Just got home from my ultrasound appointment with High-Risk pregnancy specialist, Dr. T. As you know, I've been doing everything in my power to bring up amniotic fluid levels and get that baby to grow. No such luck. It wasn't good enough. When I was first seen by him in early February the baby was just barely over the 10th percentile, size wise. Several weeks later she was below the 10th percentile. Now she is around the 5th. I am almost 30 weeks now and Dr. T's estimate is that she weighs under 2 pounds. (As fate loves to take advantage of me, it made perfect sense that I should come home, get on facebook and be presented instantly with a friend's weekly pregnancy update. She is also 30 weeks so her update declared joyfully, "Congratulations! Your baby is now 4 lbs and almost 16 inches long!")
To put it in simple english, my hope is basically unfounded. Things are progressing in a downward spiral just as the doctor had predicted. Here is the grand finale to this terrible post: I hadn't wanted to admit it because I liked holding onto my shred of hope, but all weekend my body has toyed with the idea of labor and balanced on the brink of evicting my poor daughter prematurely. All day saturday I layed miserably in my bed thinking "Wow this feels exactly like mid-labor" but remaining in denial. I took herbal tincures and things, and they seemed to slow down the contractions, but early early this morning I woke up contracting again (this time with lots of blood...sorry if you didn't want to know that), and it has continued all day. The ultrasound showed that the placenta previa has resolved itself, so the bleeding is presumably from the dilation of the cervix - which means these contractions are working effectively. Clearly it's been on again/ off again, so I'm not counting on anything immediately, but I guess there is no point in taking the tinctures to try and stop it anymore.
So this is what is happening right now in my sad little world: there is a box of birth supplies sitting next to my bed that I need to begin joylessly rummaging through to make sure I have everything I need to for the birth. I remember packing up that box after Jonah was born and thinking that one day I would be reopening it for my second baby - I never imagined it would be under these circumstances. Paul is out right now collecting a few things that we will need, we lost our camera in the move and since I haven't been able to unpack all the boxes yet we're just putting a new one on the credit card as this is very important and possibly urgent. We are doing this all with the assumption that I will have a peaceful, private home birth, but the midwives are understandably nervous about assisting a birth that will inevitably end in infant death. The laws in Virginia are idiotic when it comes to midwives. My next stop is to sort out what the plan will be if labor kicks in and I actually do have to have this baby somewhere or another. What I mean to say is that I really have no clue where I will have this baby if it comes soon and who will be the care provider. The idea of a hospital birth in this situation is utterly repulsive to me. I want my privacy to birth, get to know my daughter, and grieve without butt heads wanting to check my blood pressure every three seconds and stick me up with needles and things.
I remember my first prenatal appointment, in my own living room, it was like hanging out with girl friends. I thought to myself - this baby's birth is going to be great, might as well be a birthday party. I remember, also, New Years at 12:00am and my first thought was that this year would bring with it a new baby to snuggle. When we moved and I first saw our house I thought to myself, this is the room the baby will probably be born. in (leaving the possibility open for like, the living room instead...) When I first start a new journal I always look ahead at the blank pages and wonder what they will be filled with, but never did I suspect that they would be wrinkled from so many tears and a story about a baby girl who wasn't made for this earth.
I have sure had some incredibly horrible luck in my time. When I was eight-teen, Paul and I found a boy not much older than us shot through the head, lying in the streets of San Salvador. Not a sight that leaves you very fast. Just a year later was when a stranger busted into my apartment and brutally, vindictively raped and beat my poor roommate. I had all kinds of animals when I was growing up, and I cannot tell you how very attached I would become to them. Well guess what? So many of the ones that belonged especially to me died that when my family took in a stray dog, our neighbor suggested that it be licensed under anyone's name but mine since calling it mine would be like signing it's death warrant!!!! As you know, I have had four miscarriages. If you don't know me, you should see me - I'm fit as a fiddle and there really should be no reason for me to keep losing baby after baby. I know I'm going out on quite a limb here, the reason I bring all this up is because Paul, knowing me well and my magnetism to bad luck, recently suggested that I get LIFE insurance!!!!!!! He knows everything about me, and he is concerned enough with my streak of bad luck that he thinks a 23 year old better get life insurance. *S I G H* Sorry, I thought it was funny. Thought I better throw in some wry humor for ya.
Again, prayers requested. This is such a hard time for my family. We don't know what to do, where to go. We don't know whether to plan for a baby who will need open heart surgery right away, or a funeral. Both require lots of planning...