It took me close to seven years to get Miles’s birth story up on the blog. I consider it a win that it’s only taken me seven weeks to get Billie’s birth story written up. Listen, at this point, let’s celebrate every victory, amiright?
Let’s start this story a little further back.
In November of 2019, life was good. We went to Miami to celebrate my dad’s 80th birthday. And then we followed it up with a few days at Walt Disney World. All of that was after a bunch of fun fall activities that included a family hike and our annual trip to the farm. Little did I know what December had in store.
Just a few weeks after that trip to Florida, my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Like that wasn’t enough, my husband also experienced a relapse with his alcohol addiction. Both of those things combined led me to have to quit my job at the Bar Method, which I loved. It was a lot.
Come January, I started to feel funny. I even took a pregnancy test! But when it came back negative, I just chalked up my symptoms to all the stress in my life.
Fast forward to March.
After a few weeks on lockdown, I started to experience more symptoms, including a couple that I only ever experienced when I was pregnant with Miles. I decided to try another pregnancy test. This time, those stripes turned pink before I even laid the stick down and started the timer.
By the time I found a local OB/GYN and had my first appointment, I was twenty weeks into my pregnancy. Twenty. Weeks. I literally missed half my pregnancy in all the madness of the rest of my life! It was kind of a bummer, but also a relief because I somehow skipped some of the hardest parts of pregnancy.
When it finally came time for Billie to come into the world, my doctor decided it would be best to induce. Because of my age (just turned 40 over the summer) and the fact that my due date was fast approaching, they thought it would be best to go into a more controlled setting. Whoops.
The evening of my induction, I went to the hospital (which was lovely, BTW) as planned. Unfortunately, it was all downhill from there.
I had taken the magic meds to get the ball rolling and just changed into my hospital gown, when I started to feel off. It all happened so fast. The last thing I remember is telling my husband something wasn’t right and pressing the call button for the nurse. I woke up a day later in the ICU.
From what I have pieced together from my husband and the myriad of doctors I’ve seen, I passed out because of a pulmonary embolism — a blood clot in my lung. After Billie was born via emergency C-section, she was whisked off to the NICU while I was intubated and given a blood transfusion.
Even now, close to two months later, no one is absolutely certain what caused my blood clot. I’m still seeing a cardiologist, a hematologist, and an additional obstetrician who specializes in high-risk pregnancies. Plus, I’m on a blood thinner and blood pressure medication for the foreseeable future. Oh, and I risk death if I get pregnant again. 😳
On the super-worth-it bright side, we got Billie.
After the pregnancy I had and the delivery we both experienced, there’s no way she’s not going to be a tough lady. And I love that. So far, she’s been a dream. She will definitely scream in my face if she’s hungry and I’m not moving fast enough. But she’s also already sleeping up to six hours straight at night. Plus, she just started smiling and giggling, so I really can’t complain.
I can’t wait for more of her personality to come out, and to see how her relationship with Miles develops. It’s crazy to think we’re starting this parenting thing again, but I’m psyched to have completed our little family.