So, I didn't get the natural birth I so desperately wanted. But I sure as heck wasn't going to give up on successful breastfeeding. No how!
I was asked at the hospital several times for the record whether I was planning on breastfeeding or formula feeding. I proudly answered each time that I intended to breastfeed. Having a c-section automatically precluded me from having an optimal start, since I, and Lily by proxy, had to have significant anesthesia from the surgery and couldn't be together right away. In the first attempts, we were both quite sleepy and so hoped it would go better next time.
In the Mother Baby room the first night, Lily was brought to me every three hours to keep trying nursing. I would express a little colostrum (which always excited the nurses when a few drops would appear, and I found that slightly amusing) and try to get her interested, but she was always either too sleepy or not interested in latching. Add to that the fact that I was still very groggy and on heavy painkillers, not to mention unable to use my abdominal muscles and therefore fairly immobile and helpless to get her into a good position on my own, and it's clear we started with a few setbacks.
But for some reason that I now attribute to Hypnobabies, I stayed calm. We would eventually learn and she would eat and be nourished. For now, she barely needed anything and I knew I had colostrum for her. It's a very good thing I stayed calm. The second night in the hospital, Lily was screaming and crying and wouldn't latch. The nurse was there helping me. Well, not really helping, as she kept suggesting we just give her a little bit of formula. That was so annoying! One of the easiest ways to undermine the breastfeeding relationship right off the bat is to give unnecessary supplements with an artificial nipple. I ignored the nurse's suggestions as I tried on my own to get Lily to latch. Then she made a new suggestion: "What if I just get a little bit of formula to put on your nipple to try to get her to latch?"
"Sure, do that," I said. I could see everyone would benefit if there was just one less person in the room. The nurse left to go get a bottle and within two minutes the crying stopped and Lily was eating. It was a personal victory for me that we never had to use that formula. I was annoyed that I pretty much had to use deception to get rid of someone who was supposed to be helping me, but thankfully that was not the attitude of the whole staff.
And even though I wasn't worried, Lily's weight kept coming off. At 8lbs 6oz, she had lost a little more than 7% of her birth weight when we left the hospital on Monday. I had an appointment with the lactation consultant the following Friday. In the meantime, we kept working at it.
When we took her to the doctor on Wednesday, my milk had finally just come in. The nurse put her on the scale and said, "I'm getting eight pounds on the nose." My heart sank. She lost six ounces in two days? I thought she was eating! I knew we were still getting the hang of this, but I didn't think it was going badly. Seeing a horrified mommy, the nurse checked the calibration of the scale and reweighed her. This time it was 8lbs 8oz. So, two ounces in two days. Perfect! The doctor was pleased.
Then Friday rolled around and we took Lily to the hospital for our visit with the lactation consultant. Not having read the directions left to us (lack of sleep made us irresponsible, I guess), we went to the wrong part of the hospital, and I hadn't brought any supplies I was using, such as the manual breast pump or the parts to the hospital pump I had been given. Our lactation consultant's name was Sue and we had met her in the hospital during our stay. She is right up there among the people who are the nicest in the world. But she raised her eyebrows at my engorgement and seemed concerned about that. We got Lily on the digital scale, the same type she was weighed on at her discharge: 8lbs 3oz. Not good. She had continued to lose weight after my milk came in and she lost more than 10% of her birth weight. Not good.
Sue had me hand express as much milk as possible into a towel before putting Lily to the breast. I was just so clueless. Lily did latch but we found her to be ineffective. She swallowed infrequently, and she made smacking sounds. Sue found that she has a high palate, which makes nursing difficult. I was given things to try, like breast compression, and was told to feed her every 2-3 hours round the clock for at least 20-30 minutes worth of frequent swallowing. But Lily was a very sleepy newborn and it was sometimes difficult to wake her up. And at night, even though I set alarms, I couldn't wake up to feed her and many nights she was happy to sleep for a 4-5 hour stretch. So on top of sleep deprivation, I worried constantly about whether she was eating enough.
We returned the following Monday, and she had gained almost 4 ounces, which was right on target. We made an appointment for a week hence to check her weight. After another week, she had gained a little less than 4 ounces and was just barely up to her birth weight. NOT so good. Not alarming, but not good. We hunkered down and I did little else but encourage Lily to drink her fill, perfecting her latch, persistently burping her. No one had yet mentioned supplementing her diet, and I didn't want to get to that point.
Lily got gradually less sleepy and more interested in nursing. The smacking continued, but we were getting somewhere. After another five days, she finally, FINALLY gained the target ounce-per-day and was safely above her birth weight. I didn't need to return to the LC, but I have to say I think about Sue often and kind of miss her. I've looked for reasons to go back, as I've seen Lily through setbacks in her nursing. She's already had a few mild colds and an ear infection, through which we discovered a possible penicillin allergy. I'm disappointed that she's had illness. I thought breastfed babies were supposed to get fewer ear infections! The antibodies! The wonderful, magical properties of breast milk! But despite each setback, Lily always continued to make improvements and I never did have to drag her back to the LC.
Just when I thought the smacking would never stop, it did. Her palate has flattened out or she's just finally good enough at sucking that she can nurse pretty quickly and effectively. She's been sleeping through the night for several weeks now, though there are the off nights that she wakes up to eat. Each time we've been to the doctor, she's been in the 90th percentile for length and ~60th for weight. I confess I'm proud of her delightful little chubs. She's never had a drop of formula in her life (unless they snuck her some in the hospital), and her health is a testament to our hard work.
I'm glad I know how to breastfeed now. My next baby and I will be 50% better off (hopefully even better, if I get my VBAC!), though I understand a lot depends on the baby. I may have a whole different host of problems, but I've learned a lot this time around. And I'm extremely grateful that I didn't have more issues than a sleepy baby such as thrush, mastitis, cracked and bleeding nipples, etc.
I don't care what anyone says, you can be doing everything right and it will still hurt. And nursing isn't totally free if you factor in the electric pump (I have a relatively inexpensive one, but it still wasn't cheap), bottles for the one or two times per week I have to be away from her, nursing pillow, and special wardrobe items. Still, the two words I would use to describe breastfeeding in general are: WORTH. IT.
I may doubt my body's ability to bring a baby into this world, but I know that it can nourish a baby, and that helps a lot.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Birth Story, Part 5: The Birth
Time flies when you are finally no longer pregnant or recovering from surgery, freeing you up to become some sort of super-wife who keeps the house clean and does laundry!
Back to the story, and sorry for the delay:
Once I sadly nodded my consent for a surgery I really, really didn't want, the whole mood changed. Extra nurses showed up and put my lower legs in compression socks. The Pitocin drip was stopped. The anesthesiologist (the same good-looking one from my first D&C, I believe) came in to prepare me for the spinal and drink some horrible antibiotic. This was really one of the worst times of the day. It didn't feel like it was all about getting to meet my baby soon. I knew I wouldn't get to hold her right away, and I was about to be sliced open. Those aren't happy thoughts. I had to comply with everything the team of professionals told me to do, but at every turn my mind screamed in protest: I did not want this. I had no choice.
I pretty much cried continuously. As I got wheeled down the hall, probably looking like the saddest person in the world, several nurses tried to comfort me by telling me I was going to meet my baby soon. Well, yes, but... you know.
We got into the OR, which was about 30 degrees, cold and sterile. Oh, and the effects of the Pitocin had not worn off, and I had all but abandoned my relaxation for emotional turmoil, so I was now in pretty bad physical pain with each joke of a contraction, freezing cold, shaking, and very sad for myself. I had to sit very still for the spinal which was trying. The surgery prep seemed to take forever, though I suppose I should be glad it wasn't a true emergency c-section as I have a better hope for a VBAC in this case. Shivering and shaking, I was laid out, numbed from the chest down, arms spread out crucifixion-style, Erich was allowed in, and then they cut me open.
A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist told me to expect some pulling and tugging. And I did. There was absolutely no pain, but it also felt like my whole torso was being kneaded like bread dough. For the first and only time, I felt like I might throw up.
That feeling passed quickly, as Dr. P announced, "It's a baby girl! And she's big, eight pounds, I think." Less than a minute later, a doctor or nurse or someone weighed her and announced triumphantly: "NINE pounds, one ounce!" Big baby! No wonder I felt like a whale! Dr. P said in a I-told-you-so voice, "In another week she would have been ten pounds." For the sake of cordiality, I replied, "Okay, you win."
(Time-out, though. Let's just remember that I had been on IV fluids for about 28 hours by this point. I'm sure this effected Lily's birth weight.)
Someone in scrubs flashed her into my view from across the room and my first thought, which I may have said out loud, was, "Oh my gosh, she looks like me." And she does. Once I get a scanned copy of my newborn mug shot, I'll show you.
After she got all wiped up, Erich got to hold her by my face while I covered her in kisses. It was lovely to have an outside baby right there, but it just couldn't be real until I could hold her in my arms. There's another c-section drawback.
I got stitched up and wheeled to recovery. I had to be able to move my feet before they would let me hold Lily, so I patiently waited till that happened. Well, I wasn't so patient as completely exhausted. Finally, finally I got to hold my baby after who knows how much time had passed. She was quite sleepy as we tried nursing and not much happened. Despite my preparations, I really couldn't tell if she was latching.
More time passed and I was wheeled up to the Mother Baby unit. I had to scoot my half-numb, super-swollen, recently-de-babied self over to the bed. That must have been amusing to watch. My heart was full of joy just knowing I had a baby... out there, somewhere. I was way too tired to insist on keeping her with me, so I tried to sleep. That would have been easier if the nurse hadn't kept jabbering on about newborn stuff and handing me pieces of paper. I was going cross-eyed and clearly wasn't absorbing anything she said. WHY WOULDN'T SHE LET ME SLEEP. And then, when I was left alone, I couldn't sleep because my compression boots periodically squeezed my lower legs to prevent clots and the IV made buzzing sounds each time it went off every few minutes.
And the rest is recovery. I'll probably post about that too, but this concludes the birth and events leading up to it. I'd like to reiterate that my very disappointing experience did nothing to diminish my love for my baby. But to be honest, for a few weeks, every time I looked at her bulbous little 14.5-inch head, I felt the slightest twinge of resentment, as I had been made to believe that this was the main reason she wouldn't come out. (I later decided this is hogwash: clearly the Pitocin failed to bring on truly effective contractions.)
I've finally gotten to the point where I can say out loud "I had a c-section" and not risk welling up. The fire in my belly has been lit and I will do everything I can to ensure I will have a VBAC next time. The first step is firing my doctors. More on that later!
Thanks for reading my saga.
Back to the story, and sorry for the delay:
Once I sadly nodded my consent for a surgery I really, really didn't want, the whole mood changed. Extra nurses showed up and put my lower legs in compression socks. The Pitocin drip was stopped. The anesthesiologist (the same good-looking one from my first D&C, I believe) came in to prepare me for the spinal and drink some horrible antibiotic. This was really one of the worst times of the day. It didn't feel like it was all about getting to meet my baby soon. I knew I wouldn't get to hold her right away, and I was about to be sliced open. Those aren't happy thoughts. I had to comply with everything the team of professionals told me to do, but at every turn my mind screamed in protest: I did not want this. I had no choice.
I pretty much cried continuously. As I got wheeled down the hall, probably looking like the saddest person in the world, several nurses tried to comfort me by telling me I was going to meet my baby soon. Well, yes, but... you know.
