Two

Max is our miracle baby. 

I had all but given up hope of ever conceiving a child again.  I had a preschooler, a kindergartener, and a studio of 30 violin students.  I had started working as a doula, and was loving the increasing number of births I was attending.

We had been to two different fertility doctors, done a few cycles with fertility drugs, with no success.  Our next option was injectable drugs, costing around $3000 a cycle.  There was no way we could afford that, and we had no insurance coverage for infertility. 

I had made peace with being done.  I was excited about it.  I wondered why in the world I had decided "starting over" with a newborn was such a great idea when I was so close to having all that time to myself and developing my career.  I had even put out feelers about a possible midwife apprenticeship. 

At the end of the last cycle, I decided I needed to take one more pregnancy test, to prove to myself that we were done.  Then when it was negative, I reasoned, I could get back to the business of living my life and parenting my girls.

Except it wasn't negative.  And we were thrilled.

***

Since we were being followed by a fertility specialist, protocol dicatated a "viability" ultrasound at 6 weeks.  I was destroyed when the ultrasound showed no heartbeat. 

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said "There's nothing there.  We should see a heartbeat by now.  I'm afraid this isn't a viable pregnancy."

I don't remember what else was said, except that he told me that I had less than  5% chance of having the pregnancy continue, and that I shouldn't get my hopes up.  He scheduled me to come in four days later to do another check, and  said we could talk about options for ending the pregnancy at that point.

Waiting those four days was excruciating.  I have never experienced grief like that in my life.

We went back in on a Saturday, to find a blinking little heartbeat, and a Doctor who nonchalantly said "Well, it's a good thing we had you come back in to check."

***

Max's labor was complicated, long, and difficult.  He was born with his cord wrapped tightly around his neck three times, and wasn't breathing at birth.

While I felt his spirit all around me, and knew that he was going to be fine, I found out later that my husband and my mom were very scared for his life.

It took some maneuvering by my midwife and some fancy resuscitation before we heard his first cry.

***

Shortly after he was born, we started on the crazy medical roller coaster.  Besides finding out that he had a major skull condition, he was also having trouble feeding.  We were told he was aspirating fluid into his lungs, which was a very dangerous condition, and that he couldn't breastfeed anymore because the risks to him were just too great. 

Once again, I was devastated.  Breastfeeding was the only thing I knew.  I consulted with doctors, with lactations consultants, wth specialists.  They all told me the same thing- no more breastfeeding.

What they didn't count on was Max, and the miracles we had already experienced.  Lots of prayer, a priesthood blessing, and I continued to nurse my baby boy.  He weaned a few months ago after 20 or so months of peaceful breastfeeding.  He hasn't had a single lung issue.

***

I've talked a lot on this blog about Max's surgeries.  They are, undoubtedly, the hardest things I've ever had to go through as a parent.  There are no words to describe what it feels like to see your tiny baby hooked up to tubes, wires, and breathing machines in the ICU.

  To be told that he has a baffling complication from surgery that no one can figure out.  To be told just a few short months after the first surgery that the first surgery was a failure and that he would need a second, just as dramatic and invasive as the first.

Everyone says kids are reslient.  I would never have believed that a week after getting his skull opereated on that he would be beaming up at me, almost as if nothing had happened.

***

We celebrated Max's second birthday yesterday.  He is a charming, hilarious, full of trouble little boy, like any two year old should be.  It's been months since he has needed a trip to a Doctor's office, an instacare, or an ER.  (And yes, I did just knock on wood.)  His scar is nearly completely hidden in his mop of crazy curly hair.  He shoots basketballs like a pro, (you mean you don't have a Fisher Price basketball hoop in your front room?) is learning new words at a rate of 5-10 per day, (his newest and cutest is "elevator,") and shows no sign of adverse effects from any of his crazy adventures. 

He makes me laugh every day.  He helps me not to take myself so seriously. 

And he taught me a lot about miracles. 

This post has a happy ending

It almost didn't.

I had a routine check up with an ob/gyn yesterday.  While its not exactly normal to see a homebirth midwife and an ob/gyn at the same time, ever since my last miscarriage at thirteen weeks, I've needed to know that my pregnancies were viable.  

The ob/gyn who did my last D&C is amazingly respectful, supportive and willing to help.  After the surgery, he told my husband and me that he would help us in any way he could. He suggested when we got pregnant again that we see him for the first 12 weeks, have an early ultrasound to verify that everything was progressing normally, and then he would be happy to discharge us to the care of our midwife.   

This time around, we opted to do the same thing.  We saw him at eight weeks, had a quick (less than a minute) ultrasound showing a healthy heartbeat, and scheduled one more appointment at twelve weeks.  

Yesterday, when I went in, I was expecting to be in and out.  When the doctor came in, he offered to do another quick ultrasound.  Once on the table, I was concerned when an image didn't immediately come up on the screen.  

Several times, he turned on the sound, trying to hear a heartbeat.  There was nothing.

He searched for a few minutes, and still couldn't find anything.  I made a lame joke about the baby playing hide and seek, and he didn't answer.  My heart caught in my throat.  

"I'm so sorry," he said, "but I can't find anything.  There's very little fluid, and I can't find a heartbeat."  He pointed to an image on the screen, still searching with the ultrasound.  "I'm sorry. But let's do a quick check with the vaginal ultrasound to be sure."

He left me in the room with one of those lovely paper "sheets" to cover myself.  In the two minutes that it took me to get undressed and situated, I battled a myriad of crazy emotions.  First and foremost, I was numb.  I couldn't believe that this was happening again.  My sister just went through this exact same situation three weeks ago at her twelve-week visit, and I was incredulous that both of us were going through the same thing.  I clicked into survival mode, immediately planning the lesson cancellations, and how I would manage to have a D&C when my husband was scheduled to leave for Germany today for a business trip.   

