An "engine" of a different kind...

We just spent four days in California, a much needed getaway for the three of us. It was Cole's first visit to the City by the Bay and we got to share some of our favorite places with him. He is a wonderful traveler!

Two days we spent down in beautiful coastal Monterrey as Dave ran his second Big Sur Marathon. Enjoying the scenery at Asilomar State Beach just a few miles up the road from the famous 17 Mile Drive we found ourselves walking through tidal pools in the chilly Pacific Ocean. We were in awe of the fantastic and breath taking seascape, with spring flowers dotting every rock/crevice.

Dave and I enjoyed a bottle of wine to celebrate his 26.2 finish as Cole ran back and forth, to and fro, around and around as usual. He is very much into pretend play and loves to create racetracks with bridges and crossings. He stops to get tire changes, fill up with gas and recover from crashes. He plays up the sound effects well with his BROOOMM BROOOMMs and his VROOM VROOMs. He raced around loving being barefoot, purposely "spinning" out and landing into the soft sand.

At one point Dave asked him as he changed Cole's tires (his feet) whether he needed an engine tuneup. Cole pointed at his penis and said "no my engine is fine". Dave and I laughed solid for the better part of five minutes. It was one of the highlights of our trip along with our views of the Golden Gate Bridge, the waves and black stones at Rodeo Beach, the 360 degree panorama of the entire city from Alta Vista Park in Pacific Heights, our belly laughs at Ed's analogies on our quick overnight with the Kawashiris and in general our time spent together as a family in the city where Dave and I left our hearts in 2003!

What's Gonna Work....

In all disclosure, Cole watches more TV than I like. It is the reality of my world that I use it as a babysitter of sorts in order to prep/make dinner, to reply to emails, to manage my PT work, to take a shower in peace or to attempt to read the newspaper.

Don't think badly of me as when I say he watches too much TV it is my guilt that trips me up more than the actual amount of TV time itself. In comparison to many three years old I know, he doesn't watch nearly as much TV as his peers. Cole gets more one on one attention from me most days than I have energy for (hence many times I collapse into bed when he does); we have picnics (real and imaginative), we play trucks, we race cars, we color, we go to the playground, we walk Tucker in the woods, we get messy in the sandbox, we go to the library every Tuesday, we "do" lunch out together on Fridays...our days are relatively unstructured in a sense so that he can just be a boy experiencing his world at his pace...we have playdates and run errands and did a lot of music/art/gymboree type classes when he was younger but as he has gotten older, I want him to use his imagination and explore what is right under his nose.

That said, I really shouldn't feel the shame that I do when he does watch TV. We only allow him to view commercial free Noggin (now Nick Jr.) or PBS Kids or select DVDs. He can count to ten in Spanish (c/o of Dora the Explorer), he can say Hello, Sun and Goodbye in Chinese (thanks to Ni How Kai Lan), he dances and bops (with the Yo Gabba Gabba crew), he loves to see Max get himself into a pickle on Max & Ruby and he has most importantly learned the concept of teamwork from the Wonder Pets. He knew their jingle as early back as I can remember but the past several months has used the term or its likeness in context repeatedly.

I try to include him as best I can when I do tasks since he loves to say "I'm a good helper" after assisting me. He helps me clean, bake, sweep outside, make the beds...he loves to just feel the need to be a part of it all. I adore that about him. So eager and willing and upbeat about what would typically be to me just a mundane task. On the occasion where he cannot participate with me, his face falls and he mutters "but I want to be a team". It is so difficult to explain to him the complexities of life and how some things need to be accomplished solo. I know disappointment is just as much a learning tool as success but nonetheless his enthusiastic approach to teamwork is certainly something to foster.

I know the day will come (and probably before I will ever be ready) where he won't want to hang out and play with me as it will be uncool. I'll have to beg him to help me with anything domestic in nature and he'll make it known that I should be invisible. That is what happens as they learn about their independence. I hope he always wants me around but reality is what it is. Anyway, I digress...

For now and as long as he subscribes to his "we are a team" mentality, I will cheer him on and give him as many opportunities as I can to make him feel like Winnie, Tuck or Ming Ming...a very vital part of our TEAM!

Stubborn as a Mule ( like his Mom)...

Cole has been bribed, coaxed, wooed, cajoled, lured, and urged amongst other things in a vain attempt to become potty trained. Unfortunately he has my stubborn streak and hence, despite trains, candy, stickers and race cars beckoning him from the bathroom shelf he has zero, nada, zilch, diddly squat interest in breaking free of diapers/PullUps.

