I'm the kind of person who doesn't like being told what to do. I like to do things my way, in my own time. I also like to beat people's expectations. If someone said I couldn't do something, I would do it, just to prove them wrong. Unless, of course, I got the feeling that they were challenging me just to get me to do the opposite. At the same time, I hate giving up. I don't like thinking that something beat me.
Taking all of these traits together, it isn't difficult to imagine the internal connundrum I experienced when breastfeeding wasn't working. What was worse was that, shortly after my milk came in, the supply was suddenly much reduced. I panicked. Both my first and second choice for feeding my daughter seemed to be denied to me. I was angry. I wanted to stubborn my way through, but there wasn't much I could do if my body wouldn't cooperate.
One night, after a long pumping session resulted in little milk, I was done. My hormones were raging and I was sobbing. I didn't want to have to feed my child formula, but I was short on sleep and the pumping wasn't going any better than the breastfeeding. In my exhaustion, I went to Phil and asked if we could talk about our options. I explained that I didn't want to do formula, but the pumping made feedings take twice as long and wasn't producing much for all the effort. Phil looked at me and gave me the best answer. He said it was up to me. He would support me if I wanted to keep trying, or he would support switching to formula. He gave me permission to quit.
Once I had received permission to quit, I wanted to try harder to make it work. And, as previously noted, pumping ended up working quite well. But, what I discovered is that granting permission can be an amazing thing. It makes it easier to do what you know you should, but don't want to. It's like when I would diet. If I thought I couldn't have something, it was all I wanted--even if it was something I wouldn't want regularly. Being allowed to do something made it easier not to do it. Much like the child who only wants the toy that is being played with by someone else, it is that which we are told we can't have or can't do that motivates us. Receiving permission can allow us to sit back and evaluate if that is something we really want, or if we were just pushing against being told "no."
I hope to remember this as I raise my daughter, particularly since she already appears to have inherited my stubborn and doesn't like being forced to do anything. Perhaps a little permission can go a long way. It certainly works for me.
1.23.2011
1.21.2011
From Trap to Sieve
I have always prided myself in having a good memory. I could remember obscure details and useless facts better than most people I knew. This talent served me well in school. I could remember not just facts, but generally where they had been located on the page I read them, making open book tests much easier. Such as, that was in a footnote, so I only need to look at the bottom of the pages.
It turned out that this talent was also useful in law school, as I could remember facts from cases really well. When I had worked as a legal assistant and accompanied by boss to trial, I could pull relevant exhibits before he requested them, because I knew what was in them all and roughly what they had been numbered.
My boss told me that he had once been that way, but it had changed after taking the bar exam. This was a refrain I heard from multiple practicing attorneys. I would listen and nod, but internally I believed myself immune. They just didn't know how really great my recall was.
Well, lo and behold, after the massive brain dump that is the bar exam, I noticed that I started having problems thinking of specific words. They were words I knew and should have been able to easily recall, but I would grope for them. I felt like an idiot. I also found myself mixing up words when I would speak. I began to call my cats by the wrong name. It was bizarre, but mostly a nuisance.
Then came pregnancy. The memory seemed to get worse. Phil's cousin Marsha described this to me as the "brain/uterine shunt." All the brain cells go to the baby, never to return. Sure enough, more things began to slip past me. Well, I thought to myself, I'm only pregnant 9 months, then I can recover.
As it turns out, this is not the case. I now suffer from baby brain. And, of course, this condition is exacerbated by being tired--the perpetual state of being for parents. Just this morning, the concept of "guest room" was beyond me as I tried to tell Phil where his laundry was currently located.
So, having watched my brain turn to mush, and my memory slip from trap to sieve, I now understand why adults, particularly parents, always seemed to repeat themselves, tell the same story over and over, misstate or use the wrong word, or have trouble recalling simple words. I will never again make fun of my parents when they call me by one of my siblings' names or look horrified when an attorney misspeaks during oral argument. Now that I have joined their ranks.
1.19.2011
My Village
I don't know where the phrase "It takes a village to raise a child" comes from, although Wikipedia informs me it's from an African proverb, but I first encountered it when former First Lady Hillary Clinton wrote her book with that title. I never read the book, but phrase stuck with me, the idea being that raising children is not an individual task, but rather one that involves lots of people. Although the concept resonated with me, I had no experience to confirm its accuracy.
Growing up, my family was something of an insular unit because we moved roughly every 2 1/2 years. Because my dad was a minister, although we were certainly part of the congregation, because he was often the interim minister, there was no sense of permanency or belonging. Even extended family wasn't readily available, with us visiting my grandparents once or twice a year, as they lived out of state. I can't speak for my parents or siblings, but from my perspective, we never had a village to belong to. Even though my family finally settled down in a single city, I always felt like I was on the outside looking in, never to belong anywhere.
