Bed rest: a day in the life

my husband has always fondly called me his super sleeper.

back when I was on medication that made me very sleepy in the evenings, I could sleep for hours on end, a typical night's sleep lasting an average of 12 hours. I love naps, and rarely turn down an opportunity to take one, especially with a favorite blanket in a sunny patch, much like a cat. when my husband and I are visiting a couple that are good friends of ours in Virginia, it is a tradition that the wives take a daily nap while the boys watch soccer. sleep, cozy covers and laziness in general are things of great value to me, to sum it up.

I don't sleep as well these days, but it's for a good reason; there are three tiny human beings inside me, and they can't tell time yet, so a dance party in my belly at 2 a.m. is perfectly acceptable. I have never been upset about it, in fact, I relish the squirmy feeling, and worry when everything is still. I often have my "Terms of Endearment" moments, where I as the worrisome new mom poke and prod and talk to my belly until I feel one or more of them move.

I've noticed my children moving more since I was put on bedrest over a week ago. A routine ultrasound revealed my cervix was funneling; basically the tightly drawn tunnel or birth canal was widening at the top to create a funnel shape, buckling down under the pressure of three growing babies and their amniotic fluid, in a womb that was smaller than average due to an anomaly of shape that I've had since birth. I underwent surgery the next day, and was prescribed strict bed rest upon being released.

Being cozy in bed all day sounded like a great deal to a super sleeper. But I quickly realized what that entailed and it's been a very interesting challenge coping with it. Hence, a day in the life of a bed rester

My day can start as early as 2 a.m. That's when I have to arouse from a sound slumber to take an anti-contraction medication that needs to be paired with food and drink. I sleepily slap around to find my cell phone, blaring Holst's "The Planets" as my alarm, then use the lit-up screen as a guide to locate a Nutrigrain bar. I cringe every time with the crinkling sound it makes as I open it, the noise paired with the silence sounding like a land mine going off, certain I will wake my sleeping husband. I choose the bar because I can eat it fast, and it doesn't make noise when I eat it. I fumble around and double check, due to the dark and my drowsiness, to make sure I have the right pill bottle out of several that sit at the bedside table, checking the labels, the texture and color of the pill, then slurp it down with plenty of water. Sighing, I plunk my head down, adjust the pillow under my belly, and attempt to fall back asleep.

7 a.m. my alarm goes off again. I have to take my thyroid pill now, because the anti-contraction medication has to be taken with food every 6 hours, and I'm due for another in an hour's time. The thyroid pill has to be taken on an empty stomach, 30-60 minutes before eating, so I sip some water so the tiny, dry stubborn pill will slide down. Some days it is amazing that I get what feels like hours of sleep in the time between this pill and my next one in a hour's time.

By the 8:00 alarm, it is time for the anti-contraction pill and another Nutrigrain bar, and my husband is much more aware of his surroundings, and this alarm usually (unfortunately) wakes him up. He tosses and turns a bit, finds a new position, and is soon snoring again. I'm about 75% awake at this time, so usually I take the time between the pill and when he wakes at 9 to watch him sleep peacefully, his snores in sync with that of our labradoodle's. If I can't get a stellar night's sleep, it is comforting at least to see my loved ones getting some much needed rest. My husband will need it, as he is not just the bread winner and sole person making income, but also one of my most relied upon and devoted care-takers.

Upon waking up himself, he grabs an assortment of new comfy clothes for me to change into, to make me feel refreshed, especially on non-shower days. He pulls off the evil pressure socks that squeeze my legs all day, like some kind of python hosiery, so I can air my skin off and have a break. I'm not supposed to be more than 2 hours without them, but this is one rule we frequently break, and it has spared me greatly of losing my sanity. He asks me what I want for breakfast, checking to make sure I have enough water in my giant hospital mug and my medication for breakfast is within reach.

