And then there were four

I had thought that I would do a lot of blogging on my maternity leave, but G will be 8 weeks old on Saturday and here I am just now getting around to writing something new.

Part of that is a symptom of simply learning to manage life with two children, especially during the flurry of the holiday season; we are doing well, and L is an amazing big brother and really is adjusting beautifully, but our days are full, our hands are full, and we are exhausted. Instead of blogging, I have been chugging coffee, doing an endless stream of laundry, supermomming out on our daily advent activities, and mitigating that by accidentally washing the baby’s hair with dish soap, getting chocolate stains on her onesies, and literally falling asleep while reading aloud to L in the mid-afternoon.

But the other part of it is that I think I’m not exactly sure what to say. By the time I started blogging about our experience with L, we were nearly three years removed from the start of our journey. I had had weeks and months and years to process what we have experienced; countless hours spent pumping or sitting around a hospital room or holding a sleeping child to think through how I felt about it and what I had to say about it. But having a healthy baby after having a sick one is a brand new experience, and I’m not sure I can offer any profound takeaways just yet.

Much of this is strange and new; since L was 4.5 months old before he left the hospital, we have never really taken care of a newborn before. G has been an incredibly easy baby so far, aside from being an extraordinarily accomplished spitter-upper (we are no strangers to vomiting, but I had NO idea that this kind of volume could come from a healthy baby!), and I am slowly getting used to the fact that it really can be this easy.

I wasn’t sure how I would react to having a second child after L, but most of our days are ordinary, without time to stop and think and reflect on each small thing as it happens. I do think in some ways the weight of all we lost with L, of all the things we didn’t get to experience with him, has taken on new significance, because before I only knew what I imagined life with a newborn should have been like, but now I actually know, and in some ways that makes it painful all over again.

But the Big Feelings tend to lurk below the surface, fragmented, and popping up raw and overwhelming only occasionally. The first time I saw Z lift G from the warmer where she had been taken for a boost of oxygen just moments after birth, the total absence of tubes and wires was physically jarring to me in a way that’s hard to describe; and I did not sleep a wink that night as I tried to wrap my head around how you’re supposed to know your baby is still alive without the constant soft beep of monitors reassuring you that her heart is beating, that she is in fact still breathing. It seemed almost irresponsible to leave her tiny, brand new body lying there so unattached to anything that could register the first sign of a problem. Even now, nearly 2 months later, I am still occasionally surprised to not feel a G-tube under her sleeper, and I still can’t shake a sudden jolt of panic as I remind myself again that it’s really, actually fine to get her chest wet at bathtime.

I had expected some anxiety, but it has manifested in ways I did not expect. For example, for so long when L was a baby his poops were SO frequent and SO loose and made his skin SO raw, and were such an ever-present reminder that his gut wasn’t functioning the way it should, and also I guess I didn’t realize how frequently a healthy newborn would poop, so for the first several days I had an unexpected moment of dismay every time I realized G was pooping again. In the same vein, she seems to be healthy and gaining and growing beautifully, but I still cannot see the really quite impressive volume of spit-up that spews forth on a regular basis without feeling compelled to find a way to fix this problem, because so much of L’s babyhood was spent cleaning up vomit, evaluating all the variables and trying to fix it. And – and this one is not exactly new or unexpected, as it’s kind of been my operating mode for awhile now – the better things go for us, the more I imagine some heinous thing lurking just around the corner, and the more fearful I am that we will pay for this streak of good luck with something truly horrendous just over the horizon.

On the whole though, I can say this: I was not okay when Luke was born, and I was not okay for a very long time after that, but I have healed a great deal mentally and emotionally since then. I would not have taken on a second pregnancy without truly believing that I was in a much better place, because I know the extent to which many women struggle in the first few weeks and months postpartum even with healthy babies; but the last eight weeks have in many ways been healing for me, and for us as a family, more so than I had even dared to hope.

I find myself still yet trying to wrap this up with a neat and tidy takeaway, so I’m going to stop now, because our story as a family of four is just beginning to unfold, and leave you simply with a picture of my heart:

View More: http://jamieschuesslerphotography.pass.us/newborn-thompson

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34w0d, 8:46 pm. It’s a personal best by one minute and counting.

Every minute from here on out is a sixty-second victory.

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The Buttonhole: A Picture Story

We’ve had some big developments recently.

