Birth Story Part 3

The next few days in the hospital I did my best to stabilize myself and get into mommy mode. I had struggled with anxiety in the past and got out my tool box and attempted to right myself. It wasn’t easy though as sleep, exercise and meditation are my biggest tools. A newborn doesn’t sleep much, so that was not so effective. Plus on night two they decided to clean the floors and all night long we listened to large machinery go up and down the halls. Yes on a maternity ward. Gotta love it.  Another night our neighbors had a rap dance party until two am, and despite my pleadings no one told them to STFU.  Finally on the third night I had them take the baby to the nursery so I could try to get some sleep. By then we were supplementing with formula since we were having nursing issues.

Yeah in the mix I learned I had flat nipples (who knew) and my child had a weak suck. We were working with some awesome lactation consultants, but the stress of worrying if my child was eating was not helping, so supplementing we were.  People came to visit and I tried to hold it together. I cried in front of most of them, not happy tears of course.  I was pretty sure everyone left our room shaking their heads. 

Josh was great. That man can step up I tell ya.  He was taking care of both of us and did a great job.  Later he said those three days were some of the most stressful he had ever experienced.  That he found going on combat patrols in Iraq and getting shot and blown up was easier to endure than watching me go through the birth.  I do find that a bit funny. 

As the first few weeks began I got a little better. I still cried every day. Multiple times. When my friends from California called, I cried a lot! I went to therapy twice a week. We worked hard at nursing which had us on this crazy 3 hour cycle which allowed maybe an hour of sleep at a time.  Baby and I were getting better at it, but it never really took and we always had to supplement pretty much and at 10 weeks I said fuck it.  Going to formula and knowing my child was eating and being able to get out and about, I found nursing in public tough due to the nipple shield drama, don’t ask, was a huge turning point for me.

 

Those first few weeks though. Totally crazy reined. Whenever I left the house I had to have the baby covered up. I was afraid if someone saw him they would steal him.  I screamed at an old lady in Wal-Mart because she approached my cart.  I continued to have crazy thoughts about the safety of the baby and my ability to hold it together. I tried to get out of the house every day, shower and make myself presentable, and meditate. The anxiety was slowly getting better. I kept all the doors in the house locked at all times and a few times I thought the baby was stolen when I went to the swing or basinet and he was in the other.  My friends threw me a surprise birthday party, which I knew about and tried to cancel, 10 days post-partum and I acted like a total nutter.  Not being able to leave the baby sleeping in the other room for more than five minutes without checking. Doing multiple sound checks on the monitor.  How gracious was I?

When Josh’s mom arrived around day 14 things got much much better. I reached a turning point in recovering from surgery and well his mom is just the best. She has a way of helping without taking over. She loves and nurtures unconditionally like I have never known.  She is the mom I never had, always needed and want to be.  In so many ways she is my soulmate as much as my husband is.  That missing piece that my life always needed. And rightly so my daughter who should be here in about four weeks will be named after her. 

To be continued.

Birth Story Part II

After the interrupted second attempt at an epidural everyone decided to take some space. They gave me some pain meds to make the contractions easier to handle and would periodically ask me if I was ready for another epidural. After five hours and dilating to six cm I said let’s try it again.  I am not sure if it was the pain meds or that I everyone got the fact that I was a nutter and handled me differently, but I got through the epidural and it took.  Hubs was the cheerleader, the nurse told me to breathe, my ob gave me a countdown and percentage of the progress of the epidural and I just focused on processing what everyone was saying and it was done. 

It took about another hour and I was fully dilated and it was time to push. I was feeling very calm and strong. The pushing was easy enough and I was crowning. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to deliver this baby after having such a rough morning. I felt very zen. But then despite all this great pushing the baby just wouldn’t come out.  My doc was armpit deep in me trying to pull him out. He was stuck. I was told to keep pushing with the contractions while the doc was pulling. I was still really calm. And then they said, “baby heart rate has dropped, prep for emergency C-section.”

 Lights came on, people began shouting, they moved my legs out of the stirrups, and people came rushing in the room.  It felt like the curtain to the circus has been opened and a parade of people came marching in. They led Josh out of the room and told me I would see him in a bit in the operating room. And then the worst panic of my life set in. All that kept rushing through my head is that my baby was going to die and so was I.  I began wailing and begging for Josh. People kept trying to calm me down, telling me to breathe, but all I could feel was pure terror. I was right back in the horror of earlier in the day.

