Not this past Monday, but two Mondays before (day 12 b.r.), Joel and I drove to our weekly ultrasound to check the length and strength of my cervix. Wait a minute, I need to back up again. When we first found out that we were indeed pregnant and went to the 8 week ultrasound to first hear the heartbeat, there were a lot of emotions in the room, but none that you would expect. Although I was smiling and calm, deep down, I was praying that everything was going to be normal this time. Did I share those thoughts with Joel, heavens no...I'm the calm one, remember? Joel was there and supportive, however strangely quiet and reserved. I felt as though I was alone, and wanted nothing more than to have the excited, joyous, happy moment with my husband as we saw our 2nd baby on the screen mounted on the wall.
As we left the appointment, with good news from the doctor, we got in the car and I was upset. All I wanted was for Joel to grab my hand, or hug me, or smile...do anything to share that moment together. It wasn't until a week later, that I found out what was really going on. Joel was scared to death. I was so wrapped up in what I wanted, and expected, that I hadn't considered how frightening the possibility of another birth story like Jett's must have been for him. After apologizing, I then realized that he needed my support, as much as I needed his. I wanted to rewind to that 1st month of pregnancy so that you can put yourself in Joel's shoes, as I try to do each time we go for another ultrasound.
Back to the Monday, two weeks ago...as the technician attempted the ultrasound, it was stopped right away. As she proceeded to say, "This is going to be cold," she forgot to tell me that she is not the slow entry type! As soon as she began, I was in instant pain. I started to tear up, and Joel asked her to stop. We were of course scared that something was wrong, but I tried to reassure Joel and myself that it was just because she had me lying flat instead of up at an angle like every time before.
The technician said, "I'm sorry hon, let me go get the doctor." Dr. Rhea came in, and per my request, put the bed up more at an angle...She 'went in' slowly (sorry if this is too much information) and I didn't have any pain at all. When the doctor viewed the screen, she pointed out that Baby Rickards was squirming around on top of my cervix, and just on the other side, we saw a large, dark mass. Fortunately, it wasn't the kind of 'mass' that would send me for further treatment...unless you call "Drink a lot of fluids and maybe eat some more P-fruits to move things along!" OH MY GOSH!!!!!! Poop? I was mortified! While we all laughed it off, it was still painful, and humiliating at the same time.
After the ultrasound was through, we discussed the length of my cervix. It had shortened to 1.9cm. We were then told to head straight to the hospital to pursue a cerclage. Once in the ER, talk about deja vu! The same intake nurse was at the desk that was there when I was admitted for Jett's birth. Joel won her over and dealt with the check-in information, while I was on the phone preparing lesson plans for my class with the substitute. We waited for about an hour until they called my name. Still unsure of what was about to go down, I stripped down to just a hospital gown and climbed in the triage cot...not comfortable enough to be called a bed.
After two hours, the doctor came in and began her consultation. It was determined that my cervix was not strong enough to hold any stitches, and the risk of infection, or rejection of the stitch was too great. All I could think of was the word 'infection' and how she kept repeating it, over and over again. At one point, I felt like that was the only word that she WAS saying. Joel and I were both glad the decision was made for us at that point, and we packed up and went home.
So, two weeks later, we visited the doctor again and received okay news. Although my cervical length is fluctuating, the doctor is happy with the length of 2.6cm and said, "Keep up the good work! Bed rest til the end!"
Back to the Monday, two weeks ago...as the technician attempted the ultrasound, it was stopped right away. As she proceeded to say, "This is going to be cold," she forgot to tell me that she is not the slow entry type! As soon as she began, I was in instant pain. I started to tear up, and Joel asked her to stop. We were of course scared that something was wrong, but I tried to reassure Joel and myself that it was just because she had me lying flat instead of up at an angle like every time before.
The technician said, "I'm sorry hon, let me go get the doctor." Dr. Rhea came in, and per my request, put the bed up more at an angle...She 'went in' slowly (sorry if this is too much information) and I didn't have any pain at all. When the doctor viewed the screen, she pointed out that Baby Rickards was squirming around on top of my cervix, and just on the other side, we saw a large, dark mass. Fortunately, it wasn't the kind of 'mass' that would send me for further treatment...unless you call "Drink a lot of fluids and maybe eat some more P-fruits to move things along!" OH MY GOSH!!!!!! Poop? I was mortified! While we all laughed it off, it was still painful, and humiliating at the same time.
After the ultrasound was through, we discussed the length of my cervix. It had shortened to 1.9cm. We were then told to head straight to the hospital to pursue a cerclage. Once in the ER, talk about deja vu! The same intake nurse was at the desk that was there when I was admitted for Jett's birth. Joel won her over and dealt with the check-in information, while I was on the phone preparing lesson plans for my class with the substitute. We waited for about an hour until they called my name. Still unsure of what was about to go down, I stripped down to just a hospital gown and climbed in the triage cot...not comfortable enough to be called a bed.
After two hours, the doctor came in and began her consultation. It was determined that my cervix was not strong enough to hold any stitches, and the risk of infection, or rejection of the stitch was too great. All I could think of was the word 'infection' and how she kept repeating it, over and over again. At one point, I felt like that was the only word that she WAS saying. Joel and I were both glad the decision was made for us at that point, and we packed up and went home.
So, two weeks later, we visited the doctor again and received okay news. Although my cervical length is fluctuating, the doctor is happy with the length of 2.6cm and said, "Keep up the good work! Bed rest til the end!"
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