What could be more simple (final installment)...

Isabel was a much more laid back baby than her big sister. She easily fell into a 3 hour feeding schedule and slept! Once we figured out that she had the same milk allergy issues (now just lactose intolerance) she was a very happy baby, unless her diaper was being changed. We were thoroughly enjoying life with both our little girls.

After the experience of being away from my child for so long when she needed me so much, I didn't know if I could bring myself to risk doing it again anytime soon, especially with TWO that I'd be leaving to someone else's care. My husband and I decided we would wait to try again until both girls were big enough to do more for themselves. We chose to prevent pregnancy even before it was possible for me to get pregnant. We did not want a repeat performance.

When Isabel was 9 months old, I thought Aunt Flo had returned, although for a light and short visit. I was tired and run down from having so much to do and my oldest not sleeping well. I hadn't been feeling normal for quite a while when I realized that these were pregnancy symptoms... so I tested.

Pregnancy # 7: I could hardly believe that I saw a BFP! I tested again the next day, and again got the same result. I was in shock! I waited to call the doctor to get the progesterone supplements since it was already Friday afternoon and the office was closed until Monday. On Sunday, I spotted a little. By Monday morning, I was having a miscarriage. I called the Dr anyway and was told to come in to get some blood tests. The nurse insisted I was never pregnant (chemical pregnancy), but the blood tests showed the truth. I had indeed been pregnant. And later, I was told I wasn't the 5 weeks along I thought was, but was probably a whole month farther along. That strange visit from Aunt Flo was most likely implantation bleeding. Either way, I wasn't pregnant anymore and although I'm ashamed to say it, I was somewhat relieved.

All I could think about that weekend was that I was going to be stuck in bed for my entire pregnancy with two itty bitty girls and that I'd have to stop breastfeeding my baby long before I wanted. These were selfish thoughts and certainly would have given way to excitement and gratefulness to God once we had another baby to hold, but I had barely had a chance to digest the idea of being pregnant again. Condoms were clearly not doing the job, so we added a couple forms of non-hormonal birth control so we didn't have to go through that same roller coaster of emotions I was ashamed of. It would be a miracle if we got pregnant now.

Pregnancy #8: Isabel was nearly 15 months old and we were settling into a nice routine as a family. Then, a little after Thanksgiving, I wasn't feeling well. I knew that feeling well, having experienced it 7 times before. However, I didn't believe it. We were being extra careful to NOT get pregnant. I decided to take the last pregnancy test I had left over from the previous pregnancy just to ease my mind. Seeing a big fat negative (BFN) would do wonders for me and allow me to quiet the nagging worries in the back of my mind. However, the test showed a positive result.

I put the girls in the car and drove to Target. I purchased two more tests (different kinds). I really just couldn't believe the first test. When I got home I took both of those tests. Both came back with a BFP! I couldn't believe it. I told my husband that night when he got home, making him look at the tests to make sure I wasn't reading them incorrectly (I knew I hadn't read them wrong...I'm a pro by now). He did a lot to ease my fears. He reminded me that this was clearly God's will for us because despite all our efforts to prevent it, He allowed us to get pregnant. I called the Dr the next day and started those progesterone supplements that I'm still convinced I never needed.

I went in and got the obligatory blood tests every 2-3 days. My numbers were quadrupling rather than doubling. That could mean one of 3 things: nothing, that I was pregnant with multiples, or that I had a molar pregnancy. We chose to wait until the new year for our first ultrasound (might as well use it toward our insurance deductible of the new year because it would most likely be an expensive pregnancy if it lasted), all the while anticipating complications of some sort. We went to Florida for Christmas to spend a week with my husband's family. I was instructed to do nothing, lift nothing and rest. That, along with the fact that I was feeling VERY sick all the time induced us to share with my husband's family that I was, once again, expecting. We held out nearly the entire week we were there, but I was getting tired of the veiled criticism. The rude comments and dirty looks I received prior to the "announcement" all but disappeared.

This pregnancy was a lot like my very first one. I was violently ill at times. I couldn't brush my teeth without inducing vomiting. It was miserable. In January, we had our first ultrasound, and it put our minds at ease. I was still pregnant and with only one baby. It is possible that I had a multiple pregnancy and one just didn't form properly and was reabsorbed, but I knew that I probably couldn't carry twins so I was relieved and thrilled to just see the one little heartbeat of my little alien baby (yes, I think they look like aliens early on).

My pregnancy induced sickness STOPPED at 10 weeks, just like it did with my first pregnancy. I freaked out and couldn't help but compare it to my first miscarriage experience. I still hadn't experienced any spotting, which had been the one common thread between my two successful pregnancies and strangely, I found myself hoping to see blood as a good sign.