He gets physically distressed if you try to leave them off...he refuses to wear big boy underwear unless it is over a diaper/PullUp and though he freely lets the stream flow in the bathtub, he exhibits extreme anxiety when we try to nudge him to use the toilet. Every few months since he was about two years old, I tackled the venture of potty training for a few days at a time but I also know that it is one of the major milestones that I cannot dictate to him and when he pushes back vehemently I know to back off. He has to want to do it comfortably for it to be a success. It has been probably the most frustrating thing about being a parent (with the exception of four months of colic) that I have experienced with him. I am tired of keeping diapers/Pullups and wipes stocked. I fear since he is so tall for his age that soon the largest size of those won't fit him anymore. I am tired of carrying around a changing pad. I am done with stinky trash.

I have been incredibly lucky that his preschool is of the mindset that kids master the potty at different rates and even his teacher acknowledges with a laugh that "Cole does NOT want to use the potty, he makes that quite clear every hour we make him try"!

I know he will eventually ditch the last vestige of his baby/toddler days and it is his way of telling us he isn't ready to become a full fledged little boy and who can really blame him?

Well, not exactly...

Spring has magically arrived much earlier this year than the previous two springs that we have been residents of Minnesota. We have gone the entire month of March WITHOUT a lick of snow. It is the first time in the history of record keeping that NO white stuff has fallen during the third month of the year. It was chilly (ie. required hat/heavy jacket) and windy most of its 31 days however we got blasts of 2 day stints where the temperature ventured way above normal and we are expecting almost summer like days next week to end the month.

All of that said, we find ourselves cleaning up the yard six weeks ahead of schedule (almost 8 weeks compared to last year) and watching green shoots pop up in the warm sun as the ground has completely thawed! We hesitate to plant a darn thing as we fear mother nature saying "HA, watch this" and sending some arctic air and heavy wet snow our way as she hasn't been very happy with us as a population in general showing her wrath with earthquakes and freak storms.

Anyway, Cole has been a huge helper as we have spent the past two weekends working outdoors. He has his set of gardening tools and a pair of gloves and loves to get dirty of course! My planters and pots don't fare well even when they are stored in the shed as the temperature gets soooo darn cold here during the winter that it causes the paint and terra cotta to crack. I lost quite a few this year since we had extended bouts of subzero weather in January and February.

Outdoor decor and spring inventory has been on display in the stores since after Valentine's Day which always perplexes me but this year it seems to have been a wise move! Cole and I were in SuperTarget and I wandered down the aisle in the Smith & Hawken section since the sign at the end said "SALE"...I love Smith & Hawkin but they typically are out of my price range. I was hoping to find some planters to replace my cracked ones but instead saw a cool outdoor thermometer that would look great in our firepit/patio area.

To Cole, the thermometer looked like a clock. He is learning about telling time at Montessori and we have gotten a few books at the library about clocks/telling time that we read before bedtime (along with whatever books about trucks/cars/vehicles/anything with wheels we can find). I explained to him that clocks have numbers 1-12 and show us what time it is. A thermometer has bigger numbers and tells us how hot/cold it is. He looked slightly confused, so I repeated myself and said that we would hang the thermometer outside near the deck.

Cole looks at me, then points at the thermometer in the cart and says matter of factly "that isn't like the one for my butt". I realized his puzzled face was because a thermometer to him was the one I pulled out of the drawer when I told him "you feel hot buddy, I'm going to take your temperature with the thermometer" I smiled but didn't laugh because to him he was making the connection that a thermometer had multiple meanings (and uses). At three years old , he continues to amaze me with his ability to connect the proverbial dots and impress me with his understanding of the way the world works.

The working mind of my three year old...

So Cole and I are wandering through TJ Maxx Home Goods Store and as usual I am in a race to find the items I need as well as do a quick look-see for "stuff" for the house. I know I have a limited amount of minutes before my son begins to whine. He is a trooper with all the errands he goes on with me on but he is three years old. Enough said.

I am flying through aisles attempting to find two gifts but having no idea exactly what it is that I want to find. We cruise down to the area of home decor where several older woman are leisurely combing through the odd array of bric-a-brac. Cole blurts out excitedly, "MOMMY, MOMMY, LOOK...the Eiffel Tower"...at first, I didn't realize that was what he was saying because it was so out of context and YET, there he was pointing at a decorative replica of the Eiffel Tower. The two ladies within earshot both looked up as I said "You are so right, it is the Eiffel Tower, you are so smart to recognize that". The one woman commented "WOW, have you been there?" Cole sheepishly replies "No, we have one in the book at school". The woman goes "what aren't they teaching preschoolers these days?" and we both laughed.

