Biblical Womanhood Every Day - Homeschool Blogger

An End and A Beginning - part 2

Tue, 20 May 2008 13:27:00 -0500

Everyone expected....

the platelet count to be good. The treatments I was given during my pregnancy were expected to work. My doctors gave me less than 5% chance of the baby having low platelets. They expected to send me home to wait for spontaneous labor. The resident OB even checked my cervix before my cordecentisis - I was 3cm dilated. He told me that after the cordecentisis, they could give me something to get my labor going if I wanted. Of course, I wasn't going to let them do that. There was no serious thought in anyone's mind that I might actually be having the baby that day. Anyone, that is, except my husband. In his slightly pessimistic mind - made even more so by its drugged state - he really believed that the treatments didn't work and I was going to need the cesarean. When my doctor came back, there was an immediate flurry of motion around the operating room.

With worried eyes, she told me that the platelet count was only 7,000.

To be sure the machine count was correct, the hematologist himself came to do a manual counto f the platelets under a microscope. They prepped me for surgery while they waited for the results. When Victoria was born at 38 weeks, her platelet count was 6,000 and my doctors said it was the lowest they had ever seen. And, with her, we had no treatment whatsoever during the pregnancy. This time, even with treatment, our baby's platelets were at near fatal levels at 37 weeks, confirming to us that this problem gets worse with each pregnancy. The hematologist confirmed the machine count.

Because of my own dropping platelet levels, I was told I would have to have general anesthesia. For reasons I still don't understand, it is dangerous to give an epidural when the patient has low platelets. (I always thought "you can't stick a needle in my back but you can cut me open?" Doesn't make sense. But eventually I came to realize that the reason was probably not the safety of one procedure over another. I believe that they wanted me under general anesthesia in case I started to hemorrhage and they needed to act quick and not have me panicking.)

Russ came into the operating room wearing a paper "suit" over his clothes and a cute paper "shower cap" on his head. He held my hand for a moment and I told him to call our parents. I thought he looked really worried... but that could have been his drugs, or mine! So there we were, two heavily-medicated people holding hands and realizing that neither of us would have a clear recollection of our son's birth. He kissed me and disappeared into the hallway.

Gabriel Morgan

was delivered into the world at 12:47pm. I was told he gave a loud cry (a forewarning of what was to come for us!) and scored a 9 on his 1 minute Apgar and again on his 5 minute Apgar. He weighed 7lb, 5oz and was 20 inches long. Russ was allowed to see him as he was being weighed and examined and even managed to take a picture with our digital camera. That picture was all I would see of my son for 24 hours.

Tuesday morning, I was encouraged to get up and walk. It was very painful and the morphine only took the edge off. However, my motivation was up on the 8th floor of the MUSC Children's Hospital (which was attached to the main hospital by long, scary corridors) in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. If I could get out of bed, they would take me to see the precious new addition to my family. I did get out of bed and I did get to visit my son and nurse him. Although if he didn't look so much like Russ, I wouldn't have felt like he was mine. There was something missing from our early bonding process, no doubt due to the fact that I was uncounscious when he was delivered. But we're making up for that and I love the little munchkin dearly!

Tuesday afternoon, Russ came back to the hospital and we went to see Morgan together. This was also the momentous day when Russ finally passed his kidney stone. I was very, very weak and found out late Tuesday that my hemoglobin level was 6.5 - roughly half of normal. My doctors recommended a blood transfusion and I agreed. They did the transfusion that night. The difference in my energy levels afterward was amazing.

I was released from the hospital on Tuesday, the 10th and Morgan was allowed to come home the next day. While in the NICU, he had one platelet transfusion and two rounds of IVIG, bringing his platelet count to over 100,000. As of January 30th, his platelet count was over 400,000 and he will not need to have it checked again. I am recovering from my c-section, though that process is going slow. There is a large blood clot under my incision between the skin and muscle tissue that is causing me a lot of discomfort. Because there is no infection, my doctors are just going to let it reabsorb on its own. IN the meantime, I just have to get through it.

Victoria has responded to her new brother in a mixed fashion. Some moments she wants absolutely nothing to do with him. At other moments, she wants to hold him, pat his back, or rub his head. When he is crying she is quick to tell me he's hungry. "Brother hungry momma, give milk." She is also very helpful in taking diapers to the trash and bringing his blanket to me. "Here brother blanket." The only disapproval she shows is when Morgan is near her blanket or her doll -two things she has made it clear he is not to touch!

So the first month of 2002 has been a mix of difficult situations and wonderful blessings. There is a song that says, "every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." That is never more true than when a baby is born. I am glad my pregnancy has come to an end. We give glory to God for bringing us all through this healthy and (almost) sane! Now, we face the always-tough but rewarding adventure of parenting another child. We want to thank all of you for your prayers and all your wonderful words of encouragement and support. Our house goes on the market today and soon we will be returning to Maryland. Your continued prayers are appreciated as we go through this less serious, but still challenging, new transition in our lives.

Take care and God Bless.

****
I'm glad you've hung in here with me through this entire story. There have been many rocky roads for us to travel but God has been right beside us, stretching us, growing us, comforting us - though sometimes we didn't see it. God gave us a some time to walk on a relatively smooth path after Morgan was born. It led to a gate; a beautiful gate made of solid gold with amazing flowers intricately impressed upon its glistening surface. Who wouldn't want to enter and find out what special things lay on the other side?

...up next - what lay on the other side (the steepest, rockiest climb we'd faced yet).

An End and A Beginning - part 1

Sun, 17 Feb 2008 20:11:00 -0600

January 31, 2002
Letter #6 - An End and A Beginning

Dear Friends and Family,
So much has happened since I wrote you last. Our little one has finally made his appearance into the world, bringing to an end a most incredibly trying period of our lives.

December 31 at 3:00am, I was in the emergency room at Beaufort Memorial Hospital. However, this time it wasn't me who was the patient. Russ was lying in the bed beside me, writhing in pain while waiting on a promised morphine injection. He had been taken there by ambulance after awakening with pain in his lower right abdomen so strong that he was unable to walk to the car. Initially everyone thought it was his appendix but tests and x-rays revealed the true culprit of his pain to be a kidney stone. Russell, as most of you know, is not one to succumb to pain very quickly. (My husband's favorite motto is "pain is weakness leaving the body.") He also rarely needs a doctor and had never been hospitalized. It is an irony that follows the tradition of the rest of our pregnancy that the week his body fails him is the same week we have scheduled the cordecentisis to check our baby's platelet levels and possibly deliver him.

Russ was released from the ER with prescriptions for heavy pain medication and instructions on coping until his stone passed. No problem. We went home at 7:30am and slept until noon. The rest of this New Year's Eve went rather uneventfully. We made plans with friends to spend New Year's Day together. But New Year's Day, I had to call them to cancel; Russ' pain medication was not working so we returned to the hospital. This time, they admitted him so they could give him fluids and intravenous pain medication. Morphine was his new best friend.

