Birth story Act III: Twenty-four hour parenting

Cast of characters
(see Act 1)
Kelly: another fantastic nurse

I had prepared for this mentally, but it was more grueling than I had imagined. There was nothing else I could have done to prepare for it. It just was what it was. Those first few days were insanely exhausting and I felt stretched beyond my limit. Luckily, I was so head over heals with my baby that it helped give me stamia. But yeah, if that first 24 hours wasn't intense enough for me, I sure found satisfaction in the following 3 days in hospital. And the following week (but that will be recounted in Act IV and Act V).

Scene 1
So, Act II ended here (Or, minutes before, in the adjacent room):

curly hair - still wet from being in amniotic fluid

After an hour in the recovery room, the three of us were taken back to our room to settle in for the night. Gummy was nursing and it was delighting me to no end. It was awkward for sure. I ended up having a huge hickey on my right nipple from an improper latch and turbo sucking on her part (she came out having sucked off a patch of skin on her hand - and was promptly named the barracuda by the hospital staff). 

I was insanely thirsty after the birth and so drank my weight in fluids. I was also permitted a light supper, which I inhaled. After some phone calls and texts sent to our family and friends, we all went to sleep. Pretty soon gummy had to nurse again. I remember there was a nurse who came in needing to check on me. I was sitting up, trying to nurse and quickly realized I was going to vomit. The nurse just yelled at Mr. A to "take the baby, TAKE THE BABY!" I threw up everywhere in bed.  The nurse, bless her heart, changed all the sheets somehow without me having to get up (I was catheterized at this point). And Gummy was spared, thanks to Mr. A's quick reflexes.

Scene 2
It's now Friday morning and the flow of hospital professionals is descending upon our room. Gummy has low blood sugar, which is often the case after mom takes labe.talol. Gummy is on the protocol, which is something like 3 low blood sugar readings in a row and she has to be in the nursery. The lactation consultant comes in and helps us with breastfeeding. Since Gummy is voracious and nearly blind at this point, she has trouble finding the right place to get her food. The lactation consultant suggests we use drops of sugar water on the nipple and on her lips to help her focus. This works beautifully. She also helps me with the latch, but the damage is largely done. My nipples have started to tear to shreds. At this point though, and to my immense delight, I am producing colostrum.

The day is spent with Gummy getting poked in the heal to test her blood sugar (and otherwise being gazed at adoringly by her parents). There were many frustrating things about this protocol (e.g. tearing her off the breast after finally latching on because her blood needs to be tested RIGHT NOW), but I won't go into it. By 7pm, she has failed 3 in a row, and they are taking her away. Noooooooo! The effing nursery is 300 km away - or so it feels like at that moment. The plan is to give her I.V. glucose. Mr. A takes her to the nursery himself and argues that her blood should be retested, since it was taken before a good feeding. The nursery staff get a normal reading and decide that I can continue to breastfeed through the night at precisely 3-hour intervals, but that I have to do it in the nursery. So at 9pm, midnight and 3am, I am wheeled (I.V. pole, catheter and all) to the nursery so that I can be observed while breastfeeding. By 6am, the nurses are bringing her to me. And because she is doing well at this point, we get to keep her in our room. It feels like a big victory.

my tiny bundle

Scene 3
The in-laws had wanted to be there at the birth. A categorical NO had been issued, and I frankly said that they were welcomed to visit us once we got home (and not at the hospital). Of course, once I saw this beautiful girl, I softened. The plan was for them to come on Saturday late morning for a brief visit and take their son out for lunch afterwards.

Gummy slept from 9am to noon that morning. My catheter was removed (yeah) and I was instructed to take a shower and remove the bandage on my incision. That sounded scary, but it all went well. A shower did wonders to my morale.

The in-laws arrived. They took about 100 pictures of gummy, of Mr. A with gummy, of themselves with gummy. Exactly zero pictures of me were taken. I admit I must have looked like hell. But come the eff on, people.

They all left shortly after noon, and Gummy started a feeding marathon. From noon until 4am, gummy was at the breast, with short 15-30 minute breaks here and there. From about 10pm on, she became increasingly distressed. We then heard shrieks like we hope to never hear again. She was inconsolable.

