ziv's story, part 2

What I thought was going to be a healthy and uncomplicated pregnancy turned out otherwise.

During a routine scan sometime around the second trimester, my ob-gyn said I had placenta praevia. My placenta was hanging low, close to my cervix, which means I can't push the baby out. If it didn’t move up as the pregnancy progressed, I would have to undergo a c-section. Since there was a risk of bleeding, the doctor advised me not to exert too much effort.

When I reached week 21, my ob-gyn checked the placenta’s position again. It was still lying low. Fortunately, everything went really well. There wasn’t any spotting or bleeding. It was certain though that I would have to deliver the baby via c-section. I thought everything would be smooth sailing from there.

31 weeks pregnant, oblivious to what was to come

However, during my prenatal check-up on week 32, my blood pressure was higher than normal. My ob-gyn also noted that the baby’s tummy wasn’t growing as much as it should, which may be due to my blood pressure or the placenta praevia. But she told me to relax. She said we should give the baby some time to catch up and that perhaps my blood pressure will normalize.

Neither of those two happened.

Instead, I was diagnosed with preeclampsia. My blood pressure continued to skyrocket, my highest being 160/110, which necessitated a trip to the emergency room. My uric acid level was higher than normal too and protein was leaking through my urine. My doctor made me take medications to control my blood pressure and told me to rest as much as possible. And since the baby wasn’t growing as he should, she said it might help if I lie down on my left side to allow more nutrients to flow from the placenta to the baby.

When it was clear that my condition was too risky for me and the baby, my ob-gyn told me we’d have to perform the c-section as soon as I reach week 37.

D-day
The operation was scheduled on March 7, when I exactly hit my 37th week.

Even if I was going to undergo a scheduled c-section, I still created a birth plan. The one-page document stated that I preferred to have an epidural instead of general anaesthesia and I wanted Reden to be there during the operation. I wanted the screen lowered once the baby is out so I can see him. If the baby was doing well medically, I wanted him to be brought to me immediately. I wanted Reden to cut the umbilical cord. All these demands seemed reasonable to me but I was prepared to be flexible because I know births rarely go as planned.

I presented my plan to my ob-gyn, and after skimming through it, she said, “I prefer you to be completely under.” She explained that she didn’t want to risk my blood pressure rise again due to nerves. I just agreed with her so general anaesthesia it is. But since I will be unconscious throughout the operation, it meant that I won’t see the baby immediately, Reden won’t and can’t be there, which meant he wouldn’t be able to cut the baby’s umbilical cord. That’s four items off my plan! But anyway, these changes were acceptable to both Reden and me.

We checked in at Mount Alvernia Hospital on the evening of the 6th. My c-section was scheduled at 7 the following morning. I was both excited and nervous. Excited because I would finally meet my little one, nervous because it was possible he might need to stay at the NICU. Nevertheless, I managed to get some shut-eye for a couple of hours.

I woke up at 5am. I took a shower and then the nurse prepped me for the operation (btw, catheter insertion was hell!!!). It was almost 7 when I was wheeled into the operating theatre. Last I looked at the clock before going under, the time was 7:45.

All prepped for the c-section

When I woke up from my anaesthesia-induced stupor, first thing I heard were the nurses congratulating me. “The baby is healthy,” they said. I was still groggy but I managed to look at the clock. It was already 9am and it was all over. My son arrived into this world at 7:57am.

I was then wheeled back into our room. When I got there, mama and Reden were waiting for me. The first thing I asked was “Where’s the baby?” They said he was being bathed at the nursery and will be brought to our room as soon as possible.

When I saw our little boy for the first time, I fell in love, if not infatuated, with him instantly. It was like a high school crush. I couldn’t get enough of him and wanted to be around him all the time. I couldn’t take my eyes off him and when I held him, I felt my heart overflow with love and joy and gratitude.

Ziv weighed only 1.9kg when he came out; first family picture :)

We named him Ziv Nathaniel. Ziv means radiance, brilliance or light of God, while Nathaniel means God has given. He definitely lived up to his name.

We stayed at the hospital for three days and I ended up throwing my entire birth plan out the window. I originally planned to breastfeed exclusively but Ziv never latched on so we had to give him formula. I wanted him to room in with us, but I was too tired and I wanted to be able to rest so I let him stay at the nursery. We didn’t plan for him to be circumcised, but we opted to do it anyway. Nothing went as planned!

Recovery was definitely not easy for me. On the day I delivered, I didn’t feel any discomfort because pain relief meds were coursing through my veins. The following day, when they finally removed the IV, the pain caught up with me. I got so overwhelmed by it all I broke down on our second night at the hospital. I was tired and uncomfortable and frustrated that I couldn’t breastfeed. I felt sorry for little Ziv because I wasn’t able to feed him. Thankfully, Reden was there to comfort and encourage me.

In the end, what mattered was that Ziv was healthy. We were able to take him home and were able to carry, kiss, feed, bathe and rock him to sleep. He was ours and after all the challenges we had to face, he is finally here.

ziv's story, part 1

This day last year, I peed on a stick.

It was something I’ve done many times before. A line shows up on the control window almost instantly. I expected that. I wait for three minutes more just to be sure. When I checked the stick again, there was another line. A line I’ve longed to see but never did. It was on the test window. My heart pounded. I checked the box again. Two lines meant positive.

Despite being in a state of shock, I managed to get out of the bathroom. I burst into our bedroom and woke my sleeping husband up. I shared the unbelievable news with him. “B! Positive!” Reden, still groggy and disoriented, managed to say “Ha?” And so I told him again, “Positive!” and showed him the stick. He got up and we hugged. I almost cried.

