There really isn't much to tell, the difference between vaginal and Cesarean recovery is like a moonless midnight in the deepest forest and high-noon in the desert.
I was up and walking around in no time at all. As exhausted as I was, I took a shower after, which I desperately needed, being covered in blood and sweat and the gods know what else. It felt great to be clean and pain-free. They had nifty little fold-down shower seats, and I just sat there and let the water run off me for a long time. I almost fell asleep.
Although I lost a good amount of blood and was a little dizzy for a couple of days, for the most part, it was incredibly easy. The only pain I had was from the post-delivery contractions, which got hellish while I was nursing Alex, and for the short time I spent in the hospital, I was able to get a small amount of oxycodone for them.
I got horribly frustrated by being in the hospital. It seemed like every single time I fell asleep, a nurse came in to either check my vital signs or ask how I was doing, or just to see "the VBAC mom who caught her own baby!"... I felt like I was a circus freak or something.
Dr. P, who had sent me home the previous Thursday, came to visit me as well. "So... I heard everything went well... For you, anyway," he said after he walked in, and then laughed. He had heard what I did, and he came to say hi, say congratulations, and see Alex. "You did know he was going to be huge, didn't you?" he asked. I replied with, "You did know I was actually 42 weeks, didn't you?" He laughed again, and said that some of the OB team was aware that I was "past due", but it wasn't something he had been about to bring up in front of the residents that were caring for me. As to why that was, he said it would have made them push for a section, and he felt that extra pressure wasn't really necessary- he was absolutely sure I'd have Alex within a few days after he saw me the first time, but he was required to give me the "When you get to 41 weeks, we need to discuss your options" speech, so that he remained within the hospital's safety protocols.
I had one ENORMOUS clot- it was a really gross feeling passing that. It was actually big enough to clog the toilet, so I won't describe it any further than that. After that was gone, my bleeding lessened significantly, and I felt much better. The afterpains still sucked, but definitely weren't as intense.
We were given the option to go home after 24 hours had passed, because Alex and I were doing really well, so there was no need to keep me longer if we didn't want to stay. I was done with that place and their terrible food, so I did. We actually ended up being there for about 36 hours after Alex was born. There was paperwork to finish, and the hospital photographer to meet.
We were going to have pictures taken, but Alex decided to systematically ruin every single thing we put on him. He either peed, pooped, or spit up on everything. We only had newborn sizes to put him in, and most of them didn't fit. I ended up frustrated and in tears from being overtired. We finally told the photographer it wasn't happening. She told us she'd make a note of it, and we could come to the studio at a later date, and they'd waive the studio's sitting fee for us.
When we loaded up the car, the seat didn't fit quite right, so we spent about half an hour messing with that outside. After that, we were finally ready for going home. We had hoped to get back before TJ got home from school, (GW had brought him back to our house the night before, and TJ was ok with spending the night by himself, and had my cell with him for any emergencies) but we didn't make it. TJ beat us home by almost an hour. TJ said he was fine with getting himself something for dinner. Mercifully, GW and I were able to take a real nap. Finally. We needed it.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Real Labor... Alex's Birth Story
I went to the hospital the morning of Saturday June 12th, because after timing my contractions for a while, some of them were as close as 2 minutes apart. We dropped off TJ at my mom's, and were hoping to have Alex that day. Didn't happen... But we did get to let Panda hang out in the Panda Warmer.
When we got there (it was around 9:30-10-ish), and they checked me, I was at a 2. Really disappointing. I labored until midday, and when they checked me again at 12 pm, I was only at a 4. They then decided to admit me formally. They let me go longer and by 6 pm, I was still only 4 cm, 50% effaced. When I was checked at 10 pm, I was still stuck at 4. What the hell was taking so damn long??? I was breathing through my contractions, in a semi-meditative state, some of which were pretty intense (so I thought). I'm actually sort of smiling, it's weird, I didn't realize I was doing that.
The OB on call (Dr. Ari) had been pressuring me to break my water, get an IV, and to have internal monitoring. I was in & out of the tub and the shower. Still breathing through the contractions. The nurse backed me up, and told me they couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to. I kept refusing all interventions, except for the telemetry (wireless) fetal monitors. Alex was doing great, and never had a decel. Heather & her daughter Rebecca came for a short visit.
After 2 more hours of labor and zero change, Dr. Ari convinced me to take some Ambien to try to get some rest. I'd been laboring since Wednesday, and had barely had any sleep at all. The Ambien didn't really work, it just made me loopy.
The nurse, Jessi, asked me if anyone had told me about "sleep therapy". No, what the hell was that? Her answer was "Better than Ambien, for sure". We talked it over, and I was so tired at this point, that it sounded like a really good idea. She said that I'd sleep for about six hours, and maybe it would get me to a seven. With the Ambien, I was sleeping between contractions, but that was still only 1 minute of sleep at a time. I was suffering and I was tired of doing this. I'd been in labor for days already, dammit. It had morphine and something else in it. So, she gave me the shot, which hurt like a sonofabitch, and I was actually able to sleep.
BUT- my ass really hurt for the rest of my labor where I got the shot, and it seriously affected things. For one thing, it slowed down my contractions for almost 12 hours. And I didn't make any progress, either.
I was in "early labor" all day, and the pressure from Dr. Ari was nearly crushing me. I was a basket case and crying constantly. When the shifts changed, and I got a new nurse, Pam. She went to the attending physician, and had me removed from Dr. Ari's care. She also got permission to change all the restrictions that had been put on me. I had not been allowed to eat solid foods (so I hadn't really eaten in almost 2 days) and this was the thing that was affecting me the most. I was sneaking snacks anyway, but still, I wanted a real meal. Goldfish & granola bars just don't work over a long period of time.
Pam told me that the attending was PISSED, because no one had told him that I was there. And he said I was allowed to eat anything I wanted, because I was not having surgery, I was having a vaginal birth until proven otherwise. Period. End of discussion. Dr. Ari was to stay away from me from now on. I'm guessing he was working closely with my OB, so that was why he knew about me. Not too sure, but I'm fairly certain he was told to watch out for me. Anyway, I got to eat!!! The food was awful, but it tasted awesome (if that makes any sense).
The OB on call (Dr. Ari) had been pressuring me to break my water, get an IV, and to have internal monitoring. I was in & out of the tub and the shower. Still breathing through the contractions. The nurse backed me up, and told me they couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to. I kept refusing all interventions, except for the telemetry (wireless) fetal monitors. Alex was doing great, and never had a decel. Heather & her daughter Rebecca came for a short visit.
The nurse, Jessi, asked me if anyone had told me about "sleep therapy". No, what the hell was that? Her answer was "Better than Ambien, for sure". We talked it over, and I was so tired at this point, that it sounded like a really good idea. She said that I'd sleep for about six hours, and maybe it would get me to a seven. With the Ambien, I was sleeping between contractions, but that was still only 1 minute of sleep at a time. I was suffering and I was tired of doing this. I'd been in labor for days already, dammit. It had morphine and something else in it. So, she gave me the shot, which hurt like a sonofabitch, and I was actually able to sleep.
BUT- my ass really hurt for the rest of my labor where I got the shot, and it seriously affected things. For one thing, it slowed down my contractions for almost 12 hours. And I didn't make any progress, either.
I was in "early labor" all day, and the pressure from Dr. Ari was nearly crushing me. I was a basket case and crying constantly. When the shifts changed, and I got a new nurse, Pam. She went to the attending physician, and had me removed from Dr. Ari's care. She also got permission to change all the restrictions that had been put on me. I had not been allowed to eat solid foods (so I hadn't really eaten in almost 2 days) and this was the thing that was affecting me the most. I was sneaking snacks anyway, but still, I wanted a real meal. Goldfish & granola bars just don't work over a long period of time.
Pam told me that the attending was PISSED, because no one had told him that I was there. And he said I was allowed to eat anything I wanted, because I was not having surgery, I was having a vaginal birth until proven otherwise. Period. End of discussion. Dr. Ari was to stay away from me from now on. I'm guessing he was working closely with my OB, so that was why he knew about me. Not too sure, but I'm fairly certain he was told to watch out for me. Anyway, I got to eat!!! The food was awful, but it tasted awesome (if that makes any sense).
The new OB came in to check me. If I was still at a four, I'd be allowed to go home. Well, not home home, but to my mom's or Holly's. We didn't tell them that Holly was gone for the weekend. No luck. I was now at six. I wasn't going anywhere. Dammit, I wanted to go home!!
I labored through dinner time, but things were picking up, as the shot started to wear off, and things start to get really fuzzy in my brain around here. I was in the tub. I was out of the tub. I was in the bed, next to the bed, and on the toilet. In the shower. I hate the shower. I love the shower. I hate everything, and especially, everyone. Don't effing touch me.
Then, I lost my focus for hypnosis. I was just too tired and discouraged.
I was beginning to vocalize during contractions. When I was checked, I was at a 6. STILL. All that for just a 6??? I went 2 more hours, and still no change. The new on-call OB, Dr. Cari, wanted to break my water, too. I waffled about, and told her we'd decide after some thought. We said the same thing about an IV. At one point, she actually told me I was scaring her becuase I kept refusing the IV.
A new nursing shift started, and Pam had hand-picked all of my new nurses, which I was ok with, since I knew she knew what she was doing. When we finally gave the Dr. Cari an adamant no about breaking my water, and the IV, the new nurse (I can't remember her name!!!) congratulated me on sticking to my plan, even though I was in so much pain. An hour later, I was wailing through my contractions. This was not fun. Really. Not. Fun.
Dr. Cari checked me and said I was at 7. I think this was somewhere around 10 pm. She really wanted to break my water, but I still didn't want to take that step. Two contractions later, my water broke on it's own. Again, the nurse congratulated me on waiting.
An hour later, I was in agony, and I still hadn't made any progress. Dr Cari decided a visual exam was in order. So she peeked in to see what was wrong. The amniotic sac had folded over itself when it broke, and had made a "pillow" of water between Alex's head and my cervix, so it wasn't pressing hard enough to dilate it. She asked if she could move it out of the way with an amni hook. I knew she was probably right about that being the reason for this particular stall, so I agreed, because the water was already broken. OH. MY. GOD. The contractions got about 50 billion times worse. And there was meconium in the amniotic fluid. FUCK! I wouldn't be able to hold him right after he was born. I cried some more.
Where I had been wailing before, now I was definitely screaming. I had no idea I was such a sissy!! But I guess I am. I screamed for another hour at least. Sometime within that time span, Jessi came back. Pam had put her on the list of people who were allowed to attend me. I didn't find out until later why. I was in the shower. I heard her and my other nurse talking quietly (so as not to disturb my screaming fits, I suppose) and they agreed I was "very close to the end". End of what? Hell? Great! I wanted to kill them. I was pretty sure this was going to last forever, and they were both idiots.
