THE RAINBOW BABY AFTER THE STORM

THE BIRTH - JUNE 17, 2020

 

On a beautiful Tuesday night in June (at 39 weeks + 1 day), as I was putting the kids to bed, I realized that I hadn't felt a lot of movement from the baby that day. So after the adorable little monsters finally passed out, I went to my hubby, Ariel (for whom I had just bought entrecote steaks, a variety of mushrooms and truffle olive oil for a delicious sauce, and sweet potatoes for his birthday dinner). I sat on the edge of the bed and told him my concerns. He sat up and asked if I needed to go to the hospital and I, a person who dislikes going to get checked out, immediately said yes. So we left.

We ended up at Laniado Hospital in Netanya after stopping briefly at Urgent Care (I don't know what we were thinking, but they sent us immediately to the proper place) where they ran all sorts of tests. Rainbow  gave the doctor some trouble at first, but after being poked and pushed around a few times, eventually passed all the tests. Despite this, I was still nervous because baby was usually a strong kicker and today was more than worrisome.

After hubby and I sat downstairs for thirty minutes counting kicks, we returned to the doctor. An additional one had joined in the shift; she reviewed my file again, realized my history with blood clots (2010), and notified me (kindly) that hospital policy, what with my medical history and "advanced" age, was to induce at 39 weeks.

My husband and I went into the hallway to discuss it and I tried really hard to calm down. I wasn't quite ready to have this rainbow baby. But why not? I had, essentially, been pregnant for over a year and childbirth was going to happen in the next week regardless - now or three days from now. Thinking now, I wonder whether the stress of my previous pregnancy, the choice to terminate, and worrying about the new pregnancy really took a toll on my mental health (of course it did).

Logically, and since it was likely a matter of a week anyway, I knew that staying at Laniado and being induced was the best idea (Ariel definitely helped convince me by explaining that I'd be home by Shabbat), so I sucked it up after a few tears and hugs and we agreed to stay.

At midnight, they gave me the little magic pill to start labor (cytotek) and I started practicing my hypnobirthing breathing. We watched some television, slept a little, and relaxed until about 5:40am, at which time I got up. Blood started dripping onto the floor; I called the nurses. As soon as they saw the floor, they instructed me to get back in bed, contacted the doctors, and wheeled me immediately to the delivery room.

At the beginning, I had a younger nurse attending, but I started having trouble progressing consistently. This might have been due to the fact that I was experiencing a terribly sharp pain in my lower right hip (it had started a few days previously) and thought I might have appendicitis as well. Additionally, I had just been diagnosed with a UTI and was on antibiotics. With all these complications, I was still trying my calming breaths, but they were not helping as much as usual.

The doctors and nurses kept coming in and quietly suggesting an epidural, but I kept saying no. My other births had been so easy and quick that I felt like this should be no different. But, unfortunately, it was.

Due to the lack of constant progression, the pain, and the seemingly endless blood clots passing during labor, my medical caretakers said that I might have to go into surgery - obviously, something I didn't want. Despite this, they prepped me by shaving me and having Ariel take off my jewelry. They even debated how to take out my cartilage piercings.

 

Even so, an additional, more experienced, nurse (Avigail) came in and gently asked me again if I wanted an epidural. Clearly, she could see how much difficulty and pain I was in. 

 

This time, I didn't automatically reject it. 

 

This time, I paused. 

 

This time, I thought seriously and asked myself, At what point will I accept help for me and for my baby? 

 

So I asked whether it would lengthen the delivery. Sometimes, Avigail admitted, but sometimes it removes the pain and discomfort enough for us to give birth. And thus, around 9:30am, I relented. Also, the nurse went on, if you have to go into surgery, it'll be an advantage because it will prepare you for that as well. Though if I continue to progress, she said, I could avoid it.

 

Immediately, they sent the doctor to get it done. In turn, he sent my husband out for twenty minutes and quickly got to work. Once it took effect (I even laid on my right side to help), my left leg became numb and immovable, but the pressure and the shooting pain on my right side also FINALLY dissipated - what blessed relief! Avigail then came back in, gave me a catheter, massaged my belly and assisted me in releasing my urine (my bladder had been blocking the path for the baby). I feel like she may have even hoisted herself on my bed to do so - though that might be my faulty memory.

