Do you ever have a bad day, like a really bad day, and think… this is the worst day of my life? But then things calm down, get back to normal, until something else happens and you think again… this is the worst day of my life.

I know what the worst day of my life is. The thought that something else will come along and claim that title scares the shit out of me. I remember that day so clearly. Little pieces come back to me at random moments every day of my life since then. Some memories are good, most of them are sad. A little piece of me is gone, but the void gets slightly filled when I look at her picture to see her face, or remember what her cry sounded like, or remember what it felt like to hold her in my arms and run my fingers through her hair.

It's been three months since our world was turned upside down. I didn’t know if I would continue writing for the blog. Even writing now, I’m not convinced this will ever get posted. I am happy to have the blog because it was a place where I could get out my feelings on a situation so bizarre, there were no blueprints for how to handle it. I’m glad we decided to share it with our friends and family. So much has happened and we kept so many of you with limited details. I feel like the blog offers some clarity for all of us. Our friends and family gets to know more of the details, and I get the opportunity to share them in a comfortable way for me.

Our family and friends. You have all come together for us in ways we didn’t know we needed. You have been there for us and allowed us to grieve in whatever way we have needed. I knew we had a lot of people in our life who cared about us, but I guess I never realized how much I would need that love and support. You all have allowed us to laugh, cry, be sad or be happy, all without any worries or judgment. For that, I will forever be grateful.

Throughout the tumultuous last 6 months we have had, it has been hard to remind ourselves that good things do happen. We’ve lost so much and have gone through things I would not wish on my worst enemy. We’ve had to stop and search for the good things. Just like with grief, sometimes it’s easier than others to come up with the good things. But here is a list of what I have for now:

I went back to work. As much as I had convinced myself I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, I am really enjoying being back. Good things do happen.

Addison is growing like a weed. She is so smart and genuinely funny. She makes me laugh every day. Good things do happen.

Brian is an amazing father and husband. Every night we talk about our day and how lucky we are to have what we have. Good things do happen.

My relationship with my brother is better than it has been in a long time and we have been supports for each other. Good things do happen.

We’ve gotten good news from family: houses, jobs, cars and more. Good things do happen.

Through my hospital stay, I have kept in touch with and made new friends. Good things do happen.

I have reconnected with old friends and family. Good things do happen.

It would be so easy to get caught up in the sadness which surrounds our life. Some people still don’t know how to talk to me, and that’s ok. Our friends and family are going through this with us, it affects them too. I don’t want to allow the sadness to control our lives. Yes, we definitely have good days and bad days.

The tears still come when I think about Morgan or my mom and how much I miss them. But they don’t come all of the time. I can talk about them without crying. I can be happy for the time I got to spend with them and not just focused on the fact they are not here anymore. Don’t get me wrong, the sadness and anger are still there, and rears its head from time to time. But we’re not denying it, we’re dealing with it as it comes. We might not be there quite yet, but I think we’re on our way to getting to a new normal, a new normal where we are happy more than we are sad.

We’ll see if I post again, or if I even post this one. It’s a little different writing to an actual audience than just writing for myself. The anonymity is gone and while it’s a little scary, it’s also a little bit of a relief. Everyone cares about us and everyone is worried about us. But I really think we’re doing ok.

Morgan Faith was born January 21st, and died later that night. Her little body was only on this earth for 19 hours. In those 19 hours, we got to see her. To see how beautiful she was. We got to hold her. To feel close to her. We got to kiss her. To kiss her on the forehead and tell her we loved her.

Official records say she was on this earth 19 hours. But she was with us so much longer. We got to know this little soul. She was feisty, definitely second child syndrome.

Where Addison didn’t move in the womb, Morgan was all over the place. Which made it fun for the nurses who had to monitor her twice a day. They needed her to stay put for 20 minutes each time. Which she would do, for about 18 minutes.

Morgan was a fighter. She was strong. At 18 weeks we weren’t sure we would get to see her, hold her or kiss her. But she held on. She fought so that we had a chance.

Her life was way too short. But she will be remembered forever. She will be in our memories. And she will be in our hearts.

Today is not a good day. It is 9:00 AM and already I am counting down the hours until I can crawl into bed, cover my head with my blanket and cry myself to sleep. Not every day has been like this. Some days are better than others. But today, today is not a good day.
I had a fight with my husband. It’s a stupid fight that we have had before and one, as much as I hate to say it, I’m sure we’ll have again. But in the midst of that fight I got a phone call. Due to the high risk pregnancy both of my insurances had assigned me nurses to call and complete check in’s. I had been avoiding these calls but because of the messages and call backs for a funeral, I have been answering all calls with our area code. This morning the insurance nurse called for her check-in and I was forced to answer.
These nurses have been extremely helpful in having someone to talk to, ask questions and get advice. Today’s call was heartbreaking. I had to explain to an unsuspecting kind lady what had  happened to my baby. I had to hear that awkward pause on the phone as she tried to keep her emotions in check and search her brain for something to say.

There is nothing to say. There is nothing to say that is going to make me or anyone else feel better about this situation. People try. Sometimes I appreciate it and other times I wish they just wouldn’t. I know it is all coming from a good place but many times I feel like I am consoling them. With my friends and family I can do that. This is something that is happening to them to. They are feeling their own pain. But for the strangers who we encounter, I don’t have words for them.

This was my baby. This was the baby I held while her heart slowly stopped beating and she took her last breath. I’m never going to see her again, or hold her again. The memories of her are in my head, on my phone in photos and in a keepsake box on a shelf in the playroom. I look at her photo every day. The one from the hospital where all she has is a breathing tube and a heart monitor. Her hair is fuzzy and she looks just like her big sister. Most days the photo makes me happy, I get to see her, she was real. But today, today I feel my heart ache and I tears well up in my eyes.

Today I just want to wallow. Today I just feel sad. Tomorrow will be better. Maybe even this afternoon will be better. I can only hope.

Nobody should have to be going through this. Nobody should ever have to feel the loss of a child.

This was not in the plan. Everything was going so well. The doctors and nurses all thought things were going well. I thought things were going well. I was ready to spend time in the NICU. I was prepared for a long recovery so that I could take her home. I was never prepared to say goodbye.

It has been two weeks since I delivered a beautiful baby girl. It has been two weeks since I held my baby and had to say goodbye. It has been two weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. And in reality… it has been a lifetime. A very short lifetime.

The emotions come in waves. Sometimes remembering holding her feeling her inside me makes me happy. Sometimes I think about my mom and I get angry because she was supposed to protect us, she was supposed to make everything ok. Sometimes I miss my baby and I’m sad. Ok, a lot of the time I miss my baby and I’m sad, but the other emotions are there too. Lingering and waiting to make their appearance in my heart. 

