A Whole New Normal

This week has been one miracle after another. I, personally, think one of the best is being able to get up off the couch without help! Of course, the biggest miracle (and I do mean biggest) is the birth of our son. But I'm getting ahead of myself. After months of blogging on here about this new arrival, I plan to subject you to every detail fit to print in a public forum...

Despite having steady contractions for most of Monday, they did indeed taper off and then stop towards late evening. I moaned to my husband that the child I carried just refused to come out of me, and went to bed dreading the amnio test in the morning.

It turns out, the amnio wasn't as bad as my imagination had anticipated it would be, although they didn't get a good "stick" the first time, and had to repeat the needle insertion. Ouch. Afterward, the doctor sent me up to the labor and delivery floor for routine monitoring just to be sure the procedure hadn't caused any problems.

I got hooked up to the monitors and promptly tried to nap. It had pretty much been another sleepless night. After about an hour, the nurse came back in and casually commented "I think you're in labor." Then she left. Five minutes went by, a resident came in, checked my cervix and discovered I had dilated to 4 cm. The nurse returned and told me they were putting in an IV even though they hadn't talked to my doctor yet. "We've decided you're having this baby," she told me. "We see women in and out of here all day," she continued, "but you we feel sorry for!" Ah, beautiful sympathy!

They got the ok from the doctor, and sudenly things were in full swing. Somewhere in the midst of all this, a second resident broke my water and put monitors on the baby. They were going to hook up some pitocin, but I asked them if they really thought I had to have it, since in the 20 minutes or so they had been getting prepped, I had dilated to 6cm. So, we skipped pitocin and moved on to good drugs instead--yeah! I hadn't wanted an epidural, but after two previous "natural" labors (no pain meds at all with the last one) I was ready for some relief. Whatever they gave me worked real nice for about an hour. Then, just about the time the contractions were getting especially intense, it wore off and since I was almost to 10 cm I wasn't getting any more.

It is a good thing I have fast labors, because otherwise I think it would kill me. This time around, the whole ordeal only lasted just over 2 hours, and at 11:19 on Tuesday, January 20th, there was my baby-- all grey and slimy and laying on my belly. They took him from me pretty quickly since he was only whimpering a bit and didn't appear to be breathing well. My husband watched as he stopped breathing entirely, and they had to resucisitate him. They kept me distracted by delivering the placenta and giving me a few uncomfortably placed stitches. (That's what happens when baby has a 14 cm head!)

It was quite a while before I heard the baby cry again, and even longer until I was able to hold him. The serious breathing issues continued throughout his first several hours, so much so that they eventually took him to the Neonatal Unit for monitoring. That was pretty tough on me. We couldn't hold him--he was hooked up to a bunch of machines. I also couldn't nurse him--he didn't have the coordination to breathe and suck at the same time. They were debating whether to give him an IV or tube feeding, since they couldn't get his blood sugar to stay high enough. It was also difficult when the visitors started showing up to see the baby. We could only take one guest at a time into the NICU, and no one could hold him.

I guess my doctor and I will have to share that humble pie I mentioned a few posts ago. Although I never did hear the results of the amnio--by the time they would've come back from the lab, the baby had been born--I assume from his breathing troubles that he might've needed to bake a bit more before being born. On the other hand, since he weighed in at 9 pounds, 14 ounces, had we waited another two weeks, he very well may have had to be delivered by c-section. The good news is that he only spent 2 days in the NICU and has been doing well ever since.

We've had a few issues since he came home, and of course the monumental chaos that having a new baby brings to your life has been magnified by the existing 3 kids and a dog. We're tired, and stressed, and overjoyed. I am loving being able to reach my own feet. I no longer have to take pills to keep from throwing up. And I can actually get comfortable in bed--not that I get to spend any time there! Things are slowly adjusting to a whole new "normal" and we wouldn't trade it for the world.

Best Case Scenario

As it turns out, I didn't need plans A-D, took only one herbal medicine today (NOT castor oil) and--pending test results--won't have to keep waiting much longer for my PBC to finally appear.

