http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvi3Agg1zxw
Look carefully, you can see me in the background holding Eddie and dancing. It was filmed while I was up north visiting my cousin at her friend's shop. Lots of fun!
More about the trip coming, I promise. I haven't had time to write.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Northern California Trip Part One
This past weekend I drove just over 900 miles. And none of it had anything to do with car rallies! I went to visit my cousin Cindy in Windsor, California. She is probably the person in my family I most relate to - she’s a little crazy like me. Well, ok, she’s a lot crazy - just like me. It used to be about 6-7 hours to drive there, now It’s a whole day’s drive to get there because of traveling with a kid. I can only hope it doesn’t get too much longer with another kid. Thank goodness Eddie loves traveling in the car.
I try to get up there as often as I can. It ends up being about once a year, although I missed 2011. I went in July 2010, 4 months before my wedding. Cindy was in my wedding and so I wanted to do some wedding stuff with her. I ended up getting my dress while I was there at a little boutique in town. Packing back then meant throwing a few clothes in a bag and bringing some snacks for the drive.
Last September when Eddie was 14 months old I headed up there again. This time packing was a bit more complicated. In addition to my clothes, I had to pack Eddie’s clothes plus a portable crib and bedding, high chair, stroller, food and milk for the drive up, Eddie’s plates and cups, diapers, toys, and books. My car was full. This was my first experience driving a long distance from home with Eddie. I had written a car rally with him when he was only a few months old, but if he happened to get cranky we could always just head home. On this trip, we were far from home. He could not be a better car kid, I don’t know how I got so lucky. Back then, Eddie would only poop at home. No really, I’m serious. So I was a bit concerned about that. He didn’t go in the car or once we got there in the evening. The next day, however, was a poopapalooza. Three poops, one right after another. He was clearly holding it in for a while and I was happy to know he felt like he was at home at my cousin’s house.
There are two main routes through Central California, Interstate 5 and California Hwy 99. I used to take I-5 assuming the Interstate would be faster. But after talking to my dad (who goes up and down the state somewhat often) I decided to try CA-99. It is so much better. I-5 is two lanes and has few stops. CA-99 is often 3 lanes, sometimes 4, and goes through more cities and therefore has more places available to stop. Plus I think going through cities is much more pleasant than miles and miles of nothingness. The main factor in choosing my route from the center of the state west to Windsor is that I hate going over bridges. I really hate being charged a toll to be terrified. And since I have to go through or around the Bay Area, bridges are a concern. The Bay Area also has really bad traffic. When it was just me I would plan the time through the Bay Area to coincide with traffic patterns, but now since it takes longer and I have to travel on the kid’s timeline and not just mine I can’t do that as easily. So last visit and this visit I started looking at alternatives. I now go over the top of the San Francisco Bay (which is surprisingly large) and only have to go over a couple of tiny bridges. The bridge I avoid by doing this is 5.5 miles long. That’s 5.5 miles of white knuckle terror I don’t have to go through. CA-12 to I-80 to CA-37 is much more scenic. There are protected wetlands with hills in the background. And I avoid more of US-101 coming out of San Francisco which is a traffic disaster pretty much always.
I considered taking even more back roads to get there this time, but I didn’t mostly because I’m pregnant. I know how often there are available bathrooms on the route I took because I also took the same one last time. Once I get off CA-99, bathrooms are a bit more scarce but often enough that I wouldn’t pee my pants in the car. Maybe next time on the way home, when it’s at the beginning of the trip and not at the end, I’ll take some back roads through Sonoma and Napa counties. The nice thing about having kids is that you can use the carpool lanes. This comes in handy when I finally get on US-101 and can zip by most of the traffic for the last 20 miles or so going up there and the first 20 miles coming home.
One of the apps I have on my phone is for In ‘N Out. If you aren’t from California, you may not be familiar with this little piece of heaven. It’s a burger place. And that’s pretty much all they make. Burgers, fries, shakes, sodas, and in varying combinations. I like my cheeseburger Animal Style, which means they cook the patty with mustard and then they put dill pickles, extra thousand island dressing, and grilled onions on the burger in addition to the usual tomato and lettuce. Their fries are made fresh, you can actually watch them cut up the potatoes and put them into the frying oil. Eddie will usually fall asleep after about an hour of driving and stay asleep until almost lunch time. So when he wakes up I check the app to see where the next In ‘N Out is, and stop there for lunch. There are more locations on CA-99 than I-5, another reason to pick that route. The old ones are drive thru only with a few tables outside, the newer ones have indoor seating (high chairs available). This is preferable if you are traveling with a toddler, but part of me still loves the old ones the best.