People ask me how I’m feeling, and I can’t bring myself to lie to them: “physically I’m fine. The doctor said everything looks good”. That is my standard answer. It doesn’t make me feel sad and it keeps people from being the awkward position of not really wanting to know the truth of how I’m doing. In reality, I’m broken. I’m missing a piece of me but I’m doing my best to keep it together for the other little girl in my life.

At almost 2, Addison does not really understand what is going on. She’s definitely happy to have mom home, and is going through some separation anxiety, but she’s thriving. This sweet little girl has no idea that two of the most tragic events of her life have happened. I almost envy her for that. She’s happy. She has mom and dad home. I’m sure she senses something is off, but she has no idea the severity of the situation. I want Addison to know about her baby sister. I want Addison to know her nana and her baby sister are looking out for her. Now is not the time, but someday, Addison will know about the angels on her side.

We don’t want to forget Morgan. We don’t want people to think they can’t talk to us about her or ask us questions. Because while we got to hear her and hold her, our family did not get that opportunity. I know she was real because I got to hold her, I got to see her and feel her. Our family just has pictures. They spent this entire journey with us, the ups and the downs, but they never got the opportunity to meet her. This situation is heartbreaking for us, but we also know how hard it is for everyone else involved. So many people knew our story. They prayed for us and were hopeful with us. Now, we’re all sad and hurting.

Morgan Faith. After my mom died we considered changing Morgan’s middle name to honor her. Ultimately we decided to keep Morgan Faith because Faith had gotten us to where we were. Faith had gotten us so far. At the time we were at 32 weeks and continuously hearing good news. Now, knowing where we are after the last few weeks, I’m glad we didn’t change it. Faith had gotten us to where we were. Faith allowed us to meet our little girl, to see her and hear her. Faith is what is going to get us through this.

I haven’t always been a faithful person. In fact, after my dad died in 2014, I spent years angry at God. I worked for a faith based non-profit, went to mass with my husband, and each time I refused to pray because I was angry. At the time I continuously asked myself: “why would god do this to us? Why would he take away my dad?” I was so angry that I started drinking more, developing migraines and spent days looking for reasons to stay angry. I cannot do that again. For Addison, for Brian and for Morgan, I will not allow myself to do that again. I have to have faith. I have to believe that even though my baby is gone, things will be ok. I have to keep the faith.  

Everything was fine. Everything was going according to plan. We were doing so well that they talked about keeping us another week. Then it happened. 33 weeks exactly. I started feeling a little pain. I started feeling contractions. They were monitoring the whole time. My vitals were good, Morgan’s vitals were good… Until they weren’t. Both of our heartrates started to go up. I quickly developed a fever. As soon as the fever hit 99 the doctor was called and a c-section was scheduled. The nurses prepped me and my husband rushed to the hospital. We were supposed to have another week. She was supposed to stay in for another week. 34 weeks, that was the goal.

I was nervous but I also knew that she was ready. In the time Morgan and I spent together, she was more like me personality wise than I had previously admitted. She was stubborn, she was going to do things on her own terms no matter what I, the doctors or nurses wanted. She was a fighter. She had fought so hard since we found out she barely had any fluid surrounding her in the womb. At 18 weeks they thought we would need to deliver early because of the circumstances but she proved them wrong. She made it to 33 weeks and she was ready to come out.

The c-section went as smoothly as could be expected. Morgan Faith came into the world at 3:39 AM on Friday January 21st. The NICU team was ready for her and the respitory therapist was on hand to receive her. The fear had always been her lungs, did she have enough fluid to help her lungs develop. She came out, my husband and I both held our breath as we waited and hoped to hear her cry. Today, almost a week later, that sweet little cry is still the best sound I have ever heard.

I didn’t get to see her but I heard her. I heard her crying beside me. It was such a little cry, but it was hers, and it is something I hope I hear for the rest of my life. Looking to my left I could see her little leg moving from the warmer in between the nurses taking care of her. With happy tears in his eyes, my husband said she was beautiful and she had a full head of hair. They took her to the NICU and my husband followed her. The doctors and nurses were amazing as they took care of me, got me put back together and took me back to my room.

She was crying. Crying was a good thing.

From the NICU my husband sent me photos of my little baby. 4 lbs. 11 ounces. She was smaller than the most recent scan had guessed. He said she was doing ok. She was breathing on her own, but not as well as they wanted. He said they were helping her breathe with a tube. She also had a feeding tube to help her get nutrition and the doctor said she would be in the NICU at least until her March 11 due date.

She was doing alright. That was a good thing.

The NICU team was taking care of her. My husband came back to my room to check on me. He had breakfast. I finally got to drink some water and we talked about the beautiful baby who had fought so hard to come into this world. She was here! Everything we had worked for, she was here!!

The nurses, my friends, all came in to see us. To take turns looking at her picture and to see how I was doing. We had updated our family to let them know she needed help breathing. She had started to fight the ventilator so they sedated her so she could rest and get the treatment she needed. Before doing so, she opened her eyes to look at my husband when he spoke to her.

It was around 4 PM. I hadn’t seen her yet, still recovering from the c-section. I started to get cold. I started to shake. I had called the nurse because I was shaking so much. My husband walked in and was instantly worried. I didn’t know what was going on but I could not stop shaking. He covered me with another blanket and the nurse came in. Today I still don’t know if the pain meds had worn off, if I was cold or if it was some sort of weird mother’s intuition but the phone in my room rang, and it was the NICU. They asked for my husband to come back. My heart sank. A phone call requesting his presence could not mean anything good. But I continued to think positive and hope that it was something good, maybe she was ready to come off the ventilator already.

The nurse, one of my new friends, was giving me new pain meds as me cell phone rang. It was my husband. His voice was shaky as he told me our baby wasn’t doing well. He said they told him she developed an infection, the needed to give her antibiotics and she was now considered in critical condition. The nurse, my new angel, quickly sprung into action and had him ask if I could come into the NICU now. She unplugged me from the machines and got me a wheel chair to take me in immediately because she knew I hadn’t met this beautiful baby yet.

When I got into the NICU my husband was waiting. They were trying to find one of her veins so they could give her the antibiotics. But they were having a hard time. We sat there and waited outside of the curtain while they tried to find a line and get her the medicine she needed. They assured us the curtains were closed so they could use the special lights to see better, that she was ok, but that it would be a few minutes.