Once in the operating room it was loud and bright, I felt very alone and just kept asking for Josh. Finally he was by my side and I was a complete mess.  The operation went quickly, the baby was in okay condition. They said he was pretty sleepy due to me being on so many meds.  Soon he began to cry and I wish I could say relief flooded through me, but I had a tape in my head telling me he was going to die.  They took the baby to the nursery and I told Josh to stay with him and they began to sew me up. I just laid there and cried thinking horrible thoughts. I couldn't stop shaking and everyone kept telling me to calm down.  After I was sewn back together I was laying there waiting to be taking to recovery and I started vomiting and trying to get off the operating table. Only one nurse was in the room at the time and she was not next to me. I remember her screaming for help and vomiting purple popsicle all over the place.  They told me they were not sure how I was able to get up given I should have been paralyzed from my mid-section down. I am telling ya, anxiety gives you super powers, both good and bad.  I ripped open some of my staples and they had to come fix me up.  I kept asking about the baby and if he was okay. At that point I believe everyone was lying to me and something bad had happened. I told them to get Josh, as I believed he was the only one who would tell me the truth.  I don’t remember much after this as they sedated me. I got to recovery and this is a picture of the first moment I met my son.

I have absolutely no recollection of this. As you can see they had to hold my arms so I wouldn’t drop him.  That moment every mom dreams of meeting their child for the first time, I don’t remember it.  That makes me incredibly sad. They say he started to nurse and that makes me happy.  We were in recovery for about five  hours until my room was ready. Once I came to I felt like I was in incredible pain. Everyone assured me I was still numb. I am not sure who was correct. They wouldn't give me anymore pain meds as they  said I had had the maximum amount. I kept asking Josh if the baby was okay. He would show me the baby and I would be okay for a few moments, and then I would start asking again. I laid flat on my back for hours crying. 

When we got to our room I got to hold the baby some, but I just kept shaking. So Josh did most of the holding and I just cried, nonstop. I kept having horrible thoughts running through my head. I kept thinking that they were going to take me to the psych ward, I was never going to be normal again, I was not going to be able to job search and Josh would have to stay in the army, he would get deployed and get killed. It would all be my fault because I was crazy.  Also the baby was dead.  At what I thought would be one of the happiest times of my life, I had never felt more crazy. 

To be continued.

My first’s birth story

This is a post two years in the ruminating.  It is something I have wanted to write about, that I probably need to write about. But well, it is a bit of an expose’. Ya see I did not have an easy birth with my first child, my beloved son who just turned two. Much of the reason it was not an easy birth was because of me. Because I was flying over the cuckoo’s nest.  Much of my flight was not within my control but still, I continue to wish I never went in that direction.  To this day when I think of the birth day, I sob. I had posted on facebook that his birth day was one of the worst days of my life. Yes, I posted that. And, even years later I can say that indeed it was.  As I am weeks away from birthing my second child, I am trying to plan for a different birth.  I am not entirely sure how to avoid what happened the first time.  So here goes, baby fishy’s birth story:

For various reasons that I don’t need to go into now the decision for an induction was made for 40 weeks one day. I knew the odds increased for a c-section, but at that point I was ready for the pregnancy to be over, it made sense in terms of arranging for help (we were living across the country with no family) and it was what my doctor’s wanted.  I had hired a doula in training and I am pretty much sure I scarred her for life.  The birth day came. But the night before I decided I had to plant flowers. In the process I tried to open up a potting package with my teeth and chipped my front tooth. This is what it looked like:

In the small southern military town we lived in at the time I could not find a dentist to fix my tooth. I even tried to convince hubs to drive me to Atlanta (two hours away) to get it fixed. Ultimately I went to the birth looking like a meth mom, fab.

So we get to the hospital for the induction, we are excited.  As they got my IV going, before my doula got there, my OB offered to give me my epidural.  I had discussed with her my nonexistent pain threshold and fear of needles.  Fear is putting it mildly.  There are different theories of why I have no pain tolerance and consequently hate needles. It possibly comes down to this: when I was 10 months old I had spinal meningitis and at that time in 1973 they believed babies didn’t feel pain. (Like seriously what asshole came up with that theory??) So many medical procedures were performed on babies without adequate anesthesia. I had things like iv cuts downs, spinal taps, shunts, bur holes drilled in my skull, completed with minimal anesthesia.  As a result the theory is that these babies have damaged neurological pain pathways and they experience pain differently. It is kinda like PTSD, once my body feels pain it goes into a panic, I feel the pain intensely, psychologically and physically I go into arrest. 

