Due to my high blood pressure, midwife wants me to "take it easy" until my next appointment, which is Monday with the OB who is overseeing my VBAC.
Easier than usual? To be honest, my hips and pelvis hurt so much that between fetching meals and snacks for Freyja and myself, going to the bathroom, and occasionally unloading the dishwasher or switching laundry loads, my butt stays in the recliner. Then every evening I do some of the spinningbabies.com postures to attempt to make up for the time in the recliner. From what I can tell, the baby is happily right occiput anterior, so I must be doing something correctly. Left occiput anterior is the end-all-be-all of optimal fetal presentation, but I'll take what I can get.
I'm not sure how much "easier" I can take it without becoming comatose. My blood pressure remains high, but I have zero other symptoms of pre-eclampsia. I'm still wearing my rings and I still have ankles. I am not at all puffy (erm...puffier than usual). In theory, we are still "only" talking pregnancy-induced hypertension (because my blood pressure is shockingly normal when I'm not incubating another human life).
I'm supposed to lie on my left side a lot. I have a stupid uncomfortable couch and a three year old who requires constant supervision just due to her age. She is good about playing independently, which is nice for me - but I can't just hole up in my bedroom while she has run of the rest of the house. Let me tell you that this is probably not going to happen much. Comfortably ensconced in the recliner is the best I can hope for. I might be able to swing 15 min out of an hour on my left side on the couch. Any longer and I'd fall asleep. Not a good thing.
Off to meditate before sleep and see if that helps the blood pressure any.
One calendar month til my due date.
Showing posts with label freyja. Show all posts
Showing posts with label freyja. Show all posts
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
That was fun...
Sort of.
My friend (who started out as "just" Freyja's daycare provider - but after two years we've progressed to friends) went to Florida this week. She asked me if I would keep her home daycare open while she went. I agreed, especially since there was money involved. We like extra cash when we can get it. Most of the parents know me since she has no turnover. We found her almost right after she opened two years ago and she still has the same kids - nobody has left except one family who moved.
It wasn't too bad. The worst part was my own kid acting up because she seemed to think that because it was her mommy there, she didn't need to follow the rules. The thirty-pound moose of a ten month old wasn't a picnic either, but just because it was heck to heft him all over. He's a very sweet and happy baby otherwise.
The rest of the kids are all ages 2-4. They play nicely together and they all still take nice long afternoon naps. They scrap once in a while, but it's easily mended. No real problems there.
What I didn't count on was getting a hellacious head cold over the weekend that stuck with me all week - coughing, sneezing, not sleeping well. I'm pretty tired today, and looking forward to a nice, relaxing weekend with just my own little monkey to look after.
My friend (who started out as "just" Freyja's daycare provider - but after two years we've progressed to friends) went to Florida this week. She asked me if I would keep her home daycare open while she went. I agreed, especially since there was money involved. We like extra cash when we can get it. Most of the parents know me since she has no turnover. We found her almost right after she opened two years ago and she still has the same kids - nobody has left except one family who moved.
It wasn't too bad. The worst part was my own kid acting up because she seemed to think that because it was her mommy there, she didn't need to follow the rules. The thirty-pound moose of a ten month old wasn't a picnic either, but just because it was heck to heft him all over. He's a very sweet and happy baby otherwise.
The rest of the kids are all ages 2-4. They play nicely together and they all still take nice long afternoon naps. They scrap once in a while, but it's easily mended. No real problems there.
What I didn't count on was getting a hellacious head cold over the weekend that stuck with me all week - coughing, sneezing, not sleeping well. I'm pretty tired today, and looking forward to a nice, relaxing weekend with just my own little monkey to look after.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
As If Being Sick Wasn't Enough
I had to call Poison Control this evening at my folks'.
My mom left the bottle of cough/cold medicine out on the counter, and Freyja decided she had a headache and would help herself to it. Somehow she managed to remove a child-proof top and administered herself an unknown amount, but less than 2 ounces, of Triaminic Nighttime Cough and Cold medicine while the rest of us were in the living room. As far as I knew, she went out to the kitchen to get a drink from her cup of water that was out there and came back 30 seconds later saying "I took three medicines."
The lovely calm woman on the other end of the line did some calculations for me and said we probably have nothing to worry about, told me how she'd probably behave, and said she'd call back in about four hours to see how we were doing (that part, she said, is protocol).
Well, Freyja acted spot on to what the call center woman said - she sucked down about 24 oz of water, ate some dinner, got mouthy and belligerent, and then fell asleep on the ride home.
The woman did indeed call back, Freyja is still sleeping but had given Kerwin a hard time when she roused and he was sitting near her (the nerve!) on the couch. That was a good sign. She's responsive, if I tickle her nose with her hair she brushes it away.
The only two times I've had to call poison control is b/c it didn't cross anybody's mind there (including mine) to marginally childproof their kitchen. I'm not talking bumpers on everything, I'm talking cupboard locks on undersink cabinets and making sure to put medicine WAY up out of reach. Basic safeguards, because as much as you'd like not to, sometimes you have to look away from a child.
The first time she poured a bunch of jet dry out and ended up with minor chemical burns on her knees. I don't even remember what I was doing then - I was probably in the bathroom. My mom is overly sensitive and when I mentioned this there were tears and drama, and I was "blaming" her for everything. The locks should have been installed on the old cabinets then. I should have done it myself. It still wouldn't have helped today, though.
Well, there will be cabinet locks installed the next time I'm over there as a precaution. They should have been done when the new cabinets were put in. I know that this is mostly my fault, I should be more vigilant about making sure there's nothing potentially dangerous sitting out on the counters there. I feel like a failure as a parent. I know things like this happen, but apparently I now need to be up Freyja's butt 24/7, at least over there.
But I'd also like to know how in hell my 3 year old managed to open a freakin childproof bottle. I can't even manage to open them all of the time.
My mom left the bottle of cough/cold medicine out on the counter, and Freyja decided she had a headache and would help herself to it. Somehow she managed to remove a child-proof top and administered herself an unknown amount, but less than 2 ounces, of Triaminic Nighttime Cough and Cold medicine while the rest of us were in the living room. As far as I knew, she went out to the kitchen to get a drink from her cup of water that was out there and came back 30 seconds later saying "I took three medicines."
The lovely calm woman on the other end of the line did some calculations for me and said we probably have nothing to worry about, told me how she'd probably behave, and said she'd call back in about four hours to see how we were doing (that part, she said, is protocol).
Well, Freyja acted spot on to what the call center woman said - she sucked down about 24 oz of water, ate some dinner, got mouthy and belligerent, and then fell asleep on the ride home.
The woman did indeed call back, Freyja is still sleeping but had given Kerwin a hard time when she roused and he was sitting near her (the nerve!) on the couch. That was a good sign. She's responsive, if I tickle her nose with her hair she brushes it away.
The only two times I've had to call poison control is b/c it didn't cross anybody's mind there (including mine) to marginally childproof their kitchen. I'm not talking bumpers on everything, I'm talking cupboard locks on undersink cabinets and making sure to put medicine WAY up out of reach. Basic safeguards, because as much as you'd like not to, sometimes you have to look away from a child.
The first time she poured a bunch of jet dry out and ended up with minor chemical burns on her knees. I don't even remember what I was doing then - I was probably in the bathroom. My mom is overly sensitive and when I mentioned this there were tears and drama, and I was "blaming" her for everything. The locks should have been installed on the old cabinets then. I should have done it myself. It still wouldn't have helped today, though.