 

After all this, the younger nurse stepped out so I could relax, but my guardian angel/nurse knew what would happen and stayed in the room. She was right. Not long afterwards, I felt pressure and within twenty minutes - with my urge to push and hands-on help from both the nurse and my husband - my baby girl finally emerged at 10:38am.

 

 

A few moments later, I birthed my placenta and that's when the nurses saw how shredded it was, that it had been detaching from my uterine wall. Together, Avigail and the younger nurse patted it dry, examining it closely to make sure it was complete. They were astounded that it hadn't pulled off completely. So was I; I've seen other healthy placentas. This wasn't one.

 

Placental abruption can be extremely dangerous for both baby and mother and it was the reason I had been having such terrible pains on my right side for days. It was also why I had been bleeding during labor.

 

Weeks later, when I went for my checkup with my gynecologist, he was astounded that I ended up with a natural labor/birth. I say it was because of Avigail, who SINGLE-HANDEDLY saved me from surgery, delivered me a healthy baby, and kept me alive.

 

THE ANNIVERSARY - AUGUST 14, 2020

One year ago today, my husband and I went to Hadera to terminate our pregnancy. Today, my rainbow baby, Liora Keshet (the light of G-d is mine; rainbow) is eight weeks old. 

 

I still worry a bit that the shredded placenta might have injured her somehow, though she seems fine. Neither do I have any proof nor would I find out for a couple months or years anyway. Chances are she's fine and right now I am sitting here, typing, with her laying on my chest, sleeping peacefully. 

Liora was a light from the very beginning, smiling from the start (from day 2!). Even the nurses noticed and made funny comments about what she was dreaming. My rainbow baby laughs in her sleep about whatever wonderful things babies dream of and, occasionally, she makes these weird breathing laughing snorts that are so loud, they can wake us up. She has hair, unlike her brothers and sister, and she's my other chocolate baby (I create two flavors, vanilla being the other).

And Liora is likely my last. The pregnancy was challenging and the birth even more so. And now that there's been a placental abruption, it's more likely to happen again, especially due to my age. I am 42 years old (a "geriatric" mother) and I'm both sad and relieved that I won't have to go through all of this again. 

Because of that, Ariel and I decided to get a professional photo shoot with our little miracle. I had been following a particular photographer since my previous little girl was born and chose her to capture an image that reflected how we felt. We chatted, I told her our story, and this was her take on it - a beautiful and touching result.

 

With Liora, I now have two beautiful boys and two gorgeous girls who light up my life. I am very lucky and very blessed to have them, healthy and happy, even on the days they drive me nuts. 

 

All the same, I started lighting an extra candle on Friday nights - a little one for Nugget, our lost baby, who will never be forgotten and will always be loved. The baby may not be with us on this earth, but he/she is keeping good company with my mom and Ariel's grandparents in heaven. The baby will forever be a part of our Woolf family - the family that was completed with a light from above, our little Liora Keshet.

Shades of Beige

As of the end of this month, I'm an ex-pat American living in Israel for the last five years and I'm really really upset at the state of my 'motherland.' I have no words for the disgust I've been feeling when I read about the experiences of my good friends throughout their lives and how it's been an uphill battle for them each step of the way. I worry for them and for their children and how they'll be viewed, treated, and spoken to simply because of the increased melanin in their skin and the kink in their hair.

A protective pigment in skin. THAT is what bothers and offends way too many people. A pigment. A shade. A color.

Ignorant people treat others poorly because of a COLOR. That's literally one of the stupidest things I have ever heard of in my life and I'm a mother to three small children.

I'm sitting here in front of my laptop, distracted and disturbed. This morning, my 6yo son had a fantastic conversation with my good friend, a brilliant man who does robotics engineering for NASA. I have never seen my son so engaged, so thrilled to be speaking with someone about space, robots, and designing rockets. He started drawing the shuttles and robots at 6:30am and didn't stop until we had to leave for Gan. At the same time, my friend was very excited to be speaking with him and looking at his pictures, especially because those drawings were cheering him up from the desolation of discrimination he has been inundated with.