Finally, after what felt like forever, I was wheeled into her room and I finally got to see her. She was so little lying in the incubator. She had a tube helping her breathe and other tubes to administer medicine. She was beautiful. Her fuzzy hair made her look like her dad. Her pretty features looked just like her big sister. She was laying so still I was afraid to touch her but I knew I needed to. Her skin was so soft. She was perfect.

The doctor explained that her heartrate was good. Her oxygen levels were low. But he was most worried about her blood pressure. The infection was causing acid in her blood. The antibiotics were administered to try to help with septic shock. We sat by her side, talking to her, rubbing her arms and legs. The nurses were kind and worked around us like a skilled dance.

They asked me if I wanted to hold her. They said they would maneuver all of the tubes so that I could hold her. I paused. I wanted to hold her. But the fact they were asking meant that things were not looking good. They were asking if I wanted to hold her because they didn’t know if I would get another chance. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to say yes because that meant acknowledging the reality that she was in critical condition and she might not make it. The nurses were amazing. They told me that I wanted to hold her, that I needed to hold her.

She was so little in my arms, half the size of her sister when she was born. Her skin was so soft and her fuzzy hair was so cute. I held her in my arms and I cried. She and I had fought so hard. She was still fighting and there was nothing I could do but to hold her in my arms. I talked to her and told her how much I loved her. I told her she looked like her dad and her sister. I told her that she was so strong, she was a fighter.

She was a fighter. She continued to be a fighter. While I was holding her the doctor came in. He looked at her vitals and said that her blood pressure was doing better. He pressed on her chest and watched the color come back faster than it had earlier. He told us a story about why he got into this field. He said when he was an intern, a baby with vitals similar to Morgan’s came in. He said he wasn’t willing to give up on that baby and he wasn’t going to give up on Morgan. He was happy with her blood pressure. He kindly asked if we could lay her back down so they could continue to work with her.

She was ok. She wasn’t great, but she was ok. We went back to my room so we could each use the restroom. The nurse forced us to try to eat and for me to pump so we could call my milk and start a stockpile for the NICU. We didn’t really eat, but I did pump.

Back in the NICU we sat by her side, continuously checking the monitors to see where her vitals were at. Were they getting better? Or were they getting worse? Unfortunately for us, it was a combination of both. Her levels would go up, then they’d go down. They’d go up, and then they would go back down. The night seemed so short but also seemed to last forever. The nurses and doctors continued to do everything they could fix our beautiful baby.
One of the hardest parts of the night was being pushed out of the room so they could perform chest compressions on my newborn baby. I remember crying outside of the room and only being able to see the monitor for her vitals as they had closed the curtain to protect us from seeing what was happening. After the chest compressions and more medicine, her vitals were steady and in a good place. But the doctor couldn’t confirm it would stay that way. Instead, we had to make the heartbreaking decision that they would not perform chest compressions again. This was it; they were either going to fix her now, or they weren’t.

Around 10 o’clock we were exhausted. The doctor instructed us to go back to our room and rest, that it was going to be a long night and they would call us if anything happened. Hesitantly and almost forcefully we obliged.

We called our family, my in-laws and my aunt to update them. We didn’t tell them about what we had just witnessed, we just told them she was critical and her vitals were up and down. I was talking to my aunt when the hospital room phone rang, it was the NICU. They instructed us to come back to the NICU. The nurse met us at my room and ushered us through the back door of the NICU to get us there faster. Her vitals were going down and the doctor told us we could hold her. So we did. We held her. We kissed her and told her how much we loved her. I thanked her for choosing me to be her mother and I told her how strong she was. She was stronger than I think I will ever be.

Morgan Faith Glasgow was born on January 21st at 3:49 AM. She fought for the next 18, almost 19 hours but the infection proved to be too much. I only held her in my arms for a few hours, but she has been with me every day for the last 8 months. I felt her inside me, her kicks and her hiccups. This was not what was supposed to happen and I don’t know where to go from here. But I do know that I love this little girl, and she will be with me forever.

I had a breakdown earlier this week. What should have been great news, twisted in my head and my mental psyche to be slightly devastating. The countdown to delivery had begun and with this news, the countdown was interrupted to make time for my mental fog, hormones, and emotions of this entire journey. I cried. I melted down in front of my husband. And I wished so much that I could talk to my mom so she could tell me that everything would be alright and assure me that I was making the right decision. 

We’re 32, almost 33 weeks. The journey to 34 has always been the goal, no matter how far or bleak that goal seemed to be. When we first found out at 18 weeks that we might have to deliver early and the best chance would be to make it to 34 weeks, we hoped and prayed for this opportunity. The last six weeks in the hospital we have been slowly trudging towards this goal, hoping beyond hope that we would actually be able to make it there. The two-week countdown had begun, plans had started for delivery, and then a wrench or a lifeline was thrown into those plans. 

One of the high-risk doctors came in to see me, like they always do. This time he sat down in a chair next to my bed and talked about how far we’ve come and how well we’re doing. Then he dropped the bombshell. He said that instead of delivering at 34 weeks, there was potential to go another week and deliver at 35 weeks. 

My head started spinning at the thought of another week. The doctor and the nurse started explaining what waiting another week would entail. There would be an ultrasound to check on the status of the baby and make sure she was doing ok. They would complete bloodwork to verify there was still no sign of infection. Everything would have to look perfect for us to consider another week. Everything they were saying was registering with me, but the only real thought I had: I want to go home. 

I know what the doctors have said. In the last few days, I had talked to not only my doctors but the NICU doctor as well. Another week in womb would be beneficial for her lungs to have a little more time to mature, as well as learning the suckling motion she will need to eat. One more week in the womb, means significantly less time in the NICU. 35 weeks was not the goal. 35 weeks would be exceeding the goal. While the over achiever in me knew this was a great possibility, the part of me that has been sitting in the hospital for the last six weeks was freaking out. 

I want to go home. But I need to stay. 

I want to go home. I am ready to go home. I was preparing to go home. The decision had been made for a c-section because it would put less stress on the baby. My husband and I were talking about finally taking time off work and having a celebratory dinner before the procedure prep limited the food and drinks I could have. We were making plans to visit the baby in the NICU and how we could coordinate our schedules to make sure Addison’s schedule was not completely thrown off. We were preparing to deliver this baby. We were prepared for me to go home. 

I want to go home. But I need to stay. 

I need to stay. If I can give this baby any sort of extension or a better chance once she comes out, I need to do it. There is no question. I need to put my feelings and emotions aside so I can give my baby the best chance possible. 

I want to go home. But I need to stay. 

They are presenting me with this option, which is really no option at all. This little soul has fought so hard to make it this far. She has defied odds and amazed doctors throughout this entire process. What’s to say that she can’t do it again? Or who am I to get in her way? This entire time we have followed doctors’ recommendations and put our faith in this little girl. This was another torn decision where I needed to follow the path which has already led us so far. 

