And Baby Makes Six...Again

A week ago today, our fifth little - unexpected - miracle was born.  And I'm in love all over again!  I must say, for all of the worrying I did leading up to his birth, it went as well as I could have hoped.

From check-in time at the hospital to Baby E's birth was three hours and three minutes long.  Not bad considering that for my first delivery, that of my twins, it was three hours and two minutes just between the delivery of Baby A and Baby B!!

I had to have my blood taken first to check those unstable platelets.  When the phlebotomist walked in, I took it as a good sign, as she was the same one who took my blood when my platelets were at their highest.  Sure enough, they were 104,000 - and I got my epidural!!

The next positive sign was when the anesthesiologist walked in.  According to Hubby, he was the same doc who gave me my last epidural, with Lil C.  Hubby and this doc have worked on cases together and, after the mutual admiration was over, he gave me a perfect epidural.  Numb, but I could still feel contractions.

Apparently, I walked into the hospital that day already 4 centimeters dilated and 80% effaced (what does that mean anyway?), so I was already well on my way.  I was just settling in to nap a bit, when both the nurse and Hubby left to eat some lunch.  I'd be fine, I said, go and eat!  This was right at noon. I was five centimeters dilated.  I figured I had a while.  Sometime in the next half hour, I started having uncomfortable back pains.  I rang for the nurse who was supposed to be checking on me, when my nurse walked back in the room.

I was at ten centimeters already! 

"You'd better call your husband, or he's going to miss this!"  (I didn't even have time to try out the birthing tub!)

Hubby walked in then, as well as two other nurses who were there to help with the "shoulder dystocia" situation.  Within three pushes, my beautiful little boy and his shoulders were out.  He weighed 8 pounds even (so, not as big as I thought) and he has dark hair, the first of my boys not in the toe-head club.

As he was placed in my waiting arms, I couldn't help but murmur a prayer of thanks for a perfect delivery.  Really, I couldn't have scripted it better.  It was exactly what I needed.

Until I looked at my new son.

His beautiful dark eyes were wide open, and he was staring right at me.  That has only happened one other time...when I held Joey for the first time.  I can't explain how it filled my heart with such a sense of gladness and relief.

You see, I have worried so much about this new baby.  Not only about potential health risks and delivery complications, but how he would fit into our family.  About how he would fit into my heart.

I feel like he is going to be an outsider.  An A.J. - "After Joey".  The rest of us are W.J. - with Joey.  He'll never have known him. He won't even have any pictures with Joey - pictures that he can look at while I tell him stories about Joey.   Even his dark hair, though I love it, makes him an outsider, as all the other boys have always had blond hair.

I worried, too, about how the other boys would react to him.  Joey was always the one who payed the most attention to his new baby brothers when they first came home.  He always wanted to play with them and hold them.  He would try so hard to make them laugh, or bring them toys when they were fussy.  None of the other boys have really paid that much attention, and I feared they wouldn't now.

But, true to Joey's example, all of the boys, even Lil C, have really stepped up and paid Baby E the perfect amount of attention.  From saying how cute he is, to talking gently to him, from reading him books and bringing his pacifier, I couldn't be more satisfied with how they have welcomed him.

Which makes me wonder...is Joey now the outsider?  Will we only ever be a family of six, or are we really a family of seven?  Anytime someone would ask me if I knew the gender of my baby and if I had any other children, I would always say, "It's our fifth boy."  Because he is.  Sometimes I would continue the story and tell about Joey's death, but more often than not, if the person asking was a total stranger, I just let them believe that I would have five boys at home. 

Because in my heart, I always will.

And Baby E, well, I shouldn't have worried about him at all, because he is already fitting into my heart, and our family, just fine.

6 Non-Traditional Ways to Have a Baby

As I opened my daily Parenting.com newsletter today, the headline screamed at me, "Is Natural Childbirth For you?"

Well, as I learned yesterday, it might have to be!

As I prepare to deliver my fifth baby boy next Thursday, there is a possibility that I may not be able to receive that highly coveted epidural as I did with my other deliveries. You see, I have pregnancy-induced thrombocytopenia. This is when, only due to pregnancy, the blood platelet count is very low, putting me at excessive bleeding risk during delivery. Although there is some discrepancy at the cut-off point, at the hospital where I will deliver, epidurals are not given to women whose platelets are below 90,000; some anesthesiologists even consider 100,000 the cut-off point.

Mine are hovering at 95,000. Yikes!

