Showing posts with label bedrest. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Doctor Told Me Four Times to Abort One of My Triplets

I wrote the following essay for Life News.

Here's the link.

(Anna, Liam, Owen & Gavin in NC)

I hope everyone is having a nice day!
Laura

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

75% of Premature Baby Deaths Could be Avoided

(Los Angeles Time)

Three out of every four babies who die after being born too early could be saved if more countries used inexpensive, proven techniques such as holding the baby skin-to-skin against the mother, according to new report (click HERE) from the World Health Organization and other groups.

“This is a solvable problem,” said the March of Dimes’ Christopher Howson, co-editor of the report. Countries such as Botswana and Ecuador have halved their premature neonatal deaths, he said.

Over the last two decades, premature babies have become more common in all but three countries around the globe, a dangerous and sometimes deadly trend. Almost half of all babies who pass away worldwide are born premature. Those who survive are at higher risk for lifelong physical and neurological disabilities.

The problem hits poor countries such as Malawi and Zimbabwe hardest, linked to infections and malaria. More babies are born early there and fewer survive: In low-income countries, more than 90% of extremely premature babies die, compared to less than 10% in high-income countries, Howson said.

Though the numbers are daunting, some of the solutions are surprisingly simple. “Kangaroo care" –- holding the baby skin-to-skin against the mother to keep it warm –- is one basic step that could save 450,000 of the 1.08 million babies who die annually of premature birth complications, the report said.

Steroids that help immature babies develop their lungs, which cost only a dollar per injection, could save another 400,000. Antiseptic cream and antibiotics could also save lives.

While premature births are more common and more deadly in poorer countries, they have also been on the upswing in wealthy nations such as Austria and the United States, where the trend is tied to older mothers and more fertility drugs, the report said. As of two years ago, the U.S. had a higher rate of premature births than Benin, Cambodia or Tajikistan, with higher rates for teen and middle-aged moms.

The report, released this week, was authored by the Partnership for Maternal, Newborn & Child Health and Save the Children, in addition to the World Health Organization and the March of Dimes Foundation.

One Premature Baby Cost $2 Million

A report that was released a couple of weeks ago found that worldwide 15 million babies are born prematurely each year. One million of those babies die.

It would be convenient to think that this is not a problem for the United States. However, we ranked 131 (along with Turkey and Thailand) in a report that represents nearly 50 organizations and was published by the March of Dimes, the World Health Organization, the Partnership for Maternal, Newborn and Child Health and Save the Children.

Of every 100 babies born in the U.S., 12 arrive preterm, accounting for about half a million births each year. And that’s even after preterm birth rates in the U.S. have declined for four consecutive years.

The U.S. Institute of Medicine has calculated the annual costs associated with preterm birth at more than $26 billion. Ethan and Aidan Sinconis racked up $2.2 million in medical bills in the first 18 months after they were born. Insurance covered most of the costs, but their parents’ portion approached $450,000. “It destroyed us,” says Sinconis, 35, who has written about her family’s experience in A Pound of Hope (see link at right).

She and her husband, Justin, were forced to file for bankruptcy and sold their possessions on Craigslist to generate cash. Meanwhile, the boys struggled through heart surgery and eye surgery, sepsis, rickets and brain hemorrhages. When they left the hospital after six months, they were ordered to avoid contact with the outside world. Attached to oxygen, heart monitors and feeding tubes, they remained at home in isolation for three years.

Now 5½ years old, they’re smaller than other kids their age and struggle socially because they had no playmates for their first three years. They have speech delays, but amazingly, they’re both reading and writing on a second-grade level and will start kindergarten this fall.

To read the full report click HERE

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Help for Incompetent Cervix: A New Procedure

Novel laparoscopic procedure gives hope to multiple miscarriage cases

By PMA Rasheed	May 21, 2012

DUBAI: Multiple abortions, a major infertility problem faced by an increasing number of women in the UAE, can now be prevented by a new laparoscopic procedure developed by a Dubai-based expert, who has reportedly performed the highest number of laparoscopic surgeries in the world.

Dr Hafeez Rahman, specialist laparoscopic and gynaecology surgeon and chairman of International Modern Hospital in Dubai, has introduced laparoscopic cerclage for prevention of recurrent pregnancy loss due to cervical incompetence.

This innovative mode of infertility treatment, which has gained wide popularity the world over, has been introduced for the first time in the region.

“The number of miscarriage cases with second trimester abortions is on the rise in the UAE, especially after one or two deliveries,” he said.