I only had to make two other stops after that, one for gas and one for the bathroom. I need three tanks of gas to make the round trip, so I fill up before I go, fill up once on the way there, and once on the way back. I waited a bit too long to go to the bathroom and ended up having to go really bad by the time I stopped. At least I probably won’t have to deal with that next time I go. Gotta love the third trimester of pregnancy, right?
I decided to make a detailed packing list this time so I didn’t forget anything. When I say detailed, I mean detailed. Every single item of clothing, toys, books, food, even the big items were on the list. It was 4 pages long. It helped immensely. I could see what needed to be done and what was all ready to go. I worked on it for a week or two and started packing a few days before I left. I have never felt more organized before leaving for a trip ever. It didn’t seem to change the fact that I didn’t feel like I had enough time to get everything done, however.
I had a special delivery to take up with me. On Cindy’s dad’s side of her family a relative owns a British pub style restaurant in Burbank called The Buchanan Arms. They make bangers and mash with gravy, but they deep fry their bangers in the same batter as the fish and chips. It’s not far from me, but Cindy laments the distance because she loves the bangers and mash so much. She called me a few days before I left and wanted to know if I could stop there and bring some. So I picked up some bangers, gravy, and the batter mix to bring with me. We had that the night I got there. Wow. It was amazing. Yum, yum, and more yum. Probably the longest takeout delivery I’ve ever been involved with.
More about the trip next post. It was a fun filled busy weekend!
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Pictures from Northern California trip
I left my house early Thursday morning with my car packed full of stuff. When it was just me, I could throw a bag with some clothes in the trunk and bring a small bag of snacks with me and I'd be good to go. Now, not so much. Also a lot more stops. Here we are at the last bathroom/diaper stop before we got to our destination. Eddie found a large stick and a small "park" to entertain himself in for a few minutes before getting back into the car.
My cousin's kids are now adults, but two of them still live at home. They all adore Eddie.
Friday we did a lot of hanging around the house. I had brought some leftover cooked carrots with me. Eddie surprised me by eating them cold like they were little orange pieces of candy. My kid loves the veggies!
Sunday we went to a birthday party for a brother and sister. The boy is eight and the girl is three. There were a ton of kids there and Eddie had a great time playing with them. So much so he never seemed to stand still enough to get some pictures. The birthday boy has quite a collection of toy trucks, which Eddie loved. They have an adorable "time out" bench that Eddie kept voluntarily sitting on.
My other cousin was at the party as well and we got a picture of the three of us. By the end of the day Eddie was tired enough to cuddle up with my cousin and her husband.
Yesterday was the long drive back home. It went too quickly and it's going to be a while until I can get back up there with the baby on the way. Maybe in about a year. I can't wait.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
My breastfeeding saga
I feel the need to warn the easily queasy that this post includes talk about breasts, nipples, breast milk, and the horrible things that can go along with breastfeeding. It’s not that bad, I promise. But you have been warned.
Before Eddie was born, I had every intention to breastfeed him. I was even looking forward to it. And even if you ignore the health benefits your child gets from breastfeeding, there are other great benefits as well. First and foremost, it’s a lot cheaper than formula. A LOT cheaper. Many stores lock up their formula because it is often stolen to be sold on the black market. Formula smells horrid, breast milk smells sweetly pleasant. And coming out the other end, breast milk poop is a lot less stinky than formula poop, something I was dubious about before smelling both. Plus breasts are a lot easier to carry around than either formula or pumped breast milk. Now I knew that it doesn’t always work out for everyone, but I was 100% convinced it would work out. What can I say, I was clueless. Everything I heard at my prenatal appointments was how the hospital would support breastfeeding by having baby stay in the room in with you, letting you have skin to skin contact right after birth, and there would be lots of nurses and support staff that could help.
Then reality stepped in and reared its ugly head.
You can read about my childbirth experience and post childbirth early breastfeeding attempts in detail in my posts from the past few weeks. Some of this is repeat information.
Eddie was taken to the NICU not because he was struggling to survive and not because he was pre-term (he was actually over 41 weeks!) but because they thought there was a small possibility he had an infection and it takes 48 hours to grow the bacteria culture to find out. The NICU staff had to allow me to attempt breastfeeding whenever I wanted, but they didn’t have to care if it was going well or not, and let me tell you, they really didn’t care.