At 11 weeks, I had another ultrasound to see how the baby was doing and to check the length of my cervix. My Dr was trying to convince me to have a cerclage (sewing my cervix to keep it closed) as a precaution. Everything I read said that it did not make any difference in women who efface (thin out) like I did with Isabel. Rather, it is very successful when the woman is dilated or prone to dilation early. He even agreed to the validity of the studies I quoted. We had made up our minds to NOT get the cerclage because the risk of causing a miscarriage was too great for the unlikely benefit. However, our entire argument was thrown out the window when the ultrasound tech showed us that I was already 1 cm dilated and I wasn't even out of the first trimester! My head was reeling.

By the end of that appointment, I had surgery scheduled for the first day I could possibly go under anesthesia (at 13 weeks). I was beyond freaked out about having to have this surgery, but knew that it was quite possibly the only chance I had at making it far enough in pregnancy to deliver a baby that could survive outside the womb. The risks were worth it now. On February 6th, I went to the hospital and had the cerclage.

When I came out of the anesthesia, I spoke to nurses and the Dr. I was informed that I was at least 2.5 cm dilated at the time of the surgery. That is the point where they won't do the surgery anymore because the risks outweigh the benefits. The nurse told me that the Dr would normally send a patient home to strict bed rest and expect a late term miscarriage. Thankfully, my Dr knew that I would do anything to keep the baby, so he sewed me up anyway. I went home to strict bed rest for the first week and doing as little as possible for the next few. We were hoping that scar tissue would form around the stitches and create an even thicker/stronger hold. Until that happened, I wasn't to do anything that could jeopardize the integrity of the stitches. And I had to go in for weekly ultrasounds and AP-17 shots (those dreadfully thick, painful shots!).

I was unable to lift more than 1-2 pounds for the rest of my pregnancy (the pressure of lifting anything heavier could cause my stitches to pop). I couldn't even lift my pots and pans! Cooking became very difficult, as did taking care of two little girls who needed Mama. There was a reason God gave us good climbers... and it wasn't to aggravate me! The girls, especially Madeleine, were able to get things for themselves. Isabel was still unable to climb in and out of her rear-facing car seat so we were essentially stuck at home all the time. But it was all worth it. Cleaning was out of the question! It is sad that the only time I want to clean is when I can't! My house was a disaster, but my previous stint of bed rest eased the pain of living that way considerably.

At my 15 week ultrasound, I noticed little boy parts on the screen. The ultrasound tech isn't supposed to confirm gender that early, but it was undeniable. If I could see it with a quick glance, it had to be true. It didn't hurt that I just KNEW it was a boy. This pregnancy had been so different from the girls' pregnancies (I have a theory that I may share with you at some point, but not now). I had a closet full of baby boy clothes I had already purchased on clearance racks once I decided this one was a keeper. The fact that more than one Dr was convinced that all 5 of my miscarriages were boys and that I couldn't carry a boy did not keep me from thinking it. I know enough about genetics to know that even if I had a very rare genetic condition that affected my ability to carry a boy, I still knew that there was a small chance that I could have a healthy boy. And we had no proof of anything wrong genetically, anyway. We were thrilled! While a little girl would have been wonderful (We had all the clothes for another August girl!), having a boy would be lots of fun! And I was looking forward to seeing my husband teach our son how to be a wonderful, godly man like himself. But now I'm off on a rabbit trail...

It didn't take long for those weekly shots and ultrasounds to become routine. And then the contractions started. I was sure they were just Braxton Hicks contractions (no pain, just the tightening of my uterus), but I had to be put on a monitor at the office anyway because we couldn't afford to take any chances. The monitors picked up the occasional contraction (which of course I could not feel) and I was given an extra progesterone shot and sent home to strict bed rest until my next ultrasound. At my next ultrasound, all looked good (NO CHANGE! I LOVE those words!) so I was allowed to do my "normal," extremely restricted activities at home. Not too much walking, no lifting, etc., etc.. I knew the drill.

By the next ultrasound, I was also taking medication every 6 hours to keep contractions away. There is no way to know if any of the medications were working because I was continuing to have those troublesome contractions. But, had I not been taking all those precautions (limited activity, shots, meds, etc.), it is possible I would have gone into full blown labor very early on, so I took them. I was watched very closely and the Dr never felt comfortable letting me off the strict restrictions he put me on right after the surgery. I was very good and God gave me the grace to have a fairly good attitude about it all this time. I counted down to every milestone...

21 weeks is the point where the youngest baby ever to survive was born. 23 weeks is the general consensus as to point of viability. 24 weeks was supposed to be my LAST ultrasound of my pregnancy! Each of those came and went. I was even reluctantly allowed to go to my sister-in-law's wedding in Atlanta over Memorial Day weekend if I got an extra shot right before I left. I continued to have the occasional ultrasound as contractions picked up, but nothing too alarming. I hit 28 weeks (3rd trimester!!!) and it was all "gravy" after that point according to the Dr. I set my sight at full term at that point. This pregnancy seemed like smooth sailing compared to the one I lived in the hospital!

