A collective sigh of relief

Last Thursday Rob and I visited a maternal-fetal specialist to discuss the events that took place after my delivery of Sam. I had all of my questions answered, specifically if I was at risk of developing preeclampsia if I were to get pregnant again. The good news is that I have only a slightly elevated risk of developing preeclampsia, unless of course I switch fathers. So far, Rob has proved to be worth his weight in gold, so I'll keep him. I also learned that I did not have HELLP syndrome; even though my liver enzymes were elevated and my platelets were low, they did not meet the criteria for HELLP. That is GREAT news! News that I wish I had heard 9 months ago which would have saved me countless hours of internet research and worry.

The doctor we spoke with was very kind and knowledgeable. She did not rush us through our visit. She patiently answered my questions, which can be numerous, I know. She even repeated her answers as Rob and I were baffled at her casualness regarding the whole thing. She didn't seem to think my 8 days in the hospital was a big deal. I'm sure she has seen much worse. Rob and I looked at each other in stunned disbelief when she explained what she read in my chart as "routine" and "mild" She was more concerned with the endometriosis causing further infertility and advised us to consider our next pregnancy "sooner rather than later." With a collective sigh of relief, Rob and I left the office, stopped outside the door to hug and I cried in his arms.

That night I started my scrapbook for Sam. I started with our wedding picture, for in my mind, that is where it all began. I created the next 5 pages filled with pictures of me, Rob and Samuel during our stay in the hospital. As I cut, arranged and pasted the photos to the page, I revisited his birth with mixed emotion. This picture is especially touching to me as it captures my face the first time I laid eyes on my son. The love I felt at that very moment could have filled every ocean. I then look around at the operating room and I remember that every part of my birth experience was nothing like I had imagined. I see my swollen hand reach out to hold Samuel and think that, to me, there was nothing "routine" about the eight-day ordeal we had in October.


I am saddened to think that I reminisce about Sam's birth with feelings of love and fear. I feel robbed of the birth experience I subconsciously planned and openly hoped for.

Rob and I held each other Thursday night and thanked God for our healthy baby boy. After another good cry, I felt cleansed of the burden of our family planning. The next pregnancy for us will be "later rather than sooner." Before we tackle that, we plan on cherishing every moment our crazy little baby brings us a little longer.