Readers, I had one of the scariest experiences of my life yesterday morning.
My family and I were heading down to church for our son's Sunday school class. I was driving my minivan (as I always do), Super Man was in the passenger seat and Super Girl was in back with Super Boy. We were about halfway to our church, ON A BRIDGE, when all of a sudden I felt light-headed, hot & sweaty, and definitely NOT well. I turned off the heat in the van, opened my window and tried to see if that would help. My light-headedness was getting worse and my vision was getting blotchy. I had just enough time to say to Super Man, "I don't feel right - I think I'm going to pass out," pull the van as far to the right as possible, throw it into "park" and hit the button to turn my hazards on before I PASSED OUT.
From the time I started feeling not right to the time I passed out was maybe 90 seconds.
Next thing I knew, I felt like I was just waking up and I could hear Super Man saying my name over and over and over. When I opened my eyes, he was holding my face in his hands, looking very concerned. I asked, "What happened?" Honestly, I thought I had just closed my eyes for a minute to rest and cool off once I'd pulled over. Super Man told me I had passed out, and was out for about 45 seconds. I couldn't believe it. In the meantime, the kids were freaking out in the back, and I could hear Super Girl telling 911 that it was a false alarm and I was okay. Can you say, "HOLY CRAP???"
I sat there in disbelief for a few minutes while Super Man made me drink from my ever-present bottle of ice water. My hands were shaking like crazy, my face was a little sweaty and I was sure I was very pale, and I suddenly felt really cold. We sat there, blocking the right lane on the bridge, until I felt well enough to drive to the nearest turn so Super Man could take the wheel. Needless to say, I was - and remain - scared to drive after that happened. I mean, think about it: I had my entire family in my car with me, ON A BRIDGE, and I passed out while driving. THANK GOD a million times over that I had enough time to process what was happening, pull over and park the car before I lost consciousness. I shudder to think of what could've happened if I'd still had the car in "drive" when it happened. I could've killed my family, or someone else's family. NOT a good situation, no matter how you slice it.
When we got the car off the road and switched places, Super Man called my OB's office to ask whether he should take me to the hospital or not. Of course, being a Sunday, we got the answering service and had to wait for the on-call OB to call us back. In the meantime, I drank my ice water, sucked on a mint I had in the car (in case it happened to be hypoglycemia), and made DH and the kids tell me exactly what happened after I parked the car and passed out.
Apparently, I was out for about 45 seconds. In that time, I literally slumped in my seat and the reason Super Man was holding my face was that it sounded like I was having trouble breathing being slumped as I was. My skin got clammy and pale, and Super Man said he was repeating my name the entire time trying to get me to come around. He could tell when I was almost there because my breathing got quieter and more normal, and then it was like I just woke up.
Super Man said he couldn't believe how lucky we ALL were that I was able to stop the car before I passed out. I was thinking the same thing.
He started driving, heading toward the hospital near our house, when the OB on-call called us back. Super Man spoke to him for a few minutes, and then the doctor wanted to speak to me. I told him what happened, and explained that in the middle of the night before, I'd woken up around 2:45am with a stomachache and spent about a half-hour in the bathroom with diarrhea, then had trouble falling back asleep, but I felt okay in the morning. I had eaten a big bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. The doctor wasn't overly concerned about me passing out, and chalked it up to dehydration from my middle-of-the-night bathroom situation the night before, assuming I hadn't rehydrated enough afterwards. He also said it could've been the position of the baby, maybe resting on a crucial bit of my vascular system and causing the drop in blood pressure. He asked how my appointments have gone so far, and if I've had any issues with diabetes or blood pressure and I said no -- all of my appointments have gone great, and all my vitals and tests have been normal. So, no tests this time, but he said if it happens again, to call and they'll probably want to run a few tests. He told me to go home, drink sports drinks and water and get some rest. So I did.
But now I'm afraid to drive. At least alone, or with Super Boy. What if it happens again? Then again, I know that I can't NOT drive. Super Man works an hour away; he works long hours; he travels for work. I HAVE TO drive. Super Boy has to get to school and to activities, we need groceries and other things, etc. I think I'll feel a lot better once I can get through a few weeks without any more fainting issues.
