Today is our 4th day at Overland Park Regional Medical Center. We've been here since late Friday night. It still doesn't feel real to me. There have been no real answers coming out from the specialists, and I don't want to leave Emily's side. I'm scared about what might happen while I'm gone. If I'm running an errand around town, no problem. I'm close, but what if I'm home in Louisburg?
All these petty questions keep dominating my mind. What about Brody? He needs his mommy and daddy, and he needs to be with us. He needs his home. Every night for as long as we can remember, we've gone to bed with Brody. We haven't done this since we came to the hospital. What about our home? We left it in disorder. I'd been home all week and still left the place in a mess. What about my school work, my projects for classes, and preparation for the new school year?
I'm doing whatever I can to keep mind off the news we've been getting. They say that no news is good news, but what about vague news? We've heard nothing concrete. Several doctors have been in and out of our room -- Emily's regular OB-GYN, the perinatologist, the doctor from NICU. All I know is that my wife and daughter are okay. There's nothing I know about when she'll have to deliver, or when our baby will decide to come. It's a horrible waiting game, knowing that both of them are okay, but there could still be a storm coming.
I've never been in this kind of situation before. When they told Emily that she'll have to be on bed-rest for the duration of the pregnancy -- at the hospital, no less -- I couldn't grasp what that meant. I just can't imagine what being on bed-rest will be like. She will be doing this for the next few days (worst case) or the next 10 weeks (best case).
With all the health issues and questions of everyone's safety, how could anyone think about the mundane things such as homework, housework, and professional work? For me, and I imagine or anyone, it's a way to distract us from the serious issues before us. I can't help but think about Emily and her job. She went home Friday afternoon, looking forward to hanging out with me and our son that evening. Tasks were left undone because they could wait until the weekend is over. Now someone else has to take care of it. She can't work from the hospital, and she can't get back in to prepare things for whomever will be covering her position.
Our little girl is 24 weeks and 1 day along. When she will decide to come, or when Emily's body decides to deliver, we don't know. Our baby will be so tiny, so weak, so exposed. How long will it be before she's strong enough for us to hold her?
This makes me think about an old friend and his infant son. At 1 month old, the baby developed a type of cancer that had hospitalized him for months. It was so long before my friend could hold his son or take him home. As long as my friend's son was in danger, I had felt guilty talking about my son and the funny things he would do. If I were in his shoes, I wondered if I would have been bitter, asking why this has to happen to us instead of someone else. I didn't want to add to the possibility of him having those feelings.
It's all I can do to keep from having those same feelings right now.
Emily's doctor thinks that this whole thing is a partial placental abruption. Only part of the placenta has detached from the uterine wall; the rest is still attached. It could either tear away more and lead to a very early delivery or it could grow further attached and hold on as long as it can. The doctor thinks that it could have been caused by a defective gene that causes a clotting disorder. Another doctor had mentioned that it could possibly be that the placenta had attached to her scar tissue from the septum surgery. I wish we knew for sure, but the experts can't figure it out.
All I know is that there was too much blood for me to ever forget. Friday night, I've never been that scared in my life. I mean truly scared -- there's the fear I've felt when I was young and afraid of the dark, when I was a teenager and about to get in a fist fight, and anytime when a tornado is in the area. This is different. This is fear for someone I love.
We've made it four days without having to deliver. The doctor said that making it through the first 24 hours was huge, and the same for the next 24 hours. Now it's one day at a time. Another doctor told us that of the people who are in this situation at this point in the pregnancy, 50% of them deliver and 50% go on one more week. Of those people going on one more week, 50% of them deliver and 50% of them go on one more week, and so on. Moving from one day to the next is a good thing. One day at a time, they say. They keep positive, but it doesn't make things easy for us.
We've been getting lots of prayers coming from friends and family. I feel like I haven't prayed enough. I've tried; I've bowed my head and tried to speak to God, but I don't know if my words are the right kind of words. I don't know if I deserve to have my words heard. Emily and our daughter deserve it, though. We have a loving God who will protect us, and I'll never give up on asking for His help.
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