On Wednesday, the 2nd, the urologist gave permission for Russ to be discharged from the hospital the next morning in order to go to Charleston with me for the cordecentisis. To manage his pain, they gave him a shot of pain medication right before he left the hospital; to last him six hours, after which he could take the prescription medications he had been given. My neighbor Pat was to accompany Russ and I to Charleston in case I couldn't drive home after the procedure or I had to stay overnight.

The next morning at 7am, Russ, Pat and I headed for Charleston. I was supposed to have been fasting since midnight just in case surgery was needed; being pregnant and fasting do not go well together. On the way to Charleston, I had one solitary saltine in order to ward off increasing nausea caused by not eating. After checking into the hospital, to my dismay, that single saltine had the anesthesiologist very concerned so he delayed my procedure for six hours in order for it to clear my stomach. At the time, this was a big inconvenience for everyone. Later we would find out that it was a very good thing I had admitted to having that saltine.

Russ' intitial shot of pin medication wore off far sooner than the six hours they had promised. He took percoset and phenergan and slept most of the day. Because of the six hour delay, my procedure had to be fit in among all the other things being done in the labor & delivery operating room that day. After being bumped several times by emergency c-sections, we were finally going to have the procedure done at 5:00pm. I was told I would have to stay overnight for observation. So, at that point, I sent my neighbor and my very drugged and tired husband home. At 5pm, the nurse came in to give me pre-op medication in case there were complications with the procedure which required emergency c-section. I was assured they would come get me in fifteen minutes. Forty-five minutes later, my nurse came in and informed me that they would not be doing the procedure and that my doctor would come tell me why.

The story unfolded: The doctor coming on duty at shift change was reviewing my chart and asked how many units of platelets they had for the baby in case he had to be delivered because of a low platelet count. Apparently her words were met with questioning stares. Everyone had been so optimistic that my treatments would work and the baby would be fine that they hadn't thought to order platelets just in case. Woops! Had I not told them about the saltine, they would have gone ahead and done my procedure, not thinking about the fact that they didn't have platelets. The platelet type we needed is so rare they don't store it at the blood banks. Donors have to be called each time the platelets are needed. The closest donors were in Charlotte, NC and that week Charlotte was under a terrible winter storm. There would be no platelets until Monday. I was released from the hospital Friday morning with instructions to come back Monday.

Saturday, January 5th and Sunday, January 6th were the only two days out of the first eleven days of the new year that our family did not have a member in the hospital. Monday morning at 10am, I was taken to the operating room for my cordecentisis. Russ was still on heavy medication because he had not yet passed his kidney stone; I told him not to worry about sitting through the procedure with me because I would be heavily sedated and wouldn't know he was there anyway. In truth, I don't remember a thing from the time they put the sedatives in my IV until I wokke up after the procedure. My doctor said they were just waiting for the platelet count to come back from the lab and they would "let me out of there."

...up next - part two: birth and beyond

Much to Be Thankful For

Sat, 12 Jan 2008 20:10:00 -0600

I can't believe it's been almost 5 1/2 months since I last wrote here. So much has been happening that I would love to share with the world. But as I have been called to do, I will continue telling this story. If you haven't read my blog before, go to the right and start reading my story from the beginning; I hope it blesses you to read about the goodness of God. **As a reminder: the comments below that are italicized and black are what I've written today looking back at this.

December 4, 2001
Letter #6: Much to Be Thankful For

Dear Family and Friends,
December is here and it is still 80 degrees during the day in Beaufort. I long for a reason to drink hot chocolate and wear thick, warm sweaters. But that doesn't seem to be in the forecast any time soon. It looks to be another warm-weather Christmas for us. Last time I wrote you, I said that life had been pretty difficult lately. I wish that I could report an improvement over the last month and a half, but that isn't the case by any stretch of the imagination.

My seminar was great except that the schedule made if very difficult on me physically; although I am happy to report that I passed all my tests and even got a 93 on the final exam! When I returned home afterward, I was very exhausted and spent most of the day Monday sleeping to recover. Tuesday rolled around and I headed to Charleston for my treatment. That Tuesday was the beginning of what has been the most difficult four weeks of my pregnancy yet. After my treatment that night, I spiked a 102 degree fever from out of nowhere. The obstetrician on call at my OB office told me that I probably just had the flu and needed to take some Tylenol and rest. The Tylenol broke my fever and I went to bed early. I developed no other symptoms of the flu and neither did anyone in my household. I did, however, keep having fevers every couple of days for seemingly no reason.

The obstetricians spent the next two weeks trying to track down the cause of my fevers. They drew my blood several times and tested me for everything from HIV to Tuberculosis. I had no signs of infection in any part of my body and the baby was doing great so my doctor's weren't very concerned. That is, until the Tuesday after Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving night I ran a temperature of 101 degrees, which didn't bother me much becuase I had been having fevers like that on and off for weeks. However, this time the fever came back every day. Monday afternoon I went in to see my obstetrician again after having had a temperature between 99.5 degrees and 101.5 degrees for five days. They drew blood to test me for some other rare diseases and infections. I was given a thorough examination and, again, no other signs of illness were found. Stumped, my doctor told me not to worry about it and, unless the blood tests turned up anything, they would see me in a week. The next day, I was at the clinic waitting to start my treatment when Dr. Abud told me that I would have to go over to the hospital and be admitted. Well, obviously, this was quite a shock and it would be a couple hours before I would find out what was going on.

After being escorted over to Labor and Delivery, I waited for my obstetrician to come tell me why I was being admitted. Finally, Dr. Mulden showed up. She is the OB I had seen the day before who had scheduled to see me back in a week. She looked worried. Dr. Mulden explained that she had looked over all my previous labs and the results from the ones I had done the day before. She noticed that with each set of blood work my platelet, hemoglobin, and white cell counts were falling. So, they were admitting me to the hospital until they could get a hematologist consult to try to find out what was causing it. One hematologist showed up that afternoon and explained again that my platelet, hemoglobin, and white cell counts were fallling. He told me they would do more blood tests and see me the next afternoon.

The next afternoon - the Wednesday after Thanksgiving - four hematologists came to my room and spoke with me for about 3 minutes. They explained that people don't usually have problems with platelets, hemoglobin, and white blood cells all at the same time. A virus, for instance, may cause havoc with one or another, but not all three. So their theory was that the problem was in my bone marrow (which is where those things are made). After our brief conversation, they left and told me they would see me the next day.

The next morning, one of the doctors came to see me at about 10:30. He explained that at their staff meeting that morning, all the hematologists were discussing my case. They unanimously agreed that the next step was to do a bone marrow aspiration and biopsy. I was not too thrilled at the sound of that, to say the least! What was worse, they scheduled it for 11am - less than a half hour from that moment. He left the room and I rushed to make phone calls to my husband other family to let them know what was going on.

