It's hard to believe Flynn has been with us for almost 3 weeks already. Time both flies and creeps at a glacial pace. Thankfully at this point my head has cleared enough to process how crazy the past few weeks have been.
There are several things I have often heard regarding adjusting to life post delivery. One is that if you have a c-section make sure you get up and start walking around as soon as possible to help speed up recovery. Immediately post-op and through the next day I was bed ridden to ride out my 24-hour magnesium treatment then spent a day in ICU but by day 3 I was up and about as much as possible, making sure to slowly stand upright and walk the halls for exercise as often as I could manage. I don't know if I was just incredibly lucky or if walking really does help that much but I must say I feel like my section recovery was relatively quick and easy. By the end of the first week I still had some discomfort but was otherwise moving around fairly normally and feeling pretty good. I consider myself blessed to have had a manageable recovery physically since the emotional recovery rocked my boat hardcore.
I've heard many a mother mention how crazy their hormones were in the weeks immediately following delivery but none of them could adequately paint a picture of the nightmare that was to come. I call it a nightmare, which might be a bit drastic, but it didn't feel like an overstatement at the time. Almost immediately I felt plagued with an overwhelming sense of fear, uncertainty, anxiety and dread. There was a tiny person that was relying on us to fulfill its every need and I felt completely unprepared for the task, no matter how much babysitting experience I'd had in the past. Clif was beyond amazing with his help and support and had a level of confidence that I craved desperately. Even though he was keeping it together, and trying to help me do the same, I spent almost every day for a solid 2 weeks internally begging for my mother to come help me get through the hormonal upheaval. Clif was doing absolutely everything right but sometimes there just isn't a substitute for Mom. I couldn't explain how I felt other than wrong, desperate to feel normal again. In addition I had exactly zero appetite and was forcing myself to eat a handful of bites of food for 3 meals a day to try to make sure I was going to be able to provide Flynn with some kind of nutrition from nursing.
In the mornings I woke up feeling ok, prepared to tackle a diaper change and feeding with Flynn. Then I would watch the clock, calculating when I should wake him up again and how the timing of the next feeding would impact the timing of the rest of the day. I was constantly counting hours, trying to balance between 2-3 hour nursing sessions but still give him enough time to sleep, especially if it took some time to get him back to sleep after the feeding before. Getting him back up to birth weight became an obsession when his pediatrician expressed concern that he was nearing the 2-week mark and still had several ounces to gain to get back to birth weight after not gaining anything over the previous 3 days. Life was all about checking diapers, nursing, pumping, supplementing Flynn with additional formula if he was still hungry and I hadn't pumped enough to cover the extra need and spurts of sleep. Several days it felt like I'd never do anything else but repeat this schedule again and again, much less ever see the world outside the walls of our house. I felt trapped, desperate, like a failure and fought waves of panic.
After the first week some days started to feel a little bit better and I had a mix of hormonal suffocation and moments of feeling sane and competent. Sometimes I could smile, feel comfortable and at ease with each moment of our day, other times I would burst into hysterical sobs for no reason at all. Mornings started out with optimism then later in the afternoon the dread crept back up, only to be washed away again during our pre-bedtime nursing. Now, at almost 3 weeks, after having a handful of successful extended trips away from the house, most days are positive and the hormones seem to have settled out significantly.
All things considered, Clif and I are pretty stinking lucky. Flynn (knock on wood) so far sleeps really well and we usually have to be the ones to wake him up to eat. Now that he has gained back and exceeded his birth weight we have changed to letting him wake us up at night instead of setting alarms, but still wake him to try to keep to a schedule during the day. This makes for still feeling somewhat chained to the house (nursing on the go is challenging due to the need for extra equipment) but we don't feel as much pressure as we did before. In addition, since Clif works from home and I get 3 months of maternity leave, we have lots of time together to adjust to having little Flynn. So many parents don't get that kind of time together and I can't express how thankful I am that we do. Clif changes most of the diapers and I do all the nursing but our greatest achievement has been our nighttime routine where I prep a bottle and pump a supply for the next night while Clif changes, feeds and puts Flynn back to sleep. This means we are both up together, supporting each other, and we reduce our time up at night by half. Getting us both back in bed faster helps with getting as much sleep as possible and means less opportunity for resentment if one of us is dragging our tails in the wee hours while the other is blissful in dreamland. Our mantra has been 'team work makes the dream work' and it is working wonders for us.
We've come a long way already but know that every day will be a chance for something new and exciting, an opportunity for us to grow and will have the possibility for everything we've established so far to change. Together we can adjust, adapt and make every new situation work, that is the fact that I will hold on to to help combat my worries and doubts.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Delivery Day: The Rest of the Story
Mom spent the first night with me to let Clif go home to take care of the pets and get one more night of good sleep. To help get my blood pressure back under control they put me on a magnesium drip which meant I was restricted to the bed until they discontinued the drip. I don't have enough words for how thankful I was to have mom's support that first night.
The next morning we finished magnesium early and I was transferred from the labor and delivery wing to my room in postpartum. The room looked the same but the feel of the wing was just different. I can't put my finger on it, exactly, but I didn't feel as comfortable there. I'm sure a lot of it had to do with the fact that I suddenly had a tiny new human to take care of in there with me and while there would be nurses on hand if I needed, nothing could replace having mom or Clif in there with me.
My nurse came in around midnight to take Flynn away for his car seat challenge since he was so small and I tried to settle in for some uninterrupted sleep. Earlier in the evening I'd noticed that my lip had swollen which has become a fairly standard allergic reaction for me and is mostly just a mild inconvenience. Not long after I'd laid down to get some sleep I started to notice a second of my strange swelling responses seemed to be kicking in. My uvula feels swollen and, while luckily doesn't compromise my airway, the potential is there. In the meantime it makes me gag when I try to talk and makes swallowing anything a great challenge. As I noticed increasing difficulty in managing the swelling in my throat I noticed my hands starting to swell, particularly in the areas where I'd been all but manhandling myself in various efforts to encourage Flynn to nurse. The lip I could have dealt with but now I was trying to deal with all three of my strange swelling reactions, two of which were developing into the worst case I'd yet experienced of each.
I broke down and called my nurse who was just on her way back with Flynn from his challenge. When she got to my room I tried to explain what was going on as best as I could and told her that while I usually can handle the situation, I was starting to have some trouble. She called the OB on duty to check in on me, unfortunately all he could suggest was a dose of Lasix to draw off water and Benadryl for the allergy. I knew neither of those solutions would work but I was too tired and feeling too poorly to say so. The Benadryl hit and I fell deeply asleep sitting up in bed with my hands cradled in my lap.
The next morning my throat was only marginally better but my hands had tripled in size, swelling in all of my fingers, through the palm of my hand and part way up my wrist. This, as can be imagined, was very concerning to my nurses. They started to try calling Clif to have him come in as soon as he could while working on transferring me back to the labor and delivery wing. I was still sufficiently groggy from the Benadryl and made scant little unnecessary movement while I was shifted to a new bed and re-fitted with a catheter while concerned nurses buzzed around trying to figure out what to do with me. By now the next OB was on the clock and she came to inform me she had made the decision to send me to ICU where they were equipped to handle me if something got worse and my airway closed. I tried to assure her that, while ultimately I would do what she wanted, my throat was starting to feel better and just needed more time. She was adamant and I couldn't blame her for being concerned.
I was wheeled in my bed upstairs to ICU and transferred into my personal bay to be hooked up to leads, BP cuff, IV of more magnesium and finger monitor. A few doctors and nurses came through to get my story and try to determine what was going on with me. Zyrtec, Pepcid and a steroid were ordered to try to get my swelling under control, otherwise I was left to sleep off the remainder of my Benadryl hangover. There was a lot of sleeping. Later in the evening they finally brought a breast pump to me with instructions to pump and dump as they weren't sure if the medications I was on would be harmful to Flynn or not. My hands, however, were still so swollen I couldn't manage by myself and had to rely on my nurses to pump for me. The good news was by that point my Give-A-Darn meter was truly broken and I couldn't care less about feeling slightly akin to a dairy cow.
