After twelve years of trying to get pregnant, seven miscarriages, and one failed marriage . . .
I met the man of my dreams! Shortly after we met and moved in together, we decided to remove all obstacles and just "see what happens." Much to our joy and astonishment, I was pregnant within a month. Everything was idyllic—great pregnancy, very few negative symptoms at all.
At twenty-three weeks along, I began to have spotting and some odd pains. At my monthly check-up, I mentioned this to my doctor and she decided to send me for an ultrasound, just to check and make sure that everything was still okay. While at my ultrasound, the tech wouldn't show me the screen, and any expectant mom can't wait to get a peek at baby. Two nurses walked in, suddenly, and whisked me off to delivery—as a precaution, they said. I was informed by my doctor, who rushed over when she heard what was going on, that the baby was at my cervix and my cervix was open.
Rushed by ambulance (lights and sirens going), I ended up at Mount Sinai Hospital in Toronto, where I learned that our precious little baby was Footling Breach (essentially means feet down and out). Prognosis was not good, as babies delivered that early have very little chance of survival, and they told us that they don't perform lifesaving measures on babies delivered prior to twenty-seven weeks. So, it was middle-of-the-night surgery to put in a cerclage (stitches in my cervix) and TOTAL bedrest for what may remain of my pregnancy.
With weekly visits to a specialist in Toronto to check my progress and make sure the cerclage was doing it's job, we made it seven weeks with few problems (besides my cabin fever from being locked up at home). Then the bleeding and pain began again, and we were off (lights and sirens, again)—back to Toronto to learn that the cerclage was no longer doing it's job, and despite best efforts, I was dilating again (this time to four centimetres). Two weeks as an inpatient, with nothing—no labour, no baby, I was lost.
We came home after our two-week stay, only to go back into labour within twenty-four hours. This time was "IT"!!! We were sure we were having this baby, finally—early, but after everything we'd already been through, it was a FINALLY for us.
Our beautiful baby boy was born premature and, unfortunately, not breathing on his own. He was whisked away before I even got a glimpse of him. He spent a few days on a CPAP machine, helping him to regulate his breathing, and two weeks in an incubator, trying to get his body temperature stabilized. At what would have been roughly thirty-six weeks pregnant, we were allowed to bring our baby boy home (while promising daily visits to our family doctor, trying to get his weight up).
Our baby is now six-months old, pushing twenty pounds, and the happiest, funniest little boy ever! He is our miracle baby, and we are blessed every single day for his smiles, and his giggles, and the absolute joy he has brought into our lives.
Now, I want to try again!
For Your Weeky Guide to Pregnancy, click here.
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