Oi! My Aching Back!

Last week was a bit trying, but I finally made it to my appointment with the first spine specialist today. Actually, I saw a Physician's Assistant, but he may have been the best damn PA I've ever encountered. 

After proving myself a complete idiot (come on, I'm on Vicodin) by forgetting the original paperwork (which takes an entire hour to complete) and having to reschedule (luckily) for that afternoon, I finally made it. I was hopeful, but had my doubts about seeing a PA and really wanted to see the neurosurgeon. Fortunately, I was wrong. This PA was very knowledgeable and he works in both doctor's offices. I happened to catch him on the perfect day - his one day in this doctor's office. He began by going over my MRI with me. Now, there are many times when you want someone to be shocked by your test results... but not your doctor. My general physician had already emphasized that this was a large herniation, but to hear the same echoed by a PA in a spine specialist's office does not generally warm one's heart. But he said it... again and again and again. Then he did some strength tests and he gave me his opinions about my options, but top on his list was surgery. (Which was, of course, at the bottom of my list.) He wasn't pushy about the surgery, but because I kept hearing the same story from people who are medically educated, I was seriously considering it.

Now, I assumed that it would take weeks to get into surgery because even my referral to the neurosurgeon was going to take two months, but again my PA saved the day. Because he saw mine as such a serious case and because he works four days a week at the neurosurgeon's office, he got the ball rolling and literally snuck me into to see other specialist. Seriously. He stuck me in a back room and snagged the doc in between rooms so that he would see me. How awesome is that! He snuck me into the guy that wouldn't even be able to schedule my appointment for another two weeks. And (un)fortunately, this specialist agreed with him. And once I determined the surgery was the best choice, they began to schedule my surgery... for next Wednesday. (It's not 100% set because they have to get my insurance to pre-approve, but they are going to try really hard.) I am having surgery on my spine in six days. Crazy!

So, trying to see the positive. This surgery will fix my chronic back pain. That, in and of itself, is enough for me. I have struggled with back pain since I was 18 years old and have now had two extremely painful encounters. Plus, since we plan to try to get pregnant again, that means one less fear during the pregnancy. Of course, it's scary to face any surgery and it's even more frightening when it's on your spine. And it's not like I've been out of the hospital for very long, but I might as well get it over with. Plus, my life has not exactly been a bowl of roses and the pain already prevents me from doing much. So, what's the harm of a surgery that will fix a chronic problem? 

That's the news with me. I'm trying to stay positive, despite having to cut down my meds (400 mg of Motrin will apparently thin my blood) and being in more pain... and the fear of surgery. I just keep thinking about how much better I'll feel in the end. (They will actually get me up and walking on the same day as the surgery!) So... here's to a little more pain, a little more hospital time, but a heaping pile of pain relief without pills!

You Take the Good, You Take the Bad

Well, the Facts of Life didn't quite prepare more for my 30s, but it's little mantra does seem appropriate for my life these days. I feel like I've had far more "bad" than "good" lately, but I really try to acknowledge and celebrate the "good"s. Some days it's just harder than others. Today was one of those days.

Before I go on, I guess I need to update you on my medical situation. You've probably read in my other posts about this back pain that began the morning I was admitted into the hospital and that reemerged on Sat. March 3 (when all the IV pain meds must have finally left my system). I had X-rays, chiropractic and an MRI, which revealed that I have a LARGE herniated disc in my lower back. Yes, the doctor really emphasized LARGE. My original appointment was last week and my MRI was Monday night of this week. All the while, I am in a lot of pain, taking Vicodin and Motrin every six hours, experiencing numbness and pain (yes, simultaneously) in my left calf and foot, and am unable to stand or walk for more than 10-15 minutes at a time. On Wednesday, I was told that I probably wouldn't hear from the Referral department until Monday, but I'm stubborn... and that's where my story begins.

