On the day Zachary was born, I was twenty-two weeks and one day pregnant, which is precisely where I am in this pregnancy today.
That morning, I woke up as a patient on the antepartum wing of the hospital and was rushed to the OR for an experimental procedure in the hopes that we could rescue my child from death. This morning, I rushed out the door for an early doctor's appointment with enough spare time to grab a chicken biscuit along the way.
That morning, the procedure failed as a surprise to me and I agreed to lengthy bedrest in Trendelenburg position. This morning, I was certain that there would be another failure, leading to bedrest, and was surprised to find out I was wrong.
That afternoon, I met with the neonatologist to discuss ethics and hospital policy and decided on a timeline for life-saving measures and respite care. This afternoon, I ate tacos, had a progesterone injection, laid around on the couch and caught up on Facebook status updates.
That evening, I was sent to labor and delivery because as that day progressed, my water broke, the baby's cord prolapsed, and there was nothing more we could do to to save him. I was given Cervadil and what was left of the cerclage was removed. For some reason, American Idol was on the TV as I labored. This evening, I intend to watch American Idol with my family at home, safely and happily still pregnant.
The whole experience of losing Zachary was a whirlwind. At every turn, I remember thinking I'd get out of it somehow -- somehow everything would work out and both the baby and I would be okay. Sure, maybe I'd require all sorts of intervention, but miracles were neither impossible nor improbable. Instead, by that evening, I marveled at how tiny his perfect little body was, and by the next day, I was making arrangements with a funeral home.
After such an experience, it was no wonder that I expected there to be something wrong when I went in today for a routine ultrasound at the exact same gestational age. It's true that I've had an extraordinary amount of peace throughout this pregnancy, but when your "normal" has been something so heart-wrenching, it's difficult to change your mindset. Still, I don't even think I realized how internally convinced I was about there being problems until my sweet doctor came into the room and the tears (mine, not his) started flowing.
Today, though, was a joyous day. Instead of having my unfortunate expectations met, I was surprised to find that my pregnancy is still progressing nicely. My current miracle is ongoing. My cervix is fine and remains stable in spite of vacation walking and a sporadic seasonal allergy cough. The baby has grown and is still measuring ahead -- she's measuring over 24 weeks around her tummy, and around 23 weeks everywhere else! Today, I marveled at how big her perfect little body is, and instead of making funeral arrangements, I think it might be time to get serious about decorating the nursery.
Cross Posted on About the Baby