We got into the OR, which was about 30 degrees, cold and sterile. Oh, and the effects of the Pitocin had not worn off, and I had all but abandoned my relaxation for emotional turmoil, so I was now in pretty bad physical pain with each joke of a contraction, freezing cold, shaking, and very sad for myself. I had to sit very still for the spinal which was trying. The surgery prep seemed to take forever, though I suppose I should be glad it wasn't a true emergency c-section as I have a better hope for a VBAC in this case. Shivering and shaking, I was laid out, numbed from the chest down, arms spread out crucifixion-style, Erich was allowed in, and then they cut me open.
A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist told me to expect some pulling and tugging. And I did. There was absolutely no pain, but it also felt like my whole torso was being kneaded like bread dough. For the first and only time, I felt like I might throw up.
That feeling passed quickly, as Dr. P announced, "It's a baby girl! And she's big, eight pounds, I think." Less than a minute later, a doctor or nurse or someone weighed her and announced triumphantly: "NINE pounds, one ounce!" Big baby! No wonder I felt like a whale! Dr. P said in a I-told-you-so voice, "In another week she would have been ten pounds." For the sake of cordiality, I replied, "Okay, you win."
(Time-out, though. Let's just remember that I had been on IV fluids for about 28 hours by this point. I'm sure this effected Lily's birth weight.)
Someone in scrubs flashed her into my view from across the room and my first thought, which I may have said out loud, was, "Oh my gosh, she looks like me." And she does. Once I get a scanned copy of my newborn mug shot, I'll show you.
After she got all wiped up, Erich got to hold her by my face while I covered her in kisses. It was lovely to have an outside baby right there, but it just couldn't be real until I could hold her in my arms. There's another c-section drawback.
I got stitched up and wheeled to recovery. I had to be able to move my feet before they would let me hold Lily, so I patiently waited till that happened. Well, I wasn't so patient as completely exhausted. Finally, finally I got to hold my baby after who knows how much time had passed. She was quite sleepy as we tried nursing and not much happened. Despite my preparations, I really couldn't tell if she was latching.
More time passed and I was wheeled up to the Mother Baby unit. I had to scoot my half-numb, super-swollen, recently-de-babied self over to the bed. That must have been amusing to watch. My heart was full of joy just knowing I had a baby... out there, somewhere. I was way too tired to insist on keeping her with me, so I tried to sleep. That would have been easier if the nurse hadn't kept jabbering on about newborn stuff and handing me pieces of paper. I was going cross-eyed and clearly wasn't absorbing anything she said. WHY WOULDN'T SHE LET ME SLEEP. And then, when I was left alone, I couldn't sleep because my compression boots periodically squeezed my lower legs to prevent clots and the IV made buzzing sounds each time it went off every few minutes.
And the rest is recovery. I'll probably post about that too, but this concludes the birth and events leading up to it. I'd like to reiterate that my very disappointing experience did nothing to diminish my love for my baby. But to be honest, for a few weeks, every time I looked at her bulbous little 14.5-inch head, I felt the slightest twinge of resentment, as I had been made to believe that this was the main reason she wouldn't come out. (I later decided this is hogwash: clearly the Pitocin failed to bring on truly effective contractions.)
I've finally gotten to the point where I can say out loud "I had a c-section" and not risk welling up. The fire in my belly has been lit and I will do everything I can to ensure I will have a VBAC next time. The first step is firing my doctors. More on that later!
Thanks for reading my saga.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Birth Story, Part 4: Nighttime
The sun was down and it was dark. At about 5:30pm we decided to do another internal check for progress. I'm pretty sure Cathy was hoping things would get moving before her shift ended. She loved us and we loved her.
2-3 cm dilated, about 80% effaced. Still.
I believe this is when I broke down. It started to seem like my worst prediction was coming true. This induction was failing. These contractions were worthless. Though I had successfully kept the pain at bay, I was getting pretty exhausted from the effort. I know Erich was too--he was the one getting me ice chips, popsicles and damp towels for my neck and food and coffee for himself in between being there with me for every contraction, helping me manage the pain.
But I needed a break, and if this baby was going to come out naturally, it was going to take a long time, and something had to give. I asked for a narcotic to take the edge off. Erich knew how I felt about pain medication and encouraged me to wait half an hour. I waited for about one more contraction, and then I really knew I couldn't continue like this. Within 30 minutes or so, I was hooked up with a dose of Dilaudid and very quickly got to rest.
I continued to feel everything, but the edge was definitely off and furthermore, I just didn't care. The room seemed quieter, probably because everyone was acting like I was asleep. I wasn't. I could hear everything and responses to conversations going on took shape in my head, but I couldn't care enough to make them come out of my mouth. I decided to enjoy this sensation, and I tried to visualize my cervix thinning and opening with every wave. The theme was relaxation.
After probably about an hour, the narcotic started to wear off a little and I started to get more active. Though all the changing positions I had done all day hadn't seemed to do much yet, gravity was my best chance of getting the Pit to work.
It was time for a nursing shift change. Cathy bid us farewell by taking my hands, praising me again for my stamina and telling us how much she liked us. (Cue the tears.) She assured me I was "doing everything right" and whatever happens, even if I have to have a section, there will have been some reason I didn't progress, like a big baby or something along those lines. She asked for permission to call and find out what happened later that night, which I of course granted.
To be honest, at this point I was nearly certain this would end in a c-section. Wanting that not to be the case hadn't helped yet, and it seemed like I was running out of time. My water had been broken for nearly 12 hours, and they would certainly expect me to deliver within 24 hours of rupture. Doing the math, I knew my progress would have to speed up a whole lot for that to happen. I knew I could still try an epidural, but I would want to be more than 3cm dilated for that. And even then, I would use it only to see if it could help the Pitocin work better and not because I really needed it for pain. So I tried some optimism. Labor is unpredictable--maybe at my next check I would magically be in transition and deliver soon after!
Our new nurse, Melinda, was also very nice. She came in focused and ready to get down to business. She laid out the situation: progress was slow. I was up to 28 mU/min of Pitocin--most women deliver at half that amount. She checked the contraction printout and observed that this was not a normal contraction pattern. Luckily, the baby was doing splendidly and was tolerating everything well. My BP was fine, except for the one after the last exam, which was sky high for understandable reasons. Her recommendation was to get serious about moving around and trying more aggressive positions, hopefully to even out the contractions and make them effective. Meanwhile, we would stop the Pitocin and start increasing again from zero, as my uterus might be building up a resistance.
Dr. P called and asked how much longer I wanted to go. It seemed like she knew a section was inevitable and was simply allowing me to retain the illusion that I would have this baby the way nature intended, but once I got over that, she would come in and cut me open. Yeah, I've been known to read into things a bit. Regardless, I did not want to see her. I decided to give it two more hours and let her come back at 10 to check me.
Melinda got me on the ball, knees spread far apart. I rolled side to side, front to back. After a while, I stood next to the bed and squatted with each contraction. Just as that started to get more comfortable, she had me on the bed on all fours, shifting my weight back and forth. She was a bit drill sergeant-esque, which I really needed at this time of the day. My contractions continued to be irregular, especially after they cut the Pit. I remember waiting 5-7 minutes between them for a while. Erich and I both started entertaining a small hope that I had made no more progress because some progress would prolong this nightmare and it might still fail.
It was a burden and a relief when Dr. P arrived. I didn't want the c-section, but I couldn't do this any more. She asked how I was doing. "Pretty miserable, actually," I replied. "You poor thing!" she said. That was nice of her to say, but I blamed her for my situation. I still feel that if my bag of waters were still intact, we could have just stopped for the night and tried again later. Lily was fine, I was fine. And, incidentally, and to the surprise of no one, I had not progressed any further. 2-3 cm. Maybe some improvement in effacement, but I don't remember. It didn't matter any more. It was time to have major surgery because all these artificial interventions did what statistics say they will do (or fail to do) 50% of the time. My body and my baby were not ready for birth, so they were going to be forced into submission with the scalpel.
I don't think anyone even said the word at this point. Through my tears and utter defeat, I simply nodded.
Part 5
2-3 cm dilated, about 80% effaced. Still.
I believe this is when I broke down. It started to seem like my worst prediction was coming true. This induction was failing. These contractions were worthless. Though I had successfully kept the pain at bay, I was getting pretty exhausted from the effort. I know Erich was too--he was the one getting me ice chips, popsicles and damp towels for my neck and food and coffee for himself in between being there with me for every contraction, helping me manage the pain.
But I needed a break, and if this baby was going to come out naturally, it was going to take a long time, and something had to give. I asked for a narcotic to take the edge off. Erich knew how I felt about pain medication and encouraged me to wait half an hour. I waited for about one more contraction, and then I really knew I couldn't continue like this. Within 30 minutes or so, I was hooked up with a dose of Dilaudid and very quickly got to rest.
I continued to feel everything, but the edge was definitely off and furthermore, I just didn't care. The room seemed quieter, probably because everyone was acting like I was asleep. I wasn't. I could hear everything and responses to conversations going on took shape in my head, but I couldn't care enough to make them come out of my mouth. I decided to enjoy this sensation, and I tried to visualize my cervix thinning and opening with every wave. The theme was relaxation.
After probably about an hour, the narcotic started to wear off a little and I started to get more active. Though all the changing positions I had done all day hadn't seemed to do much yet, gravity was my best chance of getting the Pit to work.
It was time for a nursing shift change. Cathy bid us farewell by taking my hands, praising me again for my stamina and telling us how much she liked us. (Cue the tears.) She assured me I was "doing everything right" and whatever happens, even if I have to have a section, there will have been some reason I didn't progress, like a big baby or something along those lines. She asked for permission to call and find out what happened later that night, which I of course granted.To be honest, at this point I was nearly certain this would end in a c-section. Wanting that not to be the case hadn't helped yet, and it seemed like I was running out of time. My water had been broken for nearly 12 hours, and they would certainly expect me to deliver within 24 hours of rupture. Doing the math, I knew my progress would have to speed up a whole lot for that to happen. I knew I could still try an epidural, but I would want to be more than 3cm dilated for that. And even then, I would use it only to see if it could help the Pitocin work better and not because I really needed it for pain. So I tried some optimism. Labor is unpredictable--maybe at my next check I would magically be in transition and deliver soon after!
Our new nurse, Melinda, was also very nice. She came in focused and ready to get down to business. She laid out the situation: progress was slow. I was up to 28 mU/min of Pitocin--most women deliver at half that amount. She checked the contraction printout and observed that this was not a normal contraction pattern. Luckily, the baby was doing splendidly and was tolerating everything well. My BP was fine, except for the one after the last exam, which was sky high for understandable reasons. Her recommendation was to get serious about moving around and trying more aggressive positions, hopefully to even out the contractions and make them effective. Meanwhile, we would stop the Pitocin and start increasing again from zero, as my uterus might be building up a resistance.
Dr. P called and asked how much longer I wanted to go. It seemed like she knew a section was inevitable and was simply allowing me to retain the illusion that I would have this baby the way nature intended, but once I got over that, she would come in and cut me open. Yeah, I've been known to read into things a bit. Regardless, I did not want to see her. I decided to give it two more hours and let her come back at 10 to check me.
Melinda got me on the ball, knees spread far apart. I rolled side to side, front to back. After a while, I stood next to the bed and squatted with each contraction. Just as that started to get more comfortable, she had me on the bed on all fours, shifting my weight back and forth. She was a bit drill sergeant-esque, which I really needed at this time of the day. My contractions continued to be irregular, especially after they cut the Pit. I remember waiting 5-7 minutes between them for a while. Erich and I both started entertaining a small hope that I had made no more progress because some progress would prolong this nightmare and it might still fail.