This feeling continued through college graduation. I moved roughly every year, sometimes even more frequently than that. All the while, I kept looking for somewhere to belong and never found it. After I married Phil, I thought having a ready-made church community would help. And, for a while, I did feel part of the church community. Here was a group of people where I found friends that really cared about me. I even found a job where I loved the people I worked with enough to hang out with them after hours. It was not to be, however. Having allowed myself to get attached and start to feel like I belonged, circumstances made it necessary for us to leave.
I didn't want to move to Michigan. First off, there's too much snow and cold and, as I believe I have previously indicated, I am not a fan. Second, it was a small city--about 8,000 people. My mind could barely wrap around the idea of a city smaller than my college. That, and the closest "big" city was Lansing--a city smaller than all but one that I had previously lived in. I was going to be living in a fishbowl and I wasn't particularly thrilled about it. Still, there wasn't really a choice. Phil had gotten a job there and I was going to graduate school.
Phil joined the community before I did, both literally and figuratively. He arrived in late September, whereas I didn't come until the following February. He also met and knew more people than I--from funerals, Rotary, and his chaplaincy with the fire department. I went to school in Lansing and worked in Lansing so, having spent most of my time studying or in Lansing, outside of the church, I didn't really get to know the locals. All that changed with the infertility.
We allowed the public in on our private journey, in part for self-preservation. I didn't want to hear people ask when I was going to have kids, as I would get angry and frustrated, and they wouldn't realize they were stepping on a landmine. It turned out that, by sharing my journey, I received advice from lots of women who had also struggled as well. I had joined a community--those who have fertility issues. Then, when we finally got pregnant, I joined another community--those who had experienced pregnancy. And, now that I have my daughter, I have joined the community of parents. By letting others in on our journey, I had managed to create a support system. I finally had a village.
As it turns out, next month will mark an anniversary of sorts. It will be the longest I have lived consecutively in a single place. And with that anniversary comes the recognition that I feel like I belong here. I love my friends, my job, my community, my church. I don't know that I will ever love the snow, or the weather patterns, but I do think of this place as home. This is my village. And my village is helping me raise Lil' Bit. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Growing up, my family was something of an insular unit because we moved roughly every 2 1/2 years. Because my dad was a minister, although we were certainly part of the congregation, because he was often the interim minister, there was no sense of permanency or belonging. Even extended family wasn't readily available, with us visiting my grandparents once or twice a year, as they lived out of state. I can't speak for my parents or siblings, but from my perspective, we never had a village to belong to. Even though my family finally settled down in a single city, I always felt like I was on the outside looking in, never to belong anywhere.
This feeling continued through college graduation. I moved roughly every year, sometimes even more frequently than that. All the while, I kept looking for somewhere to belong and never found it. After I married Phil, I thought having a ready-made church community would help. And, for a while, I did feel part of the church community. Here was a group of people where I found friends that really cared about me. I even found a job where I loved the people I worked with enough to hang out with them after hours. It was not to be, however. Having allowed myself to get attached and start to feel like I belonged, circumstances made it necessary for us to leave.
I didn't want to move to Michigan. First off, there's too much snow and cold and, as I believe I have previously indicated, I am not a fan. Second, it was a small city--about 8,000 people. My mind could barely wrap around the idea of a city smaller than my college. That, and the closest "big" city was Lansing--a city smaller than all but one that I had previously lived in. I was going to be living in a fishbowl and I wasn't particularly thrilled about it. Still, there wasn't really a choice. Phil had gotten a job there and I was going to graduate school.
Phil joined the community before I did, both literally and figuratively. He arrived in late September, whereas I didn't come until the following February. He also met and knew more people than I--from funerals, Rotary, and his chaplaincy with the fire department. I went to school in Lansing and worked in Lansing so, having spent most of my time studying or in Lansing, outside of the church, I didn't really get to know the locals. All that changed with the infertility.
We allowed the public in on our private journey, in part for self-preservation. I didn't want to hear people ask when I was going to have kids, as I would get angry and frustrated, and they wouldn't realize they were stepping on a landmine. It turned out that, by sharing my journey, I received advice from lots of women who had also struggled as well. I had joined a community--those who have fertility issues. Then, when we finally got pregnant, I joined another community--those who had experienced pregnancy. And, now that I have my daughter, I have joined the community of parents. By letting others in on our journey, I had managed to create a support system. I finally had a village.