I spent a full day and night in ICU before my swelling reduced enough to be transferred back to postpartum. We had been due to be discharged that day (Tuesday) but were thinking they'd want to keep us one more day due to the unexpected set back. On towards late afternoon/early evening I was feeling fairly well except for a growing anxiety about spending another night alone in the hospital. Clif and I started pushing to be discharged. Luckily Dr. Kula determined that while she was still concerned about my blood pressure, she knew me well enough to know I'd do much better if I wasn't in a stressful situation and agreed to discharge us if I continued to monitor my pressure at home. By dinner time we were on our way home at last, an event full of mixed emotion for me, predominantly thankful to be on our way back to some semblance of normality. Well, as normal as life with a new baby could be.
The next morning we finished magnesium early and I was transferred from the labor and delivery wing to my room in postpartum. The room looked the same but the feel of the wing was just different. I can't put my finger on it, exactly, but I didn't feel as comfortable there. I'm sure a lot of it had to do with the fact that I suddenly had a tiny new human to take care of in there with me and while there would be nurses on hand if I needed, nothing could replace having mom or Clif in there with me.
My nurse came in around midnight to take Flynn away for his car seat challenge since he was so small and I tried to settle in for some uninterrupted sleep. Earlier in the evening I'd noticed that my lip had swollen which has become a fairly standard allergic reaction for me and is mostly just a mild inconvenience. Not long after I'd laid down to get some sleep I started to notice a second of my strange swelling responses seemed to be kicking in. My uvula feels swollen and, while luckily doesn't compromise my airway, the potential is there. In the meantime it makes me gag when I try to talk and makes swallowing anything a great challenge. As I noticed increasing difficulty in managing the swelling in my throat I noticed my hands starting to swell, particularly in the areas where I'd been all but manhandling myself in various efforts to encourage Flynn to nurse. The lip I could have dealt with but now I was trying to deal with all three of my strange swelling reactions, two of which were developing into the worst case I'd yet experienced of each.
I broke down and called my nurse who was just on her way back with Flynn from his challenge. When she got to my room I tried to explain what was going on as best as I could and told her that while I usually can handle the situation, I was starting to have some trouble. She called the OB on duty to check in on me, unfortunately all he could suggest was a dose of Lasix to draw off water and Benadryl for the allergy. I knew neither of those solutions would work but I was too tired and feeling too poorly to say so. The Benadryl hit and I fell deeply asleep sitting up in bed with my hands cradled in my lap.
The next morning my throat was only marginally better but my hands had tripled in size, swelling in all of my fingers, through the palm of my hand and part way up my wrist. This, as can be imagined, was very concerning to my nurses. They started to try calling Clif to have him come in as soon as he could while working on transferring me back to the labor and delivery wing. I was still sufficiently groggy from the Benadryl and made scant little unnecessary movement while I was shifted to a new bed and re-fitted with a catheter while concerned nurses buzzed around trying to figure out what to do with me. By now the next OB was on the clock and she came to inform me she had made the decision to send me to ICU where they were equipped to handle me if something got worse and my airway closed. I tried to assure her that, while ultimately I would do what she wanted, my throat was starting to feel better and just needed more time. She was adamant and I couldn't blame her for being concerned.
I was wheeled in my bed upstairs to ICU and transferred into my personal bay to be hooked up to leads, BP cuff, IV of more magnesium and finger monitor. A few doctors and nurses came through to get my story and try to determine what was going on with me. Zyrtec, Pepcid and a steroid were ordered to try to get my swelling under control, otherwise I was left to sleep off the remainder of my Benadryl hangover. There was a lot of sleeping. Later in the evening they finally brought a breast pump to me with instructions to pump and dump as they weren't sure if the medications I was on would be harmful to Flynn or not. My hands, however, were still so swollen I couldn't manage by myself and had to rely on my nurses to pump for me. The good news was by that point my Give-A-Darn meter was truly broken and I couldn't care less about feeling slightly akin to a dairy cow.
I spent a full day and night in ICU before my swelling reduced enough to be transferred back to postpartum. We had been due to be discharged that day (Tuesday) but were thinking they'd want to keep us one more day due to the unexpected set back. On towards late afternoon/early evening I was feeling fairly well except for a growing anxiety about spending another night alone in the hospital. Clif and I started pushing to be discharged. Luckily Dr. Kula determined that while she was still concerned about my blood pressure, she knew me well enough to know I'd do much better if I wasn't in a stressful situation and agreed to discharge us if I continued to monitor my pressure at home. By dinner time we were on our way home at last, an event full of mixed emotion for me, predominantly thankful to be on our way back to some semblance of normality. Well, as normal as life with a new baby could be.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Delivery Day
Friday evening, January 31st Clif and I were joined by our dear friend, Shiva at Sweet Water restaurant for what we half-jokingly referred to as our Last Meal. I had crab cakes, fries, roasted brussels sprouts and mixed greens salad with goat cheese. Afterwards Clif drove me to the Birthing Inn check in for the night. After two failed attempts on each wrist an IV line was placed below my left elbow in preparation for the next day and Cervidil was given to prepare my body for induction in the morning. I opted for some Ambien to try to help me sleep, given I had pressure leg cuffs, a contraction and baby monitor strapped to my stomach, an IV line in one arm and blood pressure cuff on the other to try to deal with. I managed to get some sleep, unfortunately the discomfort of all of the necessary accessories overrode the medication. In addition trips to the bathroom while trying not to disturb the Cervidil were rather complicated and uncomfortable.
Clif had spent the night at home and came back early in the morning to bring me something for breakfast before they started Pitocin and I would need to switch to a clear liquid diet. My sister, Laura, and sister-in-law, Judi, arrived soon after and we began the Pitocin drip around 9:00 am. We did pretty well at first, I even managed to find a comfortable position sitting on a birthing ball, resting over the side of the bed. The biggest problem we had was it became almost impossible to keep a good monitor trace on Flynn in that position. We tried to walk a fine line between finding a productive, comfortable position for me and not losing track of how Flynn was doing which meant a lot of holding his monitor and constantly shifting it to try to get his readings.
The Pitocin dose was increased every half hour to try to get labor established. Contractions were coming so close together they were pretty much on top of each other and there didn't seem to be very much relief in the pain. By 1:00 pm I was back in bed and only 3 cm dilated. I was already feeling like I wouldn't be able to get through the entire labor without an epidural or wanting to give up. Laura, Judi and Clif kept coaching and comforting me, telling me I was doing great and that I could do it. I thought if I could just manage one contraction at a time, one minute at a time, I would get as far as I could. I was reluctant to get an epidural because I was afraid of stopping the little bit of progress I'd already made. I settled into a zone where I stayed as still as I could on my left side, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep, chanting to myself that I could make it through each wave of pain. At one point my coaches wondered if I'd fallen asleep but I was too far gone to respond.
Meanwhile we had my blood pressure to contend with. It was already high going into the induction but trying to manage the pain made it worse. I was given increasing doses of blood pressure medication through my IV to try to maintain some control over it but it seemed to be a losing battle. Soon Dr. Kula and our nurses started discussing an epidural in earnest to try to help me continue labor and avoid a c-section if my blood pressure got out of control. I was on the fence, still not ready to give in, hoping to make it at least to 5 cm before agreeing to one.
Around 3:00 pm I was 4 cm dilated, feeling really unsure of my ability to make it to the end and ready for any relief from the constant pain. My coaches had done an amazing job encouraging me and getting me this far but I could appreciate the concern of the medical staff. Since I really wanted to avoid the c-section I decided to give in to the epidural. As soon as I opened my mouth to tell my nurse I was ready, however, my water spontaneously broke. Later Laura and Judi would say they wished they'd had a camera to catch the expression on my face. I was a bit out of it but I could tell my eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Instead of asking for the epidural I announced I thought my water broke. I got help to get up one more time to go to the bathroom while everyone else shifted gears with the new development.
If I thought I'd been in pain before I was about to get a rude wake up call. Sensations intensified drastically and from the bathroom I yelled through the door that I was ready for the epidural as soon as humanly possible. It was gut wrenching to hear that they needed to check my platelet count before they could place it, to me it sounded like it would be an eternity before I could get some relief. I all but threw my arm in the nurse's face in desperation. Laura and Judi tried to talk me through the contractions as best as they could while Clif helped facilitate getting ready for the epidural, but everything was a blur.