It was just so bizarre. I never fainted while pregnant with Super Boy. I don't even remember ever feeling dizzy with him, beyond a little light-headedness if I stood up too fast or something. This happened so out-of-the-blue, with so little warning, that it just surprised the heck out of me. I'm just praying it won't happen again.
Have any of you had issues with fainting while pregnant? Anyone ever fainted while DRIVING while pregnant?
Stay safe, friends, and be well!
Your grateful friend SW
Monday, January 24, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
in your shoes
One of the blogs I've checked regularly throughout our struggle to conceive is "999 Reasons to Laugh at Infertility", which I also "like" on Facebook. This morning on Facebook they posted a challenge to infertiles not to glare at pregnant women today. I could SO relate to the sentiment, having lived it for all four and a half years we tried for this baby - particularly in the weeks after my miscarriage last spring, when it seemed like literally every female I encountered EVERY DAMN PLACE I WENT was ripe with child, like the Universe was bent on torturing me.
Of course, I always felt bad for feeling so resentful of the pregnant women who crossed my path, particularly since several of them are friends who just happened to get pregnant (one or more times!) in the time it's taken us to conceive this baby. Yes, there is guilt and remorse in my heart for that, as I am sure there is in the heart of every other woman who has struggled with infertility of any kind who has ever felt hostility and/or resentment towards a pregnant woman. After all, they can't help their condition, whether they were blessed with raging fertility or not. And just because they have what we so desperately want doesn't make them bad people. It makes them just like us -- only luckier.
Having had so much time to think about the issue while we tried, waited and failed to conceive and tried, waited and failed to conceive, I found myself making a very crucial distinction in my head about the pregnant women I encountered. There were those who understood what it was like to be in my shoes, either because they themselves had dealt with infertility at some point or they were close to someone else who had, who were gentle in sharing their news, truly seemed to be grateful for their condition, and never seemed to be flaunting it in my presence. And then there were those who were completely clueless, who knew what we were going through and still felt it was appropriate to talk about how "fortunate" they were to be so fertile, to get pregnant on the first try with all their children (or, better yet, to get pregnant even when they WEREN'T trying), and who had the gall to complain about being pregnant or pregnancy side effects every time they crossed my path, not getting at all that I would've gladly given my left nut if I'd had one to be in their shoes any day, any time. I found I could tolerate being in the presence of the former. But I would do whatever it took to avoid being in the presence of the latter.
So, as I sit here almost 22 weeks pregnant, I want to tell all of those reading this who are still waiting for their miracle that I understand what you're going through. I know every emotion that crosses your mind and your heart when you see my belly, and I know that it's like a knife cutting deep. I know this, and my heart breaks for you because I can remember what that felt like more acutely than you know. I don't think I will ever be able to forget that feeling, having lived with it so deeply and completely for so long. I don't blame you for feeling resentful, for wanting to hate me, for glaring at me, because I know the depth and breadth of your heartache.
Just know this: I am you. Despite my complete and utter joy and excitement over our miracle happening and our dream coming true, I still pray every single day for all of the women and couples who are still suffering, still waiting, still praying, still waiting for their miracle. I don't consider myself removed from where you are; I will never be removed from this experience. I am still with you all, shoulder-to-shoulder, praying for babies for all those who want them with all their hearts. I don't take this pregnancy for granted, I don't feel smug for having achieved it at long last; rather, I am profoundly grateful and humbled and awe-struck beyond words. I thank God every day for finally answering our prayers, and I pray that I will prove myself worthy of my children. I'm still with you, and I will always be with you, belly bump or no.
All I can tell you is this: believe. Believe that it's possible. Believe that the timing just hasn't been right yet. Believe that when it does happen, it's because it was meant to happen then, to give you that specific child. Believe, even if others have given up around you. Just believe in miracles.
With all the love in my heart,
SW
Of course, I always felt bad for feeling so resentful of the pregnant women who crossed my path, particularly since several of them are friends who just happened to get pregnant (one or more times!) in the time it's taken us to conceive this baby. Yes, there is guilt and remorse in my heart for that, as I am sure there is in the heart of every other woman who has struggled with infertility of any kind who has ever felt hostility and/or resentment towards a pregnant woman. After all, they can't help their condition, whether they were blessed with raging fertility or not. And just because they have what we so desperately want doesn't make them bad people. It makes them just like us -- only luckier.
