HL's Birth Story

My current situation has me reminiscing about the births of my two wonderful boys. I would like to preserve them here- hope you don't mind. If you're interested, read on; if not, I won't be offended. In the over four years that we tried to have our first child, we suffered through several tests and three miscarriages. Finally. Finally, we conceived a pregnancy that persevered through the first trimester. The pregnancy had its pains but all in all, I was just so very tickled to be pregnant that my attitude remained elated throughout. The due date was the 22nd. On the 17th, I was at the doctors for my weekly visit. For two full weeks previous to this, I had been at 2cm; this day, I was up to 3cm. As I had met every doctor in the office except the one that was on call that weekend, my doctor pulled her in the room and introduced us. We talked about how the number 20 was very important to Hubby and I and jokingly asked her if 5 pm on the 20th would work for her. She said she was open then and we set up a date, jokingly. We both liked her immediately. As coincidence would have it, I woke up the morning of the 20th with very little doubt in my mind that that would indeed be the day I would deliver. My niece, CK (an RN) was in town to help us with the delivery- she started timing my contractions. They were somewhere around 6 minutes apart at that point, I believe. I felt tired, but otherwise absolutely fine. The contractions didn't even hurt. I could feel them, but more as a pressure than any sort of pain. We decided to go garage saling (is that a word?) with my mom for baby necessities and spent the entire morning doing just that, while timing contractions. Right around lunchtime, the contractions showed signs of becoming more frequent. We headed home so I could fill my belly and shower before heading in to the hospital. I remember relaxing in my new rocking chair and all of a sudden feeling that it was time. It was time. So, we left for the hospital. It was shortly before 5pm (I kid you not!) when we strolled up to the desk and, smiling ear-to-ear, I informed the nurse "We are here to have a baby." She looked at me incredulously and directed me to a room to be checked. The resident who checked me was shocked to find that I was already over 5cm dilated! He admitted me right away. Throughout my stay, my mom and dad, Hubby’s mom and her friend Chris waited in the waiting room down the hall. My niece would make regular trips down to the hall, keeping them updated. She also explained all the monitors and such to us. It was so nice to have our own personal nurse in the room! Very reassuring… The next couple hours were spent trying to remain comfortable through the increasingly painful contractions. I made it to 8.5 cm before I needed an epidural, but then I required it IMMEDIATELY!! They somehow had the wrong pager number, and there were issues getting hold of the anesthesiologist in a timely manner. He did eventually arrive- in a sweaty jogging suit. He said he would be right back, he needed to change. "No," I said, in a joking manner "I don't care if you're naked, as long as you can help me with the pain!" He laughed and started getting ready for my epidural. Now, epidurals can be a scary, challenging thing. Here's what I experienced: 1) the nurse makes you sign a sheet that you completely understand that this procedure could cause paralysis, even death. There's a confidence booster for you! Then 2) before they pull out the needle, they make all extra family members leave the room because they've had so many visitors faint upon seeing the needle and its insertion! Oh, I was afraid before, but that just calmed all my fears. Not! 3) Lastly, they explain that it could take up to 20 minutes for the procedure and you have to sit absolutely still. If you flinch, he could hit the wrong spot. Sitting motionless for 20 minutes may be possible in most cases, but certainly NOT while enduring body-wracking contractions once a minute! Luckily for me, the anesthesiologist was done very quickly, without issue. Phew. The birth itself was pretty much by the book and went well. HL was born at 9:53 that evening measuring 21" and 9lbs. His hair was carrot orange. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. For the first moment he was born, he was a good baby. The nurses in the nursery loved to cuddle with him. I remember that he would often have his fingers crossed as though he were praying. While we had a narrowed-down list of names to choose from, we did not have any particular favorites (we didn't know if it was a boy or girl). We did however, like the name Garret and had almost settled on that one. That is, until Hubby thought about the fact that since he had red hair, he would be Garret the Carrot all his childhood! Yikes. We eventually got it down to just three names but were definitely stuck. Finally, after being warned by the nurse that we had to have a name within the hour, we were desperate and decided to let the baby choose himself. We said the three names slowly. He smiled when we said the name that is now his. And that, my friends, is HL's birth story.