I hadn't even noticed when Dr. Kula came in the room but she wanted to check our progress, I was relieved to hear we were at 7 cm dilated. By the time the platelet count came back and the anesthetist was ready to go I could barely get around the end of the bed to the other side between peaks of contractions. Judi and Laura had to leave the room leaving Clif to sit in front of me while the epidural was placed. The anesthetist asked if I had any questions, my only one was how long it would take to kick in. By this time my composure was next to non-existent and I made little effort to try to hide or control my discomfort. I flipped between high pitched keening and low, gutteral groaning, punctuated by a string of "ow, ow, ow"s while trying to sit perfectly still, waiting desperately for relief. It felt like an eternity but I started to relax in a matter of moments. Clif and my nurse had to help me lie back in bed and each moment I relaxed even more. The more I relaxed the less I cared about what she wanted to do to make sure Flynn was doing alright. We were still having a hard time getting a good read on Flynn's heart rate so Dr. Kula wanted to use an internal monitor that was more accurate to see how he was doing. I could tell fairly quickly that something wasn't quite right with what I heard, my worry confirmed a second later when Dr. Kula told me Flynn's heart rate had dropped to 60 bpm and that he needed to be delivered immediately via c-section. I managed a nod and an "ok", his well-being was by far the most important thing.
In a matter of seconds my room was full of medical staff and before I knew it I was being rolled in bed out of the room, Clif left behind in the chaotic aftermath. As we were wheeling into the surgical suite I still hadn't quite processed what was going on. It wasn't until I was on the surgical table, watching how quickly everyone worked to get me ready for section through the reflection of the surgical lights that it dawned on me that this was a legitimate emergency situation. They barely had time to swab my stomach before Dr. Kula was cutting and working handily to get Flynn out. I didn't feel any pain but the yanking and tugging was intense. Before I could blink the tugging stopped and Flynn was whisked to a table at the side of the room. I turned to look but couldn't see past the doctor and two nurses standing over him, blocking my view. I couldn't hear anything and remember thinking that something felt really wrong, feeling especially worried when one of the nurses looked up across the table at the nurse across from her with what I perceived to be a concerned expression. I paid no attention to the people working to close me up, which was easy since everyone seemed so quiet. I only cared about watching that table, tears streaming down my face, wondering why someone couldn't tell me what was going on. I kept up a desperate mantra of, "Dear Lord, please let him be alright".
Finally I heard a tiny sound, then a slightly larger one then a few cries that sounded like they had actual substance behind them. One of the nurses working on Flynn looked over at me, flashed a quick thumbs up and I think I took my first breath in several minutes. Nothing else going on in that room mattered after seeing that sign of reassurance that he was going to be ok. A nurse eventually brought him over to me, wrapped tightly in a blanket, and let me hold him with one arm against me chest for a minute so I could see him. I held him as long as I could at that angle before I had to give him back, worried my arm was going to fatigue. I had to wait several more minutes on the operating table for an x-ray technician to arrive to check me. We'd rushed into surgery so fast there hadn't been a chance to count the surgical pack before beginning so the x-rays were to make sure nothing was left behind inside. Eventually I was wheeled out of the suite to join Clif in his surgical attire who had been bonding with Flynn and we had our first moments together as a family.
I later learned:
-When I was taken out of the delivery room for section Clif was left behind in the room, alone, not knowing exactly what was going on. An off duty nurse who recognized him happened past and asked if he was ok, which he wasn't. She helped get an update on my situation and him get into the surgical suite to see me.
-When Flynn was delivered his Apgar score was 2 at one minute: he had color and a heart beat. They had to give almost 2 minutes of rescue breathing initially and at minute 5 his score was up to 8.
-When Dr. Kula checked me the last time as she was checking on Flynn I had dilated to 8-9 cm and we were almost ready to push.
-The thought is that Flynn's heart rate dropped so low because he may have grabbed a hold of his cord.
Flynn was delivered at 5:19 pm on Saturday, February 1st, 2014, weighing 5.13 lbs at delivery and measuring 19 inches long.
Clif had spent the night at home and came back early in the morning to bring me something for breakfast before they started Pitocin and I would need to switch to a clear liquid diet. My sister, Laura, and sister-in-law, Judi, arrived soon after and we began the Pitocin drip around 9:00 am. We did pretty well at first, I even managed to find a comfortable position sitting on a birthing ball, resting over the side of the bed. The biggest problem we had was it became almost impossible to keep a good monitor trace on Flynn in that position. We tried to walk a fine line between finding a productive, comfortable position for me and not losing track of how Flynn was doing which meant a lot of holding his monitor and constantly shifting it to try to get his readings.
The Pitocin dose was increased every half hour to try to get labor established. Contractions were coming so close together they were pretty much on top of each other and there didn't seem to be very much relief in the pain. By 1:00 pm I was back in bed and only 3 cm dilated. I was already feeling like I wouldn't be able to get through the entire labor without an epidural or wanting to give up. Laura, Judi and Clif kept coaching and comforting me, telling me I was doing great and that I could do it. I thought if I could just manage one contraction at a time, one minute at a time, I would get as far as I could. I was reluctant to get an epidural because I was afraid of stopping the little bit of progress I'd already made. I settled into a zone where I stayed as still as I could on my left side, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep, chanting to myself that I could make it through each wave of pain. At one point my coaches wondered if I'd fallen asleep but I was too far gone to respond.
Meanwhile we had my blood pressure to contend with. It was already high going into the induction but trying to manage the pain made it worse. I was given increasing doses of blood pressure medication through my IV to try to maintain some control over it but it seemed to be a losing battle. Soon Dr. Kula and our nurses started discussing an epidural in earnest to try to help me continue labor and avoid a c-section if my blood pressure got out of control. I was on the fence, still not ready to give in, hoping to make it at least to 5 cm before agreeing to one.
Around 3:00 pm I was 4 cm dilated, feeling really unsure of my ability to make it to the end and ready for any relief from the constant pain. My coaches had done an amazing job encouraging me and getting me this far but I could appreciate the concern of the medical staff. Since I really wanted to avoid the c-section I decided to give in to the epidural. As soon as I opened my mouth to tell my nurse I was ready, however, my water spontaneously broke. Later Laura and Judi would say they wished they'd had a camera to catch the expression on my face. I was a bit out of it but I could tell my eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Instead of asking for the epidural I announced I thought my water broke. I got help to get up one more time to go to the bathroom while everyone else shifted gears with the new development.
If I thought I'd been in pain before I was about to get a rude wake up call. Sensations intensified drastically and from the bathroom I yelled through the door that I was ready for the epidural as soon as humanly possible. It was gut wrenching to hear that they needed to check my platelet count before they could place it, to me it sounded like it would be an eternity before I could get some relief. I all but threw my arm in the nurse's face in desperation. Laura and Judi tried to talk me through the contractions as best as they could while Clif helped facilitate getting ready for the epidural, but everything was a blur.
I hadn't even noticed when Dr. Kula came in the room but she wanted to check our progress, I was relieved to hear we were at 7 cm dilated. By the time the platelet count came back and the anesthetist was ready to go I could barely get around the end of the bed to the other side between peaks of contractions. Judi and Laura had to leave the room leaving Clif to sit in front of me while the epidural was placed. The anesthetist asked if I had any questions, my only one was how long it would take to kick in. By this time my composure was next to non-existent and I made little effort to try to hide or control my discomfort. I flipped between high pitched keening and low, gutteral groaning, punctuated by a string of "ow, ow, ow"s while trying to sit perfectly still, waiting desperately for relief. It felt like an eternity but I started to relax in a matter of moments. Clif and my nurse had to help me lie back in bed and each moment I relaxed even more. The more I relaxed the less I cared about what she wanted to do to make sure Flynn was doing alright. We were still having a hard time getting a good read on Flynn's heart rate so Dr. Kula wanted to use an internal monitor that was more accurate to see how he was doing. I could tell fairly quickly that something wasn't quite right with what I heard, my worry confirmed a second later when Dr. Kula told me Flynn's heart rate had dropped to 60 bpm and that he needed to be delivered immediately via c-section. I managed a nod and an "ok", his well-being was by far the most important thing.
