A Couple of Hunks

My feet started itching right after the last guest left. I looked over the stash of presents that had been given to me by friends and family, and the excitement for our new baby grew. Presents sometimes make things feel more real, don't they? I figured my feet itching was just a side effect of being 7 1/2 months pregnant, walking around in barefeet and the heat of the summer.

I had taken the velvet ropes down to show all the guests the baby room, and the "oohs and aahhs" were gently filling up those wounds of long ago...wanting a baby. My itchy feet and I put the finishing touches on the room with our new gifts and I slumbered peacefully that night. Finally, a baby shower for me.

I mentioned to the doctor the next day that my feet and hands were itching pretty bad and maybe I had something called PUPPS that I had heard about. I offered him advice of giving me some kind of cream, salve, anything because the itching was getting worse. He said I didn't have PUPPS, but that there was a liver problem that can happen in pregnancy called cholestasis. He hadn't seen a case for 25 years since medical school. Oye. So they took my blood and sent me on my merry way.

I got a call within a couple of hours asking Andy and I both to return to the office. That's never good is it? I did have cholestasis and it can be dangerous. The baby starts to show signs of distress usually and there is a higher chance of stillborn. Was he freaking kidding? We went home in a little bit of shock.

We took the drugs he suggested, and nothing. The itching got worse. And worse, and worse. Blessing after blessing was given. The itching was worsening, and sleep was a thing of the past as the itching would not allow for one minute for my eyes to close. I spent nights in a cold tub, itching myself to the point of bleeding. Crying to the point of mania. I was exhausted and still we were a good while from the due date.

We went into the doctors office almost everyday to check on the baby, and to see if he could save me from this state of crazy I was now in. Everything on my body itched...everything. Nails, eyelashes, knuckles, mouth. Andy pleaded for something, something to make it go away. The only light was getting the baby out. And with him coming out the liver would return to normal. But it was too early.

I trusted my doctor, he was the best. An old LDS friend of the family. He knew his stuff, and I had faith he and Heavenly Father were having a secret pow wow as to how long to keep my itchy self in its sleepless state. Three amnios were done, day after day to see if the lungs were developed. We knew it was a long shot, since it was over 6 weeks to the due date.

On the night before the next amnio (Labor Day 2006)...I went to a place I've never been. Madness. Itching, horrible. Husband, desperate. No sleep in almost 2 weeks. I cried hysterically as Andy tried to calm me down and offer solace by reading out of the baby name book. Just in case we should name him something other than the planned, Alexander. He read over the "N's" and said "Noah." We both paused. The crying stopped briefly. I loved it, and he loved it.

The next day as we waited for the news if the lungs were developed...prayers were given, and when the phone rang, I cried. "Be here in a couple of hours, he's coming out." We were warned that he would need to be in the hospital since he was 5 1/2 weeks early, and so we prepared for the long haul.

The c-section was what it was. Noah had turned himself completely around that day and he was strangled in the cord. He NEEDED to come out that day. He HAD to come out that day. He was 7 + lbs. No mere preemie. He was a hunk. And I'm lucky enough 3 years later to know I have two hunks. Two great hunks that I love. And when I look back, the itching wasn't so bad.