Single Track

Trail running really puts me out of my comfort zone.  I don’t have a lot of experience with it and I have a high fear of falling.  When I run, I have a tendency to keep my feet really low, close to the pavement.  Trail running requires more lifting of the foot.  It’s something I have to think about constantly when I’m on the trails because it doesn’t come naturally. And I get distracted VERY easily.  So, I trip a lot.  Despite that, I was motivated to check out trails this weekend. 

My motivation comes from my new job at a nature center in Elm Creek Park Reserve.  I want to feel more closely connected to the park so I wanted to get out and explore some of the trails further away from the nature center.  With the help of another runner, I managed to convince my Minneapolis running club to check out Elm Creek, some 35 driving minutes northwest of our usual meeting spot.  The other runner put together a plan to run the entire course on a single track trail.  There were many loop options, so we had the option of running 3 miles or up to 11 miles without repeating any of the route.  For those of you who don’t know, single track pretty much means single file.  The course was actually a mountain bike course.  Lots of ups and downs and turns and variety.  No two steps were alike.  It’s as mentally challenging as it is physically. 

I found myself in a similar mindset to Monday night’s run . . . the one where I was concerned about running alone in the dark so I ran about as fast as I could to keep up with the group.  With single track, we all run in a line.  If I didn’t go fast enough, there would be a pile up.  Once again, I had to run faster than physically comfortable to be mentally comfortable in the group.  I tried to keep myself in the front half of our group of 15.  I didn’t want to feel like I was falling behind.  I was pushing hard and I could definitely feel it.   This might sound strange, but I’m not used to my legs being tired when I run.  On the trails, they’re stepping sideways, hopping over rocks and roots, ducking under branches, and Oh the hills!  Trail running is truly a different sport from road running. 

While I was running I kept having the frantic mindset of, “I can’t keep up!  I can’t keep up!  I’m going to fall!”  But at some point, I decided to conquer the mental game.  I changed my thinking to, “I can do this.  I AM doing this.  So what if I fall.”  On I trucked.  Turning right.  Turning left.  Ducking down.  Stepping over.    Swinging around tree trunks.  Over and over.  I eventually made it to the 8 mile turn around and felt a huge sense of relief.  What a workout!  I expected many of us would be heading back at this point, but it was only me and my friend Matt.  Things got a lot quieter as a pack of two.  We had a peaceful run back to the trailhead through the prairie and forest.  When I caught sight of the parking lot, I thought, “Already?”  Trail miles have the tendency to sneak by faster than you would realize.  At that moment, I wished I had pushed myself a little further outside of my comfort zone to finish the 11 mile loop.  It wasn’t until I stepped off of the trail that I realized I still had a lot more in me.  Those kinds of moments are both welcome and frustrating.  Welcome because I’m getting stronger.  That’s a glorious feeling in itself.  Frustrating because I missed out on a harder workout, especially because opportunities for me to run are unpredictable.  Now I know for next time.  I’ve got more in me than I think. 

I was grateful for the run.  Grateful to run with Coach Mitch again after his injury.  (I hadn’t seen him much lately.)  Grateful to be part of the pack again.  Grateful that the other runner had experience on these trails and had planned everything out.  Grateful to have Matt run with me back to the trailhead.  But mostly, grateful for pushing myself out of my comfort zone and gaining the confidence that comes whenever I do that.  

And I didn’t even fall.  

The Hardest Decisions

My parents came into town last week.  Their plan is to stay with us through Sunday and we are so grateful for the help.  It means we can do things like sleep through the 2 a.m. feeding while my mom takes care of it.  It means we don’t have to be up at the crack of dawn with Daughter because my dad is an early riser. 

When I realized the advantage of having extra adults around, I immediately thought of running.  In the last several weeks, my running has been sparse.  I’ve been trying to nail down my family’s work-daycare-commuting-bedtime routine before trying to fit running back into my life.  (I can’t help but think about how ridiculous it seems that we would have a routine.  We are soooooo far away from that.)  Unless there are extra adults in my household, running is rarely an option.   

I took a few minutes on Sunday to plan a week of workouts since we had the help this week:  Leave work a little early on Monday so I can run with the club; go to body pump Tuesday morning while Daughter is at preschool (didn’t have to bring the baby with me); enjoy Halloween on Wednesday with my family; run in the afternoon on Thursday; and then catch up with the club again on Saturday morning.  It seemed easy enough and completely realistic.

And then came Monday, a whirlwind day at work.  The kind of day that offers a 5 minute lunch and 5 minutes to pump.  I didn’t leave work as early as I was hoping and raced home as best as I could in rush hour traffic.  (The drive home is almost an hour.)  I really wanted to run and I was anxious to meet the club.  My motivation was high. 

Until I walked in the door and picked up my baby boy.  How could I turn around and leave him again when I’d been gone all day?  And for something as selfish as running.  I was immediately overwhelmed with emotions.  Sad about not spending the day with him.  Conflicted about being a working mom.  But most of all, frustrated that I can’t fit all the things I want into my life.  So damn frustrated. 

I went upstairs to pump, but while I was up there, I decided that it would be ridiculous to run.  My family needs me.  My baby will only be little for a short while.  Chris got home and I talked it through with him.  I told him I can’t win, but I should err on the side of my family.  I will be upset no matter what I choose.  I imagined the tears streaking down my face while I was out running because I wasn’t home with my family.  At the same time I imagined being crabby and miserable because I missed a run yet again. 

In the end, I decided to run, since I had planned on it.  As much as I didn’t want to, I was going to follow through with my plan.  In that moment, I hated myself for it.  It’s the age old dilemma of parents.  Where do you draw the line between doing what’s best for yourself vs. doing what’s best for your kids?  If you have an answer, I’d love to hear it. 

So off to running club I went.  I got there a few minutes late and ended up following some of my old pace group, a group I haven’t run with in ages because I’m a lot slower than them these days.  What’s not-so-fun about running club this time of year is that it’s dark.  I very soon realized that if I couldn’t keep up with them, I’d be running alone in the dark.  So I hauled ass.  I ran with Bruce for a while and listened to him talking with another runner.  I, however, was unable to speak.  I was sucking wind the whole time.  My entire warm-up was a crazy fast pick-up.  But I did it.  I stuck with the group.   When we got to the Tyrol hill loops, I took off ahead of the group while they were getting situated.  I figured they would be passing me very shortly, so my plan was to prolong that.  What ended up happening was unexpected.  I ended up running alone in the dark AHEAD of my group.  I can’t explain why they didn’t catch me.  I suspect they were all running extra slow for my benefit, but they denied this.  I ended up running all three loops alone and I loved it.  I was running.  I wasn’t getting passed.  I felt great.  Euphoric, even.  I can easily say it was my best run of the year because the improvement was tangible.   I’m running faster than I did a couple weeks ago.  It was awesome. 

I was still flying high on endorphins when I got home.  When I walked through the door, though, I fell all the way down from that high.  It was 7:30 and Baby was already in bed for the night.  In the entire day, I spent less than an hour with him.  My heart broke immediately.  How could I be so selfish?  How is this ever going to work?

I still don’t know how to make it work.  I’ll get my workouts in when I can here or there, but there will be no routine to speak of for a long while.  Not while sleep is so unpredictable for all of us.  I never even got to tell Chris about my awesome run or how I kept up with my old pace group.  When he reads it here, it’ll be the first time he hears about it.  Life is still pretty hectic for us.  We’re doing okay, but a lot of the time, I feel like we’re just barely getting by. 

