The Most Terrifying Birth I've Ever Experienced

My eyes popped open before my brain registered that my phone was ringing. The blinking display told me Josh, Lyndsay's husband, was calling. It was 3:00 AM. Why the Hell would anyone be awake at that hour, let alone daring to wake me?

And then I figured it out.

"Hello?" I said, hoping it was the call we'd been waiting for.
"Hello," Josh responded, calmly.
"What's going on?" I asked, wanting his words to come out faster.
"Are you ready?" he questioned.
"Are we having a baby?" I shrieked excitedly as I sat straight up in bed.
"We're having a baby," he replied.
"How long until you get here?" I looked at the clock.
"We can see the building now," he answered.
From a conversation Lyndsay and I had just had yesterday afternoon, I knew she would labor at home as long as possible to make sure she wouldn't be sent home from the hospital once she got there. Since our hotel is directly across the street from the hospital, they waited to call us until they were sure it was really time.
"How long has she been contracting?" was my final question.
"A while. She finally decided it was time to go," Josh told me.
"Ok. Getting up now and we'll be right over!"

I hung up the phone and announced, "We're having a baby!" loudly enough to fully wake Jimmi from his interrupted dozing. "She's in labor?" he asked from under the warm covers. "Yup! They're getting to the hospital now!"

I dialed my parents' number. My mom's sleepy voice answered, "Hello?"
"We're having a baby!" I announced, only half believing it myself.
"You had a baby?!" my mom's excitement was clearly audible.
"We're HAVING a baby!" I reiterated. "She's almost at the hospital now."
"You're having a baby?" I could hear her holding back the happy tears.
"Yes! We're heading over in a few minutes. I'll call you when I know more."

I grabbed a hoodie and a pair of jeans from the hotel room closet, debated about whether or not to pack a suitcase, then decided Jimmi could always run back and get anything I needed. As I brushed my hair and threw on just enough makeup to make me feel presentable, I started to regret the fact that we'd stayed up late enough to only allow two hours of sleep on what will probably be our last chance for an uninterrupted night in a very, very long time. But who knew Lyndsay would go into labor two days before her actual due date? She's never been early before. In fact, she's always been late!

Jimmi and I took the elevator down to the subway level that connects our hotel to the hospital with underground tunnels and started following signs for the building that houses Labor & Delivery. A thought crossed my mind as we saw the closed doors at the end of the hallway. "I wonder if they lock this up at night?" One nonproductive push on the door told me my fear was correct. "Damnit!" We turned to the nearest stairway that would lead us to street level and headed out into the cool, Minnesota air. Our bearings were off when we exited the unfamiliar door. I looked across the street and was relieved to read the sign inside the glass doors. "That's the building we want," I pointed and we hurried toward it. But the bad luck continued when we reached the automatic doors and they didn't automatically open for us. "Shit!" I exclaimed, losing patience. We ran around the building to another set of doors that weren't about to let us in either. "I don't know where to go," I said, half to Jimmi, half to myself. I called Josh as Jimmi and I wandered around the building and before he had a chance to figure out exactly where we were, Jimmi spotted a security guard driving out of the hospital driveway and flagged him down like a New York City taxicab. The guard, who was much more helpful than anyone in NYC would ever be, pointed out the large, red button to the left of the first door we tried that, for some reason, we didn't see when we stood right in front of it a few minutes earlier. We thanked the guard and I pushed the button that elicited an awful buzzing noise. "May I help you?" asked the voice that stopped the buzzing. "Hi! We need to get to the third floor. We're having a baby!" The door magically opened, as if we'd told the guard at the giant door at The Emerald City that I was sent by Glinda, The Good Witch of the North, to see The Wizard. I just hoped she didn't look through a secret security camera, notice that I was clearly not pregnant, and send the flying monkeys to come take us away.

The five second long elevator ride seemed never-ending before the sound of the bell alerted us that we'd made it to level three. The way-too-cheery-for-three-thirty-AM receptionist smiled at us, "May I help you?" My mind drew a blank as I tried to come up with as few words as possible to explain our unusual situation. "Hi. We're the parents of the baby Lyndsay B is having right now." I expected a look of confusion to creep over her face but, instead, she nodded without losing her smile and sent us to the Family Waiting Room until Josh could come out with an update.

The room was small with nothing more than a vending machine and a TV. I found the remote and flipped to the Rock Show on VH1 Classic, where I was greeted with a Def Leppard video from the days when their drummer still had two arms. Jimmi dozed off in the chair next to mine and I pulled out my laptop and began to write. "Labor," I titled the post I hoped to publish within the next few hours while I waited for my daughter to make her appearance into the world. I knew Lyndsay had requested that Jimmi and I wait in the waiting area until she was ready to push, which I assumed would give me plenty of time to work on my prose.

Josh entered the room a few minutes later to let us know Lyndsay was four cm dilated and 75% effaced. She had gotten her epidural, so she was comfortable, and had invited us to come see her. I packed up my computer and Jimmi and I followed Josh through the maze of hallways the led to the room where my daughter would be born sometime that day.

*SIDE NOTE* All but the last two paragraphs above were written upon our arrival at the hospital last Friday, May 16, 2014, at 3:30 AM. The events that played out during the rest of the day left us all so traumatized, I was unable to write about it until now. Also, I wanted to make sure all of Lyndsay's family and friends knew what had happened before I broke the news in a blog and scared them all to death. I'll now continue with this post, attempting to remember all of the details.

Lyndsay looked tired but happy when we entered her room and I hugged her with excitement. She had a sly smile plastered across her face when she announced, "I've been having contractions since Tuesday night but I didn't want to say anything in case they stopped. Do you know how hard it was to keep a poker face in front of you whenever one of them would come?" I had no idea she'd been in pain for three out of the four days we'd been in Minnesota. She continued, "That's why I didn't want the midwife to do an internal at our appointment yesterday. I knew it was coming and I didn't want to stress you out until I was sure it was time. She knew I wasn't telling her something because she called me when I was on my way home to see if I was ok." I was stunned by that information, but it was probably smart of her to keep it from me since I probably would've been a nervous wreck if I'd known.

Jimmi and I sat on the couch in the labor suite and I made sure I let Lyndsay know she could kick us out at any point if she wanted to rest or just needed some space. I listened to my baby's heartbeat coming from the monitor that was wrapped around Lyndsay's belly while we waited and Jimmi and Josh kept themselves entertained watching Grouwn Ups 2 on TV. Then the labor nurse went over the birth plan with us. "Do you want the baby to come right to you when she's born or should we clean her up quickly first?" As much as I wanted her immediately, I decided wiping off some of the birth goo wouldn't necessarily be a bad idea. "Do you want to cut the cord, Dad?" she asked Jimmi, who nodded without enthusiasm. I hoped he was just tired and he'd actually show some kind of excitement sooner than later. "Are you planning on some skin-to-skin contact when we hand her over?" That was the question I was hoping for. If the nurse hadn't asked, I would have. It's been proven that babies develop better when they are cuddled with their naked bodies pressed up against their mom or dad's bare chest. I nodded emphatically and the nurse took a gown out of the closet so I would be prepared to strip down when the time came. 

When the doctor arrived to check Lyndsay's progress, Jimmi and I stepped into the hall to give her some privacy. Yes, I know we'd be watching a baby emerge from her nether region in the next few hours but, until then, there was no reason we needed to see what was going on in her hoo-ha. The nurse opened the door when the exam was over and gave us some concerning news. "She's six centimeters dilated and ninety percent effaced, so things are moving along nicely. The doctor broke her water to get things going a little faster and there was a lot of thick meconium." I knew exactly what that meant. The baby had her first bowel movement inside the uterus, which is not a good thing. If she were to inhale any of it during the birthing process, it could cause breathing difficulties or an infection. The nurse could see the fear in my eyes. "Don't worry," she tried to calm me. "We'll monitor her very closely but, what this means to you now, is that we'll have some extra doctors from the neonatal pediatric team in the delivery room to really check her over as soon as she's born. It also means that you might have to wait a few extra minutes to hold her." After the nurse went back to check Lyndsay's monitor for contraction regularity and blood pressure, I explained everything she'd said to Jimmi, who wasn't able to follow any of it since he had never been through a pregnancy or birth before. "Is she gonna be ok?" he asked with a nice amount of fatherly concern. "I hope so," I replied, totally unaware of the drama that would soon ensue.

About an hour later, around 8:30 am, Jimmi was passed out on the couch in Lyndsay's room and Josh's eyes were growing very heavy. I was running on pure adrenaline and Lyndsay was too uncomfortable to sleep. The anesthesia running through her epidural catheter had made her very itchy and, while they weren't painful, she could still feel when she was having contractions, which was pretty constant, by that time. 

I was happy that Lyndsay hadn't asked us to go back to the waiting room because I don't think I would've been able to deal with not knowing what was happening every single second of the process. 

And that's when everything turned completely upside-down.