Faith. I needed to have faith. As much as I wanted to go home, I needed to have faith. The doctors know what is best and I have believed that since the very beginning. Their guidance has allowed us to make it this far. This little girl is strong. She has been strong, even when I wasn’t sure I had the willpower to be strong. She has kept us going and whatever way she decides to come into this world, whenever it is decided she will make her appearance, I need to just be thankful that we are here and have the opportunity to meet her. 

15 weeks ago, we were hoping for the best, but we were preparing to say goodbye. We were talking to our family about the best-case scenario, not knowing the real statistics, but knowing enough to prepare ourselves for the worst.  34 weeks went from the hopeful goal, to the goal and now potentially to go passed that goal is a good thing. 

As of right now, I’m not sure if I’ll be in the hospital for another week or two before a scheduled c-section. And for all the crying and worrying I did, I’m ok with that. Once again, I am going to wait it out and see what happens. The doctors will take bloodwork to see if it is even an option, then a decision will be made. But for now, I’m going to leave it up to fate. Things happen for a reason and throughout this process our faith as a family has not wavered. Our faith in the baby, the doctors, the nurses and the overall situation have kept us going. Now should not be any different. No, now we’re going to leave it up to faith, to Morgan Faith, our little girl. 

The last twelve months have not been kind to me. What started off as a great 2021, slowly deteriorated and made December one of the worst months of the year. The beginning of 2021, we were happily eager to celebrate Addison’s first birthday with friends and family. COVID was starting to get better so we had made the decision to start trying for a second baby. March went off without a hitch. The Harry Potter themed birthday party was a fun way to celebrate Addison, but also to celebrate one of the first times the family had been together throughout the pandemic. Little did we know, March was also the month we conceived a baby we had called 2.0. 

We were happy. In fact, we were ecstatic. Our cute little family was happy and growing. I had made my first doctor appointment, and because COVID was better, my husband was allowed to come along for the ultrasound. We were happy as the ultrasound began and surprised when they said the sac was present, but the baby was measuring smaller than what we initially thought. What we thought was 8 weeks, looked to be about 4. I saw a doctor, but they didn’t do much, saying it was too early to see anything and scheduled me to come back in two weeks when we would be able to see more. 

We didn’t make it to the two weeks. One week after that appointment, I started bleeding. The bleeding was slow at first, brown and pink like some normal bleeding during early pregnancy. When the bleeding got heavier, my heart slowly started to break. Another doctor’s appointment and another ultrasound didn’t show any reasons why this was happening, or exactly what was happening. The doctor very kindly told me that the bleeding could stop, and we would see where we were at OR the bleeding would continue for a miscarriage. Only time would tell, and we were scheduled for another ultrasound the following week to see where we stood. 

The bleeding didn’t stop. In fact, it had gotten worse throughout the afternoon. I remember sitting with my husband, tears in my eyes and confessing what I knew in my heart but didn’t want to say out loud: this was it; it was ending. We tried to be hopeful, but we both knew the truth. So going into the ultrasound appointment the following week, I tried to relieve the ultrasound tech to let her know the bleeding had continued and we were not expecting to see anything on the ultrasound. She didn’t need to walk on eggshells or try to sugarcoat it for us. We already knew what had happened, any confirmation had already come when the bleeding persisted. 

The miscarriage occurred in May. We were told to wait at least one cycle before trying again. At that point we didn’t know if one month was enough time to grieve and heal from losing 2.0. Our plan had been to wait three months, and then have the conversation about whether we were ready to start trying again. 

It turns out that it didn’t matter what our plans were. Life has a way of making decisions for you. My body was starting to feel different and there was not a very logical reason why. I didn’t feel sick, or any other pregnancy symptoms. For some reason, on July 9th I decided to take a pregnancy test. I left the test on the bathroom counter to process while I put Addison to bed. My husband was on his way home and I honestly didn’t think there would be anything to tell him. But when I looked at that test, and saw the second line, so many emotions raced through me. I was excited and scared. I was happy and scared. I was nervous and scared. 

I met my husband in the garage when he got home. In the height of summertime, it was still bright outside. He came into the garage and I showed him the positive test. We hugged. We smiled and laughed through the tears and fear I’m sure we were both feeling. The positive test should have been a happy moment, and in some ways, it was. But after having a miscarriage, it was not only hard to believe there would be any sort of positive outcome for this new pregnancy.
We really weren’t sure how far along we were. The miscarriage occurred in May, was confirmed in June and I got what I thought was my period over the July 4th weekend. I called the doctor and they didn’t have very many answers for me either. They had me complete bloodwork and another ultrasound. This time my husband was not allowed in the room and was present via Facetime. The fear didn’t go away, but we were both relieved when we heard the tiny heartbeat over the ultrasound. 

We were pregnant again! I cannot describe the anxiety and fear a pregnancy after miscarriage brings. I took a pregnancy test every morning for the entire first trimester. I didn’t allow myself to get hopeful or picture a future with another baby. I continuously reminded myself this could end at any moment. Every doctors appointment has been nerve wracking, as I walked in there expecting to hear the worst. It wasn’t until we were getting ready for the anatomy scan at 18 weeks that I finally started to feel like this was really happening. And we all know how that has turned out… 

The last twelve months have not been kind to me. I lost a baby, I have a high risk pregnancy, I’m stuck in the hospital away from my friends and family, and I lost my mom. While a big part of me was ready for 2021 to be over, an even bigger part of me is terrified on what 2022 can bring. I’ve been holding up pretty well, trying to be strong for my family and keep a smile on my face. But I don’t know how much more I’m going to be able to handle. One of my lifelong friends said it best when she told me: “I wish god would stop thinking that we’re so strong”. 

My family is what is keeping me strong. But when something happens to that family, it’s really hard to bounce back. The loss of my mom has been hard. It’s hard to know that I’m not going to see her again, that I’m not going to get another hug, or that when I want to call her for our daily chat, I can’t. But she loved her grandchildren. She adored Addison and was so excited for this new baby. This new baby has been keeping us all going. Thankfully, oh so thankfully, she has continued to defy odds and surprise the doctors. 