And the one take-away thought I’m keeping with me from Monday’s experience:  Working moms can’t have it all.  We just can’t.  Something has to give at all times, whether it’s the quality of our work or the quality of time spent with our family.  And that doesn’t even include time for ourselves.  Time for running.  Time for having a date with our husbands.  Or even time to tell partners about our days.  

It's Okay

I have a new mantra:

“It’s okay.” 

I tell this to myself this at least a hundred times a day and it calms me down.  At least for a second.

When I forget to restock the diaper bag and the only thing Baby has after his blowout is a clean diaper and some of Daughter’s socks to wear as pants . . .

It’s okay.

When I try to get to bed immediately after Daughter’s bedtime so I can get 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep before Baby wakes up, but then remember that Baby is out of clean bibs and laundry can’t wait, and the sink is still full of dishes and Daughter needs a nice family photo to bring to school tomorrow and Crap!  I haven’t pumped yet and there are no clean bottles . . .

It’s okay.

When it’s the first day back at work at a facility I’ve never worked at before and I miss Baby like crazy and it’s the same day my mom is having surgery . . .

It’s okay.

When I can’t get out for the walk around the lake that I was really hoping to get in since it was such a nice day out . . .

It’s okay.

When I keep running out of time to eat because all of the sudden I’ve become a soccer mom . . .

It’s okay. 

When the weight doesn’t come off as fast as I was hoping, but at least it’s coming off . . .

It’s okay. 

When the guilt weighs me down as I race out the door to get to running club, leaving Chris alone with the kids at their neediest time of day . . .

It’s okay. 

When I realize just how much time and work it will take to run well again . . .

It’s okay. 

When I can’t find the time to get rid of the dead plants that have been sitting on the counter for 2 months, or to pick up the mound of clothes that have accumulated on my desk chair, or to send in the registration form for the MNA conference, or to order birth announcements, or reply to that email . . .

It’s okay. 

When I do find a block of free time and just stare at the TV instead of crossing anything off my to-do list . . .

It’s okay. 

When I wake up exhausted at 4 in the morning and realize I won’t get a chance to rest until after Daughter’s bedtime . . .

It’s okay. 

When I realize I’m just barely getting by, but also happier than I’ve ever been in my life . . .

It’s okay.

Goals

I need a goal. 

While I was walking around the lake today, I considered how my goals have changed over the past 6 months.  Actually, I considered what a friend told me back when I was still running.  It was something along the lines of:  You’re priorities will change after you have a second kid.  Running is not going to be important anymore.

My goal going into pregnancy was to run throughout, maybe even up to my due date.  I wanted to run the 5k at Urban Wildland that would be 2 weeks before my due date.  Then came the complication and I had to amend.  No more running.  My new goal was to walk as much as possible.  So I did.  Walking lasted about 6 weeks before I was put on bed rest.  On bedrest, there was no exercise allowed at all.  My goal evolved into: see how little you can move in a day.  And, Let’s see how long we can keep this baby in.  When it became apparent that the baby would be a preemie, my goal was for him to be as big as possible.  I willed him to be a big baby because I didn’t want him to have complications.  He ended up big at birth, coming in at 5 -9 at 34 weeks.  But he also had complications.  When he was in the incubator the day he was born, my goal was for him to get stronger and rely less on the forced oxygen.  My goal was for him to NOT have to be transferred to the other hospital.  The opposite happened.  Once at Children’s, I hoped he wouldn’t need a ventilator.  He did.  I spent the following days with the goal of him getting it taken out.  I think you get the idea. 

My goals used to be about me.  Then they shifted to be about my son.  Now that he’s healthy and getting older (5 weeks!), I can start to think about my goals again.  Where should I start?

There’s always Boston.  In the old days, it was only 27 seconds away.  Although, that was a different me.  And it seems too far away right now to be useful.  Sure I’ll keep it in the back of my mind for someday.  But for today, it’s abstract and intangible. 

As for half marathons and marathons, I really have no idea.  I’m sure I’ll run them again, but I’m not sure which ones.  Who knows what my goals will be when I do?  Coach says I shouldn’t compare my current self to my pre-pregnancy self.  I’ll try to keep an open mind. 

The only race I’m confident about is the Kenosha Turkey Day run.  There’s a 2 mile and a 10k option.  I figure I should at least be able to run 2 miles by Thanksgiving.  I’m really hoping, though, that I can make a light run of the 10k.  Finishing the 10k would be nice.  It seems like a reasonable goal, no?

My biggest goal right now is to get this postpartum body back into running shape.  There are still a few puzzles to figure out, like “Can I run when my bra size is this outrageous?” and “How do I fit a long run in between feedings?”  I have been able to keep up my lake walks every day, a feat I’m proud of.  I’m even getting a sore knee and I find it endearing.  The scale has been creeping down.  I’m getting there . . . very slowly.

Next week, I’m expecting to be cleared for running by my OB.   It doesn’t necessarily mean that I should go out and run right away.  But it will give me more confidence that I am actually healing.  Running a mile will be my first goal.  Running a lake will be my second.  Running 2 lakes will make me feel like I’m a runner again.  That’s really all I want to be:  a runner.  

Four Weeks Postpartum

Baby Boy is four weeks old today.  I can’t believe it.  It seems like those 2 weeks in the hospital shouldn’t count, but that’s not how time works.  The newborn days are so very precious to me.  I love these first few weeks of a baby’s life . . . when he’s all helpless and floppy.  And so dang cute!!  It’s the short time before he will grow into his baby face, a face that will resemble his kid face and his grown-up face.  I love his smell and his involuntary actions:  his startle reflex and the way he roots around for something to suck on, even if it’s just my nose. 

Of the past four weeks, only one was scary.  Only part of one, in truth.  (Someday I’ll post about our experiences in the hospital, but not today.)  The rest of the time has been getting by.  Regular life with a newborn.  Feedings every 2-4 hours.  12-15 diaper changes a day.  And lots and lots of cuddles.  He’s a fantastic baby.  He nurses well, which the nurses told me is unusual for a preemie.  He sleeps about 23.5 hours out of the day.  And he only cries if something is wrong.  There’s none of this colic business that I was warned about with early babies.

Big Sister has been wonderful with him.  She loves her little brother and is very gentle with him.  We can’t always get her to wash her hands before she strokes his hair and holds his hand, but she does most of the time.  She’s not jealous yet, but I’m still waiting for that.

My recovery these last four weeks has been rather slow.  I haven’t had a break from the achy abdominal incision since I had surgery.  While the center of the scar feels fine, both ends are still giving me quite a bit of trouble in the sub-dermal layers.  Part of that may have to do with my early discharge from the hospital.  I needed to be close to my baby and wasn’t about to wait around at Methodist while he was in intensive care at Children’s.  As a result, I didn’t spend as much time in bed recovering at the hospital as I would have under normal circumstances.  Another part of it may also have to do with the surgeon’s method.  He decided to use the incision from my previous C section and expand it by several inches on each end.  This was his approach to getting around my errant placenta and doing his best to avoid “taking the uterus.”  (Side note:  It was fascinating to watch him plot out the surgery by using ultrasound.  Also disturbing at the same time.)  (Question:  why does it hurt on the edges of my incision while my whole lower abdomen is numb?)  In any case, I’m in more pain than I was expecting to be in four weeks post-op.  It makes me think that my running days are still a long ways away.     

Although it’s been slow, I’m better than I was two weeks ago.  I’m able to walk around the lake without too much trouble.  Today, I didn’t have the shooting pain in my middle that I had last time I walked Harriet.  I took that as a good sign.  My goal is to walk a lake (or walk an hour) every day.  I skipped yesterday, though, because I was hurting too much.  I’m on the fence about how to pursue exercise in my current state.  Should I wait until it doesn’t hurt at all?  That could take weeks!  Or should I keep going as long as the pain doesn’t get a lot worse.   If you know me at all, you know I’m going to lean toward the latter.  I’ve been sedentary for too long.  Plus, I think recovery will go a little better if I’m using my muscles as opposed to babying them. 