Friday started off promisingly enough. I got a good night's sleep and got up at a decent time. (Side note: I've learned a dirty little trick you can use if you're ever in a somewhat depressing situation where you also rely on pain pills. Don't put the pills next to your bed. That way, you know you have to get up by whatever time you're scheduled to take them. I, for example, put pills out for my 4am "feeding," but not for my 10am one. That way, I know I won't stay in bed much past 10am!) I have been waiting for a referral from my doctor for my back for a few days and I was determined to be my own advocate today by calling the Referral department. That is precisely what I did and Alice was great!  She was extremely helpful and said she would put the referrals in as soon as we got off the phone. My great hope was that I could get into Dr. Smith, who was to give me epidural shots for the pain, before the weekend. I had no hope of getting in to see Dr. Aryan - the back specialist/neurosurgeon - for a consult until next week or even the following, but if I could just get the pain under control... ah, it would be fabulous. And I'll admit, my hopes were up. But it was not to be. Someone from Dr. Smith's office did call (a small miracle in itself) but, alas, even with some begging and finagling, she couldn't get me in until next Thurs... and that is just for a consultation. I probably won't be able to get the shot until the following week! This sent me over the edge and I know there was desperation in my voice as I set the appointment. As soon as I got off the phone, I burst into tears at the thought of enduring the pain and the pill routine for another two weeks. And with that news, everything began to compile until I almost couldn't breathe...

As long as the pain continues, I can't walk, lift or do anything. I can barely bend down. Without mobility, I can't begin to get my strength back. Without strength, I can't change around what was supposed to be the nursery to be my new office and our new workout room.  And I certainly can't start to get my body back to normal. And I want to change my body, not out of a desire to wear skinny jeans, but to not have to wear maternity clothes, which just remind me of the three little ones we should have, but don't. 


I think you get the gist. It was one big downward mental spiral that lead to nothing good, despite my best intentions, and I have fluctuated in and out of this mental state all day. So, since I am about to head to bed, I will attempt to fill my mind (and my blog) with good things so that, hopefully, tomorrow will seem brighter and I will be able to enjoy this fabulous rain we are experiencing (since it is my favorite weather) instead of feeling it's gloom weigh upon my shoulders. So, good things...

* Oddly enough, I had pineapple for the first time in decades while I was in the hospital and discovered I really like it. Tonight, I had my first pineapple at home... and it was tasty!
* I found a great terry cloth bathrobe to replace one I loved, but that fell apart about a year ago.
* Yesterday, we returned the last of the baby supplies and bought fabulous new sheets for our bed.
* My dog sits with my when I cry and uses his cuteness to make me feel better.
* I bought a new book to read today. It's really popular and I've heard it's good.
* I also bought Andrew Bird's new album and everything he does is amazing. (I'm listening to it right now!)
* I've had some great lunches with friends these past two weeks.
* If the rain lets up tomorrow afternoon, gracious friends of a friend are going to help us get our recumbent exercise bike back from my mom's. Hopefully, it will help me get my strength back comfortably.

That's all I can think of at the moment and I'll admit that bad things also came to mind as I was trying to focus on the good, but it's a start.

How Are You?

It seems, no matter who I talk to, someone is always asking me how I am, but depending on the asker, there are different underlying emphases. It may be a question about my body - is my back better? How is my healing process from the birthing and the D and C? Or maybe it's about my emotions - how many times have I cried today? How often do I feel sad? And then there's the biggie - is it really grief or am I suffering from postpartum depression? That is the hardest question of them all.

When I was in my early 20's, my family went through some tough times. We moved my grandparents from their home in Los Angeles to my mom's house in Fresno because my Granddaddy had anal/rectal cancer. I was trying to be a full time student, help my mom by watching Mama while she took Granddaddy for his chemo, and work nights. I wasn't very successful at this juggling act. School took a backseat and I found it harder and harder to get out of bed. That's when I determined that I was probably suffering from depression and went to see my doctor. So I know what depression - true depression, not just "I'm having a bad day" - feels like, or so I thought.

When I suffered from depression before, it was a feeling of extreme apathy. It was struggling to get up or to motivate myself to do, well, anything. It wasn't sadness. I didn't sit around crying because I didn't have anything to mourn. Now I do. So if a sad thought or memory pops into my head and I break down, does that mean I have postpartum depression? What if that is paired with a sense of apathy? But who feels motivated and chipper when they have experienced loss? My guess would be very few people. So now I am left in the exact same spot asking the exact same question: how am I?