I pretty much gave birth to Baby #3 Au naturale due to the fact that he came so fast, so I have an idea of how it might feel; but I do know this . . . it wasn't pleasant! It was much more pleasant to feel in control of the pain and of myself, and to not feel scared of what was happening. I know many women who have chosen natural childbirth would disagree, but the thought of birthing an 8-plus pound baby without pain control, when all my other babes have been much smaller, is truly anxiety inducing! So I set out to explore Web M.D. to see what some of my other options might be.

Everyone I know has given birth in a hospital, either with or without an epidural, and some by c-section, whether for emergency reasons or not. No one I know has chosen a home birth, which is only recommended for women with extremely low-risk pregnancies, healthy babies, and a strong support system. My friend was born at home in 1969, only because she was her mother's fourth baby and came so fast during a snowstorm that there wasn't time to make it to the hospital. 

Many women these days are choosing birthing centers, which are staffed by certified nurse midwives, and also recommended for low-risk pregnancies and healthy babies. This is as close to a home birth as one can get, as there are no pain meds or epidurals offered, and usually the mom and baby go home right away.

There are also hospital birthing centers for women who just aren't sure if they can make it through without intervention. Midwives are available, but high tech-medical care is also nearby.

None of these would be an option for me. Being 41 years old automatically puts me in the high-risk category, as do my gestational diabetes and thrombocytopenia. So heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to the hospital I go. To ease my labor, though, my hospital does offer some of the latest techniques in pain control.

I always thought a water birth sounded like a very trippy idea; but the more I read about it, the more appealing it sounds. It is said to soothe and relax the mother and reduce her pain. Advocates of this type of birth say it is better for the baby to enter the world in a similar "womb-like" environment from whence he came, lessening birth trauma and experiencing a more pleasant start to life. Water birth babies are also known to have a lower rate of complications.

There is the silent birth that Scientologists Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise chose, the basis of which is that the mother, by going silently and deeply inside herself, is able to handle the pain of her own labor.  Ummm, yeah . . . not for me. I might need to yell at someone.

An acquaintance of mine, who also has had thrombocytopenia, has used the Hypnobirth method.  This method uses a series of self-hypnosis techniques in order to control pain. Her father, a psychologist, taught her the methods which worked well for her, although they don't work for everyone. Plus, they need to be learned and practiced months in advance.

It's kind of late for me to be using some of these, but at least I know there will be a variety of other options I can try next Thursday, from good ole relaxation and breathing techniques the nurses are sure to know, to position changes such as squatting or being on hands and knees, or bouncing on a birth ball, which actually may feel good.

With as much anxiety as I have about the birth of this fifth little boy of mine, I am trying to keep an open mind, for there are two things of which I am sure about all labors - they can be and usually are a little unpredictable, and the baby is going to get here one way or another!

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Unhappy Crapiversary

According to Wikipedia, an anniversary is a day that commemorates and/or celebrates a past event that occurred on the same day of the year as the initial event.  We usually think of anniversaries as a happy event, such as wedding anniversaries or first date anniversaries.  We can have an anniversary celebrating when we started a new job or quit smoking.

Of course, there are anniversaries that commemorate sad or tragic events such as 9/11, or in our case, the death of our six-year-old son.

On Friday, 6/10, it will be one year since our darling son left us.  But I refuse to call it an "anniversary," because I am one of those who think anniversaries are a time to celebrate.  For example, Hubby and I will celebrate our 10-year wedding anniversary on June 15th.  I see nothing to celebrate about the fact that we no longer have our son in our lives, that we need to look at pictures of him rather than hug him, watch the few videos that we made of him, rather than listen to his infectious giggle in person, or lament how he spent his last days of life rather than revel in the successes of his future.

A high school friend of mine, who survived a tragedy of her own, dubbed Joey's terrible day as a "crapiversary," and the name resonated with me.  I think it fits perfectly.  Because what a crappy day it was...

Although the day my son died was not actually the worst day of my life - that honor goes to the day I learned he would die - I have played that day over and over in my mind.  Those last moments are burned into my brain, and I visit them frequently because to forget them would be like denying the life he led, the fight he fought, and the dignity with which we let him die.