Let me just say, I hated Jessi with a passion... She was such a bitch. She wouldn't let me throw out my birth plan. I called her names. She still wouldn't let me get anything for the pain. I had said I wanted a natural birth, and I'd get it. I told her that plans change. She told me this one wouldn't. GAAAHHHH!!!! I wanted to kill her, I really really did. Like, stab he in the eye or something. When she finally caved to my demands, (I had told her as calmly as I could between contractions that I was too tired, and I was no longer able to cope with them) I was told that it would be an hour before I could see an anesthesiologist. WHAT? She was attending an emergency c-section. I could have some Nubian, but then I might be drunk when the baby came. Right about then, I started to feel pushy. She gave me an "I told you so", look, and called Dr. Cari in to check me, who told me I was only an 8, I would have to wait. Don't push. It's still be a while before he can come out. Having read a midwifery article about the "Rule Of Ten" I knew she was full of shit. I could push if I needed to. I needed to.
I labored through dinner time, but things were picking up, as the shot started to wear off, and things start to get really fuzzy in my brain around here. I was in the tub. I was out of the tub. I was in the bed, next to the bed, and on the toilet. In the shower. I hate the shower. I love the shower. I hate everything, and especially, everyone. Don't effing touch me.
Then, I lost my focus for hypnosis. I was just too tired and discouraged.
I was beginning to vocalize during contractions. When I was checked, I was at a 6. STILL. All that for just a 6??? I went 2 more hours, and still no change. The new on-call OB, Dr. Cari, wanted to break my water, too. I waffled about, and told her we'd decide after some thought. We said the same thing about an IV. At one point, she actually told me I was scaring her becuase I kept refusing the IV.
A new nursing shift started, and Pam had hand-picked all of my new nurses, which I was ok with, since I knew she knew what she was doing. When we finally gave the Dr. Cari an adamant no about breaking my water, and the IV, the new nurse (I can't remember her name!!!) congratulated me on sticking to my plan, even though I was in so much pain. An hour later, I was wailing through my contractions. This was not fun. Really. Not. Fun.
Dr. Cari checked me and said I was at 7. I think this was somewhere around 10 pm. She really wanted to break my water, but I still didn't want to take that step. Two contractions later, my water broke on it's own. Again, the nurse congratulated me on waiting.
An hour later, I was in agony, and I still hadn't made any progress. Dr Cari decided a visual exam was in order. So she peeked in to see what was wrong. The amniotic sac had folded over itself when it broke, and had made a "pillow" of water between Alex's head and my cervix, so it wasn't pressing hard enough to dilate it. She asked if she could move it out of the way with an amni hook. I knew she was probably right about that being the reason for this particular stall, so I agreed, because the water was already broken. OH. MY. GOD. The contractions got about 50 billion times worse. And there was meconium in the amniotic fluid. FUCK! I wouldn't be able to hold him right after he was born. I cried some more.
Where I had been wailing before, now I was definitely screaming. I had no idea I was such a sissy!! But I guess I am. I screamed for another hour at least. Sometime within that time span, Jessi came back. Pam had put her on the list of people who were allowed to attend me. I didn't find out until later why. I was in the shower. I heard her and my other nurse talking quietly (so as not to disturb my screaming fits, I suppose) and they agreed I was "very close to the end". End of what? Hell? Great! I wanted to kill them. I was pretty sure this was going to last forever, and they were both idiots.
Let me just say, I hated Jessi with a passion... She was such a bitch. She wouldn't let me throw out my birth plan. I called her names. She still wouldn't let me get anything for the pain. I had said I wanted a natural birth, and I'd get it. I told her that plans change. She told me this one wouldn't. GAAAHHHH!!!! I wanted to kill her, I really really did. Like, stab he in the eye or something. When she finally caved to my demands, (I had told her as calmly as I could between contractions that I was too tired, and I was no longer able to cope with them) I was told that it would be an hour before I could see an anesthesiologist. WHAT? She was attending an emergency c-section. I could have some Nubian, but then I might be drunk when the baby came. Right about then, I started to feel pushy. She gave me an "I told you so", look, and called Dr. Cari in to check me, who told me I was only an 8, I would have to wait. Don't push. It's still be a while before he can come out. Having read a midwifery article about the "Rule Of Ten" I knew she was full of shit. I could push if I needed to. I needed to.
I decided some privacy was in order, and made my way to the bathroom, and shut both GW and Jessi out.
Sitting on the toilet was the only thing that was even remotely bearable at this point. I tried not to push, really, I did. I tried very very hard not to, but my body had taken over. I had no control. Then I felt a "pop"- I think this was Alex's head slipping past the lip of my cervix, or maybe through my pelvic bones, and my body started seriously pushing by itself. Jessi ran in when I screamed for her and GW to come and help me. I think I must have sounded like a demon, my voice sounded scary even to me, it was more like a roar than a shriek (like I had been doing). "I NEED TO PUSH NOW!!!!" I remember her frantically pulling the call cord, while trying to get me off the toilet at the same time. Somehow, the both of them managed to get me back out of the bathroom, and next to the bed.
Dr Cari ran in, and was putting on a glove, and telling me to get on the bed, she needed to check me. I could not. I told he was crowning, why the FUCK did she have to check me?? She said, "Oh my God! She's right!" She told me to wait for the NICU team, because of the meconium in the water. I could not. She tried to apply pressure to stop him from coming out. I yelled at her- "JESUS, LADY! QUIT PUSHING ON HIS HEAD!" -and I slapped her hands away, while she was whining something about supporting my perinium. Silly wench.
I was still standing, and I know there were a ton of people running all over the room, but I was totally focused on getting Alex out. I couldn't stop it in any case, and in two pushes, Alex was out. One for his head, and one for his body. Dr Cari still only had one glove on, and I caught him myself. I still can't believe I did it like that. After lifting him up, I laid him on the bed because I was feeling a little woozy. There was water and mucous in his mouth, so I turned him on his side, and rubbed his back. He coughed once, and commenced screaming.
As soon as he cried, the room went silent. (GW said there were open mouths everywhere, no one was expecting that.) I looked at GW, who was across the bed, and we just looked at Alex, and touched him, all gooey and perfect and screaming. It was a "wow" moment. I knew I had wanted to help catch my baby, but that wasn't exactly what I'd envisioned...
The NICU team took him, after GW cut the cord, to suction his lungs. I was very proud of GW for not passing out. This is the guy who fainted during a class trip to the blood bank- they only saw blood in bags, and that had been enough for him. By this time, I had managed to get myself into the bed. When he was given back to me, I put him to my breast almost immediately.
I had some hemorrhaging issues with my placenta, but they got it under control right away. The rapid blood loss was why I felt woozy right after delivery. There was a puddle of it on the pads that were on the floor. After I got in bed, before the placenta was out, I was sitting in an even larger puddle of it that covered my hips. Gross. There's a picture of me looking very worried as I was discussing with Dr. Cari what she wanted to do about it. It was actually me that suggested a shot of Pitocin to help my uterus contract faster, and Jessi appeared almost immediately with it. After some tugging, the placenta fully detached and I was able to push it out with help from the nurses, who pushed on my belly. OW. That definitely sucked, my stomach was bruised and sore for several days after.
I can't believe how BIG he was! When Jessi weighed him, she said "WOW!". I then asked
what he weighed. She answered with, "Ummm..." "Let me guess," I said, "I don't want to know." Her answer was "Probably not!" And then she told me....
Alex was born on June 14th, at 12:38 a.m., he was 9 lbs, 8 oz, and 22 inches long. I didn't tear at all. I didn't need a single stitch, and the Dr. Cari was very impressed that there weren't even any "skid marks". Alex was perfectly positioned. I HIGHLY recommend http://www.spinningbabies.com/ for proper baby positioning! Throughout my the 7th month, and part of the 8th, Alex was posterior. The exercises from spinningbabies helped to get him to roll over to an anterior position, and I think this is what made his entrance into the world so easy, when he finally decided to come.
As we left the labor suit, Jessi congratulated me on waiting it out, and apologised for being a bitch. (yup, she said "bitch"- one of my favorite things to call her during transition) And she said to me... "I just had my all-natural VBAC last year. I didn't want you kicking yourself later for giving up too soon. You did great, that was awesome! Momma, you rock!"
Sitting on the toilet was the only thing that was even remotely bearable at this point. I tried not to push, really, I did. I tried very very hard not to, but my body had taken over. I had no control. Then I felt a "pop"- I think this was Alex's head slipping past the lip of my cervix, or maybe through my pelvic bones, and my body started seriously pushing by itself. Jessi ran in when I screamed for her and GW to come and help me. I think I must have sounded like a demon, my voice sounded scary even to me, it was more like a roar than a shriek (like I had been doing). "I NEED TO PUSH NOW!!!!" I remember her frantically pulling the call cord, while trying to get me off the toilet at the same time. Somehow, the both of them managed to get me back out of the bathroom, and next to the bed.
Dr Cari ran in, and was putting on a glove, and telling me to get on the bed, she needed to check me. I could not. I told he was crowning, why the FUCK did she have to check me?? She said, "Oh my God! She's right!" She told me to wait for the NICU team, because of the meconium in the water. I could not. She tried to apply pressure to stop him from coming out. I yelled at her- "JESUS, LADY! QUIT PUSHING ON HIS HEAD!" -and I slapped her hands away, while she was whining something about supporting my perinium. Silly wench.
I was still standing, and I know there were a ton of people running all over the room, but I was totally focused on getting Alex out. I couldn't stop it in any case, and in two pushes, Alex was out. One for his head, and one for his body. Dr Cari still only had one glove on, and I caught him myself. I still can't believe I did it like that. After lifting him up, I laid him on the bed because I was feeling a little woozy. There was water and mucous in his mouth, so I turned him on his side, and rubbed his back. He coughed once, and commenced screaming.
As soon as he cried, the room went silent. (GW said there were open mouths everywhere, no one was expecting that.) I looked at GW, who was across the bed, and we just looked at Alex, and touched him, all gooey and perfect and screaming. It was a "wow" moment. I knew I had wanted to help catch my baby, but that wasn't exactly what I'd envisioned...
The NICU team took him, after GW cut the cord, to suction his lungs. I was very proud of GW for not passing out. This is the guy who fainted during a class trip to the blood bank- they only saw blood in bags, and that had been enough for him. By this time, I had managed to get myself into the bed. When he was given back to me, I put him to my breast almost immediately.
I had some hemorrhaging issues with my placenta, but they got it under control right away. The rapid blood loss was why I felt woozy right after delivery. There was a puddle of it on the pads that were on the floor. After I got in bed, before the placenta was out, I was sitting in an even larger puddle of it that covered my hips. Gross. There's a picture of me looking very worried as I was discussing with Dr. Cari what she wanted to do about it. It was actually me that suggested a shot of Pitocin to help my uterus contract faster, and Jessi appeared almost immediately with it. After some tugging, the placenta fully detached and I was able to push it out with help from the nurses, who pushed on my belly. OW. That definitely sucked, my stomach was bruised and sore for several days after.
