Dear Sprout,
Today we took you to get your first shots, they went okay.
Well, that's the very short and emotionless explanation. But as your mother, (which at some age I'm sure you'll learn, is dramatic and sensitive.) I'm obligated to tell you the long version.
Which is this:
We talked for a long time about not giving you your shots, but when i really thought about the odds, I figured I'd rather have to take you to the ER because I did what your pediatrician (an expert on your tiny baby body and health!) told me was best and what I felt would save trouble and your health, rather than skip it, because I was scared of the pain you'd feel. (which is my personal 'feel' about it, some mamas just feel its best to skip, and that's just what was best for their families!)
So when it came time to get your shots, we drove you to a tiny office labeled "Health Department" and waited for them to call your sweet name. They did, and we went to a tiny room with a mobile hanging over what looked like a torture table. Momma felt a tight knot in her tummy, and fought watery eyes. She wanted to be brave for you, but she was so scared for you. Poppa rubbed your tiny head of hair and told you how sweet and cute you were. We both listened intently as the nurse explained possible side effects (nausea inducing to think about some of them!) and the type of painkiller we could give you. She explained our options for administration.
It went something like this:
Hold your teensy tiny baby down, Poppa on legs, Momma on arms, and we'll stab her three times in her itty bitty baby thighs.
OR
Momma can scrunch the baby up and hold her still while someone comes up from behind and stabs her.
Momma felt so bad!! It broke her heart to think of holding you down like that!!
So Momma asked if she could nurse you and hold you. We luck out! The nurse was also a lactation consultant and had no qualms with it! So I latched you on and you looked up at me with your big blues, and nursed. I felt her grab your small thigh and you turned a shade of red I hadn't seen yet, and sucked in more air than I thought possible, and to our surprise, let out a heart wrenching quiet cry. She waited for you to latch back on, which you did pretty quick and then gave you two more, it went quick and you only whimpered.
I was super proud. I didn't end up crying, and for the second time that day, I got complimented excessively on being a bfing momma. It's moments like this one, that I am truly grateful to have been nursing!!
Until next time-
Love, Momma!
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Nexplanon
Disclaimer: I hate, and I do mean hate it when guys, or really anyone, tries to assume any intense emotion a woman has must be because of hormones. You insinuate that women can't have real or genuine upsets, and if they do, they're so simple minded, it could only be hormones. It's a very sensitive and intense pet peeve of mine.
However. I can admit (after the fact) when it is indeed hormones causing my melt down. Lately that's been more and more than I like.
I recently got the nexplanon birth control. It's a small stick that goes into your upper arm and releases small amount of hormones, over a course of years, to increase the mucus around the cervix and prevent the sperm from entering the uterus. I enjoy the ease and simplicity of it, but it is clear that it has downfalls.
Reasons I am glad I got it:
1. It's easy- there's nothing to remember and the insertion was painless, despite the nasty looks of it.
2. It lasts! It provides you with birth control for 3 years. No re-insertion in that time period.
3. If your insurance covers birth control, it covers this. Which is great since it's a fortune out of pocket.
4. It's safe to have while breast feeding.
5. It's VERY effective. It does have one of the highest effectiveness rates among birth control options.
6. It's discreet. A myth I'd heard was that it's visible in your arm. I didn't really care, but I'm glad it isn't. It'd be weird. You can see it if you pull the skin tight around it, but at rest and un bothered it's virtually invisible. and after the first two weeks I completely forgot about it.
Reasons I might not leave it in for the whole 3 years:
1. It's giving me CRAZZZYYYY mood swings. I'm doing worse than when I was pregnant. Literally. I cried for half an hour becuase my boyfriend bought the pack of diapers with the better money value (more diapers in the bag for a lower price) rather than the bag with the cuter baby on it. I cried, folks. About a pack of freaking diapers.
I think that about wraps it up, I'd still reccomend it to any one looking for long term birth control, but it is a bit of a struggle at first with the mood swings.
However. I can admit (after the fact) when it is indeed hormones causing my melt down. Lately that's been more and more than I like.
I recently got the nexplanon birth control. It's a small stick that goes into your upper arm and releases small amount of hormones, over a course of years, to increase the mucus around the cervix and prevent the sperm from entering the uterus. I enjoy the ease and simplicity of it, but it is clear that it has downfalls.
Reasons I am glad I got it:
1. It's easy- there's nothing to remember and the insertion was painless, despite the nasty looks of it.
2. It lasts! It provides you with birth control for 3 years. No re-insertion in that time period.
3. If your insurance covers birth control, it covers this. Which is great since it's a fortune out of pocket.
4. It's safe to have while breast feeding.
5. It's VERY effective. It does have one of the highest effectiveness rates among birth control options.
6. It's discreet. A myth I'd heard was that it's visible in your arm. I didn't really care, but I'm glad it isn't. It'd be weird. You can see it if you pull the skin tight around it, but at rest and un bothered it's virtually invisible. and after the first two weeks I completely forgot about it.
Reasons I might not leave it in for the whole 3 years:
1. It's giving me CRAZZZYYYY mood swings. I'm doing worse than when I was pregnant. Literally. I cried for half an hour becuase my boyfriend bought the pack of diapers with the better money value (more diapers in the bag for a lower price) rather than the bag with the cuter baby on it. I cried, folks. About a pack of freaking diapers.
I think that about wraps it up, I'd still reccomend it to any one looking for long term birth control, but it is a bit of a struggle at first with the mood swings.
A Change Of Heart: Breastfeeding
Well, if you've read my previous thoughts on breastfeeding, you'd know we had a pretty rough patch. While some of it is just what it is (I.e. the clothing and leaking situation) a lot of my thoughts and feeling on it have changed. I love nursing for several reasons now and really hope to make it to 6 mos!
1. I love the way my daughter looks up at me when I nurse her.
Her eyes are dark blue and her face is sweet as can be. It brings a tear to my eye everytime we lock eyes and she tries to smile and nurse at the same time. I don't really know why, but I just love how she looks when I nurse her- she looks adorable! Her little lips trying to greedily take all the boob she can get and growling when it takes a minute to let down.
2. I adore her hands 'kneeding' me
She often tries to grab and massage my breast when letting down doesn't happen right away. Which I find adorable. Of course. She looks like she's really focusing on it and it just melts my heart!
3. I love being able to tell obnoxious family members she's hungry so I need to feed her.
Because they can't. ;D It's a bittersweet deal. I AM the only one with the breast that feeds this baby, so it means at 3am, it is me who must crawl out of bed and feed our tiny nursling. BUT I am also the one who gets to see her and hold her warm against my chest while she quietly and comfortably fills her tummy. Everyone else just has to hope they have what she wants and that it'll be enough. But I have what she will always want. (Even if they aren't hungry, they often comfort nurse, which is just barely sucking but not actually swallowing or trying to meet a goal.)
4. I (finally) enjoy the ease of it.
Previously, I had a rough patch and coveted the few times I made her a bottle. I looked forward to making her a bottle and hoped Levi would suggest it so I wouldn't have to feel guilty about it. Now though, making a bottle is a BIG deal. I can't stand how formila smells, I hate waiting for the water to warm up, I hate the powder mess. Blah blah blah. All I have to say, is that bottle feeding mamas DONT have it easy. For real. Any one who says a mom chooses bottle feeding selfishly, is most likely wrong. If not a special case, bottle feeding is usually the more difficult, pricey, and obnoxious way to go.
5. I love how cheap it is.
I cringe every time I buy a thing of formula. My wallet writhes in agony and my brain aches. I have come to wonder if the charge by the powdery grain for that stuff.
6. I take pride in knowing I made it.
It was excruciatingly hard the first month. I cried every time i nursed her, and so did she. It broke my heart seeing her struggle to latch on, and knowing that I could have so much trouble with something so natural. Levi saw the struggle and while he rallied me on, he also let me know that there is no shame in doing things differently.
All in all, i enjoy it now! and encourage other mums to power through it! :)
1. I love the way my daughter looks up at me when I nurse her.
Her eyes are dark blue and her face is sweet as can be. It brings a tear to my eye everytime we lock eyes and she tries to smile and nurse at the same time. I don't really know why, but I just love how she looks when I nurse her- she looks adorable! Her little lips trying to greedily take all the boob she can get and growling when it takes a minute to let down.
2. I adore her hands 'kneeding' me
She often tries to grab and massage my breast when letting down doesn't happen right away. Which I find adorable. Of course. She looks like she's really focusing on it and it just melts my heart!
3. I love being able to tell obnoxious family members she's hungry so I need to feed her.
Because they can't. ;D It's a bittersweet deal. I AM the only one with the breast that feeds this baby, so it means at 3am, it is me who must crawl out of bed and feed our tiny nursling. BUT I am also the one who gets to see her and hold her warm against my chest while she quietly and comfortably fills her tummy. Everyone else just has to hope they have what she wants and that it'll be enough. But I have what she will always want. (Even if they aren't hungry, they often comfort nurse, which is just barely sucking but not actually swallowing or trying to meet a goal.)
4. I (finally) enjoy the ease of it.
Previously, I had a rough patch and coveted the few times I made her a bottle. I looked forward to making her a bottle and hoped Levi would suggest it so I wouldn't have to feel guilty about it. Now though, making a bottle is a BIG deal. I can't stand how formila smells, I hate waiting for the water to warm up, I hate the powder mess. Blah blah blah. All I have to say, is that bottle feeding mamas DONT have it easy. For real. Any one who says a mom chooses bottle feeding selfishly, is most likely wrong. If not a special case, bottle feeding is usually the more difficult, pricey, and obnoxious way to go.
5. I love how cheap it is.
I cringe every time I buy a thing of formula. My wallet writhes in agony and my brain aches. I have come to wonder if the charge by the powdery grain for that stuff.
6. I take pride in knowing I made it.
It was excruciatingly hard the first month. I cried every time i nursed her, and so did she. It broke my heart seeing her struggle to latch on, and knowing that I could have so much trouble with something so natural. Levi saw the struggle and while he rallied me on, he also let me know that there is no shame in doing things differently.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
1 Month Old Sprout
You just turned a month old!
here are some things about you:
1. You like this weird flower-bug toy, that creeps me out.
2. You like clam music.
3. You like to watch tv
4. You like your dad best-still!
5. You smiled a real, big, smile for dad, for the first time last week. Mom missed it!
6. You love to be cuddled.
7. Sometimes you won't sleep unless we're holding you. I think you just hate being alone. (it's okay, me too.)
8. You are advanced for your age group, and can hold yourself up on elbows, support your head, and suck your fingers.
9. You are in the 75th percentile for height, and the 25th percentile for weight. Very healthy, though!
10. You have started cooing and ahing for me.
11. You cry an awful lot, some call it colic, but I'll call it just being a little emotional. (;
12. You still eat about every hour to 5 hours, depending on your mood.
Here are some things about dad and mom:
1. We adore you.
2. We talk to you all the time- it's supposed to help development.
3. I read books to you, you like "snowy day" by ezra.
4. Dad changes most of your diapers, but I feed you most.
5. I still breast feed you- despite my battle with it.
6. I love dressing you in Halloween stuff. LOVE.
7. I'm really emotional about you- and possesive. I hate sharing you, especially with people other than your dad. Don't ask why!
8. I worry a lot that we wont document or save enough things now and later i'll regret it!
9. We are both still in school, trying to finish.
10. Our car is broke down!
11. Your aunts love you to death, Myra and Tabitha seem to be especially fascinated with you, and see you most. :)
here are some things about you:
1. You like this weird flower-bug toy, that creeps me out.
2. You like clam music.
3. You like to watch tv
4. You like your dad best-still!
5. You smiled a real, big, smile for dad, for the first time last week. Mom missed it!
6. You love to be cuddled.
7. Sometimes you won't sleep unless we're holding you. I think you just hate being alone. (it's okay, me too.)
8. You are advanced for your age group, and can hold yourself up on elbows, support your head, and suck your fingers.
9. You are in the 75th percentile for height, and the 25th percentile for weight. Very healthy, though!
10. You have started cooing and ahing for me.
11. You cry an awful lot, some call it colic, but I'll call it just being a little emotional. (;
12. You still eat about every hour to 5 hours, depending on your mood.
1. We adore you.
2. We talk to you all the time- it's supposed to help development.
3. I read books to you, you like "snowy day" by ezra.
4. Dad changes most of your diapers, but I feed you most.
5. I still breast feed you- despite my battle with it.
6. I love dressing you in Halloween stuff. LOVE.
7. I'm really emotional about you- and possesive. I hate sharing you, especially with people other than your dad. Don't ask why!
8. I worry a lot that we wont document or save enough things now and later i'll regret it!
9. We are both still in school, trying to finish.
10. Our car is broke down!
11. Your aunts love you to death, Myra and Tabitha seem to be especially fascinated with you, and see you most. :)
Monday, September 17, 2012
Letters To Sprout #3
(Sprout fit a lot better than little foot for two reasons. 1- she has got pretty big feet compared to other babies her age, and 2- Sprout just fit!)
Dear Sprout,
It's 11:27pm, and you're crying through your pacifier (the one I swore I'd never give you.) and flailing. It's pretty usual since you've got acid reflux, and are just a pretty fussy little thing right now. It smells like shaving cream because your dad just got out of the shower, and it's the perfect temperature outside so we have the windows open and we can hear the wind outside rustling soon-to-be fall leaves yet on the trees.
I love the faces you make right now. All of them, even your crying faces. They're adorable and precious and I want to capture them and save them so I can see them even when your grown and can read these on your own. You still haven't smiled for me yet, and at first my feelings were really hurt because you've smiled for everyone else, and I spend the most time with you. But I think maybe you're just waiting for a good moment. Or maybe you just feel too cozy with me to get excited and smile.
Whatever the case, I love your faces. Every single one. I love how soft your cashmere baby-skin is. I love the little hairs on your ears that I can see just out of the corner of my eyes when I'm burping you. I love how bulky you are, how you can barely get your feet to cross because of your weirdly and adorably proportioned baby body. I love how you smell, it's like baby soaps and love. I love your coos and ah's. I love how you hold yourself up on your elbows and look around at everything wide eyed like it's the most fantastic thing you've ever seen. I love your wide dark blue eyes, especially when they find my green ones, and stay for a bit. Melts my heart. I love your teensy-tiny hands, and the way you like to keep your thumbs out, bent, kind of like a bat. (Stella Luna??) I love how your hands grip at my skin and grab me. I love how you cling to me. I love how warm you are. I love how your hair is super thin and dark brown, and you've got tons in the back that I stroke when you sleep on me. Softest thing on earth next to your baby skin. I love even how you breathe, it seems so superior to everyone elses breathing. I could watch you sleep for hours. (and do.) I love how you and dad look nestled up together, him staring at you with a grin and tired eyes. Loving eyes.
You'll never know how much I love you. Not because you are too young to know, or because I love you more than everyone else, but because I love you so much I could never possibly articulate it accurately enough for you to comprehend. Never. The love I have for you doesnt have a "place" in my heart. It envelopes it, it's in all of me. The love I have for you fills my entire being and soul. It consumes my every action and thought. I love your dad VERY much. VERY much. But I can honestly say, that having you changes the way I love. The way I think about love. Because I love you like I never knew I could love anyone.
The day you were born, was the most intense day of my life. I'v never felt such love. The minute they held you up, I crowed, "I love her!". And I sobbed those words for hours after. I held you and nursed you through tears, looking around and telling everyone "I love her so much.", "I've never loved anyone like this.", "I love her more than anything.". I cried for hours. You'll never be loved as much as you were that day. Never. The instant love and fascination I had for you will eclipse any love anyone else will ever be able to show you. It's true, but you'll never remember it, so I will for you.
Dear Sprout,
It's 11:27pm, and you're crying through your pacifier (the one I swore I'd never give you.) and flailing. It's pretty usual since you've got acid reflux, and are just a pretty fussy little thing right now. It smells like shaving cream because your dad just got out of the shower, and it's the perfect temperature outside so we have the windows open and we can hear the wind outside rustling soon-to-be fall leaves yet on the trees.
