We left off last Thursday going back to Dr. Welden's office to see if we had a baby thriving or if we had the "worse case scenario". When we got to Dr. Welden's office, we were obviously trepiditious. We start the ultrasound process. By the way, Heidi may actually hold the title for most vaginal ultrasounds in a week. Not a title she ever aspired to, but one she may hold nonetheless. Getting back to business...we are on our way to the ultrasound, obviously worried and anxious. But this ultrasound is part of our high this week. During the ultrasound, we see one baby and one heartbeat. It wasn't yet large enough to hear, but we could see it...the slightest little movement. It was so early that Dr. Welden had to zoom in ever so close to be able to see it but we saw it. It was, well, amazing. This was the first time we'd seen our baby's heartbeat. It was moving, incredible. Heidi was making a baby, a real life. We had taken our IVF science project and were actually making a baby. A BABY, PEOPLE!!! But wait...that's not it. Not only did we see our embryo beating its little heart, there's more! What you ask? What more could we possibly ask for? I answer you with this...we also saw another yolk sac (that's the baby holder, people...google this stuff!), only this one was considerably smaller, so small we are unable to detect a heartbeat. Dr. Welden explained it could be smaller for a couple of reasons; it could have implanted up to 48 hours later than the first embryo, thereby lagging in growth. Or, it could be failing to thrive and on its way to miscarriage. There was no way to tell at that moment. Instead, we would have to wait a few days to see if it was growing and if it was doing so at a rate commiserate with a thriving embryo. Great news! We were so excited! Not only did we have one seemingly healthy embryo, but we might have two! Twins. Wow. Twins. Holy double wow. Two strollers, two car seats, two everything. Why? Because they were twins. We left Dr. Welden's office feeling amazing, maybe even walking on air a little bit. We also left with our first baby photo and video of the heartbeat. A-mazing. For our loyal fans (well, maybe not "fans" but family, friends and some strangers becoming friends through our blog), I introduce you to...our embryo.
Because we aren't sure about the viability of embryo number two, I shall refrain from posting pictures until appropriate confirmation has been received.
We have to give the original child, Jessica, a ride to her car in Riverview after the doctor's appointment so we start our trek to pick her up in Tampa. Our car ride is, of course, punctuated with talk of the embryo(s), showing of the picture, happy baby-making talk about how amazing it was that we might have two babies in there...all conversation that anyone having a baby and seeing it for the first time might have. We drop Jessica off in Riverview, which is a hop, skip and a jump to our house (um, if by hop, skip and jump you mean a BFE). On our way home, Heidi starts to feel a little sick to her stomach. We start looking for a Wendy's to purchase a chocolate Frosty, medicine of the Gods, to help her through this icky moment. Apparently, Riverview is not known for it's conveniently located Wendy's. By the time we find one, we're back in Tampa and Heidi's pain is considerably worse. We stop at Wendy's and while I am ordering her the "Save Me" Frosty, she heads to the little girls room to take a tinkle. By the time she gets in there, the pain is so bad that she has to sit on the floor until the wave of pain passes. For those of you who know Heidi, she's an incredible germ-o-phobe. Sitting on the floor of Wendy's is NOT within the sanitary guidelines she has outlined for her natural habitat. This is being shared solely to help you appreciate how much pain she was in. We leave Wendy's, me helping her walk out because she's in so much pain. Using our medical backgrounds and incredible powers of intuition, we deduce that the kidney stone is once again rearing its ugly head and continuing its painful passage to and through Heidi's urethra. I start texting a friend who has endured the agony of the stone and everything she's telling me about its passage is right on par with the pain Heidi is feeling. I guess we have finally figured out what the painful culprit from earlier in the week is...a rolling stone (hahahaha...get it? Nevermind.)