I can't believe how BIG he was! When Jessi weighed him, she said "WOW!". I then asked
what he weighed. She answered with, "Ummm..." "Let me guess," I said, "I don't want to know." Her answer was "Probably not!" And then she told me....
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Ok, This Officially SUCKS.
I have not been to sleep yet after going out dancing. Every time I lay down, I get a KILLER contraction, and NEED to get up. After having a series of them that were fucking 2 minutes apart! and OMG!!! PAIN!!!, I checked myself again. HOLY SHIT! I can feel the amniotic sac! So, enough messing around with my cervix for a while. I do not want to break my water accidentally. But this really hurts. I mean, can't breathe, can't move, really really HURTS. I think today actually might be the day, and Eric might be sharing his birthday with Alex. He would think that was awesome, on top of the other awesome Heather arranged- a visit from his little brother who he hasn't seen in 2 years. I thought I couldn't top that, so we didn't get him anything. But if I have Alex today, the score might be almost even. Maybe. At least he would think it was cool.
I don't know when Holly is leaving for Ft. Kent, and I'm wondering if I should call her and ask if she can put off her trip up north for a day. I don't know what to do. I'm just sitting around right now, panting. This really does suck. A. Lot. Really. OW.
I don't know when Holly is leaving for Ft. Kent, and I'm wondering if I should call her and ask if she can put off her trip up north for a day. I don't know what to do. I'm just sitting around right now, panting. This really does suck. A. Lot. Really. OW.
Happy Birthday! Not the baby, but to my friend who is 40 today!
The last time I checked myself was early Friday morning, because my contractions hadn't let up through the night, and I had some big ones that woke me up. (The OB's said it was ok to do self-checks up until my water broke.) There was still no change at ALL. So I was really disappointed.
I kept having the same kind of contractions all day Friday, but I refused to give in to the urge to see if anything was happening. Then I called my friend Heather, to see what was going on with her. She said my presence had been requested by her boyfriend, Eric, for going out dancing. Today is his 40th birthday, and he wanted to dance with "a bunch of hot ladies"- meaning Heather, her sister Holly (my other BFF, and my labor support person), and me. I was pleased that even as a huge whale, he still considered me a "hot lady", lol! How could I resist? And there was the added incentive that it might help things along, too.
I checked myself before I got ready, not expecting anything at all, but I wanted to know before I left what was happening, if anything. OMG! Where did my cervix go? I completely missed it, because it had come forward, and had thinned out quite a bit. All I could find was a little bump, and the opening was a bit wider, maybe not quite 2 cm, but more than just the 1 cm I had before. And (here's the gross part) when I was done checking, I think what was left of my mucus plug came out, too. YUCK!!!! Lemme tell you (without describing it), it was just NASTY.
So we drove down to Portland, and did our dancing thing. All my friends were surprised to see me still pregnant. "Aren't you over 41 weeks now?" said one of the girls. Umm, yeah. "Holy crap! I didn't think they'd let anyone go that long anymore!" So I told her my OB is a good liar, and he told the rest of the staff that my EDD is Monday, and related my trip to L&D. She was really happy that they let me go home to wait it out. She doesn't have any kids of her own, but her sisters have been induced, and she knows it's not pretty.
I found out that Holly is going to visit their mom for the weekend, and won't be back until Tuesday! WTF? I understand, though, her mom is going in for some testing to see if her breast cancer is still gone. (She's been cancer-free for 2 years, YAY!) I only had a couple of contractions that I could feel while we were dancing, so I was kind of bummed. I had a few more on the way home, so in the shower I checked again, just to be sure my earlier estimate still held true. My cervix is almost flat!!! Maybe it was just the position I was in, but I really hope that it's actually doing something, and Alex will come soon. I am so over this being pregnant thing.
I kept having the same kind of contractions all day Friday, but I refused to give in to the urge to see if anything was happening. Then I called my friend Heather, to see what was going on with her. She said my presence had been requested by her boyfriend, Eric, for going out dancing. Today is his 40th birthday, and he wanted to dance with "a bunch of hot ladies"- meaning Heather, her sister Holly (my other BFF, and my labor support person), and me. I was pleased that even as a huge whale, he still considered me a "hot lady", lol! How could I resist? And there was the added incentive that it might help things along, too.
I checked myself before I got ready, not expecting anything at all, but I wanted to know before I left what was happening, if anything. OMG! Where did my cervix go? I completely missed it, because it had come forward, and had thinned out quite a bit. All I could find was a little bump, and the opening was a bit wider, maybe not quite 2 cm, but more than just the 1 cm I had before. And (here's the gross part) when I was done checking, I think what was left of my mucus plug came out, too. YUCK!!!! Lemme tell you (without describing it), it was just NASTY.
So we drove down to Portland, and did our dancing thing. All my friends were surprised to see me still pregnant. "Aren't you over 41 weeks now?" said one of the girls. Umm, yeah. "Holy crap! I didn't think they'd let anyone go that long anymore!" So I told her my OB is a good liar, and he told the rest of the staff that my EDD is Monday, and related my trip to L&D. She was really happy that they let me go home to wait it out. She doesn't have any kids of her own, but her sisters have been induced, and she knows it's not pretty.
I found out that Holly is going to visit their mom for the weekend, and won't be back until Tuesday! WTF? I understand, though, her mom is going in for some testing to see if her breast cancer is still gone. (She's been cancer-free for 2 years, YAY!) I only had a couple of contractions that I could feel while we were dancing, so I was kind of bummed. I had a few more on the way home, so in the shower I checked again, just to be sure my earlier estimate still held true. My cervix is almost flat!!! Maybe it was just the position I was in, but I really hope that it's actually doing something, and Alex will come soon. I am so over this being pregnant thing.
Friday, June 11, 2010
"Where's the baby?"
So... Alex isn't here yet, and I'm STILL "showing" and having contractions that are 6-10 minutes apart this morning, without any cervical changes. Some of them woke me up, and they really hurt. I took some Tylenol around 6 am and went back to bed, but now I guess I should stay up for the day. I feel like this is going to last forever, and he's never coming out. I feel rather defeated mentally, and a little beat down physically.
My L&D Visit
I'd been having bloody show all night, and called my mom at about 6:30 am on Thursday, because at that point, I wasn't quite sure what to do. She said I should go in "for a real check", since there was blood. Lady, I know what I'm doing! I know how to check myself, and I hadn't made any progress all night since I started having show.
Then she informed me that this happened with my older brother- intermittent contractions, showing, and zero progress. But back then, they didn't scream "failure to progress!" and section you. They just made you walk. Until your legs fell off. (I guess that's a mini-rant against my mom's cluelessness about how things are done these days.) I was scared that's what would happen to me if I went in.
The first OB that checked me, Jenny M, was very excited. She said I was 1 cm, and very soft, which was what my own estimate had been before getting there, by the way. My contractions (most of them I didn't feel) were 6 minutes apart, and she was hopeful that things would get going faster so I could VBAC on her shift. I had a good, steady labor pattern already established, hence her hopefulness. My BP was a little high when I came in (of course it was, I was terrified!), so they kept checking it, and I stayed on the monitors until it went back down.
Then Jenny told me to go walk around L&D for an hour, and she'd check again. When she did her second check, nothing had changed, so she did a "mini-strip" hoping that it would move things along. I was monitored for another 20 minutes or so, and then she told me to come back in 2 hours, and she'd see if I made any progress. We asked if it was ok to go get something to eat, and she said that was fine, that I should definitely get something in me, she didn't see me going to a 10 in only 2 hours. So we went & did that, then walked around some more. When it was time to be checked & monitored again, there was still no change at all. At this point, Jenny's shift was over, and I swear, she pouted.
She turned me over to another OB, Erin R., (who was just as nice as Jenny had been). When she came into the room, I was yawning, and my eyes were all watery and red. "Oh, no! Are you crying? Are you ok?" she asked. I explained she'd caught me yawning, and no, I wasn't crying, I was just really really tired. She was a little deflated. She told me, "Darn, I thought for sure you were in labor for real! Because if you were crying, then it's the real thing for sure."
I was told to do some more walking, then come back to the room again. When we'd done about 20 laps of L&D, and my feet wanted to fall off, I went back to my room, and sat on the birth ball they had there until it was time again for another check. I just couldn't do any more, I really was totally wiped out.
Erin checked me again, and said she didn't think anything had changed, so she was going to consult with the attending OB, Dr. P, about what to do next. Dr. P came in and he gave us a couple of options.
Option one was to stay and see if anything was going to happen, they would get me into a better room (I was still in L&D's triage at this point).
Another option was starting pitocin, if I wanted to, but he didn't think it would turn out well. From what Jenny and Erin had told him, my Bishop's Score was still too low for a successful augmentation, and I'd probably end up in surgery.
The last option was to go home and wait there until labor truly began on it's own. He didn't think anything was going to happen quite yet, and it could still be a couple of days, and he was more than ok with us going home. He said he expected it wouldn't be long now, and I'd be more comfortable in my own environment.
I opted to go home and wait, and he was very supportive of that choice. If I was still pregnant late next week, they'd discuss my other options, which would be pitocin to augment my labor, or to schedule an RCS (which I won't do unless there's a damn good reason).
Alex looked great on all the strips (never had a decel! yay!), and my uterus was doing what it was supposed to, but it just wasn't ready to go yet. When Dr. P found out my next appointment wasn't scheduled until the 20th, he got us a new one for next Tuesday, if I hadn't already gone into real labor by then.
Dr. P told me not to worry about the bleeding, unless it changed to bright red or got heavy like a period, or if my water broke. He also said to trust my instincts, and if I felt different, not to hesitate to come in. I could take Tylenol if I needed to, and he recommended hot showers to help me relax, try to eat small meals frequently to keep my energy up, and try hard to get some rest. I kind of laughed about the rest thing.
We went and picked up TJ at my mom's, and we came home. We picked up KFC on the way, because GW & I were both too tired to think about what we wanted to feed TJ for dinner. I sent GW out for the things on the grocery list that we really needed (like toilet paper) in case something happened. I had also had wine on the list (sort of as a joke, but not really) for the last couple of weeks. He brought me some. I had a shower, and a glass of wine, settled down with a book to help me ignore the contractions, and passed out. Pre-labor is officially stupid.
Then she informed me that this happened with my older brother- intermittent contractions, showing, and zero progress. But back then, they didn't scream "failure to progress!" and section you. They just made you walk. Until your legs fell off. (I guess that's a mini-rant against my mom's cluelessness about how things are done these days.) I was scared that's what would happen to me if I went in.
