Studio Dream

I have been felting for a number of years now, and my current plan is to ramp up from a part time to a full time career once my three children are all in school.  But I am not organized.  I have wool and craft materials all over the house.  I get side tracked by laundry.  And dishes.  And DIY home projects.  And cooking.  You name it.

Anyway, I have a dream to seperate my home and work (a little) by having a studio on our property where I can  store all my craft supplies,  where I can teach small classes and where I can sell some products.  I have started doing research: there is a whole movement of building tiny houses!  "The Tiny House Movement."  Who knew!  Here are some cool ones:


http://www.materialicious.com/2009/04/farm-buildings-into-tiny-houses.html
Okay, so this one might not meet my needs for a studio/shop.  But I have been teasing my brother-in-law for years that I was going to make a home out of an old grain bin.


http://tinyhouseblog.com/earthcob/little-cob-cabin/
This one is cute.  Not practicle for my needs, but cute.  Check out the inside!


Love the stone floor and counter top!  Love the windows!


Looks pretty spacious too!


How cute is this one?  Perfect for New England!  Highly functional, and beautiful.

So I have been brain storming on how to turn my shed/chicken coop into my studio.  Some basic needs for my studio space are:

water (for cleaning, rinsing and felting wool)
1/4 bath bathroom (for classes)
electricity
heating of some sort
shelving for display of wool and products
stove top for dying wool.
Drying racks
a loft for wool storage
Windows.
And I'd like to have a place to sleep of some sort for friends and family to stay in when they come and visit me.

Amazingly enough, I have gotten some very practical ideas from Jill Barklem's childrens books.   She has amazing illustrations!

Perhaps I'll start my conversion next summer.  I'll have to start with building a new chicken coop.

Becoming a Country Bumpkin

Did you know I used to live in Minneapolis?  Within the city limits?  Within walking distance of downtown?  Yup.  I lived in the Midwest for a whole decade.  I used to live in the thick of it.  I ordered fancy $4.00 coffees at cool coffee shops.  I ate out all the time.  Oh, the food .... the food!  I used to go to music concerts.  And (gasp) I shopped for my clothes in a mall.  I admit, I have never been overly fashionable.  (Those of you who know me well need not nod your head in whole-hearted affirmation.)

Then, John and I decided to up and move to a little town in NH.

I didn't realize I made the slow transformation from hip twenty-something-year-old living to thirty-something-year-old rural life.  But it happened.  It hit me like a ton of bricks.   Recently flying back to Minneapolis showed me that.  There were some seriously swank women in the airport.

Apparently skinny jeans are cool.

Apparently baggy jeans aren't.  They are kind of frumpy.

Apparently wearing your hair in a messy bun is so '90s.

Apparently I should get those boots I love - and wear them on the outside of skinny jeans.

But I hate skinny jeans.

And, like an old person, I gasped at the price of a small coffee in the airport.

It is official, folks.  I think I might be an aging country bumpkin.

So I bought some lipstick.  "Lip Shimmer" actually.

But I can't give up the banjo or quilting or my pick-up.  I just can't.

Surprise!

Life does go on after bed rest.  That is why this blog is called Beyond Bed Rest. Really, it does.  And I am quickly remembering that life really does stay interesting after children are born. In many ways it is more interesting.  And surprising.

Today's surprise was not related to children .... I don't think that even my oldest could have dreamed this up!

It was surprising.

It was shocking.

It was perplexing.

It was definitely gross.

It was a chair in the septic tank.  Yes, a chair.  In the septic tank.

Even B of JBC Septic, who showed up for our routine maintenance, was stunned.  He had never seen that before.  What was it doing there?  One can only guess.  I am hoping no one went down there to lounge around and have a beer.  But that would make the story even funnier, wouldn't it?

B got a special hook and removed it.  And even though I am sometimes frighteningly frugal, I splurged and paid him to take it away and dispose of it.  Pew!  I am mean phew! Really, can't you just see me forgetting to tell my kids when they came home from school?  I might tell them to go play outside, where they would find it and think I had just drug a new piece of furniture home from the second hand store to refinish.  The thought of finding my children bouncing on it does give me the chills.

But really, it is good that life continues after bed rest.  There is apparently so much more to life than misery.

Victory

For those of you who remember my post in which I threatened to become a burly weight lifter, I am still extra soft (in all the wrong places) from my pregnancy.  I am not running yet.  I am not growing a mustache.  In fact, it is a bit discouraging to have only lost 5 pounds since Darren's birth 11 weeks ago.  But I have been living it up with my kids.

Today, as promised, I hiked Cardigan.  I didn't do it backwards.  But I did do it with three children, and so I consider this to be the beginning of life as my family once knew it. As Cora so eloquently put it, we can "almost reach the sky".  We are conquering big things and here is a picture to prove it!

Normalcy has returned, and we are climbing to great heights.

We are having fun playing in the sun again .... being pirates .... and ruling islands. 

We are trying not to fall off any cliffs that life might put in our way.  

And we are enjoying the blessing of living in a world as beautiful as this.  

We are celebrating victory .... and three .... yes three .... sleeping children.

Recovery

Life with three children is a little different than I imagined.  How could I have forgotten the infant stage?  I expected to see all three of the kids romping around in the yard together.  Darren doesn't romp.  But sometimes he gets romped.  Seth and Cora can really make him laugh, but I still find myself having to give appropriate guidelines for how to handle babies.  Darren has survived the first 11 weeks despite being thrown up on, dragged across the floor, and fallen on.  The kids certainly think of themselves as a unit of three.  Seth and Cora constantly remind me that I shouldn't forget to grab Darren, as if I forget him all the time.  As if I have ever forgotten him.  We have spent a few days at the beach, and Darren is learning to sleep right there under a beach umbrella.  So far not too bad.

My recovery is still nebulous.  Lots of people have asked me how I have healed.   The answer: I have no idea.  Asherman's syndrome largely stays hidden until your monthly cycles.  I am breast feeding and so I have no idea how my uterus has healed, and I don't expect to know for a few months - or possibly until I wean.  One major plus in my favor is that I have now had a complete pregnancy.  We know pregnancy heals Asherman's syndrome in ways that cannot be replicated medically.  But I have two major negatives.  1. I had retained placenta after Darren's delivery which had to be manually extracted.  To me, that indicates there is still a problem with the lining of my uterus. 2. I had a major uterine infection following this pregnancy.  An additional trauma to my uterus at this point could lead to more complications. I have not even had an internal exam since Darren is born.  So really I have no idea if I have interuterine adhesions or not.   But I am praying that my cycles will just quietly appear one day without writhing, blinding pain.

Recovering from bed rest is a bit of a drag.  I can't believe how incredibly exhausted I am all the time.  I don't think I ever have time to enjoy my bed.  My eyes close before I am all the way in it.  And being on bedrest decreases your metabolism drastically, so I have lost almost no weight since Darren was born.  Urrrr.  But I have started to build up my muscles again by doing pilates and light weight training.  We had a family exercise competition the other night.  Good news is that I didn't come in last.  I beat Darren!