Well, there will be cabinet locks installed the next time I'm over there as a precaution. They should have been done when the new cabinets were put in. I know that this is mostly my fault, I should be more vigilant about making sure there's nothing potentially dangerous sitting out on the counters there. I feel like a failure as a parent. I know things like this happen, but apparently I now need to be up Freyja's butt 24/7, at least over there.
But I'd also like to know how in hell my 3 year old managed to open a freakin childproof bottle. I can't even manage to open them all of the time.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Dogs Can't Have Chocolate...
Apparently the idiots who make the Raggs show for PBS didn't do their research. Today's show is about eating "healthy" food. One of the characters ate *gasp* COOKIES for breakfast and CHOCOLATE too - so he didn't have any energy for playing! The funny part is that it was the stoner dog...anyway...
Apparently the giant annoying anthropomorphic dogs LOVE chocolate - but chocolate is "bad" for you, it's not "healthy". Well, it's not healthy for dogs in any case!
Really? They love it so much they're willing to DIE if they eat it?
Freyja caught this before I did. "Mommy! Those dogs are saying they like chocolate! Chocolate is BAD for doggies! If we gave doggies chocolate, they would DIE!"
Damn straight, that's my smart girl.
Apparently the giant annoying anthropomorphic dogs LOVE chocolate - but chocolate is "bad" for you, it's not "healthy". Well, it's not healthy for dogs in any case!
Really? They love it so much they're willing to DIE if they eat it?
Freyja caught this before I did. "Mommy! Those dogs are saying they like chocolate! Chocolate is BAD for doggies! If we gave doggies chocolate, they would DIE!"
Damn straight, that's my smart girl.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Our Trip Away
Kerwin works for a Marriott brand hotel (think the high-end, swanky one), and one of his "perks" is 2 free nights at a Marriott property at least 60 miles away from the one he works at in November or December.
We took advantage of this the past couple of days in the Ann Arbor, MI area. I had hoped to come back with pictures of Freyja jumping on the bed, but she refused to jump. It was a king bed, I was right there, I made sure her shoes were off. I said, "you can jump on the bed!"
"No, mumma. That is NOT safe."
"Yes, but I am here watching you, so it's OK. It's a big bed, and I doubt you'll fall."
"I will fawl and cwack my head open and you will have to take me to the 'mergency woom."
There you have it - my own personal safety patrol. We did have a good time using the pool and visiting with Kerwin's grandmother, whom we helped "decoration" her Christmas tree. The bed was cushy and huge - Freyja slept on the foldout couch the second night b/c she tossed and turned too much the first and kept us both awake. Last night, Kerwin was on one side and I was on the other, and I think you could have easily fit another fairly large adult in the middle. I don't, as a rule, snuggle.
A nice trip away, even if I didn't get any time to myself. I may look into having Kerwin just come and check me into the Courtyard or SpringHill Suites near us (we get a great rate there, something like $39/night) for a couple days of solo mommy R&R before the baby comes. I could read, take long baths, sleep, take more long baths...oh yeah.
We took advantage of this the past couple of days in the Ann Arbor, MI area. I had hoped to come back with pictures of Freyja jumping on the bed, but she refused to jump. It was a king bed, I was right there, I made sure her shoes were off. I said, "you can jump on the bed!"
"No, mumma. That is NOT safe."
"Yes, but I am here watching you, so it's OK. It's a big bed, and I doubt you'll fall."
"I will fawl and cwack my head open and you will have to take me to the 'mergency woom."
There you have it - my own personal safety patrol. We did have a good time using the pool and visiting with Kerwin's grandmother, whom we helped "decoration" her Christmas tree. The bed was cushy and huge - Freyja slept on the foldout couch the second night b/c she tossed and turned too much the first and kept us both awake. Last night, Kerwin was on one side and I was on the other, and I think you could have easily fit another fairly large adult in the middle. I don't, as a rule, snuggle.
A nice trip away, even if I didn't get any time to myself. I may look into having Kerwin just come and check me into the Courtyard or SpringHill Suites near us (we get a great rate there, something like $39/night) for a couple days of solo mommy R&R before the baby comes. I could read, take long baths, sleep, take more long baths...oh yeah.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Freyja's Current Obessions
Thanks to my dad, Freyja has discovered the joys of YouTube.
Unfortunately, he didn't tell me what videos he played for her, leading to screaming that I wasn't playing the song with the swing and the car. WTF?! I had to call my dad to figure it out. It was the first one on the list.
Here's her current favorites, courtesy of Grandpa .
Leann Rimes - Nothing Bout Love Makes Sense
Leann Rimes - Nothin' Better to Do
The 5th Dimension - Wedding Bell Blues
The Archies - Sugar Sugar
Unfortunately, he didn't tell me what videos he played for her, leading to screaming that I wasn't playing the song with the swing and the car. WTF?! I had to call my dad to figure it out. It was the first one on the list.
Here's her current favorites, courtesy of Grandpa .
Leann Rimes - Nothing Bout Love Makes Sense
Leann Rimes - Nothin' Better to Do
The 5th Dimension - Wedding Bell Blues
The Archies - Sugar Sugar
Friday, August 10, 2007
Pirate Party!
Well, I'm glad I didn't do these until today, as my cousin decided to schedule her daughter's party the same day.
Combined parties are out of the question. I had one in my youth and hated it. I think Freyja deserves undivided attention for her special day.
I ended up moving the party a week later - gives me more time to get ready, in any case.
Here's the invite - cute, no?
Combined parties are out of the question. I had one in my youth and hated it. I think Freyja deserves undivided attention for her special day.
I ended up moving the party a week later - gives me more time to get ready, in any case.
Here's the invite - cute, no?
Friday, July 20, 2007
Potter Puppet Pals
For some reason, Freyja is now obsessed with all things Harry Potter. Of course, she doesn't quite "get" the movies yet but loves watching them and will happily sit through 8-10 pages of "Sorcerer's Stone" at a time. She thinks the Dursleys are funny. She loves the Hungarian Horntail. And like her mother before her, she's inexplicably drawn to Professor Snape.
I have a feeling that for my sweet almost three year old, that stems from the Potter Puppet Pals.
I have a feeling that for my sweet almost three year old, that stems from the Potter Puppet Pals.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Swoon!!
It was a busy weekend for our little family.
Friday night, we stayed at my folks' house overnight so we could go to the renfaire on Saturday near their house. While we were there, we broke in my mom's new blender with frozen margaritas and BS-ing around the bonfire (no margaritas for Freyja, she was already in bed). Nice time. Glad I get along with my folks! I also did a little baking for the Midsummer ritual our group held on Saturday and the picnic afterward.
Saturday dawned hot and sunny, and we suited Freyja up in her garb (I didn't take any pictures, I know I'm a schmuck) to head over to Derbyshire. Kerwin and I, unforutnately, have grown too soft and large for our garb, but here's a picture from six or seven years ago of me at another festival:
I make a sexy wench, no? I still think my shirt is too high in that photo.
They had this nice little event called "Soak a Bloke/Drench a Wench" to raise funds for breast cancer research. Freyja and I both got in on this fun. We threw water soaked sponges at a group of blokes in garb - several knaves, a couple peasants, a few dirty pirates - and got kisses in return.