When he returns, I scoop up my clothes to put on while using the bathroom. Here is where I emphasize the strategy that goes into my bedrest routine. Because being upright (standing, sitting up straight in a chair, being propped mostly upright in bed, and walking) is a state to be limited to, as it puts pressure on my cervix, we were encouraged to create and utilize every strategy we could think of to keep this to a minimum.

Without going into much detail, I do a lot more now on the toilet than the obvious. I keep my pink hairbrush on the counter next to me to brush my often tangled hair that spends so much time resting on pillows. I pull on new clothes and take off old clothes there prior to the finely timed routine of taking a shower (hubby, meanwhile, runs the water and gets my shower chair, towels and soaps in place, as yes, I even shower sitting down). I often bypass the sink when I am done, pausing as briefly as possible to squirt a dose of hand sanitizer from a bottle next to my bed into my palm before rolling carefully back onto the mattress. Standing at the sink waiting for the hot water to kick in so I can wash my hands takes more time (and is more wasteful) than I am comfortable with, so I am grateful for instant hand sanitizers. This one in particular has actually mended my hands of the frequent washing they have endured in these past 5 months due to the constant bathroom trips.

I time things so that while I am on a bathroom break (which is the only time aside from leaving for a doctor's appointment or taking a shower break that I am allowed to be out of bed and walking around) that hubby will make the bed and arrange the precisely placed mound of pillows that I'll use to sit up just enough to eat breakfast without getting heartburn. Making the bed is something we've never done in the whole time my husband and I have known each other, yet when you spend so much time in it, sitting on top of the sheets as opposed to being wrapped in them separates day from night more precisely, and I'm only under them if I take a nap.

From there, my events of the day include Netflix, Hulu, watching movies on my laptop, fiddling on the computer, crochet, popping pills from everything from antacids to insulin to vitamins, and shooting the breeze with either my husband or my mother-in-law, who has also come to stay with us, and tends to me when my husband is at work. I hate to ask people for anything, but my day is peppered with requests of them from anything of food brought from downstairs, to reaching items that aren't immediately and conveniently accessible from my trodden down path between the bathroom and the bed.

Bedrest is not as comfy as I first thought it to be. They say you can't have too much of a good thing, but , when your view is limited to what you see out the window, the bedroom and the bathroom, it can get a little depressing. More so is the fact that I only use the stairs so I can leave the house for doctor's appointments, which are once a week, which means I get to be in the outside world for a few hours in that week. Often I am so thrilled to be out in the open air, and seeing what's going around outside the realm of my bed that my car sickness doesn't bother me on the way across town to our appointment. Sometimes I can even muster a stop at Panera's so hubby can run in and get me something special for breakfast. But often, trips home are uncomfortable being reclined in the passenger's seat, and I am eager, for once, to crawl into bed and sleep for awhile.

The hardest part of bedrest is the guilt I feel whenever my hips ache, and I have to maneuver my heavy belly to switch sides for relief, or when the lack of fresh air gets me down, or when I would love to go downstairs just for a change of scenery and make my food the way I want it and get it when I want it, instead of relying so heavily on the people I love. I feel guilt because it makes me feel ungrateful for the miracle inside of me that I have wanted for so long.

It is all worth it, this brief period, really a blip in my life, that I am limited, for the three wiggle worms I lovingly talk to. Every day I am here means they have a better chance of blessing my life by being their mother. I'll nap to that.

15 weeks baby bump

Quick post, this mama is tired!

Latest pictures (as of yesterday) of the munchkins three, top and bottom are of the twins, singleton in the middle :) They all looked like they were doing jazzercise in my tummy, I about cried seeing them wiggle around. The singleton looked like he/she had the hiccups, and was sucking his/her thumb (which I read they can actually do by 14 weeks, crazy!