The walks have been great for my mental well-being.  I can’t say that I’ve been in a bad place, by any means, but it’s a bonus to finally be able to get some exercise.  With Daughter, I had postpartum depression and I’ve been waiting for that to settle in again.  It hasn’t yet.  But then, life is a lot different now than it was 3 years ago.  There were so many unknowns the last time around.  It was terrifying.  Plus, I didn’t have the ECFE Moms and I didn’t have my running club back then.  This time around, I feel a greater sense of purpose and a much greater sense of belonging.  I’m a lot happier and more confident, despite the annoying constant ache in my belly.

Clothes are a challenge.  I’m not quite maternity and not quite regular yet.  Don’t even get me started on bras.  (I’m a different size every day!)  But today was the first day, I saw myself as normal again.  A few sizes bigger than usual, but normal.  I finally feel like I’m on my way back.  A few dozen more lake walks and I might even fit into my running clothes again.  

Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

Just when I thought things were looking up -  reaching 34 weeks and starting to breathe easier about Baby - the doctor put my fear level back at its rightful place today, somewhere up near the ceiling.  Upstairs. 

34 weeks and counting

We’ve had a couple of dates we’ve been debating about for the planned C-section: July 26^th and July 30^th.  Since we were seeing someone new today (my regular doctor is on vacation), we decided to ask New Doctor her opinion.  Our intentions were to keep baby in as long as possible.  It seems like the logical thing to do.  Less critical, but also worth considering, is the fact that Chris takes the Bar Exam on July 24^th and 25^th. 

New Doctor got us to think otherwise, with very few words.  She said that as pregnancy continues, the risk for baby goes down and the risk for mama goes up.  She said the longer we wait, the more likely the chance that they would have to “take the uterus.”  Now there’s a phrase that will grab your attention.  In fact, it hasn’t left my attention since we left the clinic. 

According to New Doc, the longer my pregnancy goes, the more likely I’d head into the hospital during another bleeding episode, either from placental detachment, or the onset of labor, or some other reason (the odds are really not in my favor).  And if I go into the hospital again while I’m bleeding, chances are it would be bad, meaning significant blood loss.  If the bleeding doesn’t slow down in a reasonable amount of time, they could take my uterus at the same time they would take my baby. 

I didn’t realize it until this afternoon, but I’m pretty fond of my womb.  I sure would like to keep it.  You might be wondering if we are planning on having more kids.  The honest answer is possibly.  Maybe even probably.  We were going to see how we could handle two before making any final decisions.  I could easily see myself having a third, though.  I absolutely love babies and I love being a mom.  Having the choice taken away would be traumatic, to say the least. 

So now we’re planning on July 26^th for delivery and we’re hoping with all of our might that we make it that far without hemorrhaging.  17  more days. 

Into the Fire

911

So it happened again.  After dinner last Thursday night, I sat down on one of my many trips to the bathroom.  After a minute, I could still hear trickling, but I was pretty sure my bladder muscles were done doing their work.  I stood up to check out what was happening and was immediately terrified.  The entire bowl was full of blood.  And blood was still trickling out of me. 

Instant panic.  I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t leave the toilet because I was leaking.  Was it just blood or was there amniotic fluid mixed in?  It reminded me a lot of when my water broke with Daughter:  a constant trickle.  I knew that if I was leaking fluid, I’d be having a baby real soon.  I got Chris’ attention and then proceeded to lose my cool.  I sobbed in the bathroom for a couple minutes, but then caught sight of Daughter still sitting at the kitchen table.  Like a smack in the face, this snapped me out of it.  I grabbed a maxi pad and got myself somewhat dressed.  Again, Chris and I fumbled with “Do we drive to ER or do we call 911?”  I couldn’t make a decision.  Chris made it for me and was on the phone with 911 dispatch by the time I came out of the bathroom.  I laid myself down on the kitchen floor to help combat gravity, not knowing at the time that I would be completely horizontal for the next 16 hours. 

                                                           

In the few minutes before the paramedics arrived, I tried my best to make Daughter comfortable.  That sweet girl brought a pillow from the couch and together, she and I laid on the kitchen floor and cuddled.  It was exactly what I needed.  Probably what we both needed.  I was worried about how she would process what was happening and what was about to happen. Thankfully, she’s a bright, well-adjusted girl.  She handled it well. 

Within minutes, my house was full of half a dozen rescue workers.  I found out later that several of them were firemen, but  I never saw the fire truck.  A couple of them started asking me questions in overly calm voices.  They couldn’t get the regular wheeled stretcher into the house, so they carried me out in an old school stretcher.  They called it the canvas and poles.  Once down both sets of front steps, they set the canvas onto the gurney and wheeled me to the ambulance.  I could see Daughter and my mom watching from the porch as I was taken away.  I desperately wanted to kiss my girl and say goodbye to her, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.  So I just watched her until she was out of view. 

In the ambulance, Chris sat on the bench next to me.  They started an IV.  Then we were on our way with lights and sirens.  The whole shebang.  I heard the paramedic tell the hospital that I was experiencing a possible miscarriage.   Thankfully, I knew better or I would have believed him. 

The whole way there, I thought about Daughter and my unborn son and hoped they were both okay. 

At the hospital, I got wheeled around quite a bit before we got to the right place.  The whole gurney was brought into a tiny triage room and I was put on the monitors right away.  Like last week, my uterus showed signs of irritability, but no signs of full-blown contractions.  I wasn’t in labor. 

Within 15 minutes, I was admitted and brought to a room.  Within 30 minutes, I had an IV in each arm, an automatic blood pressure cuff on my left bicep, and the perinatal doctor pressing on my belly with an ultrasound wand.  He asked how much blood I lost, which was impossible to answer.  How do you measure how much of the red toilet bowl was blood vs. water?  He seemed mad that I couldn’t give him a straight answer.  It was at this point that my blood pressure tanked.  It dropped to something absurd, like 45 over 30.  I never got the official number because I was in a haze, very, very close to passing out.  I got extremely hot and nauseous.  The doc ordered an oxygen mask on my face.  I turned to my side and stared at Chris while he kept talking to me.  About every ten seconds, he asked if I was okay.  I nodded when I could.  I felt awful. 

Slowly, I pulled out of that slump.  The doc explained to Chris, since I was not terribly alert, that my fluid level looked good, meaning I hadn’t broken my water.  He also explained that it’s pretty near impossible for me to be leaking fluid because of the placenta blocking the way.  Physically, the fluid has nowhere to go.  The doc also showed Chris a blood clot the size of a baseball and said I would be passing that in the next couple days.  He thought this was causing the uterine irritability. 

After the doc left, two nurses got to work on me.  When labs came in to take some vials of blood, the nurses realized I didn’t have an ID band on yet, so they rushed off to get that.  Sometime later, I noticed I was still wearing my civilian shirt and thankfully, it didn’t have any blood on it yet.  The nurse helped me take it off and feed it through the IV lines.  Then, she got me into a hospital gown.  Since they really didn’t want me to get up at all, I was lucky enough to get a catheter.   They also put me on magnesium sulfate via the IV to quiet the uterus and help baby’s nervous system.  Being on that is a lot like being stoned.  That’s how I stayed for the next 14 hours:  on my side, IV in both arms, catheter, blood pressure taken every 15 minutes, still leaking blood.  And the nurses said, “Try to get some rest.”  With all of that, I probably could have if I didn’t have the leaking.  As it was, I didn’t sleep at all. 

