Abigail, Part I

Yes, that's right.  My boy is 10 now.  And I want to share his story with you (at least the beginning of his story).  But I can't properly do that, can't really show what a blessing he is to us, unless I first tell the story of his sister, Abigail.

I wasn't even 20 when I married Steve.  And for some reason, I really, really wanted to have a baby (go ahead and giggle--I had no idea how much work a baby would be!), so I begged and begged.  And about 6 months into the marriage, Steve agreed that we could try for a baby.

Sometime around the end of March 1995, I became pregnant.  I found out the day before Easter, and remember telling all of my friends & family at church.  I was so excited.

In July, we went for a routine 16 (or so) week sonogram.  There was the baby, waving, somersaulting--the kid would not sit still!  At this point in my life, I was convinced that the ONLY way to have a baby was to go into the delivery room and be surprised by the gender.  I remember feeling very strongly about this.  So we didn't find out the sex of the baby....at this visit.

It must have been about 5? weeks later, when I received a phone call from my ob/gyn (who had been delivering babies a good 10 years longer than I had been alive!).  They wanted to do a Level 2 ultrasound, just to get a better look at the baby's stomach.  Apparently, the tech hadn't been able to get a good look the first time.

I was a wreck.  My parents were on vacation--I ended up calling them in Virginia, I was so upset.  I don't remember how long we had to wait for the appointment, I just remember being so anxious.

I drank the requisite 8 gallons of water before the visit (or is that just how full my bladder felt? LOL).  I remember having to wait quite a while to go in, and having to use the bathroom beforehand (I think I drank too much water!).  For those of you who have never had to have a sonogram under slightly stressed circumstances (wow, what alliteration!), there's a lot of hmm'ing by the tech while measurements are taken. They don't say a lot.   Then you're told that you'll have to wait for the doctor.  The wait is excruciating.

I forget a lot of the mumbo-jumbo--the bottom line was this: our baby either had a condition called situs inversus (not sure of spelling) or a diaphragmatic hernia.  Situs inversus means that all of your organs are reversed inside your body.  It isn't life threatening at all--you just have to wear one of those medical bracelets so that if a doctor decides to take out your appendix, he goes in on the left side, not the right!  A diaphragmatic hernia, on the other hand, means that there is a hole in the diaphragm, and the baby's intestines could move into the rib cage, crowding those organs--which would explain why they couldn't get a good look at the baby's stomach.

The doctors (I was transferred to the care of the high risk/maternal-fetal medical team at Women & Infant's Hospital) wanted to wait for the next sonogram to give a diagnosis.  If I recall correctly (and hey, its been 11 years), they did a fetal echocardiogram that day as well, and the baby's heart was very healthy.  I did ask one question, though--"Is it a boy or a girl?".  And we named Abigail Louise that day. (And I went on to find out the gender of all of my kids at sonograms!) Abigail means, "My father rejoices" and Louise is my sister's middle name and means "renowned warrior". 

Now, as excellent of a hospital as W&I is, it is also a teaching hospital, so we couldn't help but feel a lot like guinea pigs.  This wasn't a tragedy going on, we were "interesting".  At the next sonogram, the doctors made their decision--it was a diaphragmatic hernia, and a severe one.

By this point, I must have been about 26? weeks pregnant.  One of the complications of the hernia was that Abigail's lungs were being really crowded and not growing enough.  This was effecting her ability to process amniotic fluid, so I had a build up of fluid, called polyhydramnios.  At 6 months pregnant, I measured as big as a 9 month pregnant woman should.  I was huge.  And uncomfortable.  And terrified that my baby girl was going to die.

I couldn't even properly pray for her.  I couldn't be specific in my prayers.  All I could choke out was, "Please let her be okay, please let her be okay...".  I used to feel very guilty about that, but now I have cut my then-only-21 self a little bit of slack.

And so we made plans.  We had appointments with the high risk doctors, with pediatric surgeons, with neo-natal doctors.  This was the plan:  When Abigail was born, she would be stabilized as quickly as possible.  As soon as they could, the pediatric surgeon would go in and correct the hernia, moving her intestines back where they were supposed to be.  Then she would be placed on a lung-bypass machine until her lungs were mature enough to support her.  If we were lucky, she might be able to come home by her due date.

Oh, did I forget to mention that?  My due date was Christmas Day.

Due to the high volume of fluid I was carrying around, the doctors had a good idea that I would go into pre-term labor.  On October 11, that's exactly what happened.  Although, I was too inexperienced to know it.

I was riding to church with my mom & dad for a Wednesday night service.  The whole ride, I kept saying, "Wow, my stomach is so tight--its hard to breathe!".  And I was saying this about every 10 minutes.  My mom was checking her watch.  Once we were at church, the contractions didn't stop, so my mom broke a land-speed record getting me to the hospital. 

I was indeed in labor, and had contracted to about 2 cm.  I was strapped to a moniter, and then was given magnesium sulfate to stop the contractions.  They kept me in the hospital for almost a week.  I'm embarrassed to think about how whiny I was during this time.  I don't remember a lot about that week.  The doctors did let me go home, though, on complete bedrest.

To be continued...

7:34 PM - Oct. 11, 2006 - post comment