The first OB that checked me, Jenny M, was very excited. She said I was 1 cm, and very soft, which was what my own estimate had been before getting there, by the way. My contractions (most of them I didn't feel) were 6 minutes apart, and she was hopeful that things would get going faster so I could VBAC on her shift. I had a good, steady labor pattern already established, hence her hopefulness. My BP was a little high when I came in (of course it was, I was terrified!), so they kept checking it, and I stayed on the monitors until it went back down.
Then Jenny told me to go walk around L&D for an hour, and she'd check again. When she did her second check, nothing had changed, so she did a "mini-strip" hoping that it would move things along. I was monitored for another 20 minutes or so, and then she told me to come back in 2 hours, and she'd see if I made any progress. We asked if it was ok to go get something to eat, and she said that was fine, that I should definitely get something in me, she didn't see me going to a 10 in only 2 hours. So we went & did that, then walked around some more. When it was time to be checked & monitored again, there was still no change at all. At this point, Jenny's shift was over, and I swear, she pouted.
She turned me over to another OB, Erin R., (who was just as nice as Jenny had been). When she came into the room, I was yawning, and my eyes were all watery and red. "Oh, no! Are you crying? Are you ok?" she asked. I explained she'd caught me yawning, and no, I wasn't crying, I was just really really tired. She was a little deflated. She told me, "Darn, I thought for sure you were in labor for real! Because if you were crying, then it's the real thing for sure."
I was told to do some more walking, then come back to the room again. When we'd done about 20 laps of L&D, and my feet wanted to fall off, I went back to my room, and sat on the birth ball they had there until it was time again for another check. I just couldn't do any more, I really was totally wiped out.
Erin checked me again, and said she didn't think anything had changed, so she was going to consult with the attending OB, Dr. P, about what to do next. Dr. P came in and he gave us a couple of options.
Option one was to stay and see if anything was going to happen, they would get me into a better room (I was still in L&D's triage at this point).
Another option was starting pitocin, if I wanted to, but he didn't think it would turn out well. From what Jenny and Erin had told him, my Bishop's Score was still too low for a successful augmentation, and I'd probably end up in surgery.
The last option was to go home and wait there until labor truly began on it's own. He didn't think anything was going to happen quite yet, and it could still be a couple of days, and he was more than ok with us going home. He said he expected it wouldn't be long now, and I'd be more comfortable in my own environment.
I opted to go home and wait, and he was very supportive of that choice. If I was still pregnant late next week, they'd discuss my other options, which would be pitocin to augment my labor, or to schedule an RCS (which I won't do unless there's a damn good reason).
Alex looked great on all the strips (never had a decel! yay!), and my uterus was doing what it was supposed to, but it just wasn't ready to go yet. When Dr. P found out my next appointment wasn't scheduled until the 20th, he got us a new one for next Tuesday, if I hadn't already gone into real labor by then.
Dr. P told me not to worry about the bleeding, unless it changed to bright red or got heavy like a period, or if my water broke. He also said to trust my instincts, and if I felt different, not to hesitate to come in. I could take Tylenol if I needed to, and he recommended hot showers to help me relax, try to eat small meals frequently to keep my energy up, and try hard to get some rest. I kind of laughed about the rest thing.
We went and picked up TJ at my mom's, and we came home. We picked up KFC on the way, because GW & I were both too tired to think about what we wanted to feed TJ for dinner. I sent GW out for the things on the grocery list that we really needed (like toilet paper) in case something happened. I had also had wine on the list (sort of as a joke, but not really) for the last couple of weeks. He brought me some. I had a shower, and a glass of wine, settled down with a book to help me ignore the contractions, and passed out. Pre-labor is officially stupid.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Is This The Real Thing??
I've been having contractions since about 5 pm (Wednesday). They were miserable all through the time I was making dinner, (chicken tacos) and honestly, the smell made me think I might puke at any second. Needless to say, I did not eat with the boys, but, I sat at the table with them anyway. Later, I felt a little better, so I made myself a modified quesadilla out of the leftovers. I ate one small piece of it, and decided I didn't want any more to do with it. Eating through contractions is hard to do.
GW & I watched a movie, but I couldn't sit through it. I ended up folding laundry on the edge of the bed while standing & watching the movie. I had to do something, because I felt silly just standing there. Sitting on my birth ball seemed to piss Alex off, he kept headbutting me, and violently kicking my ribs for more space.
After the movie, I decided to take a bath, and this seemed to calm down the contractions... for a little while. I started having more, so I got up, washed my hair, and rinsed off. I had to stop a couple of times during this to breathe.
I was trying not to get excited, this is the 4th Wednesday in a row that I've felt like I might be going into labor. Wednesday is now officially "False Labor Day", so I was sort of expecting this. Anyway, I got out of the shower, and dried off a little. Of course, now that I was out of the shower, I had to pee. Figures. I checked my TP (I'm an obsessive TP checker at this point, lol!) and the was pinkish stuff on it. OMG OMG OMG!!!
So now I'm wondering if today will be Alex's birthday. I'm still having contractions, but I haven't been timing them. I don't want to wake up GW unless it's for real, and I'm not really sure yet. I've felt worse on previous "False Labor Days", so I don't want to jump the gun.
I want to be excited, really, I do... ughhhh... contraction... 8 minutes since the last one. This sucks.
GW & I watched a movie, but I couldn't sit through it. I ended up folding laundry on the edge of the bed while standing & watching the movie. I had to do something, because I felt silly just standing there. Sitting on my birth ball seemed to piss Alex off, he kept headbutting me, and violently kicking my ribs for more space.
After the movie, I decided to take a bath, and this seemed to calm down the contractions... for a little while. I started having more, so I got up, washed my hair, and rinsed off. I had to stop a couple of times during this to breathe.
I was trying not to get excited, this is the 4th Wednesday in a row that I've felt like I might be going into labor. Wednesday is now officially "False Labor Day", so I was sort of expecting this. Anyway, I got out of the shower, and dried off a little. Of course, now that I was out of the shower, I had to pee. Figures. I checked my TP (I'm an obsessive TP checker at this point, lol!) and the was pinkish stuff on it. OMG OMG OMG!!!
So now I'm wondering if today will be Alex's birthday. I'm still having contractions, but I haven't been timing them. I don't want to wake up GW unless it's for real, and I'm not really sure yet. I've felt worse on previous "False Labor Days", so I don't want to jump the gun.
I want to be excited, really, I do... ughhhh... contraction... 8 minutes since the last one. This sucks.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
So Now, We Wait... And Wait... And Wait Some More...
As of now, I'm 40 weeks and six days, according to my LMP. "Overdue". Since TJ came at 37 weeks, this waiting is killing me. And, all this week, Dr. M is on vacation. He didn't expect me to be pregnant this long, and well, neither did I. Everything has gone well, except for early on, when I had BP issues. They resolved, and I no longer need medication for it. I was having contractions that were painful around 20 weeks, and my cervix was softening, so Dr. M put me on "light duty", to avoid pre-term labor. I was given the go-ahead to do anything I wanted to after 36 weeks, and if I went into labor after that, so be it. I have not. Obviously.
I've been having periods of prodomal labor, but nothing has really changed. It's quite painful, and then I get excited counting contractions, but nothing ever happens except that I loose a night's sleep. My pelvis feels like it's splitting apart- the nurse I saw last Friday said there's nothing they can do for it, but it is a good sign that things are moving along as they should be. My last ultrasound showed that Alex is facing toward my back, and is in the perfect position for a natural birth.
Also, his weight at 38 weeks was estimated to be about 8 lbs, 6 oz. TJ was 7 lbs, 4 oz at 37 weeks, so I guess I'm supposed to have big babies. It doesn't really scare me, but it does make me wonder if he's going to fit into newborn clothes for more than 5 minutes, if at all. I'm considering bringing a larger "going home" outfit, just in case.
The positive side to that is he'll be able to fit into his gDiapers sooner, and I won't have to use disposables, although we have over 250 size 1's that were given to us by various people, mostly GW's work associates. The old ladies love my man, and they gave us a TON of stuff for the baby, including some lovely handmade quilts & blankets. One of the quilts is actually quite stunning, and I love it, it's made of cute safari themed prints. Some even went and bought items off of our registry. Not the cheap things, either. One got us the tub we wanted, another purchased the umbrella stroller, and another lady got the Baby Einstein play mat we thought was just adorable.
Most of the things we put on the registry, we didn't expect people to buy, but we were hoping to get with the "leftover" discount, or, that people could see what we needed, and get them second-hand if they found it. GW's step-mom picked up a combination changing-table & dresser, because there was one on the registry, and his sister got us a gently used pack-n-play, also, for the same reason. I still have TJ's highchair, and I also have the crib that my mother used for the four of us, and I used for TJ.
GW has been on leave for the last week, and he's driving me crazy with his nesting. He's nervous, excited, and impatient. I'm just impatient. Ok, I'm excited, too, but mostly, I'm so done with this, and I can't wait for it to all be over with, so I can sleep comfortably again.
I've been having periods of prodomal labor, but nothing has really changed. It's quite painful, and then I get excited counting contractions, but nothing ever happens except that I loose a night's sleep. My pelvis feels like it's splitting apart- the nurse I saw last Friday said there's nothing they can do for it, but it is a good sign that things are moving along as they should be. My last ultrasound showed that Alex is facing toward my back, and is in the perfect position for a natural birth.
Also, his weight at 38 weeks was estimated to be about 8 lbs, 6 oz. TJ was 7 lbs, 4 oz at 37 weeks, so I guess I'm supposed to have big babies. It doesn't really scare me, but it does make me wonder if he's going to fit into newborn clothes for more than 5 minutes, if at all. I'm considering bringing a larger "going home" outfit, just in case.
The positive side to that is he'll be able to fit into his gDiapers sooner, and I won't have to use disposables, although we have over 250 size 1's that were given to us by various people, mostly GW's work associates. The old ladies love my man, and they gave us a TON of stuff for the baby, including some lovely handmade quilts & blankets. One of the quilts is actually quite stunning, and I love it, it's made of cute safari themed prints. Some even went and bought items off of our registry. Not the cheap things, either. One got us the tub we wanted, another purchased the umbrella stroller, and another lady got the Baby Einstein play mat we thought was just adorable.
Most of the things we put on the registry, we didn't expect people to buy, but we were hoping to get with the "leftover" discount, or, that people could see what we needed, and get them second-hand if they found it. GW's step-mom picked up a combination changing-table & dresser, because there was one on the registry, and his sister got us a gently used pack-n-play, also, for the same reason. I still have TJ's highchair, and I also have the crib that my mother used for the four of us, and I used for TJ.
GW has been on leave for the last week, and he's driving me crazy with his nesting. He's nervous, excited, and impatient. I'm just impatient. Ok, I'm excited, too, but mostly, I'm so done with this, and I can't wait for it to all be over with, so I can sleep comfortably again.