When we get home, Heidi is in serious agony. I help her into the house but by the time we get even five steps in, she collapses to the ground. I feel just horrible for her because I know she's in an incredible amount of pain and I can't do anything to help her. I've never had kidney stones (thank God!) so I can empathize but that's about it...I can't take away her discomfort. After she sits on the couch for a bit to catch her breath, I take her to the bedroom and lay her down so she'll be more comfortable. A neighbor had graciously offered to bring us dinner and it was an offer I was too exhausted to refuse. Prior to her arriving with her delicious dining delights, Heidi called me in to help her go to the bathroom. As she was leaving the latrine, she said she felt dizzy and wanted to lay down, which she did, right outside the bathroom door. As she lay there, she said she could feel blood coming out and it felt like a lot. I grabbed a towel and put it under her but the blood had already soaked through her panties and onto the carpet. Then the doorbell rings. I tell Heidi that I'm going to go get the door while she gets her bearings on the floor and that I would be back shortly to help her back to bed. It was our neighbor with dinner. I take a few moments to let her know whats going on and then head back to the bedroom to get Heidi back into bed. By the time I got there, she had bled some more and she didn't feel like she could walk to the bed. I was sitting on the floor with her and I told her that I was just going to carry her to bed. Um, here's where I need to brag just a bit about my incredibly inhuman strength. From a sitting position, I put my arms under Heidi's legs and head and actually pick her up, FROM A SITTING POSITION, and carry her to bed. No, this is not crucial to the story, however, it should be noted that this was very difficult and again, it was from a sitting position! I'm not exactly a spring chicken so I'm not going to lie...I was feeling a little like a stud. I digress. I get Heidi into bed and go into the kitchen to make her a plate of dinner. I bring it to her and she eats some but she just isn't feeling very well so she finds it difficult to eat. I eat dinner because, well, quite frankly, I'm feeling fine and I'm hungry and my neighbor made me a fabulous dinner so I was not about to waste it. Plus, I had just exerted super human strength in lifting her and I'm sure that is what induced such hunger in me. Speculation, of course, but I'm pretty confident that's what it was. We (I) eat and then we decide to turn in for the night because Heidi is just feeling horrible. About 10:30, maybe 11:00, Heidi wakes me up because she's having a hard time breathing. I can't be exact on the time because I was already asleep and the events that occur after are more than a little traumatic so forgive me if my timeline is slightly askew. She wakes me up to tell me that she thinks she has a collapsed lung because she can't take a deep breath. In my grogginess, I'm confused as to why should would think her lung was collapsed because it seemed so out of left field. She said she googled it and had all of the symptoms. OK. I'm going to be a little honest here. I thought she was getting a little ahead of herself and exaggerating the situation because she was in pain. I have to admit, shamefully so, that I was a little frustrated. I told her it was probably the way she was sleeping, all hunched down, and she should either lie down or sit up because her diaphragm was probably squishing her lungs (again, using my medical expertise). She said she had to go to the bathroom again and asked for my help. I take her to the bathroom and as she sits on the toilet, she says that she thinks she's bleeding again. I hear the heavy stream and ask her if she's peeing as well. She says no, it's just blood. I look down and to my shock, there is blood pouring from her. She said that she needed to lie down because she wasn't feeling well. I told her she needed to wait; I had to help clean her up because there was so much blood. She was adamant about laying down and I held her up and told her to take a deep breath and calm down, she was starting to hyperventilate. I honestly thought she had just worked herself up into a panic attack. Rightfully so, mind you, because of the blood and pain, but I still thought it was just a panic attack or something of the sort. I told her I was going to lean her against the back of the toilet while I cleaned her up and then I would take her back to bed. As I leaned her back, her body went completely stiff, her eyes glazed over and she started sliding off the toilet. She was suddenly gone, unconscious. Limp and falling. She wasn't responding to me at all. It was like she left the room and I was left there with just her body. I don't know that I can find the words to describe how terrified I was. She was just bleeding, severely in my estimation, and then immediately she passes out. She was pale and non-responsive. I was afraid she would fall off the toilet so I picked her up and laid her on the floor, all the while calling her name and telling her to wake up. I can hear my own voice in my head, repeating over and over, "baby, baby, baby...wake up, wake up. Baby, baby, baby, wake up." After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, her eyes came back into focus and she asked how she got to the floor. I told her she passed out and I put her there. She said "I told you I wasn't hyperventilating. Call 911". Dang, straight from a complete pass-out, girl just called me out! I run out of the bathroom to find a phone and call 911. I'm petrified. I don't know what the frig just happened to her, I only know there's blood everywhere and she's on the floor. The 911 operator does her job in calming me down and gives me specific instructions...put the dog away, turn on the porch light, unlock the door...all things that make me focus on simple tasks and not the panic welling up in my chest. Heidi tells me to get her some pants and to pull up her panties, which are still down around her ankles. I get her dressed. I also realize that I'm in my undies as well so I find some boxer shorts to quickly put on. By the time all of these things are done, the paramedics show up.
