Tommy.

This post has already been written in my mind for months. It has been reworked and reworded many times and even though I had to emotionally prepare myself for the possibility of posting it much earlier than I ever wanted, the framework has essentially stayed the same. And it has always started with the joyful announcement of the arrival of our third son, Thomas Ray Koelliker.

Unlike his brothers before him, Thomas has the distinction of having a completely expected birth. The ventilators, isolettes, and feeding tubes that were so integral to the other births in our family were tellingly and blessedly absent.  This third boy in a family of boys will someday tell his own special tale about the day that he was born.  A day that did not include a frenzied drive to the hospital, an emergency procedure, or having to separate from his parents and go to the NICU because even though the countdown to get to his arrival was a storied one, the actual day of his debut was mercifully peaceful.     

On the morning of Thursday, March 5th, 2015, Rob and I walked hand in hand through the doors of University Hospital.  We could not help but giggle as we made our way to the maternity ward.  We had already spent countless hours in those familiar halls and units.  Henry had been born and died in the NICU where Eddie spent the first nine weeks of his life and I was officially closing the door on a pregnancy that required a lot of medical attention.  And as we went up the elevator and checked in to have our baby we could not get over the fact that we were checking in and not being rushed in.  That for the first time my hospital bag was pre-packed and organized and most of all, we could not believe that we had made it to March.  That after all of the emergency visits and scares and the hours spent worrying and planning Plan B's and even Plan C's, that we had made it to 36 weeks and 6 days gestation.

Due to construction, the maternity ward sent us across the hall to the place that Rob and I knew all too well, and as we checked in at the desk of OB Emergency Services I was relieved to do so for the very last time in that pregnancy.  We were visited by nurses, doctors, and anesthesiologists and we were assured multiple times that the NICU was on call in case our little one needed expert attention.  (In fact, several of our favorite NICU nurses stood at the ready that day and all weekend just in case we needed them.  It was a gesture that gave us incredible reassurance and peace in an uncertain time.) Because even though I had made it as far as I could physically go with my pregnancy there was still no guarantee that Tommy would be born healthy.  My doctor was ecstatic that I had basically made it to 37 weeks but she cautioned us that even at almost full term, Tommy would very likely need to spend time in the NICU.  And so, with much reason to fear, but every reason to hope, I walked to the OR to have our baby.

And in what felt like a matter of minutes, my doctor lowered the sheet and told us to get the camera ready because Tommy was coming.  Rob and I clutched hands and drew a collective breath.  I steadied myself in Rob's gaze as the moment that we had been worrying about and praying for was finally about to arrive.  

I closed my eyes and willed my ears to hear the cry of a healthy baby boy...

...but Tommy's cries could not necessarily be described as sounding like mere cries.  He bleated.  He wailed and he screamed. 

Rob and I hugged, cried, kissed, and prayed.  And then we did it all again.  And as they closed me up and the pediatricians examined our tiny treasure, I laughed out loud.  I laughed and released the trauma that began in a delivery room just down the hall from my operating room almost exactly five years before Tommy's birth.  I laughed and gratefully accepted the cheers of joy and congratulations from the medical team in our room.  But mostly, I think I laughed at the unfamiliar sound of a baby being born because although Tommy may be our third child, his cries were the first we had ever heard from our children in the delivery room. 

  

Rob followed Tommy and the pediatricians to the nursery for a thorough examination to ensure that he was healthy.    

And as they were stitching me up Rob came back into the room with an enormous grin and announced that Tommy did not need to go to the NICU and that he wanted to be with his parents in the recovery room.  

So, for the first time, we were able to hold one of our children on the day that he was born.

And he got to stay with us during the entire weekend while I recovered.

The poor boy battled extreme jaundice due to my negative antibodies fighting his positive ones and at one point we thought he might have to stay in the hospital under the lights or even get a transfusion.  Thankfully he was ultimately deemed healthy enough to leave and his peaceful delivery was book-ended with a peaceful journey home.

Sweet Tommy will be turning 3 months old this Thursday and not a day has gone by since his miraculous arrival that I have not thanked Heavenly Father for His mercy in allowing Tom to be in our family.  He is sweet, genial, and incredibly patient.  And I am certain there are not enough positive adjectives to describe just how much we love and appreciate having him with us.