Finally at 4am, Mr. A says he'll take her for a walk. The mother of all sobbing sessions ensues for me. I have failed my child already and she is merely 2 days. A nurse comes in and empathizes. But I just want to sob my eyes out and fall asleep and wake up when things are better. As she was leaving, she notices the sugar water the lactation consultant had given us to help with the latch. This nurse clearly disagrees with the practice and wants to discuss her point of view with me. I snap and tell her I'm not going to discuss this with her at 4am. She leaves.

In the mean time, Mr. A is sitting down the hall, not far from the nursery. The staff in the nursery hear our girl scream blue murder and come to talk to Mr. A. They offer to give her some formula and let her sleep in the nursery for a few hours, just so we can recover a bit. Mr. A, bless his heart, makes the executive decision to go with it. He comes back to the room and hops into bed with me. We weep together and fall asleep.

Scene 4
It's 7am on Sunday. A lovely nurse walks in with Gummy and says that she is hungry. She also says that this baby has sucked me dry (yes. in those words), and that it's time to consider supplementing. She instructs us on how to put a small tube at the breast to deliver formula as gummy suckles. I also start pumping to try and stimulate my milk to come in.

Our dear day nurse Kelly comes in after 8am and talks with us about how things are going. She says that we are welcomed to go home today if we feel ready, or go home tomorrow if we prefer. At this point we are shaky. Gummy's shrieks were frightening and we are not certain we can keep her alive if we go home. We decide to give it all day and see if the new plan works before we go home. Not surprisingly, Gummy resumes being a very content and sleepy newborn now that she has access to food.

We decide we can go home after dinner time. It takes us a while to get organized, of course, and the woman who has just had a c-section isn't moving very fast. Nurse Kelly goes over a million things prior to discharge. But not what to do about my meds. I forget to ask.

We make it out of there by 8pm. We go home via the Thai take out place.

It feels like a miracle to be walking out of the hospital with our daughter. A take home baby. Our baby.

It is a miracle.

floating in her bunting - ready to go home

 

Birth story Act II: The light

Cast of Characters
Same as Act I
Nurse Eileen: our beloved delivery nurse 

Scene 1 
It's now 8am on Thursday, February 28. It's Misfit's birthday today. And I'm having a baby girl.

Nurse Eileen is rummaging about the room. I haven't met her yet. When she sees that I'm waking up, she comes over and speaks to me quietly, let's me know that Dr. Smiley will be coming in to check on me very soon. I like her instantly. This tiny Irish woman is kind and exudes competence. My kind of woman.

Dr. Smiley comes in and checks my cervix. Long and closed. She decides to try a Foley catheter* to see if the cervix will open up. She says the prostaglandins are not an option anymore, after the adverse reaction I had last night. Try as she may, she cannot put the catheter in. My cervix, apparently, is posterior which makes it impossible to insert the Foley.

The plan is to start the oxytocin and see if that will move my cervix at all.

I spend the day lying down, looking at the snow outside, sipping from the various beverages Mr. A gets for me clandestinely, texting, and looking at magazines. I also have some nice chats with nurse Eileen, who finds herself very inspired by our story. Dr. Smiley comes in several times during the day and checks my cervix. Each time, she and nurse Eileen note what beautiful contractions I'm having (I can't feel a thing of course). They note that the baby's heart rate is great. But the cervix won't budge. Fort Knox of a cervix.

By mid afternoon, I know what's coming. At 6pm, Dr. Smiley says that we need to do a c-section. I probably could have argued, but I didn't feel like I had much confidence my cervix would do anything different at this point. And Dr. Smiley's opinion means a lot in my view, and she thinks it's time for a c-section. Nurse Eileen says she doesn't want to go home until our baby is born.

Things go very fast from there. By 6:45pm, I am wheeled in to the OR. I think about the fact that my girl is about to be born. The rest will be taken care of by a team of doctors. Lying down on my back makes me immediately nauseous and hot and lightheaded. I am given some drug for that. Then the surgery starts, and I feel some kind of electric current. As soon as I voice this, they ramp the drugs. So now I'm woozy and out of it. Thank goodness I'm not involved in the surgery in any other respects but as the patient. What I'm feeling now maps on perfectly to Bunny's description of the sensations felt during a c-section, especially the pygmy hypo packing sensation.