Adjusting to being home again is going well.  I love my morning snuggles.  But I do miss the Styrofoam cups of ice cream terribly!  

Mother's Day

At  the encouragement of my neighbor, I have been thinking of what to write today.  But my emotions of being a mother to three thriving kids is too emotional for me to really capture after this last year.  There are some emotions that engulf you so much that they sweep over you like a wave; they seem as deep as the ocean and they seem to swell and take you over.  That is how mother's day has been for me this year.  I love being a mom.

Seth laughs at my jokes - not everyone does that.  And not only does he laugh at them, he often tells my jokes over and over.  Like when I ask Darren what he wants to eat: "What'll it be, milk or milk?"  And I love that Seth is one of the few people who can keep up with my project making.  I love the excitement in his eyes when he sees something new - a four leaf clover, or a water skeeter, or a new plant.  I love how he points to every raptor in the sky.  I love how he smiles with his whole body.

Cora is a complete delight to me.  She is quick to help .... especially with all things relating to cooking and Darren .... and she is very loving.  She will smother Darren with kisses and hugs.  I love how Cora is such a great playmate to Seth.  She is always by his side, even in the mud in the driveway, rain dripping off the roof, or the vernal pool catching bugs.  I love how she comes for 20 minutes of snuggles every morning to wake me up.  And I love how she dances to music.

And then there is Darren.  What is there not to love about a six week old baby that loves to be in his mama's arms?  Just by wanting me, I feel loved.  He makes my arms feel so full and he makes my heart glad.  And his newly found smiles are fresh and joyful.  How can I feel so much?

But John is my key to being a good mother.  He is the one who picks up my slack, takes the kids away for a few minutes when I am at my whits end, who cooks supper, who constantly tells me how he thinks I am a good mother.  He looks past the unwashed dishes and sees the smiles on the kids.  He looks past the clutter in the living room and tells me how glad he is that I took the kids on a hike.  He hugs me and encourages me when I feel like I have destroyed all chances of having my children to grow into productive citizens in society.
And most of all, he let's me sleep.  

A Dream

I will never forget the first time I saw John. Physics class, freshman year. He was wearing a short sleeved rock t-shirt over a longed sleeved long john shirt. His baseball hat was pushed back and his eyes met mine with a slow and easy smile. My stomach flipped. I knew in that exact moment that I would marry him. But I didn't exactly have all my ducks in a row. It took 2 years until I finally was able to coerce him into dating me. Eventually, the boundaries between our lives began to erase.  My friend, Dot, once put it to me this way: "He keeps you grounded and you help him fly."

And with him, I have had great dreams turned into realities. One of these dreams has been to travel. I am so grateful for the five years that he and I had together before Seth was born. I am grateful that we camped from wilderness to wilderness, melding into a single entity - not only with each other, but also with the world created for us. It was a time when we went beyond sharing laughter and friends and common interests. Being together in the woods and hiking and seeing creation for the first time was to share something so great that words fail. Words like silence and reverence and beauty and dreams and freedom all pale, leaving the experiences we shared at that time as intangible and unutterable as wraiths. They remain only in our memories to haunt us with unimaginable beauty in place and in body and in heart. The places we have been and the world we have seen together have pulled us together with a inescapable gravity.

I find myself often tempted to just pack up and go. This of course is insane. But, as Margaret Gehrke stated, "To be sensible is to be commonplace."  I am a listless soul in search of something bigger than the monotony of the every day, bigger than myself.

While I was in the hospital recovering from a uterine infection following Darren's birth, John and I watched the  4th video of Ken Burns's documentary on the National Parks.  We have been watching them (slowly) over the last year.  I have loved them, and they evoke in me an idea of something beautiful.  Perhaps it is because John and I have loved visiting the National Parks together so much.  Perhaps it is because in the quietness of the world I have found a preservation of mind and spirit.  Perhaps it is because I have grown there.  The documentary has made me believe in the National Park system as something to be treasured as an American ... as a human being.  I have come to value public space as something to be treasured.

A dream has been born.  I dream to share these places with my children.  Now that Darren is here, I feel that I have completed something and I can't wait to share the world with my family of five!  My children are in that in between age .... too old to be hauled on our backs still, but too young to be able to hike a strenuous hike.  Since they are still small, maybe the next park to be visited will be Mesa Verde, where there is a lot to see without too many miles of trekking.  Or maybe Theodore NP in ND, where there are concretions, wild horses and a herd of buffalo.  Parks like Zion or  Bryce should be explored when they are able to knock off 10 + miles by themselves.  Like me, Seth has a wondering spirit, and has been longing to see Redwood NP for some time now.

I have spent a bit of time searching http://www.terragalleria.com/parks/.  There are pictures of every NP and many other places there, and it is phenomenal to see.  I have found that I love looking at the pictures and picking out where to go next.  But even with the incredible imagery there, the pictures pale in comparison to the experience of being in those places in person.

Anyone have suggestions on what parks are nice to visit with kids?

John and I have done:
Acadia
Great Smokeys
Theodore Roosevelt
Badlands
Windcave
Tetons
Glacier
Yellowstone
Cascades
Olympic
Arches
Big Bend
Canyonlands
Grand Canyon
Banff (Canada)
Jasper (Canada)
Campobello Island (Canada)


  

Darren's Arrival Story

Well, I have been silent for some time, mostly because of the arrival of my sweet son, Darren. He is finally here, after all the waiting and worry, and he is a huge blessing to me. It seems so strange that you can love someone so intensely from the moment you meet them. It seems strange how full my arms feel and how much I love to hold and snuggle him. I have a confession: I am a Darren hog. I don't really want to share him.

Tuesday, March 22, the doctors determined that I was dilated to five cm and that we should consider speeding things along, so they stripped my membranes to push me into labor. They were concerned that I would have a quick labor and told me to stick around the hospital walking the halls. When labor started, I should proceed to the birthing pavilion. But after 45 minutes, I still had no serious contractions - so I proceeded home instead.

Then on Friday, March 25 the doctors determined that I was dilated to just shy of 7 cm. "Why aren't you in labor?" they asked, as if it was my choice. Beats the heck out of me, but I wasn't. I was getting increasingly concerned about not making it to the hospital on time for the delivery at this rate, and was relieved when they finally admitted me to the hospital, even though I wasn't in labor. They broke my water convinced that I'd have him quickly. But eight hours later, I was still not in labor. My dad put it nicely when he asked me if the I was sure the doctors hadn't removed my spark plugs.

Finally, with a little help of drugs, I started contracting in earnest - pretty ironic after they had to stop my contractions earlier in pregnancy. Darren was born about 2.5 hours later. Born on March 26, 2011 at 7:35am. He came so quickly that he had a perfectly shaped head and great color, with Apgar scores of 8 and 9. He weighed 7 lbs 12 oz and is 20 inches long. Darren is one healthy little boy.