Having had so much time to think about the issue while we tried, waited and failed to conceive and tried, waited and failed to conceive, I found myself making a very crucial distinction in my head about the pregnant women I encountered. There were those who understood what it was like to be in my shoes, either because they themselves had dealt with infertility at some point or they were close to someone else who had, who were gentle in sharing their news, truly seemed to be grateful for their condition, and never seemed to be flaunting it in my presence. And then there were those who were completely clueless, who knew what we were going through and still felt it was appropriate to talk about how "fortunate" they were to be so fertile, to get pregnant on the first try with all their children (or, better yet, to get pregnant even when they WEREN'T trying), and who had the gall to complain about being pregnant or pregnancy side effects every time they crossed my path, not getting at all that I would've gladly given my left nut if I'd had one to be in their shoes any day, any time. I found I could tolerate being in the presence of the former. But I would do whatever it took to avoid being in the presence of the latter.
So, as I sit here almost 22 weeks pregnant, I want to tell all of those reading this who are still waiting for their miracle that I understand what you're going through. I know every emotion that crosses your mind and your heart when you see my belly, and I know that it's like a knife cutting deep. I know this, and my heart breaks for you because I can remember what that felt like more acutely than you know. I don't think I will ever be able to forget that feeling, having lived with it so deeply and completely for so long. I don't blame you for feeling resentful, for wanting to hate me, for glaring at me, because I know the depth and breadth of your heartache.
Just know this: I am you. Despite my complete and utter joy and excitement over our miracle happening and our dream coming true, I still pray every single day for all of the women and couples who are still suffering, still waiting, still praying, still waiting for their miracle. I don't consider myself removed from where you are; I will never be removed from this experience. I am still with you all, shoulder-to-shoulder, praying for babies for all those who want them with all their hearts. I don't take this pregnancy for granted, I don't feel smug for having achieved it at long last; rather, I am profoundly grateful and humbled and awe-struck beyond words. I thank God every day for finally answering our prayers, and I pray that I will prove myself worthy of my children. I'm still with you, and I will always be with you, belly bump or no.
All I can tell you is this: believe. Believe that it's possible. Believe that the timing just hasn't been right yet. Believe that when it does happen, it's because it was meant to happen then, to give you that specific child. Believe, even if others have given up around you. Just believe in miracles.
With all the love in my heart,
SW
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
remembering
Well, the day I had been dreading came and went without much fuss, although it was certainly on my mind from the moment I woke up until the moment I fell asleep. Still, it was hard to feel the crushing sadness and disappointment I might have otherwise felt given where I am right now.
The due date for my April 2010 pregnancy that didn't make it was 01/01/11.
Prior to conceiving the baby girl I'm carrying now, I eyed the end of my calendar with wariness, dreading the year coming to a close and bringing that painful reminder with it, especially because I had looked at that due date as incredibly auspicious and apropos under the circumstances: entering a new year making a fresh start with a brand new baby. After losing that pregnancy, even just allowing my mind to momentarily alight on that thought was painful enough, much less thinking about living through a whole day of thinking about it.
But then I got pregnant again. And this one stayed. And thrived. And we found out we were expecting a daughter. And there was no going back.
And so, on 01/01/11, instead of wallowing in the depths of despair over my earlier loss, I was marveling in the miracle of this pregnancy, feeling my little girl moving in my swollen belly, knowing that things perhaps didn't turn out the way we had thought they were going to, but they are going to turn out the way they were always meant to.
Yes, I thought of the pregnancy that failed; I said a little prayer of thanks for it, because had it not been for achieving it - albeit briefly - I might've given up on continuing to try. The simple fact that I had achieved pregnancy after so many years of trying was a blessing and fortified me to keep going, gave me faith that we were right to keep trying. And here we are.
Another thought pervaded my mind that day. I thought back to when we tried for Super Boy, and how disappointed I was that we didn't conceive the first two months we tried for him (boy, was that short-sighted of me, given what awaited us when we tried for our second child together!). But then after Super Boy was born and I was marveling over him in all his glory, it occurred to me that if I had conceived in either of the other two months we tried, the baby I would've been holding at that moment would not have been HIM. And I wouldn't trade him for anything in the Universe.
I realized then that, yes, I had to "wait" a little longer to get pregnant, but it was so that HE would be the child I ended up with. It all happened the way it was meant to.