When the doctor walked into the room with me this morning, the first things she said were "Your ultrasound was good, except of course that he's real big. I have to go by the Feb 8th date, but you and I know that might not be it." Suddenly, after months of unsucessful persuasion, she is on my side and we are buddies in the "I've been right all along" basket. I might've throttled her, but I was too happy thinking she was about to say something good.

Then came the big blow. Due to hospital policy (as a result of that Feb 8th date she has to go by) the earliest she will induce the baby is Feb 3rd. Yup. Feb 3rd. "You'll only be a week and half overdue by then" she says, using my date as the baseline. "That's fine," she comments. I tell her it is only fine if you aren't the one carrying around a bowling ball on your bladder. In order to get around this particular policy, I will have to consent to an amniocentesis to determine the baby's lung maturity. An unpleasant experience, I'm sure, but one which ranks as slightly less unpleasant than another two plus weeks of pregnancy.

So, tomorrow I troop myself into the hospital at 6:30 am. To my understanding (and I've done as little research as possible, having decided that ignorance, in this instance, is bliss) I will then have a three-foot needle shoved through my belly and into the sack around the baby. I'll hold still while they extract less than an ounce of fluid to send to the lab. After being monitored for a while on the labor and delivery floor to be sure that the process hasn't started labor (oh, please!) and that the baby is doing fine, I will be sent home to await the test results by phone. These, according to my OB, take all day to come back and I won't hear a thing until between 3-5pm. At which point, if all has gone well, they will tell me what time to expect to be induced the next day. Hooray!

So, I have won. The OB basically said today that my due date is more reasonable than hers. I still have several skirmishes to survive, however. One being the amnio. Really not looking forward to that. The next being that the results actually bear out my theory and we (the PBC and I) are given the green light to go ahead with the rest of the plan. Lastly, of course, the joy of labor (ha!) awaits. Somehow, although thrilled with my success at getting something started, I feel as though I may have won the battle only to land myself in the middle of the mine field. Ah well, if every soldier of motherhood came through unscathed, we wouldn't have stories enough to embarass our teenagers or blackmail our offspring.

If you pray, however, (and I know many are) I still have about--oh, 5 1/2 hours or so--to have this little one pop out on his own. Best case scenario. Somehow, I think in training the Navy Seals or Army Rangers rarely plan for the best case scenario. But I'm trusting that God's got my back on this one--He specializes in best case stuff, right?

"And we know that all things work together for good

to those who love God, to those who are the called

according to His purpose"

--Romans 8:28

Pregnancy Hall of Fame

I imagine most people look forward to their induction into the Hall of Fame. Since my hubby is a hockey guy, I know about retired numbers, jerseys hung from the rafters of the home rink, and the privilege of joining the greats in the Hockey Hall of Fame. At the opposite end of the spectrum, take kids. As a little girl, my oldest often set out to make a world record and get into the Guinness Book. Let's see, she tried jump-roping, hula-hooping, and gum chewing. Never came close, since perseverance isn't really her strong suit.

I have no such ambitions toward either recognition or fame. See, according to the Guinness Book of World Records, the largest baby ever born weighed in just over 23 pounds. Depending on your source, the longest pregnancy ever was either 42 years http://www.scielo.br/scielo.php?pid=S1516-31802000000600008&script=sci_arttext, 17 months 11 days. http://www.bly.cc/roast/1999/sld031.htm, or 375 days http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,797153,00.html. Most people are inducted into the Hall of Fame. I am desperate to be induced out of the running!

During this pregnancy, I have already passed some personal milestones that I'm not thrilled about. First, this is the largest my girth has ever measured. Not a pleasant reality. Second, I have puked more during these past 10 months than ever before in my life. Yum. Third, going according to my dates (not the OB's), this is my longest pregnancy. Ugh. And last, but not least, I am the oldest, slowest, sorest, crabbiest, and ugliest I have ever felt. Not one gold medal has come my way. I retire my clothing because they no longer fit, not for any grander reason. And no one has offered to publish me in any book, let alone one of world records. Matter of fact, I don't even have a baby to show for it.