I knew from the beginning that I would not be able to make it to 40 weeks, but I wanted to get as close as possible. The Dr was aiming for July 17th as a delivery date because that was the absolute latest he was willing to remove my cerclage. That was 36 weeks (my due date was August 14th). Because my cerclage was not preventative (it was considered a rescue cerclage because I was already dilated), his experience told him that when he removed the stitches, I would almost certainly go into labor. The risk in waiting to remove the stitches was that I could go into labor spontaneously and my cervix would be torn off and I'd bleed to death before an ambulance could be called to get me to the hospital. I could die and so could my baby. He didn't want to take that risk. Had I not been dilated at the time of the surgery, he may have been willing to remove my cerclage and send me home with antibiotics (to prevent infection) to go into labor on my own, but with my history, he was not willing to take that risk either.

However, as I got closer to delivery, I continued to talk to him about a later date, for the sake of my baby. I didn't want to have a baby in the NICU because he was born before his lungs were ready for air. The closer I got to the end with absolutely no change (my favorite words at my weekly cervical checks), the more leverage I had to convince my Dr. I talked him into 11 more days (37 weeks, 4 days), which according to another Dr in the practice, was amazing. He never budged! I also tried to convince the Dr to remove my cerclage without inducing labor. However, that request fell on deaf ears for reasons above.

When I went in for my 37 week appointment, I was having a lot more contractions and had increased my dosage for the anti-contraction medication to 5-6 times daily. I was also getting shots more frequently. It was time to schedule the cerclage removal/induction. I was ready, too, despite really wanting to make it to August. I didn't want to risk leaving my husband to care for 4 kids (my 12 year old nephew came to live with us just 18 days before the induction) by himself because I was stubborn and refused to listen to the expert. We scheduled it for Tuesday, July 28th.

My husband's parents came for dinner the night before and stayed the night so my mother-in-law could care for the three older kids while I was at the hospital. We had to be at the hospital at 6 am to get prepped for the cerclage removal. I was told I needed to have an epidural because the cerclage removal is very painful. I didn't argue because I knew they would threaten me with a C-section because of my history. They wanted to be able to control my labor after the cerclage was removed. Besides, I planned on getting my tubes tied after the birth anyway, and they could use that epidural rather than giving me more anesthesia. It took a long time to get everything ready (IV, monitors, etc.) and we had to wait for the anesthetist. But finally, that needle was put in my spine and I got the epidural. My toes tingled after a few minutes, and the Dr came in to remove the cerclage.

At almost 7:30 am, my Dr checked to see if I was numb. I wasn't. My toes tingled, but that was it. He proceeded to remove my cerclage anyway because he thought that tingling toes meant I was numb higher up since I wasn't feeling any pain. Let's just say that a cerclage removal HURTS! When I saw how thick the thread used to keep my cervix closed was (it looked like a thin rope), I understood why it hurt so much. It was cut and pulled out in one piece, leaving a nice rope burn on my cervix (at least it felt like it). The Dr checked my cervix and left me to labor...

The contractions didn't start. After that kind of trauma to the cervix, everyone expected me to be sent into labor immediately. I was already 5 cm dilated and 80-85% effaced (those contractions earlier in my pregnancy obviously did something). With the scar tissue from my cerclage, I couldn't efface much more. After a few minutes, they decided to break my water to induce labor. I still didn't go into labor. This was just unbelievable! Before long, they pumped me with pitocin (the chemical that mimics oxytocin, the hormone that causes your uterus to contract in a natural birth). It was at this point I knew that the epidural was doing NOTHING!

When my husband and I went to our childbirth classes with my first successful pregnancy, the midwife that taught the class was anti-pain medication. She had one exception...if pitocin is used, she said, "beg for an epidural BEFORE it is started." She was right. The nurse started the pitocin very aggressively as per the Dr's orders. We were trying to make this delivery be antibiotic free, but waiting for a long time after the cerclage removal and broken water would mean I'd need some. I think the Dr and nurses thought I was exaggerating when I told them the cerclage removal really hurt, until the nurse preparing the table for delivery noticed I couldn't breathe during the contractions. The tears in my eyes and frightened look on my husband probably got the point across pretty clearly. It didn't matter how much we pumped that little button for more epidural medicine. There was no relief. She turned off the pitocin and called for the nurses (they all left when my labor didn't start after breaking my water) and the Dr. Our son was born minutes later, with just a few pushes.