A new perinatal doc came to see me at 8:15 on Friday morning.  He told me lots of wonderful news.  The bleeding had stopped.  I could eat breakfast, since they were no longer expecting to deliver me right away.  Until that point, I was not allowed to eat or drink.  He also said I didn’t need my catheter anymore.  I was genuinely excited about that.  (It’s the little things.) He told me to get comfortable because I would be here at the hospital for a week or more.  He explained that they like to see at least 5 days of no bleeding before they will send mamas home.  He also explained that if I had a third episode of bleeding, I would be admitted to the hospital for the duration of my pregnancy.  He said, “Three strikes and you’re in.” 

On Saturday, I got moved down a floor since I was no longer a critical case.  And that’s where I’ve been since.  I haven’t really minded being in the hospital and that’s mostly because of fear of having an early preemie with lots of medical complications.  It’s easier to relax here than I expect it will be at home.  There aren’t things to clean or jobs to do here.  There’s just bed.  My menu and my 3 delivered meals.  TV.  Books.  Company.    I’m not bored yet, if you can believe it. 

On Sunday morning, Chris and I got woken up by lab coming to take more blood.  I asked her what it was for, expecting her to say hemoglobin since it was pretty low when I got admitted, but she explained it was to have a sample of my blood on hand in case I need a transfusion.  They need a fresh sample every 72 hours.  I still don’t understand this.  I’m pretty sure my blood type isn’t going to change at all, let alone every 72 hours.  But they say it’s the antibodies or some other factors in the blood that change. 

The view from my hospital room.  

They monitor baby twice a day and he’s been getting gold stars every time.  He’s very active and his accels are great.  They look for variation in his heartbeat to show he’s getting enough oxygen to move around and karate chop me from the inside.  For those of you who are runners, they like to see baby doing fartleks.  Since the blood loss is coming from the placenta, there is concern that baby is not getting enough oxygen, but thankfully that’s not what’s going on in our case.  The nurse practitioner assured me the blood loss is completely my own.  None of it is coming from baby.  Then she reminded me of how much extra blood volume pregnant women have.  150 – 200%

As of today, I am IV free.  In fact, I have nothing taped to my body right now . . . for the first time since last Thursday.  We had an ultrasound this morning and Baby looks stellar.  He’s really doing well.   There’s still no additional bleeding, but still no talk of being sent home.  That’s okay.  I feel safer here. 

The only hard part of hospital bedrest is missing Daughter and losing my ability to take care of her.  This is excruciating.  She comes to see me every day, but she’s an active little girl and I have to be careful around her.  She keeps asking me if I’m okay.  I tell her I am.  Then she asks why I’m in the hospital if I’m okay.  It’s difficult for her to understand. It’s been over a week since I last read her bedtime stories or tucked her in.  Like I mentioned before, she’s handling it well, but she needs her parents. 

Chris has been with me every night in the hospital.  Sometimes he goes home to take Daughter to the park or tuck her in, but he’s been sleeping here next to me on the pull out chair.  I’m continually struck by how much he cares about me.  He’s a good, good man.  Yesterday I told him, “I’ve never felt as loved by you as when you push me around in the wheelchair.”  And it’s true.  Being completely vulnerable is making me appreciate the people that surround me.  Especially Chris. 

There’s a good chance that I’ll be having another episode like this one again in the near future.  In fact, the doctor told me there’s a 50% chance of it.  For now, things are quiet and that’s good.  Every day that Baby Boy stays in is a celebration.  As of now, I am 31 weeks 2 days.  We’re looking forward to 32 weeks for a little bit of a safety net.  

Gratitude

The last few days, I have been thinking about how grateful I am to know the people that I know.  How different would my experience in maternity ER have been if I didn’t know the doctor on staff that day?  Instead of talking about all things serious, we talked about our neighborhood (she lives close by), we talked about our kids who take the same gym classes, we talked about qualifying for Boston and running in general.  In other words, it was relaxing to chat with her.  At the very least, it was distracting. 

I found big source of relief from texting with another friend while I was waiting in triage – a naturalist friend who happens to be the guy that introduced me to running club.  When the doctors told us we might be transferred to another hospital better equipped to deal with early preemies, I immediately thought of his wife, a pediatric doctor.  I wasn’t sure which hospital she worked at, so I asked him and explained our situation.  He replied with all kinds of helpful and encouraging information and gave me his wife’s contact information.  She was more than willing to answer our medical questions and even offered to watch Daughter that day, since she wasn’t at work.   Their generosity and support was comforting and raised my spirits.

Another nice surprise was a high school friend who works at the hospital.  She came to chat with me during her downtime after noticing I was on the patient list.  I hadn’t seen her since I was in the hospital in labor with Daughter three years ago, but she was easy to talk to.  We talked about our kids a lot and a little about Kenosha.  It was really nice. 

Since my last post, I have been overwhelmed with the kindness of the people in my world.  We have gotten numerous offers to babysit Daughter.  Neighbors reminded us that they are around waiting for us to call on them, willing to do whatever needs doing.  A gal from running club offered to come and clean my house.  Friends offered to bring us meals.  Beyond all the physical help, I have had all kinds of moral support.  Phone calls, emails, text messages, and visits.    The reassurance and companionship has been just what I needed. 

I got a chance to chat with my good friend Laura yesterday.  Laura used to live here in Minnesota, but moved back to upstate New York five years ago.  She’s one of those people I don’t talk to very often, but when we do get back in touch, it’s as if no time has passed.  We were on the phone for about two hours.  By the time we hung up, I felt invigorated.  She has a way of pointing out all the good in my life in a way that I never would have considered.  She’s a treasure. 

I want to say thanks to all of you for the love, support, and most of all, friendship.  I’m so very appreciative of circles of friends that I’ve made over the years.  I’m feeling incredibly lucky tonight.   

Too Soon

I’m terribly glad to be well-informed about my complete placenta previa.  Had I not been aware, I would have thought the bleeding I had in the shower yesterday was a miscarriage.  Don’t get me wrong, it was still shocking and scary as hell, but it was also expected. 

It was 7:15 and Daughter needed to be dropped off at school.  Chris and I had a few moments of panic.  Do we take her to school and then go to the hospital?  Do we just take her with us to the hospital?  Does Chris drop me at the hospital and then take her to school?  Should we call 911?  We were confused and unable to think clearly.  All we knew was that we needed to get to the emergency room as quickly as possible.  Eventually, we found our reasonable thinking skills and dropped Daughter at Chris’ sister a few blocks away.  They were able to take her to school, no problem.  Huge Relief! 

Off we went to the ER.  My darling husband may have (safely) ran a few red lights on the way, making sure there was no opposing traffic before scooting across the intersections.  I did a great job of keeping cool on the way to the hospital, even when I could feel the gushes of blood, but when we walked through the hospital doors, I couldn’t keep it together anymore.  I lost my ability to speak and the tears started flowing.  We got into ER and here’s what not to do:  Go into Admitting when you’re pregnant and terrified-looking.  They wondered what the hell we were doing there and immediately sent me up to maternity.  Chris plopped me into a wheelchair and steered me upstairs.  Triage took me in and turned me into a patient within minutes.  The nurse told me to lie down flat.  Gravity was the enemy at that point.  She hooked me up to the standard 2 monitors:  one for baby and one for my uterus.  She also started a rapid fire IV to hydrate me.  Baby was hard to keep track of because he’s only 29 weeks and still has quite a bit of space to move around.  He also doesn’t like to sit still, so the nurse had to keep adjusting the monitor and eventually gave up with the logic that if he’s moving this much, he’s okay. 