I heard Lyndsay calling to her husband, and her voice sounded odd, "Josh, can you come here?" Josh was half-asleep and trying to process her words when she called out a bit more desperately, "Can you check my blood pressure, Josh?" That didn't sound good. I looked up at Lyndsay and noticed that her face and chest were tomato red. "Are you ok?" I asked as I jumped up from the couch. "No!" she responded. "I can't breathe!" My heart stopped and everything started moving in high-speed. "Josh, get someone!" Lyndsay ordered. Josh was in shock and fear had him frozen. "Get someone, NOW!" she yelled from the bed. Jimmi woke up as Josh and I ran out of the room and every emergency alarm started blaring from Lyndsay's room. The lights outside her door were blinking and I stood there, helplessly, as about 20 doctors and nurses ran from their respective patients' rooms, into ours. 

Jimmi finally joined me in the hallway as the room became too full for any additional onlookers. I heard someone say, "She passed out!" And then another, "Call pediatrics and neonatology NOW!" A nurse flew out of the room to make the calls and, within seconds, five more people were barreling down the hall and into Lyndsay's room. I tried to look in and see what was happening but I only caught a glimpse of the baby warmer being prepped. I could hear the sound of Lyndsay's bed being broken down to prepare for birth and I realized that I had no idea if either Lyndsay or the baby were ok. 

A nurse made her way out to us and tried to speak in a calming tone, "Are you supposed to be in there for the birth?" she asked. "Yes. Is everything ok? Is the baby ok?" I could tell the nurse was hiding the seriousness of the situation when she said, "Ok, you're gonna need to hurry, but I just wanted to warn you that they're gonna need to use forceps to get the baby out." My body went numb and I cried, "No! No forceps! They'll crush her head!" Jimmi wrapped his arm around me and told me it would be alright, but he had no idea what the nurse was saying. I turned to him to explain, "One wrong move could cause cerebral palsy! They could kill her!" The color drained from Jimmi's face and the nurse tried to reassure me, "They're very good at it." I shook my head like a dog shakes a squirrel after catching it in his mouth, "No! No forceps!" The nurse was firm as she grabbed my hand, "They need to get the baby out NOW." I knew I had no choice but to allow it, then the sounds of the room filled my head and another nurse came out and said to us, "Get in here NOW!"

Jimmi and I hurried through the crowd of scrub-clad hospital staff until we made it to Lyndsay's bed. She was very pale, but awake, and wearing an oxygen mask. Her hair was matted to her face with sweat and her feet were in the stirrups as the doctor instructed her, "Push!" Lyndsay looked at me with tears in her eyes and kept repeating, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" I didn't know if she was apologizing for whatever caused her to pass out or for starting to push without us but, whatever the reason, there was nothing to apologize for. And that's when I heard the angry cry of a baby who had just been forced out of her nice, cozy, temporary home into the cold, bright world outside. "What's the time?" called a doctor and the nurse shot back, "Nine o'clock on the nose!" There were so many people in the room that I wasn't able to see much of anything until they whisked her away and set her down in the warmer to check her over. Jimmi and I followed and my mind was all over the place. Is the baby ok? Is Lyndsay ok? 

What the Hell just happened?

I turned to Jimmi, who was in a state of shock from what he'd just witnessed. While the doctors suctioned and cleaned the baby, I asked Jimmi, "Could you see anything?" He nodded with wide eyes. "Yeah! It was crazy! I got to the bed, Lyndsay's body contorted and the doctor pulled the baby out and held her up by her feet!" At that moment I didn't care that I'd missed it. For months I've been hoping and begging and praying that Jimmi would be present for his daughter's birth. And he was. He saw her take her first breath. But then a thought came to mind, "Did they use forceps?" The nurse replied, "They didn't need to. By the time they got everything ready Lyndsay was conscious and fully dilated. She was able to get her out in three pushes!" Wow. "You're very lucky," the nurse continued. "Her umbilical cord was in a true knot. That only happens in about one percent of pregnancies and usually results in fetal death."

What? My baby could've died at any point in the last few months and no one had any idea? I started to imagine a scenario where Jimmi and I flew out to Minnesota, excitedly awaiting our daughter's birth, only to find out her lifeline had been cut off and she passed at 39 weeks. My entire body shuddered at the thought.

"She looks perfect!" One of the pediatrician's words snapped me back into the present and I finally allowed myself to smile. "She's ok?" I asked. "Looks great! I don't think she inhaled any of the meconium, but we'll need to monitor her for the next twenty-four hours to make sure." A nurse handed Jimmi a scissors-like instrument and instructed, "Here you go, Dad. Cut right here. Be careful, it's tougher than you think!" 

I was trying to listen to both sides of the room at once to make sure Lyndsay was doing alright, but it was tough. There was still a crowd around her as she tried to deliver the placenta so I couldn't really see what was happening. I turned back to the baby. Baby A. Aria. MY baby. I couldn't believe she was finally here. "Apgar eight at birth and nine at five minutes," called a doctor to a nurse, referring to the baby's color, muscle tone and breathing. "Nine?" I asked. "That's perfect," the nurse explained with a smile. "We never give a ten." Aria's weight was recorded at exactly 7 lbs. and her tiny frame measured 19 1/4 inches. 

I turned back to Lyndsay and everything seemed to be getting back to normal on her side of the room so I began to relax for the first time all morning. I watched one of the nurses pull out and ink pad, look Jimmi up and down and giggle, "We usually stamp the footprints on Dad's arm so you can go across the street to Jimmy John's for a free cookie. Do you have any skin that isn't tattooed?" Jimmi laughed and lifted his shirt to reveal a virgin rib cage, where he plans to have Aria's footprints permanently placed later on. "That'll work!" said the nurse.

And then, finally, the moment came. It was time for me to hold my baby girl for the very first time. I didn't care who was in the room. All modesty went out the window as I stripped off my shirt and exchanged it for a hospital gown to make my bare chest more accessible for the baby's skin. I sat down in a chair and the nurse brought the beautiful angel to me, placed her in my arms and said, "It's time to meet your Mommy."

I cuddled the soft, warm newborn for awhile and then turned to Jimmi, "Ready, Daddy?" Jimmi took off his shirt and took over the chair where I'd been sitting. "How do I do it?" he asked, looking a bit terrified. "Don't worry, you won't break her," I giggled as I handed over our baby. "Whoa," said my husband with the first touch.

Once things had settled down with Lyndsay and the barrage of doctors and nurses had left the room, I walked over to her bed. She was still very pale and looked completely exhausted, but she was smiling upon completion of her promise to us: to care for and deliver a healthy baby. "Thank you," I whispered through tears as I leaned in to give her a hug. Then I took my little Aria from her daddy and handed her to Lyndsay.

Over the next hour or so we stayed in the labor suite while we waited to be moved to our neighboring rooms on the postpartum side of the floor. While Jimmi and I sat on the couch, getting to know the newest, tiny member of our family, Lyndsay had to endure frequent visits from the nurse who pressed down uncomfortably hard on her stomach, trying to help her uterus to contract and stop the bleeding, which is normal after giving birth. But, after about 45 minutes, I could tell something wasn't right. I couldn't hear what the nurse was saying but I caught a few words here and there that led me to believe they were worried about Lyndsay's copious blood loss and the fact that it didn't seem to be stopping, as it should have by that time. "I'm gonna take you two and the baby down to your room now," said the nurse, motioning to Jimmi and me. "Lyndsay will be down shortly and she'll have the room right next to yours." We put the baby in the rolling bassinet and followed the nurse down the hall to our own room. 

The postpartum nurse greeted us with congratulations when we arrived then gave us a quick rundown of where we could find diapers, wipes and formula. She gave us a knitted hat for Aria that had way too much blue in it for my taste, then asked if we had any questions. I shrugged and shook my head and she seemed surprised. I had to explain to her that this wasn't my first rodeo. I may not have diapered a newborn in eleven years, but I was sure it would come back to me pretty quickly. When she left the room, Jimmi and I stared at each other for a moment, then looked down at our baby. 

We were parents.

Exhaustion hit us quickly and the fact that we hadn't showered was pretty apparent. "Maybe we should take turns going back to the hotel to clean up," I suggested. Our hotel was right across the street from the hospital so it was a convenient solution. I made sure Jimmi felt comfortable staying with Aria on his own before I headed off into the fresh air. When I returned, refreshed but still tired, it was his turn. He came back faster that I'd expected and I smiled at the thought of him actually rushing to get back to our daughter.

It was then that I realized I hadn't heard from Lyndsay or Josh in quite some time. I shot Josh a text, "Everything ok?" Then I waited for a reply, which never came. We weren't allowed to take the baby to the other side of the floor, and one of us needed to stay with her, so I suggested that Jimmi run down to the labor suite where Aria was born to check on Lyndsay. He was just about to leave our room when the door burst open and Josh appeared, eyes red, tears staining his cheeks and the bracelet with a medal of St. Gerard, protector of pregnant women and babies, that I had given to Lyndsay at the beginning of our journey, wrapped around his left hand. When I saw him I stopped breathing. 

