My New Home Away From Home, Room 2150

Well...considering I'm typing this from my new hospital room, I'd say it wasn't the best news today.  Maybe we were getting a little cocky.  If today would have been as good as the last six visits over the past two weeks, were were planning on spacing out our ultrasounds to twice a week starting next week, focusing on our new goal of this pregnancy lasting 38 weeks.  I didn't even give Jeremiah a kiss and hug good-bye like I usually do when I'm anticipating a possible admission (he was busy making cookies with Grandma).  James did load up my suitcase as usual, but it was a mere formality this time since we are so used to coming right home after our ultrasounds. 

So yes, we were surprised to hear bad news today.  The blood flow today was as bad as it has ever been, and now the ductus (a vessel in the liver) is involved, which is a sign things are progressing in the wrong direction. The MCA ratio, which compares the blood flow to the brain compared to the body is now 0.7. Normal is above 1.0, and it was 1.7 two days ago.  When that ratio is less than one, it means there is "brain sparing" going on, where the brain takes over the majority of the flow since that's the most important organ.  That's a good thing, because the baby is naturally doing what needs to be done to get the blood flow where it needs it the most, and he looks healthy right now.  Unfortunately, it's also an ominous sign because once it gets to the point of brain sparing, things may not go so well for the little guy.  Between the involvement of the ductus and the abnormal MCA ratio, Dr. Pessimist is back in full force.  Without more frequent monitoring, still birth is a possibility, which of course doesn't sit well with us.  We agree whole heartedly with her assessment, so we didn't fight the admission one bit. 

I'll get my second, and final, round of steroids today and tomorrow, which they call the "rescue dose," and hopefully we'll get another 1-2 week steroid honeymoon out of it.  Sunday will put us at 29 weeks, way beyond what we originally hoped for, so we can't complain.  If we can get another week or two of good blood flow, the baby will be born at 30+ weeks, which would be great.  Of course we want to delay delivery as long as possible.  I'll be monitored several times a day and have a doppler ultrasound every day, and if things worsen, I'll get a C-section sooner rather than later.  No matter how long I carry the baby, the plan is to have a C-section. The placenta is precariously hanging on right now, and hard contractions could completely dislodge.  If it would completely tear away from the uterus, they have about six minutes to get the baby out.  Obviously that's not a risk we're willing to take, so C-section it is. 

Ok, so this is where YOU come in.  Excuse me while I tell yet another triathlon story, and then I'll get to your part.  In my first Ironman, I really wanted to finish in less than 12 hours. That goal changed throughout the day, as I thought maybe I could crack 11:30 or even 11:00 after a strong bike leg, but then I changed that goal back to 12:00 after I fell apart on the run.  I had about 2 miles left, and I knew it would be close.  I did NOT want to get 12:01 or 12:02.  I had to be 11:59:59 or less, so I could say I finished in "eleven hours and change" (that's an ongoing joke James and I have with each other since I heard him tell his brother he finished a 10K in "31 minutes and change," and I knew his time was 31:59).  Anyway, after doing the math, at the pace I was going, I wasn't going to make it in under 12 hours, and I had absolutely no reserve left.  My body had already checked out and said, "that's it; I've had enough. I'm done."  It was all mental at this point.  All I really wanted to do was curl up in a ball against the curb and go to sleep.  Being externally motivated as I am (something James teases me about since I tend to walk when no one is looking and show off by running hard when I have an audience), I knew I couldn't make it alone.  I knew I was about to look like a total idiot, but I didn't care at that point.  I had a clock to beat, and I wasn't going to do it alone.  As I shuffled my feet, I turned to the side of the road and started flapping my arms from my waist up above my head, up and down, the way a football player does on the sidelines when he's trying to get the crowd revved up.  I was telling the crowd on the side of the road to give me some love and cheer me on.  Well, it worked!  As I went, I got the energy I needed from the spectators, and wouldn't ya know it...I cracked 12 hours!  That was a huge deal for me. 

Now, I feel like we have made it so far in this pregnancy, and I'm confident we'll "finish," but I really want my "finishing time" to be > 32 weeks.  I'm pumping my arms up and down to all of you to get on your knees and pray. The encouragement is always good, but I'm doing fine.  I will be content to be on bedrest another two months if I am given that great opportunity.   God has given us one miracle after another with this little one, and we are so amazed and thankful at how He has been working in our lives day after day.  Even if the baby is born this weekend, we'll be fine.  We have already gone almost five weeks longer than we thought we would, so we are happy.  At this point, every day in utero saves us about three days in the NICU, and important brain development is going on right now that would ideally be done in my womb.  While we are rejoicing over the past 4.5 weeks, we are praying for even more time.  Knowing God has everything all worked out really puts us at ease.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose."  Romans 8:28