 A lot of things happened very quickly.  Turns out if you’re bleeding and have complete placenta previa, you are deemed a priority.  They took 4 or 5 vials of blood to determine if my placenta was still attached to the uterine wall.  I don’t quite understand the science behind this, but I took their word for it.  Because of the previa, I couldn’t be examined normally, so I got examined via a speculum.  Oh.  My.  God!  Was that uncomfortable.  I get queasy just thinking about it.  The cervix was still closed, meaning no dilation, meaning I wasn’t in labor.  That’s the best news we could have gotten. 

They wanted two sets of eyes examining me to be sure I wasn’t in labor.  The first doctor talked to me while we waited for the second.  When the second doctor walked in, she was someone that I knew! Unbelievable!  She is a woman who used to run with my running club and she also has kids that go to the same classes as my daughter.  What a huge relief to actually know the doctor on staff that day.  She’s going to be my doctor from here on out, too, since I can no longer be a midwife patient.  I am absolutely thrilled about that.  An OB doctor that’s a marathon runner who I know is about as good as I could have hoped for.  It’s fantastic!

The two doctors started preparing Chris and I for what may come.  They said that if it looked like I was in labor or if I was losing too much blood they would transfer me to a different hospital for delivery – one that is more specially equipped to deal with 29 week-old babies.  My hospital has the resources to treat babies that are 32 weeks or older.  They would take the baby if I lost too much blood because the blood is coming from the placenta.  Too much blood loss from that organ means Baby is not getting his share of oxygen and essential nutrients.  I couldn’t get my head around delivering a 29 week old baby.  I still can’t.  Regardless, they gave me a series of steroid shots to help develop Baby’s lungs, should he come early. 

Thankfully, everything resolved nicely.  The bleeding stopped and my uterus stopped showing signs of irritability after it was adequately hydrated.  My runner-doctor-friend decided to keep me for 24 hour observation, so I spent the night in the hospital.  

Since nothing was really happening, Chris left to pick Daughter up from school.  They came to visit for a while.  She was scared of me when she first walked in with her dad, clinging closely to him and hiding her eyes from me.  She came around pretty quickly, though.  I offered her ice cream and that was the magic formula.  We sat together on my hospital bed and ate ice cream and watched Bolt.  I think it was a good first experience for her to see me laid up like that, since she’s destined to see it again in the near future.  She also thought my “dress” was beautiful.  It warmed my heart that she found good in the situation. 

Me & Daughter in the hospital last night, eating ice cream and watching cartoons

They released me at noon today.  I am now on modified bedrest and I’m still trying to figure out what that means.  I’m reluctant to do much of anything besides sitting or laying down.  There’s a pile of dishes that I’m staring at in the sink, but I’m not ready to cave.  I’m too scared of having another episode.  I’m only allowed to do desk work at work, which as a naturalist, is a very small percentage of my day.  That will take some getting used to.  No more hiking.  No more hauling.  No more raptor care.  I’ll have to be creative in finding ways to be useful to my work team.  I’ll miss my walks around Lake Harriet and Lake of the Isles, but I can still go and sit by the bandshell and soak in the summer.  I might even be able to talk Chris into pushing me around the lake in a wheelchair. 

We called our moms to come for back up and they will make their way north tomorrow.  I'm concerned about Chris getting enough time to study for the Bar Exam and I hope that he actually gets to take it.  I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to care for Daughter with my restrictions.  I can’t pick her up until after Baby comes.  That's why having grandmas around will be extremely helpful.  

I have an inkling that I’ll be back in the hospital sooner rather than later.  I’m no longer annoyed with the prospect of bedrest because I’m much more fearful of delivering a baby 11 weeks premature.  He’d miss out on a quarter of his development in my womb.  I’m trying to prepare myself for that and in the meantime, I’m willing him to grow fast and stay put.  Right now, if things remain stable, we’re looking at C section delivery at 36-37 weeks, somewhere between July 26-31.  I will be immensely grateful for every week that goes by with him still on the inside. 

I got another strong dose of fear as I was being discharged.  The nurse told me to call 911 immediately if I have any more significant bleeding.  Because of that, I don’t want to leave the couch.  Here’s hoping the next several weeks are uneventful and extremely boring.  

Groundhog Day

     Today felt like Groundhog Day to me.  Earlier this afternoon, I had my ultrasound and there were contingencies attached to the results.  If the placenta migrated away from my cervix, I could carry on with a normal pregnancy as if nothing was ever wrong.  I’d be able to deliver my baby naturally at full-term, or whenever Baby decided he was ready.  If the placenta started to move, but hadn’t quite cleared the cervix yet, I’d have another scan in a few weeks to check the progress.  If the placenta didn’t move at all, a C-section would be imminent, most likely at 37 weeks if the condition would allow the pregnancy to go on that long. 

     I expected the second option, where I would have to wait and see.  Wait and see has been the medical theme of my pregnancy so far.  Surprisingly, though, the real scenario was option 3.  Rose, the radiologist, pointed out the placenta up in black and white on the screen.  She then interpreted how my cervix was completely blocked.  The placenta couldn’t possibly be any more in the way.  It hadn’t moved at all since my original ultrasound nine weeks ago.  

     So what does this mean?  Well, I’m still waiting for a call from the clinic for the official medical prognosis.  But what I already know is the following:

• The previa will not resolve. Baby will have no way out other than through my abdomen.   
•  I will no longer be seeing the midwives.  Since I am now high-risk, I will be seeing the Big-Guns, aka the OB/GYN surgeons, exclusively.
• We will be scheduling the birth-surgery, most likely in early August if Baby stays put that long.  This leaves 8 more weeks of pregnancy for me.
• Previa can get ugly in the third trimester.    
•  Baby Boy will probably be premature.  

Daughter & me earlier today leaving our last day of ECFE Terrific Twos

    

     I’m still taking it all in.  I expect the next few days and weeks will be filled with equal parts of joy, excitement, and concern.  Baby looked great on the screen today.  He’s really cute.  Rose gave me a beautiful picture of him.  He’s become a lot more human-looking in the last nine weeks, with chubby cheeks even!  I think he’s going to pull through this just fine.  As I type, I’m feeling more concern for Daughter.  How will she react to Mom being laid up in the hospital?  I’m trying to decide how to prepare her for what’s going to happen without freaking her out too much.  How do I explain it to her without her then placing blame on her brother?  This will be the first of the delicate negotiations that come with having multiple offspring.  

The Waiting Place

I’ve decided to give up waiting.  Waiting doesn’t do me any good.  I’ve been waiting for Baby to be born.  Waiting for ultrasounds.  Waiting to run again.  Waiting for Chris’ law school to be over.  Waiting to find a real job.  Waiting to get back into shape.  I don’t want to wait anymore and this conviction has been solidified by reading and re-reading Oh the Places You Will Go to Daughter at bedtime. 

                The waiting place . . .

                . . . for people just waiting

                Waiting for a train to go

                Or a bus to come or a plane to go

                Or the mail to come or the rain to go

                Or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow

                Or waiting around for a Yes or No

                Or waiting for their hair to grow

                Everyone is just waiting

                Waiting for the fish to bite

                Or waiting for the wind to fly a kite

                Or waiting around for Friday night

                Or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake

                Or a pot to boil, or a Better Break

                Or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants

                Or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.

                Everyone is just waiting.   