We are currently 30 weeks, almost 31. Just a few more weeks and we will hit our goal of 34 and be induced. The baby is monitoring well and the nurses don’t always have to chase her around anymore. The most recent ultrasound showed that there is still a pocket of fluid and she has grown. She was at 3 lbs. 3 oz., in the 54th percentile and measuring right on track. Even more exciting, she has flipped from her breech position, to head down. This was something the doctors did not think she would do. With very little fluid to move around in, they didn’t think she would flip and were prepared to perform a c-section. If she continues to stay in her current position, the doctors are considering a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarian). The doctors have asked me what my preferences are for delivery now that there is an option. Honestly, my only preference is to do what is safest for the baby. We’ve worked so hard to keep her safe and strong, I will do whatever the doctors tell me to do. 

Three more weeks. We need to make it three more weeks. What seemed like impossible nearly 12 weeks ago is starting to become more of a reality. Maybe this year will be better. We shall see.

This years’ Christmas was unconventional to say the least. Being in the hospital during COVID, I didn’t expect much. Which is why we celebrated as a family of three before Thanksgiving. We did the Christmas traditions we had started the previous year: smoked tri-tip for Christmas Eve dinner, cinnamon rolls for Christmas Day breakfast, matching pajamas and staying up late to wrap presents and ensure Santa came to visit Addison. The day was great. It may have been November 19, but it sure felt like December 25. We opened presents and spent the day together playing with Addison’s new toys and watching Christmas movies on TV. I was afraid going into it that it wouldn’t feel like Christmas. But it was a great Christmas, all I needed was my family, happy and healthy. 

Thanksgiving the following week consisted of more Christmas celebration. My entire family came together. I was grateful at the time but even more so now that my mom was able to come and spend so much time with us over the Thanksgiving weekend. She got to wake up every morning to a joyful Addison yelling “Nana!” as we came down the stairs for breakfast. She was there when Santa came to the house to visit all the kids and take pictures. And she was there for me to ask her to be in the delivery room when Morgan came into this world. The memories I have of our time together brings a smile to my face because even though it was the last time I saw her in person, it was great family time we got to spend together. 

 After my mom passed away, I was glad I was in the hospital and did not have to celebrate Christmas. How do you celebrate Christmas when everything in your life seems to be going wrong? How do you celebrate Christmas when everyone is so happy and you’re just trying to keep it together? How do you celebrate Christmas, a family holiday, when your family has just been ripped apart? These were the thoughts going through my head, and apparently also the thoughts going through the charge nurse’s head. My husband and I both burst into tears when we were told she had approved for Addison to come into my room for Christmas, and we were going to get to spend the whole day together. 

The day was amazing. We had a small Christmas tree, a strand of lights and a few presents my mom had bought for Addison. She ran around the room, exploring new things, waving to the hospital staff, and cuddling with me on my bed while we watched movies. We didn’t do anything significant, but it was more than enough to have her in my arms as we watched her favorite movies and took a nap. We had the entire day together. She didn’t care that we were stuck in a hospital room or that we didn’t do anything special, she was just happy to be with both of her parents. 

 I’ve been doing ok in the hospital. My husband comes to visit and weather permitting, he brings Addison so we can spend time outside because of the hospital’s COVID policy. I thought I was doing ok, but after spending a whole day with her, I can’t believe how much I needed that. I needed to have her close to me, to feed her and change her diapers. More than anything, I needed to snuggle her close and just have her near me. 

My biggest fear coming into the extended hospital stay was Addison getting mad at me, or not needing me anymore. She would spend months being taken care of by others and having others do the things that I do for her. I wouldn’t be there to calm her down when she got upset. I wouldn’t be there to hold her if she got hurt or scared. I am still terrified that when I finally get to go home, she won’t need me the way she did before. But having her here, having her reach out her arms for me to hold her and cuddle her, helped me to bury those fears a little deeper. She needed me and she wanted me.

This Christmas was not like any other Christmas I have ever had. But it was exactly what I needed. 

After much talk and consideration by the team of doctors taking care of me, it was decided it was finally time to take the glucose test to find out if I had gestational diabetes. This is a test done in every pregnancy, usually at the end of the second trimester/beginning of the third trimester. For me, we had to wait a little longer due to the steroids given to me at the beginning of our hospital stay. The doctors all agreed it was best to wait at least two weeks after the steroids to do the test, to ensure I wouldn’t get a false positive. Well… wishful thinking. 

Typically, the glucose test is not done in the hospital, it is done prior to pregnant women coming in to give birth. Because of our unique situation, there were some questions about which test I would have to do because of the materials available at the hospital. Mostly, the sugary drink they make you shotgun to test your blood sugar levels. I soon found out there were three forms of this test. 

1. The normal 1-hour test, where you drink the 50 ml drink. They take your blood before you drink, and an hour after.

2. A 2-hour test, where they take your blood, you drink a 75 ml drink, and they take your blood 2 more times in hour long intervals.

3. A 3-hour test, where you drink the 100 ml drink, and they take your blood 3 times in 1-hour intervals.

After much discussion, it was decided I would complete the required fasting and do the 2-hour test at the beginning of the week. 

Test #1 = Failed

The Vampires, who for some reason only show up to take my blood before the sun comes up, completed the test, but did so with the 100 ml drink. I completed the 2-hour test, with the higher sugar drink. A drink that was given 5 minutes before the blood draw instead of the normal hour. 

The high-risk doctor gave me the news that I had failed the test and was now going to be treated for gestational diabetes. They ordered my diet to be changed, a nutritionist to come in to speak to me and for my finger to be pricked 4 times a day to test my blood sugar. I was so upset; I didn’t even take time that day to think about how this test was different from my previous pregnancy or the discrepancy in how they told me the test was going to go vs. how the test went.

Once I really began to think about it, and having my finger pricked enough times, I spoke to the doctor about my questions regarding the first test. I was so happy when they listened to me and validated the concerns I had regarding the first glucose test.  They looked at the test, looked at my low blood sugar results from the week of finger pricks, and ordered the test to be done again.

Test #2 = Pass???

My nurses and doctors are great! They have taken such great care of me. They listen to me and they really care. The nurse who was on duty the night before my second glucose test made sure the drink was in stock, reached out to the pharmacy 3 times and was continuously assured by the lab and the pharmacy of the protocol and juice for the glucose test. 

I was scheduled for the 2-hour test, but again given the 100 ml juice. The nurse and I again clarified in the AM that this was correct juice, and when they said it was… down the hatch it went. Fortunately, this time, she gave me the juice and clarified with the lab tech of the one hour they needed to wait before coming back to take more blood. 

I worried as I awaited the results and made sure to tell the doctor when he came in for his rounds. He was frustrated of another mishap. He said he would look at the results of the test, as well as my blood sugar readings throughout the week to decide what to do next.
It turns out, I didn’t have to worry. The results came back normal! I don’t have gestational diabetes! They haven’t pricked my finger and my meals are no longer extra, extra protein. The mix-up was not a big deal. If I had gestational diabetes, I am happy of the precautions and care they were providing. But already being stuck in the hospital, I am so glad to not have additional restrictions. 