This friend, this man, who is bright, resourceful, kind, caring, sweet, and polite has been at the receiving end of both direct and indirect discrimination for a long while. Why? Because he's got more melanin than other people. His family has fought it (non-violently) for three generations and he's getting tired of the fight. Can I blame him? Absolutely not. And he worries about his adorable little son who might have to grow up in the same warped world that he did.

Certain aspects of my country, my old home, are embarrassing me. And I won't sit here and say that my new country is perfect - it isn't. It's depressing as hell accepting reality when the most I can currently do about it is teach my children (and others, to the best of my ability) that we are all worthy of respect and love. That behavior, character, and choices dictate our opinions of others, not color.

Do you really want to judge someone?? Take a look at their actions - their CHOICES.

It's 2020 and, on days like today, I feel like almost nothing has changed and I'm practically in tears.

It is each person's responsibility to understand that human beings are all the same species. We are all the same organs, tissues, and bones on the inside. There's no difference. None.

It is each parent's duty to teach their children what my 4yo knows... that everyone is simply a different shade of beige, peach, or brown. How lovely it is that people come in a variety of shapes and sizes! One can never be bored when there's so many physical differences to admire from person to person!

I want to help make the world a better place, not just for my blond, wavy haired son who loves science, or my strong and physical caramel colored son with curls, or my intense blond, green eyed daughter... but also for my friend's sweet cocoa colored son with big brown eyes and my friend's new, chubby chocolate colored daughter. My mixed-race friend with light eyes who rocks in a band and helps others with loss deserves the same respect as I do, as does my kind, darker friend with beautiful natural hair who balances mortgage brokering and modeling.

If I hadn't physically described anyone in this blog article, no one would even know what shade of beige/brown each individual was. And it wouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

It's days like today I'm glad I'm not living in the United States (and it's upsetting for me to say that). And it's days like today where I need to say something because perhaps, there's a small chance, that something can be done to fix the long ingrained problem that we have as Americans. I say WE because Americans are supposed to stand as a team. We are all different. We come from 50 different states and different territories. We have different cultures, different accents, different backgrounds, etc. But we're supposed to stand up for each other. If one of us is offended or hurt, we should all be offended and hurt. That's the true 'American way.'

Right now, our family is broken, our path has been overgrown with weeds and cracked concrete.

And I don't know what I can do about it.

*Illustration by Sarah Harvey

Life during Corona: Weeks 3 and 4 (Passover)

Are we actually getting accustomed to this?? 

I had read somewhere that this Italian lady said that it takes until day 15 to "get used to" being on lock-down. I have to say that she is sorta right. We kinda found a little bit of a rhythm - not a great one since it depends on the day, the moods of the kids, our moods, etc (hence, why I said "sorta" and "kinda"). That's life with corona, I guess (nothing is normal).

So this week (week 3), I put up hammocks for the kids (6yo, 4yo, and 2yo) under our dining room table, which they all absolutely loved. The little one had to keep getting a bit of help to climb in, but by the end of the second day, she could do it independently. I have also been seeing a greater relationship blossom between the kids, especially between my oldest and youngest, and an improvement in the positive interactions between the 4yo and 2yo. It's a real joy to see and I don't think we would have gotten there as quickly without corona.

That being said, we've definitely had our moments (read: days) when the kids were constantly at each other's throats, crying over every little thing, needing hugs all the time, and requiring alone time with a parent to keep them apart. So, ya know, that's fun.

Also this week, we treated ourselves to ordered food (we celebrated eight years of engagement on April 2nd). Hubby enjoyed it because he got to hear a stranger's voice and we both enjoyed it because we didn't have to prepare it! And I've realized that the kids are a lot easier to deal with when they're learning different and new things. This week and next week's agenda: COOKING. I found a great video series that we all love called Mind over Munch and we've already watched a bunch of them (which is great because they get intrigued by cooking, constantly want to help, and they learn about nutrition!).

I did find that I was much more tired this week. I'm not sure if it's because of my pregnancy, because we're kinda lazing around the apartment all day (ehem, all week), or maybe a combination of the two, but those naps are getting mandatory and longer.