It was a burden and a relief when Dr. P arrived. I didn't want the c-section, but I couldn't do this any more. She asked how I was doing. "Pretty miserable, actually," I replied. "You poor thing!" she said. That was nice of her to say, but I blamed her for my situation. I still feel that if my bag of waters were still intact, we could have just stopped for the night and tried again later. Lily was fine, I was fine. And, incidentally, and to the surprise of no one, I had not progressed any further. 2-3 cm. Maybe some improvement in effacement, but I don't remember. It didn't matter any more. It was time to have major surgery because all these artificial interventions did what statistics say they will do (or fail to do) 50% of the time. My body and my baby were not ready for birth, so they were going to be forced into submission with the scalpel.
I don't think anyone even said the word at this point. Through my tears and utter defeat, I simply nodded.
Part 5
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Birth Story, Part 3: It's the Pits
For weeks before I gave birth, I had contractions. Pitiful little tightenings of my belly, which I would have to touch to verify that I was contracting. And, given that they did nothing to progress my cervix, they weren't "real." After my Cervidil was started, these contractions got to be more noticeable, and I hoped labor would start before the Pitocin. It didn't really.
First thing in the morning, I got checked and was somewhat pleased to learn that I was now 1.5cm dilated. Not much, but more than nothing! The nurse hooked me up to the Pitocin drip and informed me that the doctor would come in soon and would probably break my water.
What.
As I keep having to remind myself, I am NOT a doctor. HOWEVER, there's a few things I know about labor and contractions. One is that Pitocin contractions are much harder than natural ones. Two, contractions get harder after the water is broken. I also (legitimately) feared that breaking my water too soon would give Lily less of a cushion for moving into the correct position to be born. Thus far, I had not been successful in standing up to Dr. P, but I was pretty sure I didn't want my membranes ruptured so early in the day. If you've been following along, you know by now that "pretty sure" is not nearly sure enough.
Around 7:30am my ray of sunshine arrived: Cathy the nurse. One item on my birth preferences list that actually worked out and was granted was my request for a nurse who enjoys working with couples who have prepared for a natural childbirth. Cathy was the bomb. I told her I didn't want my water broken. When Dr. P arrived to do it, I asked her if we could wait because I didn't want to be "on the clock." (Deja vu! I also wanted to wait to be induced, and we know how that worked out.) She got her annoyed/frustrated look that I now know well and asked when we should do it instead. I didn't really know how to answer that question, so I...gave in (regret #5--huge, huge regret). Cathy looked at me and asked if I was sure, standing up to Dr. P's mumbles of protest better than I could. But I continued the theme of resignation and let her get it over with. (I now believe I should have said I wanted to be at least 5cm before breaking my bag of waters. I now also regret not hiring a doula, who would have done the thinking and advocating for me.)
After a pull, a tug, a pop and a gush, I was on the clock. Labor was henceforth messy and drippy, and besides all the legitimate reasons not to have the membranes ruptured so early, I wished I could have had a few hours to labor without all the messiness. It was hard enough to lug my belly around without having to place towels and pads everywhere as well.
Oh, and by now, my contractions were real. I didn't have to wonder whether I was having any. Within an hour or so, I couldn't talk through them and I needed to enter hypnosis to keep the discomfort at bay. For the whole first part of the day, I thought I could handle this. Every fifteen minutes they upped the Pit until I was contracting regularly. Unfortunately, even when the contractions got to be close together, they were never really regular. I'd get one every 2-3 minutes and then go 5 minutes before having three every minute, etc. Furthermore, from looking at the monitors we could see that they didn't have normal peaks. They felt strong and looked strong, but it was impossible to measure their strength without internal monitoring, which I never had.
But I labored on and impressed Cathy with my pain management. I started needing Erich more and more with my hypnosis cues, and he was there each time with a hand on my forehead and/or pressure on my shoulder, helping me relax through the painful artificial contractions. My parents stopped by at one point, but they didn't stay in the room long. It's hard to receive visitors when everyone needs to shut up ever 2-5 minutes while I breathe through a contraction. I had ice chips and yummy cherry-pineapple popsicles. It seemed okay as long as I could concentrate.
Then, around 1pm we figured it was a good time for an exam to check my progress. The verdict: 2-3cm, 80% effaced. I was disappointed. I was prepared for a number lower than 5, but I was hoping for more than 3. All that work hardly did anything! I wondered whether an epidural or other drugs would help me relax more and let the Pitocin do its work. Cathy encouraged me to keep doing what I was doing, keep taking the contractions one at a time and don't think hours in the future because it was impossible to know what was going to happen and it wasn't worth the stress. Her attitude helped me soldier on, and I kept finding labor demanding but manageable.
They cranked the Pit some more. The contractions got pretty bad. I was still managing without pain meds, but if I found myself mentally unprepared for the next one, I was in a world of hurt. We had the iPod going, alternating between Hypnobabies scripts and quiet music. I moved around and changed positions. Cathy went in search of the perfect birthing ball as the one in the room was under inflated. She praised me for my coping skills, for vocalizing through the contractions. Erich was my rock, but Cathy really kept me going.
Four more hours went by and I consented to another internal exam...
I'll leave it here for tonight, but I will say that (spoiler alert), it doesn't get any better from here.
Part 4
First thing in the morning, I got checked and was somewhat pleased to learn that I was now 1.5cm dilated. Not much, but more than nothing! The nurse hooked me up to the Pitocin drip and informed me that the doctor would come in soon and would probably break my water.
What.
As I keep having to remind myself, I am NOT a doctor. HOWEVER, there's a few things I know about labor and contractions. One is that Pitocin contractions are much harder than natural ones. Two, contractions get harder after the water is broken. I also (legitimately) feared that breaking my water too soon would give Lily less of a cushion for moving into the correct position to be born. Thus far, I had not been successful in standing up to Dr. P, but I was pretty sure I didn't want my membranes ruptured so early in the day. If you've been following along, you know by now that "pretty sure" is not nearly sure enough.
Around 7:30am my ray of sunshine arrived: Cathy the nurse. One item on my birth preferences list that actually worked out and was granted was my request for a nurse who enjoys working with couples who have prepared for a natural childbirth. Cathy was the bomb. I told her I didn't want my water broken. When Dr. P arrived to do it, I asked her if we could wait because I didn't want to be "on the clock." (Deja vu! I also wanted to wait to be induced, and we know how that worked out.) She got her annoyed/frustrated look that I now know well and asked when we should do it instead. I didn't really know how to answer that question, so I...gave in (regret #5--huge, huge regret). Cathy looked at me and asked if I was sure, standing up to Dr. P's mumbles of protest better than I could. But I continued the theme of resignation and let her get it over with. (I now believe I should have said I wanted to be at least 5cm before breaking my bag of waters. I now also regret not hiring a doula, who would have done the thinking and advocating for me.)
After a pull, a tug, a pop and a gush, I was on the clock. Labor was henceforth messy and drippy, and besides all the legitimate reasons not to have the membranes ruptured so early, I wished I could have had a few hours to labor without all the messiness. It was hard enough to lug my belly around without having to place towels and pads everywhere as well.
Oh, and by now, my contractions were real. I didn't have to wonder whether I was having any. Within an hour or so, I couldn't talk through them and I needed to enter hypnosis to keep the discomfort at bay. For the whole first part of the day, I thought I could handle this. Every fifteen minutes they upped the Pit until I was contracting regularly. Unfortunately, even when the contractions got to be close together, they were never really regular. I'd get one every 2-3 minutes and then go 5 minutes before having three every minute, etc. Furthermore, from looking at the monitors we could see that they didn't have normal peaks. They felt strong and looked strong, but it was impossible to measure their strength without internal monitoring, which I never had.
But I labored on and impressed Cathy with my pain management. I started needing Erich more and more with my hypnosis cues, and he was there each time with a hand on my forehead and/or pressure on my shoulder, helping me relax through the painful artificial contractions. My parents stopped by at one point, but they didn't stay in the room long. It's hard to receive visitors when everyone needs to shut up ever 2-5 minutes while I breathe through a contraction. I had ice chips and yummy cherry-pineapple popsicles. It seemed okay as long as I could concentrate.
Then, around 1pm we figured it was a good time for an exam to check my progress. The verdict: 2-3cm, 80% effaced. I was disappointed. I was prepared for a number lower than 5, but I was hoping for more than 3. All that work hardly did anything! I wondered whether an epidural or other drugs would help me relax more and let the Pitocin do its work. Cathy encouraged me to keep doing what I was doing, keep taking the contractions one at a time and don't think hours in the future because it was impossible to know what was going to happen and it wasn't worth the stress. Her attitude helped me soldier on, and I kept finding labor demanding but manageable.
They cranked the Pit some more. The contractions got pretty bad. I was still managing without pain meds, but if I found myself mentally unprepared for the next one, I was in a world of hurt. We had the iPod going, alternating between Hypnobabies scripts and quiet music. I moved around and changed positions. Cathy went in search of the perfect birthing ball as the one in the room was under inflated. She praised me for my coping skills, for vocalizing through the contractions. Erich was my rock, but Cathy really kept me going.
Four more hours went by and I consented to another internal exam...
I'll leave it here for tonight, but I will say that (spoiler alert), it doesn't get any better from here.
Part 4
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Don't Starve Me
The Birth Story shall continue, probably next week. This weekend is LILY'S BAPTISM EXTRAVAGANZA! and I have a lot of cleaning to do.
But in the meantime, enjoy this article that explains why I should have been allowed more than popsicles and ice chips and why I'm liking hospitals less and less:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/26/health/26child.html?ref=health
But in the meantime, enjoy this article that explains why I should have been allowed more than popsicles and ice chips and why I'm liking hospitals less and less:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/26/health/26child.html?ref=health
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Birth Story, Part 2: The Storm Begins
In the intervening days between my last prenatal checkup and my induction, I tried to remind myself that recent-miscarriage-sufferer Susan would be annoyed at hugely-pregnant Susan for being so upset about an induction and heightened risk of c-section. Anything for a baby, right? Unfortunately, that did pretty much nothing to improve my mood. I was sure that recent-miscarriage-sufferer Susan would understand.
So, Thursday the 7th arrived, and Erich and I worked around the house nonstop to get as much ready as we could. I finally had my motivation to pack my bag for the hospital! I packed comfy clothes for myself, none of which I wore because it was all pants and shirts. I also packed a zillion other things that I did not need or use. Live and learn!
My mom came over to help us and she actually stayed till after we left getting the nursery ready. Thanks, mom! At around 4:00, it was time to head out into the gloom. The predicted snow storm was arriving, and Erich was on edge, not wanting to take any chances on getting delayed in trafic or, worse yet, slipping and falling in the slush. We went first to our favorite Chinese restaurant for our last meal together as a family of two. I got orange peel chicken. I wasn't that hungry, but I ate anyway since hospitals are mean and don't let laboring women eat anything substanial.
We arrived in the Labor and Delivery ward at 6pm sharp. We felt weird showing up at a scheduled time to have our baby. It felt like we needed to make excuses to the world and assure them that we are not "those people" who schedule their baby's birth for convenience. This was not our choice! But, we got over it and got shown to our room, the same large but awkwardly laid-out corner suite we had seen in the tour of the hospital. When I had first seen this room, I solidified my desire to labor at home for as long as possible. (Aaaand, so much for that!) Despite the wood floors and other attempts at a homey feel, this was a very medical place.
The nurse took my vitals and asked again why I was being induced. Why, for high blood pressure! Except, over the next 24 hours, my blood pressure stayed in the normal range. I asked for clarification as to when and what I was allowed to eat, and she reminded me that I would not be allowed to eat the next day, "because we have to treat everyone like a possible c-section." Well, with a 30% c-section rate at this hospital, I'm not surprised. Except very, very few c-sections even require general anesthesia and only a small percentage of those have any complications with vomiting and aspiration, and effectively no one ever dies from that. Yet that is the reason I was allowed nothing more than ice chips and popsicles. Ridiculous!
Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. And I digress. Sorry.
Another nurse poked and massaged my crazy-swollen arms for about ten minutes, unable to find any veins for the IV. She finally settled on my wrist so that I couldn't bend or flex my hand. They put contraction and fetal heart monitors over my massive belly, and then I was really tethered. From that point onward, just to get to the bathroom six feet away I had to unplug the monitors, drape the cords across my shoulders and have Erich follow me with the IV stand. It's already hard to remember the sheer effort it required just to get out of bed and waddle across a room. I really don't miss being pregnant, to be honest.
By about 7:30, after a baseline internal check (still no dilation or effacement--"unfavorable cervix," further upping my chances of a c-section), the nurse placed the Cervidil behind my cervix. At this point, Erich took the final pictures of me as a pregnant lady:
This is actually one of the only pictures that doesn't make me look frightening. There's another one I won't share that actually scares my own mother. No joke. Btw, my face is at least 30% smaller now, thank goodness.
The bed is pretty close to the bathroom door on the right there. On the left in the background is the couch where Erich slept. You can also see my awkward IV.
So, Thursday the 7th arrived, and Erich and I worked around the house nonstop to get as much ready as we could. I finally had my motivation to pack my bag for the hospital! I packed comfy clothes for myself, none of which I wore because it was all pants and shirts. I also packed a zillion other things that I did not need or use. Live and learn!
My mom came over to help us and she actually stayed till after we left getting the nursery ready. Thanks, mom! At around 4:00, it was time to head out into the gloom. The predicted snow storm was arriving, and Erich was on edge, not wanting to take any chances on getting delayed in trafic or, worse yet, slipping and falling in the slush. We went first to our favorite Chinese restaurant for our last meal together as a family of two. I got orange peel chicken. I wasn't that hungry, but I ate anyway since hospitals are mean and don't let laboring women eat anything substanial.
We arrived in the Labor and Delivery ward at 6pm sharp. We felt weird showing up at a scheduled time to have our baby. It felt like we needed to make excuses to the world and assure them that we are not "those people" who schedule their baby's birth for convenience. This was not our choice! But, we got over it and got shown to our room, the same large but awkwardly laid-out corner suite we had seen in the tour of the hospital. When I had first seen this room, I solidified my desire to labor at home for as long as possible. (Aaaand, so much for that!) Despite the wood floors and other attempts at a homey feel, this was a very medical place.
The nurse took my vitals and asked again why I was being induced. Why, for high blood pressure! Except, over the next 24 hours, my blood pressure stayed in the normal range. I asked for clarification as to when and what I was allowed to eat, and she reminded me that I would not be allowed to eat the next day, "because we have to treat everyone like a possible c-section." Well, with a 30% c-section rate at this hospital, I'm not surprised. Except very, very few c-sections even require general anesthesia and only a small percentage of those have any complications with vomiting and aspiration, and effectively no one ever dies from that. Yet that is the reason I was allowed nothing more than ice chips and popsicles. Ridiculous!
Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. And I digress. Sorry.
Another nurse poked and massaged my crazy-swollen arms for about ten minutes, unable to find any veins for the IV. She finally settled on my wrist so that I couldn't bend or flex my hand. They put contraction and fetal heart monitors over my massive belly, and then I was really tethered. From that point onward, just to get to the bathroom six feet away I had to unplug the monitors, drape the cords across my shoulders and have Erich follow me with the IV stand. It's already hard to remember the sheer effort it required just to get out of bed and waddle across a room. I really don't miss being pregnant, to be honest.
By about 7:30, after a baseline internal check (still no dilation or effacement--"unfavorable cervix," further upping my chances of a c-section), the nurse placed the Cervidil behind my cervix. At this point, Erich took the final pictures of me as a pregnant lady:
This is actually one of the only pictures that doesn't make me look frightening. There's another one I won't share that actually scares my own mother. No joke. Btw, my face is at least 30% smaller now, thank goodness.
The bed is pretty close to the bathroom door on the right there. On the left in the background is the couch where Erich slept. You can also see my awkward IV.All we did that evening was watch TV, get ready for bed, and try to sleep. I was helped by a dose of Ambien, but Erich had to battle hospital noises and a drafty window. He's a real trooper, and I'm not being sarcastic. I think he worked even harder than I did this whole long weekend, but we'll get to more of that later.
I'll have to leave it there for today. The sleeping baby who's been farting on my lap for the last ten minutes is starting to stir a bit more. Sidenote/question of the day: will this baby ever consent to not being held while she sleeps?
Part 3
I'll have to leave it there for today. The sleeping baby who's been farting on my lap for the last ten minutes is starting to stir a bit more. Sidenote/question of the day: will this baby ever consent to not being held while she sleeps?
Part 3
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Birth Story, Part One: Pressure
This whole mess started on Tuesday, January 5th when I went in for my 39 week (minus one day) appointment. This appointment happened to be with Dr. P, who I hadn't seen much, but she and I go way back. She was the one who discovered my septum and always seemed pleasant, if a bit different manner-wise, probably due to her being from a different culture.
Anyway, Erich came with me to this appointment but had trouble finding a parking space, so he dropped me off so I could go and check in. I went down the dark corridor to the office, opened the door, and was greeted immediately by the backs of at least six other people in line. In line to check in. JUST TO CHECK IN. I've often been annoyed by the check-in process at this practice. It seems like they see about a thousand patients at any given time, and there are only two people in the reception area, one checking in and one checking out while the phones blink, all the lines busy as people also wait on hold to talk to a human. Every time someone checks in, the receptionist will not even make eye contact with the next person in line until they have everything organized, forms and insurance cards copied, etc.
Lots of women see their gynecologist once a year. And for some dumb reason, it seems a lot of them go in the first week in January. And once the calendar changes, the office people have to check everyone's insurance again, even if they're huge and pregnant and are there every week. So! It took at least five minutes per person in front of me to check in. And by the time I checked in, I had been standing there for
TWENTY MINUTES.
And the waiting room was PACKED. And, as usual and for some unknowable reason, the heat was cranked ridiculously high. Far too close to 80 degrees for anyone, let alone the hugely pregnant. Erich offered to stand in line for a while, which I should have taken him up on (regret #1). But it started to feel like my battle. When I got to the front of the line and the chick finally stopped ignoring me, I politely asked if the wait was a "Tuesday thing, or a first week in January thing?" She said, "Both." The usual two doctors were in and seeing patients, and it's a day the NP and u/s tech are there. So there were all kinds of people to be seen, yadda yadda THIS PRACTICE IS TOO BUSY. I know a lot of OB practices are crazy busy, but I have hope for the future. I won't stand for this.
Understandably, I was pretty grumbly by the time I finally got to sit down. Unlike the week before, when Dr. B said everything was fine, this week I didn't focus enough on staying relaxed and focused for my blood pressure's sake (regret #2). Despite the large crowds, I didn't have to wait super crazy long before getting called back. Urine was fine (I think), weight was fine, BP... "Hmm," said the nurse. "Oh no, what is it?" I asked. 120-something/90. That "over 90" part is what they really don't like. Crap crap crap. And she didn't even let me relax for a minute then take it again. I was concerned but didn't know what to expect next, so I just waited patiently.
Erich joined me in the exam room, and Dr. P came in shortly after. She studied my chart, measured my belly, took about a zillion hours to find the heartbeat (thank goodness for movement, which helped me narrowly avoid a freak-out), checked my cervix--still barely 1cm--and then looked at my chart again. "You know," she announced, "I'm looking at your blood pressure and you've already been to labor and delivery and you're about 39 weeks, so I'm thinking to myself... I'm going to induce you. I think Thursday would be a good time to start."
She went on to briefly describe how the process works, but I didn't care to bother to hear over the roaring in my ears. Induction. My first thought was, I'm going to have a c-section. No no no no no. This is not what I want at all. A small part of me was so very ready to be done being pregnant, but I had resigned myself to 2+ more weeks of hugeness. Anything to let my body and my baby decide when to be born and not my doctor.
I asked if we could at least wait until my due date, and Dr. P immediately seemed annoyed. "Then I'll have to send you to Labor and Delivery right now, and you'll have to come in every few days to be monitored." Should have said, "Fine! I'll do that." But she was wearing me down. (Regret #3.) I don't like to make people annoyed at me. She said, "You have to weigh the risks versus benefits." However, she never explained to me what those were.
In fact, no one ever really explained to me what pregnancy-induced hypertension is all about. I can't work a regret into this one, though, because I did call and ask. And I was threatened with a stroke if I didn't consent to the induction. *eye roll* Don't get me wrong, risks are risks, but I've had major abdominal surgery now. Isn't that risky too? (The answer is yes. Yes, it is.)
So Dr. P left the room and I lost it. That evil I-word enveloped me in fear. So much for my natural, drug-free birth. Now drugs were going to START and control my labor. I was automatically signed up for a hospital stay, IV, continuous monitoring, and a feeling like I had no say in what was happening to me. Because their stupid office can't manage its patient load (okay, that may not have been the total cause of my high-ish BP, but it did NOT help), I was now merely a sick patient instead of a mother giving birth.
Erich and I sadly went home, signed up for an induction starting Thursday evening with Cervidil and Pitocin on Friday morning. DID. NOT. WANT. I thought about how excited Lily's grandparents would be to know when to expect her, but it was at least a few hours before we could let them know while I tried to process this game plan. I was looking forward to her arrival and genuinely happy that I knew when it was going to be, but I was extremely unhappy about the induction, for reasons I believe are obvious by now. :)
Throughout my work with Hypnobabies, I knew there were tools for dealing with fear. However, in these couple of days, I was too afraid to use them. Stupid. Regret #4. I'm sure half-expecting a c-section, if it did anything, only made it more likely to happen. Instead, I focused on the last few things I could do around the house to get it ready for baby. That was worthwhile, of course, but I did spend too much time worrying and frantically seeking out anecdotes of successful inductions.
And I gave active patient-hood the ol' college try, but was shut down when the nurse on the phone told me that the numbers from my PIH labs were "going up" and it's much safer for me and the baby to have her out. In the words of any petulant adolescent, FIIIIINE.
So we were stuck with the induction, and I tried to feel resigned. A big storm was predicted for Thursday, but it didn't much matter for us since we'd definitely be stuck in the hospital.
To be continued...
Part 2
Anyway, Erich came with me to this appointment but had trouble finding a parking space, so he dropped me off so I could go and check in. I went down the dark corridor to the office, opened the door, and was greeted immediately by the backs of at least six other people in line. In line to check in. JUST TO CHECK IN. I've often been annoyed by the check-in process at this practice. It seems like they see about a thousand patients at any given time, and there are only two people in the reception area, one checking in and one checking out while the phones blink, all the lines busy as people also wait on hold to talk to a human. Every time someone checks in, the receptionist will not even make eye contact with the next person in line until they have everything organized, forms and insurance cards copied, etc.
Lots of women see their gynecologist once a year. And for some dumb reason, it seems a lot of them go in the first week in January. And once the calendar changes, the office people have to check everyone's insurance again, even if they're huge and pregnant and are there every week. So! It took at least five minutes per person in front of me to check in. And by the time I checked in, I had been standing there for
TWENTY MINUTES.