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I wasn’t sure if we’d see this day for years to come, but L’s weight gain and growth are fantastic, his vitamin levels are hanging in there, and patch vitamins and his unexpected ability to swallow pills mean there’s really no reason to keep g-tube access, which has really been nothing more than a safety net for the last several months. So as of Aug. 18, we are both line- and tube-free for the first time EVER!

There was a strong possibility that we’d have to go in and have L’s buttonhole surgically closed since he’s had his g-tube for four years. But for once the gut gods decided to take it easy on us, and we were down to just a band-aid by the end of the first weekend IMG_7459(L was excited that he didn’t have to keep the apparently-distressing bandage on his belly very long, but disappointed that water didn’t squirt out of his empty buttonhole every time he took a drink….).

There’s still a chance some residual leakage could cause problems, but everything looked stellar at his 1-month follow-up today.

So now we chug onward.

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Babyface

Growth scan #1: at nearly 26 weeks, Number Two is currently measuring at the 90th percentile and appears to have reached the one-eyed spider doll phase of development:

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Fingers crossed for continued good reports (and that I pass my glucose test next week since it seems her one and only preferred food at this point is ice cream!).

Number Two: The Big Reveal

We’ve recently had our anatomy scan for #2, and apparently there’s this thing people do after anatomy scans that often involves a filled cupcake as the centerpiece of a big reveal. So, here we go, with much fanfare and drumroll and yada yada yada.

Dun da da dunnnnnnnnnn:

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That’s right, that’s a filled cupcake with all the filling on the inside where it’s supposed to be.

That’s what this cupcake thing is about, right? No? Hmmm….

Due to our history, we also had genetic screening at 12 weeks and an ultrasound at 14 weeks to check on abdominal development, all of which looked great, so we went into the 20-week scan feeling pretty good and hoping the keep the streak going.

Of course, we couldn’t make things too easy on ourselves, so our results did come with an “Everything looks great! Except –,” at which point I think I died about 12 times in the span of half a second.

The “except” is that while most umbilical cords have two arteries and one vein, #2’s cord has only one artery and one vein. This is relatively common and happens in about 1% of pregnancies (so naturally it would occur in mine), and it occasionally correlates with some scarier chromosomal or cardiac or renal abnormalities — but thanks to the genetic testing we opted for, we’ve got a green light in the chromosome department, and all other organs checked out at the anatomy scan, so odds are high that this is one of those random things that just happen sometimes, and is unlikely to affect anything else.

It’s like my body is saying, “Heyyyyy, I know last time I effed up and made the umbilical opening too big — that’s my bad. I’mma go ahead and make this one a little extra small to make up for it, m’kay? That makes us even?”

No, body, not exactly. But keep the rest of your shit together this time and I might let it slide.

There is a chance that this two-vessel cord could impair growth as the pregnancy progresses, so we’ll be doing monthly ultrasounds from here on out to check #2’s growth and development. If all goes well, we’ll proceed as usual with the added bonus of a few extra chances to wave hello to our little. If anything worrisome appears on those scans, we may end up inducing a little early – but at the very least we should have a little more than two hours warning this time around!

I’m not going to pretend that I took this completely in stride – I’ve already spent plenty of time imagining all the sinister things that could be lurking beneath this seemingly-simple semi-complication, particularly given the fact that we received a completely clean report after L’s anatomy scan and look where that got us.

But I’ve also had the opportunity recently to spend a lot of time at work thinking and talking about the importance of being in the present; and I think this may be a reminder to me to embrace the present and save my worry for a time when it’s useful. Nothing is ever guaranteed; we were given some breathing room after that early round of testing, but here is a gentle reminder that we will never be completely in the clear because that’s not how life works – I imagine we know that better than most. But things are looking incredibly good for us right now; we know we can handle far more than we used to think we could, if things should take a turn for the worse; and it serves us best to focus on the fact that right now, I am pregnant and my baby is healthy, and to take each month as it comes.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, the filling is brown. Delicious, glorious fudge. But #2 is a girl.

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To the ‘pro-life’ senators who support the AHCA:

This is my daughter:

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She doesn’t have a name yet, but her brother is already smitten with her. She appears to be healthy so far, and we’re hoping to meet her around Halloween.

This is my son:

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His name is Lucas. He loves fire trucks, Star Wars, and Neil Diamond. He just turned 4.

If you refuse to protect the life of my son as fervently as you would protect the life of my unborn daughter, you cannot claim to be pro-life.