My VBAC OB
My fears about seeing Dr. M were completely groundless. I thought I was going to have a freak-out, but I didn't. He has a sort of calming aura that's hard to describe. And, I suppose it doesn't hurt that he's slightly effeminate.
Dr. M's married, and they have three small children. When he was starting medical school, his wife became pregnant for the first time. That was what made him decide he wanted to be an OB over anything else he could have done. He said the whole process was just fascinating to him- it was truly a miracle, and he wanted to be a part of it, and learn as much as he could about it. He describes his wife's first birth as "Totally awesome and amazing!" It was even more awesome when they weighed the baby- over 9 lbs, delivered naturally, with no pain meds. Their other two children were born the same way, both over 9 lbs. He believes that if his "itty-tiny" wife can push out a 9 pounder, any woman can.
He doesn't put an estimated baby weight limit on VBACs. "Not uless it's estimate to be, like, 20 pounds, then we'll think twice."
He doesn't believe that due dates mean you need the baby out by that day. "Due date does not mean expired."
He doesn't believe that just because you're a VBAC, you need to be constantly watched and monitored. "I trust your body to know what it's doing, and that you'll know if something's not right."
He does believe that a woman's body is capable of amazing things during childbirth.
He does believe in a woman's right to choose their own birth experience.
He does believe I can do this.
One of the funnier things Dr. M said to me (and he does have a very good sense of humor, which I like) was during my appointment when I signed my VBAC consent form. "What happens if you can't make it?" I asked him. He told me there was only one other resident still there that he thought I might have problems with, "but I'm sure you'll tell them right where to shove their medical degree."
Dr. M's married, and they have three small children. When he was starting medical school, his wife became pregnant for the first time. That was what made him decide he wanted to be an OB over anything else he could have done. He said the whole process was just fascinating to him- it was truly a miracle, and he wanted to be a part of it, and learn as much as he could about it. He describes his wife's first birth as "Totally awesome and amazing!" It was even more awesome when they weighed the baby- over 9 lbs, delivered naturally, with no pain meds. Their other two children were born the same way, both over 9 lbs. He believes that if his "itty-tiny" wife can push out a 9 pounder, any woman can.
He doesn't put an estimated baby weight limit on VBACs. "Not uless it's estimate to be, like, 20 pounds, then we'll think twice."
He doesn't believe that due dates mean you need the baby out by that day. "Due date does not mean expired."
He doesn't believe that just because you're a VBAC, you need to be constantly watched and monitored. "I trust your body to know what it's doing, and that you'll know if something's not right."
He does believe that a woman's body is capable of amazing things during childbirth.
He does believe in a woman's right to choose their own birth experience.
He does believe I can do this.
One of the funnier things Dr. M said to me (and he does have a very good sense of humor, which I like) was during my appointment when I signed my VBAC consent form. "What happens if you can't make it?" I asked him. He told me there was only one other resident still there that he thought I might have problems with, "but I'm sure you'll tell them right where to shove their medical degree."
Success!
We tried not to be excited as we went to the viability ultrasound. We really did expect the worst, even as we hoped for the best. After all, 5 pregnancies and 4 of them miscarriages isn't really good odds for a successful pregnancy.
We were both holding our breath, and holding hands, until a little fluttering white speck appeared on the screen. "That's the heartbeat!" the tech announced. "It looks great, about 175 BPM, perfectly normal." Exhale.
He also told us that the placenta had attached to the rear wall of my uterus, and was nowhere near my scar, so there shouldn't be any issues from it at all. "Everything looks perfect this time, congratulations!"
It was completely unexpected. This wasn't really ideal. How it was supposed to work was: I was going to be having tests done to find out why I couldn't maintain a viable pregnancy, and they had put a timeline on those tests that had extended out at least six months. So GW had decided to continue with school, and get his Master's. Then we'd start trying again, when he was mostly finished with his degree, so that he wouldn't have the double stress of finishing school, and a new (or small) baby in the house.
I was also concerned about becoming severely ill, as I had with TJ, and I'd be unable to manage our household, which normally, I run like clockwork. I was afraid of everything, actually. Women in my family have lost babies in the second trimester before, and I was afraid it would happen to me, too. We decided not to tell TJ until it was obvious that I was pregnant. He's a very sensitive kid, and I didn't want to cause him any more anxiety than he already deals with.
We also decided not to tell most of the family until much later. They had been really disappointed by the last loss, and we didn't want to cause any more heartbreak than we already had. GW's family had been asking us for a baby for so long, and then when it didn't happen, they were devastated, even though we had told them I had problems with previous losses. We waited until we had pictures that were obviously a baby. A healthy baby.
I had some issues with high blood pressure early in the pregnancy, which I know came from my terror that every time I went for a visit, they weren't going to find a heartbeat, or something else would be wrong with my tests. I was put into a high-risk category immediately, because of my previous issues, and I went to the Dr's at least every two weeks, until I was about 20 weeks along. The OB I was seeing, Dr. C, wasn't concerned at all that I wanted a VBAC. But, I hit a roadbump. Dr. C had some family issues, and went MIA for about 2 months. In this time, most of my visits had been scheduled with a NP. Then, when the told me I needed to see an OB, I was scheduled to see Dr. M again. I didn't really know how I was going to feel about it, the last time I'd seen him wasn't very pleasant.
We were both holding our breath, and holding hands, until a little fluttering white speck appeared on the screen. "That's the heartbeat!" the tech announced. "It looks great, about 175 BPM, perfectly normal." Exhale.
He also told us that the placenta had attached to the rear wall of my uterus, and was nowhere near my scar, so there shouldn't be any issues from it at all. "Everything looks perfect this time, congratulations!"
It was completely unexpected. This wasn't really ideal. How it was supposed to work was: I was going to be having tests done to find out why I couldn't maintain a viable pregnancy, and they had put a timeline on those tests that had extended out at least six months. So GW had decided to continue with school, and get his Master's. Then we'd start trying again, when he was mostly finished with his degree, so that he wouldn't have the double stress of finishing school, and a new (or small) baby in the house.
I was also concerned about becoming severely ill, as I had with TJ, and I'd be unable to manage our household, which normally, I run like clockwork. I was afraid of everything, actually. Women in my family have lost babies in the second trimester before, and I was afraid it would happen to me, too. We decided not to tell TJ until it was obvious that I was pregnant. He's a very sensitive kid, and I didn't want to cause him any more anxiety than he already deals with.
We also decided not to tell most of the family until much later. They had been really disappointed by the last loss, and we didn't want to cause any more heartbreak than we already had. GW's family had been asking us for a baby for so long, and then when it didn't happen, they were devastated, even though we had told them I had problems with previous losses. We waited until we had pictures that were obviously a baby. A healthy baby.
I had some issues with high blood pressure early in the pregnancy, which I know came from my terror that every time I went for a visit, they weren't going to find a heartbeat, or something else would be wrong with my tests. I was put into a high-risk category immediately, because of my previous issues, and I went to the Dr's at least every two weeks, until I was about 20 weeks along. The OB I was seeing, Dr. C, wasn't concerned at all that I wanted a VBAC. But, I hit a roadbump. Dr. C had some family issues, and went MIA for about 2 months. In this time, most of my visits had been scheduled with a NP. Then, when the told me I needed to see an OB, I was scheduled to see Dr. M again. I didn't really know how I was going to feel about it, the last time I'd seen him wasn't very pleasant.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
It Was An Oops, Really...
Since we were told not to get pregnant, and I was not allowed to go back on birth control as it would mess up any test results, we resorted to condoms.
I hate them. They smell, they're messy, inconvenient, and, for me, they also trigger UTI's. Not very pleasant. But we used them anyway, because there wasn't any other choice.
On August 22, 2009, I went to see the Dr at our family practice for a test, because I was late. It was negative, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I started my period two days later, on the 24th. Everything was good.
We went to camp for Labor Day weekend. Camp is always one big party. Any memeber of GW's family is welcome to drop in at any time. We arrived late, so everyone else was already wasted. We set up the tent outside of the camp, and then we set up for a night of drinking and other debaucheries. When we woke up the next morning, there was a condom in our shared sleeping bag. Oops! We thought little of it, other than it was used, and gross. We laughed about it. I laughed even harder when GW found that he only had two beers left from what we had brought with us. He was not a happy camper that day.
When my birthday arrived, I was late again. The only other time I had not had a period on my birthday was when I was pregnant with TJ. This should have been a clue. I took a test, but it was negative, so we went on with our birthday plans. I continued to test weekly, and sometimes more often, but they all came up negative. I figured my cycle was still screwed up from the last miscarriage, and the shot of methotrexate.
In the second week of October, I got sick. I thought I was going to die. Really. It started with a sore throat, which I killed with apple cider vinegar. But I was still coughing. When I laid down, it felt like I had a concrete block sitting on my chest. I couldn't breathe. I tried to convince myself, and GW, by saying that no one ever died from "just a cough". It didn't work. He said, "Yeah, but people DO die from pneumonia". After two days of trying to sleep upright, and coughing so hard I couldn't keep liquids down, I finally accepted that I really needed to see a doctor. So we went to the ED at the hospital where GW works. "Gee, you look terrible!" said the nurse. Thanks. I know. She got an IV running in case I was dehydrated. The doctor told her to draw a blood sample while she was at it to check my electrolytes. Then he asked when my LMP was. I told him. GW had to explain (because I was coughing too much to talk) that we'd tested numerous times, with a negative result. The doctor wanted to do a blood test just in case, as pregnancy would affect any treatment I received.
We were mostly left alone while the lab processed the results. Good news, I wasn't dehydrated yet! I only had bronchitis, and I was pregnant. Congratulations!
What? No freakin' way. Of course, our first question was what the hcg levels looked like. The doctor said they were a little low, but still within an acceptable range for being almost 8 weeks. We were stunned. "How did that happen?" I think both of us thought it, but I can't remember which one of us actually said it. The nurse laughed at us, and told us if we didn't know by now, then we'd better start taking a sex-ed class to catch up on the basics.
The doctor went away to start working on my discharge papers, after deciding he didn't want to start me on any antibiotics, but he did want me to start a prescription for steroids to open up my bronchial tubes, because I wasn't getting enough oxygen for myself, let alone a growing baby. In the time that he was gone, I started coughing up blood. Great. Awesome. This night is just getting better. When he came back, I waved my bloody tissue at him (because I was too busy coughing into another one). He said "Ok, antibiotics it is, then!" and left to get me a few to get me started on them ASAP. He told me to pick up some Robitussin, and hopefully that would help with the coughing. He didn't want to give me codeine in addition to the antibiotics and steroids. I wanted it though, oh, boy, did I want it. *sigh*
The Robitussin didn't really work, by the way. It just tasted gross. I did find something else that worked. It also did not taste gross. And my PCP, Dr. E, was ok with me doing it. She said it was much less likely to cause problems with the fetus than codeine was. And if it made me stop coughing and breathe easier, smoke up. She wasn't really surprised, as she knew I smoked it, and she's also aware of the possible health benefits of smoking marijuana. One of those being that it helps to calm severe muscle spasms. "Just don't smoke until you're totally baked, just enough to make it work, maybe a couple of puffs here and there", which I was already doing. I didn't want to be stoned, I just needed to stop coughing for 5 seconds... But once I was done with the horrible coughing, I should probably quit. I agreed to Dr. E's "prescription", and after I was over the bronchitis, I didn't keep smoking. And I haven't had any during my pregnancy since then.