And the waiting room was PACKED. And, as usual and for some unknowable reason, the heat was cranked ridiculously high. Far too close to 80 degrees for anyone, let alone the hugely pregnant. Erich offered to stand in line for a while, which I should have taken him up on (regret #1). But it started to feel like my battle. When I got to the front of the line and the chick finally stopped ignoring me, I politely asked if the wait was a "Tuesday thing, or a first week in January thing?" She said, "Both." The usual two doctors were in and seeing patients, and it's a day the NP and u/s tech are there. So there were all kinds of people to be seen, yadda yadda THIS PRACTICE IS TOO BUSY. I know a lot of OB practices are crazy busy, but I have hope for the future. I won't stand for this.
Understandably, I was pretty grumbly by the time I finally got to sit down. Unlike the week before, when Dr. B said everything was fine, this week I didn't focus enough on staying relaxed and focused for my blood pressure's sake (regret #2). Despite the large crowds, I didn't have to wait super crazy long before getting called back. Urine was fine (I think), weight was fine, BP... "Hmm," said the nurse. "Oh no, what is it?" I asked. 120-something/90. That "over 90" part is what they really don't like. Crap crap crap. And she didn't even let me relax for a minute then take it again. I was concerned but didn't know what to expect next, so I just waited patiently.
Erich joined me in the exam room, and Dr. P came in shortly after. She studied my chart, measured my belly, took about a zillion hours to find the heartbeat (thank goodness for movement, which helped me narrowly avoid a freak-out), checked my cervix--still barely 1cm--and then looked at my chart again. "You know," she announced, "I'm looking at your blood pressure and you've already been to labor and delivery and you're about 39 weeks, so I'm thinking to myself... I'm going to induce you. I think Thursday would be a good time to start."
She went on to briefly describe how the process works, but I didn't care to bother to hear over the roaring in my ears. Induction. My first thought was, I'm going to have a c-section. No no no no no. This is not what I want at all. A small part of me was so very ready to be done being pregnant, but I had resigned myself to 2+ more weeks of hugeness. Anything to let my body and my baby decide when to be born and not my doctor.
I asked if we could at least wait until my due date, and Dr. P immediately seemed annoyed. "Then I'll have to send you to Labor and Delivery right now, and you'll have to come in every few days to be monitored." Should have said, "Fine! I'll do that." But she was wearing me down. (Regret #3.) I don't like to make people annoyed at me. She said, "You have to weigh the risks versus benefits." However, she never explained to me what those were.
In fact, no one ever really explained to me what pregnancy-induced hypertension is all about. I can't work a regret into this one, though, because I did call and ask. And I was threatened with a stroke if I didn't consent to the induction. *eye roll* Don't get me wrong, risks are risks, but I've had major abdominal surgery now. Isn't that risky too? (The answer is yes. Yes, it is.)
So Dr. P left the room and I lost it. That evil I-word enveloped me in fear. So much for my natural, drug-free birth. Now drugs were going to START and control my labor. I was automatically signed up for a hospital stay, IV, continuous monitoring, and a feeling like I had no say in what was happening to me. Because their stupid office can't manage its patient load (okay, that may not have been the total cause of my high-ish BP, but it did NOT help), I was now merely a sick patient instead of a mother giving birth.
Erich and I sadly went home, signed up for an induction starting Thursday evening with Cervidil and Pitocin on Friday morning. DID. NOT. WANT. I thought about how excited Lily's grandparents would be to know when to expect her, but it was at least a few hours before we could let them know while I tried to process this game plan. I was looking forward to her arrival and genuinely happy that I knew when it was going to be, but I was extremely unhappy about the induction, for reasons I believe are obvious by now. :)
Throughout my work with Hypnobabies, I knew there were tools for dealing with fear. However, in these couple of days, I was too afraid to use them. Stupid. Regret #4. I'm sure half-expecting a c-section, if it did anything, only made it more likely to happen. Instead, I focused on the last few things I could do around the house to get it ready for baby. That was worthwhile, of course, but I did spend too much time worrying and frantically seeking out anecdotes of successful inductions.
And I gave active patient-hood the ol' college try, but was shut down when the nurse on the phone told me that the numbers from my PIH labs were "going up" and it's much safer for me and the baby to have her out. In the words of any petulant adolescent, FIIIIINE.
So we were stuck with the induction, and I tried to feel resigned. A big storm was predicted for Thursday, but it didn't much matter for us since we'd definitely be stuck in the hospital.
To be continued...
Part 2
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Preface
I'm getting so close to being ready to post my birth story. Again, it will be in several parts. I'm nothing if not thorough on this blog! But first I have to start with a preface.
I have never agreed with the sentiment: "at least you have a healthy baby" in regards to the manner in which the baby was born. Now that I have been forced into a c-section, it irritates me even more.
The arrival of my daughter into this world was wonderful and amazing. I'm absolutely thrilled to have her on the outside and I wouldn't change a thing about her. The birth? Just thinking about it still makes me bitter, upset, and fearful. Yes, fearful for the future. Because the Birth is not just about the health of the baby. It has implications for me, my health, and the success of any future births. So please keep in mind, I will not abide any comments implying that I should be happy with the birth because my baby is healthy. Or that it could have been worse, so just buck up. I'm allowed to mourn the birth I didn't get to have, and I intend to do so on my very own blog that has always been about grief.
In sum: baby's arrival and birth are two separate entities and my emotions surrounding each are completely separate.
Ugh, sorry for the downer. Happier days are ahead, Internet, I promise. Just bear with me for now.
I have never agreed with the sentiment: "at least you have a healthy baby" in regards to the manner in which the baby was born. Now that I have been forced into a c-section, it irritates me even more.
The arrival of my daughter into this world was wonderful and amazing. I'm absolutely thrilled to have her on the outside and I wouldn't change a thing about her. The birth? Just thinking about it still makes me bitter, upset, and fearful. Yes, fearful for the future. Because the Birth is not just about the health of the baby. It has implications for me, my health, and the success of any future births. So please keep in mind, I will not abide any comments implying that I should be happy with the birth because my baby is healthy. Or that it could have been worse, so just buck up. I'm allowed to mourn the birth I didn't get to have, and I intend to do so on my very own blog that has always been about grief.
In sum: baby's arrival and birth are two separate entities and my emotions surrounding each are completely separate.
Ugh, sorry for the downer. Happier days are ahead, Internet, I promise. Just bear with me for now.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Oh Hi
Hello, blogosphere! I forgot you were there for a while. Awkward! So uh, my baby is two weeks old today. Sorry for just letting you know now!
Lily is the best. We're definitely going to keep her. The birth and everything leading up to it? Decidedly not awesome. Look forward to a doozy of a multi-part birth story...later. For now, enjoy gazing upon her lovely visage:
Lily is the best. We're definitely going to keep her. The birth and everything leading up to it? Decidedly not awesome. Look forward to a doozy of a multi-part birth story...later. For now, enjoy gazing upon her lovely visage:
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
A Very Short Long Time
And here is my poignant, "isn't it funny?" post for the day.
One year ago today, two days before Christmas, I was going through one of the worst times of my life for the second time in one year. For the second time, I had to go to the hospital, months too soon, to evacuate my womb of the products of conception, our baby whose life was over before it ever really started. It was hard to think of a worse way to spend Christmas, bloated and sad, wallowing instead of joyfully sharing the news of our pregnancy with our families.
It was an easy D&C, compared to the first one. It was the first time I met Dr. J, who was so kind and supportive. My recovery was physically easy and I wasn't plunged into a world of questions and uncertainty, also in contrast to the first time. Still, I couldn't help but wonder whether I would ever be pregnant for more than one trimester. Could I ever expect my babies not to die? Would I always just cycle through TTC, early pregnancy, and miscarriage?
Then there was this little taboo that seemed to come along with multiple miscarriages. One was horrible and tragic. But two? After two, we seemed to enter the realm of "they have problems." I was dissatisfied with how even close family seemed to try to sweep this under the rug. I'm sure they were following my lead, and I sure didn't want to bring it up. But I would have liked to talk about it a little bit more. Instead, I got depressed. But we all know I came out the other side and was finally able to move on, eventually.
And fast forward: today, December 23, one year after my D&C, I turned 37 weeks, technically full-term, with our expected first born. Instead of lonely, bloated and sad on Christmas, I'll be... well, still a little bit lonely since we can't travel, definitely bloated, but excited and expectant--no sad. I'm finally pretty much on the other side of that "perspective" that the whole crappy year of 2008 was supposed to give me.
I can't say it all worked out for the best. While I'm glad I'm not huge in the summer, I'm not exactly loving being huge during ice storms either. I am glad we're already in a house and not still in the old duplex. I could probably come up with a whole list of pros and cons of now versus what would have been, but it's not worth my time.
The point is, I'm not trying to be super sentimental here and say that one outcome is necessarily better than another. Clearly, we would not have Lily if Vector had survived. Is this a good thing? Not necessarily--it's not for me to know. The contrast between December 23, 2008 and December 23, 2009 shows how much can change in a year, and I'm glad for the changes. Having a baby wiggling in my belly is so much better than being freshly scraped out. Changing holiday plans for late pregnancy is so much better than changing holiday plans for miscarriage recovery.
A year past always feels so much shorter than a year ahead. Being full-term pregnant a year after a D&C shows just how short that long time can be.
Not a Boring Appointment
I had in my head a post to write tonight, pondering the changes that can happen in one year.
I'll get to that in a while, but I have to be newsy first! See, I'm 37 weeks today, and I had one of my weekly appointments today. The appointments have all been pretty in-and-out, and I thought today would be no exception. I did have Dr. J, my favorite who is the best at listening, so I decided to write out my "Birth Preferences" so she could look them over and give input. Turns out, we didn't get to that.
First of all, I had a 3:15pm appointment time, different from the norm lately when they've been mostly in the morning so Erich could go. We figured he'd be okay to miss this one. However, as the ice storm rolled into town, he decided to come home early so he could go to the appointment and work a little from home afterward.
He met me at the office and we waited at least 40 minutes before I got called back. I pulled out my little alarm clock that I use for piano lessons which happens to have a thermometer and learned that it was almost SEVENTY-SEVEN DEGREES FAHRENHEIT in there. Yeah, I was boiling. Why would they try to cook the pregnant ladies? I don't get it. Anyway, I went back with the nurse, gave my urine specimen and she had me get on the scale right away. After many weeks of varying by one pound up and down, today I was up four pounds. I was not very surprised as I have been very swollen lately, though not as badly in the last few days. Then she took my blood pressure and frowned. At 130/90 it was, in her exact wording, "borderline-ish." Not wanting to sound the preeclampsia alarm prematurely, she said she'd give me a few minutes of sitting down and take it again. Indeed, it was lower just a few minutes later: 120/80.
The nurse got me and Erich into the exam room, and I got ready for the internal exam. Dr. J came in around 4:15 and said that if it weren't so close to "the holiday" (that's Christmas, btw) she would just watch me, but since my blood pressure was so much higher than the 110/52 from early pregnancy AND because there was protein in my urine, she was sending me to Labor & Delivery for monitoring. Ugh. Next came the measurements, and as I scooted to get into position, she poked my lower legs and I admitted I've been swollen, and she seemed concerned. Baby's heartbeat was present and accounted for, she didn't say anything about my belly's measurement, so I assume that's okay. The dreaded internal revealed that I'm not quite a fingertip dilated (so not really at all), but the cervix is soft and the head is down nice and low.
Dr. J gave us a flurry of instructions: go to L&D, hopefully they'll let me go after an hour, come back to the office on Monday, take it easy--let Erich do everything now (so much harder than it seems), blah blah. I have to pat myself on the back here for staying completely calm after a very fleeting moment of OMGWTFBBQ. I knew it was unlikely I would have a baby that day and I knew worrying about it too much would do nothing to help my blood pressure, so I just went with it. It was also at this point I realized how lucky it was that Erich was at my appointment so he could do the short drive to the hospital and be with me through the whole ordeal.