It was a total turnaround when Eddie got out of the NICU. I was there one more night after that and the maternity ward looked at formula as a drug (I’m not kidding) that had to be signed out and was strongly discouraged. Any pacifier I had was strictly forbidden, never mind the NICU gave me a supply of both pacifiers and formula when they brought him to me. Eddie had been getting formula for two straight days (regardless of how often I came and breastfed him), as well as a constantly present pacifier. It was no wonder he couldn’t get the hang of latching on to my breast. When I got home, it wasn’t getting any better and my frustration only grew. It was so painful to feed Eddie because he was trying to suck only the nipple as he had practiced his entire short life. After a few days my nipples were bloody and sore, so I decided to pump for a day or two to see if they would heal. It still didn’t help. No amount of lanolin helped either. When I started pumping red milk (yuck!) I made the hard decision that I would pump and bottle feed him. By this time, I was making plenty of milk, I just couldn’t convince the little guy to take it from me directly. I cannot express how much dedication this took. It meant for the first months of his life I would spend about half my day pumping, feeding, and cleaning the pump and bottles. It took about 30 minutes to pump, 15 minutes on each breast. Looking back it may have been smarter to get a double pump, but we bought the pump when I was stubbornly sticking to the idea I would eventually breastfeed directly. The handling of pumped breast milk can also be a bit of a pain. You have to refrigerate any extra and keep track of how old it is and freeze any that you aren’t going to use. There has to be a system of how you get it back to room temperature whether it is refrigerated or frozen. If you are going out for any length of time you have to pack some as well as a pump (it’s amazing how quickly it can get painful), plus a way to get it up to room temp or know how long that will take and plan accordingly. I never really felt comfortable pumping in public. It’s a lot easier to get a baby on your breast and cover him than a pump you have to hold in place. I got really good at pumping in my car. When at home, I would strap Eddie in his rocking chair so he could watch what Mama was doing. That chair was the greatest gift I got. It gave me a place to set Eddie down where he could see me and I could entertain him by making faces at him. And he would entertain me by making faces back.
There is surprisingly little to no information or support for
I learned early on about having to get the milk back to about body temperature, or at least room temperature. When Eddie was about a month old, I took him out to work a checkpoint at a car rally. I had to drive about one hour to get there, was there about 45 minutes, and then drove to the finish location and was there around a hour. All told I needed to feed Eddie two ounces of milk at least twice. I brought some frozen bottles with me. As I was driving there, it suddenly dawned on me that it was too cold to give him. Or too cold to even pour in the bottle. I panicked a little because I had never thought about this before. In fact, this was the first time I had brought pumped milk with me. It was one of the first times I had even left the house since bringing him home. So I proceeded to put the bottle of freezing cold milk in between my legs and under my arms to get it to warm up. Wow it was cold. Brr. It worked out, thank goodness Eddie has always been the most flexible kid and quite forgiving of his clueless mom. I learned the hard way that carrying pumped breast milk means always planning ahead.
One important lesson I would like to impart to anyone reading this: DO NOT CHANGE BIRTH CONTROL WHILE BREASTFEEDING OR PUMPING. I was taking the no estrogen pills and at my follow up appointment after giving birth mentioned that I had taken the other before and it was harder to remember to take these at the exact same time every day. It was kind of an offhand comment. It wasn’t like it was a hardship or anything. But, the doctor said that I could switch to the regular kind because my milk production was well established. I switched when my prescription ran out when Eddie was about 7 months old. Before this, I was making so much milk I was running out of room in the freezer to store it. About one month later my milk production took a nose dive and I wasn’t even pumping enough to feed him everyday. It continued going down and eventually I had used all the milk in the freezer and had to start supplementing with formula. By the time he was 10 months old he was only getting formula, it wasn’t even worth the time to get the pump out. This was even more painful than not being able to feed him directly from my breast. It was even more painful than the cracked, bloody nipples. I felt like a total failure.