Funny side story: I am in my third room now at the hospital. The first suffered an unfortunate flood in which my husband and I were stranded on his makeshift bed while maintenance tried to figure out what was going on. The second room was reserved as a COVID room and had no window due to a special ventilation system. This newest room has a window, a view and it’s where we put the Christmas tree for our small family holiday celebration.

My mom was my best friend. We had so many adventures together and experienced so many different things. We went to Cancun for a Luke Bryan concert. Nashville for a music festival. Sedona for a day in the sun. California to see Martina McBride or Vegas to see Garth Brooks. My mom was the person I called when I got engaged. The person I called when Addison was projectile vomiting, and I was freaking out. She had her flaws, but we all do. My mom was my best friend and I’m going to miss her more than I think I even know. 

I don’t consider myself a writer, but I like to write. Mostly starting in high school, I would write stories that popped up in my head and this continued into adulthood. Occasionally I would play around with journaling but there was a time when I was always writing. My mom would see this and she would ask what I was writing. I would vaguely tell her that I was “just writing”, too embarrassed that what I was writing was nonsense or not any good. Very rarely, she would ask me when she would get to read something that I was writing. I’d shrug it off and go about writing like she hadn’t asked. The truth was, I didn’t want anyone to ready anything I wrote because I didn’t know if it was any good. We are our harshest critics. 

My mom has been reading this blog. It’s the first thing I ever shared with her, or with anyone. I made sure to send it to her first. Looking at where we are today, I am so glad I sent it to her to read. It took her a little while to read all of it and a little longer to process everything she had read. She has been with me every step of the way through this pregnancy. But for her to get inside my head and read about my fears and uncertainties seemed to really bother her. She was upset that she wasn’t here with me. She was sorry to be inside my head and understand how sad and scared I was. But, out of everything, she was excited to have finally read something that I wrote. 

My mom died yesterday. Being in the hospital, I had to watch over a video call as she was surrounded by my brother and other family members and took her last breath. I was able to talk to her. Tell her I loved her and her granddaughter loved her. I asked her to give my dad a hug and I told her to rest, that it was ok. 

Part of me is angry that I was not able to be there in person, holding her hand and giving her a kiss on the cheek, a big part of me. I felt, and still feel helpless, knowing that I am in the hospital while my family is grieving together. But the other part, sometimes the bigger part, knows that she would be so mad if something happened to her unborn granddaughter. The nurse at the hospital assured me my mom kept talking about her grandbabies and how I needed to keep this one cooking for a little while longer. 

I miss my mom. I missed her before she was gone. This journey has been difficult, but I always had my mom to call and make me feel better, to encourage me that everything was going to be alright. I always knew, logically, that this day would come. It just wasn’t supposed to come right now. Not when I needed her most. 

When Addison was born, the only person allowed in the delivery room was my husband. COVID had just started and the hospital policy on visitors seemed to change every minute. My mom waited by the phone at home, not leaving the house for fear that she would catch COVID and not be able to see the baby when we left the hospital. This time she was supposed to be in the delivery room. She was supposed to watch this baby come into the world. I suppose in a way, she will be there. But not in the way I need her. 

Everyone has been asking how I’m doing. Physically I am great. The baby is great. She is growing, as evident by my growing belly and the grunts I make trying to get out of bed. When they monitor her, they are happy with what they see. For her gestational age (27 weeks), she is performing at a high level. Both the nurses and doctors continuously tell me she looks great, and that on the monitor, she looks like a full-term baby. Physically we are fine. Physically we are great. Mentally and emotionally… I’m not sure. I’m trying to be strong and be healthy for the baby. I have a goal, and I need to accomplish it. Not just for the baby, but for my mom. 

My husband asked me what I thought my mom and dad were doing now that they were together again. It took me a minute to think, to really think about what the first thing they would do after being reunited. Once I really thought about it, it was a no brainer. They are sitting together watching Addison run around and smile. They are together, watching one granddaughter, and patient/impatiently waiting for the next granddaughter to arrive. 

For most people reading, this is the first post you may be reading. There are more posts that go into greater detail of some things that have been happening with my family. Putting it on paper seemed to be easier than reliving the events of the past few months as we tell every new person. I’m sorry that I haven’t reached out to some of you sooner, as I’m sure that I would have loved hearing your helpful and kind words. But a large part of me has hardly started processing what is happening to me and our family.

I am spending my birthday and the upcoming holidays in the hospital. I am ok, I am feeling fine, and it’s more precautionary than anything else. The truth is, Addison is going to be a big sister. We found out we were pregnant at the beginning of July and always the skeptic, we wanted to wait until after the anatomy scan to make an announcement for the world. Our immediate family has known since August about the new baby, and only our immediate family knows about what has happened since then to land us in the hospital.

I scheduled our anatomy scan for October 14. At that point we were 18 weeks along and I thought my dad’s birthday was a good omen for the ultrasound where we would really get to see our baby. Because of COVID Brian had to stay in the car and be present via Facetime. This appointment is detailed in an earlier post. Essentially, our baby does not have very much amniotic fluid in the sac.

At 18 weeks we were devastated. We were given different options on what could happen not only to the baby, but to me as well. Fortunately, we have a great set of doctors who have been very comforting and supportive throughout this entire thing. Every week after that initial appointment we had to see the high-risk doctor to see how much fluid was surrounding the baby. Every week I was prepared for her to tell us that we needed to go to the hospital to deliver early.

5 weeks. They told us we needed 5 weeks until the baby would be viable. At viability, there were still concerns but we would be admitted to the hospital for monitoring and to be close by in case the baby or I became in distress, at which point the baby would be delivered. Thankfully things went well in those five weeks, but they were the most stressful and scary five weeks of my life. In that time, we hoped and prayed for a hospital stay. While not ideal, if we could make it into the hospital, that meant that our baby had a chance.

Now, here we are. My birthday is being spent in the hospital and I have a mix of emotions going on. It has not been fun being away from Addison, who can’t come into the hospital because of COVID restrictions. Or being away from Brian who is trying to be everywhere and do everything for us. But on the other hand, we still have our baby. I feel blessed every time I feel her move or the nurses put her on the heart monitor to see how she’s doing. It hasn’t been an easy road and it’s far from over. If things go according to plan, at 34 weeks I’ll be induced and we’ll finally get to meet the newest addition to our family.