Oh my, GOD! I thought. Lyndsay's dead. 

I forced myself to speak while the baby his wife had just delivered for us slept on my chest, "What happened?" Josh sobbed uncontrollably, "They couldn't stop the bleeding. It wouldn't stop!" My heart was racing and all the joy of the day drained from my body. How could this be happening? People don't die in childbirth anymore. Do they? "Is she…" I couldn't get the words out. "Is she ok?" Josh wiped his eyes with his thumb and middle finger and answered, "She's in the O.R. She needs a transfusion then they need to clean everything out and look around to see if they can figure out what's causing it. They're gonna put some kind of balloon into her uterus to try and stop the bleeding but, if that doesn't work, she'll need to have a hysterectomy."

What?! No! That's not fair!

I didn't understand why this was happening. Why couldn't we have anything just work out the way it's supposed to? Why do I always need to have so much to write about? This woman had a baby for us, now her life is in danger? I thought about Josh and then I thought about Hallie and Hunter, their kids, and my heart was breaking. If Lyndsay didn't make it I would never forgive myself. We invited Josh to sit with us while he waited for Lyndsay to get back from surgery. He watched the clock for about an hour and then decided he needed to go back and wait in her room. Jimmi went with him so he wouldn't have to wait alone. 

Time seemed to tick on forever before Jimmi returned. "Is she ok?" I asked, fearing the worst. "They didn't do the hysterectomy yet. They put the balloon in and got the bleeding to a trickle. They're gonna watch her for a few more hours. If it doesn't stop, they'll bring her back down to the O.R. and finish it." I wanted to go see Lyndsay. "Is she awake?" Jimmi told me she was in and out and I should probably wait awhile. When I couldn't stand it any longer I walked down the hall and knocked gently on her door before pushing it open, slowly. "May I come in?" I asked quietly. Josh waved me in and the sight of Lyndsay sent chills through my body. She was a ghostly white and her entire body was swollen. There was a catheter bag attached to the bed that was filling up with blood as I stood there. Josh said, "They're emptying the bag about every ten minutes now." I looked back at Lyndsay's puffy face. She blinked sleepily and tried to smile. "How are you feeling?" I asked. "I just wish I could go home," she replied, clearly still feeling the effects of the drugs she'd been given. It was best not to stay too long as she was completely wiped out and I knew she wouldn't even remember my visit in the morning. She needed to rest and get better so she could go home to her kids.

I went back to my room and gave Jimmi the update. Over the next few hours I waited on a text from Josh to tell us what was happening. Finally Jimmi went down to check on everyone. They decided to wait out the night before doing anything else. As long as the bleeding didn't get worse, Lyndsay would be able to keep her uterus. And the doctors still had no idea what had caused any of it.

Back in our room, Jimmi and I sat, staring at our little girl. She was just perfect. Absolutely, stunningly beautiful, and a miniature clone of her daddy. "Well, she's halfway there!" I teased, referring to my long-standing joke of hoping for a baby with Jimmi's looks and my brains. As Jimmi held Aria, completely in awe of her entire being, I noticed his eyes looked glassy. "Are you crying?" I asked my husband, the man who has only once shed a tear in front of me in the last eight years, and that was during my first chemo treatment. He lifted his hand to wiped the streams coming from his eyes and sobbed, "I don't know why! She just looks at me and I can't help it!" My own eyes began to well up at his confession and I snapped a picture to remember the moment forever. Though, I really didn't need to. The waterworks continued regularly, each time he looked at her, for two days!

Jimmi adjusted to fatherhood almost immediately as Aria melted his heart of stone with each bat of her eyes. Every sound she made throughout the night had her daddy jumping up to check on her and ask, "Is she ok?" It made me smile when I'd respond, "She's fine. Babies make noises." If she would get the hiccups, Jimmi would tense up nervously, "She has the hiccups. Is that alright?" I giggled, "It's fine. Babies get the hiccups." Slowly and patiently I taught my husband how to feed, burp and diaper our daughter, repeatedly reassuring him that he would not break her. The only thing I needed to get used to was bottle-feeding a newborn, as I had breastfed both boys from day one. Each time I'd stick the 2 ounce nursette into her mouth, I'd apologize, "I'm sorry I can't do it myself, Baby Girl. Please forgive me."

Learning to feed her (and still crying).

Letting her listen to The Beatles for the first time (and still crying).

We woke up the next morning - who am I kidding? We never actually slept - and the nurse informed us that Aria would need to have some blood drawn to screen for 50 different disorders that could be detected early. She would also have a hearing test later that day. I then asked her, "Are we allowed to bring the baby to see Lyndsay?" The nurse assumed it would be ok as long as they temporarily disconnected her anti-theft device, but she went out to make sure. I texted Josh, "How's Lyndsay?" He responded that she was doing better so I asked, "Think she'd be up for a tiny visitor?" He told me she'd like that and the nurse confirmed we were allowed. 

Jimmi and I wheeled the baby down to the nursery where her blood would be taken from her tiny heel. I remembered that fiasco with Dylan and I dreaded hearing the blood-curdling scream she'd produce. But, surprisingly, she took the heel sticks and squeezes like a champ and barely made a sound. When she was done the nurse escorted us to Lyndsay's room. We entered to find a completely different scene from the day before. The swelling had gone down almost completely and Lyndsay was back to her normal color. I breathed in with relief, picked up Aria and placed her in Lyndsay's arms. 

Looking at the two of them made me realize how lucky they both were to still be alive. I couldn't believe how close we were to a completely different outcome and I silently thanked the Man Upstairs for giving us the better of the two options. 

We got back to our room just as the hearing specialist arrived. Aria immediately passed with her left ear but she needed two different tests to confirm the status of her right ear, which turned out to be just fine. I went back to our hotel room and started to pack up for our departure the next day. We had been given the option of flying home just 24 hours after Aria's birth but we didn't feel comfortable leaving until we were sure Lyndsay would be making a full recovery. 

A selfie Jimmi sent me while I was packing up the hotel room.

True love.

Sunday morning came quickly and we were shot into a whirlwind of final check-ups, discharge paperwork and packing. Lyndsay had been moved into the room next to ours the previous afternoon and I knew our last visit would be emotional for me and I didn't want it to feel rushed. I dressed the baby in her "Going Home" outfit and brought her to see the woman who had protected her for the last nine months. 

I was so happy to see Lyndsay dressed in regular clothing and sitting up in a chair. All of her IVs and tubes had been removed, but they left some pretty brutal battle wounds. Her ever cheery smile spread across her face as she held my baby and Aria immediately relaxed at her familiar voice and scent. I found myself wondering if my baby would miss her. Would she feel abandoned? Would she know me as "Mom" or would she always feel incomplete? 

We spent our last few minutes together before transport was called to escort us out of the hospital, with me in a wheelchair. No, I didn't need one, but the staff wanted me to feel like any other new mom on the floor and the wheelchair was part of the "normal" protocol. We gave our last few hugs and snapped a photo of both couples with our baby, then we placed Aria in her brand new car seat, picked up the diaper bag, and off we went. 

Finally. We were going home with our beautiful daughter.

There were many questions about the safety of a 2 day old baby flying in an airplane. I made sure to clear the possibility of issues due to pressure changes in Aria's ears with the pediatrician, who assured us she should be alright, but keep a pacifier or bottle handy to help her pop her ears with the sucking motion, if necessary. But the part I worried about most was the going through a large airport with lots of people and even more germs. And what if we had to sit on the runway for another three hours due to the ongoing runway construction? What then? Well, luckily, that part was taken care of for us by some very generous friends who know people in high places. A private jet was lovingly donated to get our precious angel home without unnecessary exposure to germs she's too young to fight. And, let me tell you, it was pretty awesome traveling like a rock star! We called to tell the pilot when we wanted to leave, we drove our rental car right up the plane where a porter loaded our bags and returned the car for us. We got in, got strapped, immediately started down the runway and were in the air within 10 minutes of our arrival at the small airport. Barely two hours later we were on the ground in another small airport in New Jersey, where my parents were waiting for us in the car on the runway where we landed. The entire trip took three hours, door to door. It was crazy!

Jimmi's parents were waiting at our house when we arrived. They were so excited to meet their very first grandchild! 

Jimmi's dad

Jimmi's mom

My dad

My mom (on a different day when Aria wasn't quite as happy).

My dad, staring in awe at his newest granddaughter.

Both grandpas, swooning and taking pictures.

At last, I've completed writing the terrifying story of Aria's birth. I hope you all understand why it's taken me so long to get it out. Our daughter is one week old, today, and we're all adjusting nicely. Jimmi was able to spend a few days bonding with his baby before leaving for tour on Wednesday, which is what I had hoped for. We are both, no, we are ALL so in love with this little miracle who has entered our lives and there aren't enough words to thank Lyndsay for all of the sacrifices she made to get her to us safely.