It was a proud moment. Whereas earlier in this post I said, he is three years old, enough said, how do I now explain that my three year old who acts like a three year old 89% of the time was able to make the connection between a world renowned structure he saw in a book at school and its miniature imitation on the shelf in a store? If that is my son's mind at work, he'll be a rocket scientist anyday!

Foul Four Letter Word Free Zone

Before becoming a mom, I had quite a sailor's vocabulary (aka potty mouth). Once Cole began talking, I knew I had to learn to filter what I said and/or come up with some creative exclamations to replace the naughty four letter expletives. It took some time trying out various phrases to find something relatively innocuous as well as a statement that allowed me to actually still vent. I used "SHAZAM" for awhile but that didn't pack the punch necessary when some "silly" person cut me off in traffic. I mumbled under my breath for a time but again, that didn't alleviate my need for spouting something out loud plus my grumbling could still be heard occasionally from the backseat.

Somewhere along the line I switched to using "OY VEY" when I was annoyed and "ARE YOU SERIOUS" when I was quite irked. Those seem to carry the necessary outlet I was looking for. Thankfully, those substitutes have been in use for over a year. Unfortunately, Cole began using both in context recently, stating "ARE YOU SERIOUS" when I asked him to put his toys away,having to repeat myself with the threat of a time out. I almost burst out laughing but have learned to table any expression on my face when he is in hot water as he closely observes for even the slightest weakness in my armor. "OY VEY" escaped from his lips the other morning as I was hustling him to get dressed, vexed as he wiggled his frame making it impossible to put his socks and shoes on. I let out a sigh and he immediately fired back "OY VEY". He disarmed me but I remained stoic parroting back to him "OY VEY is right...do you know that you are making things difficult for mommy"? He smiled back at me, stopped moving around like a fish out of water, and said he was sorry. I thanked him, kissed his nose, finished getting him dressed and picked him up and twirled him around. That is how conflict should be fleeting and forgotten but OY VEY that those moments have to happen at all.

It's a Beautiful Day...

Today dawned and it was very apparent that the sun would not shine. We were experiencing our first raw drizzle since November, the dirty snow melting into pant soaking puddles. My mood matched the inclement weather as we hustled to get out of the house this morning. Leaving even five minutes "late" causes us to become a part of the backup on the crazy ramps with the stop/go lights onto the highway.

I rushed Cole out the backdoor warning him to avoid the pools of water. The mountains of snow alongside our garage have been seeping into it as it melts, so more hazards as I get him into the Volvo.

Sensing my hurried pace, Cole turns to me and says "Mommy, it is a beautiful day". Instantly tears well in my eyes as I realize my sensitive son is teaching me another lesson about taking life as it comes.

He remained looking at me with his big Coca-Cola colored eyes and beaming smile. I took a breathe and replied "Your right, it is a beautiful day buddy". In that brief encounter, he turned my cranky self right around. We sang songs all the way to school. As I watched his contented face from the rear view mirror bopping along to my off key melodies, I was reminded once again how much my son continues to share with me his perspective about living in the moment.

And life goes on...

The weeks following the events of January 17 I continued to struggle physically with defeating headaches and fatigue I felt down to my bones. With the help of Dave, my sister who put her life on hold to fly to MN and the numerous friends who dropped off food, cleaned my house and passed along their supportive thoughts and well wishes I was able to rest and rebuild my strength. I have NEVER felt that awful before and I hope to NEVER again. It took a month to feel almost normal and even then my body gave me reminders that it was still healing.

As I continued my recovery, I found that the distraction of my physical repair had just postponed my emotional grief. My life had returned to "normal", everyday routine back in place but my spirit was broken; my soul fragile. Random and fleeting thoughts passed through my mind unwelcome. I awoke at night my heart racing distinctly hearing the sound of the baby's heartbeat that I listened to that night in the ER. I was experiencing a dreadful fear of departing this world with Cole too young to remember me. I was crying at things that typically wouldn't make me cry. I was just plain sad.

At five weeks post-surgery I was sick of being melancholy and frustrated at the state I was in. I wanted desperately to snap back to the Misse I had been, forgetting that I was now forever changed by a life that wasn't meant to be.

Seven weeks have nearly passed now and though I find myself weepy at times, I am now up on stage with my anger, duking it out with the rage I feel at times over the loss. I grasp at finding an answer to, "why me"? I know that passing through this phase is part of the process so I am attempting to embrace it and work with it but it takes a lot of energy to be angry. With time, I know the intensity of my fury will lessen.