Forty five minutes later, I still had not birthed the placenta. When bleeding began to worsen, I was rushed across the hall to the OR. The scariest part was when they told me on the way over that they were unsure of whether or not they would need to perform a hysterectomy. However, they were able to simply extract the placenta with their hands. Anemia is the worst that came out of it. I squeaked by without having to receive any blood. We are hoping that since they did not need to use instrumentation that I will heal without any Asherman's, but only time will tell.

I love Darren intensely. And I am continuously amazed that we actually made it through this pregnancy without the anticipated trauma. I was so fearful, for so long, about so many things. But we have arrived. My heart is brimming with gladness, relief, gratefulness and joy.

Darren seems to be quite a contented little fellow as well. He is just shy of a week old, and he still hasn't really cried. Perhaps he is as grateful for success as I am. Or maybe it is the love that he has been given since his delivery, starting with the birthday cake that Seth and Cora brought him the day he was born. When I am not basking him with Mama lovin's, Cora is loving up on him with kisses, hugs and calling him "Cutie, cute" or "Baby Darry". And when she isn't doing that, Seth is showing him everything. Pine cones. Tools. Baby toys. Seth built him a fort out of the sofa cushions to play in. And he has drawn so many pictures of owls for Darren that I might start a museum. John has been all smiles for a days now. Relaxed and cheerful and glad.

Unfortunately, after being home for two days, I developed a uterine infection. Fever, cramping that can be likened to labor, nausea, woozy. I actually don't think I have ever been so sick, ever. Like that cat that came back, I have been readmitted to the hospital. Here I have developed a new love for some extremely good antibiotics. And here I sit, just starting to feel on the up and up, blogging away, and with a beautiful baby asleep on my chest while I type. Hopefully I'll be out of here for good by Sunday.

Vocabulary

I have always loved words. I love to read poetry, and to hear the way the sounds and rhythms roll. I laugh with gusto over puns. I enjoy cryptograms. I love scrabble. And though I am not a great writer and I often make up words, or use the wrong word or misspell a word, I can't help but pour over words.

While I was in the hospital, I joined the International Scrabble Club. I didn't ever get up my nerve to play. After observing a game for about five minutes, I wasn't so certain it was in English, though it explicitly was listed as such. A bludgeoning didn't appeal to me that day. I assuaged my bruised pride by imagining that I would just end up playing some nasty sixty year old man who is sitting around in his boxers with his laptop on his knees and a vodka in his hand. Yuck.

I resorted to Merriam-Websters online dictionary. There are all sorts of wordy-nerdy things on there. There is always the word of the day. But my favorite is that there are word games to play. Jumble Jong is excellent - sort of like one man scrabble. Jumble crosswords are another of my favorites.

Then there is Word Drop. Word drop has the potential to be a great game - it combines words and Tetris. How fun is that? But Word Drop has a horrific dictionary. At first I tried to play to see how many levels I could conquer. But after that seemed a little easy, I made it my goal to score high points, not worrying about levels. I am disappointed that you can't use a lot of words: qiviut, swivet, jonquil, or even groat. Really, is groat that uncommon? So I was feeling pleased until I humbled myself with the knowledge that it is just a computer, made by a human - and probably not one that has a liberal arts degree. And then I remembered my sister, Bets, and my neighbor, Carrie, have way larger vocabularies than I do.

Never the less, I have had some enjoyment exercising my mind as well as my body now that I am off bedrest. Here are some of my favorites. Some are new (to me) and some are old. Some are fun to roll off your tongue, some are great for game playing, and some just have a funny definition:

swivet: a state of extreme agitation

callipygian: having a shapely buttocks

defenestrate: to throw a person or a thing out a window

qiviut: the undercoat of wool of a musk ox

jonquil: a plant similar to the amaryllis

ginkgo: an ornamental tree with fan shaped leaves

persnickety: fussy about small details

fjord: an inlet of sea between two cliffs or steep slopes

wuther: to blow with a dull roaring sound

hoary: gray or white with or as if with age

et: the past participle of eat

And even though I am glad that I can score over 1200 points on word drop on the first level (kind of pathetic, I know), I am interested in expanding my vocabulary. I don't want a larger vocabulary for word games, but just because I think words are interesting. So I am wondering, what are your favorite words?

More on Asherman's Syndrome

This post is a response to http://www.ashermans.org and its online support group. This post is abnormally private, but I see a need for addressing the emotional side of Asherman's Syndrome, and I only can contribute my own experience. I hope that some people find this helpful - especially since I have found my website has been read almost 4000 times in 3 months. (Please refer to my previous post on Asherman's at http://beyondbedrest.blogspot.com/2011/01/ashermans-syndrome.html). The issue of fertility and pregnancy has been fraught with emotion, thoughts of morality, and the need to wisely, gently and tactfully deal with outsiders' perspectives that sometimes cut to the quick.

After ten years of marriage, I believe the boundaries between two people really do become blurred. I don't understand it, but my experience has taught me a healthy marriage is magical. Where John and I used to stand alone, we now are part of something bigger than ourselves. At the risk of being cliché, I believe marriage really does cause two to become one. And in such a state, I lived blissfully until I developed Asherman's Syndrome.

After I developed Asherman's, I conceived and lost a little girl during the second trimester. My perspective of a magical marriage became tainted - not because of anything that John or I had done - but because our physical relationship was now jaded with death. The joy, freedom and innocence of being intimate was ripped away by fear, a feeling of guilt, and incredible loss for both of us. It wasn't just our hearts that were broken. I had an incredible sense that my body was irreparably broken.

I began to ponder the morality of my sexual relationship with my husband. There is a loss, so great, that it sometimes seems insurmountable. Perhaps the strongest question I was asked was "would John leave you over your inability to have more children?" At the time I was deeply offended, but then I realized that person saw the depth of how great our loss was, not just because our child died, but because our intimacy took such devastation. The loss of that pregnancy was great. While there may not be a dread of not conceiving every month that some woman experience with infertility, there is now the dread of touch and what physical and emotional pain that touch may create. My body had become a carrier for death. Where touch used to be beautiful, it became a creator of something hideous. The wound that pregnancy loss created in my relationship with my husband was worth mourning. It is also dreadfully difficult to recover from.

I believe mankind (male and female) was created in the image of God. Some beliefs are so innate that they can't be shaken from our psyche, and this is one of mine. With that belief comes moral obligation to take care of, uphold and honor one's body. After Asherman's, I began to wonder, is it wrong for me to get pregnant when I know my body may not be able to sustain it? Does knowing you have Asherman's make it wrong to concieve, just as it is wrong to do drugs, or a myriad of other harmful bodily activities? On the other hand, is it okay, since there is scientific data proving that pregnancy heals the uterus in ways that modern medicine cannot?

Do I have a moral responsibility as a parent? Can I willing and (more importantly) innocently conceive knowing I may be putting my child's life at risk? Do I have a moral obligation to not get pregnant? At the risk of being harsh, if I get pregnant and my child does not survive, am I now guilty of unintentional man slaughter? It may sound silly, or out there, but these are really questions John and I had to ask ourselves. When you are in the situation, the answer is not so clear, as evidenced by real comments I received like: "don't you know how babies are made?" or "I am sure you aren't going to be that sad [about losing Josie], since you knew you couldn't do it," or "the world does not revolve around your uterus", or point blank "you can't do that [get pregnant] again", or "your other children need you."