Now, please enjoy some additional photos of the many faces of Aria Eileen Kane:

 

Meeting her big brothers.

Winston loves Aria.

I loved waking up to this.

 Chloe, the Nanny Dog.

Jimmi on the left and Jimmi's brother on the right. She definitely has Kane genes!

Big brother, Dylan.

Daddy's girl.

Let the Baby Countdown Begin!

Delta in-air wifi rocks!

I am currently 38,000 feet above you as I write this post. Jimmi and I left New Jersey about 30 minutes ago and we are en route to Minneapolis, the first of two flights taking us closer to our baby. 

It's crazy to think that we left NJ as a couple and we won't return until we're parents.

Aria's anticipated arrival date is six days from now. Of course, she will make her appearance whenever she is ready, which could be at any moment. My mom is counting on the full moon to bring her out on Wednesday, but I have a feeling she's gonna make us wait until the 20th, two days after her due date. Honestly, as long as she's healthy and Jimmi is there to experience her birth, and not out on tour, I don't care when she comes out! Though, my nerves would prefer sooner than later.

I spent Mother's Day with my boys, Dylan and Justin, yesterday. They made me breakfast in bed and, later, performed a song they wrote for me on drums and guitar. (Watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1vT75C-IT0) When the evening drew near they packed up some belongings and we headed over to their dad's house. It's a trip I've made a few times a week for years, but this time was different. When I hugged and kissed them each goodbye, this time, I had no idea when I'd be back to pick them up again. I couldn't say, "See you in a week!" with any certainty because, quite honestly, we could be gone anywhere from three days to three weeks. The thought of three weeks away from my boys made me cringe as I backed out of their dad's driveway.

And packing for an non-specific amount of time wasn't easy either. I shoved every pair of underwear and socks I own into the suitcase, along with some jeans, capri pants, t-shirts, sweatshirts, 3/4 sleeved tops, pajamas, a baby book that I assume I'll have time to fill out, a few baby blankets, too many toiletries, a hairdryer and one extra pair of shoes. I looked at the tan and pink-flowered, Petunia Pickle Bottom diaper bag stuffed with diapers, wipes, burp cloths, onesies, terrycloth footsies, pink hats, pacifiers, pacifier wipes, hand sanitizer and nipples for nursette bottles we'll buy in Minnesota, and realized the plan I had of squeezing the baby bag into my already busting suitcase was falling apart quickly. I'd just have to carry it on. It's not weird to bring a diaper bag onto a plane without a baby, is it?

I finally settled into bed at about 1:00 AM, knowing I wouldn't be able to shut my brain off long enough to attempt sleeping for the four hours I had before my alarm would ring. I allowed my mind to wander off and thoughts of my baby girl, Aria, instantly filled my head. That's when I realized how much my baby's birth will mean to so many people.

Yes, obviously, Jimmi and my families are anxiously awaiting their newest member, but I'm going much deeper than that. I'm proud to say that my little Aria has become a silent symbol of hope for a much larger group. I know I've mentioned I'm a member of an online support group for women who have, or have had, my rare type of cancer, small (or large) cell neuroendocrine carcinoma of the cervix. We are a small but mighty group who were dealt a shitty hand in life. Those of us who are still here have lost our fertility, either through surgery or effects of radiation or chemotherapy. I think only three of us were given an option to harvest eggs prior to treatment, and the rest were thrown into the mouth of cancer Hell without time to consider saving any chance of having biological children. While many of my "sisters" were mothers before their illness began, not one of us has become a mom after our world crashed and the dust settled. 

Until now.

Aria is the first post-cancer baby to be born to our group. She will help newly diagnosed women see that, not only is there hope of survival, but there's hope of living. There's hope of motherhood. Whether they are able to save their own genetic material or adopt in the future, there are ways of achieving this goal. 

I think I'm the only one smiling as I listen to the baby screaming at the top of his lungs in the back of the plane. For me, that baby symbolizes life. MY baby symbolizes life. 

I can't wait to see you, my sweet Aria!

The Final Word On Induction

It's very difficult to plan a trip when you could potentially be called to leave at a moment's notice and you have no idea how long you'll have to stay. We're supposed to fly out to Minnesota early Monday morning, but Jimmi and I have been trying to pack in advance in case Aria decides to make a surprise escape a few days early, which wouldn't give us much time to think about what we'll need to take with us. Of course, if she is still nestled comfortably inside Lyndsay until our planned departure, we'll have to be prepared for at least a week's stay in the midwest, if not longer. 

This sucks.

I'm a planner, in case you haven't noticed. I don't do well with playing things by ear or waiting on details. I need to know exactly how, what, why and where my life is headed at all times. Don't get me wrong. I love surprises if they happen spontaneously and I don't have time to think too much about them. But, given room to ponder, I turn into a complete basket case.

That's pretty much where I am now.

I won't rehash all the specifics for the millionth time because I know most of you have been keeping up with my blog but, for those who may have missed a few entries, here's the Cliff's Notes version:

Lyndsay is due May 18th. Jimmi has to leave for a three week tour no later than May 21st. We're flying to Minnesota on May 12th. Lyndsay's original doctor was deployed a few weeks ago and another one took over. We've asked the new doctor if Lyndsay would be approved for induction sometime between May 13th and 15th to make sure Jimmi will be present at the baby's birth. While I was waiting for an answer, Lyndsay was bounced around a bit while scheduling her next appointment, and finally settled on a midwife to care for the remainder of her pregnancy. Knowing midwives are usually adamantly against induction for any reason other than medical necessity, I decided to send an e-mail, pleading our case, hoping for a miracle.

The response I received from the midwife on Monday gave me a small glimmer of hope, as we weren't immediately turned down:

Hi Suzanne,

I just wanted to let you know that I have received your email and, yes, I have been updated on your situation from both Dr. H and the other midwife Lyndsay saw. As with any patient, we always want to make the best clinical decisions. Let me look more carefully at Lyndsay's chart, etc. before I go any further. Just please know that I am here and aware! :-)

I will be in touch soon.

J

J's reply had a calming effect that quickly loosened the tension that had been plaguing my shoulders for two weeks. She gets it, I thought to myself. I know she'll help us. She has to help us. I found myself feeling much more relaxed over the last two days, as I almost patiently awaited J's final answer, hoping it would come before Lyndsay's 39 week appointment on Friday. And, tonight, at 8:00 PM, the suspense ended as I read these words:

Hi Suzanne!

I can share some updates with you. Please know that even if I am the midwife caring for Lyndsay for the remainder of her pregnancy, she is still considered a "physician" patient. (Side Note: I'm SO glad she cleared that up for me. It was another major cause of stress as I really wanted a doctor in charge, in case of any emergencies.) Given this, I have spoken with several key players in our department regarding your situation. Two of which are physicians who will be working in the timespan of your requested induction dates. We all have reservations about inducing Lyndsay. We do appreciate your situation and empathize. However, per our policy, (our hospital) does not offer induction of labor without medical indication. We wait until 41-41.3 weeks to optimize our chances for spontaneous labor. 

I know this process has been frustrating for you, and I apologize for the change in clinic providers here at the end of the pregnancy. Please know that we have Lyndsay's and your baby's BEST interests at heart.

I look forward to our visit on Friday.

J

And, just like that, my balloon was burst into a million tiny pieces.

It's over. There's no one left to ask. I've hit every possible angle and they've all turned into dead ends. Yes, we can hope Lyndsay goes into labor on her own, before her due date but, based on her last pregnancies, which were just over 40 and 41 weeks, that's not a likely outcome. Chances are, I'll be sitting in Minnesota for a few weeks, missing my boys and waiting for Aria, all by myself.

Complete Loss of Control

It's hard to explain how difficult the last nine months have been for me. I've tried not to delve too deeply into the recesses of my mind to pull out the ugly thoughts I've had. I'm not sure if I'm avoiding the truth for my readers' benefit or my own. Maybe I don't want to think about my true feelings because they're just too hard to deal with right now. But I can't hold back anymore. 

The loss of control is eating me alive.

Control? Yeah, I lost that about three years ago when my body, which I'd always cared for, started to give out on me. For about six months the only control I had was whether I'd sleep on the couch or in my bed after a long day of chemotherapy. I also had control over which wig I wanted to wear to my own wedding. Other than that, the doctors made all the decisions and I just followed their lead like a sick puppy. 

Once we beat the cancer into submission I thought I'd be able to take charge of my life again. Jimmi and I decided to find a gestational carrier and transfer our embryos into her functioning uterus so we could have a baby of our own. I had no idea that something so exciting could make me feel so useless; so completely out of control.