Freyja was apparently the only little girl all day who "permitted" herself to be kissed! My girl was trying to kiss all these guys on the lips - hilarious. I don't know if the Jack Sparrow lookalike was TRYING to kiss me on the lips or if he just missed, but da-hamn. Swoon! It is well known around these parts that I am a "kissing whore"- I'll kiss anyone, given half an excuse. This, thankfully, amuses Kerwin instead of infuriating him. Freyja got lots of attention in her little Irish dress - she got a rose from the wandering rose guy (he was cute, too) , a necklace from a merchant who said she was "too cute", and "jewels" from the Queen of the festival. Next year we plan to take her one weekend, and go by ourselves the other weekend. Next year I also plan to fit back into my garb. Rawr!
We had a nice Midsummer ritual on Saturday as well, and a picnic with friends at a local park.
Sunday was uneventful - we got a nice afternoon nap and Freyja and I hit the grocery store, where she proceeded to tell me how to choose a watermelon - "Daddy says you gotta THUMP it!"
I'm still thinking about Jack Sparrow's twin. . .swoon!
Friday night, we stayed at my folks' house overnight so we could go to the renfaire on Saturday near their house. While we were there, we broke in my mom's new blender with frozen margaritas and BS-ing around the bonfire (no margaritas for Freyja, she was already in bed). Nice time. Glad I get along with my folks! I also did a little baking for the Midsummer ritual our group held on Saturday and the picnic afterward.
Saturday dawned hot and sunny, and we suited Freyja up in her garb (I didn't take any pictures, I know I'm a schmuck) to head over to Derbyshire. Kerwin and I, unforutnately, have grown too soft and large for our garb, but here's a picture from six or seven years ago of me at another festival:
I make a sexy wench, no? I still think my shirt is too high in that photo.
They had this nice little event called "Soak a Bloke/Drench a Wench" to raise funds for breast cancer research. Freyja and I both got in on this fun. We threw water soaked sponges at a group of blokes in garb - several knaves, a couple peasants, a few dirty pirates - and got kisses in return.
Freyja was apparently the only little girl all day who "permitted" herself to be kissed! My girl was trying to kiss all these guys on the lips - hilarious. I don't know if the Jack Sparrow lookalike was TRYING to kiss me on the lips or if he just missed, but da-hamn. Swoon! It is well known around these parts that I am a "kissing whore"- I'll kiss anyone, given half an excuse. This, thankfully, amuses Kerwin instead of infuriating him. Freyja got lots of attention in her little Irish dress - she got a rose from the wandering rose guy (he was cute, too) , a necklace from a merchant who said she was "too cute", and "jewels" from the Queen of the festival. Next year we plan to take her one weekend, and go by ourselves the other weekend. Next year I also plan to fit back into my garb. Rawr!
We had a nice Midsummer ritual on Saturday as well, and a picnic with friends at a local park.
Sunday was uneventful - we got a nice afternoon nap and Freyja and I hit the grocery store, where she proceeded to tell me how to choose a watermelon - "Daddy says you gotta THUMP it!"
I'm still thinking about Jack Sparrow's twin. . .swoon!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Arrr, Mateys!!!
Kerwin and I were talking about idiot parenting this morning - you know, helicopter moms, people who refuse to challenge their children to grow, or use imaginative play, etc. Somehow this led to talk of Freyja and her VERY "Type-A" personality - and that if we give her the support and resources she needs, she'll grow up and do whatever she wants, and kick ass at it - and we'd never tell her "No, don't get a music degree, get a math degree."
So Kerwin asks her, "Freyja, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
"Wanna be a PIRATE!!!!" She growled, brandishing her cereal spoon. Now, this is not surprising in and of itself, since we've been talking about a pirate birthday party for some time now, but what she said next was classic.
"What did she say? Did she say she wants to be a pirate?" I said. "Freyja, if you're a pirate, Miss Chelsie (our DCP's 14 yo) won't like you anymore. She's scared of pirates, remember."
She thought about this for a minute (and I wondered if I'd gone too far with "won't like you anymore", then pointed her finger at me and shook it - "Well I will just tell her to GET OVER IT!!!"
I almost choked on my english muffin. And this was after she climbed up into my bed at about 7:30 and said "Mumma, I have a question." all matter of fact and oh, so grown up. "If there are spiders on the wall and they don't stay in the corner, and I don't like them and they scare me, will they bite me?"
It slays me just how much she sounds like a KID these days. My baby is almost gone.
So Kerwin asks her, "Freyja, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
"Wanna be a PIRATE!!!!" She growled, brandishing her cereal spoon. Now, this is not surprising in and of itself, since we've been talking about a pirate birthday party for some time now, but what she said next was classic.
"What did she say? Did she say she wants to be a pirate?" I said. "Freyja, if you're a pirate, Miss Chelsie (our DCP's 14 yo) won't like you anymore. She's scared of pirates, remember."
She thought about this for a minute (and I wondered if I'd gone too far with "won't like you anymore", then pointed her finger at me and shook it - "Well I will just tell her to GET OVER IT!!!"
I almost choked on my english muffin. And this was after she climbed up into my bed at about 7:30 and said "Mumma, I have a question." all matter of fact and oh, so grown up. "If there are spiders on the wall and they don't stay in the corner, and I don't like them and they scare me, will they bite me?"
It slays me just how much she sounds like a KID these days. My baby is almost gone.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Crummy Day
We were supposed to go to the beach today, and then have a cookout. I haven't seen my best friend in weeks. We had plans.
Freyja refused to take a nap. Flat out refused. Threw herself around. Acted up. Jumped on the bed. I told her "If you don't take a nap, we don't go to the beach."
She still acted up.
So here we sit. Maybe most parents would have backed down on that, gone to the beach anyway.
I can't. She's a monster lately. Nothing we do or say has any bearing on her behaviour. I had to stick to my guns, even though I'm missing out on my fun, too.
It sucks to be a mom today.
Freyja refused to take a nap. Flat out refused. Threw herself around. Acted up. Jumped on the bed. I told her "If you don't take a nap, we don't go to the beach."
She still acted up.
So here we sit. Maybe most parents would have backed down on that, gone to the beach anyway.
I can't. She's a monster lately. Nothing we do or say has any bearing on her behaviour. I had to stick to my guns, even though I'm missing out on my fun, too.
It sucks to be a mom today.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Got a Call
Freyja's doctor called me today.
He apologized. He still doesn't quite know what happened or what went wrong, but he's going to look into it and he's going to go over protocol with his staff.
He said he finds the whole idea of insurances and payment "distasteful" because it gets in the way of why he went into medicine - to help people.
I reassured him that this was the first and only bad experience we've had with his staff or in his office at all - which it was.
I'm satisfied. He offered to see her tomorrow morning if we'd like. I don't think we'll be up that early (considering it's 3:25AM and here I sit, blogging), but it's a nice gesture.
He apologized. He still doesn't quite know what happened or what went wrong, but he's going to look into it and he's going to go over protocol with his staff.
He said he finds the whole idea of insurances and payment "distasteful" because it gets in the way of why he went into medicine - to help people.
I reassured him that this was the first and only bad experience we've had with his staff or in his office at all - which it was.