And so with these two questions (am I morally obligated to protect my body/future children?) comes a loss of my integrity in the eyes of some. And because my pregnancy with Josie went so far, the opinions of the public cannot be kept at bay, nor can they be ignored. Further, some times people with Asherman's lose integrity in the eyes of other's because of naivety and lack of education on woman's health. I was once told "It must be so hard to deal with an STD." (FYI, Asherman's is not an STD.) While I'd like to shrug off the opinions, perceptions, ignorance and callousness of others, I don't know anyone who can withstand this bombardment and loss of respect unscathed. Some people toss you a sense of your actions being irresponsible. This loss of integrity is also worth mourning, even if it is unjustified.

It is true that I have no problems getting pregnant. After all, this is my fifth pregnancy in five years. But don't underestimate the depth of pain, hurt or frustration that can accompany issues of fertility even in people who are able to conceive. It is not simply a done deal. It is not simply a matter of saying "yeah, but in the end, you have a child - or at least other children." While there may not be that monthly frustration of a negative pregnancy test, or the feeling of "getting down to business," I have a genuine dread of a pink plus on a white stick. For me there is genuine fear of what that will cost. It is not just a personal cost. It is a cost for my husband, children and friends who faithfully have stood by me.

Just like all woman with fertility issues, my real sadness is over the loss of a dream. I have answered many of the questions above for myself. Though I don't believe this is true for everyone with Asherman's, I do believe I should not get pregnant again. Just as some one who desperately wants children and is not able to conceive, I mourn the loss of fertility. I mourn the loss of my dream for a big family. I mourn the loss of two pregnancies. I mourn the loss of my own confidence in my body. I mourn the loss of unguarded intimacy. I experience fear of dealing with chronic pain. I experience angst over my own health. I have to make decisions that may mean life or death.

Here I am today, just shy of 38 wks pregnant with Darren. Most people think my battle is almost over. On the contrary, I believe my battle is mostly mental, and is just beginning. I am not upset to have Darren. On the contrary, I am overjoyed. He is a miracle I did not expect. But the joy is shaded by the anticipation of my recovery. I am guessing my physical recovery with be taxing, especially since I have never escaped surgery following any of my other pregnancies. I am afraid of my having another full blown case of Asherman's syndrome.

Ultimately, I am glad I have a belief in a god - a good god - who mourns with me. I am glad I do not have an eastern religious perspective that Asherman's and it's fall out is karma, fate, the stars, or the like. I am glad I do not rely on religious relics, charms, or even feng shui to help me through. Though some people cling to these ideas and gain comfort, for me they are too happenstance, too random. I am grateful for a faith in a god who loves me personally - a god who walks with me and in me. I think that helps me to get through. And I am glad for the Easter season, when I can remember that I have a god who also has experienced the loss of a dream. His dream was tainted by the actions of others. He also experienced the loss of children. He suffered more greatly than I can imagine. And he suffered out of love. I don't know why I can't shake this belief. When I have been at my lowest, I have tried to toss my faith. But ultimately, I am glad I cannot do it.

Gaining Strength

It is funny, maybe even a bit frustrating, that I am doing so well now that I am off bed rest. I think being on bed rest made me believe that I would have Darren as soon as I was free of my bed fetters. Emotionally, I am so ready to be done with this pregnancy. Today marks 36 wks 3 days of pregnancy, and now that I have been on my feet a bit more, my contractions have actually slowed down. My body is adjusting from a feeling of an eminently close and dangerous labor, to a rather normal 8 month pregnant feeling. Yes, I am a bit uncomfortable, but isn't every woman uncomfortable in their last month? Yes I am tired, but isn't everyone? Yes, I am sore, but again, discomfort is normal for an 8 month pregnant woman. And so, I stick with my prediction that Darren will not be born until April.

Most importantly, I am gaining strength. Really, I am astonished at how quickly I am starting to feel "normal". The first day I came home from the hospital I stood half way up the stairs and cried in John's arms. My muscles were so flaccid and infirm that I struggled to make it upstairs in one shot. That moment was the most humbling of all for me - admitting to my husband how his normally active wife was not able to ascend a single flight of stairs without worrying about falling from fatigue. But as always, he was patient.

It is now 2.5 wks later. In comparison, when I am fatigued now, I don't have to lay down. Usually I am better after sitting upright for a bit. No, I still don't have complete strength. But the point is that strength is returning. This may have to do with eating much better food. (Last night I had some wonderful lamb stew.) Or it may be due to the TLC that John has doted upon me. Believe me, the TLC has been plentiful. Or maybe my children's hugs and laughter and smiles have drummed a little more joy and determination into my muscles. Regardless of what it is, I am (slightly) stronger now. Yesterday I visited a friend, did laundry, vacuumed the stairs and cooked dinner! I was even able to attend the board meeting for my kids' school - allowing the quorum to be met! This was by far my most productive day in months!

So watch out world. At this rapid rate, I will be svelte and firm and a bundle of energy in no time! I might start to have muscle bulges in my arms and legs and abs. I might even start to grow a mustache and lift 175 kg weights in competition! But I think I'll settle for being able to hike, run a couple miles and rock climb again. Or go sledding with my kids. Or walk with them the 1/4 mi to school. Or at least make it through the day with the ability to enjoy my bed for 10 minutes before starting to snore.

Reconditioning

I naturally wake up at 5:30 am every morning. In graduate school, I'd lay in bed and snuggle John for about 15 minutes, and then I'd gently wake him up for our morning run. We ran together every weekday morning for about 5-7 miles, and we often did longer runs on the weekends. It was that glorious time in our lives - you know - the bonding time after we got married and before we had kids.

About a mile from our apartment was this great big hill, dubbed "The Church Hill" because of the huge stone church at the summit. The hill itself was quite long and very steep - the ultimate challenge for our morning runs. When we first started that route, I would have to trick myself to get up that hill. I'd mark off short distances to run to, and then, when I got to that tree or bush or flower in the sidewalk, I'd focus on the next thing until I reached the top. I could hear the blood pumping in my ears. I'd huff and puff as if my lungs were about to explode. But most of all, there was a shaky, rubber band feeling in all of my muscles that made me wonder if I could keep going even when I did reach the summit. The more and more John and I ran that route, the easier it became. Then we started sprinting up it. We'd race to see who could get to the top fastest. We'd poke fun at the slow poke, and heaven help you if you had an off day and couldn't get to the top! That hill remained a challenge for what seemed like years.

Then we took a huge hiking trip out in the Canadian Rockies. We didn't think twice about knocking off a 20 mile hike at high elevation one day, and then another 18 miles or so the next. I don't think we did anything less than 15 mi. on any given day. The world was so beautiful! There was so much to see. There was that incredible feeling of being on a mountainous pass and seeing space like you can't imagine. The world seemed so enormous, so exquisite, so unfathomably grand. I felt weightless. My mind was so exhilarated by creation, that my body just went, one foot in front of the other, up huge mountains, through huge distance and over obstacles. There was scree. There were huge boulders. There were banks of snow with 500 ft drops if you slipped. We didn't think much of it until we got home three weeks later and realized the Church Hill was weeny. It became so easy that we could literally run up it backwards. (Now, of course, this is the best shape I had ever been in in my life - but still!)