I went through sixteen hours of un-medicated labor with my first child and, I have to say, would choose that over a bone marrow aspiration and biopsy any day. The procedure was, by far, the most painful experience of my life - endured with only the comfort of strangers (and the Lord. Russ was working about 2 hours from where I was so there was no way he could have gotten there. There were actually many strangers in my room during the procedure - I was in a teaching hospital and in the 25 minutes beforehand I had 7 or 8 residents and/or interns come ask my permission to watch. They took their samples from the area of my pelvic bone near the Sacroiliac joint. I still periodically have pain in that spot, often coming and going with certain weather conditions.) Fortunately though, it allowed the doctors to rule out a number of other potential causes of bone marrow suppression, including Leukemia. After having had countless blood tests and the bone marrow biopsy and aspiration in the hospital, the doctors were still stumped. Strangely, from the time I went into the hospital, I felt better than I had in months and did not have one fever. To me, it was more than a coincidence that my fevers stopped and my platelet, hemoglobin, and white cell counts began to come back up when I did not have my treatment for the week. However, the hematologist in charge of my treatments denies that the IVIG could cause the types of problems I was having. For now, everyone has labeled my fevers and dropping blood counts a fluke of pregnancy and taken a "wait and see" attitude. My obstetricians gave me one more week off of my treatment, and I will begin again on December 11th.

By now I suppose you are wondering why I would title this letter "Much to Be Thankful For." Indeed, this pregnancy - especially in the last month - is proving to be one of the greatest challenges of my life. Russ has also been deeply affected by these difficult events. Some days it is hard to see anything worth celebrating and thanking God for. However, there is much to be thankful for even in the midst of our suffering. The health of my daughter and my husband comes to mind, as well as the knowledge of all the various infections and diseases that I do not have. In the midst of all my physical problems, our unborn son is still thriving, and getting ready to make his entry into the world. Speaking of entries into the world, my best friend recently delivered a big, healthy baby girl at 41 weeks after being threatened with pre-term labor and on best rest most of her third trimester. That is definately something to be thankful for. I also think about how God is allowing the pieces to fall into place so that we can move back to Maryland next year and once again be close to our family and dearest friends.

We live in a county where prosperity abounds, even in the midst of a slow economy. And often, when I can't seem to see past my problems, I think of all the little things that we take for granted. We have a roof over our heads, food in our pantry, and clean clothes on our backs - which is more than many people in this world could ever hope for. Oh, there is so much to be thankful for. We just need to take the time to stop and think about it. For us personally, it means taking our heads out of the hole of self-pity we like to stick them in. It means trusting God even when we can't see the end of the valley He is bringing us through.

...up next - An End and a Beginning

Pediatric Oncology (fiction sadly real)

Mon, 6 Aug 2007 07:27:00 -0500

It was a place too stark and sterile for children, too old and dark for youth. No child should have to venture through those blue double doors. No child should ever have to walk that long, cold hallway.

Margaret Robinson walked that hall each week with legs of heavy iron. People said there was hope in the room at the end but, so far, it had eluded her. She hadn't caught even a glimpse of it. Every visit had been like someone choking her, the grip getting tighter and tighter around her throat with each new week of treatments that weren't working.

She forced her heavy limbs one in front of the other. Her smart black heels clicked as she walked but in her mind, she heard the screech, clang of metal dragging along the cold tile floor. She felt like the Tin Man filled with cement. Needing to get to the wizard but unable to go through the witch's forest.

On her left was what some called the needle room. A boy of about seven was shrieking while being held down by women in brightly colored hospital scrubs. One - dressed in blue scrubs with cheerful yellow smiley faces all over it - pinned his arms to the table. A woman who was probably his mother held his hand and tried to hush him with tender words. He screamed and tried to kick his legs (which were held down by another lady dressed in pink scrubs patterned with rainbows). A needle was stuck into his little arm. "It blew," the nurse muttered as she removed it. "I'll have to try again." Suddenly the boy's whole body washed with resignation. "I hate this place, I hate all of you," he spit through clenched teeth. "Why do you have to hurt me?"

Margaret returned her gaze forward in the hall. She had not stopped her slow, laborous walk. Her own child skipped and hummed along beside her. Without even looking at Rosie, she knew what her daughter was doing. It was the same every week. The little girl always skipped and hummed as they passed the needle room. She skipped and hummed while covering her ears to the wailing and protesting that often erupted from there. In the beginning, the girl would pull her hair down over her ears and hold it there tightly with her palms pressed hard against the lobes. Now her hands were the only things she had to muffle the cries. The hair was mostly gone.

A computer on wheels was pushed down the hall by a woman wearing lime green scrubs with teddy bears peppered across them. The cart - with its shelf stacked high with files - met them in the hall. "Good morning, Miss Margaret. Rosie. How are you today?" It was the same greeting every time, and after 8 weeks, Miss Margaret could not truthfully answer the woman. The paper lady, as Rosie called her, spent her days getting signatures, typing in her computer, and talking on the phone. How the hell do you think we're doing? Miss Margaret wanted to say. She wanted to tell the paper lady that things weren't going so well. She wanted to remind her that the names on those files were the names of people's children. Sick children. Dying children. She wanted to say that her daughter was dying and that nobody could do anything about it. She wanted to tell the paper lady that she was suppressing the urge to get down on the floor and kick and scream and tear through the hospital linoleum until they all dropped into a black abyss.

"We're fine," was what always came out.

Rosie smiled, her hands still on her ears, the hum still floating softly from her lips. Miss Margaret signed something the paper lady handed to her. Then the too short, too long journey down the hall resumed. Screech, clang, screech clang. To the right there was a small conference room. The door was ajar revealing an overstuffed leather couch facing two matching chairs. Though she couldn't see it from the hall, she knew that in the corner of that room, there was a child-size table with two child-size chairs and a small wooden box filled with toys. That room became a prison when the door was shut. A prison where people were forced to listen to horrifying things, the things that made up many parent's nightmares and her recent reality. She had once seen a family come out of that room, the mother clutching her small child to her chest. Those parents had smiles on their faces, they stepped in the air and their bodies floated as they made their way toward the exit. They were the only ones she'd ever seen come out of there with wide-awake souls. They were escaping. She hated them.

Screech, clang, screech, clang, screech, clang. They had come to the end of the hall. Now they would take their seats in the middle of a play entitled The Fighting, The Dying, and The Dead. Through the doorway, a cocophony of sight, sound and emotion filled the space. Vinyl recliners lined the walls, each with its own television from which cartoons and talk-shows bounced an amalgamation of constantly moving light against the dimness of the room. IV stands stood at attention next to each chair, whirring, beeping, drip, dripping; soldiers delivering hope and fear, comfort and distress, simultaneously and without sentiment.