I'm satisfied. He offered to see her tomorrow morning if we'd like. I don't think we'll be up that early (considering it's 3:25AM and here I sit, blogging), but it's a nice gesture.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Take a Letter, Maria - Final
Dr. SoNSo:
I’m writing to you today to let you know about an experience I had in your front office on Wednesday, May 2, 2007. I had called on Monday, April 30 to schedule an appointment for my daughter, Freyja LastName (birthdate 8/27/04). She has a corn or plantar wart on her little toe. I spoke to M, who scheduled the appointment for me with no problems.
Freyja was very upset, (and I wasn’t pleased myself) as she was looking forward to seeing you. I know that may seem kind of silly, but we’re delighted that she likes and looks forward to seeing her health care provider. We are moving to
The YourPracticePC website states “From the first time you walk in our doors or call us on the phone, we want you to know that you come first. While others say they are doing it, we are. Whether it is a friendly greeting by our staff or a “real person” answering the phone or listening to your concerns, ourpracticePC is putting patients first. We want you to know that we value having you as our patient.” Is this indeed the case? We don’t feel very valued right now.
If you would like to call me to discuss this matter, you may reach me at phonenumber1 during the day and phonenumber2 in the evenings.
Heather LastName
Since his office is an offshoot of a larger practice group, he gets a letter, his office manager gets a letter, and the central admin office gets a letter.Thursday, May 03, 2007
Take a letter, Maria
On Eden and Thor's suggestions, here's the letter I wrote to Freyja's doctor. I haven't printed it yet.
Dr. So n So:
I’m writing to you today to let you know about an experience I had in your front office on Wednesday, May 2, 2007. I had called on Monday, April 30 to schedule an appointment for my daughter, Freyja lastname (birthdate 8/27/04). She has a corn or plantar wart on her little toe. I spoke to M, who scheduled the appointment for me with no problems.
On Wednesday morning, A from your office called and spoke to my husband, saying that Freyja had no insurance (which I was aware of, it had lapsed and is in the process of being renewed) and that I needed to bring “paperwork” with me to the office visit. I had no paperwork other than a letter from DHS requesting that I send them a copy of Freyja’s birth certificate.
I realize that no one can make me feel inferior without my consent, but I felt low as we had to turn around and leave your office without being seen the other morning. A’s attitude was “well if you don’t have insurance, we don’t want you”. I am glad that it was only a corn on Freyja’s toe and nothing more serious that she needed to be seen for.
Freyja was very upset as she was looking forward to seeing you. I know that may seem kind of silly, but we’re delighted that she likes and looks forward to seeing her health care provider. We are moving to ThatTown soon and had planned to continue coming to ThisTown for Freyja’s primary care, but if your front office staff (who have all been wonderful every other time we have been in the office) are going to treat us poorly because we happen to be in a lower economic bracket we may have to rethink that decision.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Denied.
Freyja has a corn on her toe. On Monday, I talked to her doctor's office and made an appointment for today since a pumice stone hasn't helped. They called this morning to tell me that she doens't have insurance. I'm aware of this - I just faxed in the last of the endless paperwork (since Congress now needs to make sure every person getting medical help is a valid citizen, you know) to get her re-approved for HealthyKids (medicaid). She was up for renewal, her caseworker sent me a paper that said "send this crap in" yet didn't tell me what it was for and never returned my call, so it ended up lapsing. They only spoke to Kerwin (who has no clue about how any of it works), and wanted me to bring "paperwork" in with me. I had no idea what "paperwork" they meant, since they didn't specify so I didn't bring anything.
They refused to see her, since she didn't have "current insurance". The new MA who was manning the front desk was snide and had the air of "take your government tit-sucking ass out of my office". I explained that Medicaid covers 3 months retroactively, so what was the big deal? Well, there's no "proof" that she'll be covered and it's "too much hassle" to see uninsured people, since they "rarely get paid".
It was only a corn on her toe, but Freyja LOVES her doctor and was looking forward to seeing him today. I told her we had to go home and she screamed "I WANT DR. GREG TO LOOK AT MY CORN TOE!!!" and started crying. Boy, did I feel like a jerk - except why should I? Has our medical system become that broken that they won't see children who need health care? It's a private practice. They do have the right to refuse service to anyone - but Freyja is an established patient, not some unknown new person. What if she had been really sick, like with a high fever or something?
On one hand, I can see their reasoning. On the other, that MA was a royal bitch. The MA's there are usually very nice and never have talked down to me. I don't know what I should do - wait for her insurance confirmation to come back and make the appointment again? Find a new office - maybe an FQHC so they CAN'T refuse her service? Write a firmly-worded letter to the doctor to let him know my displeasure? Frankly, I'm disgusted.
They refused to see her, since she didn't have "current insurance". The new MA who was manning the front desk was snide and had the air of "take your government tit-sucking ass out of my office". I explained that Medicaid covers 3 months retroactively, so what was the big deal? Well, there's no "proof" that she'll be covered and it's "too much hassle" to see uninsured people, since they "rarely get paid".
It was only a corn on her toe, but Freyja LOVES her doctor and was looking forward to seeing him today. I told her we had to go home and she screamed "I WANT DR. GREG TO LOOK AT MY CORN TOE!!!" and started crying. Boy, did I feel like a jerk - except why should I? Has our medical system become that broken that they won't see children who need health care? It's a private practice. They do have the right to refuse service to anyone - but Freyja is an established patient, not some unknown new person. What if she had been really sick, like with a high fever or something?
On one hand, I can see their reasoning. On the other, that MA was a royal bitch. The MA's there are usually very nice and never have talked down to me. I don't know what I should do - wait for her insurance confirmation to come back and make the appointment again? Find a new office - maybe an FQHC so they CAN'T refuse her service? Write a firmly-worded letter to the doctor to let him know my displeasure? Frankly, I'm disgusted.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
I Want to Love You Madly
You crawled into our bed at 5am today. I heard "Daddy, I gotta go potty!" and then I dozed back off. I woke up a few minutes later to eskimo kisses and "I love you too, Mumma. You go back-a-seep, OK? I gonna cuddle wif you, OK?"
Little one, if you only knew what those little charming exchanges do for me. They give me fire in my belly, awaken the fierce and protecting mama who has to save and protect your innocent sweetness from the harsh, cruel world. They make me snuggle up to you, cuddle you close, tangle my fingers in your silky baby curls and pray, beg for the world to stop and hold still forever and let me keep you close to me just as you are. They don't last, those moments.
When I came back from the potty myself, you patted the quarter of my pillow you weren't occupying. "You yay down, wight heah. Wight heah, Mumma."
"Wight heah, Mumma."
My darling girl, I never want to be anywhere else.
Little one, if you only knew what those little charming exchanges do for me. They give me fire in my belly, awaken the fierce and protecting mama who has to save and protect your innocent sweetness from the harsh, cruel world. They make me snuggle up to you, cuddle you close, tangle my fingers in your silky baby curls and pray, beg for the world to stop and hold still forever and let me keep you close to me just as you are. They don't last, those moments.
When I came back from the potty myself, you patted the quarter of my pillow you weren't occupying. "You yay down, wight heah. Wight heah, Mumma."
"Wight heah, Mumma."
My darling girl, I never want to be anywhere else.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Postpartum Abandonment
For January's Pulsate Olympics.