I know I shouldn’t have felt that way. I gave him breast milk exclusively for a good amount of time and it has clearly had a good effect. He almost never gets sick and when he does, it’s barely noticeable. I don’t regret any of the time I spent in order to feed him breast milk. It was time well spent. And he is clearly a happy, healthy kid and that’s what is really important. I just pray that it will be easier with the next one.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Post Childbirth: Getting Out of the Hospital
Up until this point, I was pretty happy with the staff, both nurses and doctors, at the hospital. There were one or two that I liked less than some of the others, but for the most part they were friendly, caring, and good at their jobs. However, the nurse I had overnight from midnight to about 7am on Friday was the worst nurse of my stay. And not just of my stay, but the worst nurse I have ever come into contact with ever. It was a different nurse that took me over to the NICU so my first meeting with her was when she came to take me back. My friend that helped me over there had gone home about 15 minutes before I let the NICU staff know I was ready to go back to my room. I guess my new nurse had never had to get a patient that was connected to the locked morphine pole before because she came by herself. I was a bit hesitant because I knew how hard it was going to be to get me back with only one person. I attempted to explain this and got a not so friendly response. And all the way back it was like she was mad at me personally for wanting to go hold my kid. Like I was ruining her day. It is really tiresome when people complain about things that are part of their jobs. And not an odd part of their job, but just the everyday job. I was glad that I was going to be asleep for most of her shift. But first I had to get safely back in my bed. When we finally got back to the room, she stopped the wheelchair twice as far from the bed as I normally was with nothing to hold onto and then really did nothing to help me back to bed. Just stood there and watched. I was befuddled at this point because complaining is one thing, being seemingly purposely mean to a patient is another. If you’re going to make me work this hard to get into bed, at least be there to give me a hand. It’s only been 24 hours since I was strapped down to a bed with a bunch of hands in my insides. At least I was finally going to get a little rest, and my body was telling me that’s exactly what I needed.
Well, except for the fact that they were still taking my blood pressure a few times an hour. On a sidenote, I HATE having my blood pressure taken. The only thing you can do to me that is worse is stick me with a needle. I don’t know why I hate it so much. Something about the squeezing and then being able to feel your veins and arteries opening back up as the pressure is released. Makes me squirm. But, I had gotten used to the thing going off enough that it didn’t phase me that much. I could pretty much sleep right through it. So this nurse makes a much bigger production out of taking my blood pressure than she needs to. It was like she was trying to wake me up. I guess that didn’t work enough because about 2am, she comes in and wakes me up and announces they are taking out the catheter RIGHT NOW. Ok lady, I’m recovering from surgery and pushed myself to try and breastfeed all day and pushed a bit too hard. I need some rest so I can regroup and start again the next day. And you are not helping me get better at this point. It’s not that I was against having the catheter out, but the idea of trying to get some sleep when in the back of my mind I was afraid I was going to pee all over myself... it wasn’t going to work. Even though she was really pissing me off with her attitude toward me and hostility to the world, I gathered my thoughts and did my best to explain to her, as calmly and rationally as possible, that I just needed to get some sleep without and poking or prodding or worrying about anything for a few hours. Come back at 7 or 8 in the morning, take out the catheter, and let’s go from there. She didn’t seem to like that I was going against her expert opinion. She said I would have to explain it to a doctor. I invited that, as at least the doctor would probably have a better outlook on life and patients than her. It certainly couldn’t get any worse.
Somehow I managed to get some rest that night. They took the catheter out in the morning and now I had to worry about emptying my bladder on top of everything else. But you can’t get better if you don’t push yourself. And best of all, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to have that nurse ever again. And if I did, I would protest until I didn’t have her assigned to me. Friday to Saturday is a blur of seeing Eddie, a few visitors, and attempting to pump. I wasn’t getting a ton of milk, but every little bit was leaps and bounds ahead of nothing. At some point they took the morphine away and starting offering pain pills instead. I didn’t mind a bit as I wasn’t using the morphine anyway. Like I mentioned before, I have a high tolerance for pain, and the pills were more for management so the pain didn’t escalate beyond control. I was taking as little as possible. I remember one visitor coming while Eddie was still in the NICU, he took a five minute video of me holding Eddie and talking about him. My favorite was when I showed off the Baby Lo-Jack device attached to his umbilical cord. They put an alarm device so you can’t smuggle the baby out of the hospital. It’s not really a Lo-Jack, but that’s what it reminded me of. I love that video, it’s so precious.