On Monday, I had another appointment with the midwives.  This was the third midwife I have seen in the last 2 months.  Like the most recent midwife I had seen, this one encouraged me to remain optimistic that my previa would resolve.  Baby’s heart rate was in the 150s and the Doppler picked up all of his movements.  Hearing him move at the same time I could feel him move was a surprise and gave me the giggles.  Chris just thought I was nuts.  I guess that’s one of the perks about being the mom:  Doppler giggles.  The best news I got was that if my previa clears up, all of my physical restrictions will be removed.  I can go running the same day as my ultrasound if things are looking favorable.   It would probably be an awkward run since I will be 10 weeks more pregnant than the last time I ran, and about 15 pounds heavier.  But I would be able to get my heart rate up again and I could really use that.

I also had my gestational diabetes test on Monday.   The easy version of the test consists of drinking a bottle of sugar water, waiting an hour, and having blood drawn to determine what my blood sugar level is.  The number I wanted to beat was 139.  I came in at 142.  Not quite good enough.   This earned me a trip back to the lab this morning to take the more extensive version of the test, involving 4 blood draws over the course of 3 hours.  Turns out I didn’t pass this test either, but just barely.  It was only my fasting blood sugar level that was too high.  96 instead of 95.  This was before I drank the sugar water.  The rest of my numbers, post sugar-drink, were well below the critical range.  So instead of diagnosing me with gestational diabetes, they want me to retake the longer test in a couple weeks.  I pushed back a bit while I was chatting with the nurse on the phone today.  If it’s borderline, can’t I just make changes to my diet and call it good?  Do I have to give up another 3 hours?  She said she chatted with the midwives about my case and they want to keep close tabs on me.  Then she listed all the reasons why:  my previous C section, the low amniotic fluid level I had in the last pregnancy, the infection I got during labor, and the previa I’m currently dealing with.  She said that all of those combined factors put me at higher risk.  In other words, she convinced me that taking the test again in a couple weeks is a good idea. 

In the meantime, I’m not going to wait for 2 weeks before I start making changes to my diet.  I’m going to be more mindful of my food choices.  Less pasta, bread, and ice cream.  More meat, dairy, and oatmeal.  I’ll admit, I’ve been letting myself go since running was removed from my regimen.  Finding the time to walk has been challenging.  But this diabetes scare is just what I need to get myself moving in the right direction again.  I had an epiphany.   I don’t have to wait to get myself in shape for running.  There are things I can do today, at 27 weeks, to help me reach my running goals.  Whether it’s more exercise (which is only walking in my world right now) or less junk food.   Somewhere along this pregnancy, I’ve given up my good choices and my priorities without giving it a second thought.  That’s a place I don’t want to be.  That’s the waiting place.  

A Step Back

                Today marks my 25^th week of pregnancy.  This is the week that expectant moms are told is a critical week.  If a baby is delivered at 25 weeks, he or she has a chance at surviving.  Granted, it’s not a very good chance, and the future would be filled with many, many days in the hospital.  But it is possible for a 25 week old fetus to survive.  Thankfully, my little sprout has given me no indication that he wants to come out.  Instead, he’s content doing his acrobatics in my womb.  In fact, Chris is a bit worried about how active Baby is.  He’s concerned that Baby is going to be hyperactive.  I tell him that‘s how boys are. 

25 weeks

                We went in for our first post-ultrasound consult a couple weeks ago.  Looking back, I should have been in there much sooner to find out the details of my condition, but the midwife clinic seemed to think a phone conversation was adequate at the time.   If you recall, my previous midwife, who has since left the practice in pursuit of a new opportunity, told me running was still fine.  We found out quite a bit of new and conflicting information at the in-person consult.  The new midwife told me that I could not perform any exercises more strenuous than walking.  No elliptical, no weightlifting, and certainly no running. 

                She told us that if things (aka, my placenta) stay as is, my C-section will be scheduled for 37 weeks.  That’s the critical time when baby is hopefully developed enough to not have complications and before natural labor would start.  Supposedly, it’s really, really bad to go into labor when the placenta is blocking the exit.  The midwife said words like “excessive” and “hemorrhaging.”  The medical experts will do everything they can to prevent labor in my current state.  She also mentioned that an amniocentesis would be performed at 36-37 weeks to determine if Baby’s lungs are developed enough for life outside the womb.  For those who don’t know, amniocentesis is a procedure where they take a very long needle and stick into a pregnant woman’s belly to extract amniotic fluid.  This fluid can tell oodles of information, like if Baby will be able to breathe.   It doesn’t sound like a fun procedure.  37 weeks would give me an amended due date of July 30^th.  Did I mention that Chris is taking the bar exam on July 24^th & 25^th?  That’s just how we roll.

      However . . .

                While the previous midwife seemed very doom and gloom that the placenta was not going to move, the new midwife encouraged us to remain optimistic that things would resolve.  My next scan will be at 29 weeks, or June 4^th.  At that point, we’ll see if there is any forward progress.  If not, they’ll probably schedule another scan for a few weeks after.  One of the frustrations I’ve found with my medical care is that I always go into my appointments excited and optimistic and leave feeling unsettled.  My questions get answered, but most of them are a “Wait & See” response.  It’s maddening. 

                One thing I realized is that if my placenta does clear completely out of the way of my cervix, I would be able to run again.  Granted, I probably wouldn’t be doing 5 mile hill workouts like I was doing at 20 weeks, but to be able to run a single mile at 30 weeks would be exhilarating.  It would probably also be painful.   We’ll worry about that if and when I get there. 

     Yesterday, I took Daughter with me to cheer at a half marathon I was registered for.  Obviously, I couldn’t run, but a lot of my friends were running the race and I still wanted to be a part of it.  It was an enlightening experience and one that I’m pretty sure will benefit me as a runner. 

Me and my girl

There were pacers who held signs as they ran to help runners reach their goal times.  The first sign read 1:30 and each subsequent sign increased by 5 minutes.  With these signs, I could see exactly where I would fit in, pre-pregnancy, based on my fall marathon time.  I’d be a 1:41. Incidentally, this was exactly the time that Victor ended up with. 

Watching the 1:41ers run past me was profound.  I couldn’t imagine myself moving that fast.  Those runners were really flying!  Yet I know what my abilities were.  I have the data on my Garmin to prove it.  For one of the first times, I really impressed myself as a runner . . . and I was only watching.  It was like seeing how good I was, and how good I will be again, from outside of myself.  It was a wonderful experience.

This may sound strange, but I already feel faster than my best marathon PR.  I’m better than a 3:35.  It will just take me a little bit of time to get to my potential.   I know it’s there already.    I just needed to take a step back to really see how good I am.  A 3:20 lives inside of me.  

Running in the Rain

          Yesterday on the way to work, it was raining.  It was a Saturday morning and I had to be at work early to set up for a big event I was hosting.  My plan was to be there by 7.  On my drive in, it occurred to me that 7 a.m. on Saturday is when I usually meet my running club for our long run.  The first clue was hearing the 90s hits on the radio I used to listen to on my way to Saturday club.  The second was all the runners who were out on the roads and trails. 

          It was the kind of morning I used to dread as a runner.  Cold and rainy.  Even so, I never considered not running on those days.  My motivation was always very high and kept me running through all kinds of annoying conditions, whether it was below zero and blustery, just above freezing and raining, or 90 degrees and sticky.  In club, we joke that running in the elements builds character.  And it’s true, it really does.  I used to feel invincible after those long runs last winter when every Saturday was colder and snowier than the Saturday before.  I’ll admit they would sometimes make me crabby, too.  But crabby AND invincible. 

          It’s been three weeks since I last went running.  Yesterday was the first day in these past three weeks that I really missed it.  I wanted to be out there running in the rain with all the other runners.  I wanted to be hard core and invincible like they were.  Like I used to be.  The sentiment surprised me.  Why would I miss the most miserable of runs?  The answer, I realized, is that the miserable runs are badges of honor.  They prove how important running is to me.  And more often than not, they’re pretty damn ridiculous and as a result, oodles of fun. 