"OH" I hear "Wide open eyes"

Gummy is here. The room has changed completely. One more person is here, and she didn't walk in through the door. Mr. A and I cry. Our daughter is born.
 




*essentially a tube inserted into the cervix, which can then be blown up. In attempting to expel it, the cervix opens often starting/helping progress labour. See this for more info.

Birth Story: Act I - the preambling vicissitudes

Cast of characters:
Augusta - you know her by now
Mr. August - ditto
Dr. TdC (dr. trou du cul - French for asshole. A first grade dick of a man and an OB in  Pleasantville, who unfortunately I had to deal with on a few occasions. In my opinion, the only time one ever wants to encounter this man is under general anesthesia, which made many nurses smile. They all hate him, but will state until they are blue in the face that he is a good surgeon. Why not be a surgeon then?)
Dr. Smiley - my OB


Scene 1
On the evening of February 27, Mr. A and I went out to our new favourite restaurant in Pleasantville and lived it up. I had my favorite wood oven pizza (which involves swiss chard, double smoked bacon, feta and spiced provolone). We were nervous and excited, and we kept the mood light during dinner. We were heading straight to the hospital from the restaurant. On the way out, we saw a well known (and loved) Pleasantville couple who have three children of their own. The man has just shared on his blog that he has donated sperm and that the recipient is pregnant. We chatted for a bit, and they were very excited that we were on our way to the hospital to have our baby. I took the opportunity to thank them both for donating, stating that without such a donation, we would not be on the verge of meeting our child. I left the restaurant feeling like it was a very good omen to have seen them there.

Scene 2  
We get* to the hospital and learn that it is Dr. TdC who is on call. At this point, I've already had many negative experiences with him, as I was under his care when I needed a LEEP procedure for cervical dysplasia back in 2004. I'm not too thrilled about this, but figure that we won't have to interact too much with him (famous last words). The plan is to get the cerv.idil inserted** and go home. They hook me up to the monitors. Dr. TdC inserts the cervi.dil and they monitor me until about 11pm. At that point, the nurse sends us home with instructions to come back at 8am, or sooner if things are not right. We're not sure what that really means, but we figure we'll be back at 8.

Scene 3
It's now 2am. Mr. A has finally fallen asleep, but sleep has eluded me completely. These darn contractions are keeping me up (calling them surges did NOT help, hypnobirthers). I am getting up to go to the bathroom frequently and ahem, (tmi alert) not making it in time. I start to breathe more noisily and Mr. A wakes up. He decides to count the time in between contractions. 30 seconds or less. Alrighty then. Does this count as things not being right? I am trying my best to breathe through the contractions, but they are getting the best of me. I keep trying, but I am not keeping my head above water. Mr. A decides that he needs to take me to the hospital.

It takes me an hour to put on some clothes and get myself in the car. It hurts to sit and to stand up. I am still trying to keep myself level headed - this is birth after all. It's not supposed to be a picnic. I think of my friend dragonfly, who was induced and did not need an epidural. She is my inspiration.

We get to Pleasantville General Hospital after 3am and the main door is shut. We drive back around to emerge. Mr. A parks in a "if you park here you will get your sorry ass towed so fast you won't know what happened to it" zone. I open the car door and vomit all over the snowy pavement. This woman sees it all happen and decides to help by bringing out a wheelchair. She said she just had a baby sometime ago. The security guard at emerge tells Mr. A to take me directly upstairs to the PBU triage (Pleasantville Birthing Unit) and not to worry about the car for now. 

Scene 4 
We get upstairs and the nurse welcomes us back. Right away, she tries to help me get on top of my pain. Breathe, she says. You are holding your breath, she says. So much for all those years of yoga training, I think. In this moment, the pain has me. It totally has me. She gets me on a bed at triage and decides she needs to take the cervi.dil out herself without waiting for the doctor. Bless her.