We ended the week with a huge cleaning fest for Passover. I sat on the couch and instructed each of them (I make a great supervisor). Each child had their own job and they were treated with some kinder bueno chocolates that had to be eaten prior to Passover anyway.

Week 4 was a little ... rougher, I think. Over the course of week 3, hubby had a horrendous headache on his right side, and on Saturday, his face became paralyzed on his right side. He was worried about a stroke (I had previously worried about an aneurysm), but once I saw the paralysis, I had such a sense of relief. My mom had experienced the same thing, called Bell's Palsy (apparently triggered by either a virus or stress - take a wild guess which one it was). He went to urgent care after sundown, was diagnosed with it and given antivirals and steroids. It should start improving in about three weeks (and max out at six months). How fun to have additional medical issues during Coronacation.

We also had plans to go to Efrat for the holiday, but, clearly, that was out of the question. So instead, we prepared our very first seder. Munchkin went to bed pretty early, but not the boys. They asked some great questions which brought us a lot of nachas (pride). It's too bad we couldn't share it with the grandparents, but, if nothing else, it'll be unforgettable!

 

I finished week 4 with a breakdown. A legit, losing my mind attitude that made my husband kick me onto the balcony where I bawled my eyes out for a solid fifteen minutes and barely held it together for the remainder of the day. I suppose it was bound to happen what with everything going on (my depression/anxiety, 29 weeks of pregnancy, corona), but hubby said that, from now on, I have to do something for myself on our balcony (ALONE) daily. We'll see what I can manage. I have been listening to meditation music at night, but I need more. Much more.

Life during Corona: Week 2

Well, that's two weeks down. I read somewhere that a lady in Italy said that it takes until day 15 to get used to the lock down. Yea, we'll see.

As for this week, the kids kept asking about going back to gan and when corona was going to be over. Even my 2yo took her little Duplo suitcase, walked toward the door, and said, NOA! NOONA! (her two friends at gan). When I sadly told her that we couldn't go anywhere, her eyes got huge, her little mouth turned downwards cartoon-style and tears threatened. Poor girl.

Overall, the kids were a little better this week though my 4yo continued his bathroom regression. Believe it or not, the 6yo became a much better listener and seemed to mature some. Perhaps it was all our pillow talk from last week about the science of corona. The toddler helped wash dishes (granted, it was the same bamboo cup for an hour, but still) and even set the breakfast counter for her and her brothers when they didn't want to. Every other time, she needed to sit on my lap and snuggle.


We visited an online aquarium, the NY Museum of Natural History, and I subscribed to IXL for the boys. Now that was what we call 'WEP' (worth every penny). The first day I opened it on my laptop, they sat with me for an hour and half and had fun with math, letters, and the 6yo did some second grade science and social studies. Physically, they did some workouts with my husband as well as some cosmic yoga.

Though the kids seemed relatively 'okay,' we, the adults, were not.

It started to deteriorate during the week. I felt like I was cooking and/or baking every day. I've tried watching positive videos, but each one made me cry, missing "normal."

We started getting on each other's nerves, I was full-body exhausted daily and my husband was short on patience (okay, I was, too). I cleaned poop almost every morning. My next ultrasound was cancelled. I couldn't get away, I couldn't reduce my anxiety level, I couldn't get any alone time, and I couldn't calm down. I was cleaning daily, but it didn't seem to matter. Each day felt like a week and I didn't know what day it was.

Though it was really nice to talk to my dad this past week, on Friday, all the tension came to a head. I baked challah for the second consecutive week (though it felt like I had just done this) and after dinner, hubby put the kids to bed. I looked at the kitchen, the living room, and play area, and almost had an anxiety attack about cleanliness.

Then everything blew up.

I sat in bed, tears running down my face. When my husband asked me what was wrong, I tried to keep it civil, but - at best of times - my husband and I, are what you'd call a volcano and a tornado, respectively. At worst of times, well, it's nothing you want to be around. As a result of our fight, Ariel was pretty upset with me (as I was with him) and he voluntarily slept on the couch. I was so upset that, for the first time in my pregnancy, I took a sleeping pill.