In a matter of seconds my room was full of medical staff and before I knew it I was being rolled in bed out of the room, Clif left behind in the chaotic aftermath. As we were wheeling into the surgical suite I still hadn't quite processed what was going on. It wasn't until I was on the surgical table, watching how quickly everyone worked to get me ready for section through the reflection of the surgical lights that it dawned on me that this was a legitimate emergency situation. They barely had time to swab my stomach before Dr. Kula was cutting and working handily to get Flynn out. I didn't feel any pain but the yanking and tugging was intense. Before I could blink the tugging stopped and Flynn was whisked to a table at the side of the room. I turned to look but couldn't see past the doctor and two nurses standing over him, blocking my view. I couldn't hear anything and remember thinking that something felt really wrong, feeling especially worried when one of the nurses looked up across the table at the nurse across from her with what I perceived to be a concerned expression. I paid no attention to the people working to close me up, which was easy since everyone seemed so quiet. I only cared about watching that table, tears streaming down my face, wondering why someone couldn't tell me what was going on. I kept up a desperate mantra of, "Dear Lord, please let him be alright".
Finally I heard a tiny sound, then a slightly larger one then a few cries that sounded like they had actual substance behind them. One of the nurses working on Flynn looked over at me, flashed a quick thumbs up and I think I took my first breath in several minutes. Nothing else going on in that room mattered after seeing that sign of reassurance that he was going to be ok. A nurse eventually brought him over to me, wrapped tightly in a blanket, and let me hold him with one arm against me chest for a minute so I could see him. I held him as long as I could at that angle before I had to give him back, worried my arm was going to fatigue. I had to wait several more minutes on the operating table for an x-ray technician to arrive to check me. We'd rushed into surgery so fast there hadn't been a chance to count the surgical pack before beginning so the x-rays were to make sure nothing was left behind inside. Eventually I was wheeled out of the suite to join Clif in his surgical attire who had been bonding with Flynn and we had our first moments together as a family.
I later learned:
-When I was taken out of the delivery room for section Clif was left behind in the room, alone, not knowing exactly what was going on. An off duty nurse who recognized him happened past and asked if he was ok, which he wasn't. She helped get an update on my situation and him get into the surgical suite to see me.
-When Flynn was delivered his Apgar score was 2 at one minute: he had color and a heart beat. They had to give almost 2 minutes of rescue breathing initially and at minute 5 his score was up to 8.
-When Dr. Kula checked me the last time as she was checking on Flynn I had dilated to 8-9 cm and we were almost ready to push.
-The thought is that Flynn's heart rate dropped so low because he may have grabbed a hold of his cord.
Flynn was delivered at 5:19 pm on Saturday, February 1st, 2014, weighing 5.13 lbs at delivery and measuring 19 inches long.
Friday, January 24, 2014
The Great Catch-All
It's been a while since I posted here, I think for several reasons. The last couple of months have been tumultuous at best, filled with uncertainties, celebrations, anxieties and one ginormous emotional roller coaster. Every time I thought I'd make a post to update our gestational status I'd feel overwhelmed and anxious because I was sure no sooner would I post something than it would all change within a matter of hours. Now that we are in the final week countdown to meeting our little Flynn I feel it is the time to catch upon what's been going on with us before we start the next chapter. Read at your own risk as this is basically one huge brain-dump, rambling in nature in an effort to touch on all the significant happenings from the past couple of months.
This pregnancy has blessed me with gestational diabetes and hypertension. The hypertension was... challenging, to say the least. Every other time I had an appointment with my primary care provider or our midwives my blood pressure would alternate from nearly perfect to high. I blamed a lot of my high readings on the fact that we were working through a 3rd pregnancy right after losing two back to back the year before. Those emotions and fears were still fairly fresh and being a natural worrier it was hard not to worry, no matter how many times someone told me I just needed to relax (if only it were that easy). In addition at some point I managed to develop White Coat Syndrome (anxiety just from walking in the office door), a condition that ended up getting worse the further along we got, especially once we started to learn about my higher-risk conditions. My primary care provider gave me a blood pressure medication that, ultimately, didn't really help and our midwives monitored me carefully at each appointment, noting that my blood pressure readings sometimes ok, sometimes borderline concerning but always wonky within what they considered was an acceptable range that they could deal with.
The diabetes was much more noticeable (I never felt my blood pressure fluctuations) but it certainly seemed easier to handle. At first I was not excited about the prospect of having to eat on a specific schedule and keep track of checking my blood at precise times four times a day but realizing that my dietary goals basically boiled down to a Weight Watchers-esque plan of counting carbs instead of calories and having a point allowance per meal instead of per day, following it was much easier than I'd originally feared. It was great to be able to maintain my diabetes successfully by diet and avoid medications.
Around the second week of December I got a call from the midwives telling me during a routine consultation of higher risk patients it was decided that my care needed to be transferred from them to an OB. This was heartbreaking news to me since I saw it as the beginning of the deterioration of our birth wishes. I unsuccessfully held back tears as I called to make an appointment with the OB practice the midwives consulted regularly with, both because they were at least already somewhat familiar with my records and because I didn't have any other OB to transfer to. I tried diligently to not let fear and anxiety over what felt to me like a substantial upheaval run rampant but I couldn't keep my worry in check.
On December 17th Clif and I had our first appointment the OB practice the midwives referred us to. My unease started just walking in the door of the hospital and grew upon entering their office. It just wasn't the comfortable, relaxing environment with staff I was already familiar with like our appointments at the midwives. I felt completely overwhelmed and steamrolled when we met Dr. Jeffrey-Coker, one of the four OBs of the practice, who did little to hide her blunt, direct, matter-of-fact approach to our situation. Clif liked her immediately for her approach, I felt more fragile and think I could have done with a bit more gentleness. My blood pressure registered at 176/107, two numbers that utterly shocked and terrified me. I stared at the screen, trying to process the words that seemed to be flying too fast from the doctor's mouth, trying to understand how I'd gotten to this horrible little room and trying to fathom how those numbers could possibly be right. She took my pressure again and the second reading was almost the same. By now I'd been nearly sobbing through the majority of our whirlwind appointment, tears that came even more freely when she told us we would need to go downstairs to Labor and Delivery to be triaged and further assessed with the possibility of being admitted overnight.
Possibility turned into certainty and before I knew it I found myself in a hospital gown and socks in one of their labor and delivery suites, attended to by a bustling nurse, drained of several vials of blood, set up for another 24-hour urine collection and strapped up to various machines for monitoring. I kept telling myself it would only be one night and I could get through it, just one step at a time.
Some of my blood values came back slightly elevated, enough of a concern that my overnight stay was going to be extended at least another day with the possibility of us being delivered at any moment. I felt terrified and numb at the same time, struggling to wrap my head around how the day before I'd left my office for a doctor's appointment thinking I'd be back to my usual routine but instead was facing the possibility of having to have a sudden c-section to deliver our son into the NICU at 34 weeks. The next day my values had stabilized, still elevated but they hadn't gone up so we wouldn't deliver quite yet but the doctor made it clear that possibility was still very much on the table. Our overnight stay turned two-day stay suddenly became an indefinite stay while we waited for my pre-eclampsia to take over and all of my values to tank.
Three days in I was moved to a smaller antenatal room and the barrage of testing maintained: five vials of blood drawn and tested twice a day, fetal heart rate monitoring twice a day, blood glucose values checked four times a day, better blood pressure medications administered twice a day, bio profile ultrasound scheduled every 3-4 days, 24- hour urine collection about once a week, blood pressure evaluated frequently. I felt a bit like a lab rat but I was determined to be a pleasant, cooperative lab rat. It became my personal mission to strive to be the best patient these nurses had ever seen, an exercise that helped me get through the situation as much as I hope it helped them to have to take care of me. Eventually I started leaving my room door cracked open so I could smile as they would walk by, encourage them to peek their heads in to say hi and in general not feel as much like I was in time-out. I felt more like a fixture of the hall than a patient.
I started knitting scarves to help pass the time and soon had so many my reputation on the wing grew to the point that nurses who didn't even have me as a patient would come by my room to see my brag board of goodies. One of the nurses bought a scarf for herself while another I gifted to a mother who had been admitted for almost the same reason I was, except she was really sick and they did deliver her baby while I continued to skate by. I thought I understood how she must have felt, was thankful that so far I wasn't exactly in her shoes and asked her nurse to give it to her for me as a gesture of support. I later learned that she cuddled the scarf instead of her baby who she wouldn't even see until the next day at the earliest, I hope it gave her comfort. The rest of the scarves continues to take over the single bulletin board in my room and we decided to open an Etsy store to sell them. That decision escalated into multiple donations of yarn from my mother and dear friends, donations that would help populate our little shop and in turn, hopefully, help us pay down a growing hospital bill.