It is about time I wrap up this series of posts. The importance of writing down my recollections was to provide me with a bit of control over those memories and to help give me closure on the whole tragic ordeal.

A woman that I have never met but who is close to my father; someone who has been through a similar maze read my mind and wanted to offer her words of solace by sending me the following poem. She too had felt the isolating and silent pain that only someone who encounters a loss to an unborn connection within can truly understand. Thank you Melissa!

Just Those Few Weeks

For just those few weeks I had you to myself.
And that seems too short a time to be changed so profoundly.
In those few weeks I came to know you and to love you.
You came to trust me with your life and oh what a life I had planned for you.
Just those few weeks, when I lost you...
I lost a lifetime of hopes, plans, dreams and aspirations
A slice of my future simply vanished overnight
Just those few weeks, it wasn't enough time to convince others how special and important you were.
How odd, a truly unique person has died and no one is mourning the passing.
Just a mere few weeks and no "normal" person would cry all night over a tiny unfinished baby, or get depressed and withdraw day after endless day.
No one would, so why am I?
You were just a few weeks, my little one...
You darted in and out of my life too quickly, but it seems that is all the time
you needed to make my life richer and to give me a small glimpse of eternity.

Life upended...

The following days I spent in the hospital were awful. Monday, January 18 was actually my best 24 hours in retrospect, if I had known what the next three days and in reality the next two weeks would be like, I would have reveled more in my immediate post-surgery "high". The anesthesia had yet to fully dissipate so my body still felt dazed and confused which was a good thing. I was still hooked up to oxygen, IV, and catheters so my movements were limited which was a good thing; though at the time, I was beyond annoyed and irritated at the constant beeping since they had put the IV in the crook of my right elbow and being right handed every time I lifted it to eat, answer the phone or do much of anything, it would set off the alarm. The oxygen tube lines kept tangling like Christmas tree lights plus it was just one more invasion of my personal space which I had completely lost altogether.

Dave had stayed with me through the night, neither one of sleeping well. I remember watching his form in the dark toss and turn on the pull out chair, a very similar chair that he had slept on when we had Cole. Silent tears coursed down my face as I began to understand the significance again of what fate had handed us that night and yet I was so grateful that my destiny was not to leave Dave and Cole behind.

Dave had to head out at dawn to relieve Jesse our neighbor who had stayed at our house to be with Cole. He set me up with ice water, the phone and everything else I would need at an arm's reach. I was now alone with my thoughts for the first time since the series of the past day's cascading events. Sitting in that hospital bed with an incision in my gut necessary to save my life was almost too surreal for me to truly accept. Minutes passed and I laid there crying to myself about the loss of what was to be and was no more; despite it being only a few weeks, there had been a life growing inside of me that was going to change my existence, if only I had known that it would indeed shape me forever just not in the way I had imagined.

There was no hiding my tear stained face from the nurse who had just come on shift as she cheerily entered my room. She offered her sympathies and took my hand and said "I can only imagine how you are feeling but you will get through this". I had phone calls to make and wanted to reach out while I had strength knowing that fatigue and pain were on their way. It was like telling someone else's tale of woe as I shared with close friends and family what had transpired.

My surgeon's partner arrived on rounds and she offered a short debrief for me since I truly knew only the basics and not the specifics of my situation. She explained how rare my ectopic was, that even despite the ultrasound, they could not know how dangerous a location it was until they got in there. She believed that they were able to save my tube since the ectopic actually perforated my uterus instead. However, that was the reason I had lost so much blood. If I had been home when it ruptured rather than in the ER, I more than likely would have hemorrhaged to death before they would have been able to ascertain what was going on. She was grateful we had taken the initiative to get ourselves to the ER when we had. They were still watching my hemoglobin levels which continued to drop as my body was forced to function on its' low blood status but she was relatively certain that I would not be receiving a transfusion. She did want me to get up during the day to see if I was able to remain standing without fainting which would be the test to see if I could withstand such diminished blood levels. She indicated that it would take upwards of five weeks to regain the lost blood and thus I would be unfortunately living with symptoms akin to those with severe altitude sickness/anemia. She had to move on but said I would be in the hospital to be monitored for a few days.