I thought I was doing okay - and maybe I was - until we had to pick up the ashes from the funeral parlor last Friday. There is nothing quite so final as the literal representation of "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust," especially when it's in your own hands. That brought me to a whole new level of grieving and that weekend I felt the apathy creep in as well. But it's never 100%. I stayed at home while Brian and the guys went out to dinner and was a little sad, but okay. Then, as they decided to hit the pub, I became more apathetic until I decided to join them. I can't say I was a ball of joy, but I was out and enjoying time with our friends. But the next day I felt down again. We visited a few open houses just for the fun of it, but it's wasn't as enjoyable as it normally is for me. Monday brought more balance... until I decided to return a few toys we had bought for the nursery. I was completely taken by surprise by how emotional a process that was for me and I found myself crying off and on the rest of the day. But is that depression or is it grief? I simply don't know.

Since I am pretty self-aware and felt the change last Friday, I really hoped I would see a pattern over the weekend so that I could provide an accurate report of my mental well-being at my doctor's appointment today. Unfortunately, I feel no closer to an answer than I did last week. I cry, but not always alone. I feel apathy, but also spend time with friends. I sleep, but I also take a lot of (necessary) pain killers. I have a yearning to just get in my car and drive, but generally run an errand and find myself back at home. I sit lost in thought, but I also take time to write. So, is this postpartum or does it need to be my list without the "but"s? I only wish I knew. I don't want to take medication I don't need. (I'm already on plenty. I'm almost to the point where I need one of those weekly pill boxes that older people use.) But on the other hand, I don't want to suffer unnecessarily. And a lot of people don't talk about this kind of stuff, so it's hard to find people with experience who can provide insight. (Yet another reason why I feel this blog is important.) So, I must end this entry in the same way I currently feel: unresolved.

The Weight of Words

Recently, I've had several people express to me their surprise at my ability to write about our situation. Even more people have shared their inability to express their feelings on the matter and even more simply don't say anything. For me, the worst part is telling someone who doesn't know. They see me and their eyes light up as they ask how things are going. It's almost like I don't want to disappoint them. I know that's dumb, but there's something in that moment that seems to hurt us both and I absolutely hate having to experience that moment. For example, I've been going to the same massage therapist for several years now and I went in yesterday for the first time since my hospitalization. I saw her look at me funny (thinking, I'm sure, that my belly didn't seem nearly as big as last time) and the only words I could get out were, "I'm not pregnant any more." But I don't think it really occurred to her what I was saying because she seemed far too chipper until she realized I was crying. I think she thought I had simply had the babies. I certainly wouldn't expect my massage therapist to track how many weeks I was. She gave me a long hug and the quietest massage I've had in a long time.

So, when people wonder how I can write about this stuff, that's my answer. If even half of the people in my daily life make up those 1,100+ hits on this blog, then that is far fewer people who have to experience that moment of loss with me. They experience it, but I don't have to see it and I don't have to articulate it to them. I can type type type away with my tissue by my side, hit "publish post" and let the Internet do the rest. Technology is wonderful. And I've found that, once people know, it's much easier to talk about it. It's like, once we're on the same page, the emotion is lessened and I become okay. Strange, I know. Of course, there are days and times when I feel less emotionally stable and would prefer not to talk, but there are other times when I want to talk about it. I want someone to remember it with me (even though they probably weren't there) and, in turn, remember that our children did exist for a time, even if it was far too short a time.

But I understand that it's hard and I understand that it's awkward. I think that's another reason why I write in such a public venue. I know I could just journal, but there's something in me that feels it's important to share this with others and, since others generally won't ask but tend to want to know, this seems a safe forum. Plus, if someone reads this, then s/he may be more likely to post a response on Facebook or send a text or give me a call because she realizes that I'm not awash in a constant sea of pain and I don't always want to be alone. And I thank those of you who have reached out, brought food, simply sent a message, or even come over to spend time with one or both of us. As we start to feel better physically, I'm sure we'll dip back down into some emotional territory for a bit (I can already feel it happening to me as I'm in a bit less pain) but will also crave time with friends and loved ones. So don't be afraid to reach out. And trust me, if we're not okay to answer or to hang out, we'll either say so or we won't pick up in the first place. And don't put too much pressure on yourself. We don't expect you to have the perfect words to bring peace and ultimate healing, but genuine words always bring some degree of comfort. So don't be afraid to speak up and I'll continue to do the same.