Sixteen weeks of total bed rest does strange things to your body and mind. This morning I got breakfast for the kids and readied them for school, and I took a shower, totaling about 40 minutes on my feet. That same Church Hill feeling of rubber band muscles is back. That same need for baby steps was required just to get the kids to school today. "Just get their boots on, Kathleen. Sit on the stairs and have them come one at a time for coat zipping. Their hats, they need hats. Waddle out to the truck. Just get them signed in. Almost done. One last hug. Waddle back to the truck. Drive the 1/4 mi. home. Sit in the driver's seat until the song is over. Just over the icy driveway and back to the sofa. There. No problem." I abandoned my plan to go grocery shopping. I came in to collapse in the house. I have become a huge, bulbous, pregnant mass, huffing and puffing for breath. I have been off bed rest for one week and have somehow managed to get the kids to school (relatively) on time every day so far.

I am hoping that the birth of Darren will be likened to our trip to Alberta - so exhilarating that exertion is non-existent. I am hoping that holding him will make the journey seem like nothing. I'll look into his eyes as if I am seeing a great green glacier lake for the first time. I'll see his fingers and re-experience a distance so big that I will become insignificant. I'll run my finger down his little cheek and re-experience an awe just like I did when I came to the Valley of the Ten Peaks in Banff. I'll listen to his little coos and be drawn on with no thought of how spent I am. The excitement will be enormous. I hope that holding him will make me feel weightless again, like the exertion was effortless. Maybe his birth will trick my body into thinking the daily routine is nothing. When he is born, I am hoping I will think "I've done it." Truly. Maybe, just maybe, I'll be walking around like a pro - as if this whole thing was easy as pie - by the end of the summer. I will make it up Cardigan Mt. again, with two kids in tow and a kid on my back. I will. I might even go up the mountain backwards. You'll see.

Off Bed Rest!!!!!

Well, it is official! I am now 35 weeks, which means that Darren will most likely not spend any time in the NICU when he is born. With contractions, I can't decide if I should lay down and take it easy ..... or if I should start doing jumping jacks. I think I'll hold off on the jumping jacks until week 37. That just seems a little bit safer yet. As of Friday I have been taken off bed rest - though after 94 days of bed rest my muscles are so dilapidated that I still can't do much. But I have managed to do some fun new things with my new found freedom.

I have started to seek out time with some of the people I have missed most! This morning I had breakfast with Emily Twarog, and I could not believe how wonderful it was to see her after so long. There are few things nicer than having coffee and a muffin with a friend you haven't gotten to spend time with in months. And I was really relieved that visiting with her was both comfortable and comforting.

I also started a few new projects .... one of which is a Tennessee Waltz quilt. I'll post pictures soon. But it is coming along nicely. The stars look so simple, and yet, I am still really trying to get all of my points to match, while keeping the blocks true and flat ..... much easier said than done. So far, I am pleased with the outcome.

Then, my neighbor, Deb, inspired me to make a braided rug. It is something I have attempted in the past but haven't ever finished - most likely because I didn't feel like taking the time to deal with the finding, cutting and folding of fabric which is required to keep it neat. But then I decided to make one out of wool roving that I had laying around. Raw edge problem solved! I braided up about 45 yards of roving rope, felted it and started sewing it together today. What a luxurious feeling to have a thick felted rug under your feet! I should have it sewn by tomorrow. This rug is small and will go next to my bed so that my feet won't freeze anymore when I wake up. It is a test rug, to see how it holds up and wears over time. If I like it, I'd like to make a natural colored area rug for my bedroom once the addition is finished. Pictures of this project will also be posted soon too.

And lastly, today I spent a little time bird watching. For the first time, I got to see an entire flock of bohemian waxwings up close out of my dinning room window. The flock was about 75 to 100 birds and they would perch all together in the top of a tall poplar at the edge of the yard and then swoop down to feast on the rotten apples in our tree. Unlike cedar waxwings, bohemian waxwings have rust colored feathers under their tails and the very tips of their tails have a brilliant yellow stripe. I was fortunate not to have my camera at hand - fortunate because I tend to miss just watching when I try to photograph and I wouldn't have wanted to miss the experience of just enjoying them. But here is a picture of what they look like, taken by a birdwatcher in Alberta. His blog is "For the Birds" and it is worth checking out if you are interested in fowl. They are delightful to watch and I hope you get to see some, if you haven't ever before.

But now it is 8:30 and my day was filled with such physical activity that I have been in bed for an hour. And I am ready for sleep. Here's to you Darren! Keep growing. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Random Thoughts

Well, here is the 34th week. Only six weeks to go until the due date, and I am fully prepared to stay pregnant until March 31. However, I am not .... I repeat .... I am not prepared for being pregnant on April 1. I bet that means I am in serious trouble.

I have been home from the hospital now for 2 weeks. So far, so good. At my appointment Friday, they even said I could start moving a bit - modified bed rest, if you will. And so I have been home, and have ignored my blog. Why? Because there are so many interesting things to do when on modified bed rest, as apposed to all the way bed rest. Quilting for one. Eating brownies for another. And definitely making up for all the time that I missed with my kids. This last week we have read hours and hours of the Little House books. My kids are devouring them. And today, a friend of ours had us over for dinner. It was the first outing I have had that is not medically related since Christmas Day when I vegged out at Don and Dori's house.

And so, I thought I'd tell you about some of the pregnancy things that I really don't like. For one, why do strangers have a tendency to pat my belly? And what is it about the pregnant belly glance? Am I really that huge that you can't quite keep your eyes off it? Wait. Don't answer that. And why is it that everyone likes to tell me all about their pregnancy? I don't want to hear it. I want to talk about something else for once. How about the weather? How about a book? When are you going to tap your trees? And how are the ice dams on your roof? For Pete's sakes, what happens in the world outside of my limited space?

And what is it with my random pregnancy panic? For example, after my last appointment, I did have the wonderful pleasure of sitting in the cube next to John's while he gave a presentation at work before taking me home. My, it had been a long time since I had been in public. And I was thinking, as I was sitting there, how incredibly uncomfortable office chairs can be. Then I started up with contractions, every 6 to 10 minutes or so. And I was wondering, for the first time, what .... oh what .... am I going to do if my water breaks right here and now in John's office? I was thinking, no one in the immediate area could really handle it but Ross. And then Ross got up to leave. I was wondering if I should stop him and say, "oh, Ross, don't go .... where ever you are going." But I bit my tongue and let him go. He came back a few minutes later - presumably after a printer run - and the day ended just fine. John came back, shortly afterward and whisked me off to the relative safety of my truck to go home. Just a random moment of pregnancy panic washed under the bridge. I am becoming a worry wart.

And that is what is happening in my life.