Love our new doctor too, he was calm, sweet and very professional, one of those fantastic physicians who answers all but two of the long list of questions you had in your head before arriving without having to ask, and gave us lots of opportunities to ask more during our chat, in which he put everything in non-scary, easy-to-understand terminology. We've got a good one! Ironically, when we first walked into the office, they had these big collages of pictures of babies they have delivered at the clinic, first one I saw in that whole sea of photos was my doctor proudly holding a set of triplets. Good omen, methinks :)

So I'm following Dr. B's advice, especially his policy of "no wiggin' out" :) He was nothing but compassionate about my anxiety, and put me at ease, and if he puts me at ease, that's saying something!

Okay, going to hit the hay! Enjoy the photos, I'll keep y'all posted!

Love, Mallory

My nest has eggs and an internet connection

It's been forever people. Or so it seems. Really just a few months. How is it possible that so much has happened in that amount of time? Don't wish to bore with details, and so here is everyone's favorite quick and easy to read form of writing: the list (/timeline):

1. Month of May; got comfortable poking myself in various places with various lengths of all-very scary looking syringes. Set up our dining room table to prep shots, and it looked like I'd gone into the drug dealing biz.
2. June 5th, I had 29 eggs (I think? can't remember exact number?)  removed. 17 were mature enough to be inseminated. Relaxed (ha!) at home, phone always close by for every-other-day updates on how many eggs were still good for implantation.
3. June 10th, the best two were selected and placed back in me, and we got a packet of our little blastocysts. They're so cute when they'e microscopic!
4. Following week, went in for a pregnancy test, and it was positive! Wow!
5. July 2nd, we went in for our first ultrasound, and saw two small black "blobs". It was twins. It was also a good thing I was laying down. Excitement ensues, and we celebrate that night with dinner and non-alcoholic champagne with family.
6. July 3rd, developed all the scary symptoms that appeared to indicate, without doubt, that I was having a miscarriage. Received instruction to strict bed red and extra shots until I could be seen right after the holiday.
7. July 5th, went in to the clinic with a heavy heart, completely unsure of what to expect.

But they were still there. And they had invited a friend. Or rather, made one up. One of the twins had split in two, and there were three flashing heartbeats on the screen. Triplets. Biggest surprise of my life. Best blessing of my life. And I just lay there on the table, the doctor's detailing of this high risk pregnancy blurring into the background, mixed with my own dumbfounded, repetitive babble of "Three? THREE? Wow! What a surprise! Three? Really? WOW!" visions of my husband with the biggest grin on his face that I've ever seen laughing through tears becoming harder to see as my own eyes filled with tears of relief, and just a little bit of panic, but it's to be expected when you learn you're carrying three babies. THREE? Wow!

SINCE THEN:

I've been doing my best to stay positive. It's something that's much easier said than done. The triplets are high risk, as the twins still share a placenta and sac (though a membrane has formed to separate them a little). They haven't given Mommy any more reasons to worry, as they grow larger and larger each time I see them on the ultrasound screen, ever the overachievers displaying their tiny flickering heartbeats just a few days after I thought there were only two (and nothing could be seen beyond a little black sac).  A few ultrasounds ago, they all had strong heartbeats that brought their mama to tears.

I'm in my 13th week now. My RE was pleased with my progress and is passing me on to a perinatologist, an OBGYN specializing in high-risk pregnancies. We are by no means out of the woods, but knowing how precious and fleeting life and its' blessings can be, I'm trying my best to enjoy each day of being a "sacred vessel", waiting eagerly for the day that I can hold my children, praying I'll be given the opportunity and honor to do so, when the time is right.

Prayers for pregnancy

Hey all! I'm going to keep this post short and sweet, as it is late and I am probably gonna head to bed soon, but I felt in my heart like I wanted to share briefly the news we've received about IVF.

My husband and I have worked up a schedule for IVF and we're starting treatment THIS MONTH.

Schedule of "events"

Shots: May 24th-June 4th
Egg aspiration: June 5th
Egg transfer: June 10th

Dates are tentative, as my cycle will determine the true course of events, but this is a pretty good estimate.

I suppose what really compelled me to write this is because I am scared. And excited. And nervous. All three to an overwhelming degree. I am fighting my fear of surgery again, as well as trying to avoid the nagging concern that this treatment won't be successful. I don't know what all the risks are. I am worried about more babies resulting than I can carry safely for everyone involved.