I see the doctor again tomorrow. I intend to lobby every argument that I have in my rather ample arsenal against her refusal to induce this baby. If that fails, plan B includes calling my husband and letting him tell her how miserable I am. Just in case she simply doesn't believe me. Plan C is crying. Puking didn't work last time, so this time I'm gonna lay on the tears. None of which will need to be faked, let me assure you. Plan D will probably get security called on me--not that I'd be much of a threat considering I can hardly walk let alone do anything more acrobatic. Plan E will likely consist of coming home and taking every herbal self-induction method I've ever heard mentioned. Maybe even the dreaded caster oil. Plan F (for Failure) is simply to keep waiting. This is an absolute last resort option to be used only in the event all other plans do not succeed.

I'm planning to emulate a proven method of success during this attack. It is based on a widow described in Luke 18:1-8. She wanted justice in her case, and kept on bugging the judge who could help her until he finally gave in just to get her off his back. I want this baby off my belly--and between God and the doctor, someone has got to help me out here, before I get inducted into the Persistent Pregnancy Predicament Hall of Fame.

"Then He spoke a parable to them, that men always ought to pray and not lose heart, Saying: 'There was in a certain city a judge who did not fear God nor regard man.

Now there was a widow in that city; and she came to him, saying,

'Get justice for me from my adversary' And he would not for a while;

but afterward he said within himself, 'Though I do not fear God nor regard man,

yet because this widow troubles me I will avenge her,

lest by her continual coming she weary me.'"

Luke 18:1-5

Gestation Hibernation

I have decided to enter a 'gestation hibernation'. My friend the science teacher may disagree, but "winter sleep" doesn't rhyme with gestation, so I am taking a little literary license. Generally, what I mean is that I eat (when not completely nauseous), curl up in a ball, and sleep for as long as possible. Preferably until this baby is born.

Which can't be today. Of the past two months, I have had only 3 "off-limits" days for the baby to arrive. The first was the above-mentioned friend's wedding day. The next two are today and tomorrow while my husband is away at a mandatory business meeting. The pressure to give birth has been replaced by incredible pressure in my pelvis. I can hardly walk. Luckily, not much of that is needed while hibernating.

Another essential element of hibernation is isolation. Not that I don't love my family and friends. I just have nothing new to tell them, and so avoid most conversations. My mom called the other day to check in. She asked if no news was good news and I replied that no news is simply NO NEWS. Against my better judgement, I did attempt to attend church this past Sunday. I made it through less than half the musical portion of the service, went to the ladies room to get sick, and promptly had my spouse drive me home and put me to bed.

My other mother is staying with me for the time that my husband is gone. This is a wonderful blessing since it allows me the ability to do more of that essential element of hibernation: sleep. It also gives me a ride to the hospital should this unborn child prove as obedient as all my others and come while Daddy is unavoidably AWOL.

I'm not sure how long my hibernation will last. I had an ultrasound of the baby this week which showed he was "only" a hair under 9#. Plus or minus a pound, of course. (I'm guessing plus). Since I've already had two 9-pounders, I doubt I'll get any more sympathy from the doc than I have at any other point during this process. Which means that I will probaby be pregnant until this little guy grows facial hair, or Feb 8th, whichever comes first. By then I truly will be like a bear coming out of hibernation: hairy, hungry, and horrible company.

When Bad Isn't Bad Enough

I've finished work. The last two days of the week were a bit difficult to get through, especially Thursday, which is my late night. Friday was a bit of an adventure because even as I wrapped up seeing clients and finalized paperwork, I was experiencing contractions.

On the way home, those contractions progressed to become quite regular. By the time I picked the kids up from the sitter's house, they were about 5 minutes apart. I was rejoicing as I came home and stayed busy in order to encourage the process. My OB said to come to the hospital after 2 hours of contractions 5 minutes or less apart. The contractions quit just 20 minutes shy of my goal.