We had battled the brain cancer for almost 14 months.  We completed 6 weeks of radiation, during which time our incredible five-year-old complained not once. We endured 12 months of chemotherapy, during which time, Joey did not argue with us once.  We sat through about a dozen MRI's, during which our child did not cry.  We took three trips to Florida even though it was difficult and scary to travel with a terminally ill child and his three brothers.  We traveled to Minneapolis for a concert, even though Joey threw up in the middle of it, and we had to leave.  Hubby sat evening after evening scouring the internet for research that would show him a cure for what type of tumor our son had, spent months corresponding with hospitals around the country, sending his films to top doctors, trying to find someone who could give our son quality of life, making decisions that would affect his treatment.  We spent many tearful evenings discussing our options until we could discuss no more.  I spent evening after evening laying with Joey, drinking every aspect of him in from the way he looked to the way he talked and moved.  We decided to forgo experimental treatments in order to maintain some quality of life for Joey and spare the rest of us some pain.  And Hubby and I spent many evenings not talking at all until our relationship emerged thin and fragile, but not broken.

We had some idea of how the end would come.  Research told us that children with Joey's type of tumor live only nine to thirty-six months, that they could become blind, paralyzed, unable to speak, eat, talk or move.  I continuously ran these scenarios over and over in my mind.  I was trying to picture it, to prepare myself for the days ahead.  The days that were the beginning of the end.

But those days never came.  Instead, it was like Joey just faded away, which in the end, was the best scenario for everyone.  In the end, he didn't want to speak much, or eat much, or move much, but he could, and he did.  We had a hospital bed delivered to our house, which sat unused in our front room for weeks.  I knew that once Joey got in that bed, he would never get out.  So every night, as hard as it was, I helped him upstairs to his own bed.

Until one night neither of us could do it anymore...

Hubby called Hospice the next day, and two lovely nurses came to help us say good-bye to our son.  Hubby fed him a last meal of strawberry ice cream, and I refused to leave his side.  Once he closed his eyes to sleep, he never opened them again.  I spent the next twelve hours laying next to him in that hospital bed, stroking his cheeks, fat from the steroids, running the tip of my finger along his beautiful long, blond eyelashes, which were one of the first things I noticed about him after his birth, kissing his plump lips.  I stayed there, singing to him and talking to him, all while taking updates from the nurse about his declining oxygen saturation and noting the length of time he was taking between breaths.

Sometime, around 4:40 a.m., he stopped taking so many breaths.  It was agonizing to watch.  His dad and I told him to let go, to go and meet his grandpa, Hubby's dad, who was waiting for him in Heaven.  I thought every halting breath was his last.  I felt like I watched him die four or five times, until there just wasn't another breath.  At 4:44, my heart broke wide open, and I sobbed from the depths of my soul.  Hubby lay over the top of me laying over the top of Joey and cried, too, repeating, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."  I kissed my son and touched his cheeks until they became cold, and then staggered up to my bed, not wanting to see the mortuary workers take his body away.

What's to celebrate about a day like that?

I had a birthday recently, and Hubby, being so great about always making birthdays special for me, kept asking me what I wanted or wanted to do.  He threw me an amazing surprise party last year for my 40th, but this year, feeling sad about Joey and big and pregnant with Baby #5, I couldn't seem to muster up any enthusiasm.

So I asked for a Joey party.

We are getting our families together for lunch, to celebrate Joey's life. 

To tell funny Joey stories and laugh at crazy Joey pictures and to say how Joey has inspired us to be better people.  To talk about how much energy and enthusiasm he had for life, how he would laugh all the time and was willing to try just about anything.  How he loved school and his family, and how he was the best big brother any little kid could ask for.  How he was precocious and just seemed to understand things.  How he was a great son and a wonderful helper.  How he loved the Earth and wanted to grow up to be a veterinarian.

And how maybe, we could all stand to have a little more of qualities like that.

After all, I think that is what I would rather celebrate every year.  Not the crappy stuff - the death he died- but the funny, crazy, energetic, smart, loving stuff - the life he led.   Wouldn't you? 

Pregnant at 40~It's Not So Bad...Is It?

Pregnant at 40 (well, actually 41, but I've decided I'm sticking at 40) was something I never planned to be. Since I didn't get married until I was 31 and I wanted four children, my plan was to have them at 32, 34, 36, and 38, well before what I considered to be the scary age of 40.

Scary for a lot of reasons. Foremost, there's the obvious chromosomal abnormality risk. At age 40, the risk of having a baby with Down syndrome is 1 in 110 (mine was listed as 1 in 71). My risk of having a baby with other chromosomal abnormalities, such as Trisomy 13 and 18 was listed as 1 in 135. Women in their forties are twice as likely as women in their twenties to develop problems such as high blood pressure and gestational diabetes. In fact, children of older mothers are themselves at increased risk for type 1 diabetes and high blood pressure. There's a higher incidence of placental problems and birth complications. Babies born to older mothers are more likely to be premature, have low birth weight or even be stillborn. The dad's advanced age can have an effect on genetics as well and carries a higher risk for some disorders such as autism and schizophrenia.

