Once Again...

Today was sonogram day, and luckily for me, it started early. When the night nurse woke me for my 6:00 am meds she asked if it was my sono day because instead of the already early 7:00, the doctor would be here at 6:15. She seemed to think that would be a bad thing, but I was thrilled to have 45 fewer minutes to wait for whatever news the day would bring.

Like everything else here, the sonograms are becoming routine. It's worked out that a different nurse has taken me every time, but the doctor is getting to know me well. When today's nurse asked if I was shaking because it was so cold, he answered her before I could. He knows I get nervous, and he's even started making attempts to distract me when the nurses don't. Turns out he's not such a bad guy once you get to know him.

Once again, everything looked good, and this week that meant something hugely exciting: a visit from my Maggie who I've missed desperately for the last 27 days. I had to wait all day for Kevin to figure it all out and get here from work (and by the end of the day I was getting very impatient!), but it was totally worth it. Even though we didn't stay out long, I got a few minutes with my precious dog and was able to breathe fresh air for the first time in weeks. I couldn't have been happier. Today was a fabulous day.

Tomorrow Tate will be 29 weeks... funny how it feels like he's getting so old. :)

me, Mags, and the wheelchair!

Frustration

This weekend was awful.

It all started last Monday when my doctor came in and said I'd have to do my glucose test at the end of the week. Despite the fact that everyone here told me I was wrong, I knew I'd fail. All week long the cloud of dread hung over me, and all week long people got more and more annoyed when I wouldn't listen to their assurances. Then they got the results from the lab, and suddenly everyone was quiet. I'd failed just like I said I would.

I've heard more times than I can count that many people fail the first test, and it's not something to be upset about. I get why people kept saying that, but to me it WAS something to be upset about. I hate needles, and even if I passed the second test, it meant going through a lot more blood draws. I also heard many times that the worst case scenario would be a restricted hospital-only diet and four finger pricks every day for the next two months. No big deal! I'm not clear on how that was supposed to sound positive to anyone, but to me it sounded awful, certainly much worse than if I'd faced this as my only complication and was dealing with it at home. On top of all the ways my life has been restricted thus far, I was now looking at losing the one piece of my old life I'd been able to keep. To me it was a very big deal.

The other hard part of the past few days has been all the comparisons, as if hearing stories worse than mine should make my issues not matter. Are there other people here in more dire situations than me? Absolutely, but it's not like things are all safe and fine for us either. We're almost to 29 weeks which is much better than 25, but it's still a long way from safe. We've been blessed to make it this far, but things could go awry at any moment. And I live at the hospital! Obviously I've got some problems too, so I certainly didn't want to add another to the list...

It's been a very frustrating time, but for now all of that is over. The results today were good, and aside from a very sad looking arm, all is well. Tomorrow morning I'll wake up to another sonogram, so it's quite possible that in a few hours we'll be facing some of those more serious complications... at least we had a little while to relax.

Results

This morning started a little rough. It was dark and gloomy outside. When I got here, Adrian had already been stuck three times in an attempt to draw blood once and drank her large bottle of Glucola. We sat here waiting. Every hour, on the hour for the next three, they came in to draw more blood. The final hour was especially nice for A as they had an intern doing the sticking.

By around 10:30, all blood had been drawn, and the sun was starting to peek out of the clouds. The nurse had come in to check on A, and said that the results from the first two draws were looking promising. Still, it was a long couple of hours waiting to hear the final results. I finally left to go grab some Chickfila for A. Just after I got out of the garage, my phone rang. It was A. There was a short pause in her voice, and my heart sank for a second. The jubilation and relief that came with the words "I passed!" is hard to describe. It definitely had my allergies acting up again for the millionth time in the past few weeks. I couldn't wait to get those nuggets and get back to give my wife a big hug.

We know that Gestational Diabetes is something that a lot of people deal with in pregnancy. It wasn't the end of the world, but the possibility of adding another thing onto the pile of complications was a hard thing to stomach. It was a huge weight that was piled onto our shoulders for the past week, and that weight is gone now.

Thanks for all of your prayers.

Things to be thankful for today:

1. The obvious. No special diet and no extra needles. The road looks a lot brighter than it did a few hours ago.

2. A giant Elmo balloon that is here in front of me. One of A's friends' daughters brought it up for A on Friday near the lowest point of the weekend. It was tough to see his goofy smiling face then, but now, it is perfect.

3. Realizing that the Chickfila on 635 is quite a bit quicker to get to from the hospital than the one on 75.

A Little Bit of Bad News

A couple of hours ago, we got a little bit of bad news. They ran a glucose test on Adrian this morning, and the results weren't good. They are going to have to run the more complicated test on Monday morning. It's a somewhat common problem, but piled onto everything else, this news is about the biggest gutshot we have had since the day we ended up here. It means more needles will probably be involved. It means that my evening and weekend routine of bringing her outside food is in jeopardy. Some of the last remnants of outside normal that have helped us with hospital life might be going away.