Dr. E also put me on Advair, and had me come in a couple of times for treatment with a nebulizer until my peak flows returned to normal. She also sent me for a viability ultrasound. I have to say, I was terrified at what we were going to see- or not see.
I hate them. They smell, they're messy, inconvenient, and, for me, they also trigger UTI's. Not very pleasant. But we used them anyway, because there wasn't any other choice.
On August 22, 2009, I went to see the Dr at our family practice for a test, because I was late. It was negative, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I started my period two days later, on the 24th. Everything was good.
We went to camp for Labor Day weekend. Camp is always one big party. Any memeber of GW's family is welcome to drop in at any time. We arrived late, so everyone else was already wasted. We set up the tent outside of the camp, and then we set up for a night of drinking and other debaucheries. When we woke up the next morning, there was a condom in our shared sleeping bag. Oops! We thought little of it, other than it was used, and gross. We laughed about it. I laughed even harder when GW found that he only had two beers left from what we had brought with us. He was not a happy camper that day.
When my birthday arrived, I was late again. The only other time I had not had a period on my birthday was when I was pregnant with TJ. This should have been a clue. I took a test, but it was negative, so we went on with our birthday plans. I continued to test weekly, and sometimes more often, but they all came up negative. I figured my cycle was still screwed up from the last miscarriage, and the shot of methotrexate.
In the second week of October, I got sick. I thought I was going to die. Really. It started with a sore throat, which I killed with apple cider vinegar. But I was still coughing. When I laid down, it felt like I had a concrete block sitting on my chest. I couldn't breathe. I tried to convince myself, and GW, by saying that no one ever died from "just a cough". It didn't work. He said, "Yeah, but people DO die from pneumonia". After two days of trying to sleep upright, and coughing so hard I couldn't keep liquids down, I finally accepted that I really needed to see a doctor. So we went to the ED at the hospital where GW works. "Gee, you look terrible!" said the nurse. Thanks. I know. She got an IV running in case I was dehydrated. The doctor told her to draw a blood sample while she was at it to check my electrolytes. Then he asked when my LMP was. I told him. GW had to explain (because I was coughing too much to talk) that we'd tested numerous times, with a negative result. The doctor wanted to do a blood test just in case, as pregnancy would affect any treatment I received.
We were mostly left alone while the lab processed the results. Good news, I wasn't dehydrated yet! I only had bronchitis, and I was pregnant. Congratulations!
What? No freakin' way. Of course, our first question was what the hcg levels looked like. The doctor said they were a little low, but still within an acceptable range for being almost 8 weeks. We were stunned. "How did that happen?" I think both of us thought it, but I can't remember which one of us actually said it. The nurse laughed at us, and told us if we didn't know by now, then we'd better start taking a sex-ed class to catch up on the basics.
The doctor went away to start working on my discharge papers, after deciding he didn't want to start me on any antibiotics, but he did want me to start a prescription for steroids to open up my bronchial tubes, because I wasn't getting enough oxygen for myself, let alone a growing baby. In the time that he was gone, I started coughing up blood. Great. Awesome. This night is just getting better. When he came back, I waved my bloody tissue at him (because I was too busy coughing into another one). He said "Ok, antibiotics it is, then!" and left to get me a few to get me started on them ASAP. He told me to pick up some Robitussin, and hopefully that would help with the coughing. He didn't want to give me codeine in addition to the antibiotics and steroids. I wanted it though, oh, boy, did I want it. *sigh*
The Robitussin didn't really work, by the way. It just tasted gross. I did find something else that worked. It also did not taste gross. And my PCP, Dr. E, was ok with me doing it. She said it was much less likely to cause problems with the fetus than codeine was. And if it made me stop coughing and breathe easier, smoke up. She wasn't really surprised, as she knew I smoked it, and she's also aware of the possible health benefits of smoking marijuana. One of those being that it helps to calm severe muscle spasms. "Just don't smoke until you're totally baked, just enough to make it work, maybe a couple of puffs here and there", which I was already doing. I didn't want to be stoned, I just needed to stop coughing for 5 seconds... But once I was done with the horrible coughing, I should probably quit. I agreed to Dr. E's "prescription", and after I was over the bronchitis, I didn't keep smoking. And I haven't had any during my pregnancy since then.
Dr. E also put me on Advair, and had me come in a couple of times for treatment with a nebulizer until my peak flows returned to normal. She also sent me for a viability ultrasound. I have to say, I was terrified at what we were going to see- or not see.
This Is Where My VBAC Journey Really Starts
Last April, we were told we were pregnant. (I'd had another miscarriage a couple of years before with GW, but we really weren't prepared for a pregnancy at the time anyway.) We were so excited, as this was only the 2nd cycle we'd been offically "trying". It was a little sooner than we'd anticipated success, but there it was. I had told GW about my past miscarriages, and I was quite frankly, terrified of another one.
All seemed to be going well. I was peeing every 5 minutes, getting sick, my boobs felt like they were enormous and on fire, and I was exhausted.
And then it all stopped. My symptoms went away. This had happened before. I knew it wasn't good, but everyone tried to reassure me that all would be well. We took TJ out to his restuarant of choice for his birthday. After I finished my dinner, I went to the restroom. I was spotting. I went back to the table, and quietly told GW that after they were done eating, we needed to go to the hospital. I went out to the car and waited for them to be done.
In the ER, they took a blood test. My hcg levels were appallingly low. 400-something. The doctor told us he was sorry, he didn't think this was a viable pregnancy. My first appointment, at 8 weeks, had been scheduled for the next day. The nurse advised us to go in early, as my level of care had drastically changed. We went an hour early. I showed the receptionist the papers I had been given at the ER the night before. I was sent for an ultrasound, and more bloodwork. There was nothing to see on U/S. Just nothing there at all but a little spot. My hcg had gone up a little, so after consulting with one of the OB's, we decided to wait, and have my levels checked again in a few days.
What followed was 2 weeks of hell, which I simply cannot detail. Most of it is a blur. We slept little, ate less, and cried a lot. My hcg levels kept going up, but far too slowly to mean anything good. After 2 weeks, they had only reached 860. We finally decided to end it. We decided on a D&C so that they could analyze anything they found. I needed to know why I couldn't carry. There were no physical reasons that I shouldn't be able to.
The cytotec they gave me before did not work to dilate me, and I had to be manually dilated for the procedure. I was screaming and I nearly passed out from the pain. But when it was over, it was over. I was sore, but not in nearly as much pain as I had been for the last 2 weeks with all the cramping. The next day, the OB who had done the D&C, Dr. M, called me to check up on how I was doing. I was so surprised that he actually cared enough to call.
When I recieved a call from him the next day, the news was bad. The lab hadn't found anything. I needed to come in for a shot of methotrexate. Since they couldn't find anything in the sample, it was assumed I had an ectopic pregnancy. I questioned this, because I know there was something in the "sample". I had asked to look at it, and it looked much like the tissue I had passed with my other m/c's.
We went to the hospital, where I recieved the worst treatment I have ever had in my entire life. The resident on-call said that she never heard of me, never heard of my OB, and that I was obviously lying. WHAT? I sat in the ER crying, and listening to her argue with the triage nurse. When the resident had gone, the triage nurse called me over again, and apologised for the resident's behavior. It was the first time I ever heard a medical professional swear. She called her a bitch, and tried to get someone else that could help me. She spoke to the L&D department head, who bitched out the resident.
Said resident came back with her tail between her legs, and was much nicer. Not that I wanted to see her, I just didn't have a choice at this point. They stuck us in OR recovery- there were no available rooms anywhere else. So all I had was a curtain. I asked for another hcg count before getting the shot, as Dr. M had told me to do, to see if I really needed it. The results never came back, just a nurse with the shot.
The horrible thing was, the nurse was pregnant. I was a mess.
We waited for over an hour after that for the resident to come back. Finally, we told the staff we were leaving. TJ was home alone, and it was already 10 pm. If there was anything else they needed to tell us, they could call. On our way home, the resident called us. She asked why we had left, and I told her. She said she'd send my discharge papers and information about ectopic pregnancy in the mail. I asked her what the hcg count had been. She told me it was 240. I was livid. The day of my D&C, it had been 860. Which meant there was something there. The lab had fucked up. I hadn't needed the shot after all.
Early the next morning, Dr. M called. He apologised about 10,000 times for what had happened the night before, none of which was actually his fault, and I didn't blame him for any of it. The lab was re-checking the sample, the resident was now on "administrative leave" for her behavior in the ER, and I did not need to worry about having an ectopic. He wanted me to come in for another blood check in a week, and to try to relax. If I ran out of any of my pain meds, to come in and get some more, he'd gladly give them to me. I was also specifically instructed to avoid becoming pregnant, because he wanted to do a full multipule-loss workup on me, which he'd discuss further when I came in next week. A woman my age shouldn't have so many problems staying pregnant. I told him that, honestly, sex was the last thing on my mind.
I didn't know it then, but I had found my VBAC OB.
All seemed to be going well. I was peeing every 5 minutes, getting sick, my boobs felt like they were enormous and on fire, and I was exhausted.
And then it all stopped. My symptoms went away. This had happened before. I knew it wasn't good, but everyone tried to reassure me that all would be well. We took TJ out to his restuarant of choice for his birthday. After I finished my dinner, I went to the restroom. I was spotting. I went back to the table, and quietly told GW that after they were done eating, we needed to go to the hospital. I went out to the car and waited for them to be done.
In the ER, they took a blood test. My hcg levels were appallingly low. 400-something. The doctor told us he was sorry, he didn't think this was a viable pregnancy. My first appointment, at 8 weeks, had been scheduled for the next day. The nurse advised us to go in early, as my level of care had drastically changed. We went an hour early. I showed the receptionist the papers I had been given at the ER the night before. I was sent for an ultrasound, and more bloodwork. There was nothing to see on U/S. Just nothing there at all but a little spot. My hcg had gone up a little, so after consulting with one of the OB's, we decided to wait, and have my levels checked again in a few days.
What followed was 2 weeks of hell, which I simply cannot detail. Most of it is a blur. We slept little, ate less, and cried a lot. My hcg levels kept going up, but far too slowly to mean anything good. After 2 weeks, they had only reached 860. We finally decided to end it. We decided on a D&C so that they could analyze anything they found. I needed to know why I couldn't carry. There were no physical reasons that I shouldn't be able to.