As it turns out, next month will mark an anniversary of sorts. It will be the longest I have lived consecutively in a single place. And with that anniversary comes the recognition that I feel like I belong here. I love my friends, my job, my community, my church. I don't know that I will ever love the snow, or the weather patterns, but I do think of this place as home. This is my village. And my village is helping me raise Lil' Bit. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
1.18.2011
How To Feed A Child
Who knew that feeding your new child would be such a harried experience. You're already nervous about your ability to take care of this little person and suddenly you discover that something as simple as feeding it carries a heavy burden. Whether it's the lactation nazis who make you feel like you've never done enough, the formula companies who seduce you with the ease of formula, or the parenting magazines who attempt to walk the line and sing the praises of both, parents are bombarded with tons of advice regarding how and what to feed their children.
While formula feeding was all the rage for my parents' generation, breastfeeding has come back into vogue. We are inundated with radio and television ads advocating the benefits of breastfeeding and are made to feel like failures and stew in a lifetime of guilt if we formula feed. Colostrum is often referred to as "liquid gold" and people who comment on pumping equipment and accessories refer to "every precious drop" and how horrified they are if any is spilled. There are even shields made to collect any milk that is released during the day rather than "wasting it" in a nursing pad in your bra. Then there are the myriad bottles that are made to be "just like mom" or "as close to nature as possible." It's clear that in today's world, breastfeeding is the gold standard and formula-feeding is the also-ran.
What I found missing from all the advice was a recognition that how parents ultimately decide to feed their child depends a great deal on the circumstances of the family and no position, regardless of side, can ever account for the endless possibilities of what brings parents to their ultimate decision. I don't think any woman who gets pregnant plans to formula feed. Even the teenagers of MTV's 16 and Pregnant initially attempt to breastfeed. Any why not? Outside of all the health benefits to mom and baby, it's free! Still, even with all the media pressure to breastfeed, whether parents elect to breastfeed or formula feed, there is plenty of support out there for either decision.
What's frustrating to me is that there is a third option that very few people, medical providers included, consider or recognize. It's not a simple option, or even "ideal" (although none of them is in my book), but it's the one that works best for me. But, before we discuss said option, let's go back and figure out how I got here.
I intended to breastfeed. I knew of the health benefits and was seduced by the thought of effortless weightloss as well as free food. I set up my birth preferences to include immediate bonding and attempts at breastfeeding in an effort to get off to a successful start. Nature, however, had other plans. Between Lil' Bit's need to head to the nursery for oxygen and my erratic heartbeat and fainting, we had little bonding time and no immediate attempts at breastfeeding could be made. When I finally got to the nursery to try breastfeeding, it was a spectacular disaster, with lots of crying on everybody's part. The nurses made a note to get me pumping equipment and to have me meet with the lactation consultant.
In meeting with the lactation consultant, it became clear that breastfeeding was going to take lots of work. Not only was Lil' Bit having issues not wanting to suck because it gave her a headache (the result of her conehead from the long labor and 3-hour pushing session), she kept getting her tongue in the way. We were given a contraption that allowed me to finger-feed Lil' Bit whatever colostrum I was able to pump and then supplement with formula without having to bottlefeed and, in doing so, we would teach her to keep her tongue down. This was an extremely exhausting system, as taping the small tube to a finger and getting said tube and finger into Lil' Bit's mouth was difficult. You wouldn't think so, but trust me on this.
When we would report to the nurses how much she was eating, we were informed that we weren't doing it right. She wasn't eating enough at each feeding. Although I listened thoughtfully, I wasn't sure what the nurse intended me to do. I couldn't make her eat anymore than she was. Besides, if I had been breastfeeding, we'd have no way to know how much she was taking in, so why was there this big to do? Each day I would try to get Lil' Bit to latch, but the lack of immediate food always left her screaming. The nurses told me to stick with it and that once my milk came in, it would be easier, because she would get an immediate response.
Once we got her home, we kept with the pattern. However, it became clear that the finger-feeder was not going to keep up with Lil' Bit. She had an appetite and it could not give her food fast enough. At this point, we elected to feed her from a bottle. I still pumped and we gave her whatever I produced from a bottle first, but if there wasn't enough, we supplemented with formula. I knew giving her the bottle would make breastfeeding more difficult, but the lactation consultant had told me that "going to the breast should be a good experience for the baby, so if she starts screaming, it's time to stop for that attempt." Well, there was always screaming. Remember my previous discussion about a stubborn child? She wanted her food and she wanted it now, thank you very much. I continued to try breastfeeding, but she never did latch. Even after my milk came in and was abundant, she still got her tongue in the way, she bit, she screamed, and we were both left tired and frustrated.