Whatever the case, I love your faces. Every single one. I love how soft your cashmere baby-skin is. I love the little hairs on your ears that I can see just out of the corner of my eyes when I'm burping you. I love how bulky you are, how you can barely get your feet to cross because of your weirdly and adorably proportioned baby body. I love how you smell, it's like baby soaps and love. I love your coos and ah's. I love how you hold yourself up on your elbows and look around at everything wide eyed like it's the most fantastic thing you've ever seen. I love your wide dark blue eyes, especially when they find my green ones, and stay for a bit. Melts my heart. I love your teensy-tiny hands, and the way you like to keep your thumbs out, bent, kind of like a bat. (Stella Luna??) I love how your hands grip at my skin and grab me. I love how you cling to me. I love how warm you are. I love how your hair is super thin and dark brown, and you've got tons in the back that I stroke when you sleep on me. Softest thing on earth next to your baby skin. I love even how you breathe, it seems so superior to everyone elses breathing. I could watch you sleep for hours. (and do.) I love how you and dad look nestled up together, him staring at you with a grin and tired eyes. Loving eyes.
You'll never know how much I love you. Not because you are too young to know, or because I love you more than everyone else, but because I love you so much I could never possibly articulate it accurately enough for you to comprehend. Never. The love I have for you doesnt have a "place" in my heart. It envelopes it, it's in all of me. The love I have for you fills my entire being and soul. It consumes my every action and thought. I love your dad VERY much. VERY much. But I can honestly say, that having you changes the way I love. The way I think about love. Because I love you like I never knew I could love anyone.
Monday, September 10, 2012
I Hate Breastfeeding
I know. It must be shocking that some one who breastfeeds could possibly hate it. Doesn't everyone just love breastfeeding? Isn't it beautiful and natural? Isn't it the best way to bond? Yes, it is natural. But I beg to differ on the rest. (For myself anyways, I have seen some moms who do love breastfeeding, if you're considering it, go for it, the experience is different for everyone. And plenty have done it, loved it, and still do.)
Why do I hate breastfeeding? Well, let me outline the reasons.
1. The pain.
I don't care what anyone tells you, it can hurt, even when the baby has the right latch. I have seen a lactation consultant, and she said my baby has the perfect latch. For me, pumping is also a work of the devil. I find both almost excruciating and my eyes currently (and almost always have) water when Little Foot latches on, or I pump. My nipples bleed, scab, get raw, and sometimes, they scab onto my breastpads. Meaning that when I go to remove it, it rips the scab off, and I start bleeding, and then it's time to feed.
2. Little Foot hates it.
I've done everything I can to make it more pleasant for her, I make sure I'm producing milk, but express some so it doesnt come out too fast, I don't use creams or anything on my nipples, and I have tried every position possible. Sometime's she enjoys it just fine and nurses for an hour, maybe more. but sometimes this baby just flails and cries while nursing. She is latched on, and crying while she nurses. It looks like I'm gagging her with my breast, but up close you can see her sucking and swallowing. The lactation consultant told me there was not much i could do,just stay determined, because "breast is best". She looks almost as miserable as I am.
3. I hate leaking all the time
This sounds silly, but seriosly it's worse than your period. (Which, by the way, breastfeeding is supposed to keep you from having one. Not this girl.) Imagine having a part of your body that continuously drips. And you're expected to pull it out on demand, anytime, any place. This means that you could be out at a nice resteraunt and trying to enjoy a meal with your family which includes a few male relatives, and suddenly, your baby is hungry. You're not going to starve your child for your pride, so here you are pulling your breast out in public for everyone to gawk at, and embarrassing your whole family, flashing your male relatives, and letting your food go cold. THEN. when she's done, you're trying to manuever your breast back into your clothes and shit hits the fan. Your breast pad is all wrinkled up and in the wrong place, your breast wont go back into your bra, your shirt is malfunctioning, you have a baby in your lap that needs burped. etc. All the while, your breast is leaking all over the place, getting your clothes drenched in sticky, foul smelling, milk. And your baby, it's all over her/him now too. So your stuck, drenched, stained, embarrassed, and awkward. My best advice, is to just never wear anything nice, ever, when breastfeeding. It'll get ruined, and it's probably not even breastfeeding accesible, so just throw on some plain-janes and give in.
4. I cannot seem to keep my milk production up!
I've tried the teas, the pills, the pumping, the foods. Nothing but pumping every 20 mintues seems to work. I don't know about you, but pumping TAKES 15-20 minutes, and pumping every 20 minutes, seems like spending half your day with your breast in something, a baby or a pump. and Sore. Oh so sore. Not to mention, who has that much free time? just sit there pumping for 20 minutes, every twenty minutes? You can't even get through a grocery trip!
5. I absalutly hate being the only feeder
When you breast feed you can kiss those dreams good bye, literally. You won't be sleeping. Your partner can get up with you, but can never fully take care of the baby on his/her own. because you're the milk cow. You CAN always pump and store, then they can heat up a bottle, but if your having as terrible luck as i do with supply, that runs out before the night is over.
6. I don't feel bonded.
We're both miserable, we both cry when she eats, and I always feel like a pos when I breastfeed her. She looks like she hates it, cries through the whole thing 1/2 the time.
7. It most certaintly IS NOT the EASIEST OPTION
OMG. I laughed my ass off SO hard when someone mentioned that switching to formula would be 'harder' for me and her because I'd have to get up and mix a bottle. Let me mention a few fun facts here. As stated towards the end of the last paragraph in reason #3, it isn't always easiest. When you bottle feed, you get up, and go run the water till it's warm, then mix in the powder. Then you give it to your baby, burping every so often. Then they are usually so full (breastmilk digest VERY fast, meaning it takes longer to feel full, and shorter amount of time to feel hungry again.) they conk right out. And stay asleep for on average 2-3 hours longer than when breastfed, in my experience. When you breast feed at night, you have about the same situation as the one outlined in #3. Except you are trying to get the baby to latch on, and are probably hunched over, aching back while trying to feed this baby. Dozing off, probably, because it take smuch longer to breastfeed, than to bottle feed. Then, you lay her down, and in about an hour she'll be right back up, starving. Repeat ALL NIGHT. HA. Let me tell you, those are the moments when you begin to realize how some people end up shaking their babies. I'd never hurt my child. Ever. I'd rather kill myself than ever touch my baby in anger, but I definitly understand how some loose patients. It's hard to keep in mind that that's the baby's only way of communicating at such late hours, when your in pain from breastfeeding, and still listening to her cry. As a precaution, if you're ever feeling really upset, of loosing patients, or having these thoughts, la the baby down in a safe, baby safe, place and go take a moment. a crying baby, is always better than a shaken baby. ALWAYS. Or ask for help, it's never a bad thing to ask for help.
8. I can't sleep naked, or take my time getting dressed after a shower.
Yet again- the leaking
9. Sex is so different.
My breasts are sore- I want them touched, but it's too sore. I leak everywhere, so we usually just leave my shirt on. Imagine how your self esteem can get when you'r only half naked EVERY time. When you'r partner doesnt bother touching your breasts anymore because they leak, and who wants to be sticky and wet. Better yet, why would he bother when he, and the whole world, get to see them every hour when it's feeding time?
it can hurt one's self esteem for sure.
Anywho- that's how I feel about the matter. But as a disclaimer, plenty of people love breastfeeding. Some do it until their kid is years and years old, and weep at the end of their breastfeeding years. I also have/had a bit of PPD, so really, that can add to it. No two mothers are the same, neither are any two babies. So do what's best, but dont' feel bad if ou hate breastfeeding, or just don't do it. As one of my best friends said "breast is not always best.". And it's true, she has three boys and they're all developmentally normal, if not advanced. They're lovable, behave well, are smart and have amazing personalities. You'd never know the difference.
Why do I hate breastfeeding? Well, let me outline the reasons.
1. The pain.
I don't care what anyone tells you, it can hurt, even when the baby has the right latch. I have seen a lactation consultant, and she said my baby has the perfect latch. For me, pumping is also a work of the devil. I find both almost excruciating and my eyes currently (and almost always have) water when Little Foot latches on, or I pump. My nipples bleed, scab, get raw, and sometimes, they scab onto my breastpads. Meaning that when I go to remove it, it rips the scab off, and I start bleeding, and then it's time to feed.
2. Little Foot hates it.
I've done everything I can to make it more pleasant for her, I make sure I'm producing milk, but express some so it doesnt come out too fast, I don't use creams or anything on my nipples, and I have tried every position possible. Sometime's she enjoys it just fine and nurses for an hour, maybe more. but sometimes this baby just flails and cries while nursing. She is latched on, and crying while she nurses. It looks like I'm gagging her with my breast, but up close you can see her sucking and swallowing. The lactation consultant told me there was not much i could do,just stay determined, because "breast is best". She looks almost as miserable as I am.
3. I hate leaking all the time
This sounds silly, but seriosly it's worse than your period. (Which, by the way, breastfeeding is supposed to keep you from having one. Not this girl.) Imagine having a part of your body that continuously drips. And you're expected to pull it out on demand, anytime, any place. This means that you could be out at a nice resteraunt and trying to enjoy a meal with your family which includes a few male relatives, and suddenly, your baby is hungry. You're not going to starve your child for your pride, so here you are pulling your breast out in public for everyone to gawk at, and embarrassing your whole family, flashing your male relatives, and letting your food go cold. THEN. when she's done, you're trying to manuever your breast back into your clothes and shit hits the fan. Your breast pad is all wrinkled up and in the wrong place, your breast wont go back into your bra, your shirt is malfunctioning, you have a baby in your lap that needs burped. etc. All the while, your breast is leaking all over the place, getting your clothes drenched in sticky, foul smelling, milk. And your baby, it's all over her/him now too. So your stuck, drenched, stained, embarrassed, and awkward. My best advice, is to just never wear anything nice, ever, when breastfeeding. It'll get ruined, and it's probably not even breastfeeding accesible, so just throw on some plain-janes and give in.
4. I cannot seem to keep my milk production up!
I've tried the teas, the pills, the pumping, the foods. Nothing but pumping every 20 mintues seems to work. I don't know about you, but pumping TAKES 15-20 minutes, and pumping every 20 minutes, seems like spending half your day with your breast in something, a baby or a pump. and Sore. Oh so sore. Not to mention, who has that much free time? just sit there pumping for 20 minutes, every twenty minutes? You can't even get through a grocery trip!
5. I absalutly hate being the only feeder
When you breast feed you can kiss those dreams good bye, literally. You won't be sleeping. Your partner can get up with you, but can never fully take care of the baby on his/her own. because you're the milk cow. You CAN always pump and store, then they can heat up a bottle, but if your having as terrible luck as i do with supply, that runs out before the night is over.
6. I don't feel bonded.
We're both miserable, we both cry when she eats, and I always feel like a pos when I breastfeed her. She looks like she hates it, cries through the whole thing 1/2 the time.
7. It most certaintly IS NOT the EASIEST OPTION
OMG. I laughed my ass off SO hard when someone mentioned that switching to formula would be 'harder' for me and her because I'd have to get up and mix a bottle. Let me mention a few fun facts here. As stated towards the end of the last paragraph in reason #3, it isn't always easiest. When you bottle feed, you get up, and go run the water till it's warm, then mix in the powder. Then you give it to your baby, burping every so often. Then they are usually so full (breastmilk digest VERY fast, meaning it takes longer to feel full, and shorter amount of time to feel hungry again.) they conk right out. And stay asleep for on average 2-3 hours longer than when breastfed, in my experience. When you breast feed at night, you have about the same situation as the one outlined in #3. Except you are trying to get the baby to latch on, and are probably hunched over, aching back while trying to feed this baby. Dozing off, probably, because it take smuch longer to breastfeed, than to bottle feed. Then, you lay her down, and in about an hour she'll be right back up, starving. Repeat ALL NIGHT. HA. Let me tell you, those are the moments when you begin to realize how some people end up shaking their babies. I'd never hurt my child. Ever. I'd rather kill myself than ever touch my baby in anger, but I definitly understand how some loose patients. It's hard to keep in mind that that's the baby's only way of communicating at such late hours, when your in pain from breastfeeding, and still listening to her cry. As a precaution, if you're ever feeling really upset, of loosing patients, or having these thoughts, la the baby down in a safe, baby safe, place and go take a moment. a crying baby, is always better than a shaken baby. ALWAYS. Or ask for help, it's never a bad thing to ask for help.
8. I can't sleep naked, or take my time getting dressed after a shower.
Yet again- the leaking
9. Sex is so different.
My breasts are sore- I want them touched, but it's too sore. I leak everywhere, so we usually just leave my shirt on. Imagine how your self esteem can get when you'r only half naked EVERY time. When you'r partner doesnt bother touching your breasts anymore because they leak, and who wants to be sticky and wet. Better yet, why would he bother when he, and the whole world, get to see them every hour when it's feeding time?
it can hurt one's self esteem for sure.
Anywho- that's how I feel about the matter. But as a disclaimer, plenty of people love breastfeeding. Some do it until their kid is years and years old, and weep at the end of their breastfeeding years. I also have/had a bit of PPD, so really, that can add to it. No two mothers are the same, neither are any two babies. So do what's best, but dont' feel bad if ou hate breastfeeding, or just don't do it. As one of my best friends said "breast is not always best.". And it's true, she has three boys and they're all developmentally normal, if not advanced. They're lovable, behave well, are smart and have amazing personalities. You'd never know the difference.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
The First Moments of Parenthood
This is pretty much a "Part 2" to the post titled "Birth of Stella Bea". It's just the first few moments of being with her, and meeting her.
After I felt her slide out of me, and saw her tiny body in my doctors arms, I immediatly started sobbing. She was here. We'd done it! She was alive and I was going to get to hold her! I reached out my hands and waited for her to be handed to me, which felt like an eternity, but everyone present assures me that it was barely a minute. Janna took a million pictures, for which I can never thank her enough. But one meant so much to me, well two, really. There's one where she is just getting her nose suctioned and I am already holding her hand, and the other is levi cutting her cord, and I'm holding her head with my hands. These mean so much to me, because for one, its the first time I ever touched her, and for two, Janna said she'd never seen anything like that before.
Anywho, she didn't cry much when she was born and they were concerned that she'd come out to fast to clear her own lungs, so they let me hold her for a brief while and then took her back to encourage her to cry and clear her airways better. It didn't matter though, I was sobbing the whole time telling everyone how much I loved her, and how beautiful she was. Levi stroked my hair and cried with me as we watched her squirming in her little bassinet getting cleaned. We kissed and talked about how amazing she was. I let her hold my finger while she was in the bassinet, and I just couldn't take my eyes off of her. There she was.
After they'd pricked and poked her enough to 'clear' herself out, they gave her back to me to hold. I began trying to bresatfeed her, and she latched onto my breast right away, but I can't say for how long because I was having trouble staying awake. Overall, I'd been having contractions and unable to sleep for 48 hrs about, so I was pretty drained. Levi stroked her little hairs and took pictures of her. Finally, my family came in and everyone held her.
We got moved to a recovery room and finally got some alone time with the baby. Then, eventually, slept.
After I felt her slide out of me, and saw her tiny body in my doctors arms, I immediatly started sobbing. She was here. We'd done it! She was alive and I was going to get to hold her! I reached out my hands and waited for her to be handed to me, which felt like an eternity, but everyone present assures me that it was barely a minute. Janna took a million pictures, for which I can never thank her enough. But one meant so much to me, well two, really. There's one where she is just getting her nose suctioned and I am already holding her hand, and the other is levi cutting her cord, and I'm holding her head with my hands. These mean so much to me, because for one, its the first time I ever touched her, and for two, Janna said she'd never seen anything like that before.
Anywho, she didn't cry much when she was born and they were concerned that she'd come out to fast to clear her own lungs, so they let me hold her for a brief while and then took her back to encourage her to cry and clear her airways better. It didn't matter though, I was sobbing the whole time telling everyone how much I loved her, and how beautiful she was. Levi stroked my hair and cried with me as we watched her squirming in her little bassinet getting cleaned. We kissed and talked about how amazing she was. I let her hold my finger while she was in the bassinet, and I just couldn't take my eyes off of her. There she was.
After they'd pricked and poked her enough to 'clear' herself out, they gave her back to me to hold. I began trying to bresatfeed her, and she latched onto my breast right away, but I can't say for how long because I was having trouble staying awake. Overall, I'd been having contractions and unable to sleep for 48 hrs about, so I was pretty drained. Levi stroked her little hairs and took pictures of her. Finally, my family came in and everyone held her.
We got moved to a recovery room and finally got some alone time with the baby. Then, eventually, slept.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
The Birth of Stella Bea
Our daughter is finally here! Well, actually, she's been here for 2 weeks. I've been a tad busy and tired so I haven't gotten around to writing her story, but finally, she is here. Her name is Stella Bea Hamilton Greenbank. She was born at exactly 4pm on Wednesday, August 15th. She was 6lbs and 6oz, 20 inches. Now for the details....