The day progressed tediously. As the news made its way around, the emails and phone calls became steadier. I began to grow weary and didn't want to talk anymore. The first time I got out of bed, I just wanted to go and yet,my mind and body no longer work in tandem. It took me small scoots just to make it around sideways to the edge of the bed and then with much resolve I stood, I began to inch my way, begging for my innards to stay "in" as the unnerving feeling of pressure made my body feel otherwise. I felt woozy and I had to concentrate way more than I anticipated to stay upright but I made it down the hallway and back. I sat in a chair for twenty minutes and I began to feel the slow, distressing and overwhelming wave of exhaustion setting in. My head was beginning to pound too. I called the nurse and made my way back into bed. I couldn't get comfortable and I knew this was the beginning of a long few days ahead. Dave had come back and played mission control as the phone calls and deliveries continued. I dozed off and on but didn't really SLEEP. I was on pain medication every four hours but it wasn't making a dent in the headache that intensified as the day wore on. I felt shakier now than I had in the morning and because of the headache I couldn't read or want to watch TV.

Dave left to pick up Cole from school, they would walk Tucker, have dinner and come to visit with me. The food was horrible at the hospital but it did not really matter as I had no appetite. My GI tract was responding to the anesthesia as it had with my original c-section, distending itself in protest and making me look sadly (and ironically) like I was 7 months pregnant. The gas cramps were starting too and between them and the still mounting headache, lack of rest and just overall weakness, I was certainly not a happy camper.

Cole and Dave arrived and Cole refused to come into bed with me. He was afraid of it and the strangeness of the whole room. His structured world had been upended. He was reluctant to engage with me at all, wanting to play in the bathroom and with the pull out chair instead. I thoroughly understood his distance with me but my motherly instincts craved the desire to just hold him and snuggle with him, holding back more tears, I enjoyed his presence instead. A three-year old in a hospital is not a good mix and thus their stay was brief.

After they departed, I put on the TV and attempted to watch in the dark of my room, begging sleep to come. They were giving me ice packs for my headache which dulled the pain by about 10% *sigh*. The nurses reminded me that the headache was a side effect of the blood loss because I was half joking with them that I could swear that a blood clot was forming and that it was going to explode. I awoke every hour or so, unable to remain comfortable. I couldn't sleep on my side with all the paraphernalia I was attached to and my neck and back were beginning to ache as well. The night wore on and the crushing headache literally became the bane of my existence. I had endured migraines most of my life but this headache was simply excruciating.

A life ends...one continues...

The ride on the gurney back to the ER seemed an endless maze of sterile corridors. My mind was in such a state of chaos as it handled both my body's growing malaise AND it's forced hand at conceding to what was becoming a more and more obvious rationale for my visit to the ER. My anxiety was bubbling now just beneath the surface. I did my best to remain upbeat as we approached my room. The nurses had brought Cole some books, toys and snacks and he was so excited to show me. It was such a surreal moment as I engaged in animated conversation with him all the while trying to ignore the growing pain and keep my cauldron of emotions from pouring out. As a mom, I simply was trying to put his needs first and bottom line I didn't want to scare him.

The ER had filled up quickly in the 30 minutes or so that I was off having the ultrasound. You could feel the increased energy and hurried pace of the staff. I was acutely aware of the difference and thought to myself, "great, we'll be waiting around now". I had very little time to ponder that as the ER doctor rushed in. He confirmed that I indeed had an ectopic, that I had blood in my abdominal cavity already and that I would need to be prepped for surgery immediately. He followed this with "there was cardiac activity so it has not ruptured yet but you are bleeding internally which is a major concern. The OB surgeon on call is on her way and should be here shortly". The sobs just came uncontrollably as his news sank in. With a grim face he apologized for the curt delivery of my diagnosis but he wanted us to know that things would be moving relatively quickly and that I should take something for the pain. He left and I just fell against Dave crying out "no, no, it can't be..." I felt an overwhelming and incredible sadness at the loss that was inevitable.

I was forced out of my fresh anguish temporarily as the realization of what was to happen next consciously put Dave and I into next steps mode. We had to figure out who to call, what to do with Cole... Dave was supposed to be on a plane to Las Vegas in the morning, who would walk Tucker...the balance of our lives became unbalanced in one fell swoop, changing on a dime everything that was routine.

Our cell phones didn't work deep in the recesses of the ER, so Dave had to step out to make the necessary calls. With tears bursting from my eyes, I told Cole that Mommy would be staying at the hospital, that the doctor's had to fix her tummy and that he had to be a good boy for his daddy. He seemed to sense my distress as my voice cracked with emotion. With his molten brown eyes, he hugged my arm and said "it is okay mommy". The tears coursed down my face as I smiled at him, told him how much I loved him and ruffled his hair. The nurse came in to begin the process of hooking up IVs and setting me up for a heart monitor. It had been some time since I had had another episode of pain, the adrenaline of the past 15 minutes having numbed me I suppose.