A rush of chaos ensues for me and Heidi. Four paramedics show up and start asking all standard questions (you know, like "are you mom?"...erg.) I explain everything that has happened as they load her up on the gurney. They take her out to the ambulance to get her hooked up to an IV and do whatever other paramedic magic is required. I go through the list of Heidi's meds with one of the other paramedics. Then I try to find a bra and real pants...great. Four strangers saw me with floppy boobs. Can the night get any worse? I will save you the trouble of trying to answer that...yes, my friends, yes it can...a lot worse.
We ask the ambulance driver if he can take Heidi to St. Joseph's Hospital in Tampa because our fertility doctor has privileges there and after the chaos at the beginning of the week, we wanted to be in a hospital he could see us in. They agreed and started the trek to Tampa with Heidi. I put the dogs away, grabbed her meds, put on shoes, all stuff done in a panic. How could this be happening again? How could kidney stones be so frigging bad?!?
We get to St. Joseph's Hospital ER and I'm relegated to the waiting room. At each ER this week, there was always more than a little anxiety about our "marital status" and whether the hospital would let me go back with her or if they would pull the whole "you're not really married in Florida" card. After about twenty minutes, a nurse came to get me and with a big sigh of relief, I was taken back to her. They were going to run more tests, including an ultrasound...yep, you guessed it, vaginally. Unfortunately though, they needed a full bladder and because of the situation, Heidi wasn't allowed to drink anything. So, they proceeded to give her a catheter. Not just any catheter, mind you. No, this was a special massively sized catheter designed to be able to not only drain urine, but also push saline into her bladder. This was incredibly painful for Heidi, especially when they removed it. It was supposed to be a swift, quick removal, but Heidi said it hurt so much that she would never get another catheter again....foreshadowing...she wasn't going to be able to stick to that resolve. Back to the room. After a little while, the nurse comes in to add another IV line to her other arm. We ask why they need two lines and she stated that they do it in serious situations in case they need access quickly. Hold the fort, my friends. These are kidney stones. In what universe does that qualify as a serious situation? I mean, I know they are painful, but nonetheless, they're kidney stones. Aren't they?