The whole situation is scary. But we hit a huge milestone by making it to the hospital to be monitored every day. The nurses and the doctors have been great. They have all been so helpful and so supportive. It is very reassuring to hear them say the baby is doing well and don’t have any other updates other than to wait it out. Their visits are short, and I take that to be a good thing. No news is good news as we wait to see what this new little bundle of joy decides to do.

Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes and the well wishes for my family. Writing seems to be helping to pass the time so I’ll be making posts and updates here on our family website.

We made it to the hospital! 

As hard as it was to say goodbye to Addison and leave her with Grandpa and Gigi, being at the hospital is a bit of a milestone. While spending the holidays in the hospital is not ideal, our family has spent the last seven weeks hoping and praying for this opportunity. The baby is now 26 weeks, 2 weeks passed the original admittance date, and that much closer to the best-case scenario the doctor laid out for us on that tearful day in October. 

The baby has been moving and I am assured that it a great sign. Every day in the hospital she gets her heartrate monitored for about an hour 2 times a day. We are on hand in the labor and delivery unit in case anything happens the doctors can provide immediate care. As much as I did not want to spend excess time in the hospital, I am glad to have the daily monitoring. We haven’t worked this hard to have any unforeseen scares now. I haven’t been drinking two gallons of water a day for nothing. 

Drinking water and resting was the only thing the doctor said I could really do. So, I jumped into it head first. I bought two 32 oz water bottles so I could drink more with less breaks. At mealtime sometimes I would splurge with apple juice in a wine glass but for the most part, my liquid intake was mainly water. The goal: to drink at least 6 bottles a day. I have been averaging about 8. 

Drinking the water did not ensure fluid in the amniotic sac for the baby. It did however allow the baby to produce some fluid, which would eventually leak out anyway. BUT, the fluid would allow organs to develop and give her a better opportunity to grow and be as healthy as possible. The 2 gallons of water I drank typically added up to a 1.5 cm by 2 cm pocket of fluid for our little girl. A tiny pocket for a tiny girl. The doctors assured us that it was a good sign to have pockets of fluid, so the water drinking has continued. 

We don’t know when this little girl will make her appearance. The hope is that she stays in there cozy and warm for another 8 weeks. An extended hospital stay is not ideal for Christmas time, especially during the COVID times, but I feel better knowing that the baby and I are in a place where she can be taken care of. 

Overall, and after only two days, the hospital stay has gone well. The nurses have all been great. They are all very nice and have continuously reminded me to ask for anything I need and to make myself at home. They have really made me feel welcomed and like I am in a good place for me and the baby. It is also very helpful how excited they are with how far we’ve come and hopeful for the a long hospital stay. 

Seven weeks ago, our best-case scenario seemed so far away and highly unlikely. Every doctor’s appointment I went in ready to be told bad news and to be admitted to the hospital for early delivery. Being at the hospital now feels like a milestone. Over the few days of monitoring, we’ve had already, she is strong, and the doctors are very happy with where she is at. 

I’m still scared. I don’t think the fear will go away until I have both of my girls at home, but I am not as anxious. We’ve talked to the nurses and doctors, my normal doctor, my high-risk doctor, the pediatrician, and the neonatologist. All are very hopeful we can make it to the 34-week mark, which is the goal for delivery. 

Cosmo. While in utero, the baby was called Cosmo. My family has a semi-tradition of not finding out the gender of unborn children. In my mind, it makes the birth more exciting, it’s one of life’s few true surprises. We didn’t find out the gender for our first child, a girl named Addison Grace. During delivery the doctor allowed my husband to be the one to tell me we were the parents to a beautiful baby girl. After much debate, it was agreed we would have the same experience for Cosmo. So named because at the time we found out about the baby, the pictures depicted something that looked more like an alien than an actual baby. 

We had a sneaking suspicion that Cosmo was going to be a boy. While my first pregnancy was so fun and so easy, this one would prove to be a little more complicated. The first trimester went by without a hitch, and the aversion to chicken I had with Addison, had thankfully not resurfaced. At 12 weeks we scheduled a special ultrasound for the three of us to see the new addition to our family and complete a heartbeat check for our own piece of mind. Shortly after the second trimester started I became nauseous. Anything I ate would quickly come back up. I was never hungry and, unlike my last pregnancy, I wasn’t gaining any weight. The doctor had me try vitamins and other supplements for the nausea. When that didn’t work, I received a prescription that was finally able to stop the vomitting. Again, everyone thought that because this pregnancy was different that Cosmo was a boy. However, my head told me that only a girl could cause so much drama. 

After the appointment that changed the trajectory of our pregnancy, I went home that night fearful of what the next day was going to bring. I was afraid something was going to happen to me. I was afraid something was going to happen to my baby. I was afraid of the information that I did have and even more afraid of the information that I didn’t. My husband and I took that next day off work to try and prepare. We were numb as we went through a checklist of things we needed to do. Things we wanted to do. Things we didn’t know that we wanted to do. And even the things we didn’t want to do. 

First on the list was bloodwork. I needed to get the bloodwork done to know if I had an infection from the ruptured membrane. The doctor had informed us that even though I physically wasn’t showing any signs of infection (tender abdomen, fever, chills) that it could potentially still develop or was in the early stages. The only way to know for sure was a blood test. We went to my regular doctor to complete the blood test labeled STAT first thing in the morning, waiting for the doctor’s appointment and results at 3:30. 

While at the doctor’s I asked for the results of the bloodwork we had done a few weeks prior. This was the bloodwork that didn’t show any genetic concerns. This was also the bloodwork that would tell us if Cosmo was a boy, or a girl. There were so many questions. In that moment, I needed to know everything that I could about my baby. I needed to know so that I could prepare. I needed to know so that I wasn’t going to be surprised when it came time to fight together, or when it came time to say goodbye. This tiny little person had been with me the last 18 weeks. Now there was a threat that could separate us before we even got to meet. I needed to know everything I could about her. 

That’s right, another girl! What should have been a blissful moment was bittersweet. Having this information was consoling, but only for a moment. It didn’t take long for the tears to come. The tears knowing that my little girl might not make it. Knowing that I might have to make a very hard decision when it comes to both of my children. Do I risk an infection for a chance to bring this little one into the world? Do I go into the hospital and because of COVID protocols miss my sweet little Addison? 

I felt like I had to choose between my two little girls. I still feel that way at times. They say being a parent is hard, and the hardest part is doing what is best for your kids. My worry is that whatever happens or whatever I decide, one kid will be negatively impacted. The even bigger concern in my heart, was that I didn’t want to miss a moment in either kid’s life. It was in talking about this dilemma with my husband that we both voiced the one thing we hadn’t been allowed to say to each other: there was a chance we were going to the hospital today and coming home without a baby. 