Welcome to the party, Tom, we absolutely adore you.

Time.

In the middle of last July I felt pregnant.  I did not have physical evidence quite yet but there was just something within me that knew that someone else was in the picture.  After seeing a few negative results from over the counter tests I scheduled a blood test with my doctor's office.  When the blood test came back negative I was stunned.  I still felt pregnant and as the weeks went by I could not shake the feeling. I began to worry that I was developing a psychological condition.  I wondered if my desire to become pregnant was causing my body to create hormones or sensations that led me to believe I was pregnant even though the tests said otherwise.

By the beginning of August I became seriously concerned that I was imagining things.  Symptoms were starting to materialize and in fact, they were too big to ignore.  I told Rob that I was going to take one last test and then I needed to see my doctor to seek help.  But as I suspected all along, the "final" test I took was not really the last because it came back positive.  And that test was really just the first in a series of blood tests, scans, and procedures that became routine to monitor our baby and keep him safe.  In the first few months alone, this baby easily beat out his older brothers by the sheer volume of appointments, ultrasounds, shots, and prescriptions that were necessary for what became a very high risk pregnancy.  

From the first meeting with my doctor it was made clear to us that although things were starting well, that due to my complicated history, there were great risks associated with having another baby.  Even though Henry was born at 37 weeks and was technically full term he was still early and I was given an increased risk of early deliveries after he was born.  Eddie only fulfilled that risk and then some when he was born much more premature than we ever could have expected.  His abrupt birth was the wild card in my pregnancy deck.  Much like other premature births, the exact cause of Eddie's sudden arrival was and is still unknown and so there was no telling how long this next pregnancy would last.

And so, it seems that from the very beginning we truly did not know what was coming with this new babe.  My track record was not much help since it is punctuated with two surprise births, a tragic loss, long hospital stays, and quite a bit of trauma.  Initially, the risks did not seem to matter as much.  Although we worried, prayed, and loved our new little one since the moment we knew he was coming, we did not have cause to truly worry until the second trimester.  By the beginning of the third trimester we were operating in full panic mode and did everything we could to keep our baby in where he belonged.

I became well acquainted with OB Emergency Services at the University of Utah Hospital.  One of our greatest concerns was that I would repeat the process of Eddie's premature labor and I would be too dilated to keep the baby safe.  My doctor was understandably worried about that too so I was instructed to go straight to the ER any time I could not get contractions to stop at home. Between the beginning of November 2014 and the week before Tommy was born, I was in the ER seven times.  

(It got a little old...)

I originally wrote the majority of this post in the middle of January but I was never able to complete it.  At the time, I was on modified bed rest and had been to the emergency room for contractions four times within a matter of weeks. I had just started my third trimester and although it was absolutely incredible to be past 28 weeks (the week that Eddie was born), I did not feel like I could be honest enough about my feelings to blog about them. I wish I would have mustered the energy and courage that was necessary to detail what it felt like to be in the throes of what was to our little family, something very stressful/wonderful/scary, but I could never quite put my feelings into words.  Looking back, I think it is mostly because I did not want to remember every part of that time in my life.  It was my hardest pregnancy yet and it challenged me in almost every aspect of my life.  And to be honest, some things are too humbling to own up to in writing.

But for posterity's sake, I think I owe it to my family to at least make an attempt to describe that important chapter in our family's history.  And aside from the fact that I am taking this quote completely out of context and I have never been able to get through more than three chapters of A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens puts me to sleep faster than Benadryl), when I think of my pregnancy with Tommy I think it truly was the best times, it was the worst of times.  It was a time of the fulfillment of dreams, it was a time of great anxiety, it was a time of unending love and service from family and friends, and it was a time of physical pain, sleeplessness, and sacrifice.

It was a time when these two cemented something that was already special and made it into a bond that is unbreakable and completely limitless.

It was an eerily quiet time, a time of forced rest, great sickness (poor Ed), and snuggles that turned into peaceful afternoon naps.

It was a time to sit at every possible opportunity.

And it was a time for my profile to expand to limits that I never thought I would see again. But most of all, it was a time for us to appreciate time and to be grateful that we had it. 