I suppose the feeling of abandonment started in the labor room, when Kerwin left me to go talk on the phone as the Stadol wore off. It continued as he slept soundly for eight hours, snoring away on the little cot in my postpartum room, as I attempted to cope with being sliced open from hip to hip and having a new little person to take care of besides. I couldn’t get up from the bed, and the nurses shook their fingers at me and said “Don’t you fall asleep with the baby in your bed!!!!” so I was up until 2 AM, hopped up on morphine with my beautiful new baby, who I couldn’t stop kissing and smelling and trying to get latched on properly, while I tried in vain to call to Kerwin to wake him up to put Freyja in her plastic bassinet, and the one response I got was, “Leave me alone, I’m sleeping. I was up early.”
Really? I was up at the same time, and I had major surgery plus 12 hours of labor today. But you sleep, honey. You just go for it.
I finally had to call the nurses to come and get Freyja at about 2 AM, said I needed a little sleep, but please bring her back when she woke so I could feed her. They came back at 4 AM with a little bottle of soy formula and one of those supplemental nursers, the one that you have to tape above your nipple. She told me, “Your milk hasn’t come in yet. Your baby is hungry. You have to give her this formula. You just fed her two hours ago and she’s hungry again, you’re not making enough milk.”
Everything, EVERYTHING in my brain was screaming that this was wrong, I wasn’t supposed to have milk yet, just colostrum. Breastfed babies need to eat about every 1 and a half to two hours, this is normal. However, my baby was crying louder than my brain could handle, so I let them tape the little tube to my breast and let her eat the nasty soy formula (never to this day do I understand why it was soy formula). They took her away again.
I was awoken again at 6 AM by the family practice doctor that was on call for Freyja’s doctor. He was nice and smiling, said I had a perfect baby and that her regular doctor would come to see her on Monday before we were discharged. I fell back asleep and the baby was back at 8 AM, with the young morning nurse who had GIVEN HER A BOTTLE OF FORMULA without my permission. I just nodded numbly, I didn’t even know what to say to that. Getting mad was no use, I had no backup from my snoring husband.
I had visitors intermittently the rest of the three days I spent in the hospital. Kerwin, however, went right back to work on Sunday morning. He came on Sunday night for a couple of hours, then went home to “clean”. He also worked Monday (when the hospital records woman came in and was beastly to me and caused me to cry profusely, refusing to believe that I was married because my last name was different from ‘the baby’s father’) and went his first day of college classes in the new semester on Monday night as well. Thankfully, his instructor told him to go be with his wife and new baby instead of spending 3 hours in class. I didn’t even get any flowers.
When we came home on Monday night, there were dishes and laundry everywhere.
Want to guess who ended up doing all those dishes and laundry 4 days after major abdominal surgery while trying to not become sleep deprived, shower every day, and take care of a newborn (who, thankfully, was VERY mellow)? Yeah. That’d be me, because he was right back to work (regular FT job plus being editor of the college newspaper which caused more than a few incredibly late nights) and college classes. I don’t know if it’s even fair to blame him for abandoning me. We were pretty broke and needed the money, but I also needed the support that I never got. All of my family lives within a 20 mile radius, and nobody called to offer to come and sit with Freyja so I could sleep, or help me with housework, or just come and visit to keep me from going batshit crazy. Nobody called at all, except my folks. Granted, my folks both work full time as well, and my mom took a week of vacation over my due date, which was two weeks too early.
The crazy thoughts started coming about two days after we got home. I kept telling myself that it was normal to want to put Freyja in her carseat, strap her in, and leave her out by the road for somebody else to come and take care of. After all, I was having no trouble sleeping, or sleeping too much, and that was the major harbinger of PPD according to the books, magazines, and websites. I didn’t have time to be crazy, I had too much to do being a new mom with an absentee husband. I was neurotic in checking on her to make sure she was still breathing, feeling incredibly guilty that I wished she just didn’t exist.
I tried to make up for the thoughts by cuddling her and singing to her, and loving on her all the time. I wanted so desperately to feel that “bonding” that all the books talked about. I really wanted to feel differently, and I knew what I was feeling wasn’t right, but I had no words to ask for help, nor did I feel that I would be worth my salt as a mother if I did. At least I had a husband who did what he could when he was home. Lots of single moms did all of this on their own, and no complaining. What right did I have to complain, or to ask for help, or to admit that I was really having a hard time?
Thankfully, my physical recovery from the caesarean birth was textbook. I took it easy as much as I could, I slept when Freyja slept except her morning nap, which I used to shower (to prove to myself I wasn’t crazy, I showered daily and was meticulous about my appearance and clothing) and hop online to get some form of socialization.
I still don’t know how I got through those first few months, much less the first six weeks. I lied on the PHQ at my six week postpartum appointment. I didn’t want to admit that I was weak. I didn’t want them to call CPS and have Freyja taken from me because of my horrible thoughts. I didn’t want to go to the psych ward. The fear of those interventions was crippling, and so I couldn’t admit my problems and concerns.
I am terrified to have another baby, because I hear that PPD gets worse. My words to Kerwin on the subject the other night were, “I’m scared to turn into Andrea Yates”.
I still think that I’m a terrible mother for thinking what I did when Freyja was so tiny. When people comment on how wonderful she is, or how smart, or how pretty, I feel guilty, because I couldn’t see how wonderful she was when she was a newborn because my brain doesn’t function properly. I hope that someday I can get past it.
I suppose the feeling of abandonment started in the labor room, when Kerwin left me to go talk on the phone as the Stadol wore off. It continued as he slept soundly for eight hours, snoring away on the little cot in my postpartum room, as I attempted to cope with being sliced open from hip to hip and having a new little person to take care of besides. I couldn’t get up from the bed, and the nurses shook their fingers at me and said “Don’t you fall asleep with the baby in your bed!!!!” so I was up until 2 AM, hopped up on morphine with my beautiful new baby, who I couldn’t stop kissing and smelling and trying to get latched on properly, while I tried in vain to call to Kerwin to wake him up to put Freyja in her plastic bassinet, and the one response I got was, “Leave me alone, I’m sleeping. I was up early.”
Really? I was up at the same time, and I had major surgery plus 12 hours of labor today. But you sleep, honey. You just go for it.
I finally had to call the nurses to come and get Freyja at about 2 AM, said I needed a little sleep, but please bring her back when she woke so I could feed her. They came back at 4 AM with a little bottle of soy formula and one of those supplemental nursers, the one that you have to tape above your nipple. She told me, “Your milk hasn’t come in yet. Your baby is hungry. You have to give her this formula. You just fed her two hours ago and she’s hungry again, you’re not making enough milk.”
Everything, EVERYTHING in my brain was screaming that this was wrong, I wasn’t supposed to have milk yet, just colostrum. Breastfed babies need to eat about every 1 and a half to two hours, this is normal. However, my baby was crying louder than my brain could handle, so I let them tape the little tube to my breast and let her eat the nasty soy formula (never to this day do I understand why it was soy formula). They took her away again.
I was awoken again at 6 AM by the family practice doctor that was on call for Freyja’s doctor. He was nice and smiling, said I had a perfect baby and that her regular doctor would come to see her on Monday before we were discharged. I fell back asleep and the baby was back at 8 AM, with the young morning nurse who had GIVEN HER A BOTTLE OF FORMULA without my permission. I just nodded numbly, I didn’t even know what to say to that. Getting mad was no use, I had no backup from my snoring husband.