Dave returned having spoken to Heather, my best friend who was on her way to the hospital. The plan being she would return to our house with Cole and remain there until Dave could come home. He had also notified my parents. I was scared about what was going on and waiting on the surgeon to arrive to understand what the protocol was to be. I began to feel sweaty and faint again and knew another flood of pain was on its way. This time seemed different from all the others though. The OB surgeon popped in already dressed in scrubs. She quickly reiterated my diagnosis and the need to move me into the OR quickly. I was having trouble with this bout of pain and she noticed as she continued to speak with us. The nurse was still setting up IV lines and had yet to get the morphine drip going. I remember the OB surgeon saying I didn't look good. I remember saying how much it hurt and looking down willing myself to breathe through the pain. I remember looking at Dave and then finding myself unable to utter another word. Then according to Dave everything went downhill.

In the period of time from when I had my ultrasound to then, probably 40 minutes tops, the ectopic ruptured and I began to hemorrhage. My body went into hypovolemic shock. My heart rate plummeted, my blood pressure dropped dangerously low, I was in and out of consciousness...I vaguely recall the sudden activity in the room but I have no further recollection until I was being raced out of the ER. The drugs kicked in by the time we got to PRE-OP and I was panicking because I could not feel my extremities. "Why can't I feel my feet? I asked repeatedly. A nurse's face came into view and she calmly said, "listen, I need you to take deep breaths, you are in shock and I need you to work with me so we can stabilize you, we will take care of you but you are critical condition and we need to get you into the OR as soon as we can". The anesthesiologist arrived and I heard the nurses say "we need a few more minutes", not completing understanding at the time, that that was because they were concerned I was not stable enough for surgery. I was becoming more aware and lucid as the morphine coursed through my body allowing me to grasp the enormity of what had occurred in the past 1/2 hour. The ectopic had ruptured, the baby was no more. Now my life was at risk. However, my brain must have decided to over ride my emotional core as it switched to concentrating on the mundane instead of trying to digest the magnitude of the situation. I began saying "I'm wearing contacts, don't forget to take out my contacts" and "where will my jewelry go?" I remember being oddly calm, almost conversational. The surgeon came and walked me through what the surgery would entail. Based on what they saw on the ultrasound (and what was typical with ectopics) they would be doing a laprascopic procedure which would take about 30 minutes or so. I would be staying overnight.

They brought me into the OR. The last time I was in an OR was when Cole was delivered by emergency c-section. The bright round overhead lights, the "whiteness" of the walls, the sheets, the drapes...the soft voices of the nurses who offered their condolences...the awkwardness as they moved me off the gurney to the OR table...the smell of the plastic as the mask went over my face...it didn't feel like me this was happening too, it felt like I was a witness experiencing something for someone else...

I woke up dry-mouthed and groggy and wrapped up like a newborn. The same nurse hovered nearby and must have been watching for me to awake. She came over and began talking to me and initially it sounded all garbled. I couldn't shake the heaviness I felt. My memories here are foggy but I do remember being startled and beginning to cry when she told me that because of the amount of bleeding and the rare location of the ectopic, that the surgeon did need to open me up and go through my c-section scar. I had had unexpected major abdominal surgery along with a very high blood loss. They were still unsure whether I would require a blood transfusion but they would be monitoring me closely. I don't recall much else.

I was reunited with Dave and Heather somewhere, I think on my way out of recovery and came to find out that I had been in surgery for over two hours. Dave had taken Cole home, put him to bed because he refused to go with Heather. Our neighbor Jesse came over to stay with Cole and Dave returned to the hospital. Heather was frantic because no one had come out to tell her about the severity of my bleeding or that they had to open me up to save me. She finally found her way to a nurse's station and requested about my status. It was late on a Sunday evening and thus there were few people around. The person she found ended up being my surgeon. The doctor explained in detail about the ectopic being in a rare and dangerous location which when it ruptured had perforated my uterus, the fallopian tube was saved because the rupture occurred where the uterus/tube meet and the hole was created down in the uterus instead of up in the tube. They had to repair the hole and manage the hemorrhaging. I would be fine but I had lost a great deal of blood. They wanted to avoid a transfusion if possible because I was otherwise healthy and a transfusion could possibly become an issue should I ever get pregnant again. The consequences on the body of such trauma would take quite some time to mend. But I was alive...

I managed to get out of the house and into the car though I distinctly remember thinking, "is this a mistake, should we have called 911"? because when the pain/nausea circled back each time I was having difficulty staying conscious. I have endured multiple kidney stones, migraines and almost 3 hours of pushing during Cole's delivery (only to end up with an emergency C-section) and what I was currently experiencing was truly off the charts. I was scared and trying to focus and breathe, two things that were becoming increasingly difficult.

