Playing chicken

The following post is a whiny one. If you are currently not in a good place, skip it. As always, there will be other posts. Take care of yourself first and foremost.

Today I had my weekly appointment with the MFMs. Following a rise in BP followed by a rise in levels of biomarkers for liver stress, they've been vigilant. In order to gather more data as to what is happening, I went in for an ultrasound yesterday to have my liver visually assessed and have been doing weekly blood draws so they can watch the levels of the markers. Lots and lots of poking and prodding.

Unfortunately, the answer to what's happening with me is still unclear. Though the labs indicate that my liver is functioning, the levels of the markers for liver stress still aren't dropping. Initially I asked if it was due to the fact that my liver is being physically compressed by She-Beat (she's currently been using it as a blanket), but that doesn't seem to be the case. Add in the fact that the ultrasound revealed I have a number of hemangiomas in my liver and it's suggestive that postpartum follow up via MRI is necessary.

The news of the mysterious liver I can handle, just as I've been handling the news that I've been officially diagnosed with prehypertension. But when I heard my MFM tell me that if things didn't improve on both these fronts I would have to be admitted to the hospital, a wave of sadness and frustration hit full force, leaving me feeling utterly defeated.

I'll be the first to admit, I've been very VERY lucky with this pregnancy. After years of living with infertility, suffering through multiple failed fertility treatments and two miscarriages, just being able to carry the Beats has been such a blessing. Add in the fact that I've really had zero medical problems despite having a tentative diagnosis of APA syndrome and having to deal with daily injections since last November, and I know how lucky I've been. Still, the thought of going into the hospital now and running the risk of the Beats having to arrive before 36 weeks scares me. And it makes me feel that my body is failing them; failing our family.

Grey has been trying his best to cheer me up since this morning's appointment. He was quick to remind me that the levels of the biomarkers did drop somewhat today. In addition, though I'm still very much at risk for preeclampsia, I currently have zero protein in my urine. Also we are doing what we need to do. I'm scheduled to be fitted tomorrow with for a maternity support belt to help with the aches and pains due to carrying two babies. In addition, the Beats are looking very good, still measuring ahead in growth and development. He also pointed out that we are in excellent hands with our care team. The fact is, due to the trust and communication that has been established over the last few months of working with them, they were able to find these issues and monitor them. Something that's different from what a lot of people go through as usually issues like this one aren't detected until it's too late.

Still, I know that we're currently having a standoff with my body; that I'm playing chicken with my funky liver. Whereas those around me have been asking about when we're going to start making preparations for the Beats arrival (something that we are sorely behind on) or whether there's even going to be a baby shower, I'm at is trying to figure out what one packs in a hospital bag for a long term stay (seriously, I'm clueless on this one).

How I wish I could just sleep the next 5 weeks away . . . .