I know in my last post, I mentioned how I'd be straying away from the baby-centric posts. However, I need to make an exception because of something that is weighing so heavily on my heart today...
As I write this, someone I know (details withheld for privacy's sake) is going through one of the most difficult trials they've most likely faced to date. After a long labor (2 days, people. Warrior Woman.) her child finally decided to come into the world. Since its birth, it has been diagnosed with a severe infection that has caused breathing issues and multiple episodes of seizures, and it's very life is currently hanging in the balance.
I used to believe that, as a new mother, there was nothing worse than leaving the hospital without your baby - not knowing how long before they'd join you.
That was my experience, and it was awful. I was lucky and blessed that it only took 8 days before she joined me at home.
Now, I know that there is something worse:
Leaving the hospital without your baby - not knowing if they will ever get a chance to come home.
No mother (or father) should ever have to go through this.
I don't know about the rest of you that have lil' uns out there, but tonight...when my almost-10-months-old (holy shit!,) teething child shatters the silence of the night at 3 am with her painful cries, I won't be cursing under my breath or rolling my eyes as a I peel myself out of bed...
I'll be thanking every star in the sky that the Universe saw fit to send her my way, healthy lungs and all.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Well, hello there...
The time that has lapsed between this moment and my last post has *almost* been as long as the pregnancy with The Beast lasted.
Blog Fail, J.May. Blog. Fail.
I could give a long schpeel about all of the ups and downs and major life changes that have prevented me from blogging during that time span...like: going back to the full-time job earlier this year, then quitting after 2 weeks, then starting a part-time job on the weekends just to make ends meet; a move from Chicago, IL to Louisville, KY, after miraculously securing a kick-ass new full-time job thanks to a random email from an old college friend; some major health issues in Sean's family that arose the exact same time Rose and I moved in the Spring, that will - unfortunately - be hanging around for a little bit. But the truth is, this is life.
Life is messy.
Life is hectic.
Life doesn't care about your blog.
The responsibility of finding and keeping a balance between it all is up to those who are living it (ie, ME) and, I'll admit readers, I've been doing a piss-poor job of it. My apologies.
In all honesty, while I may be rocking it out on the mommy front of life (others' opinions, not necessarily mine, and The Beast deserves more credit for this than I - she is pretty much the easiest, awesome-est baby on the planet...) I have been under-performing in a lot of other areas of life, and am starting this blog again - as my dear friends and future sis-in-law puts it - to hold myself accountable. Maybe airing my dirty laundry will incite me to take more action, and accept more responsibility for my inaction, all in the hopes of finding that balance that I've so desperately been lacking.
Meeting the Beast started out as a baby-centric blog, taking it's title from the moment Sean and I looked forward to for 9 (well,...8) months of coming face-to-face with the being we created.
But now, I think, it stands for more than that, as life itself has any number of "beasts" we meet and deal with on a daily basis: deadlines at work, paying the bills and still having enough to put away, some days it's just getting out of bed in the morning. This blog will, starting now, be making a conscious shift away from being so baby-centric, and become more all-encompassing.
That being said, yes I realize there is an entry that's been MIA: the one that wraps up the story of the Beast's birth. I promise I will not leave those of you (all 2 of you, that is :-) ) who have been reading it hanging - expect that before the end of the week....
Wow, that was considerably less painful than I thought.
Blog Fail, J.May. Blog. Fail.
I could give a long schpeel about all of the ups and downs and major life changes that have prevented me from blogging during that time span...like: going back to the full-time job earlier this year, then quitting after 2 weeks, then starting a part-time job on the weekends just to make ends meet; a move from Chicago, IL to Louisville, KY, after miraculously securing a kick-ass new full-time job thanks to a random email from an old college friend; some major health issues in Sean's family that arose the exact same time Rose and I moved in the Spring, that will - unfortunately - be hanging around for a little bit. But the truth is, this is life.
Life is messy.
Life is hectic.
Life doesn't care about your blog.
The responsibility of finding and keeping a balance between it all is up to those who are living it (ie, ME) and, I'll admit readers, I've been doing a piss-poor job of it. My apologies.
In all honesty, while I may be rocking it out on the mommy front of life (others' opinions, not necessarily mine, and The Beast deserves more credit for this than I - she is pretty much the easiest, awesome-est baby on the planet...) I have been under-performing in a lot of other areas of life, and am starting this blog again - as my dear friends and future sis-in-law puts it - to hold myself accountable. Maybe airing my dirty laundry will incite me to take more action, and accept more responsibility for my inaction, all in the hopes of finding that balance that I've so desperately been lacking.