Charlie was born at 8:45 am. He was a healthy 6 lbs, 12 oz. and 19.5 inches long with brown hair and deep blue eyes. I tore a little thanks to all that scar tissue so I had to get sewn up again. This time, the Dr used a local anesthetic because it was obvious to everyone that the epidural did not take. I was just glad that was all over and that I was able to hold my sweet little baby boy. I got to hold him first this time. My husband held both of the girls before me, but he waited until I got a few snuggles in and fed him in case I was taken in directly to get my tubes tied, which was the plan.

The plan was changed, however. The O.R.s were in use with emergency C-sections. My Dr really wanted me to get it done that day rather than the usual day after so they would have more time to monitor me in the hospital. They moved me to a post partum room and I waited to be scheduled for the surgery. While I waited, I sent emails and posted pictures of my adorable little man on Facebook. I went to the general surgery floor early that afternoon, before my mother-in-law could bring the kids but after I fed Charlie again. Because the epidural did not work during the delivery, they were unable to use it for the tubal ligation. I chose to have a spinal instead. It was safer. Unfortunately, after the surgery was over, I struggled to come out of the anesthesia. I was awake, but I couldn't move anything below my chest for a very long time. I sat in the recovery area (large room with lots of beds and nurses where you go until you come out of the anesthesia satisfactorily) for what seemed like forever. There was a nurse shift change while I was there. Both nurses assigned to me, and the anesthesiologist were men. I kept begging to be moved to my room so I could nurse Charlie (it had been 3 hours already and I wanted to establish breastfeeding early and not supplement at all), but they were not sympathetic. It wasn't until I broke down in tears and promised I'd come back up if I didn't get enough feeling back to wiggle my toes within an hour that they reluctantly agreed. Afterall, it was an outpatient surgery but I was an inpatient. There would be a nurse checking my vitals or the baby's every 20 minutes. I wouldn't be alone at all.

My bed was wheeled back to my room. When I arrived, the kids were there with my mother-in-law. I had missed them meeting and holding Charlie for the first time. I was very disappointed to miss their excited expressions. I wasn't supposed to have been gone for 4 hours, but I was. They were excited to tell me about it though, and I got to see the pictures my husband took (not nearly as many as I would have taken, but at least he got some). I was finally able to wiggle my toes just before my hour was up and that was good news. I got to stay in my room and chat with some unexpected visitors who came to swoon over the cutest baby boy ever born!

I was up walking around a lot, trying to work out all the kinks that come with surgery. My incision was in my belly button and it hurt. The lactation specialist came in without identifying herself and rudely tried to adjust the baby while he was nursing. She really caused a lot of pain to my incision site and I let her have it. She didn't come back. The next time I saw a lactation specialist was when my husband's aunt came in the morning we left the hospital. She came to swoon over Charlie before she made it through her rounds on the floor. And then we were discharged. It was exciting to be able to finally go home and be with my family.

We were able to go to church to show him off that Sunday and saw all but 2 of my husband's siblings in his first week of life. He met all of his cousins on that side too, which was wondeful. The kids had a very exciting week. Once the cousins were back in Florida, things settled down a bit. And we all tried to get some much needed rest, just in time for my nephew to start school. Our lives had changed a lot in just a short time. We are still adjusting to being a family of six, but we are trusting the One true Lord. And we are grateful for all the precious gifts He's placed in our lives. We hope that the Lord will bless us with more children. We will be looking into adoption more seriously in a year or two. And, if He wanted to, He could prove that He is the God of miracles by making me get pregnant again and have another successful pregnancy. I wouldn't mind that too much...unless it meant I'd be stuck in bed or the hospital without my sweet little babies around me. Of course, we don't expect that to happen, but would be grateful anyway.

I view all my children as blessings. When people ask me how many children I have, I want to tell them I have 9. Three by birth, 5 in heaven, and one entrusted to me by my sister. However, people don't get it so I usually just say, "Three plus a nephew who lives with me.". They can't understand because they've never experienced a miscarriage of a baby they dearly loved even before they knew s/he was going to be born. But God knows. And He provides us (my husband and me) with the strength to go on after so much loss. And He is the One in whom we place all our hope for more children in the future. And each time a date on the calendar induces a twinge of sadness (miscarriage dates, due dates of those babies we never got to meet, etc.), we are reminded of His goodness. We will miss our babies in heaven as long as we are on earth. But we look forward to the day when we will get to meet our Savior and be with the babies we have always loved and always will. Until then, we trust God because He is sovereign and good. He never promised us that we would not suffer in this life. We endure only by His grace and thank Him for it continually. And because He has blessed us so greatly we share our story. Our living children will grow up knowing that they have 5 more siblings already with the Lord. And we hope that they will have compassion for people who have experienced loss through miscarriage in a way few do.