You see, Lucas has a pre-existing condition. He happened to be born with gastroschisis – a randomly-occurring congenital condition that left a hole in his abdominal wall – and as a result he has short bowel syndrome. It cost more than $3 million to keep him alive in the first few months after he was born, and several hundred thousand more since then, thanks to 11 surgeries, daily at-home intravenous nutrition and tube feeds, home nursing care, frequent visits to medical specialists and various kinds of therapists, and so many hospital admissions that I’ve actually lost count.

You claim to be pro-life, and yet you support a bill that would make it impossible for us to afford coverage for the medical care my son needs to stay alive.

Gastroschisis often results in a C-section in order to protect the baby’s organs during birth. You claim to be pro-life, and yet your so-called “healthcare” bill would make mothers question whether they should have a medically necessary C-section and would threaten the future health of any mother who has had a C-section for any reason, because you’ve classified having had a C-section as a pre-existing condition that will price many families right out of the market.

You dangle the impossibly unrealistic carrot of “freedom of choice” in healthcare as though it were a pinnacle of American values, and yet you would force a woman to carry to term a child who is incompatible with life.

You claim to be pro-life, and yet your bill would make expectant mothers think long and hard at the end of the first trimester, when many congenital conditions are discovered, about whether they can afford to carry to term a life-long pre-existing condition. You would set parents up to make that decision based on their finances rather than their beliefs or prognoses.

You claim to be pro-life, and yet you would throw essential health benefits to the wind, leave 23 million more Americans uninsured, raise premiums for the elderly by as much as 800 percent, and cut $834 billion in Medicaid benefits for low-income Americans in order to give tax cuts to the wealthy. 

You claim to be pro-life, and yet you have thrown the living to the wolves.

If you vote in favor of the AHCA, you are not pro-life.

If you believe that people’s right to life should not depend on their wealth, call your senators today and demand they vote no on the AHCA. 

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To the ‘pro-life’ representatives who voted for the AHCA:

This is my daughter:

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She doesn’t have a name yet, but her brother is already smitten with her. She appears to be healthy so far, and we’re hoping to meet her around Halloween.

This is my son:

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His name is Lucas. He loves fire trucks, Star Wars, and Neil Diamond. He just turned 4.

If you refuse to protect the life of my son as fervently as you would protect the life of my unborn daughter, you cannot claim to be pro-life.

You see, Lucas has a pre-existing condition. He happened to be born with gastroschisis – a randomly-occurring congenital condition that left a hole in his abdominal wall – and as a result he has short bowel syndrome. It cost more than $3 million to keep him alive in the first few months after he was born, and several hundred thousand more since then, thanks to 11 surgeries, daily at-home intravenous nutrition and tube feeds, home nursing care, frequent visits to medical specialists and various kinds of therapists, and so many hospital admissions that I’ve actually lost count.

You claim to be pro-life, and yet you have voted for a bill that would make it impossible for us to afford coverage for the medical care my son needs to stay alive.

Gastroschisis often results in a C-section in order to protect the baby’s organs during birth. You claim to be pro-life, and yet you have voted for a bill that would make mothers question whether they should have a medically necessary C-section and would threaten the future health of any mother who has had a C-section for any reason, because you’ve classified having had a C-section as a pre-existing condition that will price many families right out of the market.

You dangle the impossibly unrealistic carrot of “freedom of choice” in healthcare as though it were a pinnacle of American values, and yet you would force a woman to carry to term a child who is incompatible with life.

You claim to be pro-life, and yet you have voted for a bill that would make expectant mothers think long and hard at the end of the first trimester, when many congenital conditions are discovered, about whether they can afford to carry to term a life-long pre-existing condition. You have set parents up to make that decision based on their finances rather than their beliefs or prognoses.

You claim to be pro-life, and yet you would throw essential health benefits to the wind, leave 23 million more Americans uninsured, raise premiums for the elderly by as much as 800 percent, and cut $834 billion in Medicaid benefits for low-income Americans in order to give tax cuts to the wealthy. You did this without even caring enough to wait for the CBO’s assessment of the ramifications of the bill you have voted for.

You claim to be pro-life, and yet you have thrown the living to the wolves.

If you voted in favor of the AHCA, you are not pro-life.

Now that the CBO score has been released, the AHCA can pass on to the Senate. If you believe that people’s right to life should not depend on their wealth, call your senators and demand they vote no on the AHCA.