We got our induction date on the 13th, at our doctors appointment. I got my weekly ultrasound, and wouldn't you know, she was low on fluid and not growing much. We were thrilled to be meeting her so soon! I was so happy I cried on the way home and we marveled for hours about how soon our daughter would be in our arms! We told our family and friends and prepared for the next night.
We ate our last pre-parenthood meal at Applebee's at 7pm. Our induction was scheduled for 7pm, but Applebee's was packed and I WAS going to have my pre-labor steak. No doubt about it. So I ordered a black pepper steak with veggies and a baked potatoe, sour cream and butter of course, off of the 2 for 20 menus. We ate until about 7:40, and finally headed in. We checked in and got my room set up.
First I got my IV and that was a task all in itself. We had a really cheery nurse named Emily and she was hilarious. I told her I was terrified of the IV in general and would appreciate it if she would use the numbing agent and be super quick. She did all that I asked for, but even still Levi had to hold my hand during the insertion and everyone heard my toes clench the sheets. Everyone had a good laugh about that. Shortly after, since I was only dilated to a one, they put cervidel in place. (for those not familiar with this, cervidel is a flat, tampon-looking and sized medication placed just under the cervix for about 4-12 hours, to help you dilate. This amount of time will depend on the lady, you can go into labor just with this, but it doesn't always happen!) For two hours after this, I was supposed to lay on my back, no getting up, no sitting up. Things were great for about 2 hours, then I got really terrible cramps/contractions. Unfortunatly, I still wasn't dialting very fast. I was miserable and cranky all night, and didn't sleep. At 7am things got moving as I was administered the Pitocin. (pitocin is a drug given through the IV to start contractions. The contractions start very suddenly, and very intensely. It's painful.)
So, at 7am, my doula, Janna, shows up to support me. I'm given the pitocin and through out the morning family visits every now and then and we try some soothing techniques. I'm progressing at about 1cm an hour. By three cm, I'm really starting to freak out. My water has broken and I'm bleeding an insane amount all over the bed and sitting in a puddle. Since we had low fluid, after my water broke it left me and Stella with VERY little cushioning for the labor. The contractions had me in tears and I told them I needed something to relax because I was on the verge of sobbing. My doctor happily and readily okayed me for the epidural.
Sadly, all anesthesiologists that I've encountered seem to think they know everything. Right down to YOUR body and YOUR feelings. This was exactly the case here. If you read my story about my appendectomy, then you know my last epidural wasn't very pleasant. I felt the insertion the whole way. As I did this time. The anesthesiologist told me he would test the area after the first numbing shot to see if it was numb before using the large rod to insert the catheter. I was very adamant about this request and begged many times, just to let him know how serious I was. Unfortunatly. He blew me off. He gave me my area anastethic and immediately inserted the rod. imagine his surprise when I started screaming and bawling and my nurse and step mother had to hold me still and upright. Asshole. He assured me LOUDLY that I 'couldn't' feel it. Which I LOUDLY replied was a farce, and that I felt like my back side was being impaled.
It was placed a little funny, and since it was a low-dose epidural anyways, it really just took the edge off of the contractions. I could still feel my whole body, control my legs and feel my pelvis and vagina. Which was fine with me, but my nurse seemed to feel really bad for me and kept offering to have more pain killer brought on. This was by far the worst part of the whole delivery, i can happily say!
After I got the epidural, I began to relax and dilated much quicker, I got to 9 cm pretty quick, and not even five min after being told I was 9 cm, I pulled my legs up and told everyone I really felt like she was coming. The nurse didn't look convinced, but sure enough when checked me, baby was ready to go! She encouraged me to 'hold it' since we weren't set up or anything yet, which was HARD.
As they pulled the stirrups around and dropped the bottom half of the bed, and brought in the mirror, my mind went into a dream-like state. This baby was coming. All the worry, all the fear, and all of the yearning to know she'd finally make it, and here she was. I was going to give birth to this wonderful tiny person.
Just months earlier we were told she'd never make it. We were told I didn't have a 'good uterus'. I was 'too sick'. Just weeks earlier, I had cried in my bedroom floor holding her tiny pj's mourning the loss to come, mourning the tiny being inside me that I felt I was so close to losing. I had laid in the tub with contractions and feeling her tiny body squirm inside me and I would cry. I just knew I'd never get to hold her. I just knew I couldn't be so lucky. That this perfect, tiny baby, wasn't going to be mine for much longer. I laid at night having night mare after nightmare of the day I'd have to say good bye. I'd carefully scrapbooked, and archived every dr office trip, every ultrasound, every event. Just so I'd remember the time I got with her. All of that, and here she was. Ready to meet me. Alive. Living. Just moments away.
I panted and Levi held one leg, while Janna held the other, and I gripped my thighs and beared down for the first push. By the end of the contraction, the nurse said, "Look!", and I looked up at the mirror, and sure enough, I saw exactly what I felt. The top of her tiny head. I sighed and hit the back of the bed waiting on another contraction. Janna wetted a washcloth and placed it on my forehead, all while trying to simataneously record the events in her notepad. Levi stroked my cheek and smiled with the happiest smile and said, "You are so strong.". I felt the next contraction and pulled my legs up, the nurse told me she was going to get my doctor. I felt so dreamily calm and peaceful. Not at all how I had imagined it being, but exactly as I'd hoped. My dr came in and was set up pretty quick, she told me I was doing the best she'd ever seen a first time mom do.
The next contraction came, and I pushed the hardest I could, while Janna counted quietly in my ear. I began to feel an intense burning. I looked up and saw about a 3-4 in. circle of her head. I reached down and felt her head. It was the softest thing I'd ever felt. I felt giddy. Levi reached down and stroked her head and looked at me and said, "She definitly has hair!" . The contraction ended and I felt her sink back into me considerably. I sighed with frustration. Janna said that the next few pushes might be like that, but after I can get her past my pubic bone, she'll stop doing that.
The next push came, and I felt an intense need to push before Janna started counting and I just knew this was it. She was going to be out, and SOON. I felt her tiny ears begin to come, and the burning became so intense I couldn't hold back noises any more. I bore down for the last push and I felt so worn out, so drained, but so determined. I began to feel the worst of the pain and thought I was begining to tear, just as I looked up at Levi. He was looking at her coming and when he noticed I was looking at him, he smiled at me and said, "You're doing it!!". I finished the push, and felt her tiny head slide out. My dr began tugging at her body and I let out a few half-hearted pushes and here she was. My beauty. My prize. My flower. My daughter. My everything.
We got our induction date on the 13th, at our doctors appointment. I got my weekly ultrasound, and wouldn't you know, she was low on fluid and not growing much. We were thrilled to be meeting her so soon! I was so happy I cried on the way home and we marveled for hours about how soon our daughter would be in our arms! We told our family and friends and prepared for the next night.
We ate our last pre-parenthood meal at Applebee's at 7pm. Our induction was scheduled for 7pm, but Applebee's was packed and I WAS going to have my pre-labor steak. No doubt about it. So I ordered a black pepper steak with veggies and a baked potatoe, sour cream and butter of course, off of the 2 for 20 menus. We ate until about 7:40, and finally headed in. We checked in and got my room set up.
First I got my IV and that was a task all in itself. We had a really cheery nurse named Emily and she was hilarious. I told her I was terrified of the IV in general and would appreciate it if she would use the numbing agent and be super quick. She did all that I asked for, but even still Levi had to hold my hand during the insertion and everyone heard my toes clench the sheets. Everyone had a good laugh about that. Shortly after, since I was only dilated to a one, they put cervidel in place. (for those not familiar with this, cervidel is a flat, tampon-looking and sized medication placed just under the cervix for about 4-12 hours, to help you dilate. This amount of time will depend on the lady, you can go into labor just with this, but it doesn't always happen!) For two hours after this, I was supposed to lay on my back, no getting up, no sitting up. Things were great for about 2 hours, then I got really terrible cramps/contractions. Unfortunatly, I still wasn't dialting very fast. I was miserable and cranky all night, and didn't sleep. At 7am things got moving as I was administered the Pitocin. (pitocin is a drug given through the IV to start contractions. The contractions start very suddenly, and very intensely. It's painful.)
So, at 7am, my doula, Janna, shows up to support me. I'm given the pitocin and through out the morning family visits every now and then and we try some soothing techniques. I'm progressing at about 1cm an hour. By three cm, I'm really starting to freak out. My water has broken and I'm bleeding an insane amount all over the bed and sitting in a puddle. Since we had low fluid, after my water broke it left me and Stella with VERY little cushioning for the labor. The contractions had me in tears and I told them I needed something to relax because I was on the verge of sobbing. My doctor happily and readily okayed me for the epidural.
Sadly, all anesthesiologists that I've encountered seem to think they know everything. Right down to YOUR body and YOUR feelings. This was exactly the case here. If you read my story about my appendectomy, then you know my last epidural wasn't very pleasant. I felt the insertion the whole way. As I did this time. The anesthesiologist told me he would test the area after the first numbing shot to see if it was numb before using the large rod to insert the catheter. I was very adamant about this request and begged many times, just to let him know how serious I was. Unfortunatly. He blew me off. He gave me my area anastethic and immediately inserted the rod. imagine his surprise when I started screaming and bawling and my nurse and step mother had to hold me still and upright. Asshole. He assured me LOUDLY that I 'couldn't' feel it. Which I LOUDLY replied was a farce, and that I felt like my back side was being impaled.
It was placed a little funny, and since it was a low-dose epidural anyways, it really just took the edge off of the contractions. I could still feel my whole body, control my legs and feel my pelvis and vagina. Which was fine with me, but my nurse seemed to feel really bad for me and kept offering to have more pain killer brought on. This was by far the worst part of the whole delivery, i can happily say!
After I got the epidural, I began to relax and dilated much quicker, I got to 9 cm pretty quick, and not even five min after being told I was 9 cm, I pulled my legs up and told everyone I really felt like she was coming. The nurse didn't look convinced, but sure enough when checked me, baby was ready to go! She encouraged me to 'hold it' since we weren't set up or anything yet, which was HARD.
As they pulled the stirrups around and dropped the bottom half of the bed, and brought in the mirror, my mind went into a dream-like state. This baby was coming. All the worry, all the fear, and all of the yearning to know she'd finally make it, and here she was. I was going to give birth to this wonderful tiny person.
Just months earlier we were told she'd never make it. We were told I didn't have a 'good uterus'. I was 'too sick'. Just weeks earlier, I had cried in my bedroom floor holding her tiny pj's mourning the loss to come, mourning the tiny being inside me that I felt I was so close to losing. I had laid in the tub with contractions and feeling her tiny body squirm inside me and I would cry. I just knew I'd never get to hold her. I just knew I couldn't be so lucky. That this perfect, tiny baby, wasn't going to be mine for much longer. I laid at night having night mare after nightmare of the day I'd have to say good bye. I'd carefully scrapbooked, and archived every dr office trip, every ultrasound, every event. Just so I'd remember the time I got with her. All of that, and here she was. Ready to meet me. Alive. Living. Just moments away.
I panted and Levi held one leg, while Janna held the other, and I gripped my thighs and beared down for the first push. By the end of the contraction, the nurse said, "Look!", and I looked up at the mirror, and sure enough, I saw exactly what I felt. The top of her tiny head. I sighed and hit the back of the bed waiting on another contraction. Janna wetted a washcloth and placed it on my forehead, all while trying to simataneously record the events in her notepad. Levi stroked my cheek and smiled with the happiest smile and said, "You are so strong.". I felt the next contraction and pulled my legs up, the nurse told me she was going to get my doctor. I felt so dreamily calm and peaceful. Not at all how I had imagined it being, but exactly as I'd hoped. My dr came in and was set up pretty quick, she told me I was doing the best she'd ever seen a first time mom do.
The next contraction came, and I pushed the hardest I could, while Janna counted quietly in my ear. I began to feel an intense burning. I looked up and saw about a 3-4 in. circle of her head. I reached down and felt her head. It was the softest thing I'd ever felt. I felt giddy. Levi reached down and stroked her head and looked at me and said, "She definitly has hair!" . The contraction ended and I felt her sink back into me considerably. I sighed with frustration. Janna said that the next few pushes might be like that, but after I can get her past my pubic bone, she'll stop doing that.
 |
| Lev cutting the cord, and me reaching out for my daughter |
 |
| Right after they administered the eye drops, she has little duck lips. |
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Name Regret
If you've ever had a kid, I'm sure you know what I'm referring to. Not to say that everyone, or anyone, will experience name regret, just that I'm sure you are familiar with the term, because if you don't have it, you probably worried that you would.
I've got it.
BAD.
One would think, but she's not here yet, you've got time to fix this! No. Not really. I've tried 'fixing it'. It just turns out shitty and undesireable. So. Here's where this all started.
When we first found out we were pregnant, we were 17wks along. Almost everyone was already asking what we were naming it and we hadn't even decided whose last name it'd have. (Which we did decided relatively quickly that she'd have BOTH of our last names, due to the fact that regardless of marriage, I'm going to have the same last name. Which both families through a colossal fit about and made us both feel like shit. Boo-hoo. That's something that was never up for discussion, and even if it was we could reason our way around it, no one chooses what name they have, but you do choose whether you'll need 'proof' to pick your kid up from school.) We had a few picked out just in case, but since I was so sure it'd be a boy, I only put time into that gender's names. Which we landed a lovely Zander Van Kruz Hamilton Greenbank. Say that five times fast. Just kidding, you'll give your tongue a cramp.
When we found out our darling dumpling was a female, things got really personal, and really difficult to agree on. Levi didn't like anything, but never really put any time into picking one out himself, either. I felt like I was just taking my beloved picks to him for slaughter. "That's unique.....but she's never going to look like an ____." Or, "that sounds so old....". And it goes like that until month 5. (One month later.)
We then decide on Thelma Bea Hamilton Greenbank. I was stoked. She'd be my Thelma. My pretty, little Thelma Bea. It sounded so good, and I could imagine calling her name on a playground and just she'd turn around. I knew it was 'old', but it sounded perfect and I KNEW this was her name. Levi felt (so he said) exactly the same. Until we had to tell people.
We didn't expect people to be so blunt with how much they hated her name. We really didn't. And it hurt. It hurt me really badly, Levi looked hurt and that made it even worse. We felt like "if her own family says things like this....then who's to say what kids will say?" I cried for days. Levi immediatly started looking at other names and I felt like my favorite name in the whole world had just been taken from me. I felt robbed. Yes, I could stil name her this. But then what? Then I'm stuck self-conscous and worried for her. It was a pathetic move, but we chose an 'alternative', because we were so hurt.
The alternative is not to be named, because despite what the rest of my/his loudmouth family will tell you, I wanted to keep it a surprise. Call me a drama queen, but I felt that atleast if I could learn to love this name as much as Levi did before everyone started saying it, maybe it'd grow on me. Maybe I wouldn't feel like everyone had bullied me. Anywho, the alternative IS a lovely name, and I do love it. Just not as much as I loved Thelma. You might be thinking some of the following things, and I'll tell you why each isn't happening.
1. "Just do both! You can put one as the first, and one as the middle!"
Okay. This is not a solution, however good it sounds. ONE of the names will have to be the first name, thus it's what she'll be called. So really, only one is still going to be "the" name. That, and they sound terrible together. Even just as first-middle name. Terrible.
2. "Well you can just name the next one!"
There won't be a next one. Not only will my body probably not allow it, but I don't want a 'next one' and even if we did, every child is precious, i don't want one to be 'mine' and one to be 'his'. I want to have equal parts in both of their whole lives, names and all.
3. "Well change it now anyways!"
If i did that, it'd put levi where I am now. And that's something I won't do, purposely. He loves her new name and I can tell it's exactly what he plans to call her. I won't steal that from him and honestly, it'd just make me feel shitty for making him feel that way.
So really. There isn't much to be done here. Levi told me I could have free-reign on her middle name, but I care about this as much as I care about my grocery shopping list. i feel like I'll get 'around to it' and really, i feel like the middle name is only made to make the first name sound better, and to differentiate between two children who may coincidentially have the same first and last name. None of this matters to me, on a sentimental level. It feels like a pretty utilitarian duty. I chose three middle names I liked pretty well and that fit the first name decently but I honestly don't feel any sentimental value towards them. I don't know anyone called by the first and middle name on a regular basis and I don't care to make her into one of those people, so really it's just a paper name. A name she'll write on the few occasions the line says "full name" and the even fewer occasions that she takes the time to actually do that. It kills me to know that I've let such a big ship sail. I don't know what will happen in the hospital, but right now I've got a feeling the paperwork will be a very stiff and awkward moment. I just hope that she doesn't mind nick names, because I plan to call her Little Foot forever, until she becomes so embarrassed I need to call her by her actual name.