There is a hospital within a mile of our house but it does not have a good reputation. As we exited our neighborhood, Dave was having to make a decision about where to take me...Methodist would be quicker but I was holding my own and if I could make it to Abbott Northwestern I would be in better hands should something be seriously wrong. We knew something wasn't right of course but I said to myself "let me get there and I'll gladly pay the $100 co-pay to have them tell me that all I have is bad gas".

With my head down willing us to pull up to the ER Batman style, Dave deftly managed the drive, taking backroads to avoid the numerous traffic lights as often as he could. Cole was chattering away in the back seat, not unaware that mommy was sick but innocently indifferent about how sick his mommy was.

Luck would have it that we arrived at the hospital during a Vikings football game. We were the only ones in the ER! The triage nurse took us immediately. I was answering her questions but began to cry as I took in the gravity of how I felt, where we were and processed the possible seriousness of why I was there. In my previous post I failed to mention that because I was not bleeding, I truly did not think that all of this hoopla had anything to do with the baby HOWEVER as I had laid in the hallway earlier dealing with that very first wave of nausea, I said to Dave out of the blue "can you google the symptoms of an ectopic pregnancy?" Dave did not even know what that was and when he returned to share the list, nothing jumped out at me as relating to what I was feeling other than the general litany of maladies which are attributable to hundreds of diagnoses.

I was wheelchaired back to a room because of my almost inability to stand. The ER nurse came in and we reiterated our reason for being there. We all laughed when he hesitated as he was reconfirming what the triage nurse had entered into the computer but he had to ask as it listed allergy: pregnancy (not penicillin like I had stated). Just one more twist of foreshadowing as the evening's events played out.

The ER doc then came in reviewed my case notes. He was concerned about the sudden acute onset of symptoms and mentioned the possibility of an ectopic despite my now more conscious attempt at veering the situation towards an intestinal issue. I could feel my anxiety grow as what I had previously dismissed following Dave's listing of warning signals could actually be the cause of why I was here. During our discussion with the doctor, I began having a wave of pain and he asked if I wanted something to temper that. I refused obviously because I was pregnant. I remember him pausing and looking at me almost as if he already knew what my outcome was to be. He attempted to persuade me again to allow for some medication and again I declined.

The doc wanted to send me for an ultrasound to rule out the ectopic and at that point I could feel any resolve I had left slowly beginning to break. They wheeled me alone down the quiet, cool hallways to the ultrasound room where an older gentleman explained what he would be doing. The sounds that the wand made moving around taking measurements actually calmed me down as it brought good memories of the numerous sonograms I had during my pregnancy with Cole. The technician took the time to describe in detail what he was doing as he made his way around my reproductive system. I heard my own heartbeat which he confirmed. About 10 minutes into the exam the tech had gotten quiet which had put me on alert "why wasn't he describing things to me anymore?". I could sense his demeanor had changed, it felt almost palpable. Five more minutes elapsed into the exam which was seeming to go on forever and then I heard it distinctly, I detected the rapid heartbeat of the baby and blurted out "that is the baby's heart beating" more of a statement than a question. He turned and glanced at me and said "no that was your heartbeat again". I knew he was lying because I knew the baby's heart rate was at least double mine and at that point as I lay there, I knew something was very very wrong. As I let that knowledge sink in, I also realized he had turned down the sound on the ultrasound machine as the room had grown almost completely quiet.

Stay tuned for the final two posts...it is taking me some time to write my memories down not because they have faded but because they are still so raw...

Always remember that life can change on a dime...

It has taken me about a month to be able to collect my thoughts enough to sit down and journal the events that have transpired since I last blogged. I am not sure where or how to begin to chronicle my continuous jumble of emotions or to make sense out of the chaos in my mind but I figure as words have provided solace in the past, maybe they will offer to mollify some of my heartache.

It is always a strange feeling when life changes on a dime because the equilibrium that one precariously perches on to balance their everyday is knocked off its controlled teeter totter. It is nearly impossible to find an adequate analogy that any drastic and instant shock to every aspect of your life can best be described as but I think being thrown unexpectedly blindfolded onto a highway and asked to find your way to safety comes as close as I can find.

On January 17 my world as I knew it came dangerously close to becoming but a memory.

That day started off as it typically does for the Denhams on a Sunday morning. Lounging around in pajamas, Cole and I had burrowed under blankets watching PBS kids. (It was chilly in our finished basement as despite the heat being set at 68 it was no competition to the subzero temperatures that lurked around and pressed in on our house from the outside looking for every crack and crevice to invade).