We found Lyndsay last May and our journey progressed quickly. I brushed aside my tinges of jealousy that I was no longer able to grow a human life inside my body and needed to find a "complete" woman to do that for me. The feelings of inadequecy grew daily as the news of her positive pregnancy test was revealed. I should be the one telling Jimmi I'm carrying his baby, I thought to myself. It wasn't supposed to be like this! But I knew we were lucky that we found Lyndsay and that we even had this option so I tried to force the feelings out. 

Lyndsay's doctor kept us informed of every detail of her pregnancy, making us feel like we were actually a part of it. He Skyped all of the appointments we couldn't fly to Minnesota to attend and he responded very quickly to any e-mails I sent. It was really the best situation we could've hoped for. 

But, as things progressed, my mind took a left turn to Crazy Town. The thought of someone else feeling my baby's first kicks pulled at my heartstrings and when I spoke to Jimmi about it his indifference worried me. I quickly realized that, since he's never been through a pregnancy with anyone, he couldn't possibly understand how much he was missing. I figured that might be a good thing. Maybe then he wouldn't be angry at me for not being capable of performing a "real" woman's job. Maybe he wouldn't resent me for forcing him to miss the nights of cuddling my swollen belly as gentle kicks responded to his soft words. But then I realized it was much worse. 

Jimmi felt completely disconnected from our baby.

Maybe I was wrong, I thought when we were about 18 weeks along. So I asked him, "Do you know how many weeks pregnant we are?" He shrugged nonchalantly and responded, "I dunno. Thirteen?" The disappointment painted my face as I shot back, "We're eighteen weeks." There wasn't a hint of remorse when he asked, "What? Is it such a big deal that I didn't know?" I couldn't believe he asked me that. "Yes, it's a big deal! It's our baby!" He shrugged again and said, "I don't know why you're getting so upset about this." Anger took over and I questioned, "If I were pregnant would you know how many weeks?" He answered without hesitation, "Probably. But that's different." I was shaking, "How is it different? She's still our baby!" He shrugged for the third time before I answered for him, "You don't feel any connection to this baby, do you?" His face was almost cold as he said, "Not really. But I'm sure I will later."

That conversation has stuck with me for months. Because I had cancer, I can't have babies. Because I can't have babies, we found someone who can. Because someone else is having our baby, Jimmi feels no attachment to her. Because Jimmi feels no attachment to her, I feel guilty for not being able to have babies. But that's out of my control. Nothing I can do about it. 

Don't get me wrong, here. I have no doubt that Jimmi will be an amazing dad once he lays eyes on his little girl for the first time but, until then, he's on the outside, looking in. The situation isn't real. He's a thousand miles away from all of it so it's not really happening. He'll just snap into fatherhood once the baby is born. Or maybe he'll have to leave for his tour before she decides to make her appearance and he'll have to wait until she's three weeks old before he even meets her. That should make bonding easier. Did you catch my sarcasm there?

Ah, the tour. Another thing that's out of my control. Of all the days in all the months of the year, his band was scheduled to leave for a tour on our due date, May 18th. An understanding manager offered to cancel the first few shows but Jimmi absolutely needs to leave on May 21st to catch up to the band for a gig on May 22nd. 

Lyndsay's doctor, who was deployed two weeks ago, had mentioned the possibility of inducing labor at 39 weeks because of our extenuating circumstances. At that time I e-mailed the new doctor to ask her about that option and she told me the entire OB team would have to make that decision the week we hoped to induce, but it wasn't a normal practice to induce for scheduling. The helplessness and desperation grew as I spoke to the original doctor in Kuwait, who seemed to have changed his original tune about the matter as well. Back and forth we went without any decision being made. Thoughts of Jimmi missing the birth of his daughter caused panic attack after panic attack as I realized the first minutes of bonding with his baby were quickly slipping away and there was nothing I could do to change anything. If he's feeling a disconnect now, missing the birth would only widen the gap.

I called the director of the surrogacy agency who informed me that her carriers are induced 90% of the time to make sure the parents can be present at the birth. She seemed surprised by the policies at Lyndsay's hospital but neither of us could change them. In the meantime I spoke to Lyndsay about her feelings on induction and she told me she'd prefer to go into labor naturally. Yes, I absolutely agreed with her. But if the doctors decided that induction would be safe for everyone, I want to do whatever it takes to make sure Jimmi isn't MIA when his baby enters the world.

I've been losing my mind over this entire situation for weeks now. Lyndsay and I finally came to an agreement that was acceptable to everyone and, during our appointment last week, the doctor admitted that, if she recommends it, the rest of the OB team would probably be on board with inducing just a few days early. I started breathing a little bit easier.

Until Wednesday.

We had our almost 38 week checkup scheduled for 2:00 PM that day. I waited anxiously by the computer with my Skype screen ready to go. An email from Lyndsay at 1:50 announced the last-minute cancellation with a new appointment scheduled for Friday, this morning. "Is it with Dr. H?" I asked. "No. They put me in with a midwife." That seemed odd, I thought. We've only seen doctors up until this point but I knew they were squeezing her in this week and the midwife was probably the only one available. 

The appointment was quick and Aria is a healthy, full-term little pumpkin. "Do you have any questions?" asked the midwife over the phone after allowing me to listen to my baby's heartbeat. I wanted to ask about induction again but I didn't feel like repeating the entire story for the zillionth time. Besides, we still have another week before they'll need to evaluate Lyndsay for our timeframe and this woman wouldn't be the one making the decision anyway. "Nope. I don't think so." 

A few minutes later Lyndsay texted me to tell me our next appointment was scheduled for the 9th at 8:15 AM. "With Dr. H?" I asked, referring to the doctor who had taken over for our deployed one. "No. A different one." I had to calm myself before my head exploded. Another doctor? Yes, I understand it's difficult to fit all the weekly, end-of-pregnancy appointments into one doctor's schedule. I get that it's not Lyndsay or Dr. H's fault. But now I need to contact this new doctor to explain the situation to him so he can be prepared to evaluate Lyndsay for induction next week. Ever hear the expression "Too many cooks in the kitchen?" Is Dr. H still in charge? Is the new doctor my go-to-man? Who can I speak to about my baby? 

I decided to send an e-mail to Dr. H:

Dear Dr. H,

I wanted to send you an e-mail to touch base about our baby and what's been going on here over the last few weeks. Now that we're down to the wire it seems things are starting to fall apart and I'm getting even more nervous than I've been to begin with. Imagine how difficult it is to trust another person, who started out as a complete stranger, to carry your baby for you because you can't do it yourself. Imagine that person is 1000 miles away and your husband isn't able to experience the joy and excitement of a pregnancy. Imagine everything is going as smoothly as possible until the last month when you start being bumped from one doctor to the next and you have no idea who to turn to with questions or concerns about your own baby because, technically, Lyndsay is the patient so, even as the baby's mother, I don't feel that I matter in the equation. Dr. C had been Skyping our appointments, which made things slightly easier. There was a miscommunication when you met Lyndsay last week so we were forced to use speakerphone. I understood that. I had emailed you earlier this week to make sure you could bring a computer the the appointment on Weds but I never heard back. The appointment ended up being canceled anyway and I had to listen over the phone again today with a midwife who was, again, a stranger. It's just not the same feeling of connection.

My stress level is now through the roof.

Lyndsay has her 39 week check on Friday, May 9th, with Dr. A. I don't know him and neither does she. I can't e-mail him to bring a computer. He doesn't know our situation, aside from what he'll read in a file. He has no idea that I really need someone to evaluate Lyndsay that day for possible induction the following week. Through our surrogacy agency, Lyndsay and I now have an agreement about induction, so the ball is in the doctors' courts. My husband and I are flying out on the 12th. Our due date is the 18th. As I mentioned to you, Jimmi will be going on tour for 3 weeks and missing his daughter's birth would be devastating for all of us. If we're approved for induction, I would hope it could happen between the 13th and the 15th, to give him time to bond before he goes. I would really like Dr. A to consider our dilemma next Friday so we might be able to have some sort of a plan in place. I understand it's not the clinic's policy to induce based on scheduling, but I'm only asking for 3-5 days early in an extenuating circumstance. 

Lyndsay, Jimmi and I are all on the same page about induction, as long as it doesn't seem like it'll harm her or the baby but, since she's not the one dealing with the feeling of just wanting to be the mom already, she won't blatantly ask for it like I will. But, without actually being there, it's hard to make my points to each different doctor over the phone. I'm asking for your help in this matter. Actually, I'm begging. Please help me feel like I'm a part of what's going on with my baby. Will you speak to Dr. A about evaluating her for induction at her appointment next week? I hate that I keep badgering you with this, but I have nowhere else to turn.

Thank you,

Suzanne

As soon as the e-mail shot off into cyberspace another one popped up in my inbox from Lyndsay:

 

"My appointment on Friday is now with a colleague of the lady I saw today and she will see me until the end. I asked the doctor today if she could finish out with us and she is only there Monday for 4 hours then gone the whole next week. So she talked to this other doctor and she said she would take us and finish out with us! So that would be very nice." 

