One Year Ago

A year ago this week, the 28th week of Taylor’s pregnancy, I (Matt) sent this message to family and friends:

Unfortunately, they've decided they will probably admit Taylor to the hospital for at least a couple of days. On Friday, at a regular dr appt, she had really high blood pressure, so they sent us to triage at the hospital. Her blood pressure dropped pretty quickly, and they chalked it up to white coat syndrome. Today we went back to the ob for another bp check, and again really high. We're back in triage at the hospital, and the ob said we should prepare to be admitted for at least a few days. We'll see if that actually pans out. I'll keep you all posted as frequently as I can, but in the meantime, we'd appreciate your prayers. Taylor feels fine, but is worried of course.

With a little research, I quickly made the startling discovery that Taylor’s high blood pressure would only get worse through the pregnancy. To avoid potentially devastating risks, Taylor would be best served by delivering the baby as soon as possible. Her doctors later told us that prolonging the pregnancy could lead to seizures, blood clots, or hemorrhage from placental abruption. But while Taylor would benefit from immediate delivery, the baby—who we jokingly referred to as “Cletus the Fetus”—was nowhere near ready to be born. He weighed just over two pounds.

On the day Taylor was admitted to the High-Risk Perinatal Unit, I wasn’t allowed to spend the night at the hospital, so returned to our empty home. The situation seemed so dire. I poured myself a very tall drink, turned off all the lights, and began listening to the music that Taylor and I had listened to when we began dating fourteen years before. I sobbed. I remember thinking, “My God. My whole life is in that hospital room.” For hours, I walked through our house in the dark praying for the safety of my wife and our baby.

Taylor spent the next week in the hospital, suffering through dozens of tests related to her blood pressure, gestational diabetes, and early contractions. For all the awfulness of the stay, Taylor seemed most upset about the hospital food. On what turned out to be her last day in the hospital, she threatened:

I will stage an insurrection if they do not let me out today. Breakfast just arrived: half a small english muffin, dry cheerios, dry cornflakes, black coffee.

When we learned that Taylor would finally be discharged, I wrote to friends and family:

Taylor is going home today. Her blood pressure and glucose are great. More contractions this morning (so slight that Taylor could not feel them), so more terbutaline. She will be on bedrest at home -- can go to the bathroom, make herself lunch, eat dinner at the table, work in a reclining position in bed -- but no leaving the house except for doctor’s appointments. They said they would be willing to reevaluate the limits of the bedrest after some period of time. Gay is with Taylor at the hospital today and I am back at work (but distracted). Taylor is having another sonogram before she leaves to make sure that the contractions are not having any effect on the cervix.

That final sonogram gave us a small glimpse in what was to come. Taylor wrote:

We got 3D ultrasound pics. Almost makes the hospital stay worth it. Team Jones makes a very cute baby.

One year later, it is easy to dismiss our worries from a year ago as overwrought or histrionic. After a long and difficult period of bedrest, our boy was born at full term in perfect health and Taylor’s blood sugar and blood pressure promptly returned to normal. I find that looking back on how low we once were, however, is a helpful reminder of how greatly we have been blessed.