Yikes!

But, I had it licked! I had my four babies well before I was 40. I got two for the price of...well, apparently a really nice fishing boat, according to Hubby. Then another unplanned one right away. And then another one that actually worked out according to plan! And I was only 37!  I even had time for another one!!!

Funny story . . . Hubby gave me a beautiful Mother's ring after Baby #4. My darling Joey proudly handed it to me while I was holding Lil' C in the hospital. Instead of gushing over it and saying thank you I said, "Does this mean we're done?!" Hubby and I apparently had different ideas.  Then Joey's illness came and derailed any plans I had for another baby. 

Just as I had begun to come to terms with the "baby-making" phase of my life being over, I found myself p.g. again. And here I am, about to have a baby in three weeks. And yes, I am 41. And yes, I am scared.

For so many reasons...

When I learned I was pregnant, I honestly just assumed I'd have a miscarriage. I have had three in the past and after all, the rate of miscarriage for the 40-44 year-old age group is 34% (versus 10% for a woman in her twenties). But, early ultrasounds showed a strong heartbeat and a cute little fetus.

My thoughts then immediately turned to Down syndrome. I would be 41 when I delivered, the same age as my sister-in-law when she had her son, who was born with DS. Seeing their struggles with him, not knowing if he would even make it through some of his initial surgeries, and knowing what we had just been through battling cancer with Joey, it terrified me.  I didn't feel strong enough to handle that. We chose not to undergo amniocentesis - the only definitive diagnosis - because the risk of miscarriage from the procedure is one in 300. I would feel horrible if I was that one and miscarried a child just because I had to find out if he had a condition that neither potentially threatened his life nor mine, nor would I abort him if I found out that he did in fact have Down syndrome.

I do have gestational diabetes for the second time. And unlike the first time, I'm having trouble controlling it by simple dietary changes. I am on medication to stabilize my blood sugar; but in spite of that there's a lot of fluid around the baby, and he keeps growing larger! That fact knocks out the potential low birth weight, but the birth complications factor back in. I had twins with no c-section - I don't want one now!!

My doctor did discuss with me the potential risk of still birth which scares the HELL out of me, and of course I worry that I will pass diabetes on to this baby. Or that he will have autism.  Or he will have Down syndrome. And don't even get me started on the cancer thing!

Oh, and then there's the weight thing.  I have only gained 20 pounds, not bad but I did have an extra ten pounds on me when I got pregnant (mourning weight). So not only do I have baby weight to lose, I have that extra ten pounds, and I'm over 40.

The fact is, I never worried all that much with my other pregnancies - well, maybe more with my twins than the other two. But I always had that sixth sense that everything would be okay. As I waddle my way toward my due date, I don't have that sense with this baby. I have quite the opposite.  From the very beginning of this pregnancy I have been waiting for something to be wrong.  Just because I think there has to be.

BUT . . . initial tests - neck measurements, blood tests, ultrasounds - each lowered the risk the baby had for Down syndrome to about 1%, or the same as a woman in her twenties. My doctor assures me that she does not see any of the telltale characteristics of a baby with a chromosomal abnormality. The fact that he is a little bigger is a good sign, too. 

Also, the baby is a kicker! None of my other boys really kicked. They just squirmed around a lot.  This one kicks and kicks hard! And I love it! It's somehow reassuring. I treasure every movement.

I also have a wonderful support system in my friends. By the time I finally got pregnant with my twins, I had pretty much isolated myself from everyone, being so distraught over the whole infertility thing. Many of my high school and college friends lived out of town anyway. With my second pregnancy, I was on Long Island with only one close friend; and with my third, I was back home, but feeling isolated through no fault of my own.

Admittedly, I have reconnected with a lot of people through Facebook, and Joey's cancer journey certainly brought people - new friends and old - out of the woodwork. But because my boys are in school now and in activities, I am out and about more and seeing people and connecting every day. I have received nothing but well wishes, love, and encouragement. I even had a shower thrown in my honor despite the fact that this is my fifth boy. And I won't lie when I say I can't hear, "You are the cutest pregnant lady," enough!

Sure, I had plans to start a second career, get more involved in the boys' schools, maybe train for a race, or at least get in the best shape of my life. Sure by the time this kid graduates from college I will be well into my sixties and looking more like his grandmother than his mother, and I may not even live to see his wedding or the birth of his kids.

 But I need to relax, because worries or no worries, bad or not, I'm having a baby in three weeks and two days!!!!  And as far as I'm concerned, that's never a bad thing.  :)

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