Let me first say, this is going to be long. Rudely long. No way around it. It's not that I'm the pompous sort - really. I’ve just read so many of these stories on pg.org since 2005 and never thought I’d be the author. And this is likely to be my only chance. I also need to record it; to let any woman with a uterine malformation know that pregnancy is possible in the face of what seems like insurmountably negative fact. The world is a miraculous place and life will find a way, even in cases like mine: just when you think all hope is gone.
My HSG. You can see how the catheter goes in and turns abruptly to find my oddball cervix. That tiny triangle on my left thigh is my uterus - or was. Heaven knows where it is now
And look what it was able to do!
And sometimes the curse becomes the blessing. For those who run from this epic novel (no jury would convict you) I want to mention early on because it's pretty amazing - that my severely retroverted cervix – that abrupt horizontal right turn that we doubted any baby could make to get to the outside world – is likely what allowed me to carry Trace full-term. Dr. S. said it basically locked the door, holding T.J. safely inside. If it were vertical (as we’d wished it was) we likely would have lost him or delivered him very prematurely.
Hidden blessings. Turns out life is full of them. Who knew.
Here’s the story of Trace Jackson (T.J.) T_______ Our “Little Miracle Man”
6 lbs. 19 inches
born June 12, 2009
38 wks 6 d.
by scheduled c-section due to necessary breech presentation (since wk 28.)
in a unicornuate uterus

(that's my boy!)
Chris and I left the house at 4:30 a.m. on June 12th, excited and nervous – and for me, empty and dry as a bone. I’d slept a tiny bit, the only shut-eye I would get for 3 days. I was prepped at the hospital by a sweet nurse named Julie. Put on my gown (those things are huge) then asked if could put on deodorant (the surgery instructions hadn’t mentioned it) and ended up getting it all over myself like an idiot. Julie had to poke my IV twice, but did an amazing job of putting it under my arm, not on top or in my hand so I’d have more freedom to hold Trace. Then it was shift change and I met Holly who would be my nurse.
Chris was glued to his laptop getting things set up on TJ’s website to show the families. I kept having my upset-stomach-gotta go to the bathroom nerves, which was a super pain, because I could barely go when I got in there and had to get my IV into the small room with me and there wasn’t a bathroom fan (WTH?) I was given the antacid (a super sour somewhat vile “shot glass” of liquid) and then Betsy, the nice pre-op nurse came to chat. She would be assisting in surgery. Another friendly face on this scary, emotional, surreal day.
DH had me roaring with laughter as he “scrubbed-up”. At first his pants were inside-out and the tag was hanging behind him and then he hopped around trying to get them off and back on with his shoes on. He looked amazing in them though (he’s so slim and handsome) like a doctor. So of course in true Chris form, he picked up a stethoscope laying nearby and goofed around. What would I do without his sense of humor.
Then, to my delight, Cory, the super caring anesthetist from my pre-op popped into my room and said he’d be on my team! I was so thrilled to see him, because he’d spent a lot of time with me the day before. Because of the fused vertebrae in my neck, there was some concern about my range of motion if they had to go to general anesthetic. Cory was all set with specially shaped tools to do the job (once you’re out, they put a tube down your throat – ack!) and it was reassuring to know we were all set, come what may. Cory would end up being my right-hand-man once Chris left the OR with T.J.
Eons passed as we waited for Dr. S. Finally, he zoomed in with a big smile, saying “are you ready to do this?” I said, “Yup. Let’s have this baby,” and eek - it was Go Time. He felt my stomach for positioning (no need for u/s - by now we both knew what the head felt like) said something like, “See you in there!” and left for the OR.
I don’t even remember saying goodbye to DH before leaving, which I’m sad about now. (what if? what if?) DH videotaped me as I walked down the hall with nurse Holly to what is titled on the wall as the Caesarean Delivery Room (I appreciated that). I’d been worried I’d cry at this point, but somehow I didn’t.
We pushed the doors open and it was bright and clean and new looking and there was the whole team, Dr. S., Cory, Betsy, lots of other assisting nurses – and they all applauded and cheered – such a lovely unexpected welcome. Elton John’s “Daniel” was playing at a good volume – Dr. S.’s preferred “birthday music.”
Turns out it was a mix-tape of sorts with Elton and Billy Joel songs. Of course several songs played during the delivery, but I only remember the words to the one playing when I first met Trace: Billy Joel’s “For the Longest Time.”