In addition to this I have bad veins, I am a tough stick. So often even getting a flu shot is a tough tough experience. Often two people have to hold me down, I scream, cry, stamp my feet.  I have tried to get better at it, sometimes I succeed.  Drawing blood is an ordeal, but I have learned where a few better-ish veins are, and what types of needles to use.  However, there have been a few occasions where they have had to get anesthesiologist in to get an IV going, have sent me to the oncology ward (I felt like a huge a-hole that time) because the nurses there are the best at tough sticks.  And yes, medical procedures have been stopped. I even  had it out with one nurse who yelled at me because it was my fault she couldn’t get an IV going. (Note: she was not following my suggestions and told me to shut-up, bad choice).  Anyhow, all this was with me going into the birth. I tried as non-nutjob as possible to explain this to my medical team.  They acted like they were listening, but I am not entirely sure they got it.

So when they offered me the epidural before I had even experienced a single contraction I thought it was a great idea! Bring it. Well, the anesthesiologist came in and the procedure began and I started having all kinds of anxiety. The anesthesiologist told me to calm down, I asked them to reference my birth plan and the notes I had written about my pain/needle issues. They nicely told me it would be fine and to just hold still. I did my best. My best was not good enough. I screamed, wailed, my blood pressure, breathing, and anxiety went through the roof. Everyone was like, WTF? I guess  I jumped and when the needle went in it missed. After an hour it was determined the epidural was not working and I would need another.  And yep I handled it well, as I wailed and chocked and snot waterfalls unfurled I yelled at people, “I told you so!!!!” At this moment my doula came in and was like, what just happened. 

The anxiety beast had left the gate and was not going to go back in the box. If anyone has ever experienced significant anxiety, they might relate. Once it starts flowing it is with you for quite some time. Often it gets worse for me and peaks, but there is pretty much no turning back. It is usually a several day process until I stabilize again.  It can get pretty bad. From general anxiety where I feel on edge, to sleeplessness, ruminations, and full blown panic attacks. It had been over a decade since my anxiety had been a daily or even weekly presence in my life. I had worked very hard to manage it. But it was like an ankle injury, my psyche always felt susceptible and weak. 

After I “calmed” down a bit, an hour later they brought back the anesthesiologist to attempt the epidural again. As he got ready, I had a full blown panic attack.  I am pretty sure people in Atlanta heard my screaming for them to stop as I ran off the table.  I am pretty sure everyone at this point, including my husband, wanted to be anywhere but in that room. I also believe my chart had been flagged for crazy.  I was begging and wailing for someone to give me a Xanax, not kosher for pregos.  Everyone kept telling me I needed to calm down. However, there was nothing I could do to calm down. My anxiety was off to the races and I couldn’t stop sobbing.  The doctors huddled to see what could be done. 

To be continued.

My Hobby

Or lack of thereof.  The last couple of months have been hectic with the home purchase, all the renos’s and move, pregnancy and horrid asthma. I have felt exhausted and just holding it together.  And also incredibly fortunate to have these types of problems. So anytime I felt the strains of pity I really had to tell myself to STFU, suck it up and drive on.  But now as I finish out these five weeks before my life becomes consumed with a new life, I have come back to the one thing I feel my life is missing-friends.

 

I have never been a hobby girl. I wish I was someone who had all these awesome interests and skills. Like I could sew, or cook, or draw, or work-out all the time and be fit, or really into Frisbee golf, or be intellectual and read interesting stuff, or follow politics, or be edgy and have a unique fashion sense. But ya know, I think I could be considered just a kinda boring person. I do think I have a pretty great and funny personality, but that is not a hobby.  I have never really been that into anything. I have always liked to work, bargain hunt funds provided, and spend time with my friends.  My friends really gave me the most pleasure.  I didn’t have a particularly close family and there were not much of us. Just my mom and dad and their new spouses/boyfriends, my sister who is five years older than I-we have never been that close and we are pretty different in terms of personalities and interests and such.  I had good friends though. And we had a lot of fun. 