In my exhaustion, I remembered that the point was to give Lil' Bit breastmilk. I was already doing that--albeit by bottle. I was going to have to do that anyway once I got back to work, and this way Phil could help with the feedings. Before Lil' Bit was two weeks old, she was dining exclusively on breastmilk from a bottle without formula supplementation, and does so still today. We had stumbled upon what is known as "exclusive pumping" or "EP." This is option number 3, although it's hard to convince people. Everyone asks if we are breastfeeding or bottlefeeding, and I explain we are bottlefeeding breastmilk. The question should be: are you feeding breastmilk or formula, regardless of the delivery method. With EP, Lil' Bit and I both get the health benefits of breastmilk without the trauma of breastfeeding, and Phil can help with the feedings. It's not perfect. Feeding take longer--I have to warm up the bottle, feed her, and then pump. I am somewhat tied to the pump, as I pump 5-6 times a day at 4-6 hour intervals. And even when she sleeps through the night, I still have to wake up for a pumping session.
Still, doing it this way, I am prepared for when I go back to work and have already begun stockpiling milk in the freezer for when she heads off to daycare. And the truth is, neither breastfeeding nor formula-feeding is perfect either. Each option has benefits and drawbacks and it is up to parents to decide what is best for their child. I just wish there were sources of information out there for parents that outline all the options, highlighting their benefits and drawbacks, without pushing an agenda. As a new parent, I have enough to worry about without feeling as though I have done it all wrong before I barely got started.
*EP is receiving more recognition, such as this article in Time Magazine, but is still not widely accepted.
While formula feeding was all the rage for my parents' generation, breastfeeding has come back into vogue. We are inundated with radio and television ads advocating the benefits of breastfeeding and are made to feel like failures and stew in a lifetime of guilt if we formula feed. Colostrum is often referred to as "liquid gold" and people who comment on pumping equipment and accessories refer to "every precious drop" and how horrified they are if any is spilled. There are even shields made to collect any milk that is released during the day rather than "wasting it" in a nursing pad in your bra. Then there are the myriad bottles that are made to be "just like mom" or "as close to nature as possible." It's clear that in today's world, breastfeeding is the gold standard and formula-feeding is the also-ran.
What I found missing from all the advice was a recognition that how parents ultimately decide to feed their child depends a great deal on the circumstances of the family and no position, regardless of side, can ever account for the endless possibilities of what brings parents to their ultimate decision. I don't think any woman who gets pregnant plans to formula feed. Even the teenagers of MTV's 16 and Pregnant initially attempt to breastfeed. Any why not? Outside of all the health benefits to mom and baby, it's free! Still, even with all the media pressure to breastfeed, whether parents elect to breastfeed or formula feed, there is plenty of support out there for either decision.
What's frustrating to me is that there is a third option that very few people, medical providers included, consider or recognize. It's not a simple option, or even "ideal" (although none of them is in my book), but it's the one that works best for me. But, before we discuss said option, let's go back and figure out how I got here.
I intended to breastfeed. I knew of the health benefits and was seduced by the thought of effortless weightloss as well as free food. I set up my birth preferences to include immediate bonding and attempts at breastfeeding in an effort to get off to a successful start. Nature, however, had other plans. Between Lil' Bit's need to head to the nursery for oxygen and my erratic heartbeat and fainting, we had little bonding time and no immediate attempts at breastfeeding could be made. When I finally got to the nursery to try breastfeeding, it was a spectacular disaster, with lots of crying on everybody's part. The nurses made a note to get me pumping equipment and to have me meet with the lactation consultant.
In meeting with the lactation consultant, it became clear that breastfeeding was going to take lots of work. Not only was Lil' Bit having issues not wanting to suck because it gave her a headache (the result of her conehead from the long labor and 3-hour pushing session), she kept getting her tongue in the way. We were given a contraption that allowed me to finger-feed Lil' Bit whatever colostrum I was able to pump and then supplement with formula without having to bottlefeed and, in doing so, we would teach her to keep her tongue down. This was an extremely exhausting system, as taping the small tube to a finger and getting said tube and finger into Lil' Bit's mouth was difficult. You wouldn't think so, but trust me on this.
When we would report to the nurses how much she was eating, we were informed that we weren't doing it right. She wasn't eating enough at each feeding. Although I listened thoughtfully, I wasn't sure what the nurse intended me to do. I couldn't make her eat anymore than she was. Besides, if I had been breastfeeding, we'd have no way to know how much she was taking in, so why was there this big to do? Each day I would try to get Lil' Bit to latch, but the lack of immediate food always left her screaming. The nurses told me to stick with it and that once my milk came in, it would be easier, because she would get an immediate response.
