After a scary and sleepless night in Ottawa, I knew I would be relying heavily on my Aunts. I told them that I did not want to face driving and that C and I were starving. They agreed to come visit the hospital (read: swoop in and save me) on the way to the Blessingway. C had been having an ultrasound - we watched Baby squirm around a bit and were told that Baby was big - I wish I could remember how big they estimated that day - above 8lbs and she was not even full term yet! I was happy to hear Baby looked well, but was exhausted and stressed nonetheless. I headed back to C's room to see if my family had arrived. I can still see - and feel - the walk down the hall looking at my family standing there, waiting. What it is about the presence of support, I do not know, but it was as though with each step towards them, my walls broke down a bit more. By the time I reached them, I hugged my aunt Carol and cried, not unlike a young child. They passed me around, hugged me, and consoled me. Then they fed me and got me ready for the Blessingway. Really, I was like a child. Infantile or not, I thank my lucky stars that I have my Aunties.
I was really torn about the Blessingway. I had discussed postponing, changing location, and other ideas in order to be able to include C - she certainly needed support and celebration as much as me. In the end, I though I best attend since family had driven so far, Christie has planned so much, and because I was looking forward to it (and C encouraged me to go - she needed some quiet anyways).
A sidenote: the use of the word "blessingway" is likely cultural appropriation, perhaps so is attending one. Christie and I discussed this and acknowledged the struggle of hosting an event like the one she was planning while also giving it a new name. It was noted that the word Blessingway is often used to describe these events and it would serve as context/a reference for guests. We believe it is important to acknowledge that the gathering was based upon mainstream knowledge of a Navajo tradition in which the woman facing a transition, ie. child birth/motherhood, is celebrated, supported, and empowered. I wish I had a wonderful reference to share here. This, I hope, is better than nothing: http://www.blessingwaybook.com/
The event could not have come at a better time. I needed support, to be re-centred. Our time was both happy and sad, joyful and fearful, reflective of my story. Everyone was there to give support and love for my upcoming labour and delivery and the new role I would take on as mother to more children. But, we were also all there to remember Patrick and Maggie - it is impossible to separate my stories of birth from my stories of loss. And as each person spoke about their connection to me and my family, it was impossible again, to overlook my gone babies. We sat in a circle and shared our experiences of labour and delivery as a supporter or birther. Most of us cried. I cried a lot. Beads were given to me, each representing traits or holding properties that would support me through labour and delivery. Each bead was so meaningful to me - my tears are strength, coming from the sea, celebrating my rainbow after my storm. It was incredible. I felt ready to give birth and face the scariness that C was going through, after my time with these women.
It was almost as though we were celebrating in a parallel world: two ongoing pregnancies and an event to prepare for upcoming births (joyful)m while also following messages from C about test results and medical encounters (fearful). We spoke about the joy and fear which exists because of my last pregnancy while C was in the hospital, a reminder of how fragile life can be.
I am so thankful for that day and for the people in my life who were there to support C and I.
xx
A dear friend of ours offered to host a celebration of womanhood/labour/delivery for C and I. My family was attending from out of town, mutual friends, and friends of C as well. I drove in to the city the evening before the event so that I could do some shopping and stay with family as well as attend a meeting between C, myself and our doula, J.
I received some emails from C during the afternoon, while I was shopping, indicating that she was at the hospital having follow up completed regarding a cough she had had. She indicated that she might be late. I expressed my sympathies - no one likes to feel sick - and carried on my day. There was some conversation about whether or not to cancel our meeting, but J and I were both already in town and would meet when C was out of her appointment.
I have come to learn that when C asks to speak on the phone rather than text back and forth, it often means that there is something more serious to discuss. As I recall, she told me her phone was dying and she needed to talk. I was sitting in a restaurant, eating a mediocre meal on my own, believing all was right in my world. Then I spoke to C. Her voice was shaking, on the verge of crying, as she indicated that she was in triage in obstetrics being assessed. She said that they were concerned about her and the baby, as their heart rates were both elevated. She indicated that they were not allowing her to eat and seemed to be considering the possibility of an emergency cesarean section. In that moment we were both filled with fear as I ended my meal and headed to the hospital.
The drive to the hospital was an intense one. My emotions cycled as I went between near-immobilizing fear that something might happen to my baby, or C, and some smidgen of excitement that I might meet my baby today. I considered that at 35 weeks along, the baby may be okay or that I may be facing days and weeks in the NICU.