HL and the Baby

Even though Hubby and I did not plan to tell either of our sons about the baby until after we made it beyond the first trimester, HL figured it out the very day we found out! He can be in another room, concentrating fully on some other item, and still hear what is said in another room! I don't know how he does it, and I fear I may never get used to it, either. Anyway, the day I discovered I was pregnant, I was also having horrible pains in my lower abdomen. The doctor tested me for pregnancy which, obviously, was positive. I was shocked. We had tried for months then decided now was not a good time after all- and that's when we got pregnant. But I digress; the doctor then sent me in for an ultrasound to make sure the pain was not caused by an ectopic pregnancy (where the egg lodges in a fallopian tube). The boys were with my parents while I was doing all this and I was talking to my mom on my cell phone, explaining it all, while I waited for my ultrasound. Later that evening, while we sat eating our dinner, HL asked "Mommy, are you pregnant?" Again, I was shocked. "Do you know what that means? Pregnancy?" "It means you're going to have a baby. Are you?" "I am." Intuitive, good-eared little stinker. But that's not the end of this story- oh no! Something else Hubby and I were planning to do together later today was tell HL about the miscarriage. However, I was on the phone today talking to a friend about what was going on while HL played in the other room. At one point, I said "the baby is dead..." and HL came running to me "the baby is dead? The baby is dead?!?" I quickly got off the phone to talk to my eldest. I explained that when babies are so tiny and are still in their mommy's tummy, they don't yet have all their parts; they're still growing them. Sometimes, I said, some of the parts get jumbled up and the baby doesn't make it*. I explained that none of us had any control over it, it just happens sometimes. It is very sad. I'm sorry that this happened. From the very minute he heard I was pregnant, HL was extremely excited to have another little baby in the house. He talked about how he was going to read books to his new brother (he was set on having a boy). We'll have to feed him, help change his diaper, and find rattles for him; he would tell AW. At least weekly he asked when the baby was going to come home. Oh, it was adorable- and encouraging- to see. Hubby and I were terrified to break this sad news to him. It would break his heart. This brings us to my third shock of the story.... After giving it some thought, the first thing HL said was "But mommy, all my parts got put together, right? And AW's too. That's a good thing. Oh, and I'm glad your parts are right or you couldn't be my mommy now." Of course, he did also say how sad it made him feel, and that he had really wanted another brother, but was completely level-headed through it all. Relief pulsed through me- in more ways than one. He had not only assuaged my fears of telling him, but said just the thing I needed to hear as well. I wonder if I will ever fully realize the perception children have. *Thank you, CK, for the suggestion.

Lost Baby

Hubby was far more eloquent and kind than I feel right now. I completely agree with all that he said, but am still working through a good bit of anger. As with my third miscarriage, I have learned (via ultrasound) that the baby's heart has stopped beating. My choices right now are to have a doctor perform a D&C or allow nature to take its course. I prefer the natural route. Now, I wait.... I spent all of yesterday in tears. Today, I am numb. Playing it low key, staying close to home for that initial rush that will tell me my body is ready to miscarry. Until then, my body seems to think it is still pregnant- I still have a lot of the same symptoms. And while I did my original grieving, I am in a holding pattern; I will have far more grieving to do when my body is finished. This sucks.

Well.....

We've sent another babe to be with Pappy. For those of you unfamiliar, Pappy is my father who passed away in 1999. Unfortunately, for reasons unknown, Our Latest has joined it's other siblings who did not make it to term. It gives me some small measure of comfort to believe they are keeping Pappy company. Though it happened early in the pregnancy, it is still painful, and yet, is a reminder of just how precious human life is. If you are a parent hug your kids and tell them you love them. If you're a kid, hug your parents and tell them thank you.

Early morning weakness

It's 5 am when I hear my sons' door close, followed by my youngest's shout: "isn't everybody awake?" He just recently, three nights ago, moved out of the crib and into a big boy bed. He has never been out and about with the house so quiet. I'm sure this is a disconcerting feeling. He found his way to my bedside where he asked if he could climb in with me. In a moment of totally exhausted weakness, I tell him yes... ...and immediately my practical side screams "What have you done?!?!" In one split second, I have taught my son that he can crawl out of bed at any hour and climb into the warmth of mommy's. I have just set myself up for hours, nights, probably even months of retraining him to stay in his own bed. But then he snuggles right up to me, his head on my chest. He smells of tear-free shampoo, sleep, and little-boy sweat. I bury my nose in his hair and revel in his sweetness. And I am suddenly so very thankful for my weakness.

