Sierra 816
I was 35 and single. I felt the pressure of aging, time and societal norms. I wondered if I would ever get my turn.
And then I met him. My guy. My love.
He had, heartbreakingly, lost his mother, Pam, to ALS a few years prior, but as we got to know each other, we repeatedly found an unexplainable connection to Pam in the stories we exchanged.
Since his mum passed, my husband has seen the numbers 816 everywhere - his birthday- August 16; interpreted as signs from Pam that she is still with us.
We knew pretty early on we wanted to start a family. At age 36, I was devastated to learn that I had the egg quantity range of someone 10 years older than me and getting pregnant would likely be hard for us, without help.
We agreed to not actively try, but also were no longer using birth control. It was early in our relationship, but we figured why not? We knew we were meant to be together and we realized starting a family probably wasn’t going to be quick and easy. While I didn’t want to accept the possibility that we might not be able to bear children, I was able to surrender and trust the process. We still had hope. Ending a need for certainty made the room for our adventure to begin.
The next month was December. We went to a Festival of Lights for the Holidays and the smells of the holidays and of people and of nature hit me hard. I got home that night and I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t escape the musty smell of our dog on the bedsheets. I began to do the math. We’d had sex once and it was at least 5 days before ovulation. I had assumed we were out for that month and had made peace with that.
But, I took a pregnancy test anyways.
It was 9 days past ovulation and to my amazement, I saw the faintest of lines. I didn’t believe it. I tested again the next day. Same. And the next day. Same again. Could it be? As the days passed, hunger hit me as did waves of nausea. The lines kept getting darker. Cautiously optimistic as an ‘older’ mum, we let our excitement grow through every milestone that we reached.
When I was 27 weeks, we got engaged in the Sierra mountains. We decided at that point that we would name our daughter, Sierra.
When I was 35 weeks, I inadvertently came across a podcast that featured one woman’s story of pregnancy complications. This woman’s baby did not survive more than a few hours after birth due to a condition called cholestasis of pregnancy. I couldn’t shake her story. A week or so later, I started to get itchy palms and soles, both symptoms of this condition.
Despite the fact that it’s so rare, my doctor indulged me and my Googling and ran the tests- just for peace of mind.
In the meantime, Sierra was breech, and after trying everything, we opted to do an ECV to try to turn her. As we drove to the hospital, I looked out the window. A truck with the name Sierra on the side and the numbers 816 passed us as we exited the freeway. Our mouths wide open, there was Pam to give us our reassurance all would be ok.
The ECV failed. Sierra wasn’t budging. And a week later, my tests results confirmed I had a case of cholestasis of pregnancy.
Usually mama’s with cholestasis give birth at 37 weeks to reduce the risk of stillbirth. I was already 38+4. Given that Sierra was breach and now with this new added risk, our doctor instructed us to pack our bags and meet him at the hospital. I panicked. I cried. I surrendered. At the hospital, we learned Sierra had a tight cord around her neck.
In spite of all of these risks, I gave birth to her via a gentle cesarean section. And she was perfect.
We later realized that Sierra was conceived on Pam’s birthday and was born on her burial anniversary. Pam was with us all along. Sierra was meant to be. We had climbed a mountain together, Pam leading the way.
~LMB