So there you have it, name regret. It blows.
I've got it.
BAD.
One would think, but she's not here yet, you've got time to fix this! No. Not really. I've tried 'fixing it'. It just turns out shitty and undesireable. So. Here's where this all started.
When we first found out we were pregnant, we were 17wks along. Almost everyone was already asking what we were naming it and we hadn't even decided whose last name it'd have. (Which we did decided relatively quickly that she'd have BOTH of our last names, due to the fact that regardless of marriage, I'm going to have the same last name. Which both families through a colossal fit about and made us both feel like shit. Boo-hoo. That's something that was never up for discussion, and even if it was we could reason our way around it, no one chooses what name they have, but you do choose whether you'll need 'proof' to pick your kid up from school.) We had a few picked out just in case, but since I was so sure it'd be a boy, I only put time into that gender's names. Which we landed a lovely Zander Van Kruz Hamilton Greenbank. Say that five times fast. Just kidding, you'll give your tongue a cramp.
When we found out our darling dumpling was a female, things got really personal, and really difficult to agree on. Levi didn't like anything, but never really put any time into picking one out himself, either. I felt like I was just taking my beloved picks to him for slaughter. "That's unique.....but she's never going to look like an ____." Or, "that sounds so old....". And it goes like that until month 5. (One month later.)
We then decide on Thelma Bea Hamilton Greenbank. I was stoked. She'd be my Thelma. My pretty, little Thelma Bea. It sounded so good, and I could imagine calling her name on a playground and just she'd turn around. I knew it was 'old', but it sounded perfect and I KNEW this was her name. Levi felt (so he said) exactly the same. Until we had to tell people.
We didn't expect people to be so blunt with how much they hated her name. We really didn't. And it hurt. It hurt me really badly, Levi looked hurt and that made it even worse. We felt like "if her own family says things like this....then who's to say what kids will say?" I cried for days. Levi immediatly started looking at other names and I felt like my favorite name in the whole world had just been taken from me. I felt robbed. Yes, I could stil name her this. But then what? Then I'm stuck self-conscous and worried for her. It was a pathetic move, but we chose an 'alternative', because we were so hurt.
The alternative is not to be named, because despite what the rest of my/his loudmouth family will tell you, I wanted to keep it a surprise. Call me a drama queen, but I felt that atleast if I could learn to love this name as much as Levi did before everyone started saying it, maybe it'd grow on me. Maybe I wouldn't feel like everyone had bullied me. Anywho, the alternative IS a lovely name, and I do love it. Just not as much as I loved Thelma. You might be thinking some of the following things, and I'll tell you why each isn't happening.
1. "Just do both! You can put one as the first, and one as the middle!"
Okay. This is not a solution, however good it sounds. ONE of the names will have to be the first name, thus it's what she'll be called. So really, only one is still going to be "the" name. That, and they sound terrible together. Even just as first-middle name. Terrible.
2. "Well you can just name the next one!"
There won't be a next one. Not only will my body probably not allow it, but I don't want a 'next one' and even if we did, every child is precious, i don't want one to be 'mine' and one to be 'his'. I want to have equal parts in both of their whole lives, names and all.
3. "Well change it now anyways!"
If i did that, it'd put levi where I am now. And that's something I won't do, purposely. He loves her new name and I can tell it's exactly what he plans to call her. I won't steal that from him and honestly, it'd just make me feel shitty for making him feel that way.
So really. There isn't much to be done here. Levi told me I could have free-reign on her middle name, but I care about this as much as I care about my grocery shopping list. i feel like I'll get 'around to it' and really, i feel like the middle name is only made to make the first name sound better, and to differentiate between two children who may coincidentially have the same first and last name. None of this matters to me, on a sentimental level. It feels like a pretty utilitarian duty. I chose three middle names I liked pretty well and that fit the first name decently but I honestly don't feel any sentimental value towards them. I don't know anyone called by the first and middle name on a regular basis and I don't care to make her into one of those people, so really it's just a paper name. A name she'll write on the few occasions the line says "full name" and the even fewer occasions that she takes the time to actually do that. It kills me to know that I've let such a big ship sail. I don't know what will happen in the hospital, but right now I've got a feeling the paperwork will be a very stiff and awkward moment. I just hope that she doesn't mind nick names, because I plan to call her Little Foot forever, until she becomes so embarrassed I need to call her by her actual name.
So there you have it, name regret. It blows.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Doing Things "Differently"
If there is one thing I can't stand, it's when some one, or people in general, take things super personally, and it had zip to do with them in the first place.
With other moms in particular, I've experience about all I can handle of this type of crap. I understand that it's a delicate subject, parenting is, but you have to be confident enough to know that you made, or are making, the best decision for you and your family. This isn't always going to be the same way everyone else does it, and it certaintly is NEVER going to be the ONLY way of doing it. So when you make a decision, just stick with it and know it's YOURS to make for a reason, you will know what's best for your kid(s). So who cares what Sally from PTA or Ellen from Facebook think? Do they have to deal with your kid(s) everyday? Do they really know you even? Probably not, so take a breather and don't let it get to you.
That being said, I've encountered a gross amount of moms who seem to think that just because I openly admit that I don't plan on doing things their way, I MUST be calling them a crap mom. Well guess what. I'm not, and I won't ever. Why? Because not only is it just not my style to put some one down about anything, much less something so personal, I really, truly, honest-to-goodness, DONT CARE. Don't now, and probably won't ever. As long as you aren't molesting or abusing your child, there is not a reason in the whole world for me to give a rap about what you do with them. As if I even had the time to pay attention.
I choose not to vaccinate on schedule, not to use pacifiers, not to feed on a set schedule, and to cloth diaper when I can. These things seem to have caused many an issue with other moms. Usually, it looks like a really self-concious and defensive mom just can't handle that their way isn't the ONLY way. I researched each of my decisions and weighed the pros and cons. As I hope every mom does at some point in time, anyways. And through that process, I decided what was best for ME. This doesn't mean I 'dissaprove' of your way, it just means it wasn't for me. I don't know how to further communicate this difference. I've been pretty blunt about things, because I hate playing games with people. Why don't I use pacifiers? Because:
1. I plan on breastfeeding, and it can cause 'nipple confusion' if you don't have a good handle on it in the beginning.
2. I can't afford to go buy a new one every day when one gets lost.
3. I dont want the anxiety of my child NEEDING a material item to soothe themselves, should I lose this item on a public outting, I don't want to be spazzing to get ahold of one, or have to pay a ridiculous price just to keep my kid from screaming.
4. I've seen 5 yr olds with pacifiers. No joke. I don't usually judge, but I admit that after like 1 yr, I would really freak out if my kid still needed a paci to soothe themselves. Not only does it loose the cute factor big time and just become really frustrating, but msot dentists will tell you that after 12 mos it can cause dental difficulties, like protruding front teeth and depending on what foods they eat, in combination with the paci, it can literally rot their teeth before they even come in.
There's that for an example. I DO research these things. I'm not just a sadist that doesn't want my daughter to be able to calm herself, actually the opposite. I'm hoping with the absence of this item, she can learn to calm herself for years to come with a strategy that has nothing to do with a paci. That being said, when parents do use pacifiers, I think nothing of it. That's right. While people look at me and will literally have the nerve to say "that poor baby!" about a lot of my decisions, when I see some one elses kid with one, I think nothing. Really. I don't care. In fact, happen to think newborns with pacis are adorable....I even bought some micro-sized pacifiers becuase they are just so cute. Have you seen one? New born pacifiers are SO tiny.
Anyways. You get my point, i hope. Open your mind up and accept that you make the decisions you do because it's what's best for YOUR family, but that isn't the case for everyone.
p.s. I don't know that baby. But I found it online and it's cute.
With other moms in particular, I've experience about all I can handle of this type of crap. I understand that it's a delicate subject, parenting is, but you have to be confident enough to know that you made, or are making, the best decision for you and your family. This isn't always going to be the same way everyone else does it, and it certaintly is NEVER going to be the ONLY way of doing it. So when you make a decision, just stick with it and know it's YOURS to make for a reason, you will know what's best for your kid(s). So who cares what Sally from PTA or Ellen from Facebook think? Do they have to deal with your kid(s) everyday? Do they really know you even? Probably not, so take a breather and don't let it get to you.
That being said, I've encountered a gross amount of moms who seem to think that just because I openly admit that I don't plan on doing things their way, I MUST be calling them a crap mom. Well guess what. I'm not, and I won't ever. Why? Because not only is it just not my style to put some one down about anything, much less something so personal, I really, truly, honest-to-goodness, DONT CARE. Don't now, and probably won't ever. As long as you aren't molesting or abusing your child, there is not a reason in the whole world for me to give a rap about what you do with them. As if I even had the time to pay attention.
I choose not to vaccinate on schedule, not to use pacifiers, not to feed on a set schedule, and to cloth diaper when I can. These things seem to have caused many an issue with other moms. Usually, it looks like a really self-concious and defensive mom just can't handle that their way isn't the ONLY way. I researched each of my decisions and weighed the pros and cons. As I hope every mom does at some point in time, anyways. And through that process, I decided what was best for ME. This doesn't mean I 'dissaprove' of your way, it just means it wasn't for me. I don't know how to further communicate this difference. I've been pretty blunt about things, because I hate playing games with people. Why don't I use pacifiers? Because:
1. I plan on breastfeeding, and it can cause 'nipple confusion' if you don't have a good handle on it in the beginning.
2. I can't afford to go buy a new one every day when one gets lost.
3. I dont want the anxiety of my child NEEDING a material item to soothe themselves, should I lose this item on a public outting, I don't want to be spazzing to get ahold of one, or have to pay a ridiculous price just to keep my kid from screaming.
4. I've seen 5 yr olds with pacifiers. No joke. I don't usually judge, but I admit that after like 1 yr, I would really freak out if my kid still needed a paci to soothe themselves. Not only does it loose the cute factor big time and just become really frustrating, but msot dentists will tell you that after 12 mos it can cause dental difficulties, like protruding front teeth and depending on what foods they eat, in combination with the paci, it can literally rot their teeth before they even come in.
There's that for an example. I DO research these things. I'm not just a sadist that doesn't want my daughter to be able to calm herself, actually the opposite. I'm hoping with the absence of this item, she can learn to calm herself for years to come with a strategy that has nothing to do with a paci. That being said, when parents do use pacifiers, I think nothing of it. That's right. While people look at me and will literally have the nerve to say "that poor baby!" about a lot of my decisions, when I see some one elses kid with one, I think nothing. Really. I don't care. In fact, happen to think newborns with pacis are adorable....I even bought some micro-sized pacifiers becuase they are just so cute. Have you seen one? New born pacifiers are SO tiny.
p.s. I don't know that baby. But I found it online and it's cute.
Monday, August 6, 2012
To Pop - Or Not?
As you know, if you've read my last post, I'm to be induced either the 6th, or the 14th. Well it's the 6th. But it's also 3.24 am. So I don't have an inkling of what's to come yet. Shall I be popped today? Or is it another week away?
I should be sleeping, just in case it turns out it is today, but I just can't seem to. At all. I'm pretty excited and I can't wait to go to the appt because even if I'm not popped, they'll probably let us see her via ultrasound, and that's something I rather enjoy!
We already installed the carseat and put the bags in the car. We've put together and placed all of her furniture where it is to be once she's here, and we've even laid out her first clothes and the self-help books on breast feeding, should I encounter a major slump. Levi has prepared her little bassinet with the baby monitor and all. I baked some cookies a bit ago for the hospital stay, and I have even begun to feel what I believe is my cervix dilating. (a terrible sharp pain in the vagina, seriously, I just don't know what else it could be!)
We met with Jana (Our charming doula.), and she seemed pretty pleased with how things were going so far. She didn't argue with me at all about my change to the birth plans and supported the idea of induction in my case, which was nice! I had originally been worried that she would be a little annoyed or seem otherwise bothered by my decision to be more open to an epidural and accept the induction wholly. (She had never been judgmental, and has always supported us, but you just see it in someones face when they dont agree with your decision or are dissapointed you, you can feel it. Even when they try to hide it and be supportive.) That wasn't the case at all though, she didn't even seem stunned by it. She simply gave us a little more advice on epidurals and told us what we could expect with one, and an induction. I seriously reccomend any pregnant person and their partner to consider a doula. They're great, supportive, knowing, and very helpful. I've definitely had a lot more peace-of-mind with ours, than I think I would've otherwise.
We're pretty excited about this whole process and of course getting to meet our child, but honestly, I'm pretty nervous. It feels so surreal. It doesn't feel like it's time yet, I still feel like I'm thinking about 'some day' when I imagine her. It's a crazy feeling. I can't wait to hold her in my arms. I've been dreaming about this day since we saw her on our first ultrasound, with her micro-hiccups. We teared up and let out a breath that we'd been holding, in the worries of finding a no longer living baby in my womb. There she was. Alive and hiccuping. Living. Making it.
Starting that day, I had begun to dream about the moment I'd hold her. The moment I'd first breastfeed her. The moment I'd first bathe her. But it never felt like enough. I cried all the time. I felt like each day was just one more day I'd managed to keep her, that I was just buying a little more time with her everyday, every hour. It never felt like I'd get to hold her. It never felt like she would make it. I was always hopeful and positive outloud, and never gave up on her, but you can't help how you feel. And I felt like this baby was going to be taken away from me before I ever got to see her face.
Sometimes, milestones felt great, I felt like, "If we've made this far, who's to say she won't make it all the way?!?!". And other days, I felt like it would only make it that much harder to have her taken away from me. Stripped from my life. Stripped of life.
I remember in particular, the day we found out she could possibly live outside the womb, if born, with extreme and extensive medical care. They told us, that if born, she'd be taken to NICU and probably live a good few hours atleast, if not longer. I was giddy to have hope that she had chances of making it now, even if my body failed her. Until a horrible reality struck me. What if she were born, and didn't make it.
I would've held her tiny body in my arms for just long enough to feel her warmth. She would have to have an IV bigger than her fingers and tubes in every place a tube could go. She would see the light, if only for a minute, but never me or Levi. She would be a blind, naked, prodded, vulnerable, purple and pink, tiny and needle-ridden baby. She would be miserable. Then die.
Yes, I would get the benefit of seeing her alive for a moment, but then what? Then she either dies in her incubator while I watch, or turns cold in my arms, weak and limp. Watch the life fade right away from her. My baby. My poor baby. My poor, helpless, miserable, baby. What good was this for either of us? Her miserable, then dead, and I, sad but grateful for a few hours, then devastated and stripped of joy and any kind of life I had.
Every milestone was bittersweet. I felt like everything was out to get her and eventually, something would. We just couldn't be lucky enough to make it through this. We couldn't. I told myself I'd enjoy everyday untl then, though. Until she was taken away from me, I would.
So to imagine, that I'm 38 weeks pregnant, and that this baby could come at any moment on her own, or that she'll be helped along in a few hours (or a week), is crazy. I almost can't grasp it. I look at my belly everyday and wonder how we made it. How she got so lucky. How I got so lucky.
Wish us luck. I'm hoping for nothing but a perfectly healthy baby out of this, and I don't think that's too much to ask!
I should be sleeping, just in case it turns out it is today, but I just can't seem to. At all. I'm pretty excited and I can't wait to go to the appt because even if I'm not popped, they'll probably let us see her via ultrasound, and that's something I rather enjoy!
We already installed the carseat and put the bags in the car. We've put together and placed all of her furniture where it is to be once she's here, and we've even laid out her first clothes and the self-help books on breast feeding, should I encounter a major slump. Levi has prepared her little bassinet with the baby monitor and all. I baked some cookies a bit ago for the hospital stay, and I have even begun to feel what I believe is my cervix dilating. (a terrible sharp pain in the vagina, seriously, I just don't know what else it could be!)
We met with Jana (Our charming doula.), and she seemed pretty pleased with how things were going so far. She didn't argue with me at all about my change to the birth plans and supported the idea of induction in my case, which was nice! I had originally been worried that she would be a little annoyed or seem otherwise bothered by my decision to be more open to an epidural and accept the induction wholly. (She had never been judgmental, and has always supported us, but you just see it in someones face when they dont agree with your decision or are dissapointed you, you can feel it. Even when they try to hide it and be supportive.) That wasn't the case at all though, she didn't even seem stunned by it. She simply gave us a little more advice on epidurals and told us what we could expect with one, and an induction. I seriously reccomend any pregnant person and their partner to consider a doula. They're great, supportive, knowing, and very helpful. I've definitely had a lot more peace-of-mind with ours, than I think I would've otherwise.