Asthma

HL had his second asthma "attack" yesterday. His first came on while we were in Iowa this June. We were hoping it was just triggered by something that his body was not used to. Not so, apparently. As anyone who knows us knows, we certainly do not have a sterile environment here at home- especially since we share our home with a big dog. We also try to expose our children to many different environments/animals not only in the interest of learning, but to (hopefully) lessen the chance of asthma. We've succeeded on the former, failed on the latter. I wonder, is asthma hereditary? HL's dad and aunt both had it as children, but, fortunately, soon outgrew it. Let's hope that's the case here, eh? So, here we go on a journey of learning a new aspect of our oldest, and picking up loads of medical information in the process. He is very good about telling us when he feels he might need another "puff", and does the inhaler/spacer combo like a champ. The irony about his asthma is that it has actually made life just a bit simpler in at least one way. Here is the story: All his life, he has been a real pill about taking medication (pun intended). It was ALWAYS an extreme battle to get him to take any medication. During one cold, we purchased four or five different medications to try to find the one that he could stomach. Only one was tolerable. While in Iowa, after playing hard on a farm, running til he was ragged with several cousins, and being exposed to many unique weeds; HL was hit with something akin to allergies- only with symptoms more indicative of a cold. He sent himself to bed and pretty much stayed there the remainder of the day- that's when you know a four year old really does NOT feel well! When he awoke the next morning he was wheezing, struggling to breathe, and even started to look a little blue. We took him to a local doctor's office where he was diagnosed with "asthmatic bronchitis". Essentially asthma, but it can't truly be diagnosed as that until it happens more often. He received two nebulizer treatments, which caused us to sit at the doctor's office for quite some time. While waiting, I picked up a colorful brochure that talked about antibiotics. The writers of this brochure portrayed germs as nasty, scary little monsters. The antibiotics were brightly colored "bombs" (for lack of a better word) that defeated the germs. HL took to it immediately. He was actually excited to get some medicine to kill all those germ-monsters in his body. And, he took his super-nasty tasting prescription with hardly a flinch! Where medications were concerned, HL was a new kid. Who knew? And now, I need to do some research on asthma. Please excuse me....

Sleepy talk

AW spent the night in bed with us last night. At one point, he murmured in a state of half-sleep: "Mommy, we are family." Then moments later: "That makes us good and strong." Then sailed back to dreamland. With my recent depression, among other things, we have (obviously) been having some issues in our household lately. This proclamation was just the reminder and affirmation that I needed. How often does one receive such a solid lesson from their three year old? We ARE family. Indeed.

HL's Feat

After performing a feat of tremendous effort (for him anyway), HL goes running to his dad, gagging the entire way, to exclaim: "Daddy! Daddy! I ate a grape! A whole grape!!" Amazing.

Baby update

Still one day shy of 10 weeks, I am already noticing my belly start to grow just a tiny bit bigger. To my logical mind, this is a good sign; I imagine that if my baby were not thriving, it would certainly not be growing. Thus, everyday, I allow myself to be a bit more confident and excited that this baby is here to stay.

Today

I believe I may be starting to pull out of this depression funk. What makes me think that? Just this evening, my thoughts have begun switching from sadness to... Anger. Yes, anger. I am angry that society puts such a stigma on depression. It is a physical disease, a chemical imbalance. Those who suffer from depression are no more "bad people" than those who suffer from diabetes or hypothyroidism. I have a disorder that requires me to take medication in order to maintain my health- again, just as a diabetic or someone with hypothyroidism does. Why the stigma?!? I'm also angry that certain medical professionals have been so against taking antidepressants during pregnancy. My OB's nurse, among others, just kept saying "get off the Zoloft for pregnancy". I was terrified of possibly hurting my (as of yet unconceived) baby. I went off Zoloft. It left me in such a state that I was, at times, suicidal. And when I learned that I am pregnant, I was horrified. What would happen to my baby? I obviously must be on Zoloft- regardless. I told my doctor that without the little Zoloft I am on, my life is in peril. She took it completely in stride, said the new findings are that Zoloft is probably not dangerous to the fetus. She even told me that I could bump up my dose after the first trimester if I need to! Had I known that to begin with, I never would have weaned myself off it! I would now be able to actually enjoy this glorious miracle of pregnancy instead of digging myself out of depression oblivion. GRRRR.... Yes, I think I am coming out of it. Anger is definitely a good sign.