(This was taken the night before Tommy was born and it was our final picture 

as a family of four. I'm certain that Henry is right next to his dad.)

Wishing.

Dear Henry,

As you know, tomorrow is your birthday.  You would be turning four.  And I wish that I could give you a hug.

For the past three years we have celebrated your special day without being able to hold you.  Up until your little brother came along our arms were as empty as our hearts and it was absolute agony.  We mourned you and we also mourned the sorrows of not feeling like the parents we knew that we had become since you were born.  At times, the loneliness threatened to destroy me or at the very least, drive me mad.  But in a bizarre way, on nights like tonight after I have hugged Eddie and tucked him in, it almost made it easier before because we did not know exactly what we were missing.  Eddie is here now and he has taken up so much of our lives that he has spoiled me.  I cuddle him, I kiss him, I wrestle with him, and I am able to scoop him up on a whim.  And as I held your brother today I could not help but wonder what you feel like, because I know now what I am missing - and I am missing so much.

I am missing the beating of your heart against mine.  I am missing the sensation of your fingers on my neck.  I am missing your hand in my hand, and I am missing your arms wrapped around my waist.  I am missing your face and the shape of your smile.  I am missing the color of your eyes and the sound of your feet as they patter around our house.  I am missing the sound of your voice and the pitch of your laughter.  I am missing folding your clothes and arranging them into piles.  I am missing the sight of you with your brother.  I am missing the sight of you with your grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  But above all else, I am missing watching you with your father.

I am not sure how things work where you are.  

And I do not know what you look like or how tall you are and sometimes it drives me crazy.  I wish I could see you.  I wish I could hold you and tell you in person how much I love you.  Because Henry, as simple as it may sound, I wish I could be with you everyday and even though it has been four years, I continue to make that wish every single day.  

I do not know what you are doing exactly where you are now, but I have a feeling that whatever it is, that it is something good.  Some of our family members have told us stories about you and how they have felt you close by when they have been around the world and it has brought us great peace.  And as much as I wish I could have you here all of the time, I know that you are involved in magnificent things.  Even though I wish that I even had the option to be selfish and keep you with us, I know that you are doing good.  And it makes us, as your mom and dad, so very proud.

So son, even though I wish that I could hold you tomorrow and every day, I am starting to become okay with where you are now.  You never belonged wholly to your dad and me anyway.  You were just ours for a moment; and I want you to know that as brief as that moment may have been, that it was enough.

Wishing you the happiest birthday, my sweet, sweet boy.

All my love,

Mom

First.

Last month our little prizefighter turned one year old and from the moment that I woke up that day, my thoughts continually returned to that little pain that I felt on the lower right side of my belly just one year before.  I thought about how that pain increased as the day progressed and I then thought about the moments leading up to Eddie's emergency delivery.  And as I recalled and replayed the events of that day I was humbled by how all of the pieces seemed to fit together.  I thought about how all of the people, places, and things just happened to be exactly where they needed to be and how everything was just as it should be so that Edward Henry Koelliker could come into this world.  And I could not help but smile.

I also thought about the time that Eddie spent in the hospital and how particularly terrifying his first days of life were for Rob and me.  He did remarkably well from the start but Rob and I had been in the NICU before - and we knew too much.  I had faith but I admit that I hoped for the best but half expected and absolutely dreaded the worst.  And as the days progressed my shock from his prematurity wore off but I was riddled with anxiety and fear.

But even as a tiny baby, Eddie made it difficult to be frightened for too long.  With each and every one of his milestones he grew stronger and he made it abundantly clear that he was his own person.  And that he was here to stay.

And he was and still is everything that we needed in our family.

                                       

We celebrated Eddie's special day with our family and friends and while the party was in full swing I overheard snippets of conversations that I am assuming were started with recollections of where everyone was the year before and what they were doing when they heard the news about his unexpected birth.  From what I gathered, each person was in a different place and was going about the business of their own life.  But everyone remembered where they were and how they felt.  And they all expressed their gratitude for being able to celebrate Eddie's first year and for his incredible "fight."

Eddie with his loving grandparents

Three generations of Koelliker boys  

The birthday boy right before he dived into his celebratory cupcake

Sweet, sweet Eddie, boy, have you ever given us a year to remember!