They couldn’t find his heartbeat.
She held the doppler on my heaving belly while my back arched, muscles contracting painfully, involuntarily. I was, I think, screaming.
Where is it? Where is he? Henry! Where is he? Oh, where is it? You can’t find it!
My face was hot and wet. My lungs ached from trying to expand. The oxygen mask fell out of my nose and hands were on my head, in my hair, on my shoulders, many sets of hands.
Shhh, lie back, you have to relax, Amy! Lie back sweetie! Shhhh, it’s OK, you’re OK, you’re breathing.
I can’t breathe, I’m suffocating. The room is going dark. I look at my obscenely dancing legs and there is blood running from a gash in my left thigh. The first epi pen pierced my skin, but my flexing muscles pushed it out again, body struggling against the impending darkness. The second dose took, but only after what felt like breathless hours.
They said I never stopped breathing completely.
***
Just before they sent me to the other side of the room, the surgical side, my midwife told me that they would do a test dose.
It’s just iron, I thought to myself. Iron for my poor, weak blood. What could happen? But I asked her.
She hesitated, her pixie haircut and elfin form a stark contrast to her white coat. Shock, she said. Anaphylactic shock.
***
I have small veins. They roll around and try to escape the tyranny of the needle. Three sticks in my left arm; finally, success in my right.
The medicine, to make me strong for the birth, dark and brown and thick.
This might sting, the nurse said.
She pushed the plunger and I looked away, not wanting to watch my own body being infiltrated. I was crabby, resentful, angry that I had to do it, angry that my body is an inadequate host for this baby boy trying hard to grow.
Suddenly I was hot. So hot.
Too hot.
Something’s not right, I muttered. Lungs seized up. Hot, so hot!
Hurry! Hurry! Something’s wrong!
Gasping, black spots in front of my eyes. I’m getting out of the chair. The IV pulls.
Too hard to breathe! Can’t breathe! It’s dark!
The nurse knocks over a tray. More feet, running. The midwife’s hand in mine, me squeezing, squeezing, back arching from the eipinepherine.
Can’t breathe! Julie! I can’t breathe!
You’re talking, you’re breathing. Calm down. You have to calm down! The medicine is working.
She calls for the doppler, small and white in her hand.
Static.
Static.
Long minutes tick by.
Henry! Henry! Baby! My baby!
The tech fetches the ultrasound machine, fetal monitor follows on a cart behind. Hands pushing me back. Pink strap on my middle.
They are all looking at each other. No sound no sound NO SOUND!
Where is it? WHERE IS IT! I’m still screaming.
On the screen a jagged line.
It beats. His heart beats.
Mine beats in tandem, too fast, too fast. First too slow, now too fast.
Tick-tock, the frightening clock.
Slowing, slowing …
The clock stops as I watch the lines, one on a screen and one on paper, tears falling in a waterfall of fear and sorrow and anger at the betrayal of this body of mine. My collar is wet, hands on mine, soothing, shushing.
I want my husband, I cry out. I want my mom! I’m so sorry!
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
***
I was there for another hour. They wheeled me into the ultrasound room for a bio scan. I saw him, my baby, my Henry, my heart. He was breathing and moving.
He looked fine.
He is fine. I am not.
***
I harbored fear that I wasn’t going to be able to love this baby enough. Today, that fear was replaced with another; that I love him too much.
My body has been an inhospitable home for him. I have half-joked that I want him out, that I want my body back. But today when I almost stopped breathing, my only thoughts were for him. Watching the faces of the nurses and the midwives as they waited for that whoosh-whoosh-whoosh, I knew.
We share one heart.



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Damn, Mrs. Chicken. I’m so glad everything’s okay, but that is seriously scary.
no words, just ((hugs))
I’m sending positive thoughts your way!! Hang in there!!
That is so scary. I’m so glad you are both okay.
You scared the CRAP out of me! I have a friend who recently lost her babies.
I’m glad that everything worked out fine though and I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.
I just stopped breathing, too. I have been having a hard time today on my own wondering what is going on with my body and baby, but it is nothing scary like this. I am so glad all is ok. Girl, when that baby is out and you are holding him and all is well and your two hearts are beating, I will be SO happy.
Steph
oh god, oh no. oh honey.
it’s those words: he is fine.
he is fine.
I went through something like this with my son, but early in the second trimester so it was nothing like this. It was the worst day of my life, and I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you so far along and all alone.
I’ll be thinking about you and the boy, and keeping my fingers crossed
That is so scary. I’m glad to hear your both okay.
Thank goodness you are alright, both of you. I hope you can get some rest today…You will be in my thoughts!
Oh my god. I’m so glad you both are okay. That is unbelievably scary and yet you are so eloquent with your words. How can you possibly do that?
oh my GOD, amy. i’m so glad you’re both ok.