I had visitors intermittently the rest of the three days I spent in the hospital. Kerwin, however, went right back to work on Sunday morning. He came on Sunday night for a couple of hours, then went home to “clean”. He also worked Monday (when the hospital records woman came in and was beastly to me and caused me to cry profusely, refusing to believe that I was married because my last name was different from ‘the baby’s father’) and went his first day of college classes in the new semester on Monday night as well. Thankfully, his instructor told him to go be with his wife and new baby instead of spending 3 hours in class. I didn’t even get any flowers.
When we came home on Monday night, there were dishes and laundry everywhere.
Want to guess who ended up doing all those dishes and laundry 4 days after major abdominal surgery while trying to not become sleep deprived, shower every day, and take care of a newborn (who, thankfully, was VERY mellow)? Yeah. That’d be me, because he was right back to work (regular FT job plus being editor of the college newspaper which caused more than a few incredibly late nights) and college classes. I don’t know if it’s even fair to blame him for abandoning me. We were pretty broke and needed the money, but I also needed the support that I never got. All of my family lives within a 20 mile radius, and nobody called to offer to come and sit with Freyja so I could sleep, or help me with housework, or just come and visit to keep me from going batshit crazy. Nobody called at all, except my folks. Granted, my folks both work full time as well, and my mom took a week of vacation over my due date, which was two weeks too early.
The crazy thoughts started coming about two days after we got home. I kept telling myself that it was normal to want to put Freyja in her carseat, strap her in, and leave her out by the road for somebody else to come and take care of. After all, I was having no trouble sleeping, or sleeping too much, and that was the major harbinger of PPD according to the books, magazines, and websites. I didn’t have time to be crazy, I had too much to do being a new mom with an absentee husband. I was neurotic in checking on her to make sure she was still breathing, feeling incredibly guilty that I wished she just didn’t exist.
I tried to make up for the thoughts by cuddling her and singing to her, and loving on her all the time. I wanted so desperately to feel that “bonding” that all the books talked about. I really wanted to feel differently, and I knew what I was feeling wasn’t right, but I had no words to ask for help, nor did I feel that I would be worth my salt as a mother if I did. At least I had a husband who did what he could when he was home. Lots of single moms did all of this on their own, and no complaining. What right did I have to complain, or to ask for help, or to admit that I was really having a hard time?
Thankfully, my physical recovery from the caesarean birth was textbook. I took it easy as much as I could, I slept when Freyja slept except her morning nap, which I used to shower (to prove to myself I wasn’t crazy, I showered daily and was meticulous about my appearance and clothing) and hop online to get some form of socialization.
I still don’t know how I got through those first few months, much less the first six weeks. I lied on the PHQ at my six week postpartum appointment. I didn’t want to admit that I was weak. I didn’t want them to call CPS and have Freyja taken from me because of my horrible thoughts. I didn’t want to go to the psych ward. The fear of those interventions was crippling, and so I couldn’t admit my problems and concerns.
I am terrified to have another baby, because I hear that PPD gets worse. My words to Kerwin on the subject the other night were, “I’m scared to turn into Andrea Yates”.
I still think that I’m a terrible mother for thinking what I did when Freyja was so tiny. When people comment on how wonderful she is, or how smart, or how pretty, I feel guilty, because I couldn’t see how wonderful she was when she was a newborn because my brain doesn’t function properly. I hope that someday I can get past it.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Birth
For Thordora's contest - and my own personal therapy.
Freyja's Birth
32 Weeks.
“I think she’s breech, but I can’t tell because of all your padding!” The nurse-midwife said, in a good-natured teasing manner. We had a good relationship, and she knew how best to get through to me. “Let’s send you for an ultrasound to make sure, if she is, there are some exercises you’ll want to do before she gets too big to flip easily.”
The husband and I nodded; another look at our growing baby was okay by us. Little did I know that agreeing to that ultrasound would start a steep, slippery slope of myriad interventions that would end in what I truly believe, for me, was birth trauma. I’ve learned a lot about labor and birth in training to become a doula – and yes, it was my birth experience that pushed me in that direction – enough to know that what happened to me just shouldn’t have happened at all.
32 Weeks, 5 Days
Checking my voicemail on the way home from work, I found a message from the scheduler at the clinic. “Heather, this is Josi, from the midwives office. I need you to call me back as soon as possible!” Driving down the highway, I dialed the number, my hands shaking and my heart in my chest. I could feel Freyja moving around inside of me, but it didn’t reassure me.
“Your ultrasound showed Freyja as too small for dates. She’s not growing properly, and we need you to come in for a non-stress test as soon as you can.”
I drove straight there, after calling Kerwin at work to have him meet me at the clinic. I got hooked up to the machines and the sound of Freyja’s heartbeat filled the tiny monitoring room. The midwife came in, not MY midwife but one of her partners. “I’m afraid we have to diagnose the baby with IUGR. That means –“
I cut her off. “Intrauterine growth restriction. I know what it means.”
I had twice weekly NST’s leading up to my due date. Every one was fine. I had weekly Doppler ultrasounds to measure the blood flow from my placenta to the baby and how the blood moved through the umbilical cord. Every single one was normal, even the one on my estimated due date as I napped on the table while the tech phoned the results into my midwife. I was terrified at each ultrasound, most of which were scheduled while my husband worked, terrified that they would say “She’s not growing, she hasn’t grown. The blood flow is bad. We have to induce you now. We have to get her out now.”
40 weeks, 3 days.
I wanted to be done. I walked and walked. Miles, it seemed. The baby was still floating, her head not engaged in my pelvis. The midwife checked my cervix. A fingertip dilated. She wanted to sweep my membranes, but I hadn’t dilated enough.
“You know we can’t let IUGR moms go more than a week overdue.”
“I know.”
“Let’s schedule an induction for Friday morning. That’s my call day.”
Small comfort. I went home and read. I wondered if I was favorable for induction. They wouldn’t induce me otherwise, right?
How naïve I was. How foolish and naïve, and impatient and excited to meet my baby.
41 weeks
We arrived at the hospital at 7:30 am, having high hopes that we would be parents by the afternoon.
We got checked into our room, and they came to give me my IV. They couldn’t find a vein in my hand, and it went on the side of my arm. I should have realized that this was a sign of things to come. We were excited, happy. Our labor nurse was wonderful. She was kind, attentive, and funny. I really wanted to have the baby while she was there to help us.
The pitocin was turned up every hour, until I was having contractions every two minutes that kept increasing in intensity. I wanted to hold out. No drugs. My husband was no help. He sat and read, or listened to music on the CD player that was supposed to be for me, to help me cope with labor. He held my hand in an unattached fashion until I told him to put the book away and pay attention, then he was better. I had friends there, and they helped. They distracted me and kept my spirits up. I finally asked for a narcotic at 2 PM, after 7 hours and only dilated to three centimeters. They broke my water so they could install internal monitors, and then gave me the shot of Stadol. I drifted in and out of sleep, coloring in a My Little Pony coloring book that my best friend’s daughter had donated to the cause. I could feel the contractions, but they no longer hurt as badly as before. I could cope, even if I was singing "Tainted Love" along with the beeps of the equipment.
My dad and grandma showed up around 5 pm as the narcotic was wearing off. My husband went to call some friends and family. My friends left to get dinner. My dad went to go to the bathroom, leaving me alone with my grandmother as the contractions came back with such a vengeance. I wanted to sit up, straddle the bed. The nurses kept scolding me, that they couldn’t get the baby’s heartbeat. I knew she was OK. I wanted to sit up, sitting up helped. My grandmother, bless her heart, patted my back and sat with me as I struggled through the contractions on my own.