          All in all, my exercise restriction hasn’t been as hard on me as I thought it would be.  It’s given me perspective and it’s pushed me out of my regular routine.  That’s been a good thing for me.  I went for a walk with Coach Mitch last week and admitted to him that running was really hurting the last month I was still doing it.  But I’m stubborn and I’m not one to let discomfort stop my workouts. I don’t like change and I wanted to prove I could still do it.  In retrospect, I was doing far too much.  I didn’t want to adjust, even though my body was and is going through a massive reorganization. 

          My spirits have been good.  I owe it to the temporary nature of pregnancy.  I’m already raring to get back to it after baby comes . . .  like an antsy horse forced to wait behind the starting gate.  But it will be a slow and unpredictable return back to the sport.  I’ll be dealing with excess weight, nursing, and two children instead of one.  Still, I want it.  I know I’ll get it back.  And I’m appreciating the time I have now to step back reflect on it.    

   

My Last Run

     I set my alarm for 6:30 this morning.  I finally got myself up at 5:10 after tossing and turning all night.  I keep thinking about running and previa. 

     It’s hard for me to imagine not running.  I love the camaraderie of my running club.  I love seeing other runners on the lakes and knowing  I am one of them.  I love how it empowers me and gives me confidence that I didn’t have in my pre-running years.   I love looking down at my legs and seeing how powerful they are.  I love the calm it brings me when I get home after a run . . . how it makes me a better wife, mom, and person.  I absolutely love how running makes me feel. 

     Everything I read online says no running with previa.  Yet, my midwife says it’s ok.  I decided I will call for another opinion when the clinics open up later today.  Even so, my gut instinct is that I should hang up my running shoes, as much as I don’t want to. 

     I’m honestly scared about what I’ll be like without running in my life.  Running brought me out of postpartum depression two years ago.  It’s a lot of what keeps me going.  I’m trying to stay on the positive side, though.  I like walking and will probably use my usual running time to walk around the lakes.  I’m looking forward to the challenge of staying healthy without running, and probably without weightlifting in my life.  It will be different, to say the least.  But as scared as I am about not running, it doesn’t come close to the terrified I am about delivering a baby at 32 weeks or even sooner. 

      The gist of what I’ve been finding out about previa is that bedrest is common as is a baby that comes prematurely.  What really pulls at my heartstrings, though, is a scenario where I’m on bedrest in the hospital and I don’t get to see Daughter for more than a few minutes a day.  The thought of that kills me.  I also think about a situation where Chris and I try to juggle one newborn in the NICU and one toddler in the real world for an extended amount of time.  The upside is I haven’t had any symptoms to suggest either of those two results.  I am extremely grateful for that. 

     I’ve decided that I’m going to go out for one last run with the club tonight and savor it.  I need a firm goodbye from the activity that brings me so much happiness.  I will certainly miss taking my baby boy on runs with me, but it’s what’s best for both of us.  He’ll understand.  And if things go well, I won’t go out for another run until October.  Going out sooner would mean baby came too early.  

Previa

    My midwife called me first thing yesterday morning.  She had just seen my ultrasound notes from the previous day and wanted to brief me on the implications.  Baby boy looks perfect, no need to worry about anything with him.   I, on the other hand, have a slightly bigger problem than I realized.  The radiology tech didn’t give anything away the day before during the procedure. 

     The midwife explained that placenta previa is a legitimate concern.  Previa means the placenta is growing over my cervix.  In some cases, the placenta partially covers cervix.  In my case, it’s completely covering it.  The visual that pops into my head is a washcloth covering a drain.   A lot times, this issue resolves itself as the uterus continues to grow.  However, because of my placenta’s location, my midwife is fairly certain it’s not going to go anywhere.  She told me to start psyching myself up for a C section. 

Diagram taken from babycenter.com

      

     With my complete previa comes some restrictions.  Mainly, I need what the nurses call pelvic rest.  My midwife told me to give Chris her apologies for that.  We don’t want to risk detaching the placenta since it’s right there.   In fact, she told me I couldn’t even get checked by medical staff for dilation, etc., for the same reason.  She went on to explain that bleeding is more likely with this type of placenta placement.  And if bleeding does occur, it’s a big deal that will likely lead to bedrest.  You can read more about it here. 

     It’s funny how a little bit of information can make you feel so different.  Suddenly, I feel more fragile.  Coach Mitch asked the obvious question of me that I didn’t think to ask the midwife:  Should I stop running?  I called her back to find out, fighting back tears at the prospect of not running for 28 weeks.  That’s more than half a year!   Surprisingly, she said running is still okay.  What a relief!  Not only for my mental and physical health, but I took it as a good sign that things are not as bad as they originally seemed.   If I can still run 25 miles a week, how bad of a complication can this be?  (Unless you’re Chris.)

     If things stay on course, I will probably curb my running at the beginning of the third trimester.  As of yesterday, I’ve given up my hope of running until my due date.  The risk is not worth the gain.  It’s during the third trimester that bleeding is more likely with complete previa.  I don’t want to provoke it.  As Coach Mitch says, not being able to run is nothing compared to being stuck in bed.  I believe him. 

     In the meantime, I’m trying to decide what Baby’s birthday should be.  

Ultrasound I

          After obsessing about my ultrasound for a couple weeks, today was finally the day.  The day I would find out if my baby was okay.  The day we’d confirm that there was only one baby in there.  The day we’d find out if we’re having another daughter or a son. 

     Chris picked me up after his morning class and we headed to the clinic.  After checking in, we waited less than 5 minutes for my name to be called.  A short, youngish woman who was both friendly and fast-paced led us to a darkened room.  I struggled to keep up with her.  When we got settled, she promptly started the procedure.  Baby was on the screen as soon as the wand hit my belly.  And man was that baby moving!   Of course I realize that I am pregnant and that there’s a baby in my belly, but there’s something about seeing that baby up on the screen that makes it seem so much more personal and real.  I could feel my priorities shifting as I watched the spine and head dance around the screen.  Our baby was there.  Waving at us and kicking around.  Looking exactly the way a baby is supposed to look at 20 weeks.  All the bones and organs were in the right place and fused correctly.  The heartbeat was lub-dubbing away at 129 beats per minute.  Measurements predicted a current weight of 14 ounces.  It was profound. I'm actually growing a person.  Right now.  

A first look at Baby

     About twenty minutes into the ultrasound, and after a potty break for me, the technician had a clear shot of Baby’s genital region.  She pointed out his scrotum and penis.  That’s how she told us we’re having a boy.  (We’re having a boy!)  In that first moment, I was filled with elation.  I wanted a boy!  But in the next moment, I was sad.  I wanted another Daughter, too.  I wanted both.  Pregnancy hormones aren’t supposed to make sense.  Although, Chris says he felt the same thing I did.  He wanted a boy and a girl, too.  Now that we've had some time to soak it in, we are both ridiculously happy about the healthy baby boy that we’ve made. 

     When I was pregnant with Daughter, we decided not to find out her gender until I delivered.  I found out she was a girl when I was strapped down to the operating table.  This time, I wanted it to be different.  I’m SO glad we decided to find out.  I don’t regret this decision in the least.  I already feel more closely bonded with my lil guy.  I suspected he was a he from the beginning.  Although in my obsessing the last few weeks, my intuition was getting fuzzy.  I'm glad intuition prevailed.  We told Daughter the exciting news after school today and she’s excited to have a little brother.  She’s planning on teaching him how to play . . . when he gets a little bigger, she’ll tell you. 