Rosie sat in her recliner. It was hers because she sat there every Tuesday. Margaret sat in a small metal folding chair beside her. The soldier between them had not yet come to life. It would be a few minutes before the nurses would cheerfully hook it up, it's long flexible tubing invading her little girl's body in a place carved out especially for it. Rosie opened up Goodnight Moon and began to flip the pages. Even now, she seemed oblivious to the sorrow around her. Adults in folding metal chairs, with dark, sunken eyes and tear-stained cheeks clutched tissues and conveyed their stories to one another without speaking a word.

Margaret observed the children as she did every week. They sat in their chairs and played, read books, sang, laughed and chatted with eachother. A few faces reflected the sea-sickness commonly brought about by the combination of drugs they were getting. Yet all seemed strangely at peace. At peace in their ignorance, at peace in their innocence, perhaps at peace in their faith. Margaret felt that familiar feeling; her spirit melting into molten lava which would eventually pour out as an eruption of tears.

If it were true that God caught all the tears of his

children, He would fill heaven just with those cried in

             this room.

"Can I hold you for a little while, Rosie?" she asked her daughter.

"Why, Mamma? I'm reading," Rosie said, looking at her mother with the genuine curiosity of a six-year-old.

"I just need to hold you. How about I read your book to you?"

"Na, I'll do it myself. I don't want to be held." Rosie stated with her usual self-determined spirit. Then a smile danced in her eyes. "But I will hug you," the small voice said, knowing this would please her mother.

Margaret picked up her first-born and held her tightly in her arms. For a moment, Rosie was again an infant. Before she got sick, before the news came, before her mother had to think about what it would be like to lose her. Margaret could almost smell the blended aroma of baby-powder, soft lotion, and pureed peaches. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she whispered into her daughter's ear.

"I love you too mommy, now can I get down?" Rosie said squirming.

"Sure, honey." Margaret placed her gently back into the vinyl seat, covered her with a blanket and handed Rosie her favorite book. The eruption was coming. She could not hold it back. Rosie looked at her mother's face with concern for a brief moment, then returned her attention to her book.

"Mrs. Robinson."   Nurse Amy was standing in the doorway looking at her. Smiley faces in primary colors dotted her bright purple uniform. Margaret lowered her eyebrows questioningly but the nurse was already focused on the little girl. "Hey Rosie!" she said smiling. Margaret detected something unfamiliar in the nurse's voice. "Can I sit with you while your mommy talks to the doctor?" Nurse Amy asked, then, looking at Margaret again, "the doctor wants to talk to you before we begin this week."

And then it was there. Margaret knew what that unfamiliar thing was in Nurse Amy's voice. It was sympathy. It was subtle but it was definately there. Not the sympathy of one who is sorry for what you are going through. Nurse Amy always had that. This was different. It was the sympathy of one who knows that the monster is right around the corner now and that you are headed full speed into its clutches. Margaret rose heavy and slow from her metal chair, glanced at Rosie through eyes filling wth tears, and forced herself to walk toward the conference room.

             Screech, clang, screech clang, screech, clang...

*****

I wrote that story based on real people I had observed as I spent time in the Peds. Oncology chemo room every week while I got my treatments. Margaret Robinson's is a life of despair and resignation. She is a picture of a person not resting in the hands of the Lord. As I sat there weekly in an attempt to keep my own child alive, I was blessed with a peace that surpassed all understanding. I thank God that I didn't have the despair that showed on so many faces in that room; even more that my life was truly blessed by the experience. Again, it is all Him - without Him, I could not and can not do anything.

...up next - Much to Be Thankful For

Moving Along

Mon, 9 Jul 2007 14:54:00 -0500

It never got easier - the time I spent in the room of sick children or my treatments. But in His mercy, God allowed me to go through it with perseverance and a continued belief that His plan is perfect.

October 19, 2001
Letter # 5: The Seasons are Changing

Dear Family and Friends,
It's hard for me to believe that it is almost the end of October. Here in Beautiful Beaufort by the Sea it is still pretty warm most days, though there has been a slight chill in the air a few mornings recently. It's weird walking through the stores and seeing Christmas merchandise. Looking at it makes me very homesick as I think about spending another holiday season away from our extended families. This year, due to my pregnancy, we won't be able to travel to Maryland for Thanksgiving or Christmas. However, I will be in Frederick on Halloween day before spending the first four days of November in Virginia at a training seminar. That is going to be a tough week. Monday, I will go for my treatment. Tuesday, I will fly to Dulles then spend Tuesday night and Wednesday in Frederick. Thursday, I start a grueling 4-day seminar that runs from 8:30am to 10:00pm with breaks only for lunch and dinner. On Sunday, the seminar will end at 5:30pm and I will get on a plane home that night. To top it off, I am leaving my daughter here, which will be the toughest part of all. For those of you wondering, I am still not working ouside my home but I have been training to be a certified childbirth educator. The seminar is one of the final steps in the process. When I reserved my spot over a year ago, I was not pregnant and had no idea that my life would be so crazy when it came time to go! So, I ask that you all pray for me so I have the energy to get through the seminar, pass all the tests they will give, and handle being without Victoria.

(I handled the trip ok though I spent most of the time with a headache and actually - gasp! - drank caffeinated soda to help with that. Fortunately, I was allowed to sit on the chair, lay on the floor or generally get into any position that was comfortable for me. The hours were still long and I was wiped out at the end of every day. I did find a woman at the seminar who was staying in my hotel that also had a double room all to herself. So we decided to save some money by sharing a room. This more than made up for the fact that the cabby that took me from my hotel to the seminar the day before had drove me way out of the way to get there. He followed a route that took us about 20 minutes when my hotel was literally four blocks away - I just didn't know that until the next day when my new roommate drove us in her car! I missed Victoria terribly but everyone survived.)

As you can imagine, life has been pretty difficult lately. But things are getting better with each week that goes by. The first few weeks after I started my treatments were hard to get through, but God has been good in giving us just the strength we need to to make it day by day. The brusing I experienced around my veins after my second treatment was apparently a fluke and has not happened since. Although I did have a nurse puncture through two of my veins the third week while trying to insert the IV needle! If you've ever had the priviledge of that experience, you know that it leaves a terribly ugly bruise that can last for weeks.

I am a familiar Tuesday face around the clinic now. My nurse always saves my favorite recliner for me as well as two pillows and a blanket. She has also been ordering my immunoglobulin before I get there so that I can get out of there sooner... even though she is not supposed to. I continue to receive a dose of Benedryl before leaving the hospital after each treatment and continue to spend my Tuesday evenings at home in a drug-induced daze or sleep. Wednesdays bring the headache, though I am happy to report that it gets less and less severe with each treatment. The whole family is slowly learning to cope.