Day 85

Today is day 85 of laying down - 37 of those days were spent in the hospital. Can I make it? My endurance is running low. I am 32 wks and 2 days into this pregnancy leaving me with 7 wks 5 days until my due date. Listlessness is consuming me since my quilting is done on our 10th anniversary quilt. More watercoloring today, I suppose. And watching the snow drift down all quiet and serene on the wild turkeys out the window. Maybe John's mom will make me a cup of tea. Tea makes the world seem a bit brighter. Thank goodness I am not enduring this during the summer. I think that may have permanently crushed me.

Units, units, units

So at my last ultrasound, I was having my level of amniotic fluid checked to make sure everything is alright. I was told everything is fine .... and I am quite sure that it is. And yet ......

I was taking a sneak peak at my own chart while waiting for the doctors and I noticed that the volume was reported in cm. Yes cm. Not ccm. So I asked the ultrasound technician what the volume was measured in. She replied that it was in cm. I pointed out that cm was not a unit of volume but her response was a flippant "Yes it is". Hmmmm. I chose not to argue. But I wondered what world she was from.

A nurse told me the same thing. "cm is a unit of volume." I hope they are a little bit more careful in their units before administering my drugs.

I then asked another ultrasound technician who told me that units are important and, as long as they put the right measurements in the right fields, a formula will give the correct volume .... in cm. Double hmmmm. Really? How does one know when they have a gross error? This makes me a bit nervous. Magic formulas always make me nervous. Especially magic formulas that give results of volume in units of length.

I finally asked my doctor. She was at least chagrin, replying that she used to understand the reason, but that she couldn't remember. Fine. Hopefully she'll be able to supply an answer for me at my next appointment ... if for nothing more than to satisfy my curiosity.

As a trained engineer, this concerns me. The first question I was trained to ask myself after completing any calculation is "Do I have the correct units?" The second question is, "Does this value make sense?" The third question is, "Can I explain it?" So these four educated people, who are taking my baby's health in their hands, have violated all three of my principles for calculation.

To measure fluid levels, the technician divides your uterus into four quadrants and then measures the height of each quadrant vertically, and roughly in the center of its x-plane. I say roughly because these locations are done by eye. Now keep in mind they are trying to get an approximation of an extremely irregularly shaped 3D volume from a 2D image. I am uncertain how they determine where on the z-plane to take the cross sectional measurement. However, these lengths are (rightly) measured in cm. The measurements are then put into a formula that supposedly plunks out the estimated volume .... in cm. Excluding the incorrect units, I contemplate the uncertainty of these measurements. How accurate can the method be for such an irregular shape as the shape of my fluid inside my uterus and around my baby? Is there a standard magnification these measurements are taken at? What is expected for user error? How much does this depend on the mother's weight? What if the baby is moving during measurements? Etc., etc., etc. At best, I would think we are on the order of 50% error.

So I am merely wondering about how the measurement is made and why volume is reported in cm. I am not really concerned about my actual test. Darren is fine. And I am doing alright, too. I would hope that someone, somewhere and at sometime understood the problem and gave it the best shot an engineer can give in order for hospitals to universally use this method.

But, the whole thing reminds me of a engineering joke we used to tell in college: A king decides to improve prosperity of his country by increasing the dairy production and he forms a council of a biologist, sociologist and an engineer. The biologist says "we should undertake a program of selective breeding to enhance the milk production traits of our cows." The sociologist says "we should study the behavior of our cows, how they interact with their keepers, surroundings, and each other, to minimize their stress which reduces milk production." The engineer goes to the blackboard and says "Let's assume the cow is a sphere ...."

Punchy

I am feeling rather celebratory! On Wednesday my ultrasound went well, showing that my cervix is still holding on and that my funnel width has decreased. For those of you who are unsure what that means, I borrowed the following image from a sonogram instructional website. When I was admitted to the hospital, my cervical length was zero, but it has somehow managed to lengthen to a whopping 0.5 cm! (A healthy cervical length is 3.0-2.5 cm).

http://www.sonographers.ca/COW.php?post=19

I have been gloriously stable! It is now 12:20am and today I go home! I am down right punchy! My own bed - with my own husband - with snuggles in the morning - and a window with trees outside instead of a helicopter pad - and a banjo - and loud music! I am looking forward to seeing my home. Only three more weeks of bed rest and then anything goes. Three weeks seems like nothing, all the sudden. My fingers are crossed that I'll make it to 35 weeks and that he is born shortly after that. I've had enough.

I know I have had enough because I am tired and uncomfortable. I mostly I know I have had enough because I have come to think of my nurses as .... friends. I joke around a lot with them. As I got my weekly shot, I said "Damn, your a pain in my ass!" Not an intelligent thing to say when you are getting a shot. A nurse shaking with laughter makes for a bigger pain in the ass. We laughed when I put pillows in my bed to make it look like I was sleeping when I was in the shower, and when I blew up hospital gloves and closed them in the door to look like a stuck hand. The nurses have joked with me as well. And I have learned not only their names, but the names of their spouses and children. So thank you nurses and friends who have helped make the best of my stay at DHMC.

May I not return until delivery in (more than) three weeks!

31 Weeks!

Today marks 31 weeks! Can you believe it? I have been in bed for 77 days and have been in the hospital for 31. Somehow it seems surreal that Darren is still growing in me! There is a hope that they may release me next Sunday, though I would still be on bed rest at home. However, I have remained fairly stable, though I have had a couple of incidents where I was unsure if my contractions would subside.

Most of the time I am exceedingly grateful for my stability, but there is a vague part of me that is slightly embarrassed. It may sound silly, but I am pretty convinced I will actually make it to 41 weeks without delivering - which seems so anticlimactic. What a drama this all seems. Sometimes I truly wonder if I am over reacting or being a wimp, especially when I feel fine. But deep inside, I know that isn't really the case. No one is hospitalized for 31 days for no cause. I do think I would have delivered without the weekly shot of drugs to stop and prevent further preterm labor. And I do believe that laying down for 77 days has prevented gravity from causing my cervix to dilate further. And I am grateful that I was given surfactant for the baby's lungs to develop faster. And I did find it a comfort to have so many ultrasounds to determine Darren is not only holding on, but actually thriving. And I am grateful for the security and safety I feel in the hospital regarding my own health. So if I make it to 41 weeks, I shall be grateful for all the safe guards I was provided and I will rejoice in the birth of my son. Even if the whole experience has been incredibly humbling.

I am feeling rather emotional about the whole thing. It has been rather intense. So please, no jokes or jests if I do make it to term. I don't think I would be a very good sport. But feel free to rejoice with us.

Psychological Danger

Has it really been six days since my last post? Goodness! I have been trying to think of something interesting to write about for days now, but all I could come up with everyday was "pulled through". I couldn't post that. "Pulled through" isn't even mine - it is from Diaries of Adam and Eve by Mark Twain. (By the way, this is one of the best books I have ever read. It is absolutely hysterical, and somehow it truly captivates female and male sentiments perfectly. It only takes an hour or so to read and can be downloaded for free: http://free-ebook-download.org/The-Diaries-of-Adam-and-Eve.html .) But "pulled through" is entirely accurate.