Since then, they have repeated the whole scenario several times, always subsiding at some point prior to that prized pinnacle. I have relatives on standby. I have gas in the car. I have baby outfits packed. The only thing I don't have is a reason to go to the hospital!

I'm frustrated. Annoyed. Desperate. (I actually priced cod liver oil tonight--only the tablet form, though). I don't want to go anywhere (except the delivery room), since I'm sick of hearing people's comments. The other night in Walmart an obviously pregnant woman looked at me, and then said to her friend "I hope my stomach don't get that big like that. I don't wanna be that fat." I was actually so hurt that I could't think of a good comeback. She went on her merry way unaware of the effect of her insensitivity--although I may have silently wished her a nice 42 weeks of pregnancy.

To top it all off, my honey has to leave next week for a business trip that he can't get out of. Everything is arranged--my mom is coming to stay with us--but I really don't want to have the baby when he isn't here. And I REALLY don't want to have to wait until he gets back. I asked God tonight if herbals would be more effective than my prayers--which haven't produced labor thus far. I know He's in charge, but I want it to be NOW. I'm really struggling with the wait.

Its probably a good thing that the phone company has disconnected our line again (chronic problem with them). It means fewer calls "just checking in" which is code for "have you had that baby yet?" Let me clarify--when I have the baby, you'll know. I'll let everybody and their second cousins know. But it may be hazardous to your health to inquire early--especially ouch if I'm in the midst of another round of bothersome (but not quite bad enough) contractions.

"He has made all things beautiful in His time" --Eccl 3:11

Humble Pie

After skipping out on my last appointment with her, I went back to see my OB yesterday. Frankly, I couldn't persuade myself that it was worth the trip to go last time. This time, I was hoping for a better visit--and was perhaps even prepared to confront her lack of sympathy.

I arrived on time--a feat for a waddling womb such as myself, this time mostly due to my wonderful mother-in-law who came over early so I could leave the kids home. (My mom came down later to play Gramma for the rest of the day--yeah!). Of course, the office was running late so I sat and waited.

As I did so, the cramps and nausea continued their rather constant attacks. By the time they called me back to an exam room, I was feeling quite ill. As it turned out, I needn't have prepared any type of scolding for my doctor. She was appropriately sympathetic after I wound up sick and puking in her office.

After dealing with that delightful episode, the appointment continued on a more normal note. She listened to the heartbeat--135 beats/min. She did a swab for a bacteria I had at my last delivery. She measured my girth (dream on--I'm not telling). That prompted her to suggest yet another ultrasound--to make sure the baby isn't too big. HA! I would have laughed right in her face except I was afraid I'd puke again.

We discussed my Leave of Absence paperwork--I dread going back there this week, but at least it will be my last. Baby or no baby, I can't handle my job anymore at this point. Then I listed my "concerns" (read: complaints) for her consideration.

1. Vomiting--the only symptom she deigned to treat--perhaps due to my rather decisive display of the day. I'm now on 3 meds to control the nausea.
2. Swelling--we're talking feet the size of grapefruits and having to wear my husband's sport socks. My hands are also swollen to the point of numbness for several hours of the day.
3. Cramps--although I did discover that some of this "pre-labor" is actually helping to dilate me, albeit not much.
4. Insomnia--between the Braxton-Hicks contractions, leg cramps, my belly crushing my lungs so I can't breathe, and the other multiple discomforts of late pregnancy, I can't sleep more than a couple hours a night. And this is before the baby comes!
5. Induction--I reminded her that if we went by MY dates, this baby is already 38 weeks and could be safely induced. She stuck to her guns--especially the one pointed at my head firing out FEB 8TH bullets. The best she could to at confessing that she's wrong was to say that they won't stop my labor if I go "early" and that she didn't think I'd be pregnant for another month. "I'm hoping you'll just go on your own soon, here" were her words. Is there a recipe for humble pie? I'd like to take one along with me when I finally get to go to L&D.