Russ took off work each Tuesday for the first four weeks of my treatments. It was nice to have him with me but then his employer told him that he couldn't continue to do that on a weekly basis. Fortunately, some people at our church had taken it upon themselves to help by arranging rides for me. I was presented with a schedule of volunteers through the middle of November and another schedule is being created for the rest of the pregnancy! My neighbors continue to keep Victoria during my treatments so, logistically, everything is going smoothly. I have not given up hope that my doctors will arrange a way for me to get my IVIG in Beaufort, although it looks unlikely.

The most common question I get asked these days is whether or not the treatments are working. My answer? Well, we just don't know. In theory, the treatments should work - and have worked in other people with the same problem. However, using IVIG to treat this specific condition is a relatively new practice so they make no guarantees. And, the only way to know for sure is to have the PUBS procedure that I spoke about in my first letter.

If you recall, PUBS involves putting a needle into the baby's umbilical cord to draw blood. It is a risky procedure in and of itself but but becomes even risker when performed on a baby that could possibly have low platelets. The low platelets would inhibit the umbilical cord's ability to clot fast enough at the place where the needle was inserted,, which is a life-threatening situation for the baby. In essence, the procedure that is done to find out if the baby's platelets are low can cause pregnancy loss if the platelets are in fact low. So Russ and I decided to decline this procedure at least until the pregnancy is far enough along that viability is virtually unquestionable. That way, if the baby has problems with the PUBS, he can be delivered via emergency C-section and treated. In the absence of the PUBS testing, the only way to watch the baby's progress is to have periodic ultrasounds to check for signs of cerebral hemorrhaging. We had this done at our doctor's appointment on October 9th and everything looked great!

At that last ultrasound, they estimated the baby's weight to be about 2 pounds! (I found out after much more chilbirth education training that ultrasounds can be way off when estimating the weight of the baby). I am also gaining steadily and am now up to 8 pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight. Going by the baby's due date, we only have a little under 14 weeks left and we are so excited! I hope all of you are enjoying your fall weather and getting ready for the upcoming holidays.

Stay well, stay warm, and God Bless

... up next - Fiction Sadly Real

Treatment Begins

Thu, 31 May 2007 11:29:00 -0500

Nothing quite prepares you for spending time in a pediatric hematology and oncology clinic. While the physical difficulties of this day have long since faded, I won't soon forget the emotional impact this place had on me. I would spend a day each week for nearly 15 weeks; trying not to watch the hollow faces.

October 1, 2001
Letter #4: Treatments Begin

Dear Family & Friends,

Here is a brief diary of my first week of IVIG treatment - Tuesday, September 18, 2001.

     9:45am - Russ and I arrive at the Pediatric Hematology and Oncology clinic at MUSC. We are greeted by a nurse who helps us get comfortable in the treatment room. The room has 6 recliners, each having a large tray attached that can be folded up for eating or other activities. At each recliner station, there is a small color television attached to the wall with a long arm that allows you to position the television where it will be most comfortable to view. the decorations are bright and cheerful and the bookcase if filled with children's books. This room is labeled "chemo room."

     10:45am - Russ decides to go get lunch while we are waiting for the pharmacy to send up the immunoglobulin. We have been watching CNN for the last hour. It's hard to see all the pictures of the destruction from September 11th. We don't get any television stations at our house so we hadn't seen any visual images since the day of the attacks when we spent an hour at our neighbor's house watching their television. The images I imagined in my head while listening to the radio were nowhere close to the horrible pictures I am seeing this morning. While Russ is gone, the clinic gets busier and I wonder about each child who walks in - about why they are there and how serious their problems are. I look at the parents. Most of them smile but their eyes show a battle to stay strong through a long, difficult ordeal. One lady is reminded by the nurse that she should pack her four-year-old daughter's suitcase before they come to the clinic in case her daughter was admitted. What's wrong with this child that every time she comes in there, there is a chance she will be admitted? The little girl plays while they wait for the doctor. I thank God it is not Victoria that needs this clinic.

     11:15am - The nurse tells me that the immunoglobulin is on its way up. She gives me four pills - two Benadryl and two Tylenol - and we go into another room so she can put my IV needle into my arm. Moments later, Russ returns with lunch. We eat and watch CNN while we wait.

     12:00pm - The immunoglobulin arrives and the nurse hooks the drip tube into my IV. Russ leaves to roam around Charleston and I continue to watch CNN and the people around me. A father is there with his son, who looks to be about 13. A doctor comes in and tells him that he needs to be giving his son "the shot" twice a day. Down the hall, a mother leaves the room where her infant is screaming loudly while having its blood drawn. Then the four-year-old leaves with the nurse. I hear her screaming and crying and she returns with an IV needle in her hand, tears streaming down her cheek. The nurse tells her mom the girl is being admitted to the hospital. The little girl wants to play some more but her mother asks if she can hold her. "Why?" says the little girl. "Because I love you and I need to hold you," is the reply. She climbs into her mother's lap and her mother thanks her for being understanding. The scene here is harder for me to see than the images on the news.

     1:30pm - The nurse comes to check on me and wonders why I am not asleep yet. I feel drugged but not like I want to sleep. My arm aches and I can't seem to find a comfortable position to hold it in. The nurse brings me a pillow for my arm and one for my head. A few minutes later, I turn off the television and try to sleep.

     3:35pm - Russ returns and wakes me up. I feel hung-over and extremely thirsty. I finish the Sprite he was drinking as he shows me the issues of Time and Newsweek he picked up from the bookstore. They are devoted to the attacks of September 11th and are filled with eerie still pictures of ash-covered people, rubble that speaks of a war-zone, and bodies falling from the windows of the twin towers. The nurse comes in and tells me I will be done at 4:00pm.

     4:00pm - On the dot, the IV machine beeps and I wheel it into the IV room to have the needle removed. I notice the nurse is rubbing something oily under the tape as she pulls. She tells me it is adhesive remover. I'm surprised and I tell her that's the first time I've had an IV taken out that I wasn't told to just hold my breath while the tape was yanked off. She laughs and says, "This is the pediatric facility, we take care of our patients." She then pulls the needle out painlessly and applies a Garfield band-aid.

     4:15pm - We are leaving the parking deck, heading home. I feel strange but can't place the feeling. Am I tired? Is this just more reaction to the Benadryl? I don't remember sleeping any on the way home but I feel like the drive went very fast.

     5:45pm - We pick up Victoria from the neighbors. She doesn't seem to have missed us much! Russ carries her because I feel too tired. When we get to our house, Russ fixes tuna fish sandwiches for dinner and I lay on the couch.

     7:30pm - I have been laying on the couch for the past couple of hours and can't seem to get up. Victoria asks to go to bed, no doubt tired from all the playing she did at the neighbor's house. We tuck her in and I lay back on the couch. I fall asleep there.

