was holding on by a “thread” and could detach completely at any moment. It could either happen by itself or something as simple as a wrong movement or even a sneeze could make it happen. She explained to me that the pregnancy would more than likely end very soon. The news hit me like a ton of bricks. I went from the wonderful high of hearing my baby’s heartbeat to the extreme low of this heartbreaking news. She went on to explain some of the risks involved with my condition. Not only was there no way to know how much oxygen and nutrients the baby had lost or for how long, there were life threatening risks for me as well. She asked me to think about all of the risks and decide whether or not I would like to continue with the pregnancy. For me, there was nothing to think about. There was a tiny human being inside of me that was created by God. He had a plan for this child and I was not about to take matters into my own hands. There was no question, I would continue with the pregnancy for as long as God saw fit. My doctor smiled and let me know that she was completely on my side and would do everything possible to keep my baby alive. She then started on a “game plan” of sorts. I was to be on strict bed rest for the duration of my pregnancy, only getting up to use the bathroom and even then having help in sitting up, so as not to strain any muscles. I could not lift anything heavier than a pencil or strain in any way. I was to come in for an ultrasound and a check up every week. She explained that if the placenta tore the rest of the way, it was imperative to get to the hospital as quickly as possible as my life would be in danger, too. My dad being the same blood type, she asked that he be on standby should there be a need for a transfusion. After she was sure we had covered everything, I made my way back home with a long list of doctor’s orders, and a heavy heart. Being on complete bed rest, I had to have someone with me around the clock. My mom moved in with us from Sunday night
to Friday morning. On Friday morning, my mother-in-law would come in from out of town and stay until Sunday evening. Although they were a God-send and I am forever grateful for their help, it was very hard relying on others to clean your house, cook the family meals, and take care of your children. I longed to hold my girls. Ashlynn was only a year old and couldn’t understand why her mommy couldn’t pick her up, give her baths, or tuck her in at night. It broke my heart. and went and at each weekly appointment my doctor was more and more amazed that I was still carrying my baby. During my ultrasound at 16 weeks, the doctor was able to tell the gender. I would finally have a name and identity for my sweet baby! “It’s a boy.” The news was bitter sweet because during the session she also informed me that I had a massive amount of scar tissue on my uterus due to the tearing and would likely never be able to have any more babies. Knowing that we had a son on the way was wonderful, but we knew that there was a great chance that we would never get to meet him, and no chance for another try. To add to my stress, the doctor continued on by telling me she had consulted with a few other doctors about my case and they all came to the same conclusion: the chances of my carrying the baby to even 24 weeks were slim to none. Although as the placenta grew larger it had more surface area connected to the uterus, the part that detached at 13 weeks would never re-attach, and now had a very large blood clot forming between the placenta and uterus. The doctors were afraid that if the clot continued to grow, the placenta would continue to detach. As I went home that night, I felt on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Everything the doctor told me played over and over in my mind. All of the stress of the last three weeks came flooding over me. I sobbed harder than I ever have in my life. I felt hopeless, scared and all alone. After about 30 minutes of crying, I opened my
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