While the thought of another doctor change made me crazy, I agreed it would be nice to know we would now have the same one for whatever is left of the pregnancy. But I was confused by the wording of her email. "Is she a midwife or a doctor?" I asked. "She's a midwife." And then the palpitations began. I don't know much about midwives but, from my understanding, they are all about the woman's body doing its job on its own, without help from outside forces. In simple terms…Induction won't be an option unless it's medically necessary. I asked Lyndsay if that was the case and she told me the midwives follow the same policy as the doctors at the clinic. Being that I've never actually seen one, I'll have to take her word for it. 

I am now left with no other options. There's no one left to speak to. I have no idea who is in charge. There's no way to make sure Jimmi will be present for Aria's birth. I can't tell my boys how long I'll be away from them. I have no answers to give the hotel or car rental or airline about my checkout or return dates. 

This control freak has officially lost all control.

Dodgeball

Picture it. I'm ten years old, in gym class, dreading the next 30 minutes of my life. The game we all played - the one that has since been banned from elementary schools around the country - is about to begin. I'm standing on the shellacked wood floor, crouched in ready position, as the biggest and meanest kid in the class grabs hold of the bouncy, red, rubber ball. He looks around evilly, quickly takes aim and hurls the round, air-filled weapon in my direction. I jump out of the way, just in time but, before I can take a breath, the ball whips back at my head from behind. "Watch out!" calls an ally, as I turn and duck before the flying sphere knocks me to the floor. But it's not over yet. Each time I dodge one bullet another comes in, faster than the next, until, finally, the gym teacher blows the whistle signaling an end to the torture.

Where's the teacher to blow the whistle now?

Over the last three years I've had so many balls thrown at my head I'm surprised I can still see straight. But, each time, I manage to lunge out of the way and continue playing the game without anyone screaming, "You're out!" I sometimes feel there's a higher power who loves my writing and hates when I have nothing to blog about. "Hmmm, things are too calm in Suzanne's world," he says. "Let's give her triplets! Now let's take two of the babies away. How about some inexplicable pain in her pelvis that makes the doctors think her cancer is back? I know! Let's make her dog choke then send him to the hospital with pneumonia. Better yet, we can give Jimmi a random staph infection, knee surgery and two serious drug reactions, all in a matter of one month!" But, apparently, that being hasn't had enough fun with me. Now, in what should be the last three weeks of our pregnancy, I'm sitting on eggshells, waiting to see if Jimmi is going to miss the birth of our baby.

Yes, you read that correctly. After everything we've been through and as far as we've come to get to this point, Jimmi may not be in the delivery room to watch Aria take her first breath or hear her first cry or cut the cord that will symbolize her disconnection from Lyndsay and entrance into our arms forever.

I don't even know where to begin with my explanation.

I'm not sure exactly when we first heard the news that shot a pang of excitement with a side of devastation through my body. I believe it was back in December, though. Jimmi got the call that his band had secured a spot performing at Rocklahoma, a three-day long rock n roll festival in Oklahoma that, not only have we always wanted to attend, but he's always wanted to play. So, what could possibly be bad about that? Other than the dates…

If you still haven't caught on, let me help you.

Our baby is due on May 18th. Ok, so, that's not so bad, right? It might not be if Lyndsay didn't have a history of giving birth at least a week late each time. I chose not to worry too much about the situation until it was absolutely necessary.

I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to freak out now.

Jimmi's band was confirmed for a 4:20 PM time slot on May 25th, which, as far as I was concerned, was the best possible day of all the bad choices. After all, it was the furthest day from our due date, allowing the best chance for delivery sometime before showtime. There had been some talk of a short tour from New York City to Oklahoma and back, but nothing had been booked and we thought it was safe to assume all dates before the big show on the 25th were open. That made me feel tiny bit better. At least Jimmi would be able to fly out to Minnesota with me on May 12th to wait impatiently for Aria to make her appearance and, if worse came to worse, he could just fly right from the hospital to Oklahoma the night before the show and meet the band there.  I booked our flights last Monday and a huge weight was lifted. One less thing to worry about.

That's when the big, red, rubber ball came flying at my head again.

In a casual conversation with Jimmi's band's manager, I learned that three shows, the first on May 20th, had been booked on the way out to Oklahoma and four had been booked on the way back. A tentative return date of May 30th was mentioned, with Jimmi leaving again on May 31st, his birthday, for a three-day tour with his other band. "But we're leaving for Minnesota on the 12th" I typed through my hyperventilation. "They also have a show in NYC on the 17th," he replied.

No. No, that can't happen!

"But our baby is due on the 18th!" I typed frantically.

I called Jimmi in hysterics. "You're gonna miss her birth!" I cried. "You can't be in New York the night before our due date!" Jimmi gave me a virtual slap in the face and I calmed down just enough to explain exactly what I was taking about. "Relax!" he soothed. "It'll all work out!" I didn't believe him. "How?" I asked. "How is it gonna work out?"

He couldn't answer me.

I ran through all the scenarios in my head and none of them had the ending I was hoping for. Chances are Lyndsay will not go into labor before May 18th. If she goes any later than the 16th, Jimmi won't be in Minnesota anymore. Sure, we could attempt to fly him out from wherever he may be, but let's be realistic. He'd never make it in time. I took out a calendar and just stared at the month of May for awhile. If we were home, the show on the 17th would be local so it wouldn't matter much. Everything from the 18th through the 30th was blocked out for the Rocklahoma tour, which includes both travel and performance days. Then a quick overnight at home sends him back out to Arkansas on the 31st with a return on June 2nd. No matter how it works out, Jimmi will miss the first precious weeks of his first, and probably only, child's life. As much as that sucks, I decided I could deal with all of it as long as he makes it to her birth and can spend a day or two with her before he heads out. Then I remembered what Dr. C had told me on more than one occasion.

"Because of your unique situation, we could think about inducing at around thirty-nine weeks to help you with planning."

I hadn't taken that option into consideration until that moment but, right then, it seemed as if the miracle answer was staring me in the eyes. I grabbed the calendar again and scanned down to the 39-week mark. May 11th. Mother's Day. While that would be a perfect present for me, I wanted to be home, in New Jersey, to celebrate with my boys. Since we already booked a flight out to Minnesota on the 12th, the 13th or 14th seemed like the best options for induction, as Jimmi would not only make it to the birth but, all being well, he'd be able to fly back home with us and spend a day or two before journeying out. But I had one more person to convince that my idea was best for everyone.

I e-mailed Lyndsay and desperately pleaded our case. Her response had some obvious concerns about what's best for her and Aria's health but she decided, if the doctor was on board with safely inducing labor, she would be, too. Well, since the Dr. C had already mentioned induction more than once, it should be a no brainer, right?

Wrong.

In case you've forgotten, Dr. C, our OB since the 9th week of pregnancy, after our triplets reduced themselves to a singleton, was deployed to Kuwait last week. We were left in the hands of Dr. H, chief resident, who none of us had even met yet; unless you count the quick e-mail I sent introducing myself that wasn't answered for a full week. But, really, if Dr. C told us 39 weeks would be acceptable, why would Dr. H disagree?

I typed a very detailed and emotional note to Dr. H explaining our situation, trying to keep the desperation out of my writing. I told her about Jimmi's recent illness that forced him to cancel more than a month's worth of gigs. I told her how difficult it's been for me, knowing Jimmi wasn't able to experience this pregnancy. I almost begged her to assure us that Jimmi would be present for his baby's arrival. I figured, as a woman, she'd understand. She wouldn't deny us this experience. She couldn't!

"Hi Suzanne!"

Her reply began.

"Thanks for your e-mail. I certainly do understand the uniqueness of your situation. The decision to proceed with induction will need to be reviewed by the maternal fetal medicine team and the OB team on that week. I will certainly advocate of your behalf, but will not be able to be the final decision maker.

Thanks for understanding and have a great weekend!"

Thanks for understanding? Have a great weekend? Seriously? So, basically, what I just learned is that, if we want to induce on the 13th or 14th, we'll need to wait until the 12th and have two different teams, who don't know anything about us, review our case? Does she realize we're only talking about four or five days before our due date at 40 weeks? Does she understand that women are technically considered "full-term" at 38 weeks pregnant? I don't get it. I convinced the doctor to induce me when I was pregnant with Justin because I knew he was getting too big. The doctor didn't think he was too large but, after a bit of begging, he agreed. The kid popped out of my 5 ft. 2 in. frame at 8 lbs 11 oz. Can you imagine if the doctor hadn't agreed? OUCH! It's not like I'm asking for anything I haven't been through myself. And, since this is Lyndsay's fourth pregnancy, her body should know how to open up and shoot my kid right outta there. She just might need a little help getting started.

Unsatisfied with my non-answer that didn't bring me any closer to a solution, I decided to e-mail Dr. C in Kuwait. He told me he would be reachable if I had any questions and I shouldn't hesitate to write. I just figured, since he's higher up on the totem pole, maybe he could let Dr. H know that it was his idea to induce at 39 weeks in the first place.