“More than 90 per cent of women, who underwent the laparoscopic cerclage procedure, have become successful in carrying a healthy baby. This treatment has now become a breakthrough for childless couples,” noted the Indian laparoscopic surgeon.

“I performed the procedure on two women, one of whom had 19 abortions and the other 13. However, both successfully delivered healthy babies, through Caesarian sections, which is the only drawback of this procedure. The patients receiving this treatment cannot have a normal delivery, but that is not a serious issue, if compared to the severe ordeal suffered by the women from continuous miscarriages,” Dr Hafeez pointed out.

Dr Fatin Khidr, obstetrics and gynaecology specialist at the hospital, said, “This is a useful procedure in such cases and a big breakthrough. Laparoscopic cervical cerclage can be performed during pregnancy or in non-pregnant women.”

“More patients now prefer laparoscopic cerclage procedure rather than open surgeries to prevent abortions to avoid the complexities and risks associated with open surgeries. But, there’s a shortage of highly-skilled surgeons to perform the laparoscopic procedure,” she added.

Dr Hafeez Rahman is among the only 10 surgeons in the world conducting this interventional procedure, which was pioneered four years ago. He has successfully performed about 80 laparoscopic cerclage procedures in five countries, including five in the UAE.

“Recurrent pregnancy loss is generally caused by birth defects such as a weak or incompetent cervix that shortens or opens too early in pregnancy. The cervical cerclage procedure involves placing a stitch around the upper part of the cervix to keep it closed to prevent abortion,” he explained.

Dr Hafeez was listed in the Guinness World Records for conducting 50,000 laparoscopic surgeries around the world. He regularly conducts laparoscopic surgeries in a number of hospitals in the UAE, India, the UK, Australia and other Middle Eastern and Asian countries.

***From The Gulf Today

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Monday, May 21, 2012

Chapter 23: That Discussion

Chapter Twenty-three: That Discussion

I didn’t want to bring it up. Talking about it made it real.

“What if?” I hesitantly voiced.

“I don’t think the Eagles will score. The Giants are fine,” Jack unflinchingly replied.

Seriously, men suck sometimes. Jack sucks sometimes. How could he not tell that I wasn’t talking about the football game? Didn’t he notice the tone in my voice? Ugh. I was an idiot. Of course, Jack didn’t notice. He, like most men, had the ability to escape into sports or other activities. He was able to compartmentalize our triplets and put them into a closet in the back of his brain, whereas, the triplets and Brian were in every millimeter of my being.

“No, honey, what if I go into labor.”

“Please, let’s not talk about it. If you do go into active labor, then we’ll talk about it,” Jack pleaded.

“I need to know what we’ll do. I need to know,” I started whimpering.

“What can we do? I didn’t think we had any options left if you went into labor,” Jack said as kindly as possible.

“So, they’ll die,” I sobbed.

“Yes,” Jack said with a tear trickling down his cheek.

We stopped using the names we chose for Baby A, B and C, Elizabeth, Garret and Hunter. It wasn’t something we talked about. We both apparently felt the same way and sometime during the morning, we both changed. It was too hard to think of them as the perfect, little babies that they were. If they did die, we thought it would be easier to bury A, B and C and not Elizabeth Ann, Garret Jack and Hunter Frank.

We were silent for a while. Jack was back to watching the Giants and I was trying to drift off to sleep. I couldn’t sleep.

“What if my cervix gets worse, but it is only twenty-three weeks?” I interrupted his peaceful football watching. “Or twenty-two weeks?”

“Laura, please don’t play the what-if game. Let’s go to the doctor tomorrow and see what he has to say,” Jack stated, hoping that I wouldn’t go there.

“But I need to know what you are thinking.”

With a big sigh, Jack said, “Can we saddle Brian with three special needs children?”

He said it. It needed to be said. He would want to abort, terminate, kill my babies. It is what I was thinking too and I hated myself for it.

Dr. Nasty predicted that I would go into labor within the next two weeks, which would only get me to twenty-three weeks. He was a senior doctor at the practice. I’m guessing in his sixties, but I’m not so good with age. He had many, many years of dealing with high-risk pregnancies. As much as I hated him, I thought that he knew what he was talking about. After all, my cervix only got worse after taking the progesterone.