Meeting the Beast started out as a baby-centric blog, taking it's title from the moment Sean and I looked forward to for 9 (well,...8) months of coming face-to-face with the being we created.
But now, I think, it stands for more than that, as life itself has any number of "beasts" we meet and deal with on a daily basis: deadlines at work, paying the bills and still having enough to put away, some days it's just getting out of bed in the morning. This blog will, starting now, be making a conscious shift away from being so baby-centric, and become more all-encompassing.
That being said, yes I realize there is an entry that's been MIA: the one that wraps up the story of the Beast's birth. I promise I will not leave those of you (all 2 of you, that is :-) ) who have been reading it hanging - expect that before the end of the week....
Wow, that was considerably less painful than I thought.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to my Due Date (Part II)...
This is what I remember about the drive to the hospital:
Absolutely nothing.
I know that Sean drove. And I know that we got there relatively quickly, despite rush hour traffic. But that's about where my memory of the trip ends; clearly, my brain was still processing the morning's events at the time.
We pulled up at the Emergency entrance and double-parked next to the tiniest sign in the world that read "Emergency and Expectant Mother Drop-off Only." Sean walked me in the door and up to the admittance desk where a rather large woman took a pause from her flirting session with the security guard to ask how she could help us. I told her that we had come at the recommendation of my doctor to get checked out because we suspected my water had broken. Her eyes never left the computer screen as she asked for my name, date of birth and contact info; before I knew it, a hospital ID band was being slapped on my wrist and a nurse whisked a wheelchair underneath me. (I tried to protest the latter, as - despite the drippage - I felt completely capable of walking; apparently no one in the ER department shared this sentiment, as my protests went completely ignored.) Sean gave me a quick smooch, then left to move the car to the parking garage; he was to meet me up in Labor and Delivery triage after they assessed me.
The nurse commandeering my wheelchair attempted to make smalltalk as she pushed me through the labyrinth of Rush's halls and up the rickety elevators to the sixth floor. Once we reached the tiny waiting room, she wheeled me up to the desk, alerted the nurses who I was (Dr. Archie had apparently already called to let them know I was on the way,) and wished me good luck before heading back down the elevator. I waited quietly in the empty room for a few minutes before the triage door opened, and another nurse - Tinesha - beckoned me to come inside. She handed me a plastic bag and a hospital gown, and told me to take everything off and change into the gown; I could toss my clothes and shoes into the bag for now. *A Note on Modesty while in the hospital: You will see soon how quickly one's thoughts on the subject can change as the circumstances do as well.*
I padded my way back into the triage area once I was done, and followed Tinesha to a bed. She pulled the curtain closed around us and began her assessment, firing away with the usual questions (Is this your first pregnancy? How many weeks along are you? Any previous complications?.) She asked about why I had come in this morning while taking my temperature and blood pressure, and after I told her she asked if I still felt any leakage. I told her I did, but not as much as before (I was also laying down at this point, so it was hard to tell.) She finished charting all my responses, told me another nurse would be in shortly to perform an ultrasound to check my fluid levels and do an exam, and we would go from there. I nodded nervously, and she shot me a warm smile and said "Don't worry, sweetie!" and she disappeared back out of the curtain.
It felt like an eternity before anyone came back, though - in reality - it was only five or ten minutes. The next nurse, Joan, came in to greet me through the curtain, wheeling the sonogram machine in with her. We gave our introductions, I gave her the lowdown once prompted (Geez, doesn't anyone read a chart before they ask?,) and she prepped the wand with some warm gel before getting down to business. I knew the routine well: at 21 weeks, my doctor had discovered an anomaly in the baby's abdominal area and suspected some sort of cystic growth (we were initially told it was most likely an ovarian cyst.) We were sent to a specialist for further review, and had a series of ultrasounds throughout the pregnancy to monitor the cyst. In the beginning, I was inconsolable over the whole matter, and continuously freaked myself out over what I did to cause the cyst or what it would mean for the baby's health. With each ultrasound, however, we were assured that - other than the suspected cyst - the baby was perfectly healthy, and the issue would most likely resolve on its own. I also taught myself to chill out before each ultrasound (I had worked myself up so much in the beginning that, twice, I almost passed out during them!) and learned to view each visit as just another opportunity to get another glimpse at our little girl before her arrival.
As the nurse moved the wand over my stomach, I watched as the image of the little one appeared on the screen and listened as her strong heartbeat became clear. It was so funny to feel her kicks coincide with the visual image in front of me. Joan's eyes were glued to the monitor as she investigated every corner of my uterus. After a minute or two, I couldn't stand it any longer:
"How we looking?," I asked quietly.