Sitting and knitting consumed the majority of my two-week stay in the hospital, punctuated with visits from a great number of family, friends and loved ones who came to say hi and see how we were doing. Clif would come as he could and work on writing his book while I watched tv and cranked out scarves, it helped just to have him there with me.
We were settled in for the long haul since our doctor told us I would be on bed rest in the hospital until we delivered the baby, which still could be as early as the next day or as late as 37 weeks, then as late as 38 weeks then 39 weeks. The time extended as my blood values slowly, and surprisingly, normalized. That was a direction none of our care providers were expecting them to go, I think I had them all stumped about what to do with me. Finally Dr. Jeffrey-Coker came to see us and told us she'd taken a stand to have us discharged to finish bed rest at home, under strict instructions to monitor myself carefully and follow the rules of rest. Clif packed my belongings as if he were fleeing the country and within an hour we were home sweet home. My position and activity hadn't changed, I was still perched sitting up on the chaise part of the couch, watching tv and knitting scarves, but being able to do it in the comfort of home made a world of difference.
We have somehow managed a full 360 in terms of the final stages of this pregnancy. We started out with dreams of a natural labor and delivery, dreams that were yanked out from under us as we faced the possibility of a very early c-section with NICU time (no skin to skin delivery or immediate bonding time, no immediate breast feeding, etc.) but are now back to our final march to 39 weeks and the ability to induce labor for delivery since Flynn finally turned into head down position (c-section at 39 weeks has still been on the table since he was breech) and we are so thankful. We have gone through things we never could have even imagined having to face but we are stronger and better prepared because of it. On many levels I could have done without the turmoil, chaos and emotional exhaustion from the constant changing of our status and resulting delivery plan, the difficulty in trying to get the exact story from two different practices (OBs and Maternal Fetal Medicine) who saw me independently while seemingly not talking to each other, but I'm grateful for what we've learned and who we've been able to meet as a result of the entire experience.
At this point Clif and I are as prepared as possible for Flynn, which is not to say I feel anywhere near ready. Worry, anxiety, fear, uncertainty are all forefront in my mind as we face the arrival of the biggest change of our lives. We often hear sentiments along the lines of "you'll never be fully prepared for a baby" and "everything will work out, you'll be great parents", which are both completely unhelpful and the most true statements that could ever be made. I don't think it's possible to find words that can take away those anxious feelings, I believe it is part of the process, but it sure is hard to navigate them. I want to be completely consumed with excitement and confidence, but I'm not and know I won't be. I'm trying to be ok with that. Instead I'm cruising this final week, trying to prepare myself as best as I can, thankful for the health Flynn and I have, the negative situations we've been able to avoid so far and know that each day moving forward will be a learning curve, some with good results and some with harder ones. I have every faith that Clif, Flynn and myself will navigate our new road together to the best of our combined abilities and that while it won't be easy in the beginning over time we will get better at it.
This pregnancy has blessed me with gestational diabetes and hypertension. The hypertension was... challenging, to say the least. Every other time I had an appointment with my primary care provider or our midwives my blood pressure would alternate from nearly perfect to high. I blamed a lot of my high readings on the fact that we were working through a 3rd pregnancy right after losing two back to back the year before. Those emotions and fears were still fairly fresh and being a natural worrier it was hard not to worry, no matter how many times someone told me I just needed to relax (if only it were that easy). In addition at some point I managed to develop White Coat Syndrome (anxiety just from walking in the office door), a condition that ended up getting worse the further along we got, especially once we started to learn about my higher-risk conditions. My primary care provider gave me a blood pressure medication that, ultimately, didn't really help and our midwives monitored me carefully at each appointment, noting that my blood pressure readings sometimes ok, sometimes borderline concerning but always wonky within what they considered was an acceptable range that they could deal with.
The diabetes was much more noticeable (I never felt my blood pressure fluctuations) but it certainly seemed easier to handle. At first I was not excited about the prospect of having to eat on a specific schedule and keep track of checking my blood at precise times four times a day but realizing that my dietary goals basically boiled down to a Weight Watchers-esque plan of counting carbs instead of calories and having a point allowance per meal instead of per day, following it was much easier than I'd originally feared. It was great to be able to maintain my diabetes successfully by diet and avoid medications.
Around the second week of December I got a call from the midwives telling me during a routine consultation of higher risk patients it was decided that my care needed to be transferred from them to an OB. This was heartbreaking news to me since I saw it as the beginning of the deterioration of our birth wishes. I unsuccessfully held back tears as I called to make an appointment with the OB practice the midwives consulted regularly with, both because they were at least already somewhat familiar with my records and because I didn't have any other OB to transfer to. I tried diligently to not let fear and anxiety over what felt to me like a substantial upheaval run rampant but I couldn't keep my worry in check.
On December 17th Clif and I had our first appointment the OB practice the midwives referred us to. My unease started just walking in the door of the hospital and grew upon entering their office. It just wasn't the comfortable, relaxing environment with staff I was already familiar with like our appointments at the midwives. I felt completely overwhelmed and steamrolled when we met Dr. Jeffrey-Coker, one of the four OBs of the practice, who did little to hide her blunt, direct, matter-of-fact approach to our situation. Clif liked her immediately for her approach, I felt more fragile and think I could have done with a bit more gentleness. My blood pressure registered at 176/107, two numbers that utterly shocked and terrified me. I stared at the screen, trying to process the words that seemed to be flying too fast from the doctor's mouth, trying to understand how I'd gotten to this horrible little room and trying to fathom how those numbers could possibly be right. She took my pressure again and the second reading was almost the same. By now I'd been nearly sobbing through the majority of our whirlwind appointment, tears that came even more freely when she told us we would need to go downstairs to Labor and Delivery to be triaged and further assessed with the possibility of being admitted overnight.
Possibility turned into certainty and before I knew it I found myself in a hospital gown and socks in one of their labor and delivery suites, attended to by a bustling nurse, drained of several vials of blood, set up for another 24-hour urine collection and strapped up to various machines for monitoring. I kept telling myself it would only be one night and I could get through it, just one step at a time.
Some of my blood values came back slightly elevated, enough of a concern that my overnight stay was going to be extended at least another day with the possibility of us being delivered at any moment. I felt terrified and numb at the same time, struggling to wrap my head around how the day before I'd left my office for a doctor's appointment thinking I'd be back to my usual routine but instead was facing the possibility of having to have a sudden c-section to deliver our son into the NICU at 34 weeks. The next day my values had stabilized, still elevated but they hadn't gone up so we wouldn't deliver quite yet but the doctor made it clear that possibility was still very much on the table. Our overnight stay turned two-day stay suddenly became an indefinite stay while we waited for my pre-eclampsia to take over and all of my values to tank.
Three days in I was moved to a smaller antenatal room and the barrage of testing maintained: five vials of blood drawn and tested twice a day, fetal heart rate monitoring twice a day, blood glucose values checked four times a day, better blood pressure medications administered twice a day, bio profile ultrasound scheduled every 3-4 days, 24- hour urine collection about once a week, blood pressure evaluated frequently. I felt a bit like a lab rat but I was determined to be a pleasant, cooperative lab rat. It became my personal mission to strive to be the best patient these nurses had ever seen, an exercise that helped me get through the situation as much as I hope it helped them to have to take care of me. Eventually I started leaving my room door cracked open so I could smile as they would walk by, encourage them to peek their heads in to say hi and in general not feel as much like I was in time-out. I felt more like a fixture of the hall than a patient.
I started knitting scarves to help pass the time and soon had so many my reputation on the wing grew to the point that nurses who didn't even have me as a patient would come by my room to see my brag board of goodies. One of the nurses bought a scarf for herself while another I gifted to a mother who had been admitted for almost the same reason I was, except she was really sick and they did deliver her baby while I continued to skate by. I thought I understood how she must have felt, was thankful that so far I wasn't exactly in her shoes and asked her nurse to give it to her for me as a gesture of support. I later learned that she cuddled the scarf instead of her baby who she wouldn't even see until the next day at the earliest, I hope it gave her comfort. The rest of the scarves continues to take over the single bulletin board in my room and we decided to open an Etsy store to sell them. That decision escalated into multiple donations of yarn from my mother and dear friends, donations that would help populate our little shop and in turn, hopefully, help us pay down a growing hospital bill.