The ER doctor comes back into the room. He wants to get the name and phone number for our fertility doctor. He advises that Heidi has some type of fluid in her abdomen. They can't be sure what it is at this point, but they surmise that it is blood and likely from an ectopic pregnancy. They are going to call Dr. Welden to come in because Heidi would need to go into emergency surgery to find the source of the bleeding and stop it. STOP! What the hell just happened here? They were f**king kidney stones!!! How is she bleeding internally?!?! The doctor further advises that this is not something that will fix itself and that there is no other option for Heidi but surgery. They were going to transport her to St. Joseph's Women's Hospital across the street by ambulance and perform the surgery as soon as Dr. Welden could get there. What's the expression people use? Oh yea, it's something to the effect of "Shit just got real". Despite all of my intention not to cry in front of Heidi no matter what we were going through, I couldn't help myself. I cried. Why? Shit just got real. These weren't kidney stones. She was bleeding internally and not just a little. The doctor said it was likely the bleeding that was making it difficult for her to breath because the fluid was pushing against her diaphragm, which was pushing against her lungs. It was also the blood loss that was making her dizzy and weak. She saw me cry (dammit!) and said it would be OK. I had to pull my shit together because my job is to be strong for her, take care of her. Shake it off, baby, shake it off...you can do this. The doctor calls Dr. Welden (I know this because I was eavesdropping on his conversation). While he's doing this, the nurses are getting Heidi ready for transport to the women's hospital. They are somber, serious and quick. I call Heidi's mom at, oh, I don't know...3:00 a.m. to tell her that Heidi is going into emergency surgery. She doesn't believe me. I barely believe what is happening. The nurse tells me and Jessica to go ahead and leave so we could get checked in and be ready for when Heidi arrived across the street. As we left the ER, it happened. It sunk in. Shit was more than real...it had potentially devastating consequences and I cried. Jessica did her best to console me but I had a moment away from Heidi where she wouldn't see me cry and it just had to happen. It had to be purged so I was ready for her arrival at the next hospital.
Jessica and I drive across the street to the women's hospital and wait for Heidi. We proceed to the security guard whose age I would estimate to be about 157. I advised we were checking in for a patient who was being brought over for surgery. He said he doesn't see an ambulance arriving and I say to his 157 year old ears that I understand that, she should be arriving shortly and we were told to come check in first. He points to the door and says we'll just have to wait until an ambulance gets here. He told us to have a seat to wait. We sit down. Now, my friends, if you haven't already surmised by this story, it's about 4:00 a.m. I'm a little fricking stressed out and I am making every single effort to maintain maturity so I do not get kicked out of a hospital my wife has yet to arrive at but it is not easy. I'm tired. I'm scared. And now I'm pissed off. I go back to the desk and ask if he can contact the AOD and advise her that we are here for Heidi's surgery and need to check in. He writes down Heidi's name and asks if I'm related to her. Geezohfuck...here we go. "Yes", I say. "What is your relationship?" he asks. "Wife." "What?" "Wife" "Wife, to her?" "Yes"...spoken very slowly through clenched teeth. What, I wonder, would the repercussions be if I just jumped across the desk and actually stabbed the 157 year old security guard to death with the pen he was using to write down Heidi's name? Would it impact my ability to see her when she arrived? Likely...so I restrain myself. He speaks to the AOD and she advises that Heidi should be on her way. He relays that to me then tells me to have a seat. Jessica and I sit for approximately four minutes and then he says to us, "You should come in check in so you are ready when she gets here." I say in my calmest I think I might actually stab you in the eye and go berserk on you voice, "That's what I was trying to do the whole time." My visitor badge picture is not a very happy looking one. I am still considering whether I should return and off him...
Heidi arrives. For a girl whose never rode in an ambulance, this is her fourth ride of the week. Maybe another title for her...They take her back to the prep area and Jessica and I continue to wait in the waiting room, glaring with evil intent at the old guy in the security chair. Odd that the evil daggars we were shooting at him didn't cause him immediate harm. I guess it was his lucky night.
We go back to the prep area and sit with Heidi. My dear, sweet girl is tired and spent. She's still in pain and she's still scared. The anesthesiologist comes in to talk to us and yep, she keeps it real. She tells Heidi that if she has general anesthesia and is put out completely, the chances are minimal that the embryo's will survive. They will most certainly perish at this age because the anesthesia will stop the development of the organs and limbs. Her other alternative is an epidural. This is safer for the embryos. It is, however, not high on Heidi's list of things she feels she can endure. She is very scared, very anxious, about how she will react to being in surgery and being awake. She's already in an immense amount of pain and has been for hours. She can't breathe well, even though she's on oxygen. She's had the misfortune and humiliation of having to use a bedpan twice in the same night. She is at her end...she just can't take anymore. Going into surgery awake feels impossible for her. The anesthesiologist is good at talking to Heidi in her heightened state and agrees to let me come into the surgery with Heidi to keep her calm. Well, now, it would seem that she must have heard of my medical expertise and this was her secret way of getting me into the room to assist...or, she just thought it was the best thing for Heidi; having someone with her that could comfort and soothe her. Probably that.