I am used to the monotony and seclusion from society that hospital captivity really provides, which worries me. I am in great psychological danger. Craig Haney refers to the negative effects of incarceration as institutionalization. You know what I mean - the inability to adjust to the real world after getting out - like the guy in Shawshank Redemption. You see, there is a rhythm to life here.

I wake up every morning at about 6:00. Some resident comes around and asks the same questions every day. "Any bleeding? Cramping or tenderness? Contractions? Leaking of fluids? Blurry vision? Head aches? Cramps in your legs? Is your baby moving?" Then they feel your belly for a bit and leave. The nurse comes in, repeats the questions, takes your vital signs. You eat your institution breakfast. About 8:00 you're hooked up to fetal monitors to watch contractions and the baby's heart beat. Shower and free time until noon. More institution food (though I sometimes have a visitor bearing gifts). Nap. Free time till supper. Shift change and the new nurse comes in, you're asked the same old questions and your vital signs are taken. You thank God the machines indicate you are still alive. You settle in for the night and the whole thing starts over in the morning.

All day you lay in a bed that automatically and periodically changes the pressure under you so you don't get bed sores and your legs are stuck in these pressurized "leg puffers" that keep up your circulation.

My psychological danger? My release. Will I sleep without leg puffers inflating and deflating every five seconds all night long? I may doubt my baby's health without hearing the nice little heart beat for an hour every day. I may be strangely lazy and ask John to get me things just out of my reach. I need my institution provided water container that measures how many quarts I drink through its straw. Really. I may become all dehydrated and shriveled without it. Oh, Lord, how will I ever survive without the little Styrofoam cups of ice cream? How will I handle grocery shopping - with three kids - or driving in 12A "traffic"? And what about my hospital induced hopeless addiction to Young Riders?!? How will I know I am alive without a machine to tell me so twice a day? And how will I get anywhere? WALK!?! Ahhhh! I have become like George in the Seinfeld episode where he gets a wheelchair so that people will always be nice to him! There are so many things that I won't know what to do with myself! Discipline to give and diapers to change and snacks to fix and meals to prepare and dishes to wash and laundry to do and tickles to dispense and skinned knees to kiss and on and on and on! Oh my word, I am so overwhelmed.

Oh. It is post lunch nap time. Phew.

Hospital Experiences

Today is my 66th consecutive day of laying in bed. And I have spent 23 of those days in the hospital. You have all sorts of different kinds of experiences in the hospital than when you are living in the outside world. During an extended stay in the maternity ward, you hear lots and lots of screaming. It is a strange thing to hear another woman screaming in the throws of labor pains. And you'd think that I would get used to it after 23 days of it. But I haven't. The screaming doesn't make me feel dread or fear. But I feel uncomfortable listening to something so intimate and private as birth. It is a feeling akin to when you hear two people in bed. It made me wonder if I did that when I deliver. John told me I don't yell, but I swear like a sailor. Funny, that somehow doesn't surprise me at all.

Sometimes you find yourself sharing experiences with strangers that are exceedingly triste. These experiences aren't your everyday interaction with strangers. One day I ended up crying with a family who had lost their child; I made them a card and gave them our contact info for support, but a card from me seems so pale and insignificant next to the hurt they were feeling. And I have seen tears streaming down other peoples faces - leaving me to assume the worst.

But there is plenty of laughter in the hospital too. Perhaps the most has come from an evening of wheelchair racing with Megan. I am only aloud to leave the ward with a "reasonable" adult - no joke, it says "reasonable" in my file. But Megan had them fooled and she wheeled me down to the front door of the hospital late one evening. There are about 100 chairs there for general use, but Megan was a tad nervous about taking one. I promised it wasn't a big deal, and so we found two that vaguely fit us. (Believe it or not, there was even a huge one; it must have been a double wide.) Very serenely, we wheeled past security, whistling and looking all innocent. And then we headed to the long corridor over by the doctors offices. Now mind you, I think if I had a Gatorade in my fist and sweatbands around my wrists and forehead, I would stand a chance. But no. I pretty much stink at using a wheelchair. I got creamed not once, not twice but three times! Much to my embarrassment the third time, I even had a handicap. So mortifying. We have a rematch scheduled for this evening, but I still have no sweatbands or Gatorade so I fear my future is doomed.

There are sweet experiences with some of the children in my life, too. Seth made me a spectacular banner with trucks down it's length. Cora made me a great card with her name (which she wrote herself) and lots of glitter. I received Secret Garden from a friends daughter. She had recently read it, loved it, and thought I might too. And I got a beautiful card from another friends daughter, complete with pictures of a "bango", a quilt with blank blocks for me to color, and a crying baby Darren - crying because he was just born. And another child brought me a pine cone to sniff since I haven't been outside in some time. What amazes me is their sense of compassion with no inkling of obligation.

Some things are actually exciting. I think now that I am nearing 30 weeks, I am finally starting to think this pregnancy will end with life and smiles and joy. I am finally starting feel excited. Yesterday's ultrasound confirmed that my cervix is holding steady! And I was able to have a 3D ultrasound image done. I think Darren looked like Cora, but John was unsure. It is exciting just to wait and see.

Miracle of Miracles

I was checked today and had a miracle of miracles! My cervix actually lengthened! According to the doctors that is very unusual. Though my cervix is still very weak and dilated, I am counting my blessings. And so you might wonder what this means. Unfortunately, it doesn't mean it is safe for me to go home. But I have a new found joy of joys .... I can walk down the (very short) hall to get my own drinks and use the microwave. I found my thirst was absolutely insatiable! Absolutely unquenchable! And I even considered brushing out my perma-bedhead hair just to go to the little closet of a room. After all, I might actually see another human being who is not wearing scrubs! There are glorious treasures in this room ..... ice cream and juice, puddings and popsicles, milk and crackers! And I, a woman of great progress, have the new found freedom to get these treasures myself. I wonder if this is how women felt when they first were given the right to vote.

Most importantly, it means that Darren and I are doing unbelievably well, all considering. So thank you for all your prayers ..... and thank goodness I somehow have managed to behave myself. It seems to really be paying off.

The Roommate

I've been warned I am getting a roommate - another "long timer", most likely. (The nurses call us "long timers".) I love people, and yet I dread having a roommate. I don't have a fear of not liking her, or of her driving me crazy, or of her keeping me up all night long with snoring. I dread it because she is a stranger. Over the years, I have learned some tactics for keeping my spirits up. Excersizing. Hiking. Picking flowers. Bed rest has taught me the importance of friends and family. Visits have been my greatest tool to combating depression. And visits are suddenly being ripped away from me. I know it is technically okay to have visitors and I hope you all continue to come. But all intimate and personal conversation is suddenly gone. How am I supposed to call John and tell him how much I love him and cry and tell how much bed rest sucks and that I feel miserable he is missing all of Darren's kicking - with a complete stranger sitting a couple of feet away from me? Connecting with my husband is already a challenge. How am I supposed to confess all my greatest fears to my friends? How can I expect my friends to tell me anything personal? Or my husband? And God help me when the kids come to visit all hyped up on hospital ice cream cups and then slide around the floor on the IV stand - while that stranger is trying to sleep! And should I move all the art they have plastered all over the walls?