Sitting and knitting consumed the majority of my two-week stay in the hospital, punctuated with visits from a great number of family, friends and loved ones who came to say hi and see how we were doing. Clif would come as he could and work on writing his book while I watched tv and cranked out scarves, it helped just to have him there with me.
We were settled in for the long haul since our doctor told us I would be on bed rest in the hospital until we delivered the baby, which still could be as early as the next day or as late as 37 weeks, then as late as 38 weeks then 39 weeks. The time extended as my blood values slowly, and surprisingly, normalized. That was a direction none of our care providers were expecting them to go, I think I had them all stumped about what to do with me. Finally Dr. Jeffrey-Coker came to see us and told us she'd taken a stand to have us discharged to finish bed rest at home, under strict instructions to monitor myself carefully and follow the rules of rest. Clif packed my belongings as if he were fleeing the country and within an hour we were home sweet home. My position and activity hadn't changed, I was still perched sitting up on the chaise part of the couch, watching tv and knitting scarves, but being able to do it in the comfort of home made a world of difference.
We have somehow managed a full 360 in terms of the final stages of this pregnancy. We started out with dreams of a natural labor and delivery, dreams that were yanked out from under us as we faced the possibility of a very early c-section with NICU time (no skin to skin delivery or immediate bonding time, no immediate breast feeding, etc.) but are now back to our final march to 39 weeks and the ability to induce labor for delivery since Flynn finally turned into head down position (c-section at 39 weeks has still been on the table since he was breech) and we are so thankful. We have gone through things we never could have even imagined having to face but we are stronger and better prepared because of it. On many levels I could have done without the turmoil, chaos and emotional exhaustion from the constant changing of our status and resulting delivery plan, the difficulty in trying to get the exact story from two different practices (OBs and Maternal Fetal Medicine) who saw me independently while seemingly not talking to each other, but I'm grateful for what we've learned and who we've been able to meet as a result of the entire experience.
At this point Clif and I are as prepared as possible for Flynn, which is not to say I feel anywhere near ready. Worry, anxiety, fear, uncertainty are all forefront in my mind as we face the arrival of the biggest change of our lives. We often hear sentiments along the lines of "you'll never be fully prepared for a baby" and "everything will work out, you'll be great parents", which are both completely unhelpful and the most true statements that could ever be made. I don't think it's possible to find words that can take away those anxious feelings, I believe it is part of the process, but it sure is hard to navigate them. I want to be completely consumed with excitement and confidence, but I'm not and know I won't be. I'm trying to be ok with that. Instead I'm cruising this final week, trying to prepare myself as best as I can, thankful for the health Flynn and I have, the negative situations we've been able to avoid so far and know that each day moving forward will be a learning curve, some with good results and some with harder ones. I have every faith that Clif, Flynn and myself will navigate our new road together to the best of our combined abilities and that while it won't be easy in the beginning over time we will get better at it.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Eyeballing Halfway
written September 12
We are rounding out the end of 18 weeks and for the first time I've been sick two mornings in a row. Fun! In the first three months my nausea was pretty much 24/7, which was confusing to my ravenous appetite. This far along I still have bouts of nausea, though they tend to spike while brushing teeth and taking pills getting ready in the morning and on the way to bed at night. That's alright, I'm not mad at the symptoms. I prayed fervently, almost desperately, for continued signs to reassure me in the first trimester, the last thing I plan on doing is being ungrateful for those continued signs, even if they are lasting a bit longer than I think I may have needed.
This week has been a week of growth spurting, or so it feels. Some days the best description I can give is that I just feel all womb-y. Things are stretching (that ligament pain thing has not been bad at all, except when it decides to be bad and it's REALLY BAD), adjusting, moving (just me, no baby feels yet) and it all feels just sort of strange. Right now I have an over-expanded feeling in my upper stomach, that distended feeling you get after stuffing your face at Thanksgiving. Lunch was a good hour ago and I had a leftover bun-sized sausage (no bun), a few bites of roasted potato and 2 small slices of deviled eggs. I don't think it sounds like a lot, it didn't feel like a lot at the time and yet, stuffed.
We had another appointment with the midwives last week and so far so good. I've somehow managed to lose 3 pounds (of COURSE!) but it is thought to be water weight and nothing to be worried about right now. My blood pressure had been a little high so I got on some medication to help nip it in the bud, am checking it daily, and that seems to be working out. The heartbeat is strong in this one, bounding and higher and to the right of where it was last time. I'm anxious for when I can actually start feeling Peanut do all that moving in there, which, according to words people say in books and things, should be any time now.
Last Sunday we started our Bradley classes, which had some mixed results. In the first class we learned that our teacher is nice enough but also a bit dry, skimpy in the humor department and sometimes more than a little quirky. I wasn't blown away but Clif was beyond not impressed. The next night was a catch-up night that Clif couldn't attend, but I found it to be a noticeable improvement from the night before. While it might not be the most stimulating instructor, I know there is a lot to learn and I'm so eager for the knowledge and skills.
Throughout this process Clif has been absolutely and completely amazing. He takes my moodiness and insane hysterics in stride, comforting me as much as possible. He cooks, cleans, and checks to see how I'm doing. Yesterday he heard that I was sick in the bathroom and when I came out he was ready to get out of bed and make me an egg, knowing it's been one of my go-to foods when I'm not feeling well. I'm touched by his attention and care and so lucky to have him for a best friend, husband, father-to-be.
In a week and a couple of days we should, hopefully, find out if Peanut is a he or she.
We are rounding out the end of 18 weeks and for the first time I've been sick two mornings in a row. Fun! In the first three months my nausea was pretty much 24/7, which was confusing to my ravenous appetite. This far along I still have bouts of nausea, though they tend to spike while brushing teeth and taking pills getting ready in the morning and on the way to bed at night. That's alright, I'm not mad at the symptoms. I prayed fervently, almost desperately, for continued signs to reassure me in the first trimester, the last thing I plan on doing is being ungrateful for those continued signs, even if they are lasting a bit longer than I think I may have needed.
This week has been a week of growth spurting, or so it feels. Some days the best description I can give is that I just feel all womb-y. Things are stretching (that ligament pain thing has not been bad at all, except when it decides to be bad and it's REALLY BAD), adjusting, moving (just me, no baby feels yet) and it all feels just sort of strange. Right now I have an over-expanded feeling in my upper stomach, that distended feeling you get after stuffing your face at Thanksgiving. Lunch was a good hour ago and I had a leftover bun-sized sausage (no bun), a few bites of roasted potato and 2 small slices of deviled eggs. I don't think it sounds like a lot, it didn't feel like a lot at the time and yet, stuffed.
We had another appointment with the midwives last week and so far so good. I've somehow managed to lose 3 pounds (of COURSE!) but it is thought to be water weight and nothing to be worried about right now. My blood pressure had been a little high so I got on some medication to help nip it in the bud, am checking it daily, and that seems to be working out. The heartbeat is strong in this one, bounding and higher and to the right of where it was last time. I'm anxious for when I can actually start feeling Peanut do all that moving in there, which, according to words people say in books and things, should be any time now.
Last Sunday we started our Bradley classes, which had some mixed results. In the first class we learned that our teacher is nice enough but also a bit dry, skimpy in the humor department and sometimes more than a little quirky. I wasn't blown away but Clif was beyond not impressed. The next night was a catch-up night that Clif couldn't attend, but I found it to be a noticeable improvement from the night before. While it might not be the most stimulating instructor, I know there is a lot to learn and I'm so eager for the knowledge and skills.
Throughout this process Clif has been absolutely and completely amazing. He takes my moodiness and insane hysterics in stride, comforting me as much as possible. He cooks, cleans, and checks to see how I'm doing. Yesterday he heard that I was sick in the bathroom and when I came out he was ready to get out of bed and make me an egg, knowing it's been one of my go-to foods when I'm not feeling well. I'm touched by his attention and care and so lucky to have him for a best friend, husband, father-to-be.