Of course, I hoped the new medicine would work, but for how long would it work. I needed it to get me to twenty-eight weeks when my babies would have an 80% chance of being fine. However, sadly, I was currently aiming for twenty-five weeks when they have a 50% chance of being fine. At twenty-one weeks and 2 days, twenty-five weeks felt like a lifetime away. It seemed almost inevitable that I was going to go into labor soon.

Jack and I waited to fall in love, commit to marriage and start a family. I was thirty-eight years old; Jack was 39. We were worried about dying on the young-side of average and leaving Brian to take care of his siblings.

“So you would want to abort?” I asked. I wanted to hear him say it. Make him say it. Could he say it?

“Yes, sweetie, if things look really bad and the doctor recommends it, I think we should abort and try again.” The power of Jack’s words was unknown to him.

Abort and try again, rang through my head. It sounded so simple. Abort and try again. Abort and try again, repeated in my head, I felt my heart expand and envelope my babies. We, my babies and I, were not going to abort and try again. There was no trying again. This was it. These were my babies and they were perfect. They were going to live. Abort and try again. Over my dead body. Never.

I felt alone. Alone with my babies.

“You want to abort,” I accused Jack.

“No. No, I don’t.” He slid over to my side of the couch and encircled me in a bear hug, burying his face in my belly. He cried. Thankfully, not the gut-wrenching crying that I was doing, but silently crying that I didn’t even notice until he got up and I felt that my shirt was soaked with his tears.

“What about Brian? Even if we make enough money to make sure the triplets’ needs are met after we die, how much attention can we give Brian on a daily basis if we have three special needs children?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Laura, in a best-case scenario, if the triplets are born at twenty-five weeks, we are looking at three children with cerebral palsy and even that diagnosis has a wide range of capabilities.”

“Ok,” I said ending the conversation. I realized that we just didn’t know. I couldn’t have a plan. There was no plan. Nobody plans for this, not even me. I tried planning for the impending stillbirth of my babies, getting an outlook so bleak that aborting look possible, making it far enough along that the babies were on the edge of survival. However, my heart wouldn’t let me plan. My babies were going to make it. My heart was firmly cemented around each of my babies and it was going to make sure that they stayed safe.

I went to bed Sunday night and quietly sang to my babies. Brian was my sunshine, so my little girl, Baby A would be my flower. Baby B was my star and Baby C was my moon.

“You are my flower

My pretty little flower

I will love you

Every single hour

You are my flower

My one only and only flower

I will always love you.

You are my star

My shiny bright star

I will love you

Even from afar

You are my star

My lovely star

I will always love you

You are my moon

My big full moon

I will love you

And sing you a tune

You are my moon

My one and only moon

I will always love you”

My eyes were tearing up. I wanted a girl so badly. She wasn’t just my flower. She was my desire, a life-long dream since the beginning of my memory.

I had been surrounded by boys when I was growing up. I do have an older sister, but she is eight years older than me. We had never been on the same page when I was young. When she became boy-crazy in high school, I was in second grade, digging for gold with Bobby and David on the playground of Lincoln Elementary School.

I even had a boy baby doll, Robert. It was actually a girl baby doll, but the baby had brown hair and brown eye lashes. My brother, Frank, convinced me that the baby wasn’t mine, because I would only have a baby with platinum, blond hair like mine. I pulled out all of the baby doll’s eyelashes and painted its hair with our house paint, English Ivory, so that it looked blond.

I was proud of my accomplishment and showed Frank how great my baby, Mary, looked. He told me that girls have eyelashes and boys don’t, so my Mary was no longer a Mary. Hence, I was one of the few little girls who had a boy, baby doll.

I never asked my mom or Santa for a new girl baby doll. I probably could have gotten one. However, I had fallen in love with Mary and it really didn’t matter that much to me that she was now Robert. I loved him just the same.

After I finished my breathing exercises, I remembered when Dr. Nasty initially suggested selective reduction. He told me that we would have to reduce Baby A, because A was in the best position. I put my hands on my belly and whispered to her, “I will not let you go without the fight of my life. I am your mommy and my heart is inside of your heart. I will love you for always and ever. You are my little girl.” I sang to my little girl and tried to calm my emotions. “You are my little girl. My only little girl. I will love you for now and always. You are my little girl. My sweet, little girl. I will keep you safe,” and I lost it. “Please, someone please, help me keep my girl and boys safe?” I begged to everyone and anything that I thought could possibly help.