Into the hospital we went, I changed into a gown, peed in a jar, and a nurse hooked me up to the fetal monitors and BP cuff. I had to answer a million questions and get blood drawn. Then we just got to wait, watch TV, surf the web on our phones, etc. Each time the blood pressure cuff went off, I practiced my Hypnobabies techniques, and each time my BP went down. The final reading was 119/65! I'm thinking it helped that I was still and relaxed and it wasn't a burning furnace there in triage. It was fun to hear Lily's heartbeat and all the whooshing sounds when she would move around. It saved me the trouble of telling Erich when I could feel her move! At about 6:10 the nurse came back to say my labs came back normal (yay), my urine was clear and I'm plenty hydrated (yay) and I could go along home. She sent supplies for a 24-hour urine collection (YAAAAYYYYYY), which we can drop off on our way to church for Christmas Eve services, heh.
On the way out, Erich had to make me walk slowly. Oops. "Do I still have to rest?" I wondered aloud. "YES, you still have to REST," said my wonderful, supportive and incredulous husband. That's just the problem--I don't feeeeel like I have to rest. Erich said it's not bed rest or anything, but it is "butt rest." As in, I have to stay on my butt as much as possible. Again, I'm as lazy as the next guy, but I have presents to wrap! A baby's room to organize! This is so much easier said than done.
Aside from all that, I have to say a big thank you to Baby Jesus for letting Lily stay in to cook a bit longer. I want to avoid an induction and/or c-section at all costs, which is much easier if I stay low-risk! I wouldn't mind a 2009 baby, but I'd rather she come on her own when she's ready in 2010.
I'll get to that in a while, but I have to be newsy first! See, I'm 37 weeks today, and I had one of my weekly appointments today. The appointments have all been pretty in-and-out, and I thought today would be no exception. I did have Dr. J, my favorite who is the best at listening, so I decided to write out my "Birth Preferences" so she could look them over and give input. Turns out, we didn't get to that.
First of all, I had a 3:15pm appointment time, different from the norm lately when they've been mostly in the morning so Erich could go. We figured he'd be okay to miss this one. However, as the ice storm rolled into town, he decided to come home early so he could go to the appointment and work a little from home afterward.
He met me at the office and we waited at least 40 minutes before I got called back. I pulled out my little alarm clock that I use for piano lessons which happens to have a thermometer and learned that it was almost SEVENTY-SEVEN DEGREES FAHRENHEIT in there. Yeah, I was boiling. Why would they try to cook the pregnant ladies? I don't get it. Anyway, I went back with the nurse, gave my urine specimen and she had me get on the scale right away. After many weeks of varying by one pound up and down, today I was up four pounds. I was not very surprised as I have been very swollen lately, though not as badly in the last few days. Then she took my blood pressure and frowned. At 130/90 it was, in her exact wording, "borderline-ish." Not wanting to sound the preeclampsia alarm prematurely, she said she'd give me a few minutes of sitting down and take it again. Indeed, it was lower just a few minutes later: 120/80.
The nurse got me and Erich into the exam room, and I got ready for the internal exam. Dr. J came in around 4:15 and said that if it weren't so close to "the holiday" (that's Christmas, btw) she would just watch me, but since my blood pressure was so much higher than the 110/52 from early pregnancy AND because there was protein in my urine, she was sending me to Labor & Delivery for monitoring. Ugh. Next came the measurements, and as I scooted to get into position, she poked my lower legs and I admitted I've been swollen, and she seemed concerned. Baby's heartbeat was present and accounted for, she didn't say anything about my belly's measurement, so I assume that's okay. The dreaded internal revealed that I'm not quite a fingertip dilated (so not really at all), but the cervix is soft and the head is down nice and low.
Dr. J gave us a flurry of instructions: go to L&D, hopefully they'll let me go after an hour, come back to the office on Monday, take it easy--let Erich do everything now (so much harder than it seems), blah blah. I have to pat myself on the back here for staying completely calm after a very fleeting moment of OMGWTFBBQ. I knew it was unlikely I would have a baby that day and I knew worrying about it too much would do nothing to help my blood pressure, so I just went with it. It was also at this point I realized how lucky it was that Erich was at my appointment so he could do the short drive to the hospital and be with me through the whole ordeal.
Into the hospital we went, I changed into a gown, peed in a jar, and a nurse hooked me up to the fetal monitors and BP cuff. I had to answer a million questions and get blood drawn. Then we just got to wait, watch TV, surf the web on our phones, etc. Each time the blood pressure cuff went off, I practiced my Hypnobabies techniques, and each time my BP went down. The final reading was 119/65! I'm thinking it helped that I was still and relaxed and it wasn't a burning furnace there in triage. It was fun to hear Lily's heartbeat and all the whooshing sounds when she would move around. It saved me the trouble of telling Erich when I could feel her move! At about 6:10 the nurse came back to say my labs came back normal (yay), my urine was clear and I'm plenty hydrated (yay) and I could go along home. She sent supplies for a 24-hour urine collection (YAAAAYYYYYY), which we can drop off on our way to church for Christmas Eve services, heh.
On the way out, Erich had to make me walk slowly. Oops. "Do I still have to rest?" I wondered aloud. "YES, you still have to REST," said my wonderful, supportive and incredulous husband. That's just the problem--I don't feeeeel like I have to rest. Erich said it's not bed rest or anything, but it is "butt rest." As in, I have to stay on my butt as much as possible. Again, I'm as lazy as the next guy, but I have presents to wrap! A baby's room to organize! This is so much easier said than done.
Aside from all that, I have to say a big thank you to Baby Jesus for letting Lily stay in to cook a bit longer. I want to avoid an induction and/or c-section at all costs, which is much easier if I stay low-risk! I wouldn't mind a 2009 baby, but I'd rather she come on her own when she's ready in 2010.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Lightening!
Why, hello blog! I haven't forgotten you; it's just that this pregnancy has been blessedly boring. Praise the Lord!
This past Friday, I had one of my boring, quick, bi-weekly appointments. This was with Dr. B, the one male in the practice who I've felt iffy about in the past, but he's actually pretty funny and personable, so I feel better now. Also, he walked in the exam room before I had even had a chance to climb up onto the table! So he gets a bonus for not making me wait. We were leaving the office only 15 minutes after my scheduled appointment time. That's pretty much unheard of! Anyway, when he walked in the room, he studied Erich's beautiful curly locks and asked if he had a perm. "It's too perfect! It must be man-made!" Nope, all natural. :)
After he measured my belly, Dr. B gave the baby a little squeeze and declared that the head is down in the pelvis and will now stay that way. Having a breech baby was one last little fear I had left, so this was a great relief!
The more I thought of it, the more I realized that I had felt Lily drop the day before. After Thanksgiving dinner, I was relaxing in a La-z-Boy at my parents house and had a few Braxton Hicks contractions. I gradually began to notice that my baby, who usually crushes my ribs and crowds my lungs, was being a bit kinder. Now it is unmistakable: my once-high bump has lowered significantly.
I hadn't realized that babies could drop so soon (at 33.5 weeks), but Google confirms that that's okay. And I have found myself pretty excited about this! I know I have a way to go yet, and my bladder is getting abused more and my waddle is out of control, but this feels like the first real sign of the beginning of the end--the first significant step before birthing my baby! It's like this is real!
To be perfectly honest, though, I still get irrational fears. I'm sure I'd have these fears with or without my miscarriage history, but it's still difficult to fully accept that I will be taking home a live baby from the hospital in about six weeks. The more our house fills up with furniture, clothes, and supplies for the baby, the more my nervous level increases. We have to plan for a permanent situation here, and even though I'm 99% sure we will not regret having so much for the baby, I'm still not 100% sure. I think this is a symptom of just general anxiety--normal pregnancy stuff. But I sure don't like it!
Let's just say I thank Lily profusely every time she wiggles, kicks, or presses against my skin. Stay strong, Little One!
This past Friday, I had one of my boring, quick, bi-weekly appointments. This was with Dr. B, the one male in the practice who I've felt iffy about in the past, but he's actually pretty funny and personable, so I feel better now. Also, he walked in the exam room before I had even had a chance to climb up onto the table! So he gets a bonus for not making me wait. We were leaving the office only 15 minutes after my scheduled appointment time. That's pretty much unheard of! Anyway, when he walked in the room, he studied Erich's beautiful curly locks and asked if he had a perm. "It's too perfect! It must be man-made!" Nope, all natural. :)
After he measured my belly, Dr. B gave the baby a little squeeze and declared that the head is down in the pelvis and will now stay that way. Having a breech baby was one last little fear I had left, so this was a great relief!
The more I thought of it, the more I realized that I had felt Lily drop the day before. After Thanksgiving dinner, I was relaxing in a La-z-Boy at my parents house and had a few Braxton Hicks contractions. I gradually began to notice that my baby, who usually crushes my ribs and crowds my lungs, was being a bit kinder. Now it is unmistakable: my once-high bump has lowered significantly.
I hadn't realized that babies could drop so soon (at 33.5 weeks), but Google confirms that that's okay. And I have found myself pretty excited about this! I know I have a way to go yet, and my bladder is getting abused more and my waddle is out of control, but this feels like the first real sign of the beginning of the end--the first significant step before birthing my baby! It's like this is real!
To be perfectly honest, though, I still get irrational fears. I'm sure I'd have these fears with or without my miscarriage history, but it's still difficult to fully accept that I will be taking home a live baby from the hospital in about six weeks. The more our house fills up with furniture, clothes, and supplies for the baby, the more my nervous level increases. We have to plan for a permanent situation here, and even though I'm 99% sure we will not regret having so much for the baby, I'm still not 100% sure. I think this is a symptom of just general anxiety--normal pregnancy stuff. But I sure don't like it!
Let's just say I thank Lily profusely every time she wiggles, kicks, or presses against my skin. Stay strong, Little One!
Monday, September 28, 2009
Quick Post
I got a call from my OB's office today, and the news is that I officially do NOT have gestational diabetes.
So now I don't know whether the three most boring hours of the year were worth it last week. But this is good news, for sure!
So now I don't know whether the three most boring hours of the year were worth it last week. But this is good news, for sure!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Good News/Bad News
Well, the good news is I didn't accidentally drink the glucola before the specified time. And I didn't forget to fast long enough. I finished the orange drink (not tasty, but not horrible) at 7:45 this morning and had my blood drawn at 8:45. More good news: my iron levels are wonderful.
Bad news: my blood glucose levels are not ideal. They like to see a number at 140 or below, and I came in at 142. What does this mean? Well, I may not have gestational diabetes, nor can they say that I definitely don't. Therefore, I have to go to Quest Diagnostics next week sometime, drink some more lovely glucola, and then sit there for THREE HOURS before they draw my blood and tell me if I'm the range for GD.
Pros for having GD:
Bad news: my blood glucose levels are not ideal. They like to see a number at 140 or below, and I came in at 142. What does this mean? Well, I may not have gestational diabetes, nor can they say that I definitely don't. Therefore, I have to go to Quest Diagnostics next week sometime, drink some more lovely glucola, and then sit there for THREE HOURS before they draw my blood and tell me if I'm the range for GD.
Pros for having GD:
- I'm still relatively early at just over 23w, and I would most likely be able to get this under control with diet (and I might be the kind of person to do well on a doctor-enforced diet) before worrying that Lily will grow to be too big to deliver vaginally.
- I'd be at an increased risk of developing Type II Diabetes later in life.