We're pretty excited about this whole process and of course getting to meet our child, but honestly, I'm pretty nervous. It feels so surreal. It doesn't feel like it's time yet, I still feel like I'm thinking about 'some day' when I imagine her. It's a crazy feeling. I can't wait to hold her in my arms. I've been dreaming about this day since we saw her on our first ultrasound, with her micro-hiccups. We teared up and let out a breath that we'd been holding, in the worries of finding a no longer living baby in my womb. There she was. Alive and hiccuping. Living. Making it.
Starting that day, I had begun to dream about the moment I'd hold her. The moment I'd first breastfeed her. The moment I'd first bathe her. But it never felt like enough. I cried all the time. I felt like each day was just one more day I'd managed to keep her, that I was just buying a little more time with her everyday, every hour. It never felt like I'd get to hold her. It never felt like she would make it. I was always hopeful and positive outloud, and never gave up on her, but you can't help how you feel. And I felt like this baby was going to be taken away from me before I ever got to see her face.
Sometimes, milestones felt great, I felt like, "If we've made this far, who's to say she won't make it all the way?!?!". And other days, I felt like it would only make it that much harder to have her taken away from me. Stripped from my life. Stripped of life.
I remember in particular, the day we found out she could possibly live outside the womb, if born, with extreme and extensive medical care. They told us, that if born, she'd be taken to NICU and probably live a good few hours atleast, if not longer. I was giddy to have hope that she had chances of making it now, even if my body failed her. Until a horrible reality struck me. What if she were born, and didn't make it.
I would've held her tiny body in my arms for just long enough to feel her warmth. She would have to have an IV bigger than her fingers and tubes in every place a tube could go. She would see the light, if only for a minute, but never me or Levi. She would be a blind, naked, prodded, vulnerable, purple and pink, tiny and needle-ridden baby. She would be miserable. Then die.
Yes, I would get the benefit of seeing her alive for a moment, but then what? Then she either dies in her incubator while I watch, or turns cold in my arms, weak and limp. Watch the life fade right away from her. My baby. My poor baby. My poor, helpless, miserable, baby. What good was this for either of us? Her miserable, then dead, and I, sad but grateful for a few hours, then devastated and stripped of joy and any kind of life I had.
Every milestone was bittersweet. I felt like everything was out to get her and eventually, something would. We just couldn't be lucky enough to make it through this. We couldn't. I told myself I'd enjoy everyday untl then, though. Until she was taken away from me, I would.
So to imagine, that I'm 38 weeks pregnant, and that this baby could come at any moment on her own, or that she'll be helped along in a few hours (or a week), is crazy. I almost can't grasp it. I look at my belly everyday and wonder how we made it. How she got so lucky. How I got so lucky.
Wish us luck. I'm hoping for nothing but a perfectly healthy baby out of this, and I don't think that's too much to ask!
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Induction Dates
We have finally got an induction date! Or rather, two induction dates.
But how is that? Two? You only birth once, yes?
True, I am only going to birth this baby once, but when is the question. Little Foot has somewhat low fluids. Not dangerously low, she still has the means to live. If it's any lower at our next appt though, we'll be having ourselves a baby on the 6th, if not, then we're going to have her on the 14-15th!
As I posted before, I really wanted a natural, un-augmented birth. I'm mildly dissapointed that this is no longer going to happen, but honestly, I've been throwing up for days, I've got stomach cramps, no apetite, and can't seem to stop losing weight. With the surgery, pushing is going to hurt my incision quite a bit anyways, and I had already considered the fact that an epidural might be neccasary to avoid crapping out from exhaustion half way through delivery and having to have a c section. I've come to terms and made my peace with this and really just cannot wait for this to be over.
I know it seems a little extreme to put it that way, but recently, I've had nightmarish panic attacks. I can't stop worrying about her all the time. I'm always terrified that she's dead or sick. If I can't get her to move, i hyperventilate. I just can't handle it anymore, emotionally, or physically. I've even sobbed about these things to the point of throwing up and I can't handle it.
I'm more than ready for this to happen, and yes, I am killer nervous about this induction, but I couldn't be more excited to hold her. I'd cut her out myself if I thought it were the only way to save her, and so an induction seems not so bad in comparison (;
Can't wait to meet this baby!
But how is that? Two? You only birth once, yes?
True, I am only going to birth this baby once, but when is the question. Little Foot has somewhat low fluids. Not dangerously low, she still has the means to live. If it's any lower at our next appt though, we'll be having ourselves a baby on the 6th, if not, then we're going to have her on the 14-15th!
As I posted before, I really wanted a natural, un-augmented birth. I'm mildly dissapointed that this is no longer going to happen, but honestly, I've been throwing up for days, I've got stomach cramps, no apetite, and can't seem to stop losing weight. With the surgery, pushing is going to hurt my incision quite a bit anyways, and I had already considered the fact that an epidural might be neccasary to avoid crapping out from exhaustion half way through delivery and having to have a c section. I've come to terms and made my peace with this and really just cannot wait for this to be over.
I know it seems a little extreme to put it that way, but recently, I've had nightmarish panic attacks. I can't stop worrying about her all the time. I'm always terrified that she's dead or sick. If I can't get her to move, i hyperventilate. I just can't handle it anymore, emotionally, or physically. I've even sobbed about these things to the point of throwing up and I can't handle it.
I'm more than ready for this to happen, and yes, I am killer nervous about this induction, but I couldn't be more excited to hold her. I'd cut her out myself if I thought it were the only way to save her, and so an induction seems not so bad in comparison (;
Can't wait to meet this baby!
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Anxious
Anxious is one thing that comes to mind when I try to describe my emotions right now.
We have a Dr.s appointment on Monday, and we're hoping Little Foot and I are measuring back to normal. We're also hoping that they'll run some tests without being prompted, since they informed us that they were worried about low fluids. (Which I did some research on and had a panic attack when I realized almost everyone else got induced when they had low fluids.) The part about all of this that's making most anxious though, is that this is our 37 week mark (this monday is) and we've had a really rough pregnancy, and I haven't been able to work, or really do anything, and we've made it past the expected 'end date'. I say 'end date', because it wasn't a due date, but they really only expected us to make it to 34 weeks, that was our goal anyways. After that I was showered with compliments at every appointment. I've only gotten sicker, and Little Foot has actually started to get SMALLER and we're growing very, very anxious about asking for an induction. Our hospitals policy doesn't allow them until 39 wks without a medical reason, but with all the hoopla in this pregnancy, we're hoping just ONE of the complications we've had/are having, is enough to get us a 38 week induction.
Now. I know what you're thinking. "How selfish and inconsiderate!", "Those last weeks count!", or "First time/young mothers ALWAYS do this crap.". But stop. Please know, that my partner and I, considered these very things when we were offered her removal during my 35 wk appendectomy. I said no. Just no. Why? Because if through all of this chaos, my Little Foot wanted to stay nestled in my womb for just a few more days, safely tucked away from all this mess, no matter how uncomfortable for me, that was fine. And no one was going to stop her. I still feel really strongly that the last weeks matter in a pregnancy and I detest the idea of induction. I really do. A lot of other htings went into consideration when I decided that at this upcoming appointment I would make it as clear as possible that this had to happen soon.
1. The last weeks DO matter, but when the baby isn't getting the right nutrients or growing properly, and is under stress, I think it'd be best for her to be out here where I can help her and feed her and MAKE SURE she gets what she needs.
2. I have made it past the expected 'end date', and have had all in all, a horrible pregnancy. For the both of us. She hasn't had ONE dr.'s appt where we left thinking she was in perfect health, or that things were improving.
3. The sooner she is out, the less chances there are for something to go horribly wrong. By horribly wrong, I mean leaving the hospital with out this baby.
I really fought myself on this one, because so far everything that has been 'good' for her, meant discomfort or pain for me. So the fact that getting her out of me, thus relieving me, was going to also benefit her, was too much. I kept trying to figure out if it REALLY was the best option for her, or if I was doing it for myself. In the end, I decided I just caught a break on this one, because it's whats best for us both.
I also fought the idea in general. I still wanted that natural birth, and with an induction, it's already over. It's already augmented. I could still shoot for a pain killer-free birth, but with induction my chances of that would go down dramatically. Not because I'm pessimistic, but because I know myself, and what I'm willing to do. I'm not willing to be miserable. Uncomfortable, or even in pain, is something I can handle, but the minute it becomes miserable, I'm out. I won't let myself be miserable during the birth of my child just for my pride. I'd rather be loopier than a goddamn box of fruit loops on pain killers, than to look back and shudder on my birth experience. At the same time, I'd be pretty proud of myself if I could make it without anything.
All in all, an induction, and soon, is what's best. And even though I'm particularly shy about asking for specific things when it comes to health care, this is one thing I think I want badly enough to eclipse that shyness.
My game plan is just to start with q's, like, "what's the hospital's policy on induction?", then work my way to, "Do you think we could have an induction date? Even if it's a little ways away, I'd like to know."
Wish me luck! We're hoping for an induction for the week of the 10th!!
We have a Dr.s appointment on Monday, and we're hoping Little Foot and I are measuring back to normal. We're also hoping that they'll run some tests without being prompted, since they informed us that they were worried about low fluids. (Which I did some research on and had a panic attack when I realized almost everyone else got induced when they had low fluids.) The part about all of this that's making most anxious though, is that this is our 37 week mark (this monday is) and we've had a really rough pregnancy, and I haven't been able to work, or really do anything, and we've made it past the expected 'end date'. I say 'end date', because it wasn't a due date, but they really only expected us to make it to 34 weeks, that was our goal anyways. After that I was showered with compliments at every appointment. I've only gotten sicker, and Little Foot has actually started to get SMALLER and we're growing very, very anxious about asking for an induction. Our hospitals policy doesn't allow them until 39 wks without a medical reason, but with all the hoopla in this pregnancy, we're hoping just ONE of the complications we've had/are having, is enough to get us a 38 week induction.
Now. I know what you're thinking. "How selfish and inconsiderate!", "Those last weeks count!", or "First time/young mothers ALWAYS do this crap.". But stop. Please know, that my partner and I, considered these very things when we were offered her removal during my 35 wk appendectomy. I said no. Just no. Why? Because if through all of this chaos, my Little Foot wanted to stay nestled in my womb for just a few more days, safely tucked away from all this mess, no matter how uncomfortable for me, that was fine. And no one was going to stop her. I still feel really strongly that the last weeks matter in a pregnancy and I detest the idea of induction. I really do. A lot of other htings went into consideration when I decided that at this upcoming appointment I would make it as clear as possible that this had to happen soon.
1. The last weeks DO matter, but when the baby isn't getting the right nutrients or growing properly, and is under stress, I think it'd be best for her to be out here where I can help her and feed her and MAKE SURE she gets what she needs.
2. I have made it past the expected 'end date', and have had all in all, a horrible pregnancy. For the both of us. She hasn't had ONE dr.'s appt where we left thinking she was in perfect health, or that things were improving.
3. The sooner she is out, the less chances there are for something to go horribly wrong. By horribly wrong, I mean leaving the hospital with out this baby.
I really fought myself on this one, because so far everything that has been 'good' for her, meant discomfort or pain for me. So the fact that getting her out of me, thus relieving me, was going to also benefit her, was too much. I kept trying to figure out if it REALLY was the best option for her, or if I was doing it for myself. In the end, I decided I just caught a break on this one, because it's whats best for us both.
I also fought the idea in general. I still wanted that natural birth, and with an induction, it's already over. It's already augmented. I could still shoot for a pain killer-free birth, but with induction my chances of that would go down dramatically. Not because I'm pessimistic, but because I know myself, and what I'm willing to do. I'm not willing to be miserable. Uncomfortable, or even in pain, is something I can handle, but the minute it becomes miserable, I'm out. I won't let myself be miserable during the birth of my child just for my pride. I'd rather be loopier than a goddamn box of fruit loops on pain killers, than to look back and shudder on my birth experience. At the same time, I'd be pretty proud of myself if I could make it without anything.
All in all, an induction, and soon, is what's best. And even though I'm particularly shy about asking for specific things when it comes to health care, this is one thing I think I want badly enough to eclipse that shyness.
My game plan is just to start with q's, like, "what's the hospital's policy on induction?", then work my way to, "Do you think we could have an induction date? Even if it's a little ways away, I'd like to know."
Wish me luck! We're hoping for an induction for the week of the 10th!!
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
The Peach Of My Life
We got free lunch so we never packed lunch, but I had always wanted to pack my lunch, with a PB&J, a fresh peach, applesauce, and a little napkin. Don't ask why, but I remember a few times when I did pack my lunch, and I used an apple, I tried to pretend it was a peach. Maybe it's the same way I used to want a certain kind of pencil, because your pencil says some things about you. A yellow pencil, meant you got whatever was cheap and worked. A black one (if anyone even remembers the black ones we used for map testing) meant you wanted high quality pencils, and payed slightly more for them. And though, only a few dollars more, a mechanical pencil was the Rolex of pencils. And the peach was my Rolex of lunch fruits.
Well, I remember one day we got a big pay check after my dad started working on the road and my stepmom went out and bought all of the small things she knew we'd wanted, but hadn't been able to afford in the past. Like fruit roll-ups, push pops, ice cream, and PEACHES. She brought a bag of peaches home, four of them. I looked at them the whole night, wondering if they were just for eating, or a pie, or something else. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but definitly wanted to know if one of those precious little golden globes would be gracing my lunch box with it's presence. I tested the waters several times. I began immediatly that night, by taking them out of the bag. If I was allowed to take them out of the bag, this meant they were probably going to be used seperatly. So now, I just needed to find out if each of the four little peaches already had pre-destined fates, aside from my lunch box, that is. I waited until my step mom was in the room and began touching the peach I liked best. I swear it was a picture perfect peach. It had the crease right were they're supposed to, the perfect hues of peachiness, and of course, just a tiny bit of stem poking out of the top. I made sure she was looking and began casually talking about my day at school and rolling the peach around. She told me to quite playing with the food, that I was going to bruise it. So I set it over by my things, on the counter of course. She didn't say anything, and this is what sealed the deal for me.
This peach was going to be in my lunch tommorow. I pre-packed my lunch, despite my step mom's warnings about my PB&J getting 'weird' if I make it and leave it overnight. The next morning I woke up extra early, you know, to make sure I get my peach, and no one else does. I went into the kitchen and placed it right above the sandwich, beside the apple sauce, with the stem facing right up at me. Then I delicately placed a folded napkin on top and close the lid, and went to wait on my bus. Why wait on my bus so early, you say? Well, I don't want anyone asking about the peach, that's why.
I finally get on the bus and settle down. Then, it occurs to me, peaches BRUISE. So now everytime we take a turn, I check on my peach, and at every light, stop sign, bus stop, and of course when we park. Lunch time finally rolls around, but I have to find somewhere good to sit, because I have my peach, and this is such a good day. So after I've found my spot, I have to decide what i'm going to eat first. After an insane amount of anxiety over what's best for the peach, I decide to save it for last.
So all I have left in my box is the peach. I'm trying to decide where to bite into it, but I just can't. It's too perfect, too pretty. I'll save it for later.
This same deal goes down for about a week, until my peach is turning...into something else not quite peachy anymore. Now I can't eat it.
So where am I taking this? Why the ridiculously long stroll down memory lane?
Because I'm expecting a daughter any day now, and I feel like I did about this peach. I want her here so badly it hurts, and I imagine how everything will be with her here and cannot wait until she is, but once I get her, she'll start growing up. I just hope she doesn't rot before I enjoy her like my peach did. Or rather I hope she doesn't rot at all, and that I enjoy her before she's all grown up and I've missed out!
Monday, July 23, 2012
More Bad News
Today was supposed to be the begining of the appointments that would lead up to the finale. I'd get checked for dilation, measured, weighed, and they'd tell me what they thought about the impending arrival of our baby. I wasn't feeling good, but was pretty excited to not only share some of the discomforts and have them either fixed, or be told that it is normal, but to find out if I was in fact a 1cm dilated and where we were in terms of getting this baby out of me! Unfortunatly I left holding back tears and feeling like a POS mom, a failure, and like I just wanted my baby out and safe.
I went in to check in, and right off the bat I was told I'd be seeing a high risk specialist instead of my doctor. I didn't know that this was the plan and was pretty dissapointed, because while there's nothing wrong with a HRS, they aren't interested in helping me find natural remedies for my gas, they want to know about the serious, big issues. I had a whole list of Q's for my regular doctor that were now going to have to wait until later. I saw this as a bump in the road, but nothing horrible, I figured we'd see my regular doctor next week and then we'd discuss it.