The Dichotomy of Me

Just two weeks before finding out I was pregnant, I penned this post, but never actually finished it or published it. I got some thoughts out, but lacked the energy to hone it, to really say all I needed to. Even so, here it is: "I am feeling terrible about my lack of communication with those dear to me. I am sorry. Not only have I been super busy, I have been fighting some rather difficult personal demons. Please forgive me. I have been ashamed to share these demons, but my mind is finally wrapping itself around the fact that I am not a bad person for being depressed; I have a disease. Now that I seem to be pulling out of it, I feel the urge to do some writing; release a bit... Way back when I was a young teen, I was diagnosed with depression. For the most part, I am able to manage it, but ever since then I have dealt with periodic tumbles into the depths of despair. This one that I am (hopefully) on the tail end of, was one of the worst- and yet, there was a whole new aspect to it this time. For the first time I was able to detach myself to a degree. I think my dream last night describes it well- I dreamt I was back in school and had an assignment to write a paper about myself. I titled it "The Dichotomy of Me". When I awoke, I realized that title is perfect. When around other people a logical, responsible side of me takes over and I act normal. But on the inside, a raging battle ensues; a struggle between light and dark, good and bad. I have (so far) bested the beast within who feeds my head with thoughts of complete failure, utter despair, and, often, suicide. For a while there, I was in a constant state of shear panic- absolutely terrified that the evil residing in me would win. Several times, I asked Hubby to stay by my side, to not leave me alone- just in case. A couple events precipitated this episode; at work I was stressed beyond the maximum by not only being responsible for three separate integral positions (financials, managing receptionists and inventory), but managing this while moving the entire practice to a new building. I was working 75-80 hours a week during January and only got six full days off in the first three months of this year. I was completely overwhelmed. Shortly before all this, Hubby and I decided we wanted another baby- something I have to prepare for since I am on antidepressants (shouldn't be on meds while pregnant/nursing), so I started to wean myself down slowly. Now, in hindsight, that was not the best decision (downright stupid, in fact) but when your heart speaks to you so clearly, it's nearly impossible to resist. Actually, I was managing to keep my head above water for quite some time. I would have some dips, but generally did alright. It was when I started acupuncture (to help with the increasing panic I was feeling) that the floodgates really opened. My Acupuncturist, Fred, said I was a ticking time bomb- ready to explode at any moment. His plan was to slowly, very slowly release the chi that was locked up, unable to flow. Well, along with the chi, he released a mass of emotions: anger, resentment, discontent. All the feelings I had bottled up in order to get through life. It was through this process that I realized something profound. Though I am, on the surface, happy, my life is not what I want it to be. I pine for a life with less stimulation, more peace; less stress, more contentment; less "stuff" and more of what really matters: time. Time to be with my loved ones, time to be alone with my thoughts, time to pursue my dreams. I have often composed posts in my head regarding this very subject and have decided it is time to share my story. This is something I am doing not for pity or to broadcast that I am a victim. Quite the opposite: I want to let everyone know that I am better than this depression."

Absenteeism

Sorry. So sorry for my absenteeism. I've been on quite the roller coaster ride the last couple months... This spring, I was struggling against a rather strong internal demon that answers to the name of severe depression. Someday soon I will publish the post I wrote back then- but failed to actually publish. Then, right in the middle of this struggle, I got quite the surprise: I'm pregnant! Which is such a wonderful thing to happen- it just happened to be the very worst timing for me. So, now I have been experiencing the feeling of moms who get pregnant unexpectedly, who are not necessarily ready for it. It's a new adventure, to be sure. Months ago, I titled my depression post "The Dichotomy of Me" and this pregnancy has only served to strengthen that dichotomy. I'm not sure I have the words to describe all the different emotions I'm having, but I'm going to try... First, there's the vacillation between utter and total excitement over being pregnant (I've wanted another baby for quite some time now) and the despair over being pregnant (now truly is not a good time either emotionally or financially). Add to that the fact that this baby is really kicking my butt in the morning sickness/hormone issues department- to the point that I often spend a good portion of the day in bed, absolutely miserable. My head tries, in vain, to convince my body that this is definitely all worth it. I know that it is totally worth the illness of it, but when you're "in the thick of sick"* it's difficult to remember... If that wasn't enough, having had several miscarriages, this first trimester is, well... nerve-racking. The sad part of it is that when I do happen to have a good day physically, I can't even enjoy it because then I'm afraid that it is an omen of a miscarriage. I want so badly to just be happy and excited, not have that looming miscarriage cloud over my head. I look at women who have no question that they are having a baby, and I am envious. On the other hand, I feel I have a deeper appreciation for my babies that do make it. So, there's my excuse. I try to justify it, but still feel terrible guilt over not posting my sons' accomplishments and memories. I will do better now, I promise. *rather fitting description penned by my sister-in-law!