What I would love is prayers, that I stay safe and healthy during the process, that we may be blessed at last with a baby, and that the pregnancy is full-term and successful.

I will keep you guys posted on things as they happen!

It's official...

I got a long-awaited call from my RE herself yesterday. 7-10 business days is sure a long time to wait, especially on Day 9.

Drumroll please ..................... come April-May, we will be starting our first IVF treatment.

Much to our surprise, my husband's test results were not as good as the first ones back when we first got started with our RE. She found it would be most successful if we did IVF, as the quantity, quality and mobility of the sperm was lower from last time.

It was hard to hear. I felt awful for my husband, as he said he would have a hard time dealing with an inability to give me children naturally. We held each other, and I said to him, over and over, that it didn't matter if we had assistance getting pregnant. It didn't matter if we adopted children to grow our family. It didn't matter if it ended up being just him and I (and our fuzzy labradoodle baby). I loved him, he was no less a man for this, he was no less of a wonderful, beautiful spouse to me.

We're both nervous about treatment. About how it will affect our marriage, our day-to-day. There was so much to talk about. How to work our schedule around frequent visits to the doctor's office (he works nights, and sleeps during the day, so this might be tricky), who would keep an eye on me for the 24 hours after egg retrieval surgery, how much it would cost and what to do about the expenses (what would insurance cover? what were our options with treatment? how many times were we willing to do this before calling it quits?) And for sure the biggest question of all, how many eggs would we decide to have implanted?

My RE had told me that my husband and I should discuss reduction, should the procedure result in more children than planned. I knew what my thoughts were. I was relieved to hear my husband thought the same thing.

Reduction wasn't an option.

The idea of traveling to the nearest big city, to have a needle inserted into my pregnant belly, and randomly pierce the heart of one (or more) of our children with medication that would stop the beating, how could we do that? We realized and understood why some people had to, but to just pick which of our children would die was unfathomable to us.

So we had to REALLY think hard about how many eggs we wanted implanted.

It's a difficult, almost impossible gamble with fate and money. Paying so much for a procedure, and knowing that eggs implanted didn't always successfully grow, we wanted a least a few to increase our chances that we would have even one child. If we chose to pick the quantity of 3 or 4 eggs, maybe only one would make it. Twins would be completely fine. Triplets, even quadruplets, we would handle, if my small uterus (which still had an invading septum taking up some space) would allow it. But any of those eggs, maybe even all of them (rare, but who knows?) could split in two or even (VERY rare) into thirds. Then the well being of all involved would be at a serious risk. Then there would be no choice but to reduce, or experience the heartache of children within me struggling, and maybe losing, their chance to live.

I trusted and fully believed that my very skilled doctor was not going to allow this to happen. Through her expertise, she knew how to balance everything, from amount of sperm to fertility medication to eggs implanted, to prevent too many babies from developing.

I only say too many babies because I know that there would be a high risk that some of them would not make it. Lord, if my body could safely accommodate 10, I would still be the happiest (and largest) pregnant woman, and the most thrilled (even if sleep deprived) mother around (and round for that matter.) They would be my children, blessed little boys and girls created with God's grace and between myself and the man I loved, our greatest accomplishments. We would find a way.

So now, more waiting. When you undergo fertility treatment, there is a lot of this thing called waiting. For the menstrual cycle to start, to begin the one month of birth control to prime the body, to start injections, to harvest the eggs, to let them mature, to implant, and to take that test to see if there is another round of waiting in store, or if you'll simply be waiting those 9 months to have that baby placed into your arms for the first time, at long last.

Waiting was fine with us. Though no amount of it fully prepares you for the rigorous obstacles of fertility treatment, we needed time to absorb all that was going to happen. To focus on loving each other and enjoying each others company while it was still just the two of us. You never know what you're getting into with this. We did know that it was worthwhile. It was worth the wait.