We waited until the nurse came back, and as routine dictated, I was handed the lovely little cup and shown to a bathroom. I struggled peeing because I'd been really nauseous and pukey lately, on top of having the appetite of a gnat, which meant I didn't have much on my belly. My pee was practically orange and very little came. I immediately explained myself when I came in the exam room, because I knew the nurse would lecture me about drinking enough water. The nurse seemed very sympathetic and worried, because I didn't realize it yet, but about the third time she weighed me, I realized I'd lost about 15 lbs. In one week. My heart started racing like I'd just realized I'd done something terrible. I had been nauseous and pukey, and I hadn't had an appetite, but I'd had this very similar feeling in the 2nd trimester, and still gained weight, and the baby didn't pay at all for it. I was only given Zofran as a comfort measure, not a health one. However, right now, the nurse looked at me like a puppy with a broke leg and rubbed my arm sympathetically and said she'd go see if the doctor could come in now, and showed me where I could throw up, if needed.
A few moments later, the doctor entered and I was prying to see what her face would tell me. She weighed me again, took my blood pressure, and measured my fundal height (the length between your pubic bone, and top of your womb.). She did these things a few times, acutally. Each time looking at the computer screen in disbelief. I started trying to ask what was wrong and why I lost so much weight, and was cut off by her saying she had to go call my regular doctor. She solemnly stepped out for what felt like a century. Me and Lev met eyes and I held back tears of regret. Just two days ago, I had realized I fit into a pair of pants I previously couldn't, and thought nothing of it. I had been only eating maybe a plate of food, if that, at the three mealtimes a day. So many things that I didn't think mattered, now felt so monumental. How could I have not known. How could I have done this to Little Foot?
The doctor returned and explained that I had also tested positive for strep b. Strep B is a fairly common bacterial infection of the vagina. It's usually no big deal, but with the high risk pregnancy and low fluid levels, this means serious business. I cannot labor the first part at home, as most would probably prefer, and when I do show up, I'll be started on antibiotics, which I can hopefully get all the way through (it's done through IV) before I am 9cm, or Little Foots first moments will be spent trying to get her to breathe, and then in a box in NICU. This crushed me. No matter how many elements I got denied out of my birth plan, I comforted myself with the fact that no matter what, I'd get to hold my darling baby afterwards. I just didn't realize it could be DAYS afterwards. I held my breath and tried to eep out responses to what she had to say.
Little Foot is also not growing, or she is loosing amnio fluids, either way it's bad. BAD bad. I imagined a tiny hand grasping at the umbilical cord in discomfort, and a pint sized face scrunching up to cry, only to be comforted by no one. Was she starving? Was she crying? What had I done....or not done? How could she deserve this? It wasn't fair. At all. I felt like after the surgery I had made it past the BIG obstacle and all I had to get through was a little labor/delivery pain, little did I know just a week later I'd be left in tears wondering if my baby was as upset as I was.
Towards the end of the appt, I wondered when I would be checked. No one had even handed me a gown yet, much less mentioned it. i brought it up, and the doctor replied with something along the lines of, they can't check with my "infections". If you noticed as soon as I did, you're probably curious. Plural? InfectionS? Yes. Infections. Because she could have low amnio levels, they fear I could have a tear or infection other than the strep b. So when/who do I get checked by? I get checked when I am in active labor, and only by my doctor.
Needless to say, this appointment turned out to be nothing like I expected. I was prescribed zofran for the vomiting after a lengthy guilt trip about 'deciding' to not feed my baby becuase I'm uncomfortable. I went home after picking up my prescription, feeling broken, embarrassed, and scared. I began to move some stuff around to clean up so I can focus on other things, when I ran across a set of burp cloths and clothes my mom and grandma had bought me for her. They were still tagged and not yet washed, so I immediatly started walking towards the washer, but when I got there, I had a terrible thought that was almost as bad as saying it out loud.
"Maybe I should leave them in the bag, in case we don't get to bring her home."
The minute I'd finished the train of thought, I realized Levi was looking at me and he said, "Heyyyy. Don't. Everything's okay. She's just fine, we just gotta eat a little more.". It took me a moment to realize I was crying. My face felt red-hot and sticky and I wanted to strangle myself for even thinking about it, and so blandly. As if it would really matter to me whether her clothes were bagged or not if it came to that. My hands got really shaky and I held the burp rags in my hands, they were white with little hearts all over them. I imagined wiping her mouth with it after I burped her, or her hands after she'd sucked on them. I turned away and held them to my face and they smelled like cotton. I looked around the room and at her bassinet and some clothes I had out. I picked up a sleeper and imagined zipping it up after her night time bath, and cuddling her up. It was white with some outlines of pink sheep all over it. It was so tiny.
I thought of all of her clothes and toys and furniture, and what I'd do if we didn't come home with her. Ever. And the pit of my stomach turned into a knotted, gnarled, mass. All the zofran in the world couldn't keep me from feeling my food come back up. I let out the first of a long line of sobs and my heart raced like I was dying. It wasn't fair. These were her things. No one else deserved them. SHE would look adorable in this sleeper. SHE would lay in that bassinet. I became irate. A box of things of hers I'd packed to move to another room was sitting out and I threw it. It busted open and tiny newborn onsies were everywhere. I wanted to hold her now. I wanted to dress her in these things, lay her down in that bassinet, and make her smile. I tore the tags off of all of the things in the bag and sobbed while I folded and re folded them, trying to forget that I'd ever thought that thought, but I couldn't so I layed down with them and curled up in the pile of her things and cried into them. I held my belly and longed for her to kick me in the ribs, for her to push on my cervix until I cried like so many other nights. I wanted her to roll around and make me uncomfortable, I wanted to know she was still moving at all. I felt a box with my foot when I extended my legs, and when I looked down it was the box I'd thrown earlier. I sat up and began to put her clothes back in it, folding them delicately. I moved them to the our room and laid down in bed.
I couldn't seem to pull it together for about an hour. I wish I had a happy ending or saying for this blog post, but I just don't right now. And until I hear she's doing better, there won't be one. She's my sunshine, my responsibility, my girl, my daughter, my baby, my life, my everything. If she isn't okay, nothing is okay. Yes, it could be worse, but that won't matter in a million years to any parent, when his/her baby isn't doing fantastic, nothing is okay. When his/her baby isn't happy, nothing is alright. When his/her baby isn't healthy, (s)he's not okay. And that's that.
I went in to check in, and right off the bat I was told I'd be seeing a high risk specialist instead of my doctor. I didn't know that this was the plan and was pretty dissapointed, because while there's nothing wrong with a HRS, they aren't interested in helping me find natural remedies for my gas, they want to know about the serious, big issues. I had a whole list of Q's for my regular doctor that were now going to have to wait until later. I saw this as a bump in the road, but nothing horrible, I figured we'd see my regular doctor next week and then we'd discuss it.
We waited until the nurse came back, and as routine dictated, I was handed the lovely little cup and shown to a bathroom. I struggled peeing because I'd been really nauseous and pukey lately, on top of having the appetite of a gnat, which meant I didn't have much on my belly. My pee was practically orange and very little came. I immediately explained myself when I came in the exam room, because I knew the nurse would lecture me about drinking enough water. The nurse seemed very sympathetic and worried, because I didn't realize it yet, but about the third time she weighed me, I realized I'd lost about 15 lbs. In one week. My heart started racing like I'd just realized I'd done something terrible. I had been nauseous and pukey, and I hadn't had an appetite, but I'd had this very similar feeling in the 2nd trimester, and still gained weight, and the baby didn't pay at all for it. I was only given Zofran as a comfort measure, not a health one. However, right now, the nurse looked at me like a puppy with a broke leg and rubbed my arm sympathetically and said she'd go see if the doctor could come in now, and showed me where I could throw up, if needed.
A few moments later, the doctor entered and I was prying to see what her face would tell me. She weighed me again, took my blood pressure, and measured my fundal height (the length between your pubic bone, and top of your womb.). She did these things a few times, acutally. Each time looking at the computer screen in disbelief. I started trying to ask what was wrong and why I lost so much weight, and was cut off by her saying she had to go call my regular doctor. She solemnly stepped out for what felt like a century. Me and Lev met eyes and I held back tears of regret. Just two days ago, I had realized I fit into a pair of pants I previously couldn't, and thought nothing of it. I had been only eating maybe a plate of food, if that, at the three mealtimes a day. So many things that I didn't think mattered, now felt so monumental. How could I have not known. How could I have done this to Little Foot?
The doctor returned and explained that I had also tested positive for strep b. Strep B is a fairly common bacterial infection of the vagina. It's usually no big deal, but with the high risk pregnancy and low fluid levels, this means serious business. I cannot labor the first part at home, as most would probably prefer, and when I do show up, I'll be started on antibiotics, which I can hopefully get all the way through (it's done through IV) before I am 9cm, or Little Foots first moments will be spent trying to get her to breathe, and then in a box in NICU. This crushed me. No matter how many elements I got denied out of my birth plan, I comforted myself with the fact that no matter what, I'd get to hold my darling baby afterwards. I just didn't realize it could be DAYS afterwards. I held my breath and tried to eep out responses to what she had to say.
Little Foot is also not growing, or she is loosing amnio fluids, either way it's bad. BAD bad. I imagined a tiny hand grasping at the umbilical cord in discomfort, and a pint sized face scrunching up to cry, only to be comforted by no one. Was she starving? Was she crying? What had I done....or not done? How could she deserve this? It wasn't fair. At all. I felt like after the surgery I had made it past the BIG obstacle and all I had to get through was a little labor/delivery pain, little did I know just a week later I'd be left in tears wondering if my baby was as upset as I was.
Towards the end of the appt, I wondered when I would be checked. No one had even handed me a gown yet, much less mentioned it. i brought it up, and the doctor replied with something along the lines of, they can't check with my "infections". If you noticed as soon as I did, you're probably curious. Plural? InfectionS? Yes. Infections. Because she could have low amnio levels, they fear I could have a tear or infection other than the strep b. So when/who do I get checked by? I get checked when I am in active labor, and only by my doctor.
Needless to say, this appointment turned out to be nothing like I expected. I was prescribed zofran for the vomiting after a lengthy guilt trip about 'deciding' to not feed my baby becuase I'm uncomfortable. I went home after picking up my prescription, feeling broken, embarrassed, and scared. I began to move some stuff around to clean up so I can focus on other things, when I ran across a set of burp cloths and clothes my mom and grandma had bought me for her. They were still tagged and not yet washed, so I immediatly started walking towards the washer, but when I got there, I had a terrible thought that was almost as bad as saying it out loud.
"Maybe I should leave them in the bag, in case we don't get to bring her home."
The minute I'd finished the train of thought, I realized Levi was looking at me and he said, "Heyyyy. Don't. Everything's okay. She's just fine, we just gotta eat a little more.". It took me a moment to realize I was crying. My face felt red-hot and sticky and I wanted to strangle myself for even thinking about it, and so blandly. As if it would really matter to me whether her clothes were bagged or not if it came to that. My hands got really shaky and I held the burp rags in my hands, they were white with little hearts all over them. I imagined wiping her mouth with it after I burped her, or her hands after she'd sucked on them. I turned away and held them to my face and they smelled like cotton. I looked around the room and at her bassinet and some clothes I had out. I picked up a sleeper and imagined zipping it up after her night time bath, and cuddling her up. It was white with some outlines of pink sheep all over it. It was so tiny.
I thought of all of her clothes and toys and furniture, and what I'd do if we didn't come home with her. Ever. And the pit of my stomach turned into a knotted, gnarled, mass. All the zofran in the world couldn't keep me from feeling my food come back up. I let out the first of a long line of sobs and my heart raced like I was dying. It wasn't fair. These were her things. No one else deserved them. SHE would look adorable in this sleeper. SHE would lay in that bassinet. I became irate. A box of things of hers I'd packed to move to another room was sitting out and I threw it. It busted open and tiny newborn onsies were everywhere. I wanted to hold her now. I wanted to dress her in these things, lay her down in that bassinet, and make her smile. I tore the tags off of all of the things in the bag and sobbed while I folded and re folded them, trying to forget that I'd ever thought that thought, but I couldn't so I layed down with them and curled up in the pile of her things and cried into them. I held my belly and longed for her to kick me in the ribs, for her to push on my cervix until I cried like so many other nights. I wanted her to roll around and make me uncomfortable, I wanted to know she was still moving at all. I felt a box with my foot when I extended my legs, and when I looked down it was the box I'd thrown earlier. I sat up and began to put her clothes back in it, folding them delicately. I moved them to the our room and laid down in bed.
I couldn't seem to pull it together for about an hour. I wish I had a happy ending or saying for this blog post, but I just don't right now. And until I hear she's doing better, there won't be one. She's my sunshine, my responsibility, my girl, my daughter, my baby, my life, my everything. If she isn't okay, nothing is okay. Yes, it could be worse, but that won't matter in a million years to any parent, when his/her baby isn't doing fantastic, nothing is okay. When his/her baby isn't happy, nothing is alright. When his/her baby isn't healthy, (s)he's not okay. And that's that.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Recovery Update: Week 1
[For those of you just starting to read- you can read the super-extended, emotional version of my surgery with details here. In a nutshell, I'm 34 weeks pregnant and had to have an emergency open appendectomy, open meaning a five inch incision instead of the standard laproscopic two two-inch incisions.]
The recovery for this surgery has been a lot easier than expected. I had never under gone a surgery and didn't know what to expect and how long things would take. I assumed it would take around two weeks atleast to feel okay again, and that I'd be absalutly miserable in the days following the procedure. However, it was a slice of cake.
I'll start with medications and equipment that was on/in me in the hours following my surgery, and days after. My hospital stay was just two days, which was just fine, even though my family thought it was a little early, I was more than ready. Right after the surgery, I had the standard fetal heart rate monitor and contraction monitor straps on my belly, a finger clamp for my pulse, and leg massagers, for equipment. For medications, I had an epidural for the surgery itself that wore off prematurely, morphine, an IV drip (of course), percoset (a mixture of acetaminophen and oxycodone), and antibiotics to ward off infection of the incision. If you are wondering what the hell a leg massager is, so was I when they strapped 'em to my legs. Essentially, when you undergo any surgery it puts you at risk for blood clots, if you don't use your limbs actively they assign some device to stimulate blood flow for you. In this case, it was my legs, because they didn't expect me to be walking quite as soon as I did. It's basically a blood pressure cuff-style, two foot long, velcro-ed stretch of fabric that inflates at set time intervals. It's just as weird as it sounds, especially when you're trying to sleep. After I was released from the hospital, I was left with a prescription of percoset and some reccomendations for other medications non-prescription. Such as, Milk of Magnesia to help me with a bowel movement and pepcid to keep the acid in my belly down.
Physically after the surgery, I felt relief. I felt so much better. I sat up instantly, walked to the bathroom 30 minutes post-surgery and my incision DID hurt, but in comparison to the pain I'd been walking around with for two days prior, it was a breeze. Most of the pain was soreness when the baby kicked the inner stitches. On the inside, I was stitched up with dissolvable stitched for my muscles, and on the outside I was glued shut. They couldn't risk stitching the outside since I was so pregnant, if they for some reason couldn't handle me stretching, they would rip open and cause so many problems, and if I were to gain very much weight before I had the baby, it could stretch it open in between stitches. All in all, I was dissapointed to not have a more gruesome battle wound, but they say it scars less, so that's something nice about it.
My incision has actually healed very quickly and about four days after the procedure i went in for an appt I made because I was concerned about the contractions I was having, they were making my belly intensely sore and the baby had gotten very fussy during contractions in comparison to when she just sat still during them, and the doctor took some of my tape off of the incision, and it had healed shut already! I am allowed to remove the tapes whenever I like now, but my allergy to the tape has made it a little painful to do so, and I really just would rather wait for them to fall off. I get to start taking baths again and enjoy a pool once more at two weeks recovery.
I'm hoping that Little Foot will wait at least that long to make an appearance. It would be perfect timing. At two weeks into my recovery, not only do they expect the muscle to be mostly healed up, (which will make pushing during delivery a little less straining), but we'll have made it to 37 weeks. For those of you without children and not familiar with pregnancy terms and important dates- 37 weeks is full term!! Any baby born after 37 weeks, is no longer premature. We have had a hard pregnancy, and weren't confident in the beginning that we'd make it full term. We'd had a lot of pre-term labor scares and even a car accident. We didn't think we'd make it to 34 weeks and our OB shared the same concern. We had no idea we'd make it this far, and through a surgery!!! It feels like a huge acheivment on my part and I've never felt so proud.