"Well," she said, "Your fluid levels are actually looking pretty good. I would say, based on this, you're probably fine!"
Immediate relief flooded through my entire body.
"Of course," she reminded me, "We have to do a physical exam to confirm."
While Joan began my exam down below, Tineshia came back through the curtain to let me know Sean was in the waiting room area; once my exam was complete, she would bring him back. She also let me know that, since I hadn't yet been tested for Group Strep B (a test usually performed at 35 weeks and, coincidentally, would have been performed the following day during my appointment with Dr. Biester,) they would go ahead and take a sample during my exam. Just as she said this, I felt an enormous gush of warm liquid rush out of me and looked down to see Joan's raised eyebrows.
"I may have to take back my previous statement," she said, "because you were right: your water has definitely broken!"
Smiles flashed across both her and Tineshia's face. I tried to force one for show, but my returning anxiety made it impossible: I immediately began to express my fears over the baby's impending early arrival. Both women listened earnestly, then took turns to address me. Joan soothed me by using the sonogram she had just performed as an example; the baby's heartbeat was very strong, and she estimated the weight at around 5 1/2 lbs (which, she explained, is quite big for a premature baby.) Tineshia assured me that everything would be fine: at 2 days shy of 35 weeks, the baby was barely even considered premature and the NICU nurses would be present at the birth to address any issues immediately, should they arise. The confidence in the voices of these nurses brought the calm back that Sean had worked so hard to instill earlier that morning, and we would need it, too, because as he was ushered through the curtain by Tineshia, I could see that he was now the one riddled with anxiety.
"What's going on?!," he strained, "They wouldn't let me back here and I feel like I've been waiting forever!"
"Well,..." I took a deep breath, as my brain worked to process the reality of what I was about to say:
"It looks like we're going to have a baby today."
It took him a moment to register this, but I could tell the moment it did, as the biggest grin I'd ever seen broke out across his face.
"Seriously?," he said quietly.
"Seriously," I replied.
His joy became my joy, and the calm assurance the nurses provided finally gave me an excuse to just RELAX and enjoy the day's events, because - one way or another - this baby was going to be born. Any stress or lingering worry would only work to turn what should be the happiest day of our lives into a nightmare; and, even though I would have never anticipated what we were about to go through just 24 hours earlier, I knew that I was as ready as I was ever going to be. Tineshia let us know we'd soon be moving out of triage into a transition room; there, Dr. Archie would meet up with us to discuss the plan for getting the Beast out safe and sound.
And off we went...
Absolutely nothing.
I know that Sean drove. And I know that we got there relatively quickly, despite rush hour traffic. But that's about where my memory of the trip ends; clearly, my brain was still processing the morning's events at the time.
We pulled up at the Emergency entrance and double-parked next to the tiniest sign in the world that read "Emergency and Expectant Mother Drop-off Only." Sean walked me in the door and up to the admittance desk where a rather large woman took a pause from her flirting session with the security guard to ask how she could help us. I told her that we had come at the recommendation of my doctor to get checked out because we suspected my water had broken. Her eyes never left the computer screen as she asked for my name, date of birth and contact info; before I knew it, a hospital ID band was being slapped on my wrist and a nurse whisked a wheelchair underneath me. (I tried to protest the latter, as - despite the drippage - I felt completely capable of walking; apparently no one in the ER department shared this sentiment, as my protests went completely ignored.) Sean gave me a quick smooch, then left to move the car to the parking garage; he was to meet me up in Labor and Delivery triage after they assessed me.
The nurse commandeering my wheelchair attempted to make smalltalk as she pushed me through the labyrinth of Rush's halls and up the rickety elevators to the sixth floor. Once we reached the tiny waiting room, she wheeled me up to the desk, alerted the nurses who I was (Dr. Archie had apparently already called to let them know I was on the way,) and wished me good luck before heading back down the elevator. I waited quietly in the empty room for a few minutes before the triage door opened, and another nurse - Tinesha - beckoned me to come inside. She handed me a plastic bag and a hospital gown, and told me to take everything off and change into the gown; I could toss my clothes and shoes into the bag for now. *A Note on Modesty while in the hospital: You will see soon how quickly one's thoughts on the subject can change as the circumstances do as well.*
I padded my way back into the triage area once I was done, and followed Tinesha to a bed. She pulled the curtain closed around us and began her assessment, firing away with the usual questions (Is this your first pregnancy? How many weeks along are you? Any previous complications?.) She asked about why I had come in this morning while taking my temperature and blood pressure, and after I told her she asked if I still felt any leakage. I told her I did, but not as much as before (I was also laying down at this point, so it was hard to tell.) She finished charting all my responses, told me another nurse would be in shortly to perform an ultrasound to check my fluid levels and do an exam, and we would go from there. I nodded nervously, and she shot me a warm smile and said "Don't worry, sweetie!" and she disappeared back out of the curtain.