Once we got her home, we kept with the pattern. However, it became clear that the finger-feeder was not going to keep up with Lil' Bit. She had an appetite and it could not give her food fast enough. At this point, we elected to feed her from a bottle. I still pumped and we gave her whatever I produced from a bottle first, but if there wasn't enough, we supplemented with formula. I knew giving her the bottle would make breastfeeding more difficult, but the lactation consultant had told me that "going to the breast should be a good experience for the baby, so if she starts screaming, it's time to stop for that attempt." Well, there was always screaming. Remember my previous discussion about a stubborn child? She wanted her food and she wanted it now, thank you very much. I continued to try breastfeeding, but she never did latch. Even after my milk came in and was abundant, she still got her tongue in the way, she bit, she screamed, and we were both left tired and frustrated.
In my exhaustion, I remembered that the point was to give Lil' Bit breastmilk. I was already doing that--albeit by bottle. I was going to have to do that anyway once I got back to work, and this way Phil could help with the feedings. Before Lil' Bit was two weeks old, she was dining exclusively on breastmilk from a bottle without formula supplementation, and does so still today. We had stumbled upon what is known as "exclusive pumping" or "EP." This is option number 3, although it's hard to convince people. Everyone asks if we are breastfeeding or bottlefeeding, and I explain we are bottlefeeding breastmilk. The question should be: are you feeding breastmilk or formula, regardless of the delivery method. With EP, Lil' Bit and I both get the health benefits of breastmilk without the trauma of breastfeeding, and Phil can help with the feedings. It's not perfect. Feeding take longer--I have to warm up the bottle, feed her, and then pump. I am somewhat tied to the pump, as I pump 5-6 times a day at 4-6 hour intervals. And even when she sleeps through the night, I still have to wake up for a pumping session.
Still, doing it this way, I am prepared for when I go back to work and have already begun stockpiling milk in the freezer for when she heads off to daycare. And the truth is, neither breastfeeding nor formula-feeding is perfect either. Each option has benefits and drawbacks and it is up to parents to decide what is best for their child. I just wish there were sources of information out there for parents that outline all the options, highlighting their benefits and drawbacks, without pushing an agenda. As a new parent, I have enough to worry about without feeling as though I have done it all wrong before I barely got started.
*EP is receiving more recognition, such as this article in Time Magazine, but is still not widely accepted.
1.17.2011
Birth Story
Dear readers, my apologies for having not written in over two months. It turns out that having a newborn is not conducive to free time, let alone trying to write. Now that she is starting to sleep longer, I am going to attempt to share with you things I have learned or am learning. However, before we can get to that, we should start with Lil' Bit's birth. So, without further adieu, the main event.
WARNING: May be graphic.
When last we left our story, I was waiting not so patiently for my induction on November 17. So, November 17 arrives. My in-laws have come to town to help out after the baby is born and we are getting all things ready. At 3pm, I dutifully call the hospital to see if they have room for me. Turns out they are already full to bursting with birthing mothers and put me on "delay" and told me to call back at 5pm. [Ultimately, the 17th through the 21st will turn out to be extremely busy at the hospital, in part because many mommas-to-be are trying to give birth before an impending strike at the hospital (a strike that never comes, but gets very close).]
Five o'clock arrives and I call labor and delivery (L&D) again. They are still full and I am advised to call back at 7pm if I have not heard from them before that time. Each time the phone rings I hope it's them, but it never is. I call the hospital back at 7pm--I am nothing if not punctual. They inform me that they have deliveries happening that might make room and I should call back at 8pm. There's hope yet!
I make my 8pm call and am given a new plan. I am to go to bed and get some rest and call back at 7:30am to see if they have room for me to come in at 8am. So, induction will not start until Nov 18, but there's still hope Lil' Bit will share Mickey's birthday. It's hard to get to sleep, but I finally manage it. I am tired when I wake up early to make sure I am ready to leave the house at 7:30am if I am given the go-ahead. When I call, they tell me that they will call me back, but don't give me a time frame. To say that I am frustrated at this point would have been an understatement. I inform the family that we are not yet on our way and wait for the phone to ring.
I receive my call shortly before 8:00am--yay! I am to come in at 11am to begin the induction. Excitement ensues as does a little bit of terror. How long will this take? What will it be like? When will Lil' Bit arrive? I don't remember exactly what we did that morning, but I remember we ran an errand before we all left for this hospital. My in-laws followed in a separate car and we all arrived shortly before 11am. I got checked in and was put in one of the L&D rooms. I changed into my special laboring clothes, got hooked up, and waited for things to begin. Labs were drawn and they checked my cervix--still only 2cm dilated. The first doctor from the practice began the induction. I was given a dose of Cytotec (oral) and waited. My good friend Kate (Lil' Bit's godmother and a nurse) arrived shortly thereafter. She told me that only I could look good while laboring. It gave me a nice boost.