OMG. I’m all too familiar with anaphylactic shock. Mrs. C., I’m so sorry that you and Henry went through that terrifying experience, and so thankful that nothing worse happened to you or your son.
I’m covered in chills. Thank goodness he is okay. Hopefully soon you will be too.
Stupid anaphylactic shock; it’s so scary.
So so glad you are ok. You’re in my thoughts and prayers.
I just want to add too, that I’m so glad you and Henry are both OK. You are in my thoughts and prayers. And please don’t hesitate to call me if you need ANYTHING. I’m just a few minutes away.
That post was terrifying. I’m so glad you’re both okay.
Holy shit, girl. That was horrifying. I hope little Henry is born with no more scares for you.
Just relief and lots of tight hugs for you all from over here. So glad you’re both alright. You’ve been very brave. It’s not easy being alone for that. Tight hugs.
Jesus H. Christ, you scared me. But as I was reading I was thinking, “She’s ok, she’s ok, she’s written this so she’s ok. The baby’s ok. OK.”
So glad your MIL is there to help w/Poo. You get some rest.
Oh, Amy. My heart is in my throat.
So glad you are both okay.
Big hugs.
Oh Crap Mrs.C that is fricken awful. I am so sorry that happened to you and so thankful you both are OK. You poor thing, that is really the last thing you need right now.
Oh My God–I could hardly take reading your post. I quickly scrolled down to the end mid-way through because I needed to know everything was o.k.
I’m so sorry you had to go through this. Again, if you need anything, please let me know.
You have been through hell this pregnancy–and yes, it’s clear as hell that you love Henry, and that you have for a very long time now.
Hang in there . . . and as you wrote, let others help you!
oh, Amy. so scary.
i know the experience was hell, but i am so glad for you that it ended happily…that he is fine, that all is okay. breathe, now…rest…love him…
and go easy on yourself.
Oh my gosh. I’m in tears. My heart is in my throat. I’m so so very glad that both of you are OK.
My thoughts and prayers are with you, Henry, and your whole family. Please get some rest. I know there’s probably not much I can do through the computer, but let me know if I can do anything for you. I had an awful pregnancy as well and I know how incredibly taxing it is to just…be…when things around you are so crazy.
That sounds terrifying. I am glad he is OK.
*hug*
So sorry, friend.
Soon you’ll be eye to eye.
-Megin
Jesus Amy. ((you))
holy crap.
8.8.08 can’t get her soon enough.
hugs friend
Oh Amy, I’m so sorry you had to go through that! How terrifying. And I’m so glad that you both recovered so well and are okay.
I can relate to that feeling that your body keeps failing you, but realize that you have no control over such issues.
Hang in there sweetie. (((hugs)))
Oh honey, what a scare. I was scared for you and I was just reading about it after the fact.
After all of this you definitely deserve an easy baby.
It amazes me that you can turn something so scary into a such a beautiful thought. I’m so sorry that you had to go through all of that.
He will be here soon.
Oh my gosh, I’m sitting here with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat for you. What a horrible experience with a great outcome; I can’t imagine your fear and anxiety. Soon he will be in your arms – safe and sound. Hugs
I stopped breathing, too. I am SO glad you are both alright.
I seriously thought right until the end that it was just a dream.
How I wish that it were.
Hang in there.
I stopped breathing, too, Amy. I am so glad you and Shaggy are alright. Sending hugs.
Been thinking about you! You are such a great mommy to the Poo and Henry. Seriously. And this week is almost over thank goodness.
This is… just…this is just…
I just….
ohhhhhhh, my heart.
So terrifying. I am so glad that you are both okay. Hang in there. You’re almost there.
I kept waiting to see that this was just a very nasty dream. You poor thing. We’re all sending you love Amy, you’ll get through this. Stimey is right, you’re almost there. Hang on. xoxo
Very scary. I am so glad your m-i-l is here to be with The Poo. You need to go inside and care for yourself and your babe, as you wrote.
There’s something that moms don’t talk about much but that came through loud and clear in this post: You are a fierce mother. Thank god for that. Your kids and your husband need you to be fierce.
OMG…I’m so glad you are BOTH okay. Hugs to you. Take care of you and that baby!
WOW…I am glad everything is okay. That seriously took my breath away…Hugs.
Sending you and the baby much love. That was one scary episode.
wow so scary. You’d think they would have known better.
I’m so glad you’re okay and we’re praying that he will be totally unaffected by this as well.
So scary. Lots of hugs and prayers for you and Shaggy boy.
((hugs)) rest – take it easy until you can hold that baby in your arms.
We went through what you didn’t have to. That’s all I have to say about it. We kind of closed the book on that chapter of our life….
Oh! I had to read that a few times before my mind could relax. He’s ok, you’re ok. Phew.
Such a scary post…even though I only “know” you through your blog, my heart dropped and the tears rolled as I felt your anguish as you waited for the heartbeat. Something I know too well….I am so glad all is okay with you and with Henry.