I lay there and thought, I am Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde. One minute I knew with certainty that my babies would be fine and the next I planned their funeral. I felt the protective bubble of love around them. Then my visions changed and I was crumpled in a ball as if my bones disintegrated next to a grave marker. I never could picture my life the day after the babies’ funeral. I knew my life would continue, but my brain and heart didn’t think the other could recover from their loss.

Here are some chapters of my book:

Friday, May 18, 2012

5 Strands of Hope: Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-two
The Longest Saturday

As Jack drove our only son to my sister’s house, I spent the entire day frozen on the couch. I curled up in a ball and sobbed my eyes out. I was scared to move in case that one particular movement would cause me to go into active labor.

I watched football to pass the time. I barely made it through the first quarter before anguish like I had never felt before tour through my body. I let out an animal-like scream, body-convulsing tears followed.

My perfect babies are going to die, I thought.

I suck. I suck. I suck. I suck, I cried with such force that my brain was left void of thought. I curled up tighter and cried.

I hate this, I screamed in my head. I knew that crying wasn’t going to do anything. It offered some relief to the anger and sadness in my heart, but I knew that it wasn’t going to fix anything. I picked up my cell and called my parents.

“Hi, is Dad there?” I muffled through held-back tears.

“Is everything all right?” my mom questioned.

I love my mother. Don’t get me wrong. I know with 100% certainty that she would do anything for me, but sometimes my father was whom I needed. My mother felt my pain as if she herself was living through the exact same experience. In the last two days whenever I called her, we just ended up crying. We were two grown women sharing sobs across the eastern seaboard.

I needed a plan. I wanted to figure out how to make it to twenty-five weeks pregnant and give my babies a 50/50 chance of making it. I was twenty-one weeks and a day, so I had six days and three weeks to go. Shit, that was a long time, I thought with uneasiness.

“No, can I talk to Dad?” I softly said.

“What happened? Are you in the hospital?” my mom said, trying to hide her tears.

“I want Dad.”

“Laura, are you ok?” my dad asked.

“Dad, how do I do this? My babies are perfect, but my body isn’t. I’m going to kill my babies,” I sobbed with snot running down my face. I felt like I was being overly dramatic, but sadly I also knew this to be the truth. “Daddy, tell me what to do to save my babies,” I unfairly asked.

One of my favorite images from my childhood is my dad holding me high on his shoulders as he walked into the ocean. I was a short and a super-skinny little girl. I loved the water, but I was scared of the ocean. The waves could knock me around like a rag doll.

We spent the summers at our house in Mantoloking at the Jersey Shore. My father only came down for the weekends. The only time I went in the water was either when my father was holding my hand or carrying me. On that particular day, he had me on his shoulders. I felt invincible. There wasn’t a wave that could get me.

As I talked to my father, I needed him to be that little girl’s daddy who could lift her up in his arms and save her from the scary waves below.

“Laura,” he paused. It sounded like he sniffled.

I knew why he paused. I asked the impossible. I finally asked him something for which he didn’t have an answer.

“Don’t think about it.” Silence again. I think he knew he just said the impossible.

“Dad, they’re kicking,” I sobbed. I figured they knew that we were talking about them. I wondered if they knew the peril that they were in. I tried catching my breath and controlling the sobs and finally did after a moment or two.

“Watch one of those girly movies you and your mother like. Just don’t think about it. Try to escape into the movies,” he suggested.

That’s it? I wanted to say. I wanted a solution, a plan of action. I wanted a miracle. Where was my superman?

He didn’t have anything else to say and became uncomfortable. I have always known that my dad, similar to my mother, will do anything for me. However, there are differences. For example, my mother probably would have loved to beat to a pulp my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart. She would defend me in any battle. My father would listen to me and then explain why he thought the relationship failed. My father would arm me better for the next battle.

Nothing prepared him for this, though, his littlest girl, heart-breaking, pleading for him to figure out a way to save his grandchildren. He had nothing concrete to give me.

“When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” my mom said softly, having been handed the phone from my father.

“Tuesday morning. It’s early, so Jack is going to go with me,” I responded equally soft. I noticed during the past few days that when I am on the verge of tears, the softer I spoke the less someone could tell I was about to cry. However, in this case, I could care less if my mom knew I was crying. I was tired of crying.

“Call me after the appointment,” she said gently, knowing that she was always the first person I spoke to after Jack.

“Ok,” and I unwillingly hung up. I didn’t have anything more to talk to my parents about. However, I felt that nothing could go wrong when I was around them. I fretted that once we hung up the phone, I was going to go into active labor.