     8:30pm - I am awakened by Russ moving about the kitchen. I am extremely thirsty and ask him to bring me some water. By the time he sets the water down, I am asleep again.

******************************************

That Wednesday morning, I woke up at 8:00am feeling refreshed and strong again. I got Victoria up and we went about our day as usual. Then around noon, I developed a pretty debilitating headache. Tylenol didn't help it and for days I had trouble functioning during the day and sleeping at night. It was Sunday morning before the headache disappeared.

Russ and I decided that I would try to drive myself back from my next treatment to see if I could make it. He would come along and take over only if necessary. If I could make it easily and safely, then we wouldn't have to find someone to drive me each week. That plan, however, was shot down when we arrived for our second round of treatments on September 25th.

I told the nurse about how bad the headache had been and how long it lasted. She told me that she thought I could take Benadryl but she would check with the doctor. Dr. Abud was concerned about the duration and intensity of my headaches and ordered that I be given another dose of Benadryl and Tylenol before leaving the hospital each week. So, there went the idea of driving myself home. In addition, I can take only Benadryl and Tylenol during the week for the headaches. This leaves my options at either suffering through the headaches or being drugged all the time. Consindering the intensity of the headache, either option leaves me without full capability of handling my daughter and other family responsibilities. In the end I decided to just live with the headache. One of the main reasons is that Benadryl is a Class C drug for pregnancy - meaning it could cause birth defects but studies have been inconclusive. We figure that two doses of this drug per week is quite enough.

With my second treatment also came an unexpected side effect. The treatment both times has caused my arm to ache intensely and to be sore to the touch for a couple of days afterward. They switch arms with each treatment to minimize the discomfort and the arm they used this last time had a particularly strange reaction. Wednesday morning I noticed all the veins in that arm had purple streaks on the skin above them. These streaks were tender like bruises. The one that corresponded with the vein they had the IV in was particularly painful. Today, almost a week later, it is still painful to stretch that arm out straight. Tomorrow when we go for the treatment, I will ask about this. Hopefully, it is something that can be easily prevented.

So far, there have been no signs that my body is rejecting the immunoglobulin treatment. Now my prayer is that I am not too far debilitated by these weekly trips to take care of my family. My next update will follow the doctor's appointment I have scheduled for October 9th.

Until then,
Take Care and God Bless.

...up next - The Routine Continues

A Sad Time

Thu, 10 May 2007 22:27:00 -0500

I remember where I was when I found out the Challenger had blown up.

Fourth Grade - lunch room. A teacher walks up to the teacher's table and says something in a low, hurried voice. Murmurs run round the table and tears start to mingle with shocked expressions. Later the whole school takes a break from the Three R's and watches the news.

My grandfather had an "I remember where I was when..." story about Pearl Harbor. My parents, about the assination of JFK. There's a country song that asks of the listener, "Where were you when the world stopped turning that September day?" It's been nearly six years and they still play it on the radio. It will be 60 years and I will still know my answer to that question.

I had called my husband at work just to say hi. He told me that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. I remember thinking how awful that was for those people - on the plane and in the building. We didn't have cable so I decided to listen to the radio to get more details. Through the static, the events unfolded to my ears. Hijacking... terrorists... intentional crash... two planes...

That week we were taking care of our neighbor's house and feeding their dog while they were on vacation. I scooped up my 21-month-old daughter and went. To feed the dog and to watch their television. I watched the replays of the planes crashing and the coverage of the damage done to the Pentagon from yet another plane. I watched LIVE! as the towers came down. I could not stop my tears. And I couldn't explain them to my worried daughter.

The next day my husband and I met with the Pediatric Hematologist to discuss how we were going to keep my baby's platelet count at a safe level during my pregnancy. Just down the hall, children undergoing chemotherapy sat with their parents watching the continuous new coverage on the televisions.

September 17, 2001
Letter # 3 - God Bless America

Dear Friends and Family,

I report to you this week with a heavy heart. The tragic events of September 11th have left us all with a variety of emotions we are still trying to sort through. The joy that we feel as we anticipate the new addition to our family is overshadowed by the grief of so many suffering the loss of loved ones. It's hard for us to imagine bringing a child into these uncertain times in our country's history. But we believe that God's grace is sufficient for whatever hardships we must face. We rally our strength from His storehouses and try to prepare for whatever lies ahead.

Little children are like a renewal of hope in the midst of despair. The jets from the nearby Marine Corps Air Station have been training non-stop since the attacks. By their presence and the harsh reality of moment by moment news updates, we are constantly reminded of the seriousness of the situation. But our precious daughter is oblivious to what is going on. She runs to the door and triumphantly announces, "airplane, momma" when the jets fly over. When our faces are serious as we contemplate the latest information, she is quick to offer a hug and her beautiful smile before she returns to laugher-filled play. With all that is happening, I can still find joy in watching a toddler excitedly chase a cat or in hearing of a new birth. In doing so, I am reminded that this too shall pass. God willing, I will tell the story of September 11th to my grandchildren; the way our country met the challenge under the direction of great leadership and how difficult times slowly got better. I hope you will all join us in praying for God's mercy on America and wisdom for our leaders, especially President Bush.

I reached the halfway point in my pregnancy on September 6th... it's going by so quickly. At my last doctor's appointment on September 12th, I was 130 1/2 pounds, brining my total weight gain to 14 1/2 pounds (2 1/2 pounds above my pre-pregnancy weight). On August 22nd, Russ and I took time out from our vacation in Myrtle Beach to drive to Charleston for a very in-depth ultrasound. The ultrasound was scheduled to take an hour but our little one was so cooperative that we were done in 20 minutes! According to the doctor, everything looked beautiful. The blood flow through the heart was perfect, the placenta was without defect, the brain and spinal cord looked just as they should and we saw five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot. It truly was an incredible experience. And... Victoria will have a baby brother!! We were a bit nervous about having a boy because we are so used to taking care of a girl, but we really couldn't be happier.

After that doctor visit and ultrasound, I scheduled a consultation appointment with the Pediatric Hematologist who would be overseeing my treatments. He explained the procedure to us and scheduled my first transfusion for Tuesday, September 18th. Basically, these treatments will be an all-day adventure. I arrive at MUSC at 9am each Tuesday, at which time they order the immunoglobulin from the pharmacy. It could take the pharmacy up to two hours to get it ready and they cannot start to prepare it until I walk in the door. Once the immunoglobulin arrives from the pharmacy, they will begin to transfuse it by IV, which takes about four hours. Before each transfusion they will give me Benedryl and Tylenol to counteract common side-effects like allergic reaction and headache. Since the immunoglobulin is a blood product, there is the extremly remote chance that I will be exposed to infected blood that slipped through the screening process. There is also a small chance that my body will not handle the immunoglobulin, making this course of treatment unusable. Please pray for my safety and the safety of our son during the next 18 weeks.