According to the monitor, I began to have really good contractions, although I never really felt much. However, I never got more dilated. At 5pm, the first doctor's 24-hour shift was over, and the second doctor from the practice came on-call. By 6:30pm, the consensus was that I could eat dinner and they gave me another dose of Cytotec. I had to eat a "healthy" meal because they were still checking my blood sugar levels. Bummer!
I finally started feeling real labor pains. Nothing terribly horrible, but they were certainly uncomfortable. Still, no change. The in-laws rented a hotel room to be nearby in case anything happened and headed out for the evening. It was becoming clear that we were not going to have a Mickey Mouse birthday. Still, I had friends and relatives with Nov 19th birthdays, so Lil' Bit was still likely to have to share.
Sometime in the early morning of Nov 19, the contractions finally started getting uncomfortable. Sometime between 3:30 and 4am, my water spontaneously broke. At this point, I knew I would be having my baby within about 24 hours. No turning back now. They checked me, but I still wasn't any further dilated. They did an ultrasound to make sure Lil' Bit was still head down--she was--and started me on Pitocin. Labor pains started getting painful and I couldn't get any sleep. I talked to the doctors about my pain choices--Nubain or an epidural. I was concerned about getting an epidural because of all the research I had done that said getting an epidural before you are 4cm dilated can slow down labor and often ultimately results in a C-section. However, I respond extremely poorly to all narcotics, so I wasn't really wanting to see how I responded to Nubain either. The truth was, if I didn't progress much further, I'd likely have a C-section anyway, which would require a spinal if I didn't already have an epidural. I realized that I had been laboring for roughly 16 hours with no progress--I didn't see how an epidural could slow me down any further. So, I took the epidural. Turns out to be the best choice I could have made for multiple reasons.
The first benefit from the epidural was that the pain relief allowed me to rest and relax my body, which immediately began to progress. At the 24 hour mark, we had finally reached 80% effacement and 5-6cm dilation. By 2pm, I was 10cm dilated and Lil' Bit's head had reached 0 station. The doctors said I could labor down for a while and she how she did on her own. I managed to wait about an hour before I decided that Lil' Bit wasn't that far away, I would try and push. [This is the one decision I would do differently if I had to do it all over again--I would have waited for her to labor down longer.]
Pushing is difficult. Everyone talks about the pain, but no one talks about the effort. Pushing requires using muscles you don't really use and to coordinate them in ways your body is not used to. After a few pushes, I really wanted to say--oh, wow, this is harder than I expected, can we go back to waiting? I didn't, though. I just kept going. At 5pm, the second doctor's shift was over and doctor number three from the practice took over.
I ate lots of ice during labor. In fact, it became something of a routine. I would feel the contraction coming before it would register on the monitor. I would signal one was coming. Phil would take one leg, Kate would take the other, and I would do three long pushes per contraction (I would count to 10 in my head for each push). After the third push, I would eat some ice and wait for the next contraction. It was, in part, because of this routine that I did not realize how much time had passed. I did notice that I was exhausted, however. By the end, I really just wanted them to take her out, but we were past the point of no return and it was all me. In the end, I had pushed for 3 hours. It was my first indicator that Lil' Bit was going to be like me--stubborn. She would not be rushed, thank you very much. Lil' Bit made her arrival at 6:45pm, 8lbs, 8 oz, 21 inches. I got to hold her briefly, but she would scream and then hold her breath (our second indicator of stubbornness), so she had to be taken off to the nursery to be given oxygen. This ended up being a good thing, because I was unable to care for her.
Because food service ended at 7pm, they ordered me a food tray to eat when I was ready--I got waffles! I never got to eat it, though. First, they finished up the delivery. Delivery of the placenta was painful. It was quite attached and, upon finally being delivered, was quite large--my friend pronounced it to be "as big as a cow's." The doctors then spent a good deal of time sewing me up. I had two level two tears (meaning it includes the muscles); one on each side. This was another reason I was glad to have the epidural--both the tearing and the sewing up would have been much more painful. As it was, I felt neither. I had lost a good deal of blood during delivery, in part because of the tears, and then proceeded to vomit up all the water from the ice I had eaten. The food got taken away. I began to experience erratic heartbeat and at one point they considered giving me a transfusion. I fainted several times, so they couldn't move me out of the L&D room to the Mother & Baby wing. [This was a problem for them, because they needed the room for other laboring women.]