Shabbat was quiet between us; the kids kept playing and, as far as I know, didn't notice too much. Honestly, they likely would have asked us what was going on and I already had an answer prepared. I've mentioned to them before that friends and family fight sometimes, but it doesn't mean they don't love, like, and/or respect each other. I was even anticipating the question. But this time, this day - they didn't ask. So we were okay.

Only after bedtime started did we talk. Slowly. While he was in with the kids, I started by messaging him to apologize.

I won't get into all the personal details, but you should know that sometimes it's good to chat on Whatsapp and not in person. It's calmer. Much calmer. There are tears, but if you use it wisely and suck up your pride, it works with two hotheads.

Thank goodness.

And on that note, when we finally lay in the same bed again, I thought about week 3 of history in the making.

It should be... interesting. How ironic - that lovely Chinese curse.

Life during Corona: Week 1

Friday, March 20, 2020

We have survived the first week.

My husband, my best friend, my three kids (6yo, 4yo, and 2yo) and I are stuck in our three bedroom apartment in Netanya. The kids are home from school until who-knows-when, hubby is working from home (mostly in the evenings), and I'm working on staying sane and taking care of my kids and the apartment.

The kids have a LOT of energy - did I mention their ages? As predicted, they have had outbursts, big feelings, some regressions, and tantrums, but, for the most part, they've been pretty good considering the circumstances.

We took them outside for a bit twice this week (more than just our balcony) with our new scooters and it was great for them. Their cheeks got pink and flushed and they had huge smiles on their faces.

The rest of the time, we watched science shows (we like Dr. Binocs, among others), worked on a new 500-piece puzzle, drew pictures, played with legos and magnetiles, and read books. I'm sure we did more, but I can't think of it.

Me? I've had some anxiety though not all the time. It usually kicks in after bedtime, when I'm not distracted by the munchkins anymore. When everything slows down again and I have my life and my time to myself.

One morning I was having an especially hard time (Wednesday or Thursday, I believe, who knows what day it is anymore) and my hubby let me shut myself in my room and took care of all three crazies. He brought me coffee and food and I eventually came out after lunchtime.

Yesterday or the day before, we received news from my gynecologist's office that my next ultrasound (at the end of March) is cancelled due the worldwide corona pandemic (I'm currently 26 weeks pregnant). Apparently, that's not essential. I'm not too worried though because all my other tests have come back clear.

And tomorrow is my birthday. My 42nd - where I am the answer to life, the universe, and everything. We were really looking forward to this one.

I've gotten a few birthday wishes already and it's a little weird. Generally, I don't like to answer the phone, but, these days, I'll answer just to hear a familiar voice say, "happy corona birthday!" It was wonderful, but, honestly, it's not feeling like my birthday. Ever since my mom passed, my birthday has been kinda meh, but this year it's reached an entirely new level. It's like it doesn't exist and, honestly, I don't want it to. Like it just won't happen this year. It feels invisible, nonexistent. Like nothing matters.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Last night, I shared my feelings with my husband, reminding myself that he's not psychic. I tried to downplay it, but the anxiety kicked in hardcore. He wanted to know why I was crying, but it's hard to explain when it's nothing specific. I guess that's why they call it 'generalized' anxiety. I don't really worry about my immediate family here in Israel; I believe our country is handling it pretty well. I do worry about my brother in New York, my sister and her family in Toronto, and my two brothers and their families in Detroit. I worry about my dad, who is 82, and my friends who work in the medical field. I worry about my friends in the automotive sector, those who have been laid off, those who are single parents, those who are still working. There's lot to worry about. I told him how my birthday is just... nonexistent this year. He felt bad, said he ordered gifts for me, but due to corona (F-U corona), they likely won't arrive until the end of next month.

After crying, we held hands and fell asleep.

This morning, I slept in (always a big deal to a sleep deprived, sleep disordered, six-month pregnant mother of three). Hubby took care of the kids and around 11am; I woke up slowly. My husband came in and asked if I was going back to sleep or waking up. "Waking up," I said.

About ten minutes later, after I overheard some brief instruction to my 4yo to not bother me, everyone knocked and came in with a (high chair) tray of food (and a screwdriver, care of the 4yo), a mug of coffee, a lego crown (care of the 6yo), singing happy birthday, and to top it off, my BFF gave me a wonderful, pampering gift.