I waited a week for a reply that contradicted his early suggestions. Dr. C backed Dr. H's statements about waiting until the week we're hoping to induce to make any decisions. Apparently it'll all depend on Lyndsay's cervix and whether or not it's started to dilate and efface on its own. If it has, we can probably help speed it up. If not, we'll need to wait…up to ten days past her due date.

WHAT!?

I don't understand! Why did he even bother bringing up induction at every appointment for the last four months? Why had he never mentioned the contingencies before now, when we actually NEED to get our baby out by a certain date? Based on her past history, Lyndsay's body likes to keep babies very cozy, with no sign of anything going on until she's actually in labor. That doesn't bode well for our plan.

And that's that. If I had to make a bet I'd say Jimmi will probably miss Aria's birth. It's devastating to even think that way but the odds are not in our favor. I'm just hoping for a miracle.

The Royal Nursery

Her Highness, Princess Aria's nursery is finally fully decorated!

After months of planning and painting and ordering and organizing and hanging and returning and reordering and assembling and cursing and praising, her room is complete.

And it is BEAUTIFUL!

Don't worry! There will be photos accompanying descriptions of the adorable abode. 

Let's begin with the walls:

PINK!

The base color of the room is a perfectly pleasant pink, with one wall boasting a series of stripes in shades of shimmery pearl and gray. Hung carefully between the center stripe are the letters A R I A, which I painted pink and sprinkled with glitter. The pearly accents continue throughout the room with butterflies scattered around the area. Three hand-painted, full-colored and crystal-embellished butterflies are placed in various locations to add a precious pop! A pink to gray ombrè dons the crib wall and a large branch with green-toned leaves and pink cherry blossoms sprawls across it. On the branch is a sparkly songbird singing crystal-covered music notes from her bright beak.

Almost hidden on the wall, to the left of the crib, are two glittered hearts with crystal angel wings, representing Baby B and Baby C, Aria's sisters, who were lost in the 8th week of pregnancy. She will always know they are watching over her, protecting her.

As seen in some of the photos above, the furniture in Aria's chamber is a rich, coffee-colored wood from Bellini. The armoire and dresser, with attached changing table, are the same ones I used with Dylan in 2000, then Justin in 2003. Of course the changing pad and pink velour cover have only just been opened. Because of new laws regarding crib safety, the crib is a recent purchase. The crib skirt is a gray and white damask with pink peek-a-boo fabric. There is a matching blanket which serves no other purpose than to hang over the end of the crib and look pretty, since blankets and babies are a no-no! The white bumper with pink piping and bows adds a sweet and simple touch to the bedding set, but it will also be removed once the baby is old enough to roll into it, causing possible suffocation. It's seriously amazing anyone born before 2000 is alive today with all of these new rules we never had to follow! 

Her sheets will alternate between white with grey medallions, white with pink medallions and solid pink, and a pink sheet protector will be placed under the baby's head to catch drool and other leaking fluids.

The plush, gray glider is also a new addition, as the one I used with the boys was pretty gross after years of milk spills and vomit stains. The chair, with its matching ottoman, sits to the right of the crib, next to a small, brushed nickel table with a round, glossy white top. Perched atop the table is a brushed nickel lamp with a pink shade with floral cutouts. 

There is one large window on Aria's wall that is graced with four panels of antique white, bunched curtains, tied tightly with pink ribbons. White and pink-striped finials cap the ends of the curtain rod to complete the look.

A gray and white damask rug spreads over the hardwood floor, keeping the area cozy and cushioned for tiny feet. 

Aria's closet is already full of miniature couture that spans across the bars and over to the shelves. Generous gifts and immaculate hand-me-downs are responsible for most of it. Anything I've purchased myself still has tags and is off to the corner with the receipts still in the bags wrapped around them. 

The chandelier is a focal point when entering the bedroom. I need to credit my friend, Charity, who found it for her little princess on Overstock.com and allowed me to copy her taste. It was a pain in the royal ass to put together, but the crystal swirls and dripping beads complete the feel of the room perfectly.

Lastly, we'll move on to the royal…ummm…throne room. A crystal-beaded vanity light brightens the pink walls and shows off the shimmering, leafy vines that surround you as you stand on the white rug with its purple and pink border. Matching white, purple and pink towels with butterflies and flowers hang neatly below another hand-painted and crystal-adorned butterfly, while two others fly freely in various locations. The white, ruffled shower curtain is hung with clear flowers and the matching window valance is accented by that same white and pink-striped finials as the ones in the bedroom. 

Aria's room is absolutely stunning. I must send out a huge thank you to our brilliant artist and designer, Sam Simon of Sam Simon Projects. His incredible skills and attention to detail brought just the right amount of bling and glam into our lives and the finished product is more amazing than I'd ever dreamed it could be.

Diagnosis Day - April 14, 2011…Scan Day - April 11, 2014

Three years ago, almost to the day, I heard the words that would change my life forever.

"There was some cancer there…"

From my gynecologist's nonchalant choice of phrasing, it sounded as if I had a spot of mustard on the corner of my mouth, left over from that afternoon's turkey sandwich. One swipe of a moistened napkin and I'd be good to go! But, no such luck. The rare and aggressive form of "some cancer" left me without a uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries, and, for awhile, hair. I was told not to Google Small Cell Neuroendocrine Carcinoma of the Cervix, and I obliged…for a little while. After piecing together small bits of the seriousness of my disease from a Facebook support group consisting of the few others around the world, still alive, with the same ailment, I finally learned the horrifying facts. Even if I completed my surgery, four rounds of intensive chemotherapy and 28 rounds of brutal pelvic radiation, the likelihood that the cancer would come back, take over my major organs and kill me in the next five years would be 85%. 

I probably wouldn't play those odds at a casino. 

But, here I am, still breathing, living in three month intervals from CT scan to CT scan. It's not the most relaxing way to live but it's my new normal. A few times, my gynecological oncologist thought about moving my scans to every six months, but he quickly rescinded his suggestion and put the orders in for his office to keep up the 90 day schedule. Clearly I'm not the only one who believes this beast could return at any time and he wants to keep right on top of it if it does. But I know just as well as he does, if the demon comes back, I'd be in for a fight that I may not win a second time.

My CT scan, which covers my chest, abdomen and pelvis, was scheduled for March 21, 2014, but Dr. L's office called to move it to April 11, 2014 because he was going to be out of town. Knowing I'd have to wait an extra three weeks turned my stomach in knots and I didn't know if I'd find enough to keep my mind occupied so I wouldn't go absolutely crazy during that time. Little did I know Jimmi would be in and out of the hospital for the last four weeks, which really helped to divert some of my worrying. Thankfully, he was released on Thursday and seems to be doing much better. So the stress turned back to my appointment the following day.

Jimmi and I headed over to the cancer center an hour before my scheduled time because I needed to drink the sticky sweet contrast dye before the test. My mom was just getting out of her car when we pulled into the lot and the memories of the three of us walking in and out of that building almost every day for four months were immediately triggered. The smell of the foyer stopped me in my tracks as I swallowed hard to keep from gagging. I stepped into the familiar lobby and was greeted with a wave and a smile from the friendly receptionist, whose name I've never managed to ask in the last three years. "How are you?" she beamed from behind her desk. "I guess I'll find out," I replied, as I do every three months. We walked up one flight of stairs to the radiology department and I checked in and waited for the clipboard with the paperwork I'm asked to fill out each time I visit. "You can keep the information about the test and the contrast dye," I said. "I know it all by now." I took a pen and went to sit with my mom and Jimmi in the waiting area. After I'd filled out the one sheet asking if I had any allergies, if I'd ever had a CT scan with contrast before, and what medications I was currently taking, I flipped the page and was surprised the second one I see each time wasn't there. "No way!" I exclaimed with joy. "They didn't give me the 'Are you pregnant?' sheet this time! Maybe they finally marked it in my chart that it's physically impossible to get pregnant without a uterus." After three years of complaining to the people at the desk that I shouldn't have to answer that question every time since the answer will never ever change, they finally listened! I walked back up to hand in my completed questionnaire and the receptionist said, "Wait right there a second. I forgot to give you the other sheet." Seriously? "Is it the 'Are you pregnant?' one?" I asked and the man nodded with a smile. "It's only the one question. It won't take long," he said, thinking that would make things better. I wasn't in the mood to ask for my chart to be marked "she will NEVER be pregnant" again, so I checked the box next to "I am sure I'm not pregnant" and went on with my life. 