Still, even with all this crazy stuff going on, I kept my humor. When the nurses attempted to take me to the restroom, I promptly fainted. They popped an ammonia popper and waived it under my nose and began repeating "can you smell that?" I answered, "Yes. It reminds me that I need to do my roots." This response prompted the head nurse to pronounce me recovered, so they hauled me back up, where I promptly fainted again. This taught the nurse that just because I can be funny and coherent doesn't mean I won't faint.
We stayed in the room until, at 1:30am, the nurse came in and announced that we were being moved to the Mother & Baby wing--they managed to get me in a wheelchair. Although she had been quite gruff and was not one of my favorite nurses, she did swing me by the nursery to see Lil' Bit before she took me to my room. It was wonderful to see her, but hard for me because she was in an isolette because she was getting oxygen. I put my hands in and stroked her for a while. It was hard to believe she was mine. She was beautiful--even if she had a major Aztec cone-head from the 3 hours of pushing. I cried a little and then we headed to the new room. There, I finally got some rest and got to eat some breakfast. Although I could sit up, I couldn't stand without blacking out, so my goal for that day was to finally get enough to eat and drink that my body could get better and Lil' Bit could finally join us. Until then, they took me by wheelchair to the nursery to try and breastfeed Lil' Bit. Needless to say, it didn't go well. But that is the beginning of another story...
For now, we shall remain wrapped in the memory of the excitement and revelation that I had managed to give birth to my daughter.
WARNING: May be graphic.
When last we left our story, I was waiting not so patiently for my induction on November 17. So, November 17 arrives. My in-laws have come to town to help out after the baby is born and we are getting all things ready. At 3pm, I dutifully call the hospital to see if they have room for me. Turns out they are already full to bursting with birthing mothers and put me on "delay" and told me to call back at 5pm. [Ultimately, the 17th through the 21st will turn out to be extremely busy at the hospital, in part because many mommas-to-be are trying to give birth before an impending strike at the hospital (a strike that never comes, but gets very close).]
Five o'clock arrives and I call labor and delivery (L&D) again. They are still full and I am advised to call back at 7pm if I have not heard from them before that time. Each time the phone rings I hope it's them, but it never is. I call the hospital back at 7pm--I am nothing if not punctual. They inform me that they have deliveries happening that might make room and I should call back at 8pm. There's hope yet!
I make my 8pm call and am given a new plan. I am to go to bed and get some rest and call back at 7:30am to see if they have room for me to come in at 8am. So, induction will not start until Nov 18, but there's still hope Lil' Bit will share Mickey's birthday. It's hard to get to sleep, but I finally manage it. I am tired when I wake up early to make sure I am ready to leave the house at 7:30am if I am given the go-ahead. When I call, they tell me that they will call me back, but don't give me a time frame. To say that I am frustrated at this point would have been an understatement. I inform the family that we are not yet on our way and wait for the phone to ring.
I receive my call shortly before 8:00am--yay! I am to come in at 11am to begin the induction. Excitement ensues as does a little bit of terror. How long will this take? What will it be like? When will Lil' Bit arrive? I don't remember exactly what we did that morning, but I remember we ran an errand before we all left for this hospital. My in-laws followed in a separate car and we all arrived shortly before 11am. I got checked in and was put in one of the L&D rooms. I changed into my special laboring clothes, got hooked up, and waited for things to begin. Labs were drawn and they checked my cervix--still only 2cm dilated. The first doctor from the practice began the induction. I was given a dose of Cytotec (oral) and waited. My good friend Kate (Lil' Bit's godmother and a nurse) arrived shortly thereafter. She told me that only I could look good while laboring. It gave me a nice boost.
According to the monitor, I began to have really good contractions, although I never really felt much. However, I never got more dilated. At 5pm, the first doctor's 24-hour shift was over, and the second doctor from the practice came on-call. By 6:30pm, the consensus was that I could eat dinner and they gave me another dose of Cytotec. I had to eat a "healthy" meal because they were still checking my blood sugar levels. Bummer!
I finally started feeling real labor pains. Nothing terribly horrible, but they were certainly uncomfortable. Still, no change. The in-laws rented a hotel room to be nearby in case anything happened and headed out for the evening. It was becoming clear that we were not going to have a Mickey Mouse birthday. Still, I had friends and relatives with Nov 19th birthdays, so Lil' Bit was still likely to have to share.