In my life, to my recollection, I have never had breakfast brought to me in bed. It was amazing.

Suddenly, I was lighter. A million times lighter. And a thousand times happier. Here were the most important people in my life, showing me love, happiness, and comfort. I smiled a huge smile.

I enjoyed my breakfast, drank my hot coffee, and read a book. Luxurious.

I felt renewed. After that, we all spent the day together, and that night, my amazing husband cooked us a chuck steak slathered in garlic (there is no such thing as too much), roasted potatoes, and garlic bread. The picture below really doesn't do it justice, but it was amazing.

With this day, my husband really resurrected my birthday... and my mood. Onto week 2.

Flutters of a Rainbow

January 30, 2020

Yesterday, we went in for our amniocentesis. I've been nervous about this for a while since there is a chance, though very small, of a miscarriage or injury to myself and the baby as a result of the procedure. I also run small in my pregnancies and, again, I have an anterior placenta (in the front) so that also adds challenge to the procedure.

Why was going through with this at all? I think mainly due to my age (I'm 41.9) and the heavy shadow of the last pregnancy. During the course of this pregnancy, we've had some scares. One of my blood tests, in this pregnancy, came back showing parvovirus - but then we learned that there are two results for that virus, one that shows its former presence (i.e. you had it in the past) and another that shows its present status of being in your blood (i.e. you have it right now). After some intense research, we discovered that I had had it in the past, though not currently. But in the time it took to comprehend my test results, my anxiety was through the roof and I was practically in tears on the train (always the train).

For those who don't know, parvovirus is a nasty virus for pregnancy and for all living things. Humans get the human strain (B19) of the tiny disease; it causes 5th disease (erythema infectiosum) in kids and, in 10% (or more) of the cases when pregnant women catch it, it causes hydrops fetalis, mainly due to severe fetal anemia, sometimes leading to miscarriage or stillbirth. Currently, there is no treatment or vaccine, though not for lack of trying.

I have no way of knowing when I actually contracted the virus or if it was one of the contributing factors to my loss. Also, my baby's umbilical cord was attached in the wrong place as well, so parvovirus might not have played any role at all in the loss. In the end, it doesn't really matter, does it?

But I digress. Another reason I was okay with doing the amnio is because my doctor would be the one doing it and after being in Israel for four and a half years, I finally found one I really trusted. He'd do it himself with the team in Assuta in Haifa.

I got especially nervous the week before the procedure but late last week (or early this week), I started feeling tiny little flutters inside my uterus. They are a little hard to describe and the only reason I even recognized them is because this is my fifth pregnancy (so weird to say).

See, some of the hardest times during the whole journey to a baby are: (1) the two week wait to see if you got lucky enough to get pregnant; and (2) the first half of the pregnancy until you actually feel what's growing inside you (medievally named "the quickening").

On our hour-long drive up north, I was kinda quiet. Telling myself that my mom had gone through amnios back in the '70s and '80s and everything turned out fine... that it's statistically more likely that something was wrong with the baby than the baby being hurt by the procedure... that Dr. Feldman knew what he was doing... and suddenly, my husband interrupted and told me to look out his window. And there, shining far out over the Mediterranean Sea, emerging from deep greenish gray clouds, was a beautiful Rainbow, saturated in color (though the picture below really doesn't do it justice).

The whole appointment, including the procedure, took about twenty minutes. That's it. A lot of hospital paper to localize the area and three wipe-downs with a LOT of sanitizing alcohol (so cold!). It probably would have taken even shorter had Rainbow not mooned the doctor.

Seriously.

Baby was facing tushy up when the doctor started using the ultrasound wand to figure out where to stick the needle and showed him a cute, tiny tush. It was quite the comic relief when my good-natured doctor said, with a smile, we don't behave like that!

He continued, pushed the baby around a bit to make room, pushed it around a bit more since it didn't like to cooperate (this kid is going to fit smoothly into my family), and finally found a space to insert the needle and withdraw the yellowish fluid (so much!). After he finished, I felt woozy, like when I donate blood, but worse. I sat there and drank water until the worst of it passed and then I became sickly ravenous.