Two Weeks Out

I feel the need to write and yet I have no idea what to write about. I just deleted a big chunk of text I had generated about change, but it didn't seem right. So, I'm just going to keep typing and see what happens.

On Saturday, one week from the completion of our loss, the horrible back/hip pain that triggered the morning of my last doctor's appointment returned. Maybe there is significance in that, but I chalk it up to the pain killers finally wearing off and leaving my body to fend for itself. Clearly, my body, like my psyche, was not ready for that kind of responsibility. I have been in excruciating pain ever since. I tried to simply stay on the 800 mg of Ibuprofen I was already taking, but that no longer made a dent in the pain, so I had to switch to Vicodin. Now, I'm not against taking medication, but I really dislike relying on it. And, right now, I am clinging to it with desperation. If I am late on a dose, the pain drives me to tears and I begin to shake. Not at all what I needed after all of the other trauma we have experienced. So today I went to my doctor. He took X-rays and told me it sounded like a compressed or twisted vertebrae and he wanted me to visit my chiropractor three times per week. I'm not 100% sold on chiropractic and had been to my chiropractor the previous week (with minimal results), so I wasn't completely happy with the news. Nevertheless, I made an appointment with my chiro and continued with my pain pills. I have a massage tomorrow and hope that this regimen will bring some sort of relief.

But my back/hip pain isn't the only physical discomfort we have experienced since we've been home. My poor husband picked up a nasty cold-like thing while at the hospital that has not wanted to let him go and I found myself with a fever off-and-on. Our lives have become a series of pill regiments and pain management, which leaves little of us available for grieving. I suppose that's what life will do with us over time - distract us and allow us to move on - and perhaps that's what all of this pain and illness was doing this past week, but I think I'd rather feel the grief. I wrote in my last blog that I was afraid of becoming numb to the situation and that's how I've felt these last few days. And I'm sure the pain killers have helped with that, too. I want desperately to feel okay and to move on in a healthy way. I want to be able to drive myself to appointments, to return small items, to get my hair cut, and to do things around the house. I want to be able to mourn when I need to and sit on the couch with my husband so we can be near each other. (Right now, I'm most comfortable in our recliner.) I want to be able to take a walk when it's sunny outside and meet a friend for lunch out instead of in our house. But I can't do these things yet and that seems to make everything worse.

So, this is where I stand two weeks from when I was admitted into the hospital. In some ways, it's a much better place; but in others, it's far worse. I can only hope that two weeks from today will be much brighter and healthier for all of us here in the Baker household.

Great Loss & Heartbreak

I began this blog back in late summer 2011 as a place to get some free self-therapy and to hopefully help others who may embark on the IVF process. I wanted it to be an honest place and, therefore, didn't release it as my own. I simply posted when I needed/wanted and hoped that if anyone needed it, the fates would guide them to it. It was only after we reached the first trimester mark that I "went live" and shared the site with anyone other than my husband. As many of you know, things have not gone as planned; however, I want to continue posting as a way to cope and to help others who may experience a loss like ours (although I pray to God that no one would). With that said, this will probably be the most painful post I'll ever have to make and the ones that follow it may be more than you want to read. I will not be offended if you stop reading, but for those of you who are interested, this is our story.

** Warning: this will probably make you cry. There are also pictures at the end, but I have spaced them down a bit in case you want to read the text, but not see the images.

Being pregnant with triplets is no easy task by any stretch of the imagination. Ever since I learned our twins were really triplets on Nov. 22, 2011, I was thrown into a weekly pattern of doctor's appointments and daily changes to my mind, body and chemistry. It was difficult - I'm not going to lie. But things were going well, really well, medically speaking. On Wed. Feb. 8 I had a bi-weekly cervix check, which showed a consistent 3.7 cm, but on Fri. Feb. 17 an ultrasound showed a stark change - a drop down to 1.5 cm. I was immediately put on home bed rest and told to come in the following Tues. Mon. night, I suspected I was having contractions, but decided to wait until my appointment the following day. At that appointment, I was told my cervix was basically nonexistent and was sent immediately to the hospital for an indefinite amount of time. I was somewhat expecting this, but I was in shock and becoming increasingly worried. I was only 22 1/2 weeks - at least 1 1/2 weeks out from the 24 week minimum for viability. And to make matters worse, I had thrown my back out that morning and was in excruciating pain. I was admitted and placed on two medicines - one pill and one IV - that would hopefully slow the contractions and keep the babies cooking for as long as possible.