It felt like an eternity before anyone came back, though - in reality - it was only five or ten minutes. The next nurse, Joan, came in to greet me through the curtain, wheeling the sonogram machine in with her. We gave our introductions, I gave her the lowdown once prompted (Geez, doesn't anyone read a chart before they ask?,) and she prepped the wand with some warm gel before getting down to business. I knew the routine well: at 21 weeks, my doctor had discovered an anomaly in the baby's abdominal area and suspected some sort of cystic growth (we were initially told it was most likely an ovarian cyst.) We were sent to a specialist for further review, and had a series of ultrasounds throughout the pregnancy to monitor the cyst. In the beginning, I was inconsolable over the whole matter, and continuously freaked myself out over what I did to cause the cyst or what it would mean for the baby's health. With each ultrasound, however, we were assured that - other than the suspected cyst - the baby was perfectly healthy, and the issue would most likely resolve on its own. I also taught myself to chill out before each ultrasound (I had worked myself up so much in the beginning that, twice, I almost passed out during them!) and learned to view each visit as just another opportunity to get another glimpse at our little girl before her arrival.
As the nurse moved the wand over my stomach, I watched as the image of the little one appeared on the screen and listened as her strong heartbeat became clear. It was so funny to feel her kicks coincide with the visual image in front of me. Joan's eyes were glued to the monitor as she investigated every corner of my uterus. After a minute or two, I couldn't stand it any longer:
"How we looking?," I asked quietly.
"Well," she said, "Your fluid levels are actually looking pretty good. I would say, based on this, you're probably fine!"
Immediate relief flooded through my entire body.
"Of course," she reminded me, "We have to do a physical exam to confirm."
While Joan began my exam down below, Tineshia came back through the curtain to let me know Sean was in the waiting room area; once my exam was complete, she would bring him back. She also let me know that, since I hadn't yet been tested for Group Strep B (a test usually performed at 35 weeks and, coincidentally, would have been performed the following day during my appointment with Dr. Biester,) they would go ahead and take a sample during my exam. Just as she said this, I felt an enormous gush of warm liquid rush out of me and looked down to see Joan's raised eyebrows.
"I may have to take back my previous statement," she said, "because you were right: your water has definitely broken!"
Smiles flashed across both her and Tineshia's face. I tried to force one for show, but my returning anxiety made it impossible: I immediately began to express my fears over the baby's impending early arrival. Both women listened earnestly, then took turns to address me. Joan soothed me by using the sonogram she had just performed as an example; the baby's heartbeat was very strong, and she estimated the weight at around 5 1/2 lbs (which, she explained, is quite big for a premature baby.) Tineshia assured me that everything would be fine: at 2 days shy of 35 weeks, the baby was barely even considered premature and the NICU nurses would be present at the birth to address any issues immediately, should they arise. The confidence in the voices of these nurses brought the calm back that Sean had worked so hard to instill earlier that morning, and we would need it, too, because as he was ushered through the curtain by Tineshia, I could see that he was now the one riddled with anxiety.
"What's going on?!," he strained, "They wouldn't let me back here and I feel like I've been waiting forever!"
"Well,..." I took a deep breath, as my brain worked to process the reality of what I was about to say:
"It looks like we're going to have a baby today."
It took him a moment to register this, but I could tell the moment it did, as the biggest grin I'd ever seen broke out across his face.
"Seriously?," he said quietly.
"Seriously," I replied.
His joy became my joy, and the calm assurance the nurses provided finally gave me an excuse to just RELAX and enjoy the day's events, because - one way or another - this baby was going to be born. Any stress or lingering worry would only work to turn what should be the happiest day of our lives into a nightmare; and, even though I would have never anticipated what we were about to go through just 24 hours earlier, I knew that I was as ready as I was ever going to be. Tineshia let us know we'd soon be moving out of triage into a transition room; there, Dr. Archie would meet up with us to discuss the plan for getting the Beast out safe and sound.
And off we went...
Monday, September 27, 2010
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to my Due Date (Part I)...
I remember waking up that Wednesday morning for the obligatory 4 am potty break and uneventfully making the trek down the hall to the bathroom and back to the bedroom. I always hated this one, because it meant I only had 2.5 more hours of sleep before the alarm would go off, and I would have to get up, get ready and drag Sean out of bed before we piled into Freddie Mercury (my lovable '94 Toyota Corolla) and head through Chicago rush hour traffic into the loop for work.