God Bless you all and God Bless America!

....up next - treatment begins

Sicker Than I had Ever Been

Thu, 3 May 2007 08:34:00 -0500

(This entry has not yet been edited for spelling and punctuation)

Well, friends, I know that there is no way I will ever finish my story if I wait 2 months between entries. I'll not let that happen again, God willing. So, let me go on.

It was 6 years ago this month that God brought forth life in my womb. 8 weeks later I would realize this was not going to be easy like my last pregnancy. God was definately continuing His refining work...

August 10, 2001
Letter # 2 - Bringing You Up to Date

Dear Family and Friends,
I hope you all will accept my apology for not sending this out sooner. In fact, most of you will be receiving this at the same time as the first one. Read on and you'll discover why.

The last 10 weeks have been full of the adventures of early pregnancy, and rather difficult at times. Around week 8, I began to experience severe morning sickness. This was very new to me as I did not have any morning sickness with Victoria. After three days of this severe sickness I had only been able to keep down about 2 cups of fluid and no food. I also had incredible pain in the back of my head any time I tried to stand up. On the fourth morning Victoria woke up and I couldn't even get off the couch to get her out of bed. Fortunately the phone was nearby and I called my neighbors - an absolutely wonderful Christian family who love Victora - and they came and got her. Then I called Russ to come home and take me to my family practitioner. My doctor immediately admmitted me to the hospital where I spent the next 4 days receiving intravenous fluids, anti-nausea medication, and steroids. Finally, I got to the point where I could keep down saltines and gingerale and was allowed to go home. I had about three more weeks where I couldn't eat much of anything. During that month, I lost 12 pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight. [I started out this pregnancy at 123 lbs. 111 lbs. is not at all healthy for a person who is 5' 6"]

Russ and I try to look for the positive side in any situation. My time in the hospital afforded Russ a great learning experience he may not have had otherwise. The first night I was in the hospital, Russ came by to visit with one of our neighbor's kids - 14 year old Stephanie, who is Victoria's babysitter. Russ explained to me that he had some errands to run and just didn't know how to do that by himself with Victoria - thus the reason Stephanie was along. It's not that Russ was incapable of taking care of her by himself, he just had never had to. Well, by Saturday afternoon (two days later), he was bathing her, taking her to the park, and feeding her without any direction or help. He even got her up, dressed and to church on Sunday morning! So, the positive side was that Russ gained confidence in taking care of Victoria without mommy around.

I am in my 17th week of pregnancy now and everything is going smoothly. The morning sickness is just an unpleasant memory and my appetite is extremely strong now. So far, I have gained back 7 of the 12 pounds I lost initially.

We have had two ultrasounds since the one we had at 5 weeks. They were at 9 weeks and 11 weeks and both showed a very active little baby with a strong heart beat. Even at two and a half centimeters, there was no mistaking this tiny human being. Our next ultrasound is in a little over a week. This one will be more in depth and they will be checking various parts of the anatomy to make sure everything is developing properly. We hope to be able to find out the sex of the baby at that time. Amazingly, the baby that was two and a half centimeters just 8 weeks ago will be four and a half inches at this next appointment. The baby will look like a fully-formed human being, although very tiny... it even has fingernails at this point!

I have been feeling very light fetal "flutterings" for a few weeks now but, just this week, I began to feel stronger bump-like movements. At my doctor's appointment last week, the fetal heart rate was 150 beats per minute. Despite the discomfort of the early months, I am into my second trimester and doing great. I am still tired... but I think that has a lot do with with chasing after a rapidly-maturing toddler all day!

[I did ommit a part of this letter here for protection of privacy]

In about 5 weeks, I will begin my weekly trips to Charleston for IVIG therapy. Please be in prayer that we can find volunteers to go back and forth with me each week and that the treatments work like they should. I hope to send out another update in two weeks with all the news about our ultrasound.

...up next - tragedy and bravery

A New Life; An Unknown Path

Sun, 4 Mar 2007 17:29:00 -0600

For the next 7 blog entries, I will be sharing with you the story of my pregnancy with my son. If you recall from reading about our daughter's birth, after she was born with a severely low platelet count it was suspected that my husband and I had a platelet incompatibility. This was later confirmed through genetic testing. The doctor's said this was not a reason to stop having children. And we got pregnant with our son. And then the curtain was pulled back the full truth was sitting in the room smirking at us. We would have our baby - probably. It would not be easy - most assuredly.

The way I will tell this story is through the letters that I wrote home to my friends and family to keep them updated during my pregnancy . They are unedited and reflect the feelings, thoughts, and impressions I had just as I wrote them down at the time. Sometimes, you will see that I have stuck a note in the midst - a clarification, explanation or thought that has come to me while reliving these moments as I type them out here. I will put them in [brackets], black font, and italics. When you see that - it is today's me. So let's get started, shall we...

June 6, 2001
Letter #1 - Sharing the News

Dear Family and Friends,
Russ and I are due to have another baby in January. Word travels fast so I don't expect this to be news to most of you. If you didn't know, well... SURPRISE! I will be sending these updates throughout our pregnancy to keep you informed of how things are going.

As many of you know, Russ and I have a platelet incompatibility that causes my body to attack the platelets of my growing baby. This obstacle makes us high-risk for losing the baby if the situation is not treated properly. We will be 7 weeks along tomorrow and I know many people think you shouldn't tell anyone before the 12th week - which is when the chance of miscarriage drops dramatically. But our whole pregnancy is one big unknown. In fact, if we make it past week 12, there is actually more danger as the weeks progress. Russ and I believe that the more people who know about our situation, the more people we will have praying for us and the more people to support us if anything goes wrong. We want you to be a part of this wonderful journey - one that has an unknown ending. So, I hope you look forward to these updates.

Let me explain briefly what our gentic problem is for those of you who have never heard or who have never really understood it. Russ' platelet are marked with PLA1 and PLA1 "markers." Mine are marked with PLA2 and PLA2. So, if you remember your genetics from biology, our babies will always inherit PLA1 from Russ. Since my body does not have PLA1, it will see the baby's platelets as "foreign" and produce antibodies against them. These antibodies will cross the placenta and "kill off" the baby's platelets. This is why Victoria, though she was very healthy otherwise, was born with a very low platelet level. Her birth was a miracle in that she was born (2 weeks early) when her platelet level was near fatal but, after having gone through a 16 hour labor, she had no more serious complications than slight bleeding under her skin. Until she was born, we had no idea there was a problem. A platelet incompatibility between Russ and I was suspected and was later confirmed through genetic testing.