The meds were horrible. I don't know who discovered that Magnesium Sulfate slowed contractions, but there must be an alternative. As the nurse started the IV, she explained that many patients say it feels like they're burning from the inside out. I don't know how many degrees it shifted my internal thermostat, but I know everyone who entered my room was absolutely freezing... except me. And that's not all. It makes it impossible for you to focus on anything - literally focus your eyes or focus your mind - and it gives you the worst dry mouth you could possibly imagine. But the more you drank (or ate - I mainly munched on ice chips) the more the Mag would dilute in your system, so they had to keep increasing the dosage until I was on an insanely high amount. But, after several days of this and trying to get into the mentality of long-term hospital bed rest, I was moved up from the 3rd floor labor unit to the 5th floor postpartum unit where I was to stay as long as possible. Unfortunately, that wasn't very long at all.

I hadn't been in my room an hour when, upon returning to bed after a potty attempt, I felt something shift. It felt like someone had moved a water balloon inside my abdomen. I told the nurse and in the amount of time it took her to grab her supervisor, my water had broken and I was being rushed back down to the third floor and into a surgical room. There, they tried their best to clean me up and make me comfortable. They started an epidural (which was fantastic for my back pain) and then decided to put me in a birthing room to see what happened. Although most people thing that, when your water breaks, it's go time, that's not always the case. There was still a little hope that they could hold off the birthing process even without the safety of amniotic fluid. It makes the risk of infection a little higher, but the chance was worth the risk.

But that didn't last long either. Within an hour or two, I was told that I needed to push and our first son was born at 5:30 pm on Thurs. Feb. 23, 2012. He also died in our arms at 7:22 pm. Far too short a time for us to have our little Ewan Sutherland Baker, who will always be our eldest son. But there was still some hope. The doctor saw a chance of keeping Ewan's brother in there by tying off the sack as high as possible, keeping me on the meds and trying to ride out the pregnancy as long as possible. Then, hopefully, we could keep the twin boy and our little girl. We mourned our loss, but held hope that this new plan would work. But again, things did not go as planned.

Brian was now living at the hospital with me and working diligently to navigate the sea of doctors, nurses, medications, and beeping machines. I was so out of it that I barely knew what was going on. He was (and is) amazingly supportive and was doing whatever he could to make my life as tolerable as possible. Unfortunately, our efforts weren't enough. On Fri. night, my OBGYN (the amazing Dr. Thomas) came in and we discovered that our second son was not going to hold on much longer. He said there was a small chance that, if I could birth him without pushing, we might be able to save our daughter. The chance was enough for me. This is something that, in retrospect, seems so outrageous, yet it was the only option at the time. I was to wait and hope that he would pass naturally from me with as little effort as possible. We had no idea how long this would take and I didn't really allow myself to think about what it would entail.

That night, I dreamt that I needed to be up early for something. It was urgent, but when I woke up, I didn't know why I felt such a need to be awake. My stirring woke up Brian and I asked him, "Why am I up?" Then I felt something. There was a definite shift in my body - like my subconscious was warning me about this change - and I could feel what seemed like an arm in my birthing canal. We immediately called the nurse who, in turn, called Dr. Thomas. He was performing an emergency C-section in Clovis (a neighboring city) and would arrive in 30 minutes. Those were the longest 30 minutes of my life. You cannot even begin to imagine what it feels like to have a little life stuck in your body - wiggling and trying to make sense of this new situation - while you just have to sit and wait for someone to remove it from you. When Dr. Thomas arrived, he assessed the situation and said we needed to get him out, but there was a mass next to him. He was unsure if this was the twin's sack or if it was the girl's. As with everything else in this process, it was the less desirable of the two options. Dr. Thomas removed the boy and quickly realized the sack was not his, which triggered the need to deliver. Sebastian was placed on my chest as I was told to push. When his sister Amelia was born, there was another brief rush of hope as she uttered a little cry. They called in a special team of people to check her for viability, but she was just too early. For a brief while, I was able to hold our two children to my chest. Our second born, Sebastian Campbell Baker, was born at 5:43 am on Sat. Feb. 25 and left us at 7:37 am. His sister, Amelia Violet Baker, was a fighter. She was the smallest of the three, the last to arrive and the most reluctant to depart. She lasted almost a full hour longer than her brothers. Our little girl was born at 5:51 am on Sat. Feb. 25 and died in our arms at 9:02 am. Three children lost in three days. It's more than anyone should ever be asked to handle.

