It was the evening of 26+1. We had made it through our first full day and things were looking up. We had amazing staff and teams of specialists that had given us more hope and made us feel like we made the right decision coming to the hospital. Towards the end of the evening I was back in bed for my regularly scheduled monitoring while my parents were getting ready to take Logan for the night. We were fortunate to have family friends with a beautiful house not too far from the hospital for my parents and Logan to set up base. I was relieved that not only would Logan have my parents taking care of him but that they wouldn’t have to be crammed into a hotel room. Being at a house would give Logan some sense of normalcy and it gave me less anxiety about disrupting his entire life by coming to Denver. But it didn’t relieve the guilt and sadness I had about him having to sleep somewhere else. Logan was 18-months old I had only spent two nights away from him since the day he was born, and he had never been without either of us. I was worried he would feel scared and abandoned. Having my parents there made me feel a little better about it. Travis decided to drive with them to help get them settled in and then he would come back to spend the night with me.  As they were gathering their things and saying goodbye my nurse came in to let me know that the baby was looking a little sluggish on the monitor and she wanted to give me some fluids in my IV to help the baby perk up. I smiled and nodded while she went to get her supplies. Everyone gave me hugs and kisses goodnight and I wiped away tears giving Logan a hug. He of course couldn’t be more excited and with a simple wave and “bye bye,” from him they were all gone. My nurse finished hooking up my IV, gave me my second shot of steroids, and then I was alone. For the first time in weeks I was completely alone with my thoughts. I didn’t feel like I needed to pretend everything was fine. I didn’t need to put on a happy face for my family or for my son. I had a few minutes to myself without having to answer questions or fake a smile or pretend I was at a spa instead of a hospital. My fear and sadness and guilt and anger came rushing in and I took a deep breath before letting it out in sobs.

Travis returned around 9 and started checking out the the other open rooms on the floor. Our nurse saw that we had a large crowd of visitors and suggested we move to a bigger room so we could be more comfortable. Travis took his time surveying each room comparing bathroom size, layout, and of course view. I was still hooked up to the monitor and IV so I giggled every time he came back to report on which room he thought would be best. It made me happy to see him be able to make a choice about something and to exert some control over this situation that had rendered him powerless as well. This was his way of taking care of us. Our new room was huge, in the corner away from people, and had a fantastic view. We settled in, wrote an e-mail to update our family and friends on what was going on, and tried to get some rest.

Again, sleep did not come for me. Each night the nurses had offered medication to help with sleep but I continued to decline. I forgot about the jitters that come with the steroid injections. My mind started racing and anxiety started building. Travis was sleeping comfortably and I didn’t want to bother him with my nonsense so I tried to occupy my mind. I wrote an e-mail to my siblings around 3 AM, updating them on the day. I didn’t want people to worry as much as I was so I kept things light. I joked about the challenges of having to lay in bed and eat, and about declining sleep medication because I was afraid of what I might do on the internet in my slumber. I talked about being nervous for my c-section especially because I knew exactly what the surgeons would do but said I was grateful that at least I knew it was coming instead of being rushed back to surgery. I was hoping if I put out positive thoughts I would feel that way too. I closed my eyes but again sleep did not come. My sister had a six-month old baby so I knew she was up at all hours. I started texting her around 3:30 AM. “We started brainstorming names for real last night. I started getting more attached. I can’t decide if its a good thing…yesterday I was a little more ambivalent about the outcome. Today they gave me hope. I’m not sure its helping me.”  My sister tried to cheer me up. She reminded me that I had now made it past Friday the 13th. I was mildly relieved. I thought the 13th would be a bad sign.

I closed my eyes again but my stomach started growling. Any time I felt hunger I felt a panicking need to eat. I thought if I was hungry then the baby must really be hungry. I pictured it kicking my belly begging me to feed it. I inhaled some food sitting near my bed but I still couldn’t rest. I was too worried about Jellybean. I was worried every time I moved that the cord would get compressed and I would kill the baby. Or if I didn’t eat I would kill the baby. Or if I never got any sleep I would kill the baby. I wanted to make sure she was OK. I wasn’t due for monitoring again until 6 AM but I wanted to call my nurse and tell her to put the monitor on so I could see she was OK. I didn’t want to let nature take its course anymore, I wanted to save her. I wouldn’t have known anything was wrong if we didn’t do that ultrasound just for fun. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that ultrasound. Maybe things would have just gone along normally and we never would have known there was a problem. Maybe we should just leave the baby alone, let her stay inside and grow, maybe everyone is just overreacting and she just needs more time. Maybe that ultrasound was a miracle, it gave us a chance to save her. I just want to save her….

My mind went on and on in circles until the bacon smell started wafting in. It was already 4:30! I tossed and turned and rolled from side to side. The new bed in my room automatically inflated and deflated to prevent bedsores on immobile people. I don’t know why it was in my room I could turn myself, but it was driving me crazy. The motor would loudly kick on every few minutes and then a few minutes later the bed would deflate and I’d have to roll around again to get comfortable. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to unplug this thing! I reached up and felt what I thought was the power cord and pulled as hard as I could until I heard alarm bells sounding and someone on my intercom asking if I was OK. UGH! I pulled the call light out of the wall. I assured them I was fine but a few seconds later my nurse came running into my room and flipped the lights on. There goes my plan to let Travis sleep. I apologized profusely as she plugged everything back in and left.

Once again I lay quietly while the bed tormented me and my mind tortured me with thoughts of my baby suffering inside of me. The room started to close in and the air kept getting thicker and thicker. I couldn’t catch my breath. I started breathing harder and faster and louder. Travis heard me from across the room and came over to me. “I’m freaking out,” I whispered. He crawled into my bed and held me while I repeatedly whispered, “I can’t do this, ” between sobs until we both fell asleep.