Sometime in the early morning of Nov 19, the contractions finally started getting uncomfortable. Sometime between 3:30 and 4am, my water spontaneously broke. At this point, I knew I would be having my baby within about 24 hours. No turning back now. They checked me, but I still wasn't any further dilated. They did an ultrasound to make sure Lil' Bit was still head down--she was--and started me on Pitocin. Labor pains started getting painful and I couldn't get any sleep. I talked to the doctors about my pain choices--Nubain or an epidural. I was concerned about getting an epidural because of all the research I had done that said getting an epidural before you are 4cm dilated can slow down labor and often ultimately results in a C-section. However, I respond extremely poorly to all narcotics, so I wasn't really wanting to see how I responded to Nubain either. The truth was, if I didn't progress much further, I'd likely have a C-section anyway, which would require a spinal if I didn't already have an epidural. I realized that I had been laboring for roughly 16 hours with no progress--I didn't see how an epidural could slow me down any further. So, I took the epidural. Turns out to be the best choice I could have made for multiple reasons.
The first benefit from the epidural was that the pain relief allowed me to rest and relax my body, which immediately began to progress. At the 24 hour mark, we had finally reached 80% effacement and 5-6cm dilation. By 2pm, I was 10cm dilated and Lil' Bit's head had reached 0 station. The doctors said I could labor down for a while and she how she did on her own. I managed to wait about an hour before I decided that Lil' Bit wasn't that far away, I would try and push. [This is the one decision I would do differently if I had to do it all over again--I would have waited for her to labor down longer.]
Pushing is difficult. Everyone talks about the pain, but no one talks about the effort. Pushing requires using muscles you don't really use and to coordinate them in ways your body is not used to. After a few pushes, I really wanted to say--oh, wow, this is harder than I expected, can we go back to waiting? I didn't, though. I just kept going. At 5pm, the second doctor's shift was over and doctor number three from the practice took over.
I ate lots of ice during labor. In fact, it became something of a routine. I would feel the contraction coming before it would register on the monitor. I would signal one was coming. Phil would take one leg, Kate would take the other, and I would do three long pushes per contraction (I would count to 10 in my head for each push). After the third push, I would eat some ice and wait for the next contraction. It was, in part, because of this routine that I did not realize how much time had passed. I did notice that I was exhausted, however. By the end, I really just wanted them to take her out, but we were past the point of no return and it was all me. In the end, I had pushed for 3 hours. It was my first indicator that Lil' Bit was going to be like me--stubborn. She would not be rushed, thank you very much. Lil' Bit made her arrival at 6:45pm, 8lbs, 8 oz, 21 inches. I got to hold her briefly, but she would scream and then hold her breath (our second indicator of stubbornness), so she had to be taken off to the nursery to be given oxygen. This ended up being a good thing, because I was unable to care for her.
Because food service ended at 7pm, they ordered me a food tray to eat when I was ready--I got waffles! I never got to eat it, though. First, they finished up the delivery. Delivery of the placenta was painful. It was quite attached and, upon finally being delivered, was quite large--my friend pronounced it to be "as big as a cow's." The doctors then spent a good deal of time sewing me up. I had two level two tears (meaning it includes the muscles); one on each side. This was another reason I was glad to have the epidural--both the tearing and the sewing up would have been much more painful. As it was, I felt neither. I had lost a good deal of blood during delivery, in part because of the tears, and then proceeded to vomit up all the water from the ice I had eaten. The food got taken away. I began to experience erratic heartbeat and at one point they considered giving me a transfusion. I fainted several times, so they couldn't move me out of the L&D room to the Mother & Baby wing. [This was a problem for them, because they needed the room for other laboring women.]
Still, even with all this crazy stuff going on, I kept my humor. When the nurses attempted to take me to the restroom, I promptly fainted. They popped an ammonia popper and waived it under my nose and began repeating "can you smell that?" I answered, "Yes. It reminds me that I need to do my roots." This response prompted the head nurse to pronounce me recovered, so they hauled me back up, where I promptly fainted again. This taught the nurse that just because I can be funny and coherent doesn't mean I won't faint.
We stayed in the room until, at 1:30am, the nurse came in and announced that we were being moved to the Mother & Baby wing--they managed to get me in a wheelchair. Although she had been quite gruff and was not one of my favorite nurses, she did swing me by the nursery to see Lil' Bit before she took me to my room. It was wonderful to see her, but hard for me because she was in an isolette because she was getting oxygen. I put my hands in and stroked her for a while. It was hard to believe she was mine. She was beautiful--even if she had a major Aztec cone-head from the 3 hours of pushing. I cried a little and then we headed to the new room. There, I finally got some rest and got to eat some breakfast. Although I could sit up, I couldn't stand without blacking out, so my goal for that day was to finally get enough to eat and drink that my body could get better and Lil' Bit could finally join us. Until then, they took me by wheelchair to the nursery to try and breastfeed Lil' Bit. Needless to say, it didn't go well. But that is the beginning of another story...
For now, we shall remain wrapped in the memory of the excitement and revelation that I had managed to give birth to my daughter.
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