- Risks to Lily include macrosomia (large size), greater chance of childhood obesity, hypoglycemia, and diabetes.
- Being on an enforced diet would not actually be fun.
- It would be a big pain in the butt.
Friday, August 28, 2009
We'd Have a One-year-old
Time, like an ever-rolling stream, soon bears us all away.*
Can you believe that my first baby was due more than a year ago? I can, but that doesn't make it easy to picture what it would be like to have a one-year-old already. Time continues to heal and I can view last year's emotions from a comfortable distance. I spent a lot of last spring and summer thinking about how far along I should be. To a lesser extent, I thought about how old Keiki would be after the EDD passed. But as life continued, the stream of time rolled along, those thoughts simply faded.
Anniversaries, though, have a way of bringing things back to the surface. In the past few weeks, I've seen a few one-year-olds and was struck by the notion that I would have one of those had things been different. I can't be sad about these thoughts; it's just not worth the turmoil. One thing miscarriage has taught me is that I just have to let myself feel what I'm going to feel and not try to force any emotions.
And I really am doing well continuing to look at the silver lining. If we had a one-year-old, we almost certainly would not have bought a house and moved. I would be a different kind of parent than I plan to be for this little one. I've had longer to think about pregnancy and parenting and my views have matured in many facets. And, in a general sense, I've learned to appreciate pregnancy far more and in different ways than I might have otherwise.
Now that I'm more than halfway there (!), I'm feeling Lily move around more and more, and I can barely change the size of my bump by sucking in. I'm really, really pregnant. I finally told all my piano students' parents so that they know what's going to happen after the baby comes. None of them knew about my miscarriages, and they still don't.
But the more people know and can tell I'm pregnant by looking at me, the more I feel compelled to explain my history. For every ten people who are really excited and happy for us, there's one or two that I suspect might be dealing with pain as regards pregnancy. Like that lady who just had her second child after a nine-year-gap. And that not-old-but-no-longer-childbearing-age couple who may not be childless by choice. My heightened sensitivity feels the need to explain to them that I have put in my time in the school of hard knocks, that even though I'm young and a relative newlywed, this road hasn't been as easy as you might assume. I'm pregnant, but I'm trying not to flaunt it.
That's just another unfair thing about miscarriage. Why should anyone's pain make someone feel better? Why should I feel like I have truly earned the right to be pregnant with a healthy baby by virtue of what I've gone through? No amount of explanation or attempts at justification will make my or anyone else's situation fair. There's just no fairness to be had in this fallen world. All I can really do, therefore, is to be at peace and pray. Pray for myself, for my Lily, and for all others out there who long to be parents but for whom the unfairness of life has intervened. Amen.
*from the hymn "O God, Our Help in Ages Past"
Can you believe that my first baby was due more than a year ago? I can, but that doesn't make it easy to picture what it would be like to have a one-year-old already. Time continues to heal and I can view last year's emotions from a comfortable distance. I spent a lot of last spring and summer thinking about how far along I should be. To a lesser extent, I thought about how old Keiki would be after the EDD passed. But as life continued, the stream of time rolled along, those thoughts simply faded.
Anniversaries, though, have a way of bringing things back to the surface. In the past few weeks, I've seen a few one-year-olds and was struck by the notion that I would have one of those had things been different. I can't be sad about these thoughts; it's just not worth the turmoil. One thing miscarriage has taught me is that I just have to let myself feel what I'm going to feel and not try to force any emotions.
And I really am doing well continuing to look at the silver lining. If we had a one-year-old, we almost certainly would not have bought a house and moved. I would be a different kind of parent than I plan to be for this little one. I've had longer to think about pregnancy and parenting and my views have matured in many facets. And, in a general sense, I've learned to appreciate pregnancy far more and in different ways than I might have otherwise.
Now that I'm more than halfway there (!), I'm feeling Lily move around more and more, and I can barely change the size of my bump by sucking in. I'm really, really pregnant. I finally told all my piano students' parents so that they know what's going to happen after the baby comes. None of them knew about my miscarriages, and they still don't.
But the more people know and can tell I'm pregnant by looking at me, the more I feel compelled to explain my history. For every ten people who are really excited and happy for us, there's one or two that I suspect might be dealing with pain as regards pregnancy. Like that lady who just had her second child after a nine-year-gap. And that not-old-but-no-longer-childbearing-age couple who may not be childless by choice. My heightened sensitivity feels the need to explain to them that I have put in my time in the school of hard knocks, that even though I'm young and a relative newlywed, this road hasn't been as easy as you might assume. I'm pregnant, but I'm trying not to flaunt it.
That's just another unfair thing about miscarriage. Why should anyone's pain make someone feel better? Why should I feel like I have truly earned the right to be pregnant with a healthy baby by virtue of what I've gone through? No amount of explanation or attempts at justification will make my or anyone else's situation fair. There's just no fairness to be had in this fallen world. All I can really do, therefore, is to be at peace and pray. Pray for myself, for my Lily, and for all others out there who long to be parents but for whom the unfairness of life has intervened. Amen.
*from the hymn "O God, Our Help in Ages Past"
Friday, August 21, 2009
Fourth Appointment
Now that the wonderment of actually getting to go to my scheduled second appointment has faded, these regular appointments are getting to be pretty boring. And that makes me happy. :)
I was also glad to have an afternoon appointment--the office is much less crazy in the afternoon than in the morning. Today was pretty routine. Lily's heart rate was 152 and found easily on the Doppler, and Dr. J confirmed that everything looks fine and normal from the ultrasound. And the nurse gave me a small bottle of glucola for my next appointment.
I'm not looking forward to fasting for my gestational diabetes test, but I know it's an important test, especially since I have family history of diabetes. I've also heard that the glucola is pretty gross, but we'll see. Luckily, they scheduled me for an 8:45am appointment so I don't have to fast through the morning. I have to drink the elixir within 15 minutes an hour before the appointment. I'm expecting Erich to be Harry Potter to my Dumbledore at the end of Half-Blood Prince, making sure I drink it all so we can be sure I'm healthy.
The bigger task at hand is keeping that little bottle of orange potion safe in the next four weeks. I keep having visions of accidentally grabbing it and drinking it. As if!
I was also glad to have an afternoon appointment--the office is much less crazy in the afternoon than in the morning. Today was pretty routine. Lily's heart rate was 152 and found easily on the Doppler, and Dr. J confirmed that everything looks fine and normal from the ultrasound. And the nurse gave me a small bottle of glucola for my next appointment.
I'm not looking forward to fasting for my gestational diabetes test, but I know it's an important test, especially since I have family history of diabetes. I've also heard that the glucola is pretty gross, but we'll see. Luckily, they scheduled me for an 8:45am appointment so I don't have to fast through the morning. I have to drink the elixir within 15 minutes an hour before the appointment. I'm expecting Erich to be Harry Potter to my Dumbledore at the end of Half-Blood Prince, making sure I drink it all so we can be sure I'm healthy.
The bigger task at hand is keeping that little bottle of orange potion safe in the next four weeks. I keep having visions of accidentally grabbing it and drinking it. As if!
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Ultrasound Pictures
As promised, I have ultrasound pictures to share and show off. Lily is still pretty little and skinny, so some of these pictures came out a little creepy. I don't think it makes me a bad mom to say that. :) To the left here you can see her little face. The 3-d ultrasound doesn't give the clearest picture ever, and sometimes parts of the baby are missing in the pictures where she's up against the uterine wall. So, just like with the 2-d ultrasound, we have to use our imaginations a little bit to fill in the blanks. And what I see is my daughter! [That feels weirder to say than "my husband" felt in the first few weeks of marriage.] And she's darn cute!So without further ado, here are the results of Lily's first glamor shots photo shoot:
Here you can see her little feet off to the left attached to skinny little legs, and her non-butt is on the right.
Here is the "alien baby face" shot. You can see the head on the left and the abdomen on the right. Through the first half of the scan her head was on the right, then she wriggled around to this position.
The very top is my skin, then you can see the layers of flesh. Right above the baby is the placenta. This image shows how her motions are cushioned from me by the placenta. Also, right above her head is her arm. This next 3-d picture gives a better idea of what she's doing:
She's got her elbows out and hands behind her head. Aawwwww.
In these two images above, she's getting physical. Doesn't it look like she's doing sit-ups? :)
Sucking on her fist.That concludes Lily's first photo shoot. Hope you enjoyed it!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
It's a...
...baby! Yes, we found out the sex today in our big ultrasound. But before I tell you what that is, I have to pause to reflect on my excitement that Wrigley's gender was the most significant thing we found out today. The tech obviously couldn't tell us if everything was completely fine and that there were no concerns, but in my semi-educated but completely amateur opinion, everything looked great.
Okay, I don't want to be pronoun-neutral any more, so here it is: it's a girl! Little Lily Anne was calm for a while and halfway through started jumping around like crazy. It was so cute! She lived up to her now-defunct nickname as a little wriggler.
A few items of note:
1. I have an anterior placenta, which means the placenta is laying across the front part of my uterus. I have felt not much more than flutters in the past few weeks, and it turns out it's pretty amazing that I have felt anything at all. Now I have permission not to worry if I don't feel big kicks for a while! I hope for Erich's sake that it's not terribly long; we're both looking forward to feeling it from the outside.
2. Lily measured 19w2. I had a feeling all along that she'd measure big. My official due date puts me at 18w3d, but that was from a transabdominal ultrasound at 7 weeks. I theorized at the time that because it's hard to get a clear picture so early that Wrigley might have actually been a little bigger. I'm 18w5d according to when I ovulated, so 19w2d is only four days ahead of that. But the big question is: will my doctor change my due date?
On the one hand, having an EDD of January 13 and delivering early would be quite nice. But having an EDD of January 7 and going a week late would be rather agonizing. I suppose I'd rather stay 18 weeks pregnant now than deliver past 41 weeks. I'm sure Lily will have her own plans, regardless.
3. Lily's overall measurement was 19w2d, and I'm not sure how they calculate that. Her estimated weight right now is 10 ounces. As the tech measured each body part, Erich saw different gestational ages pop up, and he noted that her head measures 19w4d. Not shocking at all, as Erich and especially I have proportionately large heads. But I'm hoping I also have a proportionately wide pelvis internally, you know what I'm sayin'?
Okee dokee, next up: ultrasound pictures!
Okay, I don't want to be pronoun-neutral any more, so here it is: it's a girl! Little Lily Anne was calm for a while and halfway through started jumping around like crazy. It was so cute! She lived up to her now-defunct nickname as a little wriggler.
A few items of note:
1. I have an anterior placenta, which means the placenta is laying across the front part of my uterus. I have felt not much more than flutters in the past few weeks, and it turns out it's pretty amazing that I have felt anything at all. Now I have permission not to worry if I don't feel big kicks for a while! I hope for Erich's sake that it's not terribly long; we're both looking forward to feeling it from the outside.
2. Lily measured 19w2. I had a feeling all along that she'd measure big. My official due date puts me at 18w3d, but that was from a transabdominal ultrasound at 7 weeks. I theorized at the time that because it's hard to get a clear picture so early that Wrigley might have actually been a little bigger. I'm 18w5d according to when I ovulated, so 19w2d is only four days ahead of that. But the big question is: will my doctor change my due date?
On the one hand, having an EDD of January 13 and delivering early would be quite nice. But having an EDD of January 7 and going a week late would be rather agonizing. I suppose I'd rather stay 18 weeks pregnant now than deliver past 41 weeks. I'm sure Lily will have her own plans, regardless.