Dr. Asshole (sorry, this is the part I hate him the most and so I need to state his English name) comes in and is his usual pleasant self. He says he needs to check my cervix. I refuse. No way he's getting between my legs right now. He looks at the monitor and decides I'm in between contractions. He parts my legs and checks my cervix. I wish I had been more forceful in my refusal. I wish my NO had been loud and clear. I wish fear and the need to conform to authority didn't take hold of me in that moment. But it did. So he checked my cervix and I screamed blue murder. Mr. A was beside himself and cried with me, after trying advocate for my wishes and Dr. TdC ignoring everyone.

Dr. TdC tersely stated that I was in labour, that I needed to be admitted and that I should get an epidural. In my memory, he also waved his hand dismissively, although I might be making that part up. 

Scene 5
The stretch between 4am and 8am is a bit fuzzy, but here is what I remember. I was given nub.ain** while still in triage. The nurse apologized for having to give me an IM injection and I laughed, stating that I had to give myself many of those for gummy to live. I was moved to a room, maybe in a wheelchair, maybe in a bed. I remember the anesthetist coming in around 5am and putting in the epidural and the room being very brightly lit for that. I remember he spoke calmly and I decided I liked him.

The part that isn't fuzzy is Dr. TdC coming back in during that time and wanting to do another cervix check. I think it was after the nu.bain but before the epi. He walked in announcing he was going to do another cervix check and said to me: "Is your husband going to cry?" I remember slowly mapping out the extent of my outrage and trying to think of replies to such a ridiculous thing to say, but admittedly, I was really out of it by that point. It was like I bookmarked in my mind this thing to be really pissed off about later.

For the rest of it, I remember lying in bed and sleeping, and knowing that at 8am, Dr. Smiley would be there and everything would be alright. Mr. A was on the fold out bed next to me. It had snowed outside. We had just been through a tough episode, but we would soon meet our daughter. For the time being, I thought I'd just sleep. 




*sorry for the switch of verb tense, but I need this part to be in present tense for some reason.

** cer.vidil is a ripening agent for the cervix, delivered in a little tampon like device inserted into the cervix. Unlike gels, it can be removed if the woman has an adverse reaction to it. Like this woman.

***an opioid - pain med.

Infants are portable

Allow me a parenthesis before I launch into the stories of birth and after birth.

I decided to combat the threat of feeling isolated by planning outings and vacations. It started with things like driving into the big city with only Gummy and I, having to deal with the likely eventuality that she would cry in the car while I was driving. She did, and we both survived (without even needing to pull over - amazing how you can fish around the infant in her car seat for her googgy*, find it and place it back in her mouth all while watching the traffic light turn from red to green. I am developing mad skills).

Last weekend, I did something more ambitious. Gummy Girl and I got on an airplane and went to visit Pumpkin for the weekend. Yes, I flew alone with an infant. I mean, I wasn't alone at all. The planes were full of other passengers, and thankfully pilots and crew. But Mr. A stayed home. He had to do some farming.

My girl and I are adventurous indeed. It was all fun and games until my fear of flying kicked in. Mama cried most of the way to New York, while Gummy slept peacefully. I swore the entire hour that I would be calling Amtrak as soon as the plane landed so we could return home the scenic way. Once on the ground, I asked Pumpkin to talk me out of that plan, and she did. So we flew home.

A few points about flying solo with an infant:

1) Baby in the carrier is the way to go, at least when babies are gummy size. I used a bec.o gemi.ni I got on loan from a friend and it did the trick. Pumpkin had a stroller I could use while I was there, while her pumpling used a different stroller.

2) Checking the car seat does not equal a broken car seat. At least it didn't happen this time. I needed to bring gummy's car seat for some cab rides and to use with the stroller. I just had gummy on my lap or in the carrier at the airports and in the planes. I even laid her down on the floor at the gate so she could chill and kick her feet while we waited.

Flying ain't so bad, mama. Hey, how did that ladybug get there?

3) I went against my personal rule of dressing up for air travel. I'm old school that way, and believe that if one is going to be prancing around airports, one should look her best. As far as traveling with an infant goes, that rule is stupid. I wore yoga capris, as t-shirt and running shoes, and traveled in great comfort. And since the most visible part of my outfit was gummy, I looked fantastic.