The alarm never had a chance to go off. I woke up again at 6 am, aware that something wasn't right. I heaved myself out of bed (as most pregnant women do in the third trimester) and padded back down the hall. I checked my pantyliner (I had been wearing them pretty much the whole pregnancy, thanks to an increase in vaginal discharge that NO ONE seems to tell you about until you ask) and found it was soaked through to the underwear. Now, the Beast had been using my bladder as a comfy pillow of late; more than once in the previous weeks had I inadvertently peed my pants when she decided to fluff it up and settle in for a nap. But this was different: I felt no pressure on my bladder, and (yes this is gross, I know) it didn't smell like pee. The liquid was clear and had a sickly-sweet smell to it, and it continued to slowly drip down my legs even after a clean-up session. This is about the time when I started to piece things together.
I hobbled back down the hall to the bedroom and began the attempt to rouse Sean from his snore-laced bliss. Eventually he came to, and I expressed to him that something wasn't right and I needed his help to figure out what to do. I think he could sense the slight panic in my tone, because he was out of bed faster than he had ever been and immediately at the computer, searching "broken bag of waters." We followed some information that instructed us to change the pantyliner and lay down for 15-20 minutes; if, when I stood up, liquid continued to drip, we were to call the Doc for further instructions.
As we both laid down again, my mind took off and left me no chance to even attempt to follow it. A thousand thoughts raced neck-and neck:
She's way too early. The nursery isn't ready. The crib isn't put together. I don't have a hospital bag. We haven't had a chance to practice relaxation techniques. I need more time to do my Kegels. I haven't shaved my legs this week. We haven't gotten to make our belly cast. The apartment is a WRECK, and I haven't had a chance to grocery shop yet! The laundryZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Sean's snore cut through my thoughts, and brought me back to reality: A reality in which I was now in an all-out panicked pregnant lady hysteria:
"Sean," I called softly. He answered with another wave of snores.
"Sean," a little louder.
Nothing.
"Sean, I love you, but if you sleep through this, I will fucking murder you."
His eyes fluttered open, and he asked me what I needed him to do. I explained that I could feel myself starting to lose control and all I needed was for him to hold my hand and see me through the next few minutes until we would stand up, and figure out where to go from there. His hand found mine and we waited.
When I stood up, I felt the trickle of liquid before I saw it. Damn. We called my OBGYN office and got connected to Dr. Archie, the Doc on call. I had only previously had my visits with Dr. Biester, a rad female OBGYN at the Partners in Women's Health Practice: we shared a love of handmade jewelry and telling it like it is. I had yet to start going to the office for my weekly check-ups; this was when Dr. Biester said I would get the chance to meet the other doctors in the practice (there were 3 others - one other female, 2 males) in case she was not on call when I went into labor. All I knew of Dr. Archie was that he was in his 70s, what Biester described as "old school," and totally NOT who I wanted to be talking to about what was gushing from my vagina at 6:30 in the morning.
Both Sean and I traded off the phone and gave him the play-by-play of that morning's activities. He asked some specific questions about what was going on down below, and if I was feeling any contractions (Nope.) Then he asked how far along I was.
"Almost 35 weeks."
Silence. More silence. An ETERNITY of silence.
"Why don't you both head down to the hospital and we'll go ahead and check you out and see what's going on, okay?," he said. He gave instructions to come through the ER, since it was just before the main hospital entrance opened for the day, and told us to go straight to triage. He would call the nurses to let them know we were on our way and they would update him once I was examined.
The call ended, and I looked up into Sean's worried face. I relayed to him Dr. Archie's instructions. He took a breath, nodded his head, and told me he would start getting a bag together. I acknowledged this, but my mind had already started racing again. Oh no. The panic: I couldn't control it. I couldn't control what was happening. The control freak that I was hit a brick wall of realization that I no longer had any semblance of control over ANYTHING that was happening this morning.
I marched into the bedroom to find Sean, Tazmanian Devil-style, throwing random items in a suitcase. I calmly instructed him to stop packing. He looked up at me, but continued to sort and stow items:
"What?"
"STOP. PACKING."
And that's when the breakdown occurred.
All the thoughts and fears that had been swimming around in my noggin since I felt the first trickle run down my leg that morning somehow made their way out of my mouth. I choked them out to Sean through my sobs, and he just listened and held me. When I finished, he told me that he knew everything I was going through, because he was going through it, too. He was scared; he was anxious; he also felt unprepared. But then he told me something that would stick with me the rest of the day - something I would continuously return to for comfort:
Our life with this child was going to be full of moments just like these, where we felt totally blindsided, powerless and out of control. That's the thing about being a parent, and if we couldn't start accepting that now, then we were majorly, majorly screwed. Something clicked then, and I realized I could either fight what was happening to me (as if I even had a chance of "winning") or I could just let go.