I have never forgiven my husband for what I see as abandoning me, and I don’t know if I ever will. I don't think that he realizes even now how I feel about this. I am terrified that he'll do the same thing should I attempt a VBAC - I wouldn't give birth again without a doula, no matter what it cost me - because of my fear of my otherwise very thoughtful, attentive, and loving husband leaving me to go yack on the phone.
My midwife came back to check my dilation at around 7:30pm. My cervix had swollen shut. 12 hours of pitocin induced labor, broken waters, antibiotics for Group B strep, all for nothing.
“The baby is fine, her heart rate is great. She's tolerating labor just fine, but we’re going to have to do a c-section because of the Group B Strep and your water being broken.”
I was so tired by that point that I just wanted her out. “Can we turn the pitocin off, then?” I asked.
We sat around for another two hours, waiting for the obstetrician who would do my c-section. I called my mom, who left work early. My dad and grandma stayed around, which was nice of them. My friends came back, but they wouldn't allow Angie in the operating room – she was my photographer. The anesthesiologist came in and explained the spinal procedure to me, and I signed away my right to sue if I became paralyzed. I had a catheter inserted. I met the OB, and I trusted him immediately. I can’t explain why, I just did. My midwife would assist with the surgery.
I walked to the operating room under my own power, and clambered up onto the operating table. They gave my spinal in that forward leaning position I had wanted to spend my entire labor in while the nurse held my hand. She was a good nurse, too. The OR was so cold, and I was so tired. I just wanted to meet my baby. Kerwin came in, wearing scrubs, a hair cap, and shoe covers, and was allowed to sit by my head.
I don’t remember a lot about the surgery. I wanted to watch, but they wouldn’t let me. I didn’t feel anything, tugging or pain. I heard the OB say, “Heather, your baby is a stinker; she has her head right where I need to cut!”
I knew the moment they had pulled her out, because she started to scream. She was indignant, angry. I could feel her emotions flooding over me. It was 10:50 pm on August 27th. Happy birthday, baby.
“It’s a girl, right?” I said. Nothing about fingers and toes, just needed to know if it was a girl.
“Yes, it’s a girl!” my midwife called. “Wow, she’s chubby.”
“Wow, she’s chubby.” What? Wasn’t she supposed to be SMALL? IUGR and all that? TINY? We were expecting a five or six pounder. They sewed me up after I sent Kerwin off to the nursery with Freyja. It’s all a blur, that part.
I didn’t see her until an hour and a half later, all cleaned up and smelling like baby wash. She was beautiful. She was eight pounds, one ounce. She had a 34 cm head! One faulty ultrasound measurement screwed up my birth experience. One faulty ultrasound measurement marked me as high-risk, still marks me as high-risk. Intervention after intervention followed, just to “see if she was breech”.
I could probably pay for years of therapy, and it wouldn’t help. I felt cheated, robbed. I still do. I was so consumed by feelings of guilt and anger that I had a hard time bonding with my newborn. I wanted to bond with her so, so badly, and I didn’t. I had to fall in love with her over time. It wasn’t immediate, and I still wonder if I’m a bad mother because of it. Breastfeeding was an utter failure, and I still don’t know why. Was it because of the excess amounts of fluid pumped into me during 12 hours of induction and 36 hours of recovery? Was it because the ill-educated nurse came into my room at four AM and convinced a morphine-doped post-surgery me that my baby was hungry and I needed to use formula to feed her until my milk came in? Will it happen with another baby?
The postpartum period was incredibly difficult. My husband went right back to work and a new semester of college classes. I had little help at home. I still don’t know how I coped, just that I did because I had to.
We’re thinking about a second baby. I have the “right” kind of incision, and I’m hoping for a home VBAC. Birth should be fulfilling. It’s such an incredible, life changing event. It shouldn’t be managed and medicalized. It should take place with those you love, in a secure and comfortable environment where one can surrender to it. At least, that’s what I believe.
(I do feel I have to mention that my husband now knows the error of his ways and has been a marvelous and excellent father since he first laid eyes on Freyja in that operating room. The picture below is from her second day of life.)
Freyja's Birth
32 Weeks.
“I think she’s breech, but I can’t tell because of all your padding!” The nurse-midwife said, in a good-natured teasing manner. We had a good relationship, and she knew how best to get through to me. “Let’s send you for an ultrasound to make sure, if she is, there are some exercises you’ll want to do before she gets too big to flip easily.”
The husband and I nodded; another look at our growing baby was okay by us. Little did I know that agreeing to that ultrasound would start a steep, slippery slope of myriad interventions that would end in what I truly believe, for me, was birth trauma. I’ve learned a lot about labor and birth in training to become a doula – and yes, it was my birth experience that pushed me in that direction – enough to know that what happened to me just shouldn’t have happened at all.
32 Weeks, 5 Days
Checking my voicemail on the way home from work, I found a message from the scheduler at the clinic. “Heather, this is Josi, from the midwives office. I need you to call me back as soon as possible!” Driving down the highway, I dialed the number, my hands shaking and my heart in my chest. I could feel Freyja moving around inside of me, but it didn’t reassure me.
“Your ultrasound showed Freyja as too small for dates. She’s not growing properly, and we need you to come in for a non-stress test as soon as you can.”
I drove straight there, after calling Kerwin at work to have him meet me at the clinic. I got hooked up to the machines and the sound of Freyja’s heartbeat filled the tiny monitoring room. The midwife came in, not MY midwife but one of her partners. “I’m afraid we have to diagnose the baby with IUGR. That means –“
I cut her off. “Intrauterine growth restriction. I know what it means.”
I had twice weekly NST’s leading up to my due date. Every one was fine. I had weekly Doppler ultrasounds to measure the blood flow from my placenta to the baby and how the blood moved through the umbilical cord. Every single one was normal, even the one on my estimated due date as I napped on the table while the tech phoned the results into my midwife. I was terrified at each ultrasound, most of which were scheduled while my husband worked, terrified that they would say “She’s not growing, she hasn’t grown. The blood flow is bad. We have to induce you now. We have to get her out now.”
40 weeks, 3 days.
I wanted to be done. I walked and walked. Miles, it seemed. The baby was still floating, her head not engaged in my pelvis. The midwife checked my cervix. A fingertip dilated. She wanted to sweep my membranes, but I hadn’t dilated enough.
“You know we can’t let IUGR moms go more than a week overdue.”
“I know.”
“Let’s schedule an induction for Friday morning. That’s my call day.”
Small comfort. I went home and read. I wondered if I was favorable for induction. They wouldn’t induce me otherwise, right?
How naïve I was. How foolish and naïve, and impatient and excited to meet my baby.
41 weeks
We arrived at the hospital at 7:30 am, having high hopes that we would be parents by the afternoon.
We got checked into our room, and they came to give me my IV. They couldn’t find a vein in my hand, and it went on the side of my arm. I should have realized that this was a sign of things to come. We were excited, happy. Our labor nurse was wonderful. She was kind, attentive, and funny. I really wanted to have the baby while she was there to help us.