     There was one minor complication that came up on the scan.  Turns out my placenta is growing right over my cervix, which means the exit is blocked.  It’s called placenta previa.  For baby, it doesn’t matter in the least.  For me, it means I’ll have a few extra scans in the coming weeks to see if the placenta migrates up.  If it doesn’t, I'll have a mandatory C-section.  What’s weird is that I didn’t freak out about that.  As much as I want a VBAC and to hold baby right after he is born, I felt a little relief about a possible required C-section.  Being able to schedule the day that baby is born sounded kind of nice.  Also, not having to worry about my uterus rupturing, well, that doesn’t sound so bad either.  And going without tearing or incontinence.  These all sound like good, good things to me.  I know I have the option of scheduling a section even if my placenta does decide to move out of the way.  I didn’t realize how much I wouldn’t mind one, though, until today.  I’m curious if these feelings will stick with me as my emotions continue to ebb and flow.  I know that Baby will likely not end up in NICU if we plan on a section from the beginning, instead of having one after 2 days of labor like the last time.  And if Baby is not in NICU, that means Baby can be with me.  (I think.  I need to find out more about that.)

     I went running with my club tonight and started sharing news of my baby’s gender.  Everyone is very excited for me and my growing family.  I even saw Victor (of Whistlestop fame) who showed up for the first time in a while.  He told me I’ve grown a lot since I’ve seen him last . . . which was St. Patty’s day, two and a half weeks ago.  I agreed.  I’ve been growing like a weed lately.  I ran almost 5 miles with a gal who’s running a marathon out east this weekend.  It was a great little run.  The weather must have been perfect because I don’t remember being hot or cold. 

     Afterwards, though, I didn’t feel too great.  When I got home, my belly felt tight.  I’ve had this happen after a few runs.  I’m not sure what it is.  I asked Google and it mentioned something about Braxton-Hicks.  The first time it happened, I did think it was a contraction because my belly felt hard.  Contractions don’t seem right to me, though.  It’s not an on and off kind of thing, but a constant tightness.  And it’s always gone by the next day.  I wonder if it’s my ab muscles getting sore from trying to keep my bouncing belly in place.  Whatever it is, I’m not a fan.  But I’m not ready to stop running yet. 

     In summary, a Big Day:  We’re having a boy.  My placenta is too low.  My belly hurts.  I’m still running.  

Growing

     My belly has grown exponentially since last week.  Yes, pregnancy is a beautiful and natural thing, but in some regards, it’s absurd.  To grow at this rate is shocking, to say the least. 

     The size I’m at now is about the upper limit of my comfort level.  What’s concerning is I’m only halfway there.  This weekend marks my 20^th week of pregnancy with 20 more to go.  I really am scared about how big I’m going to get.  My goal is to run through my entire pregnancy, but I’m starting to think the physics of it all isn’t going to work.  I’m up about 20 pounds from racing weight (15 pounds from my comfortable weight).  That’s a lot considering I’m only 5’1”.  My joints are starting to complain about the added burden.  But the biggest hindrance is the back pain.  I’m all out of proportion and my back arches severely to manage the added frontal weight.  And it’s only going to get worse. 

A photo from 5 days ago.  I've grown about 4 inches in circumference since then.  

     There’s not really a how-to guide for training during pregnancy on the market.  I expect no one wants to touch that for fear of liability.  My plan is to do what feels good for as long as I can.  So far, I’m still able to run my regular distances and it feels okay.  I’m slower every day, but I’m still doing it.  Speed isn’t a factor in my current training plan.  Moving is. 

     I’m trying my best to stay confident that I can keep this running up as my shocking growth continues.  (Free advice:  Confidence is 9/10 of the game in running and probably in life.)   I have to admit, though, the confidence is wavering.  (20 more weeks?!?)  So far, I’ve run through half of my pregnancy and that’s no small feat.  However the bigger feat is yet to come.  (Did you catch the double entendre there?)  Even if today ends up being my last run until after baby comes, I’ll be happy with my accomplishments.  I cherish every run I finish now in a way I didn’t before.  Every time I beep on my Garmin, I know in the back of my mind that it might be my last run for a while.  The encouragement from my peers has been extremely helpful.  This morning during my long run, a friend reminded me “You’re growing life, woman.  Go easy on yourself.”  When I got home afterwards, Chris asked me how far I went.  It was only 7.72 miles.  He said, “That’s still 3 times farther than I can run.”  Sometimes I forget that distance running is a little extreme.  Distance running during pregnancy is even more so. 

     Pregnant running is giving me perspective for future training, post-baby.  It will seem easier, for sure.  My complaints won’t have a leg to stand on because I’ll be able to say, “At least it’s easier than pregnant running.”  In fact, it might give me an edge that a lot of other runners won’t have.  What I’m most looking forward to, though, is seeing and, more importantly, feeling my improvement.  I think about that a lot while I’m running to take my mind off the aches and the constant pressure on my bladder.  In the meantime, I’ve got to stay confident and keep moving through the discomfort.   Let’s see if we can make it to 7 months.  

Body Pump

Body Pump is a lot harder than it used to be.   For those of you who aren’t familiar with body pump, it’s a 60 minute, high repetition weightlifting class.  You can find out more here.  The class is great for cross-training.  I have fewer running aches and pains if I keep up with my body pump at least twice a week. 

Lately, though, it’s been wearing me out. 

Usually when I miss a week or two of class, the first time back is rough.  I’m sore and worn out . . . if not by the end of the hour, within two hours after the end of the class.  But the subsequent classes get easier as my body remembers the routine. 

That’s not happening anymore.  Every class in the last few weeks has been a challenge.  During class, I have to take breaks as my temperature and heart rate get too high and threaten light-headedness.  After finishing this afternoon’s class, I had to sit in the car for a few minutes waiting to recover before I felt comfortable enough to drive.  On one hand, I was happy that I had an effective workout.   I’m getting more bang for my workout buck.  On the other, I realized I’m going to be exhausted for the rest of the day.  

I’ve been finding the same result with running.  If you read my last post about Drew Hills, you know how much effort I put into that run.  The day after Drew Hills, I was useless.  Completely spent.   I’m still pleased with the workout, but I wished I would have had enough energy to get an easy run in the next day, too.  It didn’t happen. 

A cute picture of Daughter taken shortly before Body Pump today.  

I’ve been planning my workouts more carefully with this newly developed, post-workout, intense fatigue.  I skipped my long run this past weekend because I needed a whole day to work on my thesis.  If I would have ran first, I would have been too tired for intellectual thought.  Even with a nap.  (See my post on Mental Fatigue) Husband tells me this tiredness will probably only get worse. 

Scheduling workouts has been a struggle.  My runs have been sporadic, which is SO unlike me.  (Ask my coaches.  During training, I don’t miss runs.  Ever.)  I’ve been doing pretty well with body pump classes.  I need to work harder at getting runs in.  Yet, at the same time, I feel like any kind of forward progress is good for me right now.  When I was pregnant with Daughter, I didn’t run a single mile.  Then 2 years later I ran a 3:35 marathon.  With this new baby, I’ve logged over 300 miles already.  I’m already in much better shape this time around.  On the days I miss a run for whatever reason (don’t want to be worn out, just ate, too exhausted from work . . .) I usually get a lake walk in.  This past week, I walked around Lake Harriet on 3 different days.  It makes me feel better.  It’s forward progress.

In the next few weeks, I plan to get back up to 3 runs a week while maintaining my 2 body pumps.  They may have to be lower intensity runs, but they will be runs.  A month from today, I will be submitting my thesis to my committee and will have a HUGE time suck taken away.  Then I’ll have nothing but time to run and lift and play with my 2 year-old and be tired.  I’m looking forward to it.