Returning to TOH's obstetrical unit is never easy for me, and this was no exception. I presented at the reception guest and identified myself as the mother of the baby C was carrying and they took me to the assessment room. There was C, in the room I was taken to when I went into labour with Patrick and Maggie. The same bed that they took my temperature, blood work, where I struggled to understand what was happening. And I sat beside C, in the seat my sister had occupied that awful October morning. C was teary and hungry and thirsty, and skeptical of the care she was receiving. In fact, the care we received as it related to evidence-based care, respect for alternative pre-natal care approaches, and communication were generally poor. One nurse seemed unable to change her vocabulary to demonstrate a respect for the surrogacy arrangement, calling C 'mother' and referring to her baby. They advised against midwifery and suggested a planned c-section, amongst other things.
Medically speaking, C was quite unwell. Her heart rate was elevated, especially when she moved. The baby's heart rate had also been high, but with treatment of C's fever, the baby settled. C was admitted for continued monitoring and to try to identify the source of illness. We were first put into labour & delivery, where we listened to a woman give birth in hysterics. We laughed nervously; it sounded like a hospital-based horror film. C was in severe pain due to coughing and it was late at night. They eventually provided her with medications to sleep and we each tried to rest - a challenge for both of us as I was also quite pregnant and sleeping on a hard pull-out chair!
It seemed like only moments after the medications began to take affect that a nurse came and said we would move rooms. So at 4am, we collected our things and walked to the post-L&D area. We walked down the long hall and as I followed I was certain that my luck could not be so bad, they would not admit us into the same room in which I had been admitted after giving birth to the twins. But, they did. I was silent. I felt nauseous. I could not manage the emotional over-load of watching C and that pregnancy in the hospital, while also processing all the memories that exist in that room. I could hear the crying. I could remember the conversations - the doctor telling us Patrick had a brain bleed, the failed IV attempts, EllaGrace climbing into the bed - where C now sat - and asking questions about my health and the babies. I sat in the chair and began to weep. I could not speak. I could not explained to C or the nurses what was happening. I believe I managed to finally utter something like "this is where I was" to C. I remember a nurse asking "what's wrong with that one?", as these two pregnant women seemed to be increasingly in disarray! Thankfully C told the nurses and they moved quickly to change our room.
The information flow was slow, conflicting, and frustrating while C was admitted. We could not decipher what was a potential problem compared to what was simply about doctor comfort zones vs. that of midwives. I stayed with her one night and C stayed a second night. The celebration planned took place nonetheless, save for guests who were attending for C. I took refuge in knowing my aunts were in town and that they would take care of us - and they did. Thank goodness for them, I have relied heavily on their emotional presence and general helpfulness a lot in the last few years. C was eventually diagnosed with a flu and discharged from the hospital where she rested for a few more days. The stress was intense but it ended well - thank goodness.
xx
There has been some disparity between how I view myself and how others seem to see me. I see myself as invested in having children, I supposed. Sad. Perhaps, even desperate to not feel the pain I did when Maggie and Patrick died again. Maybe even a chicken? I see other women every day who choose to try again after PPROM and infant loss; they get pregnant and go through PPROM several times, and yet they continue. Those women are brave and strong. Me? I see myself as trying to avoid pain. And I see my privilege; this has enabled me to follow my fear and pay for fertility treatment at a clinic of my choosing, while also having a gestational carrier. Moreover, my privilege has allowed me to advocate to be able to do this.
To be honest, when I put all of that together, I often question myself. Was I deserving of C's generosity? Perhaps someone else deserved it more than us. Maybe C, as my own pregnancy stayed relatively uneventful, second guessed her decision to share this journey with me, rather than someone who had lost her uterus, or a same sex couple... I certainly have not seen this experience as a strength of mine.
Yet, people have commented on my perseverance and the story that I have influenced as it relates to these pregnancies. I will admit that my story seems to be rather unique in the world of surrogacy. Simultaneous transfers are uncommon. It is interesting that I am out of the ordinary in having pursued the simultaneous transfer, but again, I do not see this as speaking to my strength or other positive attributes. But others, like a friend of mine, calls me a trailblazer! Imagine that! That my pursuit of growing our family this way has demonstrated by stubborn personality traits - in a positive way, I hope.
The truth is, strong or afraid, stubborn or desperate, I am happy to be whatever, if it gives me hope.
xx