I have been down in Southern California for about 18 months now and I have kinda made 1.3 friends. But these friends center around kids or work and I don’t really feel like I have made any true emotionally intimate connections.  And I feel like such an ungrateful bitch for feeling this way. I HAVE SO MUCH.  My current life exceeds my wildest dreams. I mean really, after so many years soldiering on by myself I have a great husband and we have a very good marriage, a family that we have to beat back sometimes, who supports us emotionally and financially (not enabling but yes they loaned us the down on our house and to fix it up-this comes to the girl who had to buy her senior prom dress because I was 18 and there was no more mandated child support and on principle neither parent would pick up the tab-and forever after that-college/cars/everything was paid for by me), at almost 41 I am about to give birth to my second child conceived naturally, we are homeowners in an amazing house that is perfect to raise a family in, I live in a place with great weather, everyone’s health is good, I really have NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT. 

But I cannot deny that I really miss having friends. It is a huge void in my life.  I have a few friends from nor cal in so cal but they do not live very close and ya know their lives are busy too.  My nor cal friends, well after being gone almost three years the friendships are just not as close, people are busy. I am gone. I get it.  My life is really different. I am a bit of an anomaly down here.  Most people are from this area and have built in lives. It is not like the military where folks are actively looking for friends.  I am an older mommy. Most other moms looking for friends are stay at home moms and are not interested in socializing outside the 9-5, and truthfully while I have nothing against stay at home moms, I have not connected with this group.  I have a younger husband who is former active military who is now going to school and doing childcare. Not that friends need to mirror me, but there are like no similarities.  I do not have a peer group. There is not much time and energy beyond working and taking care of my family to make friends. So this problem is in my hands to fix and only my efforts will make it better.

I have to find a way to fill this void in my life. I have spoken about it to several people and the common refrain is that this is what happens when you get older and have kids.  Most people are not looking for new friends. Most people barely have time to keep the friends they have.  I am not in a military community.  I have tried to just accept this as the status quo, this is what my life is like now. But I cannot shake the feeling that I have, I am lonely for friends. I need friends. It is an important need in my life that I am not going to rationalize, too busy myself, be grateful for what I have, away.  During my 3.5 months of maternity leave I am going to try to get out of the house and make some connections. 

Because what is happening is that I am feeling resentment creep in. I wish I was in northern California sometimes because I feel like perhaps that is the only place I could possibly have close friends.  I resent my wonderful in-law family and that they are always around and draw me in so I am not forced to find friends to fill my time. I feel like if I was a stay at home mom or worked part time I could make friends, and ya know that is not fair to resent my family resources. I want to work and working full time is the best use of our resources-yeah I need to work full time bottomline.

I need friends. That feeling is not going to go away. Friendships are my hobby.  

We are in

We made it through the move, and it was hard. I really really do not recommend moving 7 months pregnant.  I am usually a machine when it comes to moves. I can pack and pack and pack and unpack and unpack and unpack and organize and hang and get it done. Oh hell no this time. I sat and watched other people a lot. And I bitched a lot. And I cried a lot. And I complained to my husband. And I was caught at work having a complete meltdown in my office about a dishwasher. And we replaced the microwave, dishwasher, washer dryer, paid roto rooter, had every workman out multiple times to fix fuck ups, and have a list of things that still need to be done. Do we sound like new homeowners? The house is coming along and it is pretty awesome, but man I need to learn some patience I guess. I also need to accept that workman leave huge messes behind. HUGE. Like what the fuck! I am paying you tons of money and you cannot clean up after your work? After you calk the bathtub you just leave the old calk and trowel in the tub???????? Seriously I could go on and on. Don’t even start with the painters and when they painted our gates AND the patio floor. ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!! It is enough to drive me crazy and everyone around me. But I am trying to rein it in and enjoy these last 7 weeks before our baby girl is here. Sometimes I make myself not say anything for 30 minutes just to see if the mood will pass. It works, sometimes.  But really all good problems to have. But yeah working full time, taking care of a toddler and renovating/moving-this pregnancy is not like the last. Not to brag but at 32 weeks I have only gained 18 pounds versus 29 at this point last time. Go figure. I am carrying on, grumpily.