I want to be kind - really kind from the depths of me. I want to be kind with an I-know-this-really-sucks-and-I-wish-the-best-for-you-and-yours compassion. I want to be generous with a sure-I'll-give-up-the-window-side-of-the-room attitude. How can I feel so selfish?

Still, here's to hoping the situation is only for a day or two.

Asherman's Syndrome

Several people asked me what Asherman's Syndrome is, how it has effected me and what the fall out has been. Though this is a vulnerable story, I share it because Asherman's syndrome is so rare, which creates a feeling of isolation for those who do get it. Also, there is a need for greater awareness of women's health issues.

I had two healthy full term pregnancies before this one. My son is 5 and my daughter is 3.5. However, after each delivery, I had retained placenta. Unfortunately, both times it was undiscovered for weeks; both times I got uterine infections and had D&Cs. After my daughter, not all the retained product was removed during the first D&C and a second D&C was performed a week later. Months went by uneventfully but my cycles did not return. The doctors assured me this was normal since I was breastfeeding. But I felt them. Every 28 days I had excruciating pain, literally bringing me to my knees in tears. The writhing pain would last for about 2 days. My ob-gyns were unable to diagnose me. Once they thought I had a stomach bug. Then it was gas. Then it was constipation. Finally, after seeing several doctors and months of incredible pain, I had a hysterosalpingogram (HSG). I had Asherman's Syndrome, class IV. The condition is very hard to diagnose because it is not easily detectable by ultrasound.

Asherman's Syndrome is an acquired condition. It is characterized by adhesions (scar tissue) resulting from uterine trauma (ie. retained placenta, uterine infection, an overly aggressive D&C, a missed miscarriage or an elective abortion). In many cases the walls of the uterus grow together. It can be likened to a balloon left in a hot car and melted. This was true in my case and I had less than 5% of my uterine cavity left. Because it is a physical problem, your hormones still allow you to ovulate and the remaining endometrial lining still thickens and sheds (menstruation). However, my scarring prevented the lining from shedding through the cervix. Rather, it backwashed up my fallopian tube, into my abdomen and was reabsorbed into my body causing my monthly pain.

Asherman's is rare and must be treated by a very experienced physician to prevent worsening the condition. There are only a handful of specialists in the U.S. After several misdiagnoses and an unsatisfactory treatment plan at my local facility, I began commuting to Newton Wellesley Hospital's Center for Minimally Invasive Gynecological Surgery. I had two surgeries and several in-office procedures to irradicate my adhesions.

Though Asherman's often results in infertility, I had no problems getting pregnant after treatment. My third pregnancy failed during the second trimester and I was forced to have another D&C after which I hemorrhaged - all a complete nightmare. My fourth pregnancy I had a missed miscarriage and yet another D&C. The specialists were unable to tell me why my pregnancies failed. None of the data following my two miscarriages was conclusive, though I felt it was from my Asherman's.

John and I decided we were blessed to have two children and agreed to stop. I was stunned to find I was pregnant with Darren. So, are my current problems related to Asherman's? We don't know. This pregnancy I have been diagnosed with an incompetent cervix, which can be caused by repeated intrauterine procedures performed through the cervical entrance. However, no data proves or disproves that is true in my case. An incompetent cervix can also be caused hormonally. We simply don't know which is true for me.

Asherman's is difficult for many reasons. It simultaneously attacks you physically, sexually, emotionally and spiritually. It attacks your marriage. It attacks your family. It makes you wonder about life and death and God and community. It makes you ask existential questions. But, amazingly, my experience made me grow as a person; it has given me a broader and healthier perspective of the world around me.

Along the way, I learned the female body is incredibly amazing and even more complex than anyone realizes. The female body is strong and amazingly resilient. It is beautiful. Conception and birth are true miracles. I learned people have no control over life or death. I learned doctors don't have all the answers and that, in many ways, medicine is a soft science. I learned my doctors are doing the best they can to help my family and me, though they don't always get it right. Through these realizations, much of my anger and frustration has been alleviated. I have come to believe that doctors have my best interest in mind. I learned to extend a little more grace.

Asherman's has taught me to value relationships in a much deeper way than I ever have before. I have a stronger belief and commitment to community and friendship. I have a healthier view of marriage. I have a much stronger belief in a God and different idea of who that God is.

This is only one story of many, but I hope it helps in a small way. Please feel free to post questions or comments. And if you have Asherman's Syndrome or an incompetent cervix I hope this helps you to feel not so alone.

Bed Rest Survival Tips

Should you ever go on bed rest, I highly recommend the Mobile Welder Café! Today Cathy came over with a fantastic spread of chicken salad with hints of pineapple, celery sticks with dressing, crackers and cheese and a fantastic fruit salad. Perhaps the biggest treat of all was the 18 oz of dried pineapple. For some reason, pineapple is doubly as tasty this pregnancy. The spread was a good change from the over cooked hospital food I ate last night. And over a scrum-didily-umptious lunch, the Mobile Welder Café also provides delightful companionship.

And should you ever go on bed rest, I highly recommend massage therapy. Being in bed all the time (except for the joyous occasions to rise for the bathroom - not a privilege granted to all bed-rest-doomed women) makes your whole body ache. In particular, my hips and shoulders were very sore from my limited mobility. But the massage therapist came today and my pain was greatly relieved after only a half hour of working on my muscles. Most amazing was my immediate hip relief! I almost feel limber!

Also, should you ever experience any extended amount of time in the hospital for anything, I highly recommend getting some plants. I was lucky enough to receive three: a Christmas cactus, some tulips and some daffodils. The tulips were mere buds last night. We woke together at dawn, the tulips and I. As I opened my eyes, they slowly blossomed into beautiful purple flowers. Everyone should wake with the flowers at least once in their lives. I am looking forward my daffodils following suit.

All these things help to keep depression at bay. A special thank you to all my friends who have cared for me. You all make me believe in the goodness of God, even when the road looks bleak ahead.

Not all days in the hospital are so luxurious. Not all days are filled with such pleasures. But I am now 28 weeks and 3 days. My next goal is to make it to 32 weeks before Darren is born. I pray God lets me hold him when he is born; I don't want to see him whisked away, even for his own good. I look forward to the intimacy of those first few moments and hours when John and I gaze at him in awe, all snuggled up close. I pray that cuddly time will be right away.

Another Day

Today officially marks 28 weeks of pregnancy down. And we made it to 2011. Not much planned for the day. John brought the kids in to see me yesterday and brought some pictures of them all making snowmen and snow forts out in the back yard. It was bittersweet to see. I saw them all happy and having fun, but I also saw the blank space where I wanted to be. Some days it feels like I am missing a whole chapter of my children's lives. I have to remind myself to behave because I don't want to end up like the guy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. It wouldn't do my family much good if I end up with a lobotomy for misconduct.