This has been a tough, tough pregnancy. From the 24/7 sickness in the first two trimesters to now, our toughness has been tested. A's especially. I'm proud of the way she has handled it. She's been a trooper and has shown me how to keep things going. This latest change is testing her as much as the day we got here though. Please pray with me for comfort for her, and that she will feel loved. Please pray that she'll find some extra strength and courage to keep chugging along this hard road today. This isn't the time to worry or comment about test results or what may happen next week. Just please pray that she'll find comfort in the situation today.

Happy Non-Birthday, Tate!

Just under three weeks ago, we had no idea what today would look like. Would we have already met Tate? We hoped and prayed that we wouldn’t, and asked you guys to do the same. There is a small brightly colored index card sitting on the table next to A’s bed. The card was part of the neonatologist’s discussion with us the second day we were here. Week by week, it showed two things. The top row was the likelihood of Tate surviving if born at 24, 25, 26, 27, or 28 weeks. The bottom row showed the likelihood of him being born without major problems with lung or brain development. In those numbers, one thing was very clear. Getting to week 28 would be focus #1.

We still have a long road ahead, but today, we celebrate that milestone. 28 weeks. We celebrate a boy who we haven’t met yet, and a God who is faithful. We have been blessed beyond measure. If you’re in the area of Medical City this afternoon, drop by for a visit, have some cookie cake, and celebrate Tate’s non-birthday with us. If you want to come and don’t know your way up here; let me know, and I’ll get you directions and the room number.

Thanks for all your prayers and help these past three weeks.

A Good Day

Today is a good day.

The past couple of days were extremely hard. Part of what makes being here bearable is having the regular nurses around, and this week there have been lots of floaters. The random people are totally qualified, but they do things differently and are far less personable. It makes sense. Why would this person who knows she's unlikely to ever see me again care to get to know me? I understand why they behave the way they do because it's exactly what I would do in their situation, but understanding doesn't make dealing with it any easier. Most days my nurse is the first thing I see when I wake up, and until Kevin gets off work she's often the only person I talk to... so when the person who comes in to wake me up is unfamiliar, I know immediately that the day is going to be rough.

Yesterday I woke up dreading another floater, and sure enough, that's just what I got. She actually tried harder than most to be kind and understanding, but Monday isn't the day to offer me a list of random ideas to improve my mood. I was extremely stressed about today's sonogram, so what I really needed was reassurance. The only problem is that since this woman had never met me, she had no clue what to tell me or any background to suggest that reassurance would even be appropriate. For all she knew my fear was justified. At any rate, her attempts to be helpful ended up being more upsetting, and by lunch time I gave up and resorted to sleeping just to avoid talking to her for awhile.

Luckily today more of the regular people are back. Of course, it's also sono day... which has turned out to be filled with good news. Since tomorrow will be 28 weeks, the doctor took a more detailed look at Tate, and he was great as always. He's measuring pretty much right where he should except for his extra long legs (no surprise there!) and now weighs 2 lb 10 oz. My measurements were good this week too, showing another week of no progression. While there is a small chance that there could be signs of improvement, no one seriously expects that to happen, so continued stability is very exciting.

Tomorrow, on the last day of week 3 in the hospital, we'll reach our first milestone of 28 weeks. On August 4, this day felt unimaginably far away, but it's finally here. I can't wait!

Monday

Mondays are full of uncertainty. Tuesdays are sonogram mornings. After two of them so far, we don't know whether to be excited or terrified. The bed rest is still doing its job. Nothing has gotten worse since A's been here, and we are very close to the important milestone of 28 weeks The first week of sonograms showed a small improvement. After things had gotten significantly worse over the span of the previous week, this was amazing, encouraging news. The second week wasn't necessarily good news, but it wasn't bad news. It was basically no news. Things were a little worse than the week before, but definitely not as scary as the day A was admitted.

We again don't know what to expect tomorrow. The uncertainty is a huge part of what makes this tough. It's been a somewhat rough last couple of days. It hasn't been Tate. He's been a good little guy. The room is wearing on us both a bit. It's been very quiet and a bit lonely. They've been on a gap in the nurse rotation, so some of the familiar nurses have been gone and floating nurses have been here. The floaters haven't been bad, but that familiarity with the regulars that I talked about the other day was nice. Even with plenty of nurses in my family, I have never quite appreciated them as much as in the past few weeks. Weekend TV is pretty bad. Karate Kid 4 really didn't seem that good any of the many times it was on, and you can only watch so much Say Yes to the Dress and 48 Hours Investigates.

With as long as we'll hopefully be here, there will be plenty more ups and downs. Lots more fun days and hard days. Lots more sonograms and bad TV. Lots more good news and in all likelihood some more bad. Please pray with us for tomorrow. Pray for good news. Pray that Tate will behave and that there will be no change with anything. Pray that we will be prepared for whatever they say. Pray for patience and perseverance with the hospital bed. We constantly remember that staying here is what means that Tate will be healthier and stronger when we meet him. In the long run, this is a blip in time. In the short run, it feels like it might never end.

Things to be thankful for:

1. The Boy in the Plastic Bubble. After some random mention of it on TV, A and I watched it over the weekend. Great, cheesy fun.

2. Weekly parking passes.

3. Brownies. Both from Whole Foods and day old ones from one of the nurses.