This post has been put off much like Calvin’s creation. Things were going well, and I just now got around to thinking about the third child – who was not – and then was – planned.
Tony, India, Oscar, and I were pretty happy with just the four of us. When coming up with kids’ names when we were dating, India and Oscar appeared and that was it. Tony, being raised most of his life with one sibling, thought two children was plenty. Me, being raised with two siblings and a whole onslaught of cousins near-by thought at LEAST three. But then we had two and everything was going just fine. We had bought a small Subaru Crosstrek the year before, knowing we were done having kids. Oscar was about to turn 2 years old, India was 4 and we were finally, FINALLY a mobile family. Anyone who has had an infant can testify that you just can’t do much when they’re babies. We could now take the kids hiking, camping, biking and they loved it. Then my brain got in the way.
As you have read, I may be a tad ridiculous in my listening for God’s word, but after Oscar, I suffered some major post-partum anxiety that I had to seek professional help for. PPA is different than depression in that I was constantly worried and picturing, in detail, my children being maimed, severely injured, or killed in horrifying detail. All I could think about when I was alone was yet another scenario that was heart wrenching and my mind played it out like a movie and I would just start sobbing over something that has never even come close to happening. The worst was one night when I was trying to comfort (typical) screaming Oscar and my mind asked “what if this was the Holocaust and if he doesn’t stop screaming, the Nazis will find you and rip him from you and throw him on the hard ground, immediately killing him?!!?” So, I sought out help via a therapist who helped immensely.
So, one of my wild manifestations of my PPA was that even though I knew we were done having children and even though I knew as a well-educated doctor that this wasn’t true, I started to imagine that every time I had my period, that I was just flushing a personality down the toilet. Each and every egg that was not fertilized was another potential being, a contributor to the world, someone’s soul mate just missing their chance at life. I told my therapist about this and she suggested I just go ahead and have another baby. It was almost like I was looking for someone to tell me that. I got very excited, even though the pragmatic part of me started listing off all the reasons this would not be a good idea.
I talked to Tony about all that I told the therapist while we were on a bike ride with the family on the rail trail in Clare. He stated that he was happy with just the two kids, but would do whatever I wanted if I really wanted it. I’m pretty sure Calvin was made that night – we were quite lucky with our fertility.
I was excited even though I was experiencing nausea and headaches even before the positive pregnancy test – and craving grilled cheese sandwiches. I nervously told Dr. Pol while I was spaying something and he cried with joy – he’s always been a sensitive soul about that kind of thing. It was all very happy and exciting until I was about 6 weeks pregnant and started bleeding. This was not as acute and heavy as when I bled with India, but no pregnant woman wants to see any red/brown tinge on the toilet paper. The bleeding started off moderate like an early period, then got a little heavier. I cried and cried – all of my thoughts, no matter what I was doing would migrate to “am I losing it? am I losing my baby?” I ultrasounded myself with the machine at our work (probably 20 years old) and saw a fluid filled uterus with a tiny cluster of cells with a possible “flutter” that would be the heart beat and felt a tad better, but still made an appointment with my doctor.
My doctor was professional, but certainly not comforting. The ultrasonographer found that I had a subchorionic hematoma. This meant that there was a pocket of blood between the uterine wall and the placenta that was leaking out. They found that the baby was still alive, but my doctor told me straight up that I could still lose the pregnancy. So, I went home and waited, changed pads several times a day for 7 LONG weeks that I was still seeing blood. I ultrasounded myself 2-3 times a day. Sometimes, if I didn’t sit just right it would look like the uterus was empty and I would go home sobbing. Then, Tony would tell me to go back to the clinic and try again – when I would see the black fluid where a tiny blob of tissue floated with a very healthy heartbeat.
Around 13 weeks into the pregnancy, I finally stopped seeing blood every time I peed and could settle into my future with a third child – and eventually allowed myself to come up with a name. Going into my second trimester, I started having horrific pelvic pains that felt like the bones at my pubis were relaxing apart and would rub and click against one another when I walked. I could only walk for brief periods before I had to sit down. It felt like my pelvis was about to split in half with every step.
By the time my third trimester came along, I was pretty certain my body would not survive a fourth pregnancy as I was barely holding it together at this point. Calvin was being a good baby, though and was facing head down. Around 36.5 weeks (normal pregnancy 40 weeks) I got to where standing and walking was near torture. Between braxton hicks contractions and my pelvis splitting in two, the very idea of getting up and walking was awful.
The day before I went into labor, I was tired, I was the only person at the clinic that afternoon as Dr. Brenda was out on farm calls. Right about closing time, a very good client called and said her goat herd had been attacked by a couple of dogs and they were all mangled and in need of repair. I stuck around, but sat on a rolling chair and gave all the wonderful people who worked at the clinic that day detailed instructions on drugs, dosages, surgical material, etc. One by one, they carried in goats for me to evaluate on my rolling chair, sedate and suture, or euthanize. I think we had 7-8 goats in all that needed attention. My abdomen was so tight by the end of all that, I went home barely able to stand.
The next afternoon I went into labor, I was at work and had seen a sick patient and come up with a treatment plan. I was currently having a doubled over, bear down, teeth grinding contraction that I thought was just bad diarrhea and told Tony I needed to go home, but needed to talk to the client first and didn’t think I could stand up. He asked if he could just go get the client and bring him to my desk so I could go over the plan and not have to stand. I thought that was a genius idea. Tony brought me the client, I went over the x-rays on my computer, went over the treatment plan and all the medications while sitting in my chair, keeping my insides from breaking out of my pelvis, then sent them on their way. Tony later told me that Diane took a call just a few minutes after I left for the hospital with a complaint from that man that I was not being professional when I made him come back to talk to him. I’m not sure what he would have thought had I waddled down the hall to his room, in a cold sweat, bent in half while panting out his instructions.
I insisted on driving myself home as I thought it was just bad diarrhea and didn’t want Tony home with me to witness that. The office staff, however, insisted that Tony drive me home. About 3/4 of the way home, still clinging, white knuckled to the “oh crap strap” in the car, I decided I had better go on to the hospital. When I got there, the doctor checked me and said I was at 2 cm and was having contractions, so they placed me on IV fluids and the contractions slowed, then stopped. I was still three weeks early and technically considered premature and the nurse told me if I were to have the baby now, he may end up in NICU and I might not even get to hold him. I decided to go home and try to delay the inevitable.
I went home, had a horrible contraction, then had some toast and fell asleep on the couch. Tony woke me up to go to bed and I was feeling much better. Then, when I lay down in bed, the contractions started again. Not as violent this time, but very deliberate and regular. I decided I’d rather spend the night in the hospital being monitored than risk something happening to my baby (one nurse told me my uterus could rupture due to my previous cesarean, so I might have panicked a little). Luckily, Missy from work had already taken India and Oscar to her house in case this happened, so we didn’t have to worry about them at a hospital – my mom was on the way, but didn’t expect me to go this early.
I went to the hospital and told the nurse not to call the doctor because I didn’t think I was in labor, but just needed monitoring. She called him anyway and he said I was progressing and technically in labor. Because it was after hours on a Friday night, at this particular hospital I couldn’t try a natural birth, it had to be a c-section. So, a few minutes later, much more calmly than Oscar had entered the world, Calvin was delivered three weeks early, 6lb ?oz – at least 2lb smaller than our first two and he was TINY! Everything about him was perfectly healthy and normal. We had the horrifying scare at the beginning of the pregnancy, but now we have three beautiful, rambunctious, trying, wonderful children!
