carleymeiners

But where do I begin…?

Hi — I’m Carley. I like to write and share (possibly) a little too much on the internet. 5 years ago, this blog was put on pause to protect my husband’s career. But I’m ready to open up again. To write again. A piece of me that I have missed since 2019. So hi…

5 years ago my life was drastically different. We’ve weathered storms, faced terrifying health issues and somehow found ourselves on the other side.

In 2019, we walked through one of the hardest seasons with the Air Force — a life experience I would not wish on my worst enemy but also I’m not sure if I will ever work up the courage to publicly discuss. A situation where I grew up a lot. There’s nothing more humbling than when your parents can’t give you any advice because they also don’t know what to do. We made a lot of adult decisions (while also experiencing this little thing called 2020), and crawled our way out.

When we first started dating in 2013, I always felt like Taylor Swift’s song “Begin Again” was the definition of our relationship. And here again, at the end of 2020, I found myself referencing that song.

Then in 2021, when I felt like I could breathe again, I got pregnant.

We were so elated…. but that quickly turned into self pity when I found myself unable to leave the bed. By week 7 of pregnancy, I started experiencing severe morning sickness, which caused a 20-lb dramatic weight loss all in about 6 weeks or so. I was unable to really keep anything down and often throwing up 3-4 times a day. I looked extremely ill:

In the picture above, I had slowly started to eat again. But most days in September and October of that year looked like:

Prior to getting pregnant, we had just moved into a new house in a new town where we didn’t have many friends. I found myself home 24/7, miserable and grasping with reality. Asking myself “How do I get out of this situation?,” “How am I supposed to get through 9 months?,” “Why do I hate this so much when so many women so desperately want to be pregnant?”

Isolation + no support system close by + no community equaled a pretty miserable situation. I started to make some significant progress around 16-17 weeks, but at 20 weeks we were delivered some news that end up being quite scary.

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I’ll preference a few things before I write the rest. There are a few things I want to point out: my married name, husband’s name and daughter’s name has been purposely left out of this blog. They will no longer be found on my site so my family can have some privacy. (Because I’m obviously a big celebrity and all…) But I would like E, my daughter, to have the space to create her own digital footprint & share her story in the way she chooses.

I am also about to dive into my birth story, which is not pleasant in case you want to protect your peace.

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At my 20 week ultrasound (right before Christmas), later confirmed with my/my daughter’s cardiologist, a large VSD was discovered in her heart. A VSD, taking the definition from John Hopkins, is a congenital heart defect. It’s a hole between the two lower chambers of the heart. At the originally diagnosis, her cardiology team thought there was a chance the hole would close on its own. But if it didn’t, she would need open heart surgery at 6 months old.

On our babymoon, I cried not wanting my child to have to walk through any health issues. My heart broke as I imagined her in pain or struggling to grow. As I did in 2019 when my husband and I walked through hell with the Air Force, I found myself asking God: “Why me? Why my child?” “Why do I seemingly always have to walk through the hard and everyone else has it easy and smooth?”

Throughout the second half of my pregnancy, I was at doctors often. I was seeing my OB and cardiologist often. Both were aware of my daughter’s condition (important for the story later) and at the time I was under the impression that it was safe to deliver at my planned hospital.

By 38 weeks, I was ready for pregnancy to end. Everything was uncomfortable and I was experiencing pretty normal end of pregnancy symptoms. Overall I felt fine, just uncomfortable. I went into my 38 week appointment with my OB by myself (M was taking one last local flight before I suggested he be on the ground until I deliver). The nurse took my blood pressure multiple times before letting me know that the doctor was probably about to send me up to L&D. I called M, who was walking onto his plane about to take off, to get to the hospital.

Two days later, I was fully diagnosed with preeclampsia and induced. My sister loves to remind me that my readings were scary high (as in close to organ failure). Somehow I didn’t have any symptoms? At least that I was picking up on. I was swollen, which was pretty normal for end of pregnancy.

Somewhere between my daughter’s diagnosis and induction, the communication of my high risk pregnancy was lost in translation. I was taken off the high risk list for my original reason (a well managed thyroid disorder) and never was put back on.

Hours after I was induced, the pediatrician, who had terrible bedside manner, refused to allow me to deliver the current hospital because there was no NICU. I understood the reasoning but was BEYOND pissed that this was a decision being made after I was induced. There was 48 hours between when they discovered my high blood pressure to being induced. Plenty of time to discover the miscommunication prior to my induction.

On top of that, our cardiologist previously approved my delivery location and assured us E would have no issues at birth. But we didn’t have a choice. I found myself in tears, being wheeled on a stretcher through L&D alone. M wasn’t allowed to ride with me in the ambulance because of COVID. Mind you, I had just tested negative and masks were not required at our hospital (which was unheard of at the time).

But yet, here I was 6 cm dilated in an ambulance by myself.

We arrived at the new hospital where I immediately requested an epidural as I was physically and emotionally exhausted. The doctor ended up breaking my water and discovered my placenta had partially abrupted, E was having a hard time coming down from contractions, and labor was slowing down. I ended up in an emergency c-section 24 hours after induction. E made her way into the world, dad was elated. I was exhausted. The sweet anesthesiologist, at my request, fully put me under after I met E for the first time.

After I gave birth, it was discovered that I lost so much blood I needed a transfusion. The entire process of those first 24 hours with E is a blur. At one point, a sweet nurse held E WHILE I was nursing so I could shut my eyes and M could nap as well. It was surreal. A movie. Again, I asked myself: why is this happening to me, why is this so hard? Am I not meant for this role?

Once I was settled, doctors continued to tell us multiple different things about E’s heart. We largely ignored their diagnoses as we knew we would see her cardiologist in a week. The doctors put her on a routine medicine that she ended up being on for basically the first 7 months of her life. One morning, at two days old, the pediatrician came in to tell us that E was given a dose 10x the amount due to a Nurse’s rounding error…

M and I were in shock. We were angry. After all we’ve been through in the past 48 hours, we honestly expected doctors and nurses to treat E with due diligence until we were discharged. We immediately went into protection mode, called all the heads of the hospital to come in and talk to us and informed her care team that she is not to be touched without a parent in the room and no tests or medications are allowed without parent oversight.

E ended up in the NICU for oversight out of the abundance of caution. Our little fighter, had zero issues and two days later (five days after being induced) we were all discharged home.

What was a new beginning as parents ended up being some of the hardest five days. So much holding people accountable for their mistakes, having to carry the emotional capacity (newly postpartum) to advocate for myself and my daughter. Beginning again but not knowing where to start…

Maybe that’s what life is all about? Constantly beginning again. Getting over the hurdle and coming out stronger on the other side. It’s what gives us hope when we feel like nothing makes sense, we don’t deserve what the world is serving us. Thank GOD for new beginnings.

Postpartum + heart surgery story coming soon…