But we wanted to be sure so we did a test the next day and another on the day after that. Both were positive. Three tests mean there’s no doubt about it so we decided to call the hospital and arranged for an appointment.

Three positive pregnancy tests surely mean one thing.

We were pregnant.

Finally!

Fertility treatment
Pregnancy wasn’t an automatic thing for us. When we were finally ready to have a child (around 2008), we tried hard to get pregnant. After a year, our efforts proved futile so we decided to seek the help of fertility specialists. We underwent a number of physical examinations and blood tests until the doctors concluded that it was me. I was not ovulating.

The doctor prescribed three five-day cycles of Clomiphene Citrate aka Clomid. After each cycle, I was required to come down to the clinic for a blood test which will determine whether I ovulated or not. If this doesn’t work, they’ll have to do a scan to check if my fallopian tubes were blocked.

I began treatment in May. I didn’t ovulate on the first cycle so I had to increase my dose from 30mg to 60mg for the following month. Once I finished the second cycle, the blood test showed that I still did not ovulate.

Undergoing a fertility treatment is no walk in the park. It’s difficult physically, emotionally and mentally. Clomid kinda made me crazy because it did something to my hormones. Plus, going on all those trips to the hospital was nerve-wracking. You want to expect a positive result but at the same time you don’t because when you hear the opposite, you’ll just be sad. Being in that situation was definitely challenging so after having two unsuccessful cycles, I was tired and frustrated. I was ready to consider other options (a childless marriage, a nomadic existence, pet ownership or adoption).

But before giving up, we had one more cycle to go. I waited and waited for my period to come so I can finally start taking the drug. It didn’t come. The medication worked.

Ectopic scare
After three positive home pregnancy tests, we went to see the doctor on the 23rd. We were giddy and excited. He congratulated us and told us to ignore the blood tests. If three pregnancy tests say I’m pregnant, then I am. He then ordered a sonogram to check if everything is developing normally. Reden and I proceeded to the antenatal monitoring clinic.

Since I was just 4.9 weeks amennorhoeic, the technician said she needed to do a transvaginal instead of an abdominal scan. After a couple minutes of probing, she told me, “Cannot see the baby today.” Thoughts of what could possibly go wrong (ectopic pregnancy? False positive?) immediately went through my head. We then went back to see the doctor, who then ordered for an HCG blood test. Reden and I left the hospital with our hearts in our mouths. When we got home, I cried. If this was a joke, then it wasn't funny.

That evening, the hospital’s 24-hour clinic called me and told me my HCG level was 1,000, which is high. The nurse instructed me to go back to the clinic the following day for another blood test, and maybe another ultrasound scan.

So we went to the hospital on the 25th for one more blood test. The results showed that my HCG level has doubled in the last 48 hours, which confirmed that I was pregnant. The on-call gynaecologist performed an ultrasound scan on me and there it was, a gestational sac with a teeny tiny yolk. I was so relieved! The doctor gave me a printout of the beginnings of our baby and told me that this will be a healthy pregnancy.

Ziv's first picture :)

living with baby

I've always been neat and organized. Everything in our home has its own place. The straw broom, vacuum cleaner and mop are close friends, while Pledge, Mr. Muscle, Ajax and Cif are among my allies. I love to keep spaces spick and span.

Enter Ziv Nathaniel.

Since he arrived, keeping the household in order has taken a back seat. Attending to Ziv's needs comes first now so I've since lowered my standards when it comes to housekeeping. It's okay if the dishes don't get washed immediately. They can wait until Ziv's asleep. I don't have to sweep or vacuum the floor everyday. I can do it on the weekend.

I remember my mother telling me way back, it's okay if the house is messy as long as the babies are safe and happy. "Babies" then referred to my younger brothers, who are now both grown men. I do what I'm told so I let Ziv's stuff take over our living space.

Here is the living room:

As you can see, it's filled with Ziv's stuff: the Jumperoo, the swing, the Boppy, the stroller, the activity gym, and his clothes in the blue basket, waiting to be folded. And that blanket on the foreground, we lay that down on the carpet for tummy time and some freestyle exercise.

Other baby stuff are scattered all over the flat:

There's Ziv's bathtime essentials on top of the oven, his infant seat beside the computer table, the bottle warmer and milk storage bottles beside the microwave, brushes for bottle cleaning on the kitchen sink and his bottles and formula milk on the dining table. 

And since we're living in a three room flat, he co-sleeps with us in our bedroom. His chest of drawers is also in there so I had to sacrifice closet space and just share with Reden. This set up is fine for now that I'm staying at home, but if I rejoin the workforce, I'd need space for my clothes too!

I would normally get stressed when my space is cluttered like this but I've learned to let it go. Taking care of Ziv is my number 1 priority right now. Better a messy house than a fussy kid!

giving this another go

This is an attempt at resurrecting this blog. Ever since the little one arrived, I barely have time to get my thoughts together, sit down and write. Oh, and there are plenty of things to write about. Like Ziv's birth story. The post-partum blues. My struggle with breastfeeding. 

 

And a million other things.

Ziv turned four months last Thursday and now, I find myself with snippets of time in between tending to all his needs, my needs, pumping milk and household chores. I hope I'll be able to write about the challenges and the milestones because if I don't, they'll just all disappear from my memory, especially since I'm not getting enough sleep!

So. Here I go.

Again.