I sat on the edge of a skinny table and held onto a nice nurse I’d never met before while I rounded my back as instructed by Cory (hard to do when your front is round as well). They inject the block directly into your spinal column and Cory warned me to speak up if I felt any kind of electrical shock feeling. He numbed the area (uttering words of support) then in it went and I felt a truly odd sensation, like a quick shot of cold liquid shooting down my spine. I’m sitting there thinking “was that electrical?” Egads. I’m gonna need a vacation after this!
I immediately felt hot and my feet began to numb. The nurses swung my legs up onto the table and I lay down and they got started. Cory was right there explaining what they were doing and talking me through. They put a blood pressure cuff on my right arm (left one had the IV) so all I could do was lay there. For those that don’t know, you still feel sensation and motion, touch basically and for me the feel of any palpitation seemed magnified by 1,000. Dabbing at the incision felt like someone was jumping on me!
Dr. S. commented that Chris was out in the hall “pretty darned excited.” Judge for yourselves:
They actually started the incision before they got Chris, which was a bit un-nerving. Cory softly says, “They’re making the incision now” and I’m repeating, louder each time, “Did someone get Chris?!” After what seemed like an eternity, his smiling face appeared on my side of the curtain, bringing tears to my eyes (darn, hadn’t cried through any of the scary stuff, but seeing my sweetie did it).
I felt a lot of pushing and pulling (good grief what the heck are you doing to me?) and let out a lot of “Oh God”s and “Oof”s. Cory suggested that Chris peer over the curtain and take a picture or two, which was weird for me at the time, but I’m SO glad he did:
Sure enough. Our breech baby emerged bottom first and they flipped his little legs out as he came into the world. Shortly after, I glimpsed motion out of the corner of my eye, heard “Get your camera ready” and there was my narrator Cory again with those unbelievable words I never thought we’d hear: “There’s your baby!”
My eyes filled up and I called out “Oh wow!” as I heard Trace cry and spotted our tiny pink, perfect (and crying – yay!) son in one of the nurse’s arms. For a millisecond Chris seemed frozen to the spot. Then he jack-knived up and headed for the bassinette/warmer. I’ve never been so jealous in my life!
I lie there, basically a “head” with an attitude, going “Oh good, he’s crying!” / “Is he okay?” – and most of all – “How does his FACE look?” LOL! (We’d had an terrible u/s image of T.J.’s face at the end of the pg that looked all the world like he had lips 4-feet long) Thank the Good Lord – not a beak nor platypus bill in sight!
They announced Trace’s weight at 6 lbs., his length at 19” and his Apgar scores of 8 & 9. Then Cory called to Chris – “Bring him over, hold him up, show your wife your son,” and I’m staring in wonder at Chris and this little warm bundle in a tiny knitted hat.
I managed to blurt out, “Hi sweetheart,” and soaked in every detail of his little wrinkled, tiny face through my tears. Every time I relive that moment I cry and it’s one of the most joyous life experiences I’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Despite all my (needless) worries, all of my misgivings along the way - We DID it! The “Little Uterus that Could” DID it! We posed for a couple quick pictures and Trace and Chris left for the nursery. (Had it been a dream?)
Having Chris leave with the baby was a decision we’d made early on and didn’t second-guess. But if I had it to do over, I think I would’ve wanted him to stay. Because despite all of my fears about walking into the OR and having to deliver that way, it was the trials of the medical team putting Humpty Dumpty back together again that were my greatest psychological challenge.
First of all, Dr. S. called over to me from behind my curtain (while showing the medical team) that I do indeed have a unicornuate uterus (UU) on the left side with a small rudimentary right horn. I felt so redeemed that the “hunch” we’d all had from that single HSG so long ago was bang on. And of course that the nasty OB from that time who shattered our lives by telling me me babies were unlikely but "you can still make love for pleasure" UGH - was VERY WRONG! I felt like a case study and had sort of an out of body feeling of watching what they were seeing in my mind’s eye, although all I saw was blue curtain.
SOME SOBERING UU FACTS:
The uterus is developed by the fusion of two mullerian ducts that usually are identical and fuse together into one vessel. In about 1 in 4,000 women (more common in those with renal malformations such as a solitary kidney like I have) the uterus is formed from only one duct. Sometimes there is a partial “horn” on the other side, which cannot support life and will lead to fatal uterine rupture if a pg implants there and is not immediately removed with the horn.
In one study of 290 women with a unicornuate uterus, 175 women conceived but only 50% of them delivered a live baby. The rate for ectopic pregnancy was 2.7%, for miscarriage 34%, and for preterm delivery 20%. The intrauterine demise rate was 10%.
So for perspective, later on Cory would discover that I had sensation waaay lower in my core than I should have. He says my body metabolized the spinal block faster than most, giving me LOTS more feeling and discomfort than I should have had. Combine that with the fact that the “closing up” part took a lot longer with me and the UU and you’ve got a memory not soon forgotten.