I lay on our brown, leather couch with my hands on my belly, feeling contractions that I had been having since thirteen weeks. Thankfully, there was no regularity to them, but some would last a minute and I wondered what it was doing to my cervix.

Three hours must have transpired and I probably fell asleep, because my cell rang and it was Jack. He had made it to my sister’s house and Brian was doing great. He had one little mishap, Brian fell down the second floor staircase, but other than that everything was fine.

I wanted to shout at Jack, What do you mean he fell down the stairs? but I didn’t have the energy. Jack looked horrible when he left that morning. I knew he felt as badly as I did about shipping our baby off to my sister’s house. I tried to focus on the fact that Brian was fine.

Brian was almost 17 months old. He was at an incredibly cute age and was a wonderful little guy. We were lucky that he was extremely adaptable. We were even luckier that my sister and her family unwaveringly welcomed Brian into their home.

My sister has three kids. Alex, her oldest and only son, was a senior in high school. Hannah was a sophomore and Rachel was in seventh grade. I loved her kids and all of them were terrific people. I knew that each of them would be a lot of fun for Brian.

Alex is a handsome combination of his father and my father. He has beautiful, hazel eyes and a manly, chiseled jaw. However, as attractive as he is on the exterior, it is his patience and heart that make him a beautiful person.

Hannah is my Goddaughter, so I am completely and utterly biased. She has won a lot of awards for her athletic, academic and leadership abilities, so I am not alone in my approbation. Hannah is also blessed with beauty. She shares her mother’s gorgeous, blue eyes and long, shiny blond hair. She has a softness to her personality that makes her inviting to everyone.

My little Rachel is just as accomplished as her older siblings. She also has the bluest of eyes. However, her thick, long hair is very blond and wavy. She is stunning. What sets her apart, though, is her quick smile. When I think about her, I picture her with laughter in her eyes and happiness in her smile.

Lucky for Brian those were not the only kids in the house. My sister, Crist, and brother-in-law, Leo, were as youthful as teenagers. Maybe more so, as Leo ran two marathons the previous year and my sister ran one. I was sure that with three teenagers in their house that they had some stress in their lives, but you’d never know it.

One image I have of Leo beautifully captures his quirkiness. It was Christmas and Brian was three months old. Leo took the frog hat that his parents gave to Brian and put it on. Then he took a toy tambourine and started dancing around the music-less kitchen, making Brian and everyone laugh. He had absolutely no problem making a fool of himself just for a baby’s giggle.

Brian was going to have fun with everyone in my sister’s family. It comforted me to know that they were looking forward to Brian’s stay as much as I dreaded his absence.

Now I knew that I had another five plus hours to wait until Jack got home. I called Ruth to ask if I could come downstairs. We got in a little argument, because she didn’t think I should get out of bed. I explained with a bunch of profanity that my apartment was depressing without Brian in it. It was the first time since Brian was born that I was there without him.

“Hi,” I said as Ruth opened her apartment door. Ruth’s bottom lip began to quiver and we both started crying as she embraced me in a tight hug.

“How are you feeling?” Ruth hesitantly asked. “I mean, ah, come in. Let’s go lay down.”

On Friday, we spent an hour on the phone. She knew everything that was going wrong with my pregnancy. She had been one of the few people outside of my family with whom I talked. There wasn’t anything Ruth could say that would’ve been wrong, because I knew that she had my best interests at heart.

Ruth was gracious enough to know that I couldn’t or shouldn’t sit up, so she guided me past their family room and right into her bedroom. She instructed me to lie on the bed. She even threw some extra pillows my way so I could get comfortable.

“Wow, you really seem ok,” Ruth exclaimed.

“I’m not. Trust me. I’m just really tired of crying.” I responded.

“What do you think you’ll do…never mind…have you heard from Jack?” Ruth stumbled.

“Yeah, Jack called. Brian fell down the stairs at my sister’s house, but he’s fine. What were you going to ask?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ruth said.

“Were you going to ask me what we’d do if I lost these babies?” I questioned.

“Yes, but, ah, not because I think you’ll lose them. I really think you’ll hold out for a while longer,” she quickly got out.

“It’s ok. I have thought about that too,” I confessed. “Unfortunately, I’d probably need to wait a year or so for my body to calm down before doing IVF again.”

“Have you thought about the entire IVF process?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind IVF. I just don’t know what I’d do about how many embryos to transfer. It all just sucks.” I concluded.

“Well, at least you’re lucky enough to have a bunch of embryos to choose from,” Ruth said.