They take Heidi to prepare for surgery. I get to prepare myself, with a super-sexy blob shaped body outfit, hair net, shoe booties and a mask. I'm feeling pretty darn surgical right now, my friends. This also lends credence to my medical expertise. I'm pretty sure I can now sign my name and follow it with the letters M.D. Please feel free to call my receptionist for an appointment...I offer only gynecology services. :P
When they bring me to the surgery room, I see Heidi laid out, butt-ass naked, with a sheet screen dividing her from neck to bottom. I am directed to my very important chair at the head end. She's groggy but awake. The anesthesiologist has given her the epidural and is testing her for feeling by poking her, alternating between a needle and a dull pen top to see if Heidi could tell the difference. Yea, Heidi wasn't really good at this game; an important one if she wanted to get through this surgery without actually feeling anything. It is going to be a laproscopic surgery which poses a bit of a problem because when they pump the gas into her abdomen, it is going to put more pressure on her diaphram and make it even more difficult for her to breathe. She'll be awake so she will be very aware of this. Adding the gas also creates additional pain in her shoulder (why? I don't know...that's just where it presents.) Throughout the entire surgery, Heidi's shoulder was in a lot of pain. Even through the epidural and the other drugs they gave her to make the the process easier, she continually complained about the pain in her shoulder. I sat at her head and consoled her, rubbing her face, holding her hand, reassuring her. I could see the containers holding the blood that was being suctioned from her abdomen. At the time, I didn't know it was diluted with fluid they were adding so I was growing more and more concerned by the amount of blood I was seeing. At one point, the anesthesiologist told me to stand up and look at the screen. She showed me a large bubble in a tube. That was an embryo. And that was a fallopian tube. After almost a week of pain and unknowns, this was it. An ectopic pregnancy. One that led to a significant amount of pain and bleeding. I asked her if it was still viable, she said no. That was a relief to me, just knowing we weren't destroying it, even under the circumstances. I sat back down and continued kissing Heidi, rubbing her face, rubbing her shoulder, holding her hand. At one point, they had her inverted and her head was down. This made the pain in her shoulder worse. The nurse kept encouraging them to hurry and get her back in a horizontal position because of the pain. About an hour and fifteen minutes into the surgery, and after that entire time period is spent at Heidi's head, cajoling, consoling, she turns to me, looks me in the eye and says, "What are you wearing?" LOL...my girl and her powers of observation...it took her 75 minutes to notice I was in surgery wear, with a mask on. I had been kissing her through this same mask but she just now noticed. LOL My girl...
The surgery ends after about an hour and a half. They completely remove the fallopian tube and the embryo. They make sure there is no blood remaining in her abdomen. They stitch and bandage her up and wheel her to recovery.
After recovery, we spend two days in the hospital. Heidi is extremely weak from the blood loss. The doctor did not want to give her a blood transfusion because of potential risk to the embryos, including the possibility of an allergic reaction to the transfused blood. This meant she had to regenerate it on her own. She had lost, at a minimum, four bags of blood, each bag equivalent to the size of one of the bags you fill when you donate blood. This was what they ended up removing minus the solution they added. This did not, however, include any of the blood she lost at home. The time in the hospital was spent by Heidi working up the energy to sit up, stand up, walk to the bathroom, try to eat even though she was nauseous. She was in pain and couldn't sleep well, she couldn't eat well...she was not in a happy place during her recovery.
It was while in the hospital that she came to the realization that she could have died. This was a difficult realization. She was suddenly terrified of what the rest of her pregnancy might hold, if she was even still pregnant. This was a lot of trauma for embryos. She even said she wasn't sure she wanted to be pregnant at this point. She wanted to have a baby. She did not want to die; she didn't want to leave me alone. We didn't talk much about the babies while we were in the hospital because this was something she needed to reconcile. This was something no one expects to have to deal with so she needed time. And my job was to give it to her.
We were released from the hospital on Sunday with instructions to go to Dr. Welden's on Monday for an ultrasound. The ultrasound was to let us know if the embryo(s) survived. Through most of this experience, I am typically the one that keeps everything positive; I put everything into perspective. This day was different. I was so nervous. It felt like someone had taken my body between my head and pelvis and twisted it like giving a really bad indian rug burn to my whole body. I was anxious, scared. I was uncharacteristicly...quiet.
When we got into the room, Dr. Welden asked the cursory questions about how she was feeling, how the incisions felt, etc. Then, as he inserted the vaginal probe (which sounds dirty but isn't...grow up, you immature freaks!), he pauses. The screen is ready to see what is going to show up at the end of that probe in mere seconds, milliseconds, really. My eyes were fixed on the screen, anxious, waiting. And then, he stops. Before he inserts it fully, he stops and prays. He prays that God has seen fit to keep our baby safe and let us be mothers. He prays that God has protected them. I'm going to interject an opinion rant here (like I have to preface my rants...) I believe in God. Heidi believes in God. We are gay. Sometimes, that feels like a contradiction but for us, it isn't. We believe God made us who we are, whether religion believes it or not. One of our concerns when we first went to Dr. Welden was all of the religious paraphenalia we saw scattered around his office and how he would feel about his belief in God and our gayness. Never once has that been an issue for Dr. Welden and to end my rant, never more than this moment have I been more appreciative of Dr. Welden's prayers than this second, this moment in time. His commitment to us and to God merged and I could feel how important God's blessing on our embryos was to not just us, but also to Dr. Welden. Here we go...the moment to end all moments. Did they survive? Was God looking out for them?
As soon as the probe was inserted far enough to see the uterus, we saw it. A heartbeat! WE SAW A HEARTBEAT!!! Stop, pause and ingest the depth of that statement. After all that Heidi had gone through; after all of her blood loss, after surgery, after everything, there was a heartbeat. THERE WAS A HEARTBEAT. And I also saw the glimpse of a second heartbeat and pointed that out to Dr. Welden. He laughed and said I was getting ahead of myself. He zoomed into the embryo and started the measurements. Heartbeat should be 120. This one's was 120.67. The size at last measurement was 1mm. This time, it was 4mm. It had quadrupled in size since Thursday. Not only had it survived, but it thrived, grown! Dr. Welden continues the ultrasound...searching for a possible second embryo. And there it was! Just like I said (again, another testament to my medical knowledge). This one was only a slight bit smaller than the first. The heartbeat was a slight amount under 120. It too, was perfect.
I think it goes without saying that we cried. We cried because despite everything, we had not just one baby, but two. We cried because even though we had just had an incredibly frightening week, we still had a shot at this parenting thing. We cried because we were indescribably happy, relieved. We cried because Dr. Welden apparently has a direct line to God and God listened. Twins, my friends. We have twins. Two. Babies. Twins. And now, my dearest friends, family and strangers alike, now I introduce you to our children, our boys, or girls, or both. It doesn't matter. These are our babies...please say hello.
And so we end our journey trying to get pregnant and begin our journey making babies. We look forward to this trip! As a matter-of-fact, Heidi's already experiencing morning sickness. The first real-life sign of pregnancy. Here we go...making our babies! Thank you, God. Thank you, Dr. Welden. :)
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