In a week and a couple of days we should, hopefully, find out if Peanut is a he or she.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
First Letter to Baby
Well, Peanut, this past weekend you scored mommy her first "with child" freebie and a Southwest Airlines employee named Lisa became a bit of a hero.
I had to make an overnight trip half way across the country that I wasn't particularly thrilled about. While the weekend turned out to be lovely I knew the long and late trip home Sunday night would make the return to work on Monday particularly brutal and wasn't looking forward to the last leg of our travel home. Our return flight was due to take off at 5:30 pm and land just after 11:00 pm at BWI airport. While a bit cheaper, it meant a subsequent hour ride back to my car in Falls Church then drive the rest of the way home to Sterling, estimating my arrival to bed somewhere in the ballpark of 1:30 in the morning. It would be intense, is what I'm saying, and I don't know if you noticed, Peanut, but intense is not something we have been doing very much of lately.
My travel companion and I arrived to the airport an hour ahead of our flight. While I was distracted by the need to re-check my carry on suitcase that hadn't caused any concern or changed content since the day before, my friend said he needed to run to the gate and took off at a jog I wouldn't have maintained even if I wasn't expecting. I hadn't heard exactly what he said but was instantly worried we had our times wrong and he was going to catch our plane and hold it for me to catch up. I sped walked and people dodged my way to our gate at the far end of the terminal, which luckily wasn't too large, arriving in a sweaty, panting, apologetic-for-my-state-of-pregnancy mess to find my friend in haggle mode with the employee, Lisa, at the gate check in to see if we could get on the flight that was ready to depart. So, it wasn't our flight after all, but it would save us a 45 minute layover with a plane change and get us home over an hour early if we could get on this plane. Unfortunately because we hadn't purchased the right kind of tickets it would also cost an additional $600.
We hedged for a moment. I tried not to blurt out that I'd pay almost anything to get home early (it helped that I certainly couldn't AFFORD to pay anything, much less almost anything) and deferred to my more seasoned travel mate to make the best decision. He asked Lisa again, wondering if there were seats free on the plane why we couldn't take advantage of them, but she was sticking firmly to the policy. Being in customer service myself, I was not about to fault her for doing her job, but was disappointed. My friend looked at me and asked how I was feeling as he pulled out his credit card to pay for the tickets, to which I answered truthfully that I would love to get home early but by no means was incapable of going at our originally appointment time. Lisa paused and looked at me, asking if I had said I was pregnant (I had only mentioned it by way of apology when I arrived but by no means lingered on the topic or expected to use it as a tool). I confirmed and she told my friend to put his card away and gave us our new tickets for the last 2 seats on the earlier flight. I thanked her with relieved and overjoyed tears (further evidence of my delicate situation) and found myself in bed that night well before I would have even been half way home otherwise. So, thank you and Lisa for that very welcome treat!
On a more serious note, your dad and I have had a lot of dear loved ones going through some major life events in the past few months: one having difficulty expanding their family unit, one with a family member who is facing a great battle against ugly and (we hope) false allegations. Another lost her mother and some of our family members are struggling with health challenges.
Last night one of my best friends, practically a sister, lost her husband. Though of very different varieties, she and I both had struggles with successful baby making attempts. She is 5 weeks ahead of me now and we were thrilled to find out we'd spend the majority of our pregnancies in it together. We've shared some hopes and dreams about tackling the next phase in our lives as a team and I'm eager to see them come true. Right now it feels like a distant hope with the weight of what has happened, but we have mountains of love and support to give and I know that in time we can revisit happier things. In the meantime we have very heavy hearts.
Not too long ago a friend (you will learn I'm not one to use the term acquaintance, it doesn't fit in my vocabulary) of mine was coming back to town for a weekend. I hadn't seen him in quite a while and figured if he was just going to set up shop somewhere for the evening I'd like to swing by just to say hello. Turns out he was coming in town for some more significant reasons and needed to limit to visit to family and closer friends than I was, which I fully understood. What I wasn't expecting was the sort of reprimand I got from him wondering why I thought we were so close that I could get to be included. The thing is I don't think that we are that close, and if I'd known the real reason for his coming to town I wouldn't have presumed to think it would be my place to be included, but I consider him a friend and I care enough to want to make an effort, even if it's just for a moment to say hi, offer a hug and be on my way again. While I was caught off guard by his comments, and more than a little hurt, I still care and would love to offer that hug if his next trip to the area isn't so important.
I hope that that is a kind of mentality I can help inspire in you. Even people that are further to the outside of our close friendship circle deserve love and support and it is one of my greatest joys to give it every chance I can, whether it's for someone I see on a regular basis or only share Facebook messages with every once in a blue moon. People are important, their joys and struggles are significant, and if there is one thing I have appreciated so much this week it's that life is too short to not fill it with all of the love that we have and more. I am far from perfect but I want to strive to give all that I can to the people who grace my life, I pray one day you will experience the same desire.
I had to make an overnight trip half way across the country that I wasn't particularly thrilled about. While the weekend turned out to be lovely I knew the long and late trip home Sunday night would make the return to work on Monday particularly brutal and wasn't looking forward to the last leg of our travel home. Our return flight was due to take off at 5:30 pm and land just after 11:00 pm at BWI airport. While a bit cheaper, it meant a subsequent hour ride back to my car in Falls Church then drive the rest of the way home to Sterling, estimating my arrival to bed somewhere in the ballpark of 1:30 in the morning. It would be intense, is what I'm saying, and I don't know if you noticed, Peanut, but intense is not something we have been doing very much of lately.
My travel companion and I arrived to the airport an hour ahead of our flight. While I was distracted by the need to re-check my carry on suitcase that hadn't caused any concern or changed content since the day before, my friend said he needed to run to the gate and took off at a jog I wouldn't have maintained even if I wasn't expecting. I hadn't heard exactly what he said but was instantly worried we had our times wrong and he was going to catch our plane and hold it for me to catch up. I sped walked and people dodged my way to our gate at the far end of the terminal, which luckily wasn't too large, arriving in a sweaty, panting, apologetic-for-my-state-of-pregnancy mess to find my friend in haggle mode with the employee, Lisa, at the gate check in to see if we could get on the flight that was ready to depart. So, it wasn't our flight after all, but it would save us a 45 minute layover with a plane change and get us home over an hour early if we could get on this plane. Unfortunately because we hadn't purchased the right kind of tickets it would also cost an additional $600.
We hedged for a moment. I tried not to blurt out that I'd pay almost anything to get home early (it helped that I certainly couldn't AFFORD to pay anything, much less almost anything) and deferred to my more seasoned travel mate to make the best decision. He asked Lisa again, wondering if there were seats free on the plane why we couldn't take advantage of them, but she was sticking firmly to the policy. Being in customer service myself, I was not about to fault her for doing her job, but was disappointed. My friend looked at me and asked how I was feeling as he pulled out his credit card to pay for the tickets, to which I answered truthfully that I would love to get home early but by no means was incapable of going at our originally appointment time. Lisa paused and looked at me, asking if I had said I was pregnant (I had only mentioned it by way of apology when I arrived but by no means lingered on the topic or expected to use it as a tool). I confirmed and she told my friend to put his card away and gave us our new tickets for the last 2 seats on the earlier flight. I thanked her with relieved and overjoyed tears (further evidence of my delicate situation) and found myself in bed that night well before I would have even been half way home otherwise. So, thank you and Lisa for that very welcome treat!
On a more serious note, your dad and I have had a lot of dear loved ones going through some major life events in the past few months: one having difficulty expanding their family unit, one with a family member who is facing a great battle against ugly and (we hope) false allegations. Another lost her mother and some of our family members are struggling with health challenges.
Last night one of my best friends, practically a sister, lost her husband. Though of very different varieties, she and I both had struggles with successful baby making attempts. She is 5 weeks ahead of me now and we were thrilled to find out we'd spend the majority of our pregnancies in it together. We've shared some hopes and dreams about tackling the next phase in our lives as a team and I'm eager to see them come true. Right now it feels like a distant hope with the weight of what has happened, but we have mountains of love and support to give and I know that in time we can revisit happier things. In the meantime we have very heavy hearts.
