the appointment on Monday, it looked like it might.  There were concerns about my liver functions, my kidneys, the potential for a stroke and seizures.  We had to hurry and get her out to have a chance to save both of us.  That’s what happened.

Kenna was born on Monday.  At a mere 9 ounces, she was the smallest baby in the NICU.  She is the smallest baby my doctor has ever delivered alive.  She has already lasted longer than they ever expected or believed or imagined.

Because of that, I can’t imagine her not making it, not surviving, not going all the way.

But I’m scared.  Really scared.  I’m scared because she’s SO SMALL.  I’m scared because she’s going backwards in the hopes that the new machine will help her get to the point where she’s strong enough to go forward.  I’m scared because I worry that her little body will simply give out.  I’m scared because I love her and I don’t want to lose her.  Of course, I also don’t want to be selfish and have her living in pain, just to spare myself yet another loss.  I’m not that selfish.  Really.

Oh, but I am that stubborn.  And so is her ginger father.  Kenna seems to have acquired some of that from our genetic soup.  Her blood type is A+.  That’s almost like getting a gold star, right?  And I can’t imagine a baby who has so many people who love her and are thinking of her not making it.  I can’t imagine her giving up or giving out.  I just can’t.

So, I’m chasing away the bad thoughts with all the good that surrounds me.  My husband and son have settled into the hospital room for the night.  And people are sending their love, their virtual hugs, and their words of encouragement.  It helps more than you can imagine.

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Oh, bleak day…

Tuesday, January 10th, 2012

Okay.  So, here’s how Monday went.

We drove to one of S’s distributors and picked up the siding for a job.  We contemplated Chick-fil-A for breakfast after our 9am appointment with the high risk doctor.  And then there was no after.

The ultrasound tech took one look at Kenna and pronounced her in distress.  The doctor, the one who was all full of hope, sent me to the hospital…right across the road.  I was admitted and had a team of nurses working on me by 10:30am.  Lab work was ordered to see if my disease had progressed.  It had.

My platelet count was dropping.  My liver wasn’t working.  My blood pressure was no good.  And I was having a lot of contractions, during which Kenna’s heart was decelerating.  So, I had nothing good to report.

Soon the anesthesiologist was there to talk to me about the options.  If my platelets dropped too far, he wouldn’t be able to do a spinal and I’d have to be put under.  We didn’t want that.

There was a consult with my OB/GYN and the neonatologist…preemie doctor.  They were concerned that even if they delivered Kenna by c-section that she might be too small to be intubated and she’d die.  If they left her in, she was definitely going to die.  So, I opted to be sliced open.

It wasn’t easy.  The spinal took forever.  He had to keep giving me shots of lidocaine before he could make yet another attempt at the spinal.  Finally, that was completed.  And I tried to be myself.  I tried to not be afraid of what could happen.

One masked face after another was introduced.  I thanked every one.

S was with me.  He caressed my hand and rubbed my arm and held my kidney dish.  Don’t judge.  You’d probably puke, too, is someone was tugging and rolling around your internal organs.  Or maybe not.

All I know is that Kenna was released from the Armageddon-like confines of my womb at 3:12pm on January 9, 2012.  She weighed in at 9 ounces and is 9 1/2 inches long.  Her father says she looks just like me, poor kid.  And I hope she has his metabolism and height.  So, far she has exhibited a fighting spirit that I like to think runs strong in both of us.

They tell us that she’s the smallest baby they’ve had survive this long.  Just once, I’d like to be the exception and not the rule.  I’d like to have a happy ending.  It’s too soon to tell.  What I can tell you is that I wouldn’t have lasted this long without all the words of love, encouragement, support, and prayer.  For that, I thank you…we thank you.

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The rare Sunday post…

Sunday, January 8th, 2012

…because I’m not sure what’s going to happen the rest of the night or tomorrow morning.

I’m not feeling overly inspired at the moment.

What I am feeling is hungry…but I hate eating.  Bet you never thought you’d hear me say that.  Well, eating is zero fun when I feel sicker and less satisfied after.  I eat and the epigastric pain increases.  So, I force down food.  S helps.  He has become really pushy about that.  And I know it’s important for Kenna to get some nutrients so I do the best I can.

I’ve had both of the betamethasone shots that we needed to mature Kenna’s lungs.  My butt…is healing.  Just in time for my next shot of progesterone on Thursday.

If I make it that far.

I wanted to make it to 28 weeks, but since that is three and a half weeks off…I just don’t know if I can.  My doctors would like me to make it another week and a half…anything after 26.  And I’m trying.  I really am.  I just hurt.  And that hurt is wearing me down.

This experience has given me a greater appreciation for those suffering from ailments involving chronic pain.  I have a really high pain tolerance, but sometimes…it’s just too much.  The steroid shots that were supposed to have the lovely side effect of keeping me really comfortable for the rest of the weekend wore off by late Saturday afternoon.  By 10pm, I broke down and took an acetaminophen.  And then another at 3am, 4:30am, 7:30am, and just about noon on Sunday.  I’m only supposed to have 8 in a 24 hour period.  When these wear off…I’m dead.  There’s no sleeping off this pain…obviously.  And pain is no good for the blood pressure.

While I have an appointment with the high risk pregnancy doctor at 9am on Monday…I’m not sure what’s going to happen.  I’m not sure I’ll make it that long. But I’m trying.

Kenna is barely moving, which is even greater cause for concern than how I feel.  I will heal.  I am tough.  I have been through this enough times that I know once I deliver, I will be on the mend.  The pain…other than the surgery pain…will cease.  I will be back to my normal self, the one that I like and S loves.

We knew there was going to be a balance…how long I could last versus how long she could.

So, while I lay here and breathe through the pain, I think happy thoughts.  I picture the little girl I hope to push on a swing.  I imagine her playing with Bishop.  My heart swells when I picture her snuggled up in her father’s lap.  Some day, I hope to bake cookies together.  I dream of bedtime stories and singing her to sleep.  And all these struggles will fade into a distant memory.

Please keep us in your thoughts.  It’s the only way we’ve made it this far.  Your kind words on Twitter and Facebook have truly bolstered my spirit.  And I really need that right now.

Much appreciated.

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