And even though losing my April pregnancy was devastating and horrible and not at all what I wanted, it had to happen that way so that my body would be ready to conceive THIS baby, my little girl, in August. I believe that it happened the way it did because that's how it had to happen, that was how it was all meant to be.
Prior to finding out that I was pregnant this time, I posted something on this blog in one of my first few posts, some excerpts from one of my favorite books, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, about joy and sorrow. I realize how completely and utterly true those words are as I sit here reflecting on this issue.
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
What that means to me is that, yes, I mourn the loss of my April pregnancy -- but without that loss carving such a deep swath of sorrow through my soul, I could not experience the immense and utter joy I feel now as I await the birth of my daughter. My capacity for sorrow was increased by the loss of that pregnancy because I knew what a joy it was to have Super Boy, but then my capacity for joy was also increased because I had suffered that loss. It's a circle: to have one, you must have the other, too.
So, to my pregnancy lost~ I love you and I am so thankful that you were with me, even though it was only for a short while. I believe that the spirit of you is in the Universe, with us always, and that your presence led us here. I will never forget that I loved you and lost you, and I know that every time I look at my daughter, I will be thinking of you, too. Thank you for existing, for keeping me on my path, for bringing us here. You're always in my heart!
Lovingly,
SW
The due date for my April 2010 pregnancy that didn't make it was 01/01/11.
Prior to conceiving the baby girl I'm carrying now, I eyed the end of my calendar with wariness, dreading the year coming to a close and bringing that painful reminder with it, especially because I had looked at that due date as incredibly auspicious and apropos under the circumstances: entering a new year making a fresh start with a brand new baby. After losing that pregnancy, even just allowing my mind to momentarily alight on that thought was painful enough, much less thinking about living through a whole day of thinking about it.
But then I got pregnant again. And this one stayed. And thrived. And we found out we were expecting a daughter. And there was no going back.
And so, on 01/01/11, instead of wallowing in the depths of despair over my earlier loss, I was marveling in the miracle of this pregnancy, feeling my little girl moving in my swollen belly, knowing that things perhaps didn't turn out the way we had thought they were going to, but they are going to turn out the way they were always meant to.
Yes, I thought of the pregnancy that failed; I said a little prayer of thanks for it, because had it not been for achieving it - albeit briefly - I might've given up on continuing to try. The simple fact that I had achieved pregnancy after so many years of trying was a blessing and fortified me to keep going, gave me faith that we were right to keep trying. And here we are.
Another thought pervaded my mind that day. I thought back to when we tried for Super Boy, and how disappointed I was that we didn't conceive the first two months we tried for him (boy, was that short-sighted of me, given what awaited us when we tried for our second child together!). But then after Super Boy was born and I was marveling over him in all his glory, it occurred to me that if I had conceived in either of the other two months we tried, the baby I would've been holding at that moment would not have been HIM. And I wouldn't trade him for anything in the Universe.
I realized then that, yes, I had to "wait" a little longer to get pregnant, but it was so that HE would be the child I ended up with. It all happened the way it was meant to.
And even though losing my April pregnancy was devastating and horrible and not at all what I wanted, it had to happen that way so that my body would be ready to conceive THIS baby, my little girl, in August. I believe that it happened the way it did because that's how it had to happen, that was how it was all meant to be.
Prior to finding out that I was pregnant this time, I posted something on this blog in one of my first few posts, some excerpts from one of my favorite books, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, about joy and sorrow. I realize how completely and utterly true those words are as I sit here reflecting on this issue.
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
What that means to me is that, yes, I mourn the loss of my April pregnancy -- but without that loss carving such a deep swath of sorrow through my soul, I could not experience the immense and utter joy I feel now as I await the birth of my daughter. My capacity for sorrow was increased by the loss of that pregnancy because I knew what a joy it was to have Super Boy, but then my capacity for joy was also increased because I had suffered that loss. It's a circle: to have one, you must have the other, too.
So, to my pregnancy lost~ I love you and I am so thankful that you were with me, even though it was only for a short while. I believe that the spirit of you is in the Universe, with us always, and that your presence led us here. I will never forget that I loved you and lost you, and I know that every time I look at my daughter, I will be thinking of you, too. Thank you for existing, for keeping me on my path, for bringing us here. You're always in my heart!
Lovingly,
SW
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