3. Lily's overall measurement was 19w2d, and I'm not sure how they calculate that. Her estimated weight right now is 10 ounces. As the tech measured each body part, Erich saw different gestational ages pop up, and he noted that her head measures 19w4d. Not shocking at all, as Erich and especially I have proportionately large heads. But I'm hoping I also have a proportionately wide pelvis internally, you know what I'm sayin'?
Okee dokee, next up: ultrasound pictures!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
EDD #2
It's late at night, and I'm going to ramble a bit.
I mentioned the other day that I've been thinking about Vector more often. Well, today was Vector's estimated due date. I have to say, it's a lot easier to deal with the EDD for a child that will never be born while carrying a 15-week baby than it was while still waiting for a baby, like the first time.
After we lost Keiki, and I had to go through the pattern of tests and waiting, tests and waiting, I found myself remembering often just how far along I should be. And then I would get sad and bitter (rinse, repeat...). With Vector that wasn't the case, and I'm not exactly sure why. Perhaps I didn't get as attached since I never heard or saw a heartbeat. Perhaps my earlier experience had prepared me for another miscarriage, and, in a sick way, I expected it. I was extremely unhappy that two miscarriages make miscarriage an expected outcome, but I couldn't let that sink my hope for long. It also made a difference knowing we could TTC again virtually right away. After Keiki, I wasn't sure when we'd ever get to TTC again.
Miscarriage #2 was just easier in every way. Physically, the D&C was a piece of cake and I bounced back physically in no time. Emotionally, I think I can pinpoint a time when I completely snapped out of it. Yes, there was a relapse or two into despair, but I didn't lose any ground in emotional growth since the first miscarriage.
And maybe that's why I don't remember my second pregnancy as well, and I certainly don't dwell on it very much. It got swept under the rug relatively easily. And with Wrigley on the way, I haven't spent any time at all in the last few months reflecting on how pregnant I would be if things had turned out differently. There would be no Wrigley if Vector were still with us, and I really, really love my Wrigley.
But still. In a world with no miscarriage I'd have an 11-month-old and a brand-newborn right around now. (It would be unlikely, but both babies could--technically--have made it to term without Keiki negating Vector's existence.) And perhaps we'd have to have stayed in our 2-bedroom apartment a bit longer with two babies sharing a room. The Lord works in mysterious ways, doesn't He? As I've stated before, I don't believe God plans for these things to happen, but He can certainly make good come out of it.
I guess we really have made it out the end of the dark tunnel, because I really wouldn't change anything right now. I'm a mom to three babies, two in heaven and one on the way. And that's totally okay.
I mentioned the other day that I've been thinking about Vector more often. Well, today was Vector's estimated due date. I have to say, it's a lot easier to deal with the EDD for a child that will never be born while carrying a 15-week baby than it was while still waiting for a baby, like the first time.
After we lost Keiki, and I had to go through the pattern of tests and waiting, tests and waiting, I found myself remembering often just how far along I should be. And then I would get sad and bitter (rinse, repeat...). With Vector that wasn't the case, and I'm not exactly sure why. Perhaps I didn't get as attached since I never heard or saw a heartbeat. Perhaps my earlier experience had prepared me for another miscarriage, and, in a sick way, I expected it. I was extremely unhappy that two miscarriages make miscarriage an expected outcome, but I couldn't let that sink my hope for long. It also made a difference knowing we could TTC again virtually right away. After Keiki, I wasn't sure when we'd ever get to TTC again.
Miscarriage #2 was just easier in every way. Physically, the D&C was a piece of cake and I bounced back physically in no time. Emotionally, I think I can pinpoint a time when I completely snapped out of it. Yes, there was a relapse or two into despair, but I didn't lose any ground in emotional growth since the first miscarriage.
And maybe that's why I don't remember my second pregnancy as well, and I certainly don't dwell on it very much. It got swept under the rug relatively easily. And with Wrigley on the way, I haven't spent any time at all in the last few months reflecting on how pregnant I would be if things had turned out differently. There would be no Wrigley if Vector were still with us, and I really, really love my Wrigley.
But still. In a world with no miscarriage I'd have an 11-month-old and a brand-newborn right around now. (It would be unlikely, but both babies could--technically--have made it to term without Keiki negating Vector's existence.) And perhaps we'd have to have stayed in our 2-bedroom apartment a bit longer with two babies sharing a room. The Lord works in mysterious ways, doesn't He? As I've stated before, I don't believe God plans for these things to happen, but He can certainly make good come out of it.
I guess we really have made it out the end of the dark tunnel, because I really wouldn't change anything right now. I'm a mom to three babies, two in heaven and one on the way. And that's totally okay.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Baby Nicknames
I have recently come to realize that I've never really gone into explanations of our babies' nicknames here. Each one has a meaning, albeit not always a profound one. We have fun naming our babies before we can give them proper names, so here's a brief description of each one.
Baby #1: Keiki
Before Erich and I got married, we decided that we wouldn't use any birth control. So we were already aware that we could get pregnant pretty soon when we were on our honeymoon in Hawai'i. When there, we learned some Hawai'ian lingo, including the word keiki. It's Hawai'ian for "child" or "kid." Erich thought it would make a great nickname for an unborn baby before we know if it's a boy or girl, if we were to find out. I agreed, and when I did fall pregnant, Keiki was the nickname for the little one.
Erich continued in the assumption that Keiki would be the name of all of our unborn babies. I assented while I still assumed that our Keiki would eventually have a real name. However, after the miscarriage, never having found out if it was a boy or a girl, I couldn't bear the thought that our first baby would never have a unique name. I didn't really think to assign a new and meaningful name to our first baby: we had already continued calling him/her "Keiki." I didn't want this baby to have to be Keiki the First or Keiki 1. Thus, the Keiki nickname was retired.
Baby #2: Vector
It took a few weeks to settle on a nickname for our second baby. I had pitched a few, but Erich rejected them. It was then decided that Erich would be the official nicknamer, though we would decide together on actual names. One of the nicknames we threw around was Wrigley, after the field where our beloved Cubs play. That was eventually rejected, however. As this was mid-November, we still stung from their extremely poor performance in the play-offs that Fall.
"Vector" came about while we were watching an episode of House Hunters, set, coincidentally, in Hawai'i. The final scenes of the episode showed what the buyers had done with the house, and they showed a picture of a bedroom in which they had put down new wood floors. I quickly went into minor conniptions, convinced they had oriented the slats wrong (perpendicular to the bed, not parallel! Wrong, I say!). Erich, attempting to understand, said something sarcastic about the vector of the angles or some such gobbledegook. I laughed that my engineer husband could pull out such math-y terms in conversation. "Ha!" I quipped. "We should name our kids Vector and [other math-y word we can't remember]." I was joking about these being real names, but Erich got thoughtful and declared that Vector would be our baby's nickname.
One time, on a long car ride, I asked Erich one more time what a vector actually is. He patiently and succinctly explained it again, and I replied, "Wrong! It's a little baby." We laughed together, so excited to start telling our family that we were expecting a baby in July. Two days later, we found out that our little Vector's physical form had never been bigger than microscopic. This being the earlier of our two miscarriages, gestationally-speaking, and being crowded into a busy December, it's easier to forget the details of my second pregnancy. I've been thinking about Vector more often recently, though, remembering our baby who never developed a hearbeat.
But now, onto happier thoughts...
Baby #3: Wrigley
On the morning of April 30, I had a feeling I should take a pregnancy test, so I did, Erich close by. We waited patiently as the field of pink cleared, the control line darkened and so, very gradually, did the test line. We shared a high five and a hug before Erich went off to work. We did it again! It was Springtime. Unlike our last two babies, this one would be due in the Winter. Unlike our last two babies, this one we would expect to take home to our new house, which we would have plenty of time to get ready for a baby. And maybe unlike last year, the Cubs wouldn't play like champions in the regular season only to embody complete losers and be swept in the post season.
Yes, this was a new season of hope for our Cubs and for our fertility, so Erich soon decided that we could use our previously-tabled baby nickname, Wrigley. It fits much better for this baby than for Vector, since I've already had the joy of feeling this one wriggle around.
And, to answer the question I've gotten a few times already in the comments, we do hope to find out if Wrigley is a boy or girl at the big ultrasound. If we do get that info, Wrigley may be known as Wrigley for only a few more weeks!
Baby #1: Keiki
Before Erich and I got married, we decided that we wouldn't use any birth control. So we were already aware that we could get pregnant pretty soon when we were on our honeymoon in Hawai'i. When there, we learned some Hawai'ian lingo, including the word keiki. It's Hawai'ian for "child" or "kid." Erich thought it would make a great nickname for an unborn baby before we know if it's a boy or girl, if we were to find out. I agreed, and when I did fall pregnant, Keiki was the nickname for the little one.
Erich continued in the assumption that Keiki would be the name of all of our unborn babies. I assented while I still assumed that our Keiki would eventually have a real name. However, after the miscarriage, never having found out if it was a boy or a girl, I couldn't bear the thought that our first baby would never have a unique name. I didn't really think to assign a new and meaningful name to our first baby: we had already continued calling him/her "Keiki." I didn't want this baby to have to be Keiki the First or Keiki 1. Thus, the Keiki nickname was retired.
Baby #2: Vector
It took a few weeks to settle on a nickname for our second baby. I had pitched a few, but Erich rejected them. It was then decided that Erich would be the official nicknamer, though we would decide together on actual names. One of the nicknames we threw around was Wrigley, after the field where our beloved Cubs play. That was eventually rejected, however. As this was mid-November, we still stung from their extremely poor performance in the play-offs that Fall.
"Vector" came about while we were watching an episode of House Hunters, set, coincidentally, in Hawai'i. The final scenes of the episode showed what the buyers had done with the house, and they showed a picture of a bedroom in which they had put down new wood floors. I quickly went into minor conniptions, convinced they had oriented the slats wrong (perpendicular to the bed, not parallel! Wrong, I say!). Erich, attempting to understand, said something sarcastic about the vector of the angles or some such gobbledegook. I laughed that my engineer husband could pull out such math-y terms in conversation. "Ha!" I quipped. "We should name our kids Vector and [other math-y word we can't remember]." I was joking about these being real names, but Erich got thoughtful and declared that Vector would be our baby's nickname.
One time, on a long car ride, I asked Erich one more time what a vector actually is. He patiently and succinctly explained it again, and I replied, "Wrong! It's a little baby." We laughed together, so excited to start telling our family that we were expecting a baby in July. Two days later, we found out that our little Vector's physical form had never been bigger than microscopic. This being the earlier of our two miscarriages, gestationally-speaking, and being crowded into a busy December, it's easier to forget the details of my second pregnancy. I've been thinking about Vector more often recently, though, remembering our baby who never developed a hearbeat.
But now, onto happier thoughts...
Baby #3: Wrigley
On the morning of April 30, I had a feeling I should take a pregnancy test, so I did, Erich close by. We waited patiently as the field of pink cleared, the control line darkened and so, very gradually, did the test line. We shared a high five and a hug before Erich went off to work. We did it again! It was Springtime. Unlike our last two babies, this one would be due in the Winter. Unlike our last two babies, this one we would expect to take home to our new house, which we would have plenty of time to get ready for a baby. And maybe unlike last year, the Cubs wouldn't play like champions in the regular season only to embody complete losers and be swept in the post season.
Yes, this was a new season of hope for our Cubs and for our fertility, so Erich soon decided that we could use our previously-tabled baby nickname, Wrigley. It fits much better for this baby than for Vector, since I've already had the joy of feeling this one wriggle around.
And, to answer the question I've gotten a few times already in the comments, we do hope to find out if Wrigley is a boy or girl at the big ultrasound. If we do get that info, Wrigley may be known as Wrigley for only a few more weeks!
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