That afternoon, I was moved back up to the 5th floor and we were greeted by a reception of some of our closest friends. They helped distract us from the trauma for awhile and even got us to laugh. Both of my parents were also there for support and my brother-in-law joined us as well. I am truly grateful for all of them. But that night, Brian and I mourned our losses once again. The following day, I was released. My sister returned from a work trip overseas and joined us on Tuesday and our house has been filled with loved ones off and on. But in between, there are moments of painful silence. At times, I feel numb and at others, I am awash with grief. I fear losing the sadness because it reminds me of what we had - how we got to hold our little ones, even if it was for far too short a time. And yet, I fear the presence of eternal heartbreak. I'm sure we will find balance as time passes, but it's hard to see it a week out from such loss.

So this is where we stand - somewhere between pain and healing. We welcome visitors and are usually open to talking about this process, but some days are better than others. And we are grateful to all of you who have loved, supported, visited, brought food, and prayed for us during this time. And now, if you're interested, you can scroll down and meet our little ones.

Brian, Ewan and I

Sebastian (left), Amelia (right) and I

The Bright Side

On Thursday I turned 22 weeks. I had still been experiencing aches and pains, but medically, things were going great. I was almost done with work and had made a gazillion appointments to get things done just in case of bed rest. Plus, I was excited for the end of this session so I could focus on getting things ready around the house. Today things changed.

Friday was my ultrasound. I go into my perinatologist weekly for progesterone injections. Every other of those appointments, I get a cervix check. For those who don't know (and I certainly didn't before all of this) a woman's cervix is the primary determiner of whether or not she's on bed rest. When doctors say a woman is dialated to a 5 and effaced, the effaced part refers to her cervix. It's the small, narrow channel that is the last thing your baby will see before s/he meets the big wide world. If the cervix shortens (and especially if that's paired with contractions) you go on bed rest. Mine had been measuring 3.7 cm consistently. Until today.

The tech began the ultrasound by checking my cervix and she seemed unsatisfied, so decided to do the rest of the ultrasound and come back to check it. An hour and a half later (it takes a looooong time with triplets) she returned with a measurement of 1. something cm. I could tell she was nervous as she tried to get additional advice from someone else in the office. Finally, she decided to do an internal ultrasound which, unfortunately, confirmed that my cervix had shortened to 1.5 cm. That's a 2.2 cm change in nine days. Not good. They contacted my perinatologist and my OBGYN who both said I needed to go on strict bed rest immediately and that I was to come back Tuesday for another measurement. Plus, I already had an appointment with my OBGYN, which they wanted me to keep.

So, here I lie... waiting and doing, well, virtually nothing. The babies won't be considered viable for two more weeks and if they were born then, there would be a very high risk of developmental problems. This means we're hoping for 8-10 weeks before delivery. That's 8-10 weeks of doing nothing but laying on either my right or left side... and whatever can be done while laying on my side. Honestly, that's a difficult path to look down. So I'm trying to look at the bright side. Here goes.

On the bright side...
• think of all the gas money we'll save
• I'm going to get caught up on a lot of TV shows (let's be realistic, series) that I wanted to watch
• some friends might feel guilty and come spend time with me in their otherwise busy day
• I can bank up sleep hours that I'm sure to miss in upcoming years
• we're really going to get our monies worth out of Netflix
• I won't be able to go shopping, but I'll still be able to shop
• I can finally read some of those books that I've collected, but ignored, over the years
• giving birth and juggling three babies will be a welcomes change when the time comes

In all seriousness, this is going to be hard. Heck, it's only been nine hours and my hips hurt, my ribs feel like they're in a vice and I'm completely bored. You'll probably see a wild range of posts in the future, many of which will be made in frustration or out of sheer boredom, but I'm going to do my best. We haven't invested this much time, emotion, money, and bodily discomfort to give up now. Hopefully, I can get the rest of my body - babies included - on the same page with me on this one... and soon.