Right.
We fed the kitties, got dressed, grabbed our phones, and headed to the hospital - placing calls to our respective workplaces on our way out to let them know of the possibility that we may be *slightly* late coming in that morning.
To Be Continued...
The alarm never had a chance to go off. I woke up again at 6 am, aware that something wasn't right. I heaved myself out of bed (as most pregnant women do in the third trimester) and padded back down the hall. I checked my pantyliner (I had been wearing them pretty much the whole pregnancy, thanks to an increase in vaginal discharge that NO ONE seems to tell you about until you ask) and found it was soaked through to the underwear. Now, the Beast had been using my bladder as a comfy pillow of late; more than once in the previous weeks had I inadvertently peed my pants when she decided to fluff it up and settle in for a nap. But this was different: I felt no pressure on my bladder, and (yes this is gross, I know) it didn't smell like pee. The liquid was clear and had a sickly-sweet smell to it, and it continued to slowly drip down my legs even after a clean-up session. This is about the time when I started to piece things together.
I hobbled back down the hall to the bedroom and began the attempt to rouse Sean from his snore-laced bliss. Eventually he came to, and I expressed to him that something wasn't right and I needed his help to figure out what to do. I think he could sense the slight panic in my tone, because he was out of bed faster than he had ever been and immediately at the computer, searching "broken bag of waters." We followed some information that instructed us to change the pantyliner and lay down for 15-20 minutes; if, when I stood up, liquid continued to drip, we were to call the Doc for further instructions.
As we both laid down again, my mind took off and left me no chance to even attempt to follow it. A thousand thoughts raced neck-and neck:
She's way too early. The nursery isn't ready. The crib isn't put together. I don't have a hospital bag. We haven't had a chance to practice relaxation techniques. I need more time to do my Kegels. I haven't shaved my legs this week. We haven't gotten to make our belly cast. The apartment is a WRECK, and I haven't had a chance to grocery shop yet! The laundryZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Sean's snore cut through my thoughts, and brought me back to reality: A reality in which I was now in an all-out panicked pregnant lady hysteria:
"Sean," I called softly. He answered with another wave of snores.
"Sean," a little louder.
Nothing.
"Sean, I love you, but if you sleep through this, I will fucking murder you."
His eyes fluttered open, and he asked me what I needed him to do. I explained that I could feel myself starting to lose control and all I needed was for him to hold my hand and see me through the next few minutes until we would stand up, and figure out where to go from there. His hand found mine and we waited.
When I stood up, I felt the trickle of liquid before I saw it. Damn. We called my OBGYN office and got connected to Dr. Archie, the Doc on call. I had only previously had my visits with Dr. Biester, a rad female OBGYN at the Partners in Women's Health Practice: we shared a love of handmade jewelry and telling it like it is. I had yet to start going to the office for my weekly check-ups; this was when Dr. Biester said I would get the chance to meet the other doctors in the practice (there were 3 others - one other female, 2 males) in case she was not on call when I went into labor. All I knew of Dr. Archie was that he was in his 70s, what Biester described as "old school," and totally NOT who I wanted to be talking to about what was gushing from my vagina at 6:30 in the morning.
Both Sean and I traded off the phone and gave him the play-by-play of that morning's activities. He asked some specific questions about what was going on down below, and if I was feeling any contractions (Nope.) Then he asked how far along I was.
"Almost 35 weeks."
Silence. More silence. An ETERNITY of silence.
"Why don't you both head down to the hospital and we'll go ahead and check you out and see what's going on, okay?," he said. He gave instructions to come through the ER, since it was just before the main hospital entrance opened for the day, and told us to go straight to triage. He would call the nurses to let them know we were on our way and they would update him once I was examined.
The call ended, and I looked up into Sean's worried face. I relayed to him Dr. Archie's instructions. He took a breath, nodded his head, and told me he would start getting a bag together. I acknowledged this, but my mind had already started racing again. Oh no. The panic: I couldn't control it. I couldn't control what was happening. The control freak that I was hit a brick wall of realization that I no longer had any semblance of control over ANYTHING that was happening this morning.
I marched into the bedroom to find Sean, Tazmanian Devil-style, throwing random items in a suitcase. I calmly instructed him to stop packing. He looked up at me, but continued to sort and stow items:
"What?"
"STOP. PACKING."
And that's when the breakdown occurred.