We had a lovely weekend visiting the Pumpkin family. As we set out for our first walk to the park with the wee ones, I looked over at Pumpkin and noted that this was the small miracles we had been waiting for. We had a moment of heart-filled gratitude. We had taken walks before, but neither of us had babies then (although the last time we took a walk, the pumpling was a month away from making her entry). It is still true that parenting is not easy, neither for the Pumpkins nor for the Augusts. But it it sure was worth fighting so hard for and it certainly makes our lives so much richer.



*What we call a soother/pacifier/binky in our house, after Sattva's appellation for said implement.

You've been warned

That off week was just that. An off week.

Let me say that it's a bit hard to express things not going perfectly well to a community of women who struggle with infertility when you've got an infant on your hands. Thank you for reading what I had to say and not jumping down my throat. 

I'm much less lonely, and less down. I've had some insomnia (which is odd when your 2.5 month-old is sleeping through the night. You're tired, but not for the obvious reason), and some anxiety, but all in all, I think things are good.


I've become more proactive in scheduling outings and visits with friends, on top of weekly activities like yoga and our informal mama's group on Friday. I think I've also relaxed into the role a bit more, and stopped trying so hard to get shit done. Working without interruptions is a pipe dream.

I've also started taking the steps I feel I need to take to sort of wrap up (to avoid using the term closure) the stuff around the birth. And by stuff I mean the story, the thoughts and the emotions linked to what happened. And by what happened, I mean mostly the hemorrhage, but also the birth and the high blood pressure stuff. I've loosely mapped out three steps to this wrap up.

Step 1: talk about what happened to people who care about me and have time to listen. This is mainly so that I can have a full story of what happened by asking what others remember about it. Also, it helps to talk about it out loud so that I can stop running the scenario in my head over and over again (which I was doing for the first two months). 

Step 2: Send out thank you cards to the care providers who helped me during the birth and postpartum complications.

Step 3: Write out the details of the birth story and subsequent complications so that I've got a fleshed out narrative.*

Step 1 is mostly done. I've reviewed what happened in therapy, and with my therapist's suggestion, talked about it with those who were involved (Mr. A, friends who helped that night or weekend). Step 2 is well underway, and I would say that it has helped a great deal. And now, for your part. I can do step 3 in my journal, but I think I will do it here on my blog. It will be incredibly boring. You do not have to read it (or anything I write for that matter). But I'm asking you to be patient while I crank out a few posts containing waaaaaaaayyyy too many boring details about gross and scary stuff. I need to tell the story and then move on.



*Psychologists are annoying like that. Can't help it.

 

just sayin'

I spend a lot of time alone with Gummy. I talk to her in English, then in French. She gurgles and smiles sometimes. Or grunts. Sometimes she farts, often to register disapproval, like when I change her diaper at 3am before feeding her. 

But mostly, I'm with my thoughts.

I had a pretty lonely week last week. I wondered if it was PPD (postpartum depression) visiting. I felt like PPD and I we were two cats on a fence, vying for the same backyard. We were checking each other out, ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness in the other.

I think I won that round, though. It was just loneliness. I didn't have too much scheduled and what I had scheduled fell through.

Monday: I went to the community centre for parent and child time. The place was crawling with toddlers and moms of toddlers who were way too exhausted to talk to me and my angelic looking infant. The moms that had infants also had toddlers, and were busy intellectually stimulating two progeny instead of one. So, no chance to make a connection. I left. One facilitator ran after me and said I should go to the infant time.

Tuesday: The other Augusta was nursing a sick baby. So, they didn't come to yoga. Only that annoying woman with the cute baby boy who she WON'T VACCINATE* was there, so I made myself scarce after class, lest she wanted to hang out again.

Wednesday: I had planned to attend the infant time at the community centre, held at their location at the mall, and to arrive early to get Gummy a sun hat. I realize early that the infant program runs on Tuesday for parents and their infants of 0 to 6 months, and Wednesdays for parents and their infants of 6 to 12 months. I had until then believed infant time was both on Tuesday and Wednesday, regardless of said infant's age. Plans foiled again.