This recovery has been pretty easy and I really have had the best support team. My partner has been there every step of the way, even when it meant crying through a night of contractions, or a midnight shower. He's gotten up at ridiculous times to make me something to eat or to get my meds, and I can't count how often he got up to help me out of bed or the tub when I was feeling really tired or sore. Anyone facing a surgery, or a hard pregnancy, or both, just know you can do it! Just stay positive and never stop thinking of the reward at the end, whether it's just improved health, or a precious new addition to your family, you really can!
The recovery for this surgery has been a lot easier than expected. I had never under gone a surgery and didn't know what to expect and how long things would take. I assumed it would take around two weeks atleast to feel okay again, and that I'd be absalutly miserable in the days following the procedure. However, it was a slice of cake.
I'll start with medications and equipment that was on/in me in the hours following my surgery, and days after. My hospital stay was just two days, which was just fine, even though my family thought it was a little early, I was more than ready. Right after the surgery, I had the standard fetal heart rate monitor and contraction monitor straps on my belly, a finger clamp for my pulse, and leg massagers, for equipment. For medications, I had an epidural for the surgery itself that wore off prematurely, morphine, an IV drip (of course), percoset (a mixture of acetaminophen and oxycodone), and antibiotics to ward off infection of the incision. If you are wondering what the hell a leg massager is, so was I when they strapped 'em to my legs. Essentially, when you undergo any surgery it puts you at risk for blood clots, if you don't use your limbs actively they assign some device to stimulate blood flow for you. In this case, it was my legs, because they didn't expect me to be walking quite as soon as I did. It's basically a blood pressure cuff-style, two foot long, velcro-ed stretch of fabric that inflates at set time intervals. It's just as weird as it sounds, especially when you're trying to sleep. After I was released from the hospital, I was left with a prescription of percoset and some reccomendations for other medications non-prescription. Such as, Milk of Magnesia to help me with a bowel movement and pepcid to keep the acid in my belly down.
Physically after the surgery, I felt relief. I felt so much better. I sat up instantly, walked to the bathroom 30 minutes post-surgery and my incision DID hurt, but in comparison to the pain I'd been walking around with for two days prior, it was a breeze. Most of the pain was soreness when the baby kicked the inner stitches. On the inside, I was stitched up with dissolvable stitched for my muscles, and on the outside I was glued shut. They couldn't risk stitching the outside since I was so pregnant, if they for some reason couldn't handle me stretching, they would rip open and cause so many problems, and if I were to gain very much weight before I had the baby, it could stretch it open in between stitches. All in all, I was dissapointed to not have a more gruesome battle wound, but they say it scars less, so that's something nice about it.
My incision has actually healed very quickly and about four days after the procedure i went in for an appt I made because I was concerned about the contractions I was having, they were making my belly intensely sore and the baby had gotten very fussy during contractions in comparison to when she just sat still during them, and the doctor took some of my tape off of the incision, and it had healed shut already! I am allowed to remove the tapes whenever I like now, but my allergy to the tape has made it a little painful to do so, and I really just would rather wait for them to fall off. I get to start taking baths again and enjoy a pool once more at two weeks recovery.
I'm hoping that Little Foot will wait at least that long to make an appearance. It would be perfect timing. At two weeks into my recovery, not only do they expect the muscle to be mostly healed up, (which will make pushing during delivery a little less straining), but we'll have made it to 37 weeks. For those of you without children and not familiar with pregnancy terms and important dates- 37 weeks is full term!! Any baby born after 37 weeks, is no longer premature. We have had a hard pregnancy, and weren't confident in the beginning that we'd make it full term. We'd had a lot of pre-term labor scares and even a car accident. We didn't think we'd make it to 34 weeks and our OB shared the same concern. We had no idea we'd make it this far, and through a surgery!!! It feels like a huge acheivment on my part and I've never felt so proud.
This recovery has been pretty easy and I really have had the best support team. My partner has been there every step of the way, even when it meant crying through a night of contractions, or a midnight shower. He's gotten up at ridiculous times to make me something to eat or to get my meds, and I can't count how often he got up to help me out of bed or the tub when I was feeling really tired or sore. Anyone facing a surgery, or a hard pregnancy, or both, just know you can do it! Just stay positive and never stop thinking of the reward at the end, whether it's just improved health, or a precious new addition to your family, you really can!
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
My Pregnant Surgery
When I was about 34 weeks along with Miss Little Foot, our daughter, I started having horrible pains. HORRIBLE. I had already had a complicated and uncomfortable pregnancy and was pretty used to having to calm myself and drink a water, or other soothing techniques to keep myself managed. Suddenly, though, I just started having sharp, intense, soreness on my right side. I felt like I couldn't walk, stand, or even sit down on my own. Moving hurt, I couldn't roll over without assistance. I knew something wasn't quite right. Little Foots heart rate was a fantastic 123-130 and she was moving okay, so when I called the nurses hotline and they told me I was being 'dramatic', I took a while and tried to think, "maybe I am, maybe I just need to man-up." So I spent the next few hours taking bath after bath, getting back rub after back rub, none making the pain more bearable, I finally went to Labor and Delivery Triage to see what could be done and what was wrong. I was monitored for a few hours because as it turns out, Little Foots heart rate was NOT okay, it had sky rocketed to a devastating 213!
The nurse immediately forgot my pain and started focusing on the baby. (rightly so!) She called in my OB and she arrived before I could even unhook my stuff to use the restroom so that my bladder would be empty when she came in to inevitably check me. She burst in and told me that she was sorry she was "late" and felt my belly and looked at my charts. She left to call the high risk specialist and returned with sad- but somewhat comforting news. Our tiny baby was having an anxiety attack. I bawled. How could she be so upset and uncomfortable inside me (supposedly the safest place in the world for her!) that she was having an anxiety attack?! (the good news is that an anxiety attack, while VERY sad and upsetting, is NOT going to affect her long term, as long as she could calm back down in under a day.) I wanted to hold her. I wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and hold her to my chest and stroke her cheek and tell her I love her. To say sweet calm things to her so she doesn't need to cry. To fix her problems like moms should and make her happy.I imagined her face crying and my heart broke into a million pieces. I felt like dying. The pain I was feeling physically would never measure up to the emotional hurt I was feeling as Lev laid his hands softly on my belly where she had a foot sticking out and I could see the hurt in his face, too. The doctor left and Lev gently pulled down the blanket and scooted the monitor over that laid on top her to record her heart beat, and told her he loved her and asked her rhetorical questions like, "why are you so upset in there?". I stifled sobs that hurt my ribs and buried my face in his chest.
A few hours later, I was still miserably in pain and sweating off what felt like an Olympic pool. But Little Foots heart rate slowed to a manageable 160. And stayed that way for about an hour. We took a sigh of relief and I felt like walking on egg shells. I swore inside my head I wouldn't walk too fast, eat spicy foods, or get upset until she was born, so she'd never have another anxiety attack, ever. (Until she's about 13, anyways!) The nursing staff forgot completely about my pain and when I tried to bring it up, they categorized it as round ligament pain. Which I knew was bullshit, but I hate complaining, and since Little Foot was doing alright, I accepted the forms that sent me home and Lev dressed me and took me to home, and then bed.
The night eased up and I felt good about my decision to come home. The next morning, however, was living hell. We checked Little Foots heart beat religiously every hour and listened for any hitches, pauses, or skips. ANYTHING. We only heard a perfect heart beat, and so I continued to try to bathe my pain away. I tried breathing through the pains, and Lev sat next to the bath tub with a cup of water and wiped the hair out of my face and said everything he could to coax me out of the tub and into some clothes to take me to labor and delivery. He insisted that this just wasn't me, it wasn't healthy, and something was terribly wrong. He got the labor and delivery bag and my clothes and waited anxiously around the house while I tried to convince him with the phrases the nurses had used, "Some people just have rough pregnancies.", "You just have to breath through it.", etc.
Finally around 2pm, I had had enough and called my drs office for advice on what I should say in Labor and Delivery to help them understand the pain I was in. I got transferred to an exasperated and annoyed "Cindy". I started to explain my pain starting with the fact that the pain I had trying to use the restroom in any fashion, was so horrible, I often avoided going until it was just as painful holding it in, and then fluidly sobbed trying to release anything. She stopped me, assuring me that I had an UTI. I told her I was tested just the day before, (and every week before that) for one, and had been VERY negative. Also that the pain was NOT a burning sensation during urination, but an extreme pressure that made it painful to sit on the toilette and release the muscle. She sighed loudly, and repeated that I DO have a UTI and that it's not "that bad". I let out a whimper because I was feeling so defeated and upset I didn't know where to take it from there. I decided to move on to my other pains. I told her that I had an intense pain on my side that made my eyes water when I tried to roll over or walk, and she again, sighed loudly, and said, "it's round ligament pain. It happens to a lot of pregnant people and everyone else gets over it. Other people work 40 hour weeks with it. So you're just going to have to grin and bear it. If you'd like, you can can come in again if you have to for another UTI testing. Anything else?".
I was so pissed and upset, that in order to keep my dignity and not sob uncontrollably over the phone, I had to respond to everything with, "mhm. Okay. I see." In a very monotone (and hopefully obviously pissed) tone. It's not my style to get angry when things don't go my way, but after I hit end on that phone call, my phone SAILED to the next room and I bawled and screamed about how unfair and bitchy she was. I was so angry I got nauseous. I bawled and cried and ran another bath. Lev followed me in with a cup and a bendy straw, and kept rubbing my back and telling me it was time to leave, that this isn't normal and whether it's normal for everyone else or not, I needed help. I caved in about 3, but not to go to Labor and Delivery, because I refused to go in, get fisted, get an IV and be sent home because apparently, even though after 24 wks, you are supposed to take ALL of your medical emergencies to Labor and Delivery, they send you home the minute they can confirm you aren't in labor.
I got smart. I decided, I'd go to the adult urgent care, like everyone else, and when they tried to tell me "labor and Delivery is down the hall, though....", I'd say that I would like to be seen by these doctors and actually get help. The receptionist stared at my globous belly and reluctantly put my wrist band on. She went and got a dr and they glanced at the paperwork I'd filled out and at me several times. It was clear they weren't sure what to do.
The doctor called me back, and took my temperature. She helped me sit down and asked why I wouldn't go to L&D and what was wrong. I started with my pains and discomforts first, she agreed that these sounded like an internal infection, rupture, or other serious issue. I then told her I would really rather stay in this part of the hospital and be seen by these doctors. She asked why and I simply told her that L&D had already sent me home once with the pains and I couldn't take it another night, that it WAS something serious and I couldn't get anyone to listen to me or help me. She said it was policy that she was to inform L&D that a pregnant female was in the hospital and ill, and that they had the right to come collect me from her. She said that if they did not help me though, if they did not keep me, she would. If L&D discharged me in this state, that they had given up their right to collect me and were no longer offering me treatment.
L&D arrived shortly thereafter with a wheel chair and another know-it-all nurse. She asked me pointless questions that are meant to make you think they care about you personally, like what's the baby's gender, what do we plan to name her, etc. I answered shortly and crankily because honestly, I felt like I was being carted off to hell. The nurse that checked me into the back asked me what my discomforts were, and replied to EVERY GODDAMN ONE with, "well that's just pregnancy, deary!". Which made me want to rip her face off and scream at her. They put me in a room and suddenly I felt like the contractions were going to snap me in half. My side felt like it was going to rip open and I was just going to die. I started running a pretty high fever, yet Little Foots heart beat remained a healthy rate. I like to think it's because she knew I was getting us help. I started bawling and sweating like no tommorow. I felt like things were going down hill, and fast. We got a new nurse, and this is how I knew it was getting late. She was very kind and very attentative. Even when she thought it might be a common side effect, she would prod more to see, instead of stating her opinion. Eventually, I started to loose my vision and began to feel very weak.
I really did think it was the end. I started asking Lev to call a nurse so they could save Little Foot and I wanted them to take her out of me. I knew if I died, so would Little Foot, if she were still inside me. I told him to tell her i love her and that I didn't want to leave her. I started apologizing for everything I'd ever done from showing up late on our anniversary, to not liking his favorite band's album. His eyes glazed over and he kept saying, "You have nothing to be sorry for, this is all going to be over soon." He held my head to his chest and I felt a single sob. I knew I had to look bad, because Lev is the optimist of optimists. If he was doubting it, I was either not going to make it, or I was going to make it, barely. He kept whispering I love you, and I lost the feeling in my hands. I watched as my hand fell away from his and I was so tired I couldn't even cry. He picked my hand up and held it, and tried to curl my fingers around his in a frivolous effort. He looked at me, and I told him I couldn't feel them anymore, and a tiny part of me died inside. I wanted to hold his hand. What if I never held his hands again?
The nurse came back from her frantic search for a surgeon that would accept my special case and had found the Surgeon General, our last hope. He informed us that he would move us to a better room and they'd give us some time alone. He tried to roll me over but I screamed and cried, and he decided I would be booked for surgery in about an hour. I was moved to a different room, and the nurse explained that they would be removing my appendix. That they suspected it had ruptured. Initially, they told us they had no choice but to remove the baby. I begged for them to let me be awake to see her when she was born. They said no, that with the pain I was in, it just would be better to put me under general anesthesia.
About 30 minutes later the nurse returned with a smile on her face, she told me that they would leave the baby in and see if she can make it through the surgery. This pleased me, to know that she still had a chance of being born vaginally, and that Lev might still get to see her birth and hold her soon afterwards! They told me I had about 3 hours left to go, and if the surgery didn't work, it would be a slow, painful one, from there out. The realization that this surgery meant life or death was much harder on Lev than I. The nurse dimmed the lights and told me we had 30 min to go until surgery. Lev sat on the side of the bed and held my face and hands in his. He kissed me and told me everything would be okay. A little bit after that, the nurse came in and handed me a phone, she said I had 10 min until surgery and if I wanted to make a few phone calls, I should start now. I decided to call some family members and tell them what was going on, and that loved them.
They came for me and Lev squeezed my shoulder and let go, he looked at all of the wires and he looked like he didnt know if he was allowed any further. The nurse told him to tell me good bye and he kissed me and pinned a piece of stray hair back, and said, "I'll see you when they're done, okay? Don't be scared. I love you.". The guy taking me to the OR looked at Lev and said, "you know, when they have major surgeries, they allow 2 people into the prep room with you, he could come.". Lev nervously navigated himself to the side of the bed and said alright, and the tech began our what felt like, eternity-long ride to OR. Half way there, I heard some one yell, "I'm her stepmom! Please let me say good bye! Is she asleep yet?!" The tech stopped and said she could be my #2, and an out of breath step mom appeared at the side of my bed, she held my wrist and hand tightly and kept repeating, "your going to be just fine, okay?". The tech said we were running a little late and I announced I couldn't feel patches of skin on my belly, and the patches I could burnt like fire. Things started moving a little faster. We got ot prep and the anesthesiologist sympathetically looked at my belly and said, "You must be it.". Lev and me talked about how even if we weren't there when she was born, we'd show her we love her the minute we get her. She pulled the papers out and had me drink some undesirable fluids and looked like she was having trouble making a big decision.
"Do you want to be awake?"
"Yes."
"I can do that."
I'd never felt so relieved. She explained that I would be the first person to undergo this particular surgery, fully conscious, and that she didn't really know what to expect, other than she was positive I wouldn't feel the cutting and what not. Lev and my step mother had to leave and they both walked away slowly stealing what I think was glances my way (couldn't see well). And I was wheeled down to my actual surgery room. They hooked me up to more machines and administered the epidural. This part was the worst pain during the entire surgery. The small shot mean to numb you before the large spinal, did not work. We did not have time to wait, or to try something else. Four people approached me and one held me in a hug-fashion, and the other two pulled at my arms. She inserted the rod and everyone held breaths while I screamed hoping I wouldn't move and paralyze myself. They laid me down and washed my belly. My arms got strapped to the sides and a man was assigned just for moral support.
The surgeon entered the room livid. I was not supposed to be awake. They hadn't asked him, and it was too late to change it. He began the surgery. Surgery was calm and smooth until he realized three things.
1. My baby had ceased movement and they couldn't get vitals on her
2. My anasthesia was wearing off at a dangerous and very early rate.
3. We had gone an hour over the estimated surgery time and he didn't have time to start the second incison. (it was supposed to be laproscopic, meaning two very small incisions, however, if that wasn't gong to work the preferred alternative was to make a large incision on my upper belly. The laproscopic had failed and he just didnt have time to start another.)