I heard my name being called a few minutes after I sat down and I raised my hand and announced, "here!" as if the teacher was taking attendance at school. The tech brought over the dreaded drink with my named typed nicely on a printed label, shook it, removed the top, and placed it in front of me with a straw. "It looks so dark," I commented on the color that was usually a watery red but now appeared a deep scarlet. "Yeah, we changed the flavoring. It's still raspberry but we use a different mix. People say it's not as sweet," she said. I sure hoped the "people" were right. I brought the straw to my lips and sucked in the first taste of the contrast dye. My face cringed from the sugary fruit punch that I wouldn't drink voluntarily if it was the last liquid on Earth, and I cursed the "people" who had gotten my hopes up about the toned-down flavor. "Let me try it," said Jimmi, holding out his hand. I gave him the bottle and he took a swig. "It's not that bad!" he insisted. I shot him a dirty look, "You had one sip. I have to drink three quarters of the bottle!" And the bottle probably holds a half gallon of liquid.

An hour goes by very slowly in a cancer hospital, whether you're waiting for a test or results of one. My mom tried to keep my mind off my reason for being there by talking about absolutely anything else, but it was no use. Each time another bald, sickly or mask-wearing patient staggered by I was shot right back into the world of cancer, and I wanted to be anywhere but there. Soon, a couple entered the waiting room. They were probably in their 50s and, while she dressed as any other woman of her age, her husband was donning a rock and roll t-shirt and sweatpants. He joked loudly with the man who'd escorted him to the seating area and I could tell he was the type to make any situation seem funny and light, though we all knew this one wasn't. The man commented on my tasty drink and, as the conversation ensued, we found out he was there for a PET scan. "Non-hodgekins lymphoma," his wife explained. "He was clear for thirteen years and it just came back." Her words hit me like a bullet to the chest. Thirteen years? Here I was, hoping for three, assuming if I get to five I'd be in the clear. But, no. This man was a harsh reminder that this disease can trick you and wait for you to feel safe before coming back to knock you right on your ass. 

That's when I saw a very familiar family enter the room. My parents have known them for at least 25 years and I went to school with their daughter. "Mom, look," I pointed them out to her just as they turned and spotted us. "Oh, hi!" said the woman, trying to force a smile. I couldn't help but wonder which one of them was the patient. Then she looked at me, knowing my history, and said, "You look great. Really great." I thanked her and said, "Not exactly the place you want to bump into people you know." Within a few minutes we found out it was her husband who had cancer, though I didn't ask what kind. The two of them and their daughter seemed completely overwhelmed with fear, understandably. When they finally excused themselves to go fill out paperwork the wife, once again, said to me, "You look great. Really great." I thanked her before getting back to my fruit punch.

And then it was my turn. I followed the faceless nurse into small room with a green chair and a sink; the same one I see in my nightmares. I sat down, spelled my name, told her my date of birth, confirmed I was not wearing a bra with an underwire and assured her I was 100% sure I was not pregnant, then she asked, "Which arm is better for your IV?" The IV would be used to shoot another type of contrast dye into my vein halfway through the scan. "My veins are terrible," I said, thinking I really need to make a recording of this speech. "I have one good one in my right arm, but it has a lot of scar tissue from overuse." I swear, every three months I relive the exact same scenario, over and over again. It's like the movie, Groundhog Day. She was able to find a vein in my left arm and started some fluids to get me hydrated before leaving me alone to wait for the radiology tech to come get me. I listened to the sounds of the CT machine across the hall, swirling around its current victim. Then the room went silent before the voices wished the man good luck and sent him on his way. "Who do we have next?" I overheard the tech ask from the scan room. "Suzanne Kane," someone answered. They obviously had no idea my bionic ears were tuned into their conversation when the tech spoke in an announcer's voice, "Big. Daddy. Kane!" I shook my head and debated whether or not to mention it when he came out a minute later, but I definitely wasn't in the mood for a joke and a giggle.

The tech gave me instructions about getting up onto the table with my head on the pillow and blah, blah, blah. I knew the drill. He covered me with a sheet so I could pull my jeans down to my knees so the button and zipper wouldn't affect the pictures then he left the room to start the test. I lifted my arms above my head, closed my eyes and waited for the table to move me slowly into the tube of misery. Here we go. I thought while simultaneously praying to God for no evidence of disease. "Breathe in!" commanded the recorded voice I knew so well. "Hold your breath!" The table shifted again. "Breathe!" One more time through that little exercise and I was moved out of the black hole to wait for my injection. The nurse came in and squeezed my hand sympathetically. "How are you doing?" she asked. "I guess I'll find out," I answered for the second time that day. "It'll be fine!" she said with that positive tone anyone who's never had cancer tends to use. "It needs to be fine," I insisted. "I'm having a baby next month." She was speechless as she stared at my flat stomach underneath the sheet. "Not me, exactly," I explained. "We have a gestational carrier in Minnesota." She was so interested in what I was saying that I wasn't sure she even remembered why she was in the room until I felt a warm sensation all over my body that told me the dye was running through my veins. "Good luck with everything," she said then she hurried out before the scan began again. 

"Breathe in! Hold your breath! Breathe!" 

Three more pictures were taken before the table backed out and a female tech came to unhook my IV. "I just heard you're having a baby with a gestational carrier!" she said with genuine excitement. "That's so amazing!" I nodded and made some sort of comment about needing the test results to be ok before I'll allow myself to get too excited. "I know you're going to be ok," she said. "If I had champagne, I'd toast with you right now. To new beginnings!" I didn't want to allow myself to get my hopes up because I knew she wasn't a radiologist. She doesn't write the reports, she just takes the pictures. I'd have to wait for the doctor.

I collected Jimmi and my mom and walked down one flight to check in at Dr. L's office. The waiting room was so full there were people spilling out into the hall. "Are you having a party?" I asked the receptionist who cracked a slight smile and told me to have a seat. I knew I had a little bit of time so I took a detour to the ladies room where I ran into our family friend again. She seemed surprised to see me as she exited the stall and, once again, the only words she spoke to me were, "You look great. Really great." At that point I figured she was in shock over her husband's diagnosis and just didn't have the strength to say anything more. Either that or two and a half years of new hair growth is really working for me! When I got back to the waiting room my second favorite nurse was waiting for me. "Hi!" she gushed. "How much longer?" I knew exactly what she meant. "Five weeks," I told her. She clapped her hands and double checked, "Girl, right?" I confirmed her thoughts as she led us to an exam room. "I really need everything to be ok," I said for the billionth time that day. "It will be! I know it." She took my vitals and told me to get naked from the waist down. As she opened the door to leave she almost walked right into my favorite nurse. "And here's Nurse L," she said. Nurse L is the one I'm closest to and the one I call with all my questions. She calms me, she answers me, she listens to me and I can tell she truly cares about me. "When's the baby coming?" she beamed upon entering. "Five weeks," I said again. "Well," she said, holding a report up in her hand. "Here's our gift to you." I was hoping she meant what I thought she meant and, before I could ask, she let me off the hook. "Everything looks good! Scan is clear!" Tears lined the rims of my mom's eyes and Jimmi's smile matched mine. "Really?" I asked. "Yes! But don't tell Dr. L I told you. He likes to be the one to give the good news." she said with a wink. "Now let's hurry up and have that baby. I feel like she's been pregnant FOREVER!"

Dr. L joined us about fifteen minutes later. "Scan looks good," he said. "But I'm sure you already knew that, right?" I tried to act surprised but he knew better. He got into position for my internal exam, which I was dreading. For most women, a pelvic exam is no big deal. In, out, done. Well, not for a woman who's had radiation damage to that area. For us, as the speculum opens, it feels like we're being torn apart. And, without regular…ummm…exercise to the girly parts, everything starts to shrink, making it difficult to get anything in there. That's why a dilator is prescribed for us, the lucky members of the vaginal stenosis club. It's basically a medical dildo used to keep everything happy down there. But I fucking hate that thing! It's hard plastic, it's not fun and it's a constant reminder of cancer. Whenever possible, I take part in the real thing. But, with Jimmi in and out of the hospital for the last month, it hasn't really been very hot and heavy at my house lately. "Before you get in there I want to warn you it's gonna be really tight. Please don't hurt me!" He gave me a puzzled look before I explained Jimmi's bad luck. "What about the dilator?" he asked. "I fucking HATE that thing!" I said. He finished the exam, told me everything looked good then he looked down at the blood on his glove and said, "You need to use that dilator. It's only gonna get worse." 

Dr. L glanced at my chart and marveled over the fact that it's been three years since diagnosis. I know he's proud of himself for saving my life. We both know I'm a walking miracle. He told me he'd see me in three months, wished us luck with the baby then left the room. I turned to Nurse L, "Will he move me to six months soon?" She shook her head, "No. You need to come here every three months. Six is too long." There will never be a safety zone for me. Then she added, "You know, you don't have to use the dilator." My expression changed. "Grab one of your girlfriends and hit the sex shop! Get yourself a toy! You might even be able to push it through insurance." The thought of filling out a form to be reimbursed for a JackRabbit made me giggle. I set up my next appointment for July 18th and my mom, Jimmi and I left the cancer center. When we got outside my mom turned to me, breathed a sigh of relief and said...

"Ok! Bring on that baby!"