Not too long ago a friend (you will learn I'm not one to use the term acquaintance, it doesn't fit in my vocabulary) of mine was coming back to town for a weekend. I hadn't seen him in quite a while and figured if he was just going to set up shop somewhere for the evening I'd like to swing by just to say hello. Turns out he was coming in town for some more significant reasons and needed to limit to visit to family and closer friends than I was, which I fully understood. What I wasn't expecting was the sort of reprimand I got from him wondering why I thought we were so close that I could get to be included. The thing is I don't think that we are that close, and if I'd known the real reason for his coming to town I wouldn't have presumed to think it would be my place to be included, but I consider him a friend and I care enough to want to make an effort, even if it's just for a moment to say hi, offer a hug and be on my way again. While I was caught off guard by his comments, and more than a little hurt, I still care and would love to offer that hug if his next trip to the area isn't so important.
I hope that that is a kind of mentality I can help inspire in you. Even people that are further to the outside of our close friendship circle deserve love and support and it is one of my greatest joys to give it every chance I can, whether it's for someone I see on a regular basis or only share Facebook messages with every once in a blue moon. People are important, their joys and struggles are significant, and if there is one thing I have appreciated so much this week it's that life is too short to not fill it with all of the love that we have and more. I am far from perfect but I want to strive to give all that I can to the people who grace my life, I pray one day you will experience the same desire.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Good Renovations!
We haven't had a lot of updates in these parts, mostly because we've been holding our breath...
Somewhere around the end of May/beginning of June Clif pulled his "you're glowing" line on me (what can I say, the guy is a pregnancy whisperer). I thought he must be out of his mind as I was sure we had somehow managed to miss out on our perfect timing for the month of May. Still in denial several days later I took a test anyway and was shocked at our amazing luck but found I didn't feel much in the way of happiness or excitement, just a slight worry at what was to come.
Since this would be the 3rd attempt at a 1st trimester in just over a year I was not particularly thrilled with the idea of slogging through the exhaustion, tenderness and nausea I'd become so familiar with only to worry about having yet another failure. The first few weeks as my symptoms started to ramp were alright, laced with jokes of how we'd renovated baby's home and for the next nine months he/she better Love It then List It. The humor was silly but it helped battle the edge of dread I felt like I was always fighting.
Week 6 through 8 were by far the hardest. Right around week 6 I called the midwives to schedule our appointment, but told them I didn't want to come in until well after week 8 based on our previous experience, though I admitted I doubted my ability to make it that long without getting some bits of reassurance. The midwives, being so wonderful, scheduled me to come in around week 10 but told me if at the end of June I couldn't stand it they would fit me in for a Peace of Mind visit to help take the edge off. I spent every single night, and many times a day, in prayer for faith, strength, peace, acceptance of whatever may happen and hope that things would be ok. My anxieties were always there and any moment I didn't feel nauseous I fought not to panic about the possible worst case scenario. Finally I decided I needed that peace of mind and saw the midwives at the very end of June. They couldn't fit me in for a full appointment but were able to see us for an ultrasound, just to check on what was going on. I held my breath, bracing for the news, until the technician told us we had a viable pregnancy that measured at 8 weeks, exactly what we were hoping for. There was so much more to see than there had been before and the flickering heartbeat was even more reassuring after learning that having a heartbeat at 7 weeks or later dropped the chance of miscarriage to less than 10% (before we'd seen the heartbeat at 6 weeks, not knowing 7 was really the magic number).
That ultrasound was a HUGE factor in making me feel more comfortable, I'm thankful they gave me the option. I was still worried but significantly less so than I'd been the two weeks before and glad to be sleeping easier at night. I was even bold enough to feel ready for the nausea to go away, though it was my constant reminder that something good must be going on. The raging hormones have also been a nice indicator. Poor Clif, in the span of an hour he watched me go from feeling fine, to frustrated, to hysterical sobbing (over ice cream... /ashamed), to anger and back to fine. I love his patience, humor and guts, especially when he told me that while only slightly sorry for it he found the mood swings rather entertaining. I also love, and am so thankful for, how wonderfully he takes care of me. I am truly blessed.
While we aren't out of the first trimester quite yet, we feel very reassured by the progress we have made. Our last two tries were so much alike in the timing of their losses even getting to 8 weeks was a huge step, much less the just over 10 we are at now. Our midwife reassured us she felt we were in a pretty safe spot and didn't see any particular reason we should keep from sharing our excitement. Being able to share it has had a big impact on me finally feeling excited, eager, giddy and joyous about this pregnancy. My nausea isn't bothering me as much today but I'm not spiraling into the depths of despair. I'm happy and smiling and so ready for the next steps. There is a part of me that is disappointed I didn't write a post for exactly how I was feeling between weeks 6 and 8 at the time, but on the other hand there isn't any reason to dwell on that negativity. I'm glad that I can reflect on it now from a much more stable and happy place.
Fingers crossed tight and continuing to pray every night as we chunk along this journey.
Somewhere around the end of May/beginning of June Clif pulled his "you're glowing" line on me (what can I say, the guy is a pregnancy whisperer). I thought he must be out of his mind as I was sure we had somehow managed to miss out on our perfect timing for the month of May. Still in denial several days later I took a test anyway and was shocked at our amazing luck but found I didn't feel much in the way of happiness or excitement, just a slight worry at what was to come.
Since this would be the 3rd attempt at a 1st trimester in just over a year I was not particularly thrilled with the idea of slogging through the exhaustion, tenderness and nausea I'd become so familiar with only to worry about having yet another failure. The first few weeks as my symptoms started to ramp were alright, laced with jokes of how we'd renovated baby's home and for the next nine months he/she better Love It then List It. The humor was silly but it helped battle the edge of dread I felt like I was always fighting.
Week 6 through 8 were by far the hardest. Right around week 6 I called the midwives to schedule our appointment, but told them I didn't want to come in until well after week 8 based on our previous experience, though I admitted I doubted my ability to make it that long without getting some bits of reassurance. The midwives, being so wonderful, scheduled me to come in around week 10 but told me if at the end of June I couldn't stand it they would fit me in for a Peace of Mind visit to help take the edge off. I spent every single night, and many times a day, in prayer for faith, strength, peace, acceptance of whatever may happen and hope that things would be ok. My anxieties were always there and any moment I didn't feel nauseous I fought not to panic about the possible worst case scenario. Finally I decided I needed that peace of mind and saw the midwives at the very end of June. They couldn't fit me in for a full appointment but were able to see us for an ultrasound, just to check on what was going on. I held my breath, bracing for the news, until the technician told us we had a viable pregnancy that measured at 8 weeks, exactly what we were hoping for. There was so much more to see than there had been before and the flickering heartbeat was even more reassuring after learning that having a heartbeat at 7 weeks or later dropped the chance of miscarriage to less than 10% (before we'd seen the heartbeat at 6 weeks, not knowing 7 was really the magic number).
That ultrasound was a HUGE factor in making me feel more comfortable, I'm thankful they gave me the option. I was still worried but significantly less so than I'd been the two weeks before and glad to be sleeping easier at night. I was even bold enough to feel ready for the nausea to go away, though it was my constant reminder that something good must be going on. The raging hormones have also been a nice indicator. Poor Clif, in the span of an hour he watched me go from feeling fine, to frustrated, to hysterical sobbing (over ice cream... /ashamed), to anger and back to fine. I love his patience, humor and guts, especially when he told me that while only slightly sorry for it he found the mood swings rather entertaining. I also love, and am so thankful for, how wonderfully he takes care of me. I am truly blessed.
While we aren't out of the first trimester quite yet, we feel very reassured by the progress we have made. Our last two tries were so much alike in the timing of their losses even getting to 8 weeks was a huge step, much less the just over 10 we are at now. Our midwife reassured us she felt we were in a pretty safe spot and didn't see any particular reason we should keep from sharing our excitement. Being able to share it has had a big impact on me finally feeling excited, eager, giddy and joyous about this pregnancy. My nausea isn't bothering me as much today but I'm not spiraling into the depths of despair. I'm happy and smiling and so ready for the next steps. There is a part of me that is disappointed I didn't write a post for exactly how I was feeling between weeks 6 and 8 at the time, but on the other hand there isn't any reason to dwell on that negativity. I'm glad that I can reflect on it now from a much more stable and happy place.
Fingers crossed tight and continuing to pray every night as we chunk along this journey.
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