All the thoughts and fears that had been swimming around in my noggin since I felt the first trickle run down my leg that morning somehow made their way out of my mouth. I choked them out to Sean through my sobs, and he just listened and held me. When I finished, he told me that he knew everything I was going through, because he was going through it, too. He was scared; he was anxious; he also felt unprepared. But then he told me something that would stick with me the rest of the day - something I would continuously return to for comfort:
Our life with this child was going to be full of moments just like these, where we felt totally blindsided, powerless and out of control. That's the thing about being a parent, and if we couldn't start accepting that now, then we were majorly, majorly screwed. Something clicked then, and I realized I could either fight what was happening to me (as if I even had a chance of "winning") or I could just let go.
Right.
We fed the kitties, got dressed, grabbed our phones, and headed to the hospital - placing calls to our respective workplaces on our way out to let them know of the possibility that we may be *slightly* late coming in that morning.
To Be Continued...
Friday, August 27, 2010
32 weeks.
Sometimes, no matter how much support I get from those around me-
Or how often I visit other blogs and websites to gain comfort in the stories of all those other awesome mamas and mamas-to-be out there-
Or whatever the Boy does for me-
Or how desperately I attempt to cram every bit of information in my noggin from every baby book every written-
Sometimes...
I still feel scared shitless in what I'm going through.
And so utterly alone.
Or how often I visit other blogs and websites to gain comfort in the stories of all those other awesome mamas and mamas-to-be out there-
Or whatever the Boy does for me-
Or how desperately I attempt to cram every bit of information in my noggin from every baby book every written-
Sometimes...
I still feel scared shitless in what I'm going through.
And so utterly alone.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Back in the saddle again...
Holy crap. It's been *quite* a while since my last entry. I won't even attempt to churn out any "catch-up" entries, mostly because my brain can't even process all the details of everything that's happened these past few months. What I will do is give a quick run-down of all the important stuff I can remember happening since last we blogged:
With the help of both our families, as well as our friends Mikey and Nicole, we completed our big move to Oak Park. **We would not have been able to do this on our own, and will never be able to thank everyone enough for all the support we were shown just by everyone's involvement on that day!** It was particularly frustrating for me, not being able to exert myself to the level I wanted to by lifting and hauling the same amount as everyone else, but by the end of the day my exhaustion level was pretty on par with the rest of the crowd. Now that I think of it, I think I've blocked out a majority of that experience because, oh, did I mention?: I HATE MOVING.
Now that we're here, however, I have a confession: I have a HUGE crush. On my neighborhood.
How did I never experience Oak Park prior to moving here? It's the *perfect* marriage of urban and suburban: 15 min max to the Loop via 290, with the Green and Blue lines (practically) at our doorstep. AMAZING Farmer's Market within walking distance every Saturday; plenty of other lil' shops and eateries to explore the rest of the week. Library (walking distance.) Movie theatre (walking distance.) The Ernest Hemingway museum and Frank Lloyd Wright home/studio at our disposal. I mean, is there anything this neighborhood DOESN'T do? Side note: I'm a step away from booking a reservation at the Sushi house on Lake for after I pop the Beast out. Chef: "More volcano roll and sake for the new mommy?" Me: "Uh, duh."
Speaking of the Beast...
She is definitely living up to her namesake these days, as the little nudges and pokes from inside have swiftly morphed into right jabs and roundhouse kicks. Yesterday at work, I got a punch to the left lung that - literally - knocked the wind out of me. I think she's trying to tell me it's getting crowded in there, and I can't blame her: despite what I know to be inevitable, I can't imagine getting any bigger than I am now.
And yes, to address the gender-specific pronouns: shortly after the move, we had our 21 week ultrasound and were told at that time that it's a girl! I must admit, my initial reaction was "are you sure? can we double-check?" - mostly because I had felt so strongly that the little one must have been a boy: I had dreams early on in the pregnancy of a little boy who looked just like my handsome fiancee, and thought my intuition was giving me some insight. I now believe, however, that the perceived "intuition" I felt was merely another emotion I felt at the possibility of not carrying a boy: fear.
I'm not what one might consider "girly." Most of my friends consist of males rather than females. I consider myself a feminist: not in the manner most people perceive of the man-hating, bra-burning chick; I just do not endorse the expectations of my gender that are blasted from every corner of our mainstream media culture, and believe we - as women - should always strive to break through them, celebrating our own when we do (Three women on the Supreme Court for the first time in history? Hello?) All that aside, I was and am terrified of bringing another set of ovaries into this world. I'm worried of her being subjected to those same culture expectations that are thrust on every other female in our country/the world. I'm worried that I will be too critical of her her choices, whether they be mainstream or otherwise. I'm worried that since I don't fall into the category of "girly" or "uber-female," I won't know how to raise her "the right way."