Since Cole doesn't sit for more than 10 minutes at a time, we also crashed cars, derailed trains, raced trucks and bulldozed blocks. Dave was out running to train for his April marathon. He prefers to run outside than deal with the monotony of a treadmill though even I thought he was a bit loony to be running in this kind of weather. The day continued as "normal"...Dave came home frozen like a popsicle, showered up and was now multi-tasking enjoying his attempt to read the Sunday newspaper and indulge Cole's pleas to play at the same time. I had sent out few emails, worked on our new budget sheet, downloaded some pictures and folded some laundry.

Two things were different about that particular Sunday; first, Cole had just gotten over a bad stomach bug the end of that week. In his three years, he has maybe thrown up mildly twice. Dave and I were at a loss when he retched again and again; piles of sheets/duvets/blankets/clothes we had gone through, poor kiddo didn't know what was going on and was weak and without appetite for a few days. Second, I was 7 weeks pregnant and terribly concerned that I too would get his tummy ails but I had been crossing my fingers and hoping to avoid the misery that my little guy had mustered through.

We had found out our "news" on my birthday all but three weeks earlier. I was late and very "regular" with my cycles. We had been trying for months and bottom line I just had a feeling but I waited until the expected didn't occur. Sure enough, two lines confirmed that sperm had met egg! YEAH! We celebrated more than just my birthday that evening knowing that our lives were on the path to CHANGE! I knew being three year older that it was probably wise to remain relatively hush-hush but the excitement for us was palpable so of course I shared with my inner circle of friends and family. Unlike my pregnancy with Cole where I got silly tired and crazy sick at six weeks and remained so until almost fourteen weeks, I seemed to be free of nausea and fatigue which actually made me uneasy. I remarked on this to several people who said that their pregnancies were unlike the other. This placated me to a degree as I was hoping I would be blessed with an easy 10 months since my first go felt more like an unending marathon.

My initial OB/baby check appointment was scheduled for January 26. I had taken two additional pregnancy tests which came up faster and bluer each time so I had to take comfort viewing those and wait until my HCG levels in the lab supported what the over the counter Target version was telling me!

Back to that Sunday... anyone who knows me well, knows I don't really lounge around much, I am a worker bee and between intervals entertaining Cole, I was up, down and all around the house as usual. On probably the 19th trip that day coming up the basement stairs, I literally in the 10 seconds from bottom step to top step, felt this overwhelming wave of nausea...I thought "here we go", I asked for this and here it is...by the time I made it through the kitchen, I thought I was going to pass out, so I literally laid down in the hallway on the runner and weakly called for Dave...I was having trouble focusing and had what I can best explain as the "spins"...I was hot and sweaty and cold and clammy all at the same time, so I began thinking, "great, I got Cole's GI bug"...I managed to crawl into the bathroom, I was terribly nauseated and had what felt like gas cramps, so I just hung out on the bathroom floor for a time...after what felt like the longest 20 minutes the "spins" began to ease off...

I shakily made my way upstairs to bed and though the cramps and the dizziness remained they had retreated enough in intensity that I was able to eventually fall asleep. Two hours or so later I awoke feeling like I had been mowed over by a freight train but not feeling nearly as ill as I had earlier. I wandered downstairs and cuddled with Cole on the couch. I had startled myself as I walked by the mirror into our family room, I looked like Casper the ghost but I was assuming that indeed I contracted Cole's tummy bug and knew there was probably more spasms/episodes to come.

Not even 30 minutes later, I could feel the same wave coming back but with a greater intensity. I made it to the bathroom again, thinking I was going to throw up and have some serious tummy trouble at the same time. At this point, my mind was racing telling me this was more serious than I had previously thought. I began struggling to stay upright, every movement became an effort. My color had turned gray and I knew I had to get to the ER. Dave was remaining calm but I could see the anxiety in his face never having seen me like this. Like before, the cramps/wooziness were easing off and I wanted to take this opportunity to get to the car. Dave packed up himself and Cole having no true idea what exactly to bring. He knew the essentials but to plan for the unknown is very difficult especially under duress. I had workout clothes on as I was planning on going to the gym before this all occurred. There was no way I could even think of changing, I was blinking to steady myself and I kept muttering "what the heck is wrong with me"...I was beginning to panic which wasn't helping. The surge of nausea, abdominal pain and faintness returned suddenly and we came close to calling an ambulance but I was determined to get there without the fanfare.

To be continued since it is just too much for one post...