The cytotec they gave me before did not work to dilate me, and I had to be manually dilated for the procedure. I was screaming and I nearly passed out from the pain. But when it was over, it was over. I was sore, but not in nearly as much pain as I had been for the last 2 weeks with all the cramping. The next day, the OB who had done the D&C, Dr. M, called me to check up on how I was doing. I was so surprised that he actually cared enough to call.
When I recieved a call from him the next day, the news was bad. The lab hadn't found anything. I needed to come in for a shot of methotrexate. Since they couldn't find anything in the sample, it was assumed I had an ectopic pregnancy. I questioned this, because I know there was something in the "sample". I had asked to look at it, and it looked much like the tissue I had passed with my other m/c's.
We went to the hospital, where I recieved the worst treatment I have ever had in my entire life. The resident on-call said that she never heard of me, never heard of my OB, and that I was obviously lying. WHAT? I sat in the ER crying, and listening to her argue with the triage nurse. When the resident had gone, the triage nurse called me over again, and apologised for the resident's behavior. It was the first time I ever heard a medical professional swear. She called her a bitch, and tried to get someone else that could help me. She spoke to the L&D department head, who bitched out the resident.
Said resident came back with her tail between her legs, and was much nicer. Not that I wanted to see her, I just didn't have a choice at this point. They stuck us in OR recovery- there were no available rooms anywhere else. So all I had was a curtain. I asked for another hcg count before getting the shot, as Dr. M had told me to do, to see if I really needed it. The results never came back, just a nurse with the shot.
The horrible thing was, the nurse was pregnant. I was a mess.
We waited for over an hour after that for the resident to come back. Finally, we told the staff we were leaving. TJ was home alone, and it was already 10 pm. If there was anything else they needed to tell us, they could call. On our way home, the resident called us. She asked why we had left, and I told her. She said she'd send my discharge papers and information about ectopic pregnancy in the mail. I asked her what the hcg count had been. She told me it was 240. I was livid. The day of my D&C, it had been 860. Which meant there was something there. The lab had fucked up. I hadn't needed the shot after all.
Early the next morning, Dr. M called. He apologised about 10,000 times for what had happened the night before, none of which was actually his fault, and I didn't blame him for any of it. The lab was re-checking the sample, the resident was now on "administrative leave" for her behavior in the ER, and I did not need to worry about having an ectopic. He wanted me to come in for another blood check in a week, and to try to relax. If I ran out of any of my pain meds, to come in and get some more, he'd gladly give them to me. I was also specifically instructed to avoid becoming pregnant, because he wanted to do a full multipule-loss workup on me, which he'd discuss further when I came in next week. A woman my age shouldn't have so many problems staying pregnant. I told him that, honestly, sex was the last thing on my mind.
I didn't know it then, but I had found my VBAC OB.
To Make A Long Story Short...er...ish
I moved out of my parent's house into an apartment with D-Bag in August of 2000. I paid the security deposit- all of it. First, last, and an additional month's rent. It cleaned out my savings completely. By December, I was a basket case.
D-Bag was even more controlling, and even if I could have gotten a job, he forbid me to have one. He was emotionally and physically abusive. I drank heavily, and used food to help me feel better.
He had changed jobs, and was now working an overnight shift for a printing company. He came home smelly and covered in ink. Then he'd get into bed, sans shower. He did 10,000 things that annoyed the piss out of me, other than how he treated me.
When I said I needed to loose weight (at 210 lbs, being only 5'4", this was no longer a vanity thing, my heath was seriously at risk), he attempted to undermine my efforts constantly by bringing food into the house that was not on my diet plan. He'd also use verbal abuse. "Why do you want to loose weight? Oh, I know, so you can go be a whore." I kept at it anyway. I lost about 3 lbs a week, and eventually got down to 135. Now, I was "too skinny to have sex with". Um, excuse me, before you knocked me up, asshole, I was 115.
By May, I was done. I couldn't take any more. I moved out on TJ's 2nd birthday, back to my parents. It was the best decision I ever made for myself and TJ, and I'll never regret it. The only thing I regret is that it took me so long to get the balls to just leave.
I started a relationship with someone I thought was Mr. Wonderful. He loved me, he loved TJ, and I thought it would last forever. We went through a lot of shit, much of it involving drug abuse, and I'm not really that proud of this time in my life. Mr. Wonderful ended up in jail. I stuck with him, but when he came out, things just were not the same. He couldn't give up the habit, and his old lifestyle. I had moved on, and grown up. Eventually, he left me. It was completely random, and I was not expecting it at all. He went to his required substance abuse group meeting, and just disappeared after that. I couldn't find him anywhere. A week later, he called me, and told me he was picking up his stuff from my apartment. I was so angry, I didn't even know what to do. I couldn't believe he'd done this. It wasn't just about me, it was about TJ, too, who had grown up with this guy acting as a father-figure. And now, he was just going to leave after five years? Whatever.
I found out a week later that I was pregnant. We hadn't been trying, but we hadn't been avoiding it, either. I didn't bother to tell Mr. Wonderful the news. I didn't think he deserved to be in this baby's life at all. A week after, I started having painful cramps, and heavy bleeding. I went to the ER, where they told me I was miscarrying. There was nothing they could do. They were sorry. The baby's heart rate was in the 30's, and slowly dropping. The placenta had attached to my uterine scar, and it was starting to peel away from it. All they could do was offer me "something to help it along", and give me some Vicodin for the pain. My other option was a D&C. I opted for the medicinal method, took the Vicodin, went home, and went into a miserable depression.
I ended up bleeding for over a month. I got horribly sick, but continued my "I don't give a fuck" lifestyle. I worked 2 jobs, I drank, I danced, and I decided to treat every man that happened to cross my path like they treat women. Completely disposable and meaningless. For a time, this worked out wonderfully... Well, as great as it could have, anyway. I met GW, and I really liked him, but vowed not to let things get too serious. Ever. He was recently divorced, and essentially, I was too. Neither of us wanted anything more than a casual relationship, and both of us were seeing multiple partners (safely, I might add).
I was still sick a couple of months later. I went to the ER again, to be told that I now had mono and I was again severely anemic. I had to tell my partners about this, but as luck would have it, all my man-pets had already gotten mono before. So it was no big deal.
Somewhere, something changed, and I'm not sure when exactly that happened. GW was spending every weekend at my apartment, 2 1/2 hours from where he lived and worked. I don't remember when I had stopped seeing other guys. We talked on the phone almost nightly, except for the couple of times where he had a bit of a freak-out and made himself not call me. That didn't work, because eventually, I'd call him and ask what he was up to, would he like to see me? I was available, but I would make other plans if he was too busy for a visit.
In April (?) he invited me to go up to his family's camp with him. We hadn't expected anyone to be there, but his father and step-mom had also decided to spend the weekend. So we got drunk with his parents. We decided to take their 4-wheeler up to the top of the mountain. The moon was a strange shade of lavender-pink. The peepers were screaming- it was almost deafening. GW turned around to face me, and told me he had something he needed to tell me. "Great," I thought, "he's gonna dump me on the top of this mountain. He hates me, and doesn't really want to see me again. I'm not his kind of girl, etc., etc.".
He said "I love you".
This was one of the biggest moments of my life. It changed it forever.
D-Bag was even more controlling, and even if I could have gotten a job, he forbid me to have one. He was emotionally and physically abusive. I drank heavily, and used food to help me feel better.
He had changed jobs, and was now working an overnight shift for a printing company. He came home smelly and covered in ink. Then he'd get into bed, sans shower. He did 10,000 things that annoyed the piss out of me, other than how he treated me.
When I said I needed to loose weight (at 210 lbs, being only 5'4", this was no longer a vanity thing, my heath was seriously at risk), he attempted to undermine my efforts constantly by bringing food into the house that was not on my diet plan. He'd also use verbal abuse. "Why do you want to loose weight? Oh, I know, so you can go be a whore." I kept at it anyway. I lost about 3 lbs a week, and eventually got down to 135. Now, I was "too skinny to have sex with". Um, excuse me, before you knocked me up, asshole, I was 115.
By May, I was done. I couldn't take any more. I moved out on TJ's 2nd birthday, back to my parents. It was the best decision I ever made for myself and TJ, and I'll never regret it. The only thing I regret is that it took me so long to get the balls to just leave.
I started a relationship with someone I thought was Mr. Wonderful. He loved me, he loved TJ, and I thought it would last forever. We went through a lot of shit, much of it involving drug abuse, and I'm not really that proud of this time in my life. Mr. Wonderful ended up in jail. I stuck with him, but when he came out, things just were not the same. He couldn't give up the habit, and his old lifestyle. I had moved on, and grown up. Eventually, he left me. It was completely random, and I was not expecting it at all. He went to his required substance abuse group meeting, and just disappeared after that. I couldn't find him anywhere. A week later, he called me, and told me he was picking up his stuff from my apartment. I was so angry, I didn't even know what to do. I couldn't believe he'd done this. It wasn't just about me, it was about TJ, too, who had grown up with this guy acting as a father-figure. And now, he was just going to leave after five years? Whatever.
I found out a week later that I was pregnant. We hadn't been trying, but we hadn't been avoiding it, either. I didn't bother to tell Mr. Wonderful the news. I didn't think he deserved to be in this baby's life at all. A week after, I started having painful cramps, and heavy bleeding. I went to the ER, where they told me I was miscarrying. There was nothing they could do. They were sorry. The baby's heart rate was in the 30's, and slowly dropping. The placenta had attached to my uterine scar, and it was starting to peel away from it. All they could do was offer me "something to help it along", and give me some Vicodin for the pain. My other option was a D&C. I opted for the medicinal method, took the Vicodin, went home, and went into a miserable depression.
I ended up bleeding for over a month. I got horribly sick, but continued my "I don't give a fuck" lifestyle. I worked 2 jobs, I drank, I danced, and I decided to treat every man that happened to cross my path like they treat women. Completely disposable and meaningless. For a time, this worked out wonderfully... Well, as great as it could have, anyway. I met GW, and I really liked him, but vowed not to let things get too serious. Ever. He was recently divorced, and essentially, I was too. Neither of us wanted anything more than a casual relationship, and both of us were seeing multiple partners (safely, I might add).
I was still sick a couple of months later. I went to the ER again, to be told that I now had mono and I was again severely anemic. I had to tell my partners about this, but as luck would have it, all my man-pets had already gotten mono before. So it was no big deal.
Somewhere, something changed, and I'm not sure when exactly that happened. GW was spending every weekend at my apartment, 2 1/2 hours from where he lived and worked. I don't remember when I had stopped seeing other guys. We talked on the phone almost nightly, except for the couple of times where he had a bit of a freak-out and made himself not call me. That didn't work, because eventually, I'd call him and ask what he was up to, would he like to see me? I was available, but I would make other plans if he was too busy for a visit.