I know, in the end, it all works out. These are just petty anxieties that have chosen to replace the other petty anxieties that my brain has already quieted. I'm sure when she finally comes, all those concerns will be the last of my worries (I hope, at least.)
Next on the pregnancy horizon: Baby Showers. We're heading back home to KY Labor Day weekend for Shower #1, and shortly after will have Keller-sponsored shower #2. I never imagined baby registries to be so overwhelming, but damn...they are. For those of my peeps that are newly-babied: what are some of the items that you would recommend putting on a registry? It can be an unexpected item you now can't imagine doing without, or an item/product you found after the baby came that you wish you would've discovered earlier. Since there's really an abundance of useless crap marketed toward new mothers, I'm trying to weed out all the bunk and just get to the good stuff that I'll actually need/use ;-)
With the help of both our families, as well as our friends Mikey and Nicole, we completed our big move to Oak Park. **We would not have been able to do this on our own, and will never be able to thank everyone enough for all the support we were shown just by everyone's involvement on that day!** It was particularly frustrating for me, not being able to exert myself to the level I wanted to by lifting and hauling the same amount as everyone else, but by the end of the day my exhaustion level was pretty on par with the rest of the crowd. Now that I think of it, I think I've blocked out a majority of that experience because, oh, did I mention?: I HATE MOVING.
Now that we're here, however, I have a confession: I have a HUGE crush. On my neighborhood.
How did I never experience Oak Park prior to moving here? It's the *perfect* marriage of urban and suburban: 15 min max to the Loop via 290, with the Green and Blue lines (practically) at our doorstep. AMAZING Farmer's Market within walking distance every Saturday; plenty of other lil' shops and eateries to explore the rest of the week. Library (walking distance.) Movie theatre (walking distance.) The Ernest Hemingway museum and Frank Lloyd Wright home/studio at our disposal. I mean, is there anything this neighborhood DOESN'T do? Side note: I'm a step away from booking a reservation at the Sushi house on Lake for after I pop the Beast out. Chef: "More volcano roll and sake for the new mommy?" Me: "Uh, duh."
Speaking of the Beast...
She is definitely living up to her namesake these days, as the little nudges and pokes from inside have swiftly morphed into right jabs and roundhouse kicks. Yesterday at work, I got a punch to the left lung that - literally - knocked the wind out of me. I think she's trying to tell me it's getting crowded in there, and I can't blame her: despite what I know to be inevitable, I can't imagine getting any bigger than I am now.
And yes, to address the gender-specific pronouns: shortly after the move, we had our 21 week ultrasound and were told at that time that it's a girl! I must admit, my initial reaction was "are you sure? can we double-check?" - mostly because I had felt so strongly that the little one must have been a boy: I had dreams early on in the pregnancy of a little boy who looked just like my handsome fiancee, and thought my intuition was giving me some insight. I now believe, however, that the perceived "intuition" I felt was merely another emotion I felt at the possibility of not carrying a boy: fear.
I'm not what one might consider "girly." Most of my friends consist of males rather than females. I consider myself a feminist: not in the manner most people perceive of the man-hating, bra-burning chick; I just do not endorse the expectations of my gender that are blasted from every corner of our mainstream media culture, and believe we - as women - should always strive to break through them, celebrating our own when we do (Three women on the Supreme Court for the first time in history? Hello?) All that aside, I was and am terrified of bringing another set of ovaries into this world. I'm worried of her being subjected to those same culture expectations that are thrust on every other female in our country/the world. I'm worried that I will be too critical of her her choices, whether they be mainstream or otherwise. I'm worried that since I don't fall into the category of "girly" or "uber-female," I won't know how to raise her "the right way."
I know, in the end, it all works out. These are just petty anxieties that have chosen to replace the other petty anxieties that my brain has already quieted. I'm sure when she finally comes, all those concerns will be the last of my worries (I hope, at least.)
Next on the pregnancy horizon: Baby Showers. We're heading back home to KY Labor Day weekend for Shower #1, and shortly after will have Keller-sponsored shower #2. I never imagined baby registries to be so overwhelming, but damn...they are. For those of my peeps that are newly-babied: what are some of the items that you would recommend putting on a registry? It can be an unexpected item you now can't imagine doing without, or an item/product you found after the baby came that you wish you would've discovered earlier. Since there's really an abundance of useless crap marketed toward new mothers, I'm trying to weed out all the bunk and just get to the good stuff that I'll actually need/use ;-)
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