Pregnancy: The Condensed Version

Hey, guess what? This post is about being pregnant. Being pregnant is a beautiful, sticky, bodily fluid covered experience. You've been warned.


When Matt and I decided we were ready to start our family, my regular OB referred us to a High Risk specialist, not because I was high risk, but because a specialist would be more equipped to handle any potential delivery issues, given my limited mobility. We had a consultation with Dr. H, who agreed that she didn’t see any reason why I might be high risk, and said “call me when you’re pregnant!” Ten months later, I called her and set my first appointment.

I peed a pink line!

At first glance, I always want to start by saying “oh, my pregnancy was fine, up until...”, but if I think back, it wasn’t. It never was. I had minor spotting through most of my first trimester. I had CRAZY horrible nausea and upset stomachs, always in the middle of the night. At six weeks pregnant, I flew to New York City for work, and spent every evening curled up in my beautiful hotel room, while all my friends and coworkers experienced NYC. The most I saw of the city was to and from the airport, and even then I felt sick, but I blame that on the taxi driver. I still don’t know how we got through that completely blocked intersection full of cars and people and street vendors. We were on one side, totally surrounded, then suddenly, on the other side, and I hadn’t seen anyone else move.

16 weeks

Anyway, as I was saying, it wasn’t a picture perfect pregnancy, but by Christmas, around 18 weeks, I was feeling a lot better, and I welcomed the relief. Unfortunately, relief was short lived.  At 21 weeks, shortly after getting out of bed, I started bleeding. A lot. After a quick exam in the doctor's office, we had less than stellar news:  the amniotic sac was coming through my cervix. It hadn’t broken - yet - but it was not good. I needed an emergency cerclage, a stitch to close my cervix back up, like a purse string. We were told there even with the stitch, there was only a 50/50 chance that it would work and the pregnancy - and baby - would be saved. Not good.  An ambulance was called, and I was taken in for surgery almost immediately upon our arrival.  The good news: my doctor was able to put the amniotic sac back where it belonged and stitch me up. The bad news: I was going to be on bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy, and there was no telling how long that would be. It was extremely unlikely that I would make it to 40 weeks, and I would be staying in the hospital “at least a week.”  Poor Matt was worried sick, especially when I was in surgery, which of course holds any number of complications, but now TWO people were at risk. I was, well, worried, but a little delusional, I think. This was a Sunday, and the following Friday, I was supposed to fly to Las Vegas for work. The first thing I said when I woke after surgery? “Call Nichole. I’m not going to be able to go to Vegas.” Poor guy, lol.

I stayed in the hospital for five weeks. We met with the Neonatologist and had a tour of the NICU, because it was pretty likely that I would deliver early. That was a terrifying chat. There’s nothing like being pregnant and hearing “OK, if your baby is born this week, he won’t survive. If your baby is born this week, he won’t survive. If your baby is born next week, he might survive, but will have severe lung problems, could be blind, could be deaf, could be...”  Every single week that passed was a celebration. The longer I stayed pregnant, the better our chances were. At 26 weeks, I was able to come home, but I was on STRICT bed rest. My mom came out from Michigan to help out so Matt wouldn’t have to take an extended leave from work. I sat in my recliner and directed all of the “getting ready for baby” stuff with my feet up. Everything seemed to be going really well. At 31 weeks 4 days, I was quite uncomfortable with, what seemed like a very bad UTI, and I went to the hospital for IV antibiotics, as I was certain the infection was moving to my kidneys. It had to be, with the amount of pain I was in.  I was admitted to the hospital, likely just overnight or so. Right? Wrong.

The next morning, as I sat and ate breakfast with Matt and my mom, my water broke. I was just shy of 32 weeks pregnant. It was determined that labor couldn’t be stopped at this point and the cerclage was removed (I was already 3-4cm dilated WITH the stitch in. Ow!) The first stage of labor seemed to last all day. It wasn’t until evening, 6pm or so that labor really started progressing, but after a few hours, I was stuck.  Around 11pm, Dr. H came in and suggested that we try pushing, even though I was only 7cm. She said that we knew the baby would be small at this stage of the game, so it might just work. I pushed for five minutes, and Travis was born, tipping the scales at just 3lbs, 7oz.

Travis, around 12 hours old

Travis within his first 2 days of life

Coming Soon: The NICU Experience, and what it was like having a Preemie.