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Happy Birthday, L

I’ve said before that while many parents think the early years fly by, for us it tends to feel like each year has lasted decades.

In those first hours and days and weeks we didn’t know what L’s future would look like or if he would have one at all, IMG_6713and yet now here he is today “my precious”ing his very own piece of cake (I guess when you’re allowed to have sugar for the first time after four years without any you kind of go Gollum) and laughing raucously as he makes his new Thomas Trackmaster Sky-High Bridge Jump hit him in the junk repeatedly. #miracles

It’s only been four years, but it takes an awfully long time to come as far as he has. His first birthday was really difficult for me, but I’ve come a long way since then too, and each year that difficulty fades a little more.

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Number Two

I’ve heard a lot of special needs parents say, “I’d do it all again.”

I had a hard time believing them in some of our early months. I knew with every fiber of my being that I would go to the ends of the earth for my son, and I have never once questioned whether L is worth everything we’ve gone through for him, but if I had a choice — would I choose to do it again?

That question certainly complicates the fact that I’ve never imagined myself as the mother of an only child. For the longest time, we had our hands so full keeping our first child alive that we couldn’t even contemplate the added responsibility of a second child. As things gradually grew easier, as we learned to better navigate this medical life, a brother or sister for L began to seem more attainable – but that choice was clouded with what-ifs. In theory, we have no increased risk with a second pregnancy because gastroschisis is spontaneous and randomly occurring; but our eyes have been opened to medical realities we had never imagined before L was born, both our own and those of others, and some far more intense and all-consuming than what our family has experienced. And we know better than to expect we will never have any more bumps in the road with L.

And so, contemplating number two, we found ourselves faced with the real-life version of what has been only a hypothetical before. We knew exactly how difficult it could be if an unexpected complication arose, and we perfectly understood the potential threat to the current balance in our lives — and this time we weighed all those overwhelming negatives with the very real possibility of opting out before we ever got started.

It was never a matter of whether or not we could handle it; we have learned all too sharply over the years that you handle what you are given, because what other choice do you have? No, the real question was: Did we want to?

After much soul-searching, lengthy debate, and repeated decisions to delay just a little longer, and a little longer, and a little longer still, we ultimately decided that we did not want to let our decisions be guided by fear.

Number Two is due Nov. 3.

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‘No parent should ever have to decide if they can afford to save their child’s life.”

Jimmy Kimmel recently opened up about his newborn son’s unexpected open heart surgery, in an emotional, heartfelt monologue that touches upon the rawness and vulnerability of suddenly finding yourself in that terrifying situation as a parent. As I watched him struggle to give voice to their story so soon after it had happened, I was plunged back into the raw emotion of our own first week with L; and his takeaways resonate deeply:

“We were brought up to believe that we live in the greatest country in the world, but until a few years ago millions and millions of us had no access to health insurance at all…if you were born with congenital heart disease like my son was, there was a good chance you’d never be able to get health insurance because you had a pre-existing condition. You were born with a pre-existing condition and if your parents didn’t have medical insurance you might not live long enough to even get denied because of a pre-existing condition. If your baby is going to die and it doesn’t have to, it shouldn’t matter how much money you make.

“Whatever your party, whatever you believe, whoever you support, we need to make sure that the people who are supposed to represent us, people who are meeting about this right now in Washington, understand that very clearly.

“Let’s stop with the nonsense. This isn’t football. There are no teams. We are the team. It’s the United States. Don’t let their partisan squabbles divide us on something every decent person wants. We need to take care of each other.

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: the current health care debate is everyone’s debate. If you think you are safe, consider what’s at stake. If you think it doesn’t apply to you, take a minute to understand the fundamental insurance principle of herd coverage. If you think a child’s right to life shouldn’t depend on her parent’s wealth, this debate is your debate.

IMG_6138Every single day, all across the nation, families face devastating news and difficult choices. And nearly all of these families face those choices with a tiny fraction of the resources available to the Kimmel family. Implementing a new and improved health care system is far from simple, and pleasing everyone is damn near impossible – but it’s not hard to determine right from wrong when it comes to such a fundamental issue. As Jimmy so simply and poignantly stated, “No parent should ever have to decide if they can afford to save their child’s life.

The GOP’s first health care bill failed, but this battle is far from over. Keep making your voices heard.

Watch the full monologue here.

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