The pitocin was turned up every hour, until I was having contractions every two minutes that kept increasing in intensity. I wanted to hold out. No drugs. My husband was no help. He sat and read, or listened to music on the CD player that was supposed to be for me, to help me cope with labor. He held my hand in an unattached fashion until I told him to put the book away and pay attention, then he was better. I had friends there, and they helped. They distracted me and kept my spirits up. I finally asked for a narcotic at 2 PM, after 7 hours and only dilated to three centimeters. They broke my water so they could install internal monitors, and then gave me the shot of Stadol. I drifted in and out of sleep, coloring in a My Little Pony coloring book that my best friend’s daughter had donated to the cause. I could feel the contractions, but they no longer hurt as badly as before. I could cope, even if I was singing "Tainted Love" along with the beeps of the equipment.
My dad and grandma showed up around 5 pm as the narcotic was wearing off. My husband went to call some friends and family. My friends left to get dinner. My dad went to go to the bathroom, leaving me alone with my grandmother as the contractions came back with such a vengeance. I wanted to sit up, straddle the bed. The nurses kept scolding me, that they couldn’t get the baby’s heartbeat. I knew she was OK. I wanted to sit up, sitting up helped. My grandmother, bless her heart, patted my back and sat with me as I struggled through the contractions on my own.
I have never forgiven my husband for what I see as abandoning me, and I don’t know if I ever will. I don't think that he realizes even now how I feel about this. I am terrified that he'll do the same thing should I attempt a VBAC - I wouldn't give birth again without a doula, no matter what it cost me - because of my fear of my otherwise very thoughtful, attentive, and loving husband leaving me to go yack on the phone.
My midwife came back to check my dilation at around 7:30pm. My cervix had swollen shut. 12 hours of pitocin induced labor, broken waters, antibiotics for Group B strep, all for nothing.
“The baby is fine, her heart rate is great. She's tolerating labor just fine, but we’re going to have to do a c-section because of the Group B Strep and your water being broken.”
I was so tired by that point that I just wanted her out. “Can we turn the pitocin off, then?” I asked.
We sat around for another two hours, waiting for the obstetrician who would do my c-section. I called my mom, who left work early. My dad and grandma stayed around, which was nice of them. My friends came back, but they wouldn't allow Angie in the operating room – she was my photographer. The anesthesiologist came in and explained the spinal procedure to me, and I signed away my right to sue if I became paralyzed. I had a catheter inserted. I met the OB, and I trusted him immediately. I can’t explain why, I just did. My midwife would assist with the surgery.
I walked to the operating room under my own power, and clambered up onto the operating table. They gave my spinal in that forward leaning position I had wanted to spend my entire labor in while the nurse held my hand. She was a good nurse, too. The OR was so cold, and I was so tired. I just wanted to meet my baby. Kerwin came in, wearing scrubs, a hair cap, and shoe covers, and was allowed to sit by my head.
I don’t remember a lot about the surgery. I wanted to watch, but they wouldn’t let me. I didn’t feel anything, tugging or pain. I heard the OB say, “Heather, your baby is a stinker; she has her head right where I need to cut!”
I knew the moment they had pulled her out, because she started to scream. She was indignant, angry. I could feel her emotions flooding over me. It was 10:50 pm on August 27th. Happy birthday, baby.
“It’s a girl, right?” I said. Nothing about fingers and toes, just needed to know if it was a girl.
“Yes, it’s a girl!” my midwife called. “Wow, she’s chubby.”
“Wow, she’s chubby.” What? Wasn’t she supposed to be SMALL? IUGR and all that? TINY? We were expecting a five or six pounder. They sewed me up after I sent Kerwin off to the nursery with Freyja. It’s all a blur, that part.
I didn’t see her until an hour and a half later, all cleaned up and smelling like baby wash. She was beautiful. She was eight pounds, one ounce. She had a 34 cm head! One faulty ultrasound measurement screwed up my birth experience. One faulty ultrasound measurement marked me as high-risk, still marks me as high-risk. Intervention after intervention followed, just to “see if she was breech”.
I could probably pay for years of therapy, and it wouldn’t help. I felt cheated, robbed. I still do. I was so consumed by feelings of guilt and anger that I had a hard time bonding with my newborn. I wanted to bond with her so, so badly, and I didn’t. I had to fall in love with her over time. It wasn’t immediate, and I still wonder if I’m a bad mother because of it. Breastfeeding was an utter failure, and I still don’t know why. Was it because of the excess amounts of fluid pumped into me during 12 hours of induction and 36 hours of recovery? Was it because the ill-educated nurse came into my room at four AM and convinced a morphine-doped post-surgery me that my baby was hungry and I needed to use formula to feed her until my milk came in? Will it happen with another baby?
The postpartum period was incredibly difficult. My husband went right back to work and a new semester of college classes. I had little help at home. I still don’t know how I coped, just that I did because I had to.
We’re thinking about a second baby. I have the “right” kind of incision, and I’m hoping for a home VBAC. Birth should be fulfilling. It’s such an incredible, life changing event. It shouldn’t be managed and medicalized. It should take place with those you love, in a secure and comfortable environment where one can surrender to it. At least, that’s what I believe.
(I do feel I have to mention that my husband now knows the error of his ways and has been a marvelous and excellent father since he first laid eyes on Freyja in that operating room. The picture below is from her second day of life.)
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Freyja's Personal Dialect
While showing Freyja the video Karrie posted of Max drinking hot tea, here is the conversation we had:
Freyja: Hey, a boy! Whas him nayme?
Me: that's Max!
Freyja: Mak? I go dah park wid Mak, ok?
Me: You can't, he lives too far away.
Freyja: Ok, we go in dah caaah intead.
Me: It's a fourteen hour drive, honey.
Freyja: OOOOOOOOOH we go uppa kye in uh airpane when we win da lotto? Mumma you go uppa kye sooner?
she still can't do "sk" "x" and "th" sounds, and "l" within words.
anything with a dipthong she sounds like a down-home Alabama girl
and she says "car" like she's from Boston - caaaaah.
In addition, "uppa kye" is "up in the sky", "sooner" is "later" - she won't say later, I think she thinks if she says "sooner" it will be as she says and happen "sooner". Also, whenever she asks for anything pricey or outrageous we tell her "ok, use your Baby Magick and win us the lotto, then you can have it".
She also remembers anything we ever said to her and works it into conversations constantly. I'm not going uppa kye until late Feburary, but she talks about it all the time. I fear the teenage years.
Freyja: Hey, a boy! Whas him nayme?
Me: that's Max!
Freyja: Mak? I go dah park wid Mak, ok?
Me: You can't, he lives too far away.
Freyja: Ok, we go in dah caaah intead.
Me: It's a fourteen hour drive, honey.
Freyja: OOOOOOOOOH we go uppa kye in uh airpane when we win da lotto? Mumma you go uppa kye sooner?
she still can't do "sk" "x" and "th" sounds, and "l" within words.
anything with a dipthong she sounds like a down-home Alabama girl
and she says "car" like she's from Boston - caaaaah.
In addition, "uppa kye" is "up in the sky", "sooner" is "later" - she won't say later, I think she thinks if she says "sooner" it will be as she says and happen "sooner". Also, whenever she asks for anything pricey or outrageous we tell her "ok, use your Baby Magick and win us the lotto, then you can have it".
She also remembers anything we ever said to her and works it into conversations constantly. I'm not going uppa kye until late Feburary, but she talks about it all the time. I fear the teenage years.
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