I could hear Dr. S. talking to the team beyond my blue world and was snapped back to reality that this was indeed surgery and my innards were still splayed all over the table.
“I’ve got a floppy one here. It’s not responding to the pitocin.” (They administer pitocin after c-sections to create uterine contractions, firming up the organ before re-insertion.) My poor little uterus had swollen to such an un-natural size that the normal procedural dose wasn’t touching it. They upped it and it still didn’t work, so they injected another med (didn’t catch what that was) into my left thigh and then when that wasn’t enough, something else into my right. Some firmness resulted and they moved ahead.
“Uh, Cory. I have a headache. A bad one. Just on the right side of my forehead. And it’s getting worse.”
All the meds had raised my always excellent blood pressure to quite a height, hence the headache. Lying there, feeling somewhat alone, I was doing battle in my head not to think of it as a dangerous sign.
“Cory – Cory, now my chest hurts. On the left side and up under my arm.”
Cory was amazing and reassured me that everything I was feeling was a common reaction to the medications and that my BP was high but still okay.
“Oh God – Oh Ugh!” I gripped handfuls of both sides of the table in my fingers as they jostled and pushed my giant uterus back into its new placement.
“Can I give you something to relax you?” Cory kept asking me. “Will you be mad at me if I give you something?”
“Oh no, I’m okay,” I kept saying, but then my headache intensified.
“I think I’d better give you something,” he said, and I agreed, adding “Just a little bit.”
I felt the tiniest bit drowsy after that but still a lot of abdominal acrobatics during my “reassembly.” Then Cory told me they were stitching me up and after what felt like an eternity, they were done.
As the curtain came down, I spotted a smiling Dr. S. and said, “Fancy meeting you here!” Everyone was full of congratulations and so nice and said I was a “real trooper.”
Then I was transferred to a hospital bed and wheeled out to recovery. Chris and Trace came in (it WASN’T a dream!), the Lactation Consultant appeared and we got T.J. BFing immediately. He latched right on perfectly and she said, “It’s almost never that easy,” (Go T.J.! I’m so proud of you, sweetie.)
Then they wheeled my bed down the hallway and nausea hit – big-time! I barfed my way to our room into those strange little plastic cylindrical bags that reminded me of The Cat in the Hat’s hat. (It continued for a few hours until they found an IV med that stopped it.)
So there I was. IV in my left arm, oxygen sensor on my left finger and to ease my mind, compression hose and boots on both legs inflating and deflating on their own. (My dear father died of a blood clot, 4 months post surgery, hence my blinding fear of all things OR.) When Dr. S. first mentioned a possible c-section, I’d called my Mum shrieking and crying. For the rest of the pg, I’d felt really “tricked” into facing my worst fear, as there wasn’t any other way to get T.J. out.
I don’t think I slept in hospital at all. There was always someone coming in. T.J. fed 12 times on his first day on earth with 3 wet and 3 dirty diapers (and with me bed-bound, Chris had to deal with the meconium!)
How to sum up this epic novel? Well, here’s what I wrote when I just couldn’t sleep in the wee hours of the next morning, laying there in hospital with Chris on the couch and our newborn son sleeping peacefully in his plastic basinette beside me:
“We are so much in love with Trace. We shared him on the webcam with our parents yesterday. Mum had been crying all day, so happy and so worried. It was incredible to see her on the camera, still emotional and in a state of disbelief. She never thought she’d ever be a Grandmother and it was incredible to share the moment with her. And my step-dad is so happy too, which is so special to me. He's going to be a wonderful Grandad. He was a good friend of my Dad's, so it's almost like sharing T.J. with him too.
I was able to eat supper last night in a chair and had my catheter removed at midnight and could “go” on my own in an hour! The compression stuff has been removed and today I’ll finish my IV med and be able to lose it and shower – heaven! I also get to go with T.J. to the nursery tonight 
T.J. is truly a Miracle Baby and we’ve never felt so blessed in our lives. Chris can’t stop holding him, walking around the room with a giant grin, whispering excitedly, “He’s so precious!” over and over like he’d discovered hidden treasure.
The nurses are saying they’ve never seen a newborn look so much like his Daddy. That made me so happy, because when we were told I was basically infertile, my deepest sadness was not being able to give Chris our own child; to see each other in his eyes and family members like my beloved Dad in his talents and gestures in years to come.
I can’t believe we have a son. By far, this is the greatest wonder I have ever experienced in my life. God bless you, T.J. I’m so glad you chose us.

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