Thursday: I planned to stay home and work on Gummy's napping (and get thank you cards all done. ha!). It sounds so ridiculous to write it like that, but that's what I thought at the time. We'll stay home and I'll put her down for several naps and she'll be blissed out on sleep and I'll win a "mother-of-the-year-award". Snort. She had terrible naps and went to bed cranky and exhausted at 8:45pm. No awards were handed out.

Friday: Mom's group at my house in the morning and out-of-town friends visiting in the afternoon. It was a lovely day. Gummy had great naps.

In that lonely week, I was often lured by the dangerous and seductive self-shaming thought that goes like this: "you've waited so damn long to have a baby, now that you have one, you need to enjoy every second of being a mother" I was helped by convincing myself that having the baby you wait so damn long for does allow you to press the reset button and become like every other mama out there. New parents are allowed to struggle and find some areas of parenting difficult. They are allowed to have an adjustment period to parenthood. Why shouldn't I also be allowed to adjust?

Consider yourself pressed, reset button. I'm just like any ordinary mother out there with my cute DE baby.

 
*Don't get me started on that

Third Party

I recently read the post by Kelly Wendel on PVED in which she defends her choice of creating a family using third party conception. In her post, she cites different authors who argue against third party reproduction and ART in general, and I have read none of these. Truth is, I don't have that kind of time to waste right now. I have a 2-month-old to raise. But reading the post made me think about the hoopla related to third party conception, mainly the crap being issued by the religious right. There are, I believe, interesting and legitimate issues to be pondered with third party conception. Issues that I have pondered hard and long on this road. The potential for abuse is high in a situation where money is paid for human organs/tissue, and Mr. A and I had much to resolve internally before we were able to do DE in the US. When we started down this road, we didn't think we would go ahead and pay for gametes. But life experiences bring you to different decisions. As a general rule, I don't believe women are being exploited in donating their eggs, but I think some women potentially are. I don't think the industry as a whole is exploitative, but I think it has the potential to be.  I obviously had to be ok with our clinic and the way we believed they treated donors; but ultimately, I had to trust that they were well treated without knowing for sure.

Anyway.

In the time I've not been blogging and not been commenting in the last week (sorry, lovelies, I've been going for long walks with my girl and spending less time on the computer), I've been thinking about this idea of third party conception and what it means to me these days.

At this point, third party conception has become symbolic of something I am working on in my life: accepting help. Not just begrudgingly, or shamefully, or because I am so broken and dying and won't make it without help. No. Just accepting help because I need help.

Like everyone on this green planet, I need help sometimes. Because of my particular psychology, this is a challenge. I should be able to handle it all on my own. I was an enormous burden for my mother as a child, and so burdening others is something I fear like the plague. I will bend myself into all kinds of non-Augusta shapes to avoid burdening others, lest they start thinking I'm annoying and abandon me. Asking for help is part of that pattern.

In this quest to have a child, I've had no choice but to ask for A LOT OF help. I've had to ask for eggs. Twice. Once from a friend and once from a stranger. And most importantly, I've needed to receive their gift. With my whole grateful being, my job has been to just receive. Fuck, that's hard.

I haven't told you much of the story around the birth and the postpartum circus. I think I will, but it's a bit epic and I need to keep digesting it before I lay it all out here. But I'll say here that Mr. A and I needed a lot of help during that time, and we received more than we could have ever asked for. Two women friends of ours gave us breast milk so that we could feed Gummy in the early days when I was trying to breastfeed but wasn't producing milk. Three different sets of friends took Gummy in overnight when I was in hospital. One of our friends breastfed Gummy on an overnight, because she had lots of milk to give to her daughter and to mine. Another friend who is a midwife came to spend the day with me at the hospital after the postpartum hemorrhage so that she could help me sort out what had happened and what could happen as a result (ie try to avoid a hysterectomy if possible). Meals were delivered twice a week for 5-6 weeks after the birth so that we didn't have to cook.

So when I think of third party conception and people getting their panties in a knot about how wrong this might be in the eyes of their chosen deity, I feel like yawning in their face. That stuff is so esoteric to me. How about we look at what love and altruism really mean on this earth at this time. For me, there is something divine about the gifts I have received, from the egg donor, and from all the people who have supported us as we struggled to have a child.