[Our platelet incompatibility - Neonatal Alloimmune Thrombocytopenia (NAIT) - is sort of like Rh incompatibility in pregnancy. However, unlike Rh incompatibility, NAIT can occur in a first pregnancy and they have not yet developed something as simple as a shot to prevent it. Estimates are that only 1 in 1,000-2,000 live births are affected by NAIT.]

Babies with low platelets are at risk for cerebral hemorrhaging and death. Fortunately, there are treatments available today that give us a good chance for a healthy baby. We found out the basics of what these treatments would entail at our first doctor's appointment on May 25th. Our prenatal care is being handled by the Medical University of South Carolina (MUSC) Prenatal Wellness Center. The practice has 6 doctors, all of whom specialize in high-risk pregnancy. At our first visit, they confirmed my pregnancy at 5 weeks, gave me a due date of January 24th and showed us the gestational sack by ultrasound. Unfortunately it was too early to see the heartbeat. We also had an opportunity to have a long conversation with one of the doctors. We discussed my risk factors, the platelet problem and our treatment options. Other than the platelet issue, the doctor said I was very healthy and had no other risk factors, giving me a great chance for a successful outcome.

The basics of treatment (as I understand them at this point) are this: Starting in week 23, I will go weekly to the hospital to have intravenous immunoglobulin (IVIG) therapy. There are apparently not any real side effects to this treatment [as we continue on, you will see just how wrong they were about this] but I will let you know when I get more information about it. The difficultly for us will be that MUSC is 2 hours one way from my house. I will need to find people each week that can drive with me and watch Victoria. So the logistics might be hard but I have 16 weeks to get it together! One surprise to us was the enormous cost of the treatments - about $10,000 a week! Fortunately, we have excellent insurance through Pepsi Co. It won't eliminate all of our financial responsibility but it makes it much more manageable. You can be praying that nothing happens that would cause Russ to lose his job and, in turn, his insurance.

We have been told that the IVIG will virtually elminate the chances of the baby's platelet levels getting low. [Great naivety on the part of people who try to put everybody in their box of clones.] To be on the safe side, however, we have been given only two options for delivery. One option is to schedule a Cesarean Section. Since they do not really know how much labor a baby with low platelets can endure and they won't know what the baby's platelet level is, a C-section will elimate the potential risk for the baby of labor and delivery. The other option is to find out the baby's platelet level at a certain gestation and if the doctors feel confident the baby can go through normal labor and delivery, I will be induced immediately. Finding out the baby's platelet level is done by cordecentesis (or PUBS). This procedure is similar to an amniocentesis, except instead of taking amniotic fluid, they take blood from the umbilical cord. As it does involve a needle puncturing the amniotic sack and then the umbilical cord, it is risky, with a slightly higher risk of loss than an amnio. [Thinking back, I know we were also given the option of checking the baby's platelet levels with PUBS throughout the pregnancy. However, given the risks, we declined the PUBS until I was very close to term. Then, if anything went wrong, they could deliver the baby immediately.]

I know many of you are thinking, what about Victoria? Didn't she have the same problem and she turned out fine without any prenatal intervention? This is a question we get all the time. People want to know why all these treatments and precautions if Victoria made it out OK. Well, a couple of things to address on that. First, the incredible human body. Once your body has made antibodies to something, it attacks quicker and with more force the next time it encounters that "enemy." So, this baby will be at risk earlier than Victoria was. The next thing is that Victoria's platelets were low and she did spend a couple of days in the NICU having platelet transfusions. Without treatment after her birth, she would not have lived. The very fact that she made it through delivery with severe thrombocytopenia (platelet levels <60,000/mL), but without inter-cranial hemorrhage, is a miracle. We give the credit to God for that and for the medical science that allowed us to identify the cause of her low platelet levels (something that might have been impossible less than a decade ago). So, of course, we are going to take advantage of all the incredible prenatal care available to us through MUSC to give this next child the best possible chances for a healthy birth.

We believe that God can work miracles through challenges like ours and we ask that you be in prayer for our physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being as we face the difficult, yet joyous, months ahead.

...up next- a very difficult beginning

God's Math

Mon, 12 Feb 2007 17:13:00 -0600

When I read my testimony three years ago to a group of ladies from my church I had been married for nine years and a Believer for about seven. As I thought about those years in preparation to speak that night, I re-realized that I had indeed been through many challenges. As a "good" Christian I should have clung to the Lord during them - but it had taken me a long time to realize that God was walking through those valleys with me.

I know now that He has -and continues to- take me through so many struggles to teach me things I wouldn't learn on the mountain top;

I'd be too busy congratulating myself on having such a successful life.

The night I gave my testimony, at 27 years old, I gave the resume of my struggles-spanning a spectrum from almost trivial to devastating. In nine years of marriage, I had:

-moved 6 times
-had one miscarriage
-had two babies who were born critically ill and one pregnancy that was extremely taxing both physically and emotionally
-supported my husband through 10 job changes
-had one serious financial crisis and many little ones
-been hospitalized 7 times
-had 3 surgeries
-and had to call 911 for my husband... who was then hospitalized for the first time in his life... which happened to be the week I gave birth to our son

Many of these things will be expanded upon in this story of my journey. Right now the road winds to the greatest financial crisis of our (currently) twelve years of marriage...

Bringing Victoria home from the hospital was a bright day in our lives. But storm clouds threatened on the horizon. I had given notice at my job a month earlier; my baby's birth would usher me into a career as a stay-at-home mom. Then, just two weeks later, my husband was laid off from his job. I was already training my replacement and, for me, there was no going back.

To give some perspective, our household income was six figures in a town where a nice starter home could be built for around $80,000. With both our jobs and a paintball business we ran on the weekends, we made a comfortable living - affording a new house and two new vehicles (one was a new-off-the-boat-from-Germany BMW 325i) with a bit of money to spare. Now, with a new baby, we had only the income from our paintball field - just around $10,000 a year.

When my husband found a job (not related to his last field of employment), the salary was about $30,000 a year - less than half of what his previous salary had been. We had the lifestyle and the bills of people that made a hundred grand a year and virtually nothing in our savings - we needed to change something fast!

[As an aside - you might be thinking about why we didn't put money into savings instead of buying a new BMW? Well, we were young and crazy back then. Keep following my story and you will see how God has brought those mistakes around for the help of others.]

Amazingly, we managed to pay the bills and save our credit from damage, with the small exception that we were late on one month's BMW payment while we were trying to sell it.

Now, here's where I could get self-focused and proud about how well we juggled our money and tightened the budget to get out of this financial mess. But God - in His wisdom - has made it a complete mystery to us even to this day. We can look back and say that we made it through without disaster but all the glory goes to God. For a small struggling family in the year 2000, He must have made 1+1=100 because there is no other explanation.

....up next: the start of a pregnancy that would take me into a pediatric hematology and oncology clinic...