There it is – the results of my MRI and the level 2 ultrasound are conclusive: I have placenta percreta (wiki-link here). To make a long story short, this means our baby will be born at 36 weeks gestation, and I will have some pretty extensive surgery along with the scheduled cesarean section. It will not be pretty, or easy – the surgery alone will take a few hours, and I will be spending a lot more days in the hospital than anticipated.
Not exactly how I envisioned the birth of our fourth child.
My mother is coming to stay with the boys so that Courtney can stay with me, but I still feel bad that I will not be there for them. I will miss their taekwondo belt tests and a piano recital, and Abraham will have to go to sleep without his mama for the first time in his life.
I worry about the baby. 36 weeks is awfully early for a baby to be born. What if his lungs are not ready or he has trouble nursing? The good news is that this baby seems to take after his brothers, and already weighed 2.5 kg at 33 weeks, which means that, if he adds at least the average 1 oz/day over the next two weeks, he’ll weigh around 3 kg (6.6 Lbs) at birth. Not bad for a premature baby.
I also worry about those first crucial hours after birth. If our baby is fine and doesn’t have to go into the NICU, then Courtney will take him and hold him until I come out of surgery. Hopefully I’ll be able to nurse him immediately. If there are issues, then… I don’t have a plan.
This might just be one of those situations where I’ll have to acknowledge that I cannot be in full control, but am left to trust my body, rely on my husband’s judgment, and [cringe] trust my doctors (who I’m seeing, one on one, next week). Oh, and have faith that God’s got my back.