The doctor came back in, and started the vaginal ultrasound.  Immediately, a crystal-clear image popped up and once again, the doctor said, "I'm sorry," but this time he followed it with "Its right there."

"What's right there?" I stuttered.

He turned on the sound, and there it was.  The blissful sound of a baby's heartbeat.

The doctor apologized up and down.  He said he didn't know what had just happened, and said it was the worst ultrasound imaging he had ever seen.  The baby was measuring perfect, and the image was so clear that we could see the spine, two arms and two legs moving around, the skull, the brain, and the fluttering heartbeat.  

I've struggled ever since I found our we were expecting again.  I don't think I was emotionally ready to be pregnant again, and the reality of this pregnancy has been tempered and colored with Max's surgery and hospitalizations.  I've felt horribly guilty because I haven't felt the excitement and anticipation that I've felt every other time I've been pregnant.  

It wasn't until I was faced with the idea of losing the baby that I realized how much I really do want this little person to join our family.  And while things have been complicated and difficult these first few weeks, I now know that I wouldn't go back and undo it, even if I could.  The timing definitely isn't what we would have chosen, but this little person is obviously on their way at this time for a reason.  And I can't wait to meet him or her and have them join our crazy little family. 

The CT Scan Miracle

If you have read my blog for any length of time, you know that my baby boy Max has been through a lot this past year.  He has developed an incredible fear of Doctors and Nurses, and the most minor procedure in a doctor's office makes my normally happy boy dissolve into a fit of tears.   I dread taking him to doctor's appointments, because he ineveitably ends up sobbing and looking at me like I've betrayed him in some fundamental way.

Well, in preparation for craniosynostosis surgery #2 (currently scheduled for March 4th, *sigh*), we needed to get another 3D Brain CT done on Max.  3D Brain CTs are expensive suckers, so we decided to get it done before the end of the year when our insurance rolls over and we're stuck paying for it out of pocket.  I had it scheduled yesterday morning.

CT scans for babies or small children are a big undertaking, mostly because it requires the child to be absolutely still in order to get the images they need.  And if you've spent any time with a one year old boy, you know what a difficult prospect that can be. At Primary Children's Hospital they recommend sedation for kids undergoing a CT.  The first time Max was scheduled for one, I was a nervous wreck.  They make you prepare for a CT with sedation like you would any surgical procedure: fasting for a certain amount of hours, filling out pages of questionaires and consents, etc.  I cried several times at the thought of Max getting an IV and going through the sedation process.  When they were able to do the first CT without sedation wuth some creative wrapping and an interesting toy, I was thrilled. 

Despite our previous experience, I still dreaded the CT yesterday.  I know my little boy, and between his utter terror of Doctors, nurses and all things medical, and the fact that he is a very busy one year old, I figured the chances of getting him to hold still long enough for the CT were negligable.  I went into yesterday expecting that he was going to need to be sedated.  (I'm not against sedation or anesthesia in practice, but there are always risks.  He's just a tiny boy, and has already gone under general anesthesia twice in his short life and has more to come.  I'd like to avoid it wherever possible.)  My heart always aches for Max leading up to major procedures, and Sunday night was no exception.  I knelt on Sunday night, and said a prayer, asking God to protect my little boy and help him through the next day.  He had to be fasting for the procedure, and when he doesn't eat first thing in the morning, he gets cranky.  Add that to the fact that the CT was scheduled right in the middle of his naptime, and that we had to drive an hour to the hospital, and I was anticipating a very cranky boy.

The next morning, Max slept in.  In order to appreciate the small miracle that him sleeping in is, you have to understand that he and my daughter Abby rarely (rarely!) sleep past 6:30.  They can be awake until 11 pm, and they'll still be up before the sun.  Every minute he spent sleeping was a minute I didn't have to worry about him being hungry and cranky.  When he did wake up just past 7:00, he didn't even seem to mind that he couldn't have breakfast.  I didn't hear an angry peep out of him throughout the whole morning chaos.   When I loaded him in the van for the long trip to Salt Lake, I was prepared for an eruption.  He was asleep in his carseat before we reached Park City, and you could have picked my jaw up off the ground.

When we got to the radiology department, the technician was with us within minutes.  (Again, more scraping my jaw up off the ground!)  The tech told me he wanted to try to do the scan without sedation, and I told him I was willing, but wasn't optimistic about our chances.  The technician was an angel.  He started talking to Max, got a big basket of toys out and had Max laughing.  When we strapped him down and entered the CT scanner, Max of course started screaming, but the technician did everything in his power short of standing on his head to keep Max still.  At one point, he got out a giant plastic hippo and had me blowing bubbles while he voiced the giant hippo pretending to eat the bubbles.  Two and a half minutes from start to finish, and we were done.  No sedation necessary, and we were in and out of the hospital in ten minutes flat.

I left radiology with tears in my eyes, knowing that the Lord had worked a miracle for my baby to make the whole process easier for him, and for me.  The two minutes in the scanner weren't wonderful, but an IV sedation would have been a whole lot worse.  I sat in my van and gave a prayer of thanks for helping Max to sleep in, then to fall asleep in the car, then sending a wonderful technician to help us get through the scan without incident.

I know, I know.  Its a small thing.  But to me, it wasn't.  To me, it was proof that the Lord watches out for us, and wants to bless us every way that he can.  And it was evidence to me that God loves all of us, even the tiny babies, and can and will work miracles.