Afterwards, we immediately went for food. Because I felt so sick, I ate verrrry slowly and we finally left the mall and headed for the car. We got back to Netanya just in time to get the boys, come home, and for me to pass out. Essentially, I slept on and off for the entire next two to two and a half days; I was wiped out.

I finally felt like myself again after the weekend but had a lovely bruise in the area of the procedure - especially wonderful since I have to give myself blood thinning shots every night in the same area. Then I waited, again, for the results which were to take 2-4 weeks.

Seriously.

A healthy little Rainbow

**Note: This was written at the time of the appointment.

December 10, 2019

At twelve weeks and one day, this morning was the big morning - the scary, but necessary, NT test for our newest pregnancy we nicknamed Rainbow. In order to specifically avoid my oh-so favorite ultrasound physician, we scheduled our test in Hadera (when we could have simply walked to the Maccabi station two blocks from our house). Wishing I could take a valium or xanax before the trip, I practiced my breathing I learned from hypnobirthing (it comes in so handy so many times!) and we made the short drive north. I was very quiet.

It really is a lovely hospital and, that day, finally, the sky was filled with dark gray clouds threatening rain. In Israel, rain is considered a blessing and we pray for it during the winter months. I was so happy for the potential rain; November had been so dry and we were worried about the remainder of the season. I tried to think of it as a blessing for me, but I was still so nervous.

In our appointment, it was clear that this doctor had decent bedside manners. We chose not to tell him about our last time pregnant; it seemed easier. He asked all the necessary questions and I was very quiet, but I answered everything and hubby helped when I didn't catch something.

It's probably good he didn't have to take my blood pressure because I would have been immediately taken to the ER. Anyway, I lay down quietly and he began. I took a look at the images and they all looked pretty good to me. I saw a nose bone, not much fluid behind baby's neck, baby's tummy, etc. But who really knows? I'm no expert.

But he saw what I believed I saw - a healthy baby with an NT measurement of 1.7mm. A much smaller number than the last pregnancy, which was in the dangerous 9mm range.

He kept speaking quietly, calmly, telling my husband and I what was on the screen. Hands, legs, tummy, brain, lungs, heart, all looking good. A healthy little potential baby holding a balloon.

You know that feeling when you finally exhale and only then realize you were holding your breath? Yea, totally there.

We exited the ultrasound and I started crying from relief. Hubby put his arm around me and asked me gently if I wanted a coffee. Yes, please, I said. And we walked outside to discover that it was pouring rain and it was beautiful. Rivulets of water streamed down the sidewalks and cleansed the streets, everyone ran from place to place with their umbrellas or rushing with hoods or newspapers hastily thrown over their heads. The wind whipped and I pulled my jacket around me closer. We peered around, saw a random little coffee shop next door, and ran inside to what we discovered was Cafe Alice (which meant a lot personally since I have someone very close to me with that name).

By no means were we the only ones with the same idea, but Israelis are friendly. We ordered our two hot chocolates and shared a tiny table with another woman. Eventually, we moved to an open table at the back of the cafe where I could just breathe quietly, tear up, hold Ariel's hand, and wait for the rain to pass.

Did I know that I had been holding my breath? Praying for this result? Sure. But knowing it... feeling it... internalizing it are all different things.

As we walked up the hill to return to the car, we spotted it. A rainbow off in the distance.

We held hands the rest of the way to the car.

After the Termination

Note: The below was written in real-time. It is now the end of January 2020.

October 28. Two months ago, after my "procedure," we went to see my gynecologist to make sure all was well. We asked him about trying again. He told us that since he knew we wanted another one, he'd say this: Normally he'd tell couples to wait three months to try again, but as I'm 41 and a half, I should take a month to recover and then come back pregnant. I smiled, glad he understood me and my wants, not really believing it could happen, but appreciating what I considered a blessing from him.

As I shared my experience with loss, I had many women (and even one or two guys) share their stories privately with me, thank me, and chat with me about their losses. More than a few women gave me blessings privately as we talked about things, but it always triggered a "yea, sure, that'd be nice." And even others told me that the period after a loss is the most fertile time (who knows why). I'm not really sure I believe that but it was a nice thought.