“Yes, but you are proof that it doesn’t really matter how many eggs or embryos you start off with. Remember, I had seventeen eggs, but only had four embryos – not a good hit ratio. You got perfection,” I said joyfully.

Ruth smiled, painfully, “It didn’t seem like perfection, at the time.” Ruth had a horrible IVF experience. Ruth only produced two eggs on a very aggressive protocol. Before seeing if her eggs fertilized, her doctor told her to look into donor eggs. He thought her eggs wouldn’t fertilize. However, he was wrong. She lounged across from me with two healthy babies in her belly.

“It’s really hard to say what we’d do. I’d be terrified of an IVF cycle not working, but equally terrified of having twins,” I spoke as I was thinking.

“Would you reduce if you got pregnant with triplets again?” she questioned.

“There’s no way I’ll transfer three embryos again. I’m not sure we’d even do two.” 

“Really?” Ruth said as she absent-mindedly rubbed her belly.

“Oh…please,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Ruth interrupted.

I interrupted her right back, “I would love twins. I really would. I’d love to have triplets. I would just be too scared that my body couldn’t handle twins. I’d hate to be in this position a second time.”

“You know I go to this message board. I read that some woman was reducing down to one baby. I was so judgmental about it. I guess she could have had a reason for it,” Ruth confessed.

“I would have damned her for sure, prior to this,” I said. “I really have learned that it is hard to judge a situation unless you’ve been in it.”

“Oh, now I remember correctly the woman wanted to reduce down to one, because she didn’t want to ruin her body,” Ruth recollected.

“Oh, well, she can be damned then,” I exclaimed.

We both heard Greg enter the apartment and make his way back to his bedroom. Earlier he had a long meeting and he looked exhausted. He was very gracious and said that I didn’t need to leave, but I knew it was time to go back to my empty apartment.

Jack would be home in two hours, so I turned the TV back on to a meaningless football game.

“Hi, can I leave a message for Dr. Kelly,” I said to the answering service. I left a message and within thirty minutes my phone rang.

“Hi, Dr. Kelly?”

“How are you doing Laura?” I explained to her what was going on with my pregnancy in more detail than she probably needed.

“Even though your doctors don’t believe in bed rest, I think it is good that you are resting.”

“Really, you think so?” 

“Yes, this way you’ll have no regrets,” Dr. Kelly said.

“Thanks, thank you so much. I meant to tell you at the beginning of the conversation that I really appreciate you calling me back, especially on a Sunday,” I said.

“I’m just happy I can help. Please keep me updated and don’t hesitate to call,” she said and hung up. I sat on the couch and realize that my heart was lighter. My mouth formed a smile. There were no tears. Dr. Kelly gave me hope, but better than that she gave me happiness during a day that overflowed with anguish and for that I would forever be grateful.

Here are the other chapters:

Incompetent Cervix: The Silent Baby Killer

My triplets and I suffered from incompetent cervix during the pregnancy. It nearly cost them their lives. Incompetent cervix or cervical insufficiency, as the March of Dimes calls it, is a cervix that starts to open before the baby is ready to be born. Medically speaking, it SUCKS!

Sadly, most women do not know that they have an incompetent cervix until it is too late. A second trimester miscarriage or a stillbirth are the unfortunately ways a women usually finds out.

My incompetent cervix started because one of the triplets had too much amniotic fluid, polyhydramnios. The extra amniotic fluid increased pressure on my cervix. As each baby became polyhydramnios, the pressure on my cervix increased and my cervix shortened...ultimately to 5mm (should have been 4.5cm or longer). However, in most cases, there is no known cause for the cervix shortening and opening.

The March of Dimes states that "Providers have not found a reliable way to routinely check all women for cervical insufficiency." I find this hard to believe, because the March of Dimes then goes on to say that "if a woman has previously lost a pregnancy in the second or third trimester, vaginal ultrasound during the next pregnancy may help predict preterm birth." If I read this correctly, then doctors, oh, I mean providers, know exactly what to do - give every pregnant woman a vaginal ultrasound around twenty weeks to check the cervix. This is what saved my triplets. Well, not the ultrasound itself, but having the knowledge that my cervix was in trouble, so the doctors and I could do something about it.

You can find more information at the March of Dimes website HERE and at the American Pregnancy website HERE. There is also a great forum Incompetent Cervix Support Forum HERE. I found great information at the former two websites and lots of support and hope at the later.

Here are some chapters of my book, Five Strands of Hope: