blood is thicker

I had my 6 week post partum check up this week.  All is well.  I am healing well, cleared for exercise, and good to go.  We talked a bit about my blood.  Back in the spring, Dr. T called me to tell me that I had a blood antibody that could affect baby.  It is a rare antibody, called the JKA antibody, and then told me to google it.  There isn't a lot of information out there on this specific antibody, but what I did find was from others who had it, primarily who had posted on baby and parenting forums.  This antibody, if it becomes quantifiable, can basically cross the placenta and attack baby's blood.  If that happens then the baby needs transfusions.

So every month I had to have blood tests to make sure the levels didn't get too high (they never did).  It also meant that any transfusions I got would need to be with blood with the antibody or the blood could be rejected.  The day before Graeme was born I had to have one more blood draw to type and cross check to make sure they had blood with the antibody.  They had two units ready to go.

Well, we all know that I need a few more units more than that, and they didn't have time to cross check that blood.  So I risked the chance of rejection of the blood, which I learned this week was a much higher possibility than anyone told us at the time.  Dr. T was in close contact with a doctor at the blood bank, as were all the doctors at Mercy.  Dr. T told me that it is yet another miracle that I didn't reject that blood.

A direct result of me receiving so much blood is that we have become avid fans of blood donation. Dan already was a donor, and his dad also donates regularly.  There has been talk of having a drive in my honor, which thrills me.  I even wrote a note to the trooper who brought more blood to the hospital when they ran out (turns out his wife works with Dan).

So, once again I have many other people to thank for keeping me alive.  Thanks for your prayers, and, if you donate blood, thank you.  You save lives.  If you don't donate, but are able, go donate a pint for me.

God was with you

After spending a significant amount of time (for a post-op) for our visit, talking us through the events of October 16, in the end, my OB said this: God was with you.  Through all of the bleeding that would not stop, through all of the methods attempted to make it stop, through all of the deliveries of more blood by the state's finest police, through all of the prayers of strangers, family, and friends, through all of the people who worked on me, God had a reason to keep me alive.  I don't know what that reason is yet, with exception to three kids who need their mommy, and a husband who needs his wife.  I feel I have a deep responsibility to pray prayers for others who may be in dire situations, because so many of you took a few minutes to think about me.  Thank you.  I also have a responsibility to live life to the fullest.

I did have a minor setback two weeks ago.  The antibiotics I was given in the hospital managed to kill off the good bacteria in my intestines, causing the bad bacteria to take over.  I became extremely ill and dehydrated.  When I called the ER, one of my surgeons was on-call and suggested I might have C. Diff, which I did, and fluids and a different antibiotic appear to have taken care of the problem.  It was a rough couple of days.  But overall I feel good.  I am getting out a bit each day, and am able to help with Slane and Hanna much more, which is good because Dan is back at work full-time.

Speaking of getting out, I have never felt so much a part of this community.  Almost everywhere I go, someone is glad to see me, and offers help, playdates, and general thanksgiving that I am walking among them.  I feel like a celebrity of sorts, but I take to heart that I (and we) are all cared for and loved by those around us.

I have one more thing I'd like to share.  I chose to have our babies in our small town because I love the staff in the maternity wing of the hospital.  They are dedicated and caring for everyone who walks through their doors.  They also took good care of my baby when I couldn't.  They kept a list of everyone who visited, they took pictures and saved them for me, and they sent pictures to Des Moines for me.  They didn't have to do that.  I know Graeme was cuddled and loved by the finest nurses and staff around.  And I have no idea who made it possible for Graeme to come and stay in Des Moines with me, but I will be forever thankful.  Holding him for the first time was maybe one of the most emotional moments I have experienced.       

How to give and receive

Intense, traumatic experiences pull stories and advice out of people. It's a mysterious force. While the advice and stories are still fresh, I thought I'd share the best of the advice we received with you.   (Names changed to protect the innocent.)

• Make a double batch. Marcy, our neighbor, shared that she will make a double batch of a meal - one for her family, another for the family who needs it.
• One word: therapy. Katherine, a friend who had an experience similar to ours. While she had sworn she would never go to therapy (she works as a social worker), the trauma she experienced caused her to reconsider her strict stance on therapy. Her husband also saw a therapist. The therapy gave each of them an opportunity to talk through and process the trauma that each had experienced.
• Be a yes man... Clayton, a friend who also had an experience like ours, recommended a month of live in help. At the very least, let people come and help and give them specific tasks. Keep it simple.
• ...but just say no to casserole. Jim, a former colleague, shared that his family continues to have a no casserole policy because his family received so many casseroles as meals following a death in the family. 

I would add this to the list: give your community an opportunity to help you through your trauma. The day that they transferred Sara out of ICU, I had a conversation with Alma, the mother of one of the Amish girls injured in an accident on the day of Graeme's birth. Eventually, it turned to the power of community to transcend the self and the tragedies we sometimes experience. Her community had helped her through many trials - births, injuries, and now through her daughter's accident. We agreed that community is a place where we both serve and are served, where we give and receive. Our experiences in ICU had taught each of us that it is much easier to give than to receive.

I chose to share our experience of Graeme's birth and Sara's challenges and recovery on Facebook, Twitter, and this blog because I could not keep all of the fear, anxiety, and uncertainty inside of me. I had to channel that energy into something useful. The response I received gave me comfort and strength, letting me know I was not alone. Every time I posted something new on Facebook, my phone chimed and buzzed dozens of times, like prayer candles flickering in church.

What have I learned from the past three weeks? Whenever someone is hurting, let that person know you care. No act is too small: whether it's cooking a meal, running a load of laundry, sending flowers, sending a text, or liking a Facebook post. We are not alone.