So we tried after my first real month "back." And I was sure that we missed the window (ovulation sticks and all), but the next morning when I peed on my ovulation stick, I saw I had been wrong - the stick was clearly positive. So we timed it well and then waited... and waited during that dreaded two weeks to see what would happen, if anything.

Toward the end of that two week period, there was one morning when I woke up ridiculously early, before everyone else, and my right hip was aching and hurting. For me, that's a distinct sign of pregnancy... it only happens when I'm pregnant and it only happens once at the very early stages. I thought to myself, there's no way.... So I didn't pee on a pregnancy stick even though I had an obscene amount ready at hand.

I waited a couple days, but the memory of the aching hip haunted me and my husband had a good feeling, even prior to me telling him about my hip. Normally I would only take a pregnancy test in the morning (first morning urine and all), but it was nagging me.

So two days before Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement, in the afternoon of October 7th, I peed on a stick and laid it on the bathroom sink. And waited.

And waited a long couple minutes before I saw the faintest line ever.

But here's the thing. After years of researching, learning about pregnancy, and personal experience, I know that even an almost invisible line means positive. I was a little stunned, not really believing what I saw. I brought it out to my husband who was sitting on the couch watching television.

"Can I show you something?" I held up the stick.
"You peed on a stick?"
"I did."

He looked and said, "I see a line."
"Yea."

I sat down.
I didn't feel pregnant, but then again, my period wasn't even due for another day and a half. But I had no symptoms of any impending visitor (unlike last time, where the cramps went on forever), so it must be true.

Over the next day and a half, I peed on four more sticks, each one getting progressively darker. After Yom Kippur, I peed on the last stick. It was VERY CLEARLY two lines. Each time, I showed my husband. He was getting very, very excited about our rainbow baby while I seemed to only have anxiety.

** ** **
November 3. Well, jeez, today I thought about my previous pregnancy and I thought about this one; I thought I was doing fine. Then, this afternoon, a woman shared her new Facebook group (a Jewish women's support group for pregnancies after loss), explaining that it was needed because the new pregnancy is simply TERRIFYING. Out of nowhere (really?), I suddenly lost it. I was at the office, sitting at my desk, tearing up and crying.

That's when I realized she is absolutely right.

Ever since I found out I was pregnant, my husband has been excited and I have been terrified. I originally thought it was just nerves and anxiety, but it's so much more than that. This morning I was having slight cramping and started worrying again. In this pregnancy, everything has seemed normal (even unimpressive), but emotionally, NOTHING is normal about this pregnancy.

Last week, when I was about six weeks pregnant, we went in to the gynecologist. I thanked him for his blessing (he was confused, then amused), he scanned me and said everything looks good so far. We could see a yolk sac and such, but it was too early for a heartbeat (as expected). He instructed us to come back in two weeks to check the heartbeat and, on our way out, wished me good luck with a smile.

So now we're waiting another two weeks.

All the while, hubby has been really cute. He went out and got us snacks. Without thinking, he picked up a particular candy for us. Did he realize what he had gotten? No. But it's adorable.

This afternoon, I realized I was feeling weird all day but couldn't figure out why. I began freaking out a bit. I thought perhaps I was dehydrated - always possible - so I started drinking a 1.5L bottle of water. I was still edgy. But now, thinking more deeply about it... perhaps my anxiety is kicking in again about the pregnancy. Very very realistic. Very very likely.

See, in the last pregnancy, I had done everything perfectly, taken my prenatals, eliminated alcohol and raw fish (mostly), reduced my tuna intake, taken my folates, and then, for no reason whatsoever, my baby was sick. Very sick. And here's the worst part. With hydrops, there's no 'safe point.' There's no developmental period that you can mark as a milestone to know you're safe. Hydrops can develop for a plenitude of reasons - at 12 weeks, 24 weeks, 30-33 weeks, any point in between or later. THERE IS NO SAFE POINT. Talk about terrifying.

** ** **
November 12.  Today I'm eight weeks pregnant. Rainbow's eyes are now fusing shut so that they can develop and his/her tail is almost gone. Later this afternoon we are going into the gynecologist to check the baby's heartbeat. Am I nervous? Hell yes. But I keep breathing. What else can I do?