Then we scheduled that ultrasound. Why? I don't know. They scheduled it in two weeks--I wanted to scream. First, I don't want to still be this miserable for that long. Second, by that time, even using the doc's date, an induction should be allowable even without proof that Goliath (formerly known as the PBC) is huge. Then, since I usually see the OB on Mondays and the u/s was on a Tuesday, the receptionist helpfully said we could discuss the results at my next appointment. This would've been on Feb 3rd. I couldn't help myself. I looked at that lady and said "Look, lady, I don't plan on being pregnant that long." After glancing at my chart, she agreed, and changed the appointment to Jan 23rd. I didn't have it in me to tell her I didn't plan on being pregnant that long either.

Matter of fact, I am planning, hoping, PRAYING, to be pregnant for as short a time as possible at this point. I disappointed my Mommy by not giving her a grandbaby for her birthday yesterday. (She know's I wouldn't LOVED to grant that wish). Now I'm thinking, an Epiphany baby would be great. That's today. If I have to wait until tomorrow, my 4 children would be born on Monday, Sunday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Thursday is almost exactly between two of our other kids birthdays. If he hasn't come until Friday, his birthday would be 1/9/09. Kinda cool. At this point, whatever day is TODAY, whatever time is NOW would be kinda cool. Just let it be soon, dear Lord! I want to serve that humble pie to the doctor, not myself!

"By You I have been upheld from birth;

You are He who took me out of my mother's womb.

My praise shall be continually of You."

--Psalm 71:6

Sunday Selah

I come before You begging
for deliverance
for Your awesome power
to accomplish what I cannot

To spare me from my own folly
To lift me from a dark mire
To hold me together when the world quakes
To rescue and redeem

I come before You waiting
for the Divine
for the answer of Your presence
to achieve what I cannot fathom

To glorify the daily trials
To enchant a heart grown stony
To waken a life spent sleeping
To reality and romance

Cod Liver Coward

It's official. 2009. And no baby. My husband didn't get his tax deduction or a write-up in the newspaper for first baby of the year. And me? With the dawning of the New Year, I have been pregnant for at least part of almost every one of the past 5 years--FIVE years!

Lately, whenever I pick up the phone, I identify myself and answer the "How are you" question with "Still pregnant." A friend of mine laughed at this last night, and said to me "I was asking about other stuff, too, y'know." Bless her. I'm just getting so sick of people wondering if I've had this baby yet.

My mom is still rooting for him to make his appearance on her birthday. That would be better than any day after that, of course, but I truly don't want to be pregnant for even those next few days. I see my doctor on Monday, but I'm not holding my breath for her to say anything useful or encouraging after how the last visit went.

I've been exploring the homeopathic ways to induce labor. Cod liver oil is out. I guess as sick as I am of being pregnant, I'm not that desperate. Last pregnancy I tried pineapple. That didn't work--just gave me sores on my tongue--so I'm avoiding that one too. My friend brought her "magic mostaccioli" for dinner on our New Year's Eve get-together, but I saw no results from that, either. (Except a full tummy and a need for Zantac.) I have so many plant allergies that I'm afraid to mix it up with the herbal remedies such as cohash, although raspberry tea is an option, I suppose. The truth is, I don't hold out much hope for any of them, and there is the very tiny, traitorous thought in the back of my brain that whispers "What if the doc is right and its too soon???"

Let me just tell you, it doesn't feel too soon. I'm the size of a jumbo blimp--even the maternity clothes are tight. Just the other day at work someone commented that I looked like a missile silo. Brilliant--that's what every girl wants to hear! Between my grapefruit feet, the numbness in my hands which has become pretty permanent, the delightful night wakings to leg cramps, and the fact that I can hardly move my own body--I simply want to be DONE. The bun in this oven is baked. My goose is cooked. I'm ready to hop out of the frying pan into the labor fire. All I need to know is: how many more clever phrases will I have to come up with until it actually happens?

"...And in Your book they were all written,

the days fashioned for me,

when as yet there were none of them."

--Psalm 139:16