In April (?) he invited me to go up to his family's camp with him. We hadn't expected anyone to be there, but his father and step-mom had also decided to spend the weekend. So we got drunk with his parents. We decided to take their 4-wheeler up to the top of the mountain. The moon was a strange shade of lavender-pink. The peepers were screaming- it was almost deafening. GW turned around to face me, and told me he had something he needed to tell me. "Great," I thought, "he's gonna dump me on the top of this mountain. He hates me, and doesn't really want to see me again. I'm not his kind of girl, etc., etc.".
He said "I love you".
This was one of the biggest moments of my life. It changed it forever.
Alone With TJ
The first week went off just as badly as I thought it would. TJ had decided to be one of those babies that just cries all the time for no reason. "Colic". The only thing that would stop him from crying would be for me to walk around holding him. I was not supposed to be doing this, but I really had no choice- it was either walk, or go insane from listening to a constantly screaming baby. This caused me to form severe adhesions, which still bother me, eleven years later.
Sometime during the second week, a visiting nurse came to see how I was doing. She examined my incision, and told me it was infected on one side, but it seemed superficial. She asked me when was the last time I'd had a shower was. I honestly couldn't remember. She told me I needed one every day, and wrote up a "prescription". Someone else would have to hold TJ so that I could start taking care of myself, too. She asked how I was feeling. I said that I was ok. She gave me a look like she didn't believe a word of what I'd said, and I just burst into tears.
I had severe PPD & PTSD. She couldn't give me anything for it, but she promised to check in on me next week, which she did. I didn't really "feel" any better, but I was learning to be a good actress.
When my mom's vacation time started, she was horrified to find that I wasn't kidding- TJ really did cry non-stop all day unless he was held & walked. She'd never dealt with a baby like him before. Even after four children of her own, she was not prepared for this. He actually made her cry. "When I told you that I wish you'd have a child just like you, I didn't mean for him to be worse", she sobbed. She took him at about 5 am one morning, so that maybe I could go back to sleep. The funny thing was, I couldn't. I was already so used to having him with me & fussing, that sleep just wasn't happening.
That was petty much my life until I went back to school in the fall for my Senior year. I only took a few classes (art, sculpture, and darkroom photography), and I was supposed to be homeschooling for the rest, which I didn't do. My mother changed her work schedule so that she could be home all day with me & TJ. I pumped for when TJ would need to be fed and I had class. Going to school was like a vacation for me. I was only doing the things I wanted to do, and I got to have a bit of breathing time, away from the stress of caring for TJ and his colic. I went back to work part-time in the evening, against D-Bag's wishes. The ownership and management of the store I worked at changed over, but I tried to stay on anyway.
The whole year previously, my grandfather had been bedridden, and on oxygen. He had lung cancer, emphysema, and two kinds of hepatitis- one from an "encounter" when he was in the Navy, stationed in Japan, and the other type from a blood transfusion during some oral surgery in the 70's. He was not doing well, and for the longest time, my grandma refused to tell him I was pregnant. She thought it would be the last nail in the coffin, so to speak. When he was finally told, this was not the case. He was so thrilled to be able to meet one of his great-grandchildren. He hung on until Thanksgiving morning, when he finally passed away.
I went to work after my 3 day vacation, to tell the manager that my grandpa had passed away, and I needed a little more time (to attend the funeral and other things) before I came back to work. She then told me that they didn't need me to come back. I was fired. Whaaaaat? I begged for my job, but she said there would be no negotiation. They didn't need me, or "my kind", working for them. What the hell did that mean?
The new owner had found out that I had a baby out of wedlock. The new owner did not condone this, and thus, I was fired. This was a huge what the fuck? moment in my life, and the first time I'd encountered bigotry. They made up something so that I could not collect unemployment. Anyone who's ever tried to collect unemployment when the employer states that you broke a policy, even if you didn't, knows exactly how this went down. There's nothing you can do about it, essentially. And their allegations were rather serious, and I'm not going to get into it. It was my word against theirs, I had no legal proof that they'd fired me because I had a child, and that they were discriminating against me. I was unable to get another job for two years, because of what they'd done to me.
Sometime during the second week, a visiting nurse came to see how I was doing. She examined my incision, and told me it was infected on one side, but it seemed superficial. She asked me when was the last time I'd had a shower was. I honestly couldn't remember. She told me I needed one every day, and wrote up a "prescription". Someone else would have to hold TJ so that I could start taking care of myself, too. She asked how I was feeling. I said that I was ok. She gave me a look like she didn't believe a word of what I'd said, and I just burst into tears.
I had severe PPD & PTSD. She couldn't give me anything for it, but she promised to check in on me next week, which she did. I didn't really "feel" any better, but I was learning to be a good actress.
When my mom's vacation time started, she was horrified to find that I wasn't kidding- TJ really did cry non-stop all day unless he was held & walked. She'd never dealt with a baby like him before. Even after four children of her own, she was not prepared for this. He actually made her cry. "When I told you that I wish you'd have a child just like you, I didn't mean for him to be worse", she sobbed. She took him at about 5 am one morning, so that maybe I could go back to sleep. The funny thing was, I couldn't. I was already so used to having him with me & fussing, that sleep just wasn't happening.
That was petty much my life until I went back to school in the fall for my Senior year. I only took a few classes (art, sculpture, and darkroom photography), and I was supposed to be homeschooling for the rest, which I didn't do. My mother changed her work schedule so that she could be home all day with me & TJ. I pumped for when TJ would need to be fed and I had class. Going to school was like a vacation for me. I was only doing the things I wanted to do, and I got to have a bit of breathing time, away from the stress of caring for TJ and his colic. I went back to work part-time in the evening, against D-Bag's wishes. The ownership and management of the store I worked at changed over, but I tried to stay on anyway.
The whole year previously, my grandfather had been bedridden, and on oxygen. He had lung cancer, emphysema, and two kinds of hepatitis- one from an "encounter" when he was in the Navy, stationed in Japan, and the other type from a blood transfusion during some oral surgery in the 70's. He was not doing well, and for the longest time, my grandma refused to tell him I was pregnant. She thought it would be the last nail in the coffin, so to speak. When he was finally told, this was not the case. He was so thrilled to be able to meet one of his great-grandchildren. He hung on until Thanksgiving morning, when he finally passed away.
I went to work after my 3 day vacation, to tell the manager that my grandpa had passed away, and I needed a little more time (to attend the funeral and other things) before I came back to work. She then told me that they didn't need me to come back. I was fired. Whaaaaat? I begged for my job, but she said there would be no negotiation. They didn't need me, or "my kind", working for them. What the hell did that mean?
The new owner had found out that I had a baby out of wedlock. The new owner did not condone this, and thus, I was fired. This was a huge what the fuck? moment in my life, and the first time I'd encountered bigotry. They made up something so that I could not collect unemployment. Anyone who's ever tried to collect unemployment when the employer states that you broke a policy, even if you didn't, knows exactly how this went down. There's nothing you can do about it, essentially. And their allegations were rather serious, and I'm not going to get into it. It was my word against theirs, I had no legal proof that they'd fired me because I had a child, and that they were discriminating against me. I was unable to get another job for two years, because of what they'd done to me.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
At Home With TJ
It was Friday, May 21st. I had been discharged from the hospital at about 10:00 am.
I came back to my parent's house to find that they had made extensive arrangements to accommodate my new disability. My little sister had been ejected from her room, and it had been made into a nursery/bedroom for me & TJ.
There were two twin beds, with the cradle and a nightstand between them. My mother had put a generous supply of breast pads, burp cloths, and cloth diapers on the stand, along with a light that I could easily reach from the bed without stretching. The changing table was all set up, filled with all the supplies I needed for diaper duty, ready to be used. My glider had been placed in the corner, with extra pillows, and a table next to it for my breast pump. TJ's clothes and blankets had been put into the dresser. Various baby care items covered the top of it. She had even replaced the curtains. It was light, airy, and perfect. My mom said, "This is what I would have wanted when I had you. I thought you might like it." I loved it.
I came back to my parent's house to find that they had made extensive arrangements to accommodate my new disability. My little sister had been ejected from her room, and it had been made into a nursery/bedroom for me & TJ.
There were two twin beds, with the cradle and a nightstand between them. My mother had put a generous supply of breast pads, burp cloths, and cloth diapers on the stand, along with a light that I could easily reach from the bed without stretching. The changing table was all set up, filled with all the supplies I needed for diaper duty, ready to be used. My glider had been placed in the corner, with extra pillows, and a table next to it for my breast pump. TJ's clothes and blankets had been put into the dresser. Various baby care items covered the top of it. She had even replaced the curtains. It was light, airy, and perfect. My mom said, "This is what I would have wanted when I had you. I thought you might like it." I loved it.
Three hours later, everything was not quite as good. I started having more than the usual pain (which was quite a bit). I realized it was time for my codeine fix. I asked my mom where my prescription was. She told me she thought they'd given it to me. No, they had not. Perhaps we'd left it at the hospital? She started making phone calls. No, there was no script. The last thing I'd had before I left the hospital was Motrin, I should be fine. W.T.F....?
The nurses had been staggering my doses, because if I took both the codeine and the Motrin at the same time, it made me sick. So, I'd take the codeine, and an hour later, I'd get Motrin to help it out, since either by itself was just not enough for me to be able to function.
My mother spent the next three hours (with me in tears and nearly screaming in pain) trying to get me some relief. In desperation, she called her general practitioner, Dr. B, because NO ONE was willing to issue me a script, with the reason that I was breastfeeding, and it would dry up my milk.
Dr. B reminded her that he'd given her liquid codeine for bronchitis only a couple of months before. If she still had it, it would be ok for me to take, and he told her how much & when I should have it. He didn't understand why they would do such a thing to me. He offered to give my mom a refill if her leftover medicine ran out before I was healed enough. He assured us it wouldn't hurt me, my milk supply, or TJ. What would hurt us was if I was unable to feed him on demand, and stress from pain, combined with that, would dry up my milk faster than codeine ever would. Thank you Dr. B! My mom gave me the liquid codeine, I was able to feed TJ again, and get some rest, too. I did end up needing a refill, which Dr. B prescribed to my mother.
When Sunday rolled around, D-Bag told me he was going back to work Monday morning. What? Are you serious? I still needed a ton of help, and my mom (having scheduled her vacation for my due date) was going back to work as well. His answer: Your sister can help you. Ok, no, she could not help me. She was only ten. She didn't even get home from school until after 3:30... When my mom would pick her up. What was he thinking?? I learned then that he doesn't think very often, and when he does, it's half-assed.
So I would be alone, a giant hole in my belly, and a brand new baby, with no help. I tried to prepare myself for it, but I knew I wasn't really ready. No matter how many times he told me to "suck it up". And henceforth, all ye bear witness, that he shall be called DoucheBag, and infamy shall reign upon his name!
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