When the realization of what could happen later that afternoon hit, so did the emotions and the need to do something. How do you prepare for something like this? Just yesterday we were planning a family trip to Disneyland and now we were questioning what our family would like this afternoon? Tomorrow? Next week or even next month? For a moment we allowed ourselves to grieve. We sat in the car crying together and trying to figure out what to do next. Nobody can plan for a situation like that. Nobody ever thinks they are going to have their world turned upside down and then be forced to live with the consequences. 

My husband and I are not perfect. We love each other but we also drive each other crazy. He is a planner. He needs to have points A to B mapped out and plan for contingencies on the way. I am also a planner. But I am also a little more adaptable to be able to go with the flow. Together we either excel at communication because of both of our separate skills or we fight and drive each other crazy because we have two different ideas on how to get from one place to another. In this moment our communication kicked into overdrive. We had to plan for the worst. 

The best-case scenario was hardly on our mind as we quietly packed a bag so Addison could stay with family. We packed up dog food and toys for our furry friends who had no idea why we were home midday on a Friday afternoon. But as we packed our hospital bag, I came to the realization that there was something I wanted to do. I quietly and through tears, told my husband I needed to go to the baby store. I needed an outfit for her. Logically I knew that the hospital probably wouldn’t put her in it, and that she would be too small for anything we would find, but I needed to get her an outfit. I needed something that was hers. I needed something to remember her. 

As sad and hard as it was, we walked into that store full of baby clothes. Dresses and onesies. Tights and bows. We walked through the store of happy parents looking for something that would be small enough to fit our little girl. My husband was the one to find it. He picked out her outfit. He held up the tiny piece of cloth and together we decided that this little, tiny pink pajama was going to be thing connecting us to our baby girl. It was heartbreaking and therapeutic at the same time. This tiny baby had something that was hers and hers alone. Packing the pink cloth into the hospital bag, we headed to the high risk doctor to find out whether or not we would be going straight to the hospital that same afternoon. 

23 weeks and six days. Almost 24. Almost to viability. Viability. An important time in pregnancy for any woman but for us, for our entire family, it’s a milestone we weren’t sure we would hit. Five weeks ago, our lives and the course of this pregnancy were rocked to the core and nearly shaken to the ground. The weekend we were set to announce to our friends and family that Addison would be becoming a big sister, we were instead wrestling with a hard decision and the possibility of danger to both me and our unborn baby.

The anatomy scan is supposed to be another milestone. A happy time to see the progress and measurements of the baby, and for those who are so inclined, to find out the gender of their little one. I was nervous about this appointment. In fact, I’m nervous about all appointments. The realist in me is always hoping for the best but expecting something to be wrong. After a miscarriage in May, I had nerves leading up to and going into all appointments that were typically only dissipated when the sound of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room.

Because of COVID, the appointment was already different from that of our first child. My husband wasn’t allowed inside and would have to participate via video chat from the car. He wouldn’t get to hold my hand while we saw our baby pop up on the screen, breathe a sigh of relief with me when we heard the heartbeat, or comfort me when the technician said that there was very little amniotic fluid surrounding the baby and quickly completed the scan to consult with the doctor.  We were both silent as she left the room. Hoping that it wasn’t a big deal but knowing that we didn’t get the scan we came in for and she left the room after 15 minutes before giving us any measurements or information about the baby.

Waiting for the doctor to come in I could feel my breathing becoming labored and the tears building up behind my eyes. There had been some leaking. Leaking that didn’t come out in a gush and leaking that I attributed to a weak bladder after already having one child. Talking to my husband, and being honest with myself, I had been leaking for a while.

The doctor came in. Her rushed demeanor and her direct tone scared me so that the tears finally started spilling down my cheeks. Something was wrong. I explained the leaking and my confusing the leakage with a weak bladder. She very carefully and kindly went over the risks, the risks to me and the baby. She detailed how this could become a serious medical concern not only for the baby, but also for me should I develop an infection. She said that typically she would send me to the hospital and have blood tests done to ensure that my health was not at risk. But since I had been leaking for a while, she was comfortable sending me home, having bloodwork done in the morning and seeing me again later in the afternoon to go over my results.  

She was sending me home. I didn’t have to go to the hospital. I didn’t have to say goodbye to my baby. But she was sending me home with a lot to think about. She was sending me home with a head full of negative thoughts and a heart so heavy that I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t fall out of my chest. Everything was happening so fast. She had the nurse give me the bloodwork order: STAT. She helped the scheduler ensure that I was seen the next day. And she told me that this pregnancy could end in one of three ways.

 1.     I would develop an infection which could possibly make me septic. An infection would mean delivering the baby early.

2.     Best case scenario, I don’t get an infection. We continue monitoring the baby until 24 weeks. At which point the baby would be viable and I would be admitted to the hospital for an extended stay where hopefully the baby would be healthy enough to stay in the womb until 34 weeks. Then, an early delivery.

3.     We could avoid the risk of infection and deliver the baby early.

 The doctor was amazing. She said we didn’t have to make any decisions now. She said to wait until tomorrow when the bloodwork came back. She consoled me while I cried and apologized for the situation we were in.  She assured me that it was nothing that I did. She said sometimes these things just happen. I’m not sure if that made me feel better or worse.

 I cried as I got my appointment card for the next day. I cried as I got into the elevator and made sure to close the doors so that I was by myself. I cried as I walked to the car and once I got inside and I saw my husband, I let it all out. How was this happening to us? Why was this happening to us? We were supposed to be going to Disneyland with matching shirts and a pregnancy announcement and now I wasn’t sure if I was even going to be pregnant the following day. How do we tell our family? How do we explain what is happening when we don’t even know what is happening? How do I face anyone when all I want to do is cry and hold on to this tiny person with everything that I have?

 That evening was one of the worst nights of my life. Right on par with the night we found out my dad had died. Slightly ironic, in that the appointment was scheduled on my dad’s birthday. We cried and told our immediate family what information we had. Everyone offered support and prayers, but my mind just kept thinking about the very real possibility that soon I might not be pregnant anymore. That night, finally alone together in our warm home, my husband held me while I cried. While we both cried.

 I am a realist. I am a planner. I need to know what’s going on and have a plan to go with it. I am not a control freak, but I do like to have some control over my life. That night there was no control and no answers. I didn’t sleep at all. I laid awake talking to the unborn baby inside me and hoping and praying that something good would happen. Whatever happened, we were looking at a long road ahead. We were 18 weeks pregnant. Even for the best-case scenario to be plausible, we needed to make it to 24 weeks. That night I wasn’t sure what would happen. I wasn’t sure if we’d make it to viability.