He grabbed the big scissors and I heard the big cut. He stuck his hand in the incision and some one else palpitated my uterus from the other side. A panic set in when I accidentally moved my leg, meaning in a matter of minutes, I would be able to feel my belly. He finally found it, and pulled it out. He began sewing me up and glueing the incision and I asked to see my appendix. Since I'm the first to be awake during this procedure, I imagine this was the first time anyone had asked. They reluctantly showed me and I said it looked funny. Everyone looked relieved that I didn't vomit or do anything of that sort. Finally, the surgery was over and I was taken back to my room.
I immediately felt better, and even after my anesthesia wore off, I felt like walking to the bathroom. My family came in and everyone looked happy. Lev was at my side the second he could be, and holding my hands and talking to Little Foot about how things were going to be okay now. I told them how it went and of course the baby turned out to be just fine. Infact, she was sleeping. Imagine that.
The nurse immediately forgot my pain and started focusing on the baby. (rightly so!) She called in my OB and she arrived before I could even unhook my stuff to use the restroom so that my bladder would be empty when she came in to inevitably check me. She burst in and told me that she was sorry she was "late" and felt my belly and looked at my charts. She left to call the high risk specialist and returned with sad- but somewhat comforting news. Our tiny baby was having an anxiety attack. I bawled. How could she be so upset and uncomfortable inside me (supposedly the safest place in the world for her!) that she was having an anxiety attack?! (the good news is that an anxiety attack, while VERY sad and upsetting, is NOT going to affect her long term, as long as she could calm back down in under a day.) I wanted to hold her. I wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and hold her to my chest and stroke her cheek and tell her I love her. To say sweet calm things to her so she doesn't need to cry. To fix her problems like moms should and make her happy.I imagined her face crying and my heart broke into a million pieces. I felt like dying. The pain I was feeling physically would never measure up to the emotional hurt I was feeling as Lev laid his hands softly on my belly where she had a foot sticking out and I could see the hurt in his face, too. The doctor left and Lev gently pulled down the blanket and scooted the monitor over that laid on top her to record her heart beat, and told her he loved her and asked her rhetorical questions like, "why are you so upset in there?". I stifled sobs that hurt my ribs and buried my face in his chest.
A few hours later, I was still miserably in pain and sweating off what felt like an Olympic pool. But Little Foots heart rate slowed to a manageable 160. And stayed that way for about an hour. We took a sigh of relief and I felt like walking on egg shells. I swore inside my head I wouldn't walk too fast, eat spicy foods, or get upset until she was born, so she'd never have another anxiety attack, ever. (Until she's about 13, anyways!) The nursing staff forgot completely about my pain and when I tried to bring it up, they categorized it as round ligament pain. Which I knew was bullshit, but I hate complaining, and since Little Foot was doing alright, I accepted the forms that sent me home and Lev dressed me and took me to home, and then bed.
The night eased up and I felt good about my decision to come home. The next morning, however, was living hell. We checked Little Foots heart beat religiously every hour and listened for any hitches, pauses, or skips. ANYTHING. We only heard a perfect heart beat, and so I continued to try to bathe my pain away. I tried breathing through the pains, and Lev sat next to the bath tub with a cup of water and wiped the hair out of my face and said everything he could to coax me out of the tub and into some clothes to take me to labor and delivery. He insisted that this just wasn't me, it wasn't healthy, and something was terribly wrong. He got the labor and delivery bag and my clothes and waited anxiously around the house while I tried to convince him with the phrases the nurses had used, "Some people just have rough pregnancies.", "You just have to breath through it.", etc.
Finally around 2pm, I had had enough and called my drs office for advice on what I should say in Labor and Delivery to help them understand the pain I was in. I got transferred to an exasperated and annoyed "Cindy". I started to explain my pain starting with the fact that the pain I had trying to use the restroom in any fashion, was so horrible, I often avoided going until it was just as painful holding it in, and then fluidly sobbed trying to release anything. She stopped me, assuring me that I had an UTI. I told her I was tested just the day before, (and every week before that) for one, and had been VERY negative. Also that the pain was NOT a burning sensation during urination, but an extreme pressure that made it painful to sit on the toilette and release the muscle. She sighed loudly, and repeated that I DO have a UTI and that it's not "that bad". I let out a whimper because I was feeling so defeated and upset I didn't know where to take it from there. I decided to move on to my other pains. I told her that I had an intense pain on my side that made my eyes water when I tried to roll over or walk, and she again, sighed loudly, and said, "it's round ligament pain. It happens to a lot of pregnant people and everyone else gets over it. Other people work 40 hour weeks with it. So you're just going to have to grin and bear it. If you'd like, you can can come in again if you have to for another UTI testing. Anything else?".
I was so pissed and upset, that in order to keep my dignity and not sob uncontrollably over the phone, I had to respond to everything with, "mhm. Okay. I see." In a very monotone (and hopefully obviously pissed) tone. It's not my style to get angry when things don't go my way, but after I hit end on that phone call, my phone SAILED to the next room and I bawled and screamed about how unfair and bitchy she was. I was so angry I got nauseous. I bawled and cried and ran another bath. Lev followed me in with a cup and a bendy straw, and kept rubbing my back and telling me it was time to leave, that this isn't normal and whether it's normal for everyone else or not, I needed help. I caved in about 3, but not to go to Labor and Delivery, because I refused to go in, get fisted, get an IV and be sent home because apparently, even though after 24 wks, you are supposed to take ALL of your medical emergencies to Labor and Delivery, they send you home the minute they can confirm you aren't in labor.
I got smart. I decided, I'd go to the adult urgent care, like everyone else, and when they tried to tell me "labor and Delivery is down the hall, though....", I'd say that I would like to be seen by these doctors and actually get help. The receptionist stared at my globous belly and reluctantly put my wrist band on. She went and got a dr and they glanced at the paperwork I'd filled out and at me several times. It was clear they weren't sure what to do.
The doctor called me back, and took my temperature. She helped me sit down and asked why I wouldn't go to L&D and what was wrong. I started with my pains and discomforts first, she agreed that these sounded like an internal infection, rupture, or other serious issue. I then told her I would really rather stay in this part of the hospital and be seen by these doctors. She asked why and I simply told her that L&D had already sent me home once with the pains and I couldn't take it another night, that it WAS something serious and I couldn't get anyone to listen to me or help me. She said it was policy that she was to inform L&D that a pregnant female was in the hospital and ill, and that they had the right to come collect me from her. She said that if they did not help me though, if they did not keep me, she would. If L&D discharged me in this state, that they had given up their right to collect me and were no longer offering me treatment.
L&D arrived shortly thereafter with a wheel chair and another know-it-all nurse. She asked me pointless questions that are meant to make you think they care about you personally, like what's the baby's gender, what do we plan to name her, etc. I answered shortly and crankily because honestly, I felt like I was being carted off to hell. The nurse that checked me into the back asked me what my discomforts were, and replied to EVERY GODDAMN ONE with, "well that's just pregnancy, deary!". Which made me want to rip her face off and scream at her. They put me in a room and suddenly I felt like the contractions were going to snap me in half. My side felt like it was going to rip open and I was just going to die. I started running a pretty high fever, yet Little Foots heart beat remained a healthy rate. I like to think it's because she knew I was getting us help. I started bawling and sweating like no tommorow. I felt like things were going down hill, and fast. We got a new nurse, and this is how I knew it was getting late. She was very kind and very attentative. Even when she thought it might be a common side effect, she would prod more to see, instead of stating her opinion. Eventually, I started to loose my vision and began to feel very weak.
I really did think it was the end. I started asking Lev to call a nurse so they could save Little Foot and I wanted them to take her out of me. I knew if I died, so would Little Foot, if she were still inside me. I told him to tell her i love her and that I didn't want to leave her. I started apologizing for everything I'd ever done from showing up late on our anniversary, to not liking his favorite band's album. His eyes glazed over and he kept saying, "You have nothing to be sorry for, this is all going to be over soon." He held my head to his chest and I felt a single sob. I knew I had to look bad, because Lev is the optimist of optimists. If he was doubting it, I was either not going to make it, or I was going to make it, barely. He kept whispering I love you, and I lost the feeling in my hands. I watched as my hand fell away from his and I was so tired I couldn't even cry. He picked my hand up and held it, and tried to curl my fingers around his in a frivolous effort. He looked at me, and I told him I couldn't feel them anymore, and a tiny part of me died inside. I wanted to hold his hand. What if I never held his hands again?
The nurse came back from her frantic search for a surgeon that would accept my special case and had found the Surgeon General, our last hope. He informed us that he would move us to a better room and they'd give us some time alone. He tried to roll me over but I screamed and cried, and he decided I would be booked for surgery in about an hour. I was moved to a different room, and the nurse explained that they would be removing my appendix. That they suspected it had ruptured. Initially, they told us they had no choice but to remove the baby. I begged for them to let me be awake to see her when she was born. They said no, that with the pain I was in, it just would be better to put me under general anesthesia.
About 30 minutes later the nurse returned with a smile on her face, she told me that they would leave the baby in and see if she can make it through the surgery. This pleased me, to know that she still had a chance of being born vaginally, and that Lev might still get to see her birth and hold her soon afterwards! They told me I had about 3 hours left to go, and if the surgery didn't work, it would be a slow, painful one, from there out. The realization that this surgery meant life or death was much harder on Lev than I. The nurse dimmed the lights and told me we had 30 min to go until surgery. Lev sat on the side of the bed and held my face and hands in his. He kissed me and told me everything would be okay. A little bit after that, the nurse came in and handed me a phone, she said I had 10 min until surgery and if I wanted to make a few phone calls, I should start now. I decided to call some family members and tell them what was going on, and that loved them.
They came for me and Lev squeezed my shoulder and let go, he looked at all of the wires and he looked like he didnt know if he was allowed any further. The nurse told him to tell me good bye and he kissed me and pinned a piece of stray hair back, and said, "I'll see you when they're done, okay? Don't be scared. I love you.". The guy taking me to the OR looked at Lev and said, "you know, when they have major surgeries, they allow 2 people into the prep room with you, he could come.". Lev nervously navigated himself to the side of the bed and said alright, and the tech began our what felt like, eternity-long ride to OR. Half way there, I heard some one yell, "I'm her stepmom! Please let me say good bye! Is she asleep yet?!" The tech stopped and said she could be my #2, and an out of breath step mom appeared at the side of my bed, she held my wrist and hand tightly and kept repeating, "your going to be just fine, okay?". The tech said we were running a little late and I announced I couldn't feel patches of skin on my belly, and the patches I could burnt like fire. Things started moving a little faster. We got ot prep and the anesthesiologist sympathetically looked at my belly and said, "You must be it.". Lev and me talked about how even if we weren't there when she was born, we'd show her we love her the minute we get her. She pulled the papers out and had me drink some undesirable fluids and looked like she was having trouble making a big decision.
"Do you want to be awake?"
"Yes."
"I can do that."
I'd never felt so relieved. She explained that I would be the first person to undergo this particular surgery, fully conscious, and that she didn't really know what to expect, other than she was positive I wouldn't feel the cutting and what not. Lev and my step mother had to leave and they both walked away slowly stealing what I think was glances my way (couldn't see well). And I was wheeled down to my actual surgery room. They hooked me up to more machines and administered the epidural. This part was the worst pain during the entire surgery. The small shot mean to numb you before the large spinal, did not work. We did not have time to wait, or to try something else. Four people approached me and one held me in a hug-fashion, and the other two pulled at my arms. She inserted the rod and everyone held breaths while I screamed hoping I wouldn't move and paralyze myself. They laid me down and washed my belly. My arms got strapped to the sides and a man was assigned just for moral support.
The surgeon entered the room livid. I was not supposed to be awake. They hadn't asked him, and it was too late to change it. He began the surgery. Surgery was calm and smooth until he realized three things.
1. My baby had ceased movement and they couldn't get vitals on her
2. My anasthesia was wearing off at a dangerous and very early rate.
3. We had gone an hour over the estimated surgery time and he didn't have time to start the second incison. (it was supposed to be laproscopic, meaning two very small incisions, however, if that wasn't gong to work the preferred alternative was to make a large incision on my upper belly. The laproscopic had failed and he just didnt have time to start another.)
He grabbed the big scissors and I heard the big cut. He stuck his hand in the incision and some one else palpitated my uterus from the other side. A panic set in when I accidentally moved my leg, meaning in a matter of minutes, I would be able to feel my belly. He finally found it, and pulled it out. He began sewing me up and glueing the incision and I asked to see my appendix. Since I'm the first to be awake during this procedure, I imagine this was the first time anyone had asked. They reluctantly showed me and I said it looked funny. Everyone looked relieved that I didn't vomit or do anything of that sort. Finally, the surgery was over and I was taken back to my room.
I immediately felt better, and even after my anesthesia wore off, I felt like walking to the bathroom. My family came in and everyone looked happy. Lev was at my side the second he could be, and holding my hands and talking to Little Foot about how things were going to be okay now. I told them how it went and of course the baby turned out to be just fine. Infact, she was sleeping. Imagine that.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Letters to Little Foot #2
Dear Little Foot,
I have never been more excited in my whole life to meet someone. Every time you kick, I wonder exactly what your foot looked like just then. Everytime you have the hiccups, I wonder what faces you are making, and if you're making little hiccups noises that I just can't hear. I've washed all of your clothes and folded them, and tried to fit them all in their designated drawers. We had your baby shower just this past weekend, and everyone poked you, and fed me good food that eventually you got. Daddy spends everyday talking to you, I don't know if you can hear him well, but he tries so hard to tell you little stories and how much he loves you. He folds your clothes and straightens up your wall of things, and he picks out clothes every chance he gets, feeling how soft they are inside and out, and trying to decide how comfortable you'll be in them. He loves you so much already.
Everytime I hear a good song, I imagine the way I'll give birth to you. All the strange noises and faces I'll make, and how Daddy will hold me and talk sweet to me. How our doula, Janna, will try to make sure I am happy and okay. How peaceful and exciting it will be. And most of all, how you'll look when Daddy holds you up to me to show me your beautiful face. A lot of the time it makes me cry thnking about how special it'll be, but daddy says he understands- and he thinks he won't be able to hold back tears either. Sometimes I just lay for a while and think about these things. I was so scared to have you in the beginning, but right now, I feel like I could do it any time, any place. I feel like this is what I was meant to do, and that you need me to. I feel like I can do this, and I will.
I cannot wait to see you. I just want you to know, that even though you weren't planned, and the circumstances weren't perfect when you sprouted inside me, right now we've never wanted anything/anyone more, loved anything/anyone more, or been so exhilarated to meet some one more, in our entire lives. You weren't planned and things have never been perfect for us as a couple, but we plan to love, teach, and be there for you, today, and every day after. Know that you are the best surprise we could have never anticipated, Little Foot.
Love,
Mom and Dad
I have never been more excited in my whole life to meet someone. Every time you kick, I wonder exactly what your foot looked like just then. Everytime you have the hiccups, I wonder what faces you are making, and if you're making little hiccups noises that I just can't hear. I've washed all of your clothes and folded them, and tried to fit them all in their designated drawers. We had your baby shower just this past weekend, and everyone poked you, and fed me good food that eventually you got. Daddy spends everyday talking to you, I don't know if you can hear him well, but he tries so hard to tell you little stories and how much he loves you. He folds your clothes and straightens up your wall of things, and he picks out clothes every chance he gets, feeling how soft they are inside and out, and trying to decide how comfortable you'll be in them. He loves you so much already.Everytime I hear a good song, I imagine the way I'll give birth to you. All the strange noises and faces I'll make, and how Daddy will hold me and talk sweet to me. How our doula, Janna, will try to make sure I am happy and okay. How peaceful and exciting it will be. And most of all, how you'll look when Daddy holds you up to me to show me your beautiful face. A lot of the time it makes me cry thnking about how special it'll be, but daddy says he understands- and he thinks he won't be able to hold back tears either. Sometimes I just lay for a while and think about these things. I was so scared to have you in the beginning, but right now, I feel like I could do it any time, any place. I feel like this is what I was meant to do, and that you need me to. I feel like I can do this, and I will.
I cannot wait to see you. I just want you to know, that even though you weren't planned, and the circumstances weren't perfect when you sprouted inside me, right now we've never wanted anything/anyone more, loved anything/anyone more, or been so exhilarated to meet some one more, in our entire lives. You weren't planned and things have never been perfect for us as a couple, but we plan to love, teach, and be there for you, today, and every day after. Know that you are the best surprise we could have never anticipated, Little Foot.
Love,
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