First thing Saturday morning I starting asking over and over when Eddie was coming to the room with me. It had been over 48 hours, after all. The culture should be done and I wanted to know the results, which I figured would be negative. Eddie was showing no signs of weakness or illness. He has been healthy as can be since he was born and still is to this day. Finally I got word that the culture was negative and they just had to do his hearing test before bringing him to me. I don’t think I have ever watched a clock like I did then, even more than when I was in terrible pain the first night and had to watch ten minutes tick off before pushing the morphine button, or as I jokingly started calling it “the magic green happy button”.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the NICU nurse brought Eddie to my room and handed him over to me. I could hold my son without all the wires and monitors attached. It was glorious. I could breastfeed as often and as long as I wanted. I didn’t have anyone hovering over me and could take my time. I wasn’t having a ton of luck and Eddie seemed to be hungry constantly. By evening I was wondering if this mother thing was for me. And that’s when the shift of the best nurse I had the entire time I was in the hospital started. She was amazing. Caring, outgoing, helpful, knowledgeable, funny, and generally awesome. She helped me try to get Eddie to latch on properly without being in my face and grabby. She didn’t get frustrated and kept calm, which helped Eddie and me both stay calm as well. After a while, she stood back and said, “You’re doing everything right, he’s just not getting it. Keep at it, it should come.” That’s the vote of confidence I needed. I pretty much held him until I was about to fall asleep. I wrapped him up and put him in his bed. He cried a lot and it was hard for me to keep getting up and down. Finally the nurses offered to put him in the bed with me so I could breastfeed while laying down, plus being nearer to me he would probably sleep as well. I wasn’t sure that would work, but sure enough, he was quiet and calm until morning. It was the best feeling ever, and such a change from Thursday night/Friday morning.
Sunday morning, with Eddie still cuddled up next to me, the doctor came in and said I was doing very well, how would I like to go home today? If I was physically able to jump up and down, I would have. Instead I sleepily smiled and said that sounded good. Late morning some good friends of ours came to visit. Their timing couldn’t have been better as they helped me get everything together and helped Eddie and me get dressed and out to the car. I don’t think that’s the visit they had in mind, but it was exactly what I needed. At some point the doctors came and took out the staples in my abdomen. I was quite surprised when the tool they used to do this looked like a bigger version of an office staple remover. I guess it makes sense though.
Eddie was on his way home. I was still clueless about how I was going to take care of him while recovering from the C-section. But at least now I was starting to become confident in myself that I would find a way.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Post Childbirth: The First 24 Hours
So to recap a bit from the last post, Eddie was born at 12:05am on Thursday, about 50 hours after I first got to the hospital for a planned labor induction that ended in a C-Section. This was the exact opposite way I had envisioned this going and it turns out it was only going to get worse. And here is my usual warning, if you get queasy when it comes to women’s parts and fluids coming out of bodies, I recommend you read with caution.
As I lay there strapped to the table still drugged up from the surgery, I barely got to look at the little life they had just taken out of me. I didn’t get to hold him or touch him since I couldn’t really feel my arms. They told me they were going to take him to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). Wait, what? You’re doing what? What for? What’s wrong with him? I had heard them say he got a 9 out of 10 on the Apgar test, so he couldn’t be that bad off. Turns out they wanted to keep him there for 48 hours to do a bacteria culture test to make sure he didn’t have an infection because I had spiked a fever near the end of the labor. TWO. DAYS. HIS FIRST TWO DAYS. My heart absolutely sank. All of the happy, rosy images of my baby being set on me after birth and starting to breastfeed and having that cuddly special time were quickly disappearing. Gone, they were gone. GONE. Eddie’s first food wouldn’t come from me, it would come from a smelly bottle of formula. To add insult to injury, the NICU nurse came to talk to me and ask me a few questions. The main one was about pacifiers. I explained to her that my goal was to exclusively breastfeed and therefore wanted to limit the number of nipples he was given. I also explained I would go over there as often as I could to breastfeed, recovery from surgery permitting. In the most snarky tone she could muster she asked me, “Well, what I am supposed to do when he cries???” I don’t know lady, you’re the professional FIGURE IT OUT. Now my hopes of successfully breastfeeding were going out the window as well. I was alone and pissed and scared. At some point I asked the anesthesiologist if I could close my eyes as I felt really tired. He was really great, talked to me a lot and comforted me. At some point I woke back up and felt like I was going to puke. He had told me to start making a lot of noise if that was a possibility, so through the oxygen mask I started yelling “PUKE PUKE PUKE PUKE!” He ran over with something for me to puke in and I did. And back to sleep.
I woke up in the recovery area, and they asked me if I wanted morphine. Well, what they really asked was to rate my pain on a scale from 1-10. You quickly learn what answers get you drugs. She warned me that right now I would want to take the drugs before the pain started getting bad, so as soon as I felt the anesthetic wearing off to ask for the morphine. I asked about seeing Eddie and was basically told not until I was more mobile. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see him. After a little while and two doses of morphine they took me over to the maternity ward. At this point, the pain was creeping up on me but they had to wait for the morphine drip to get there from Fort Knox... I mean, the pharmacy. My husband and a friend of mine were sitting with me and I kept telling them to go tell the nurse that the pain was starting to get really bad. They didn’t seem impressed. At some point it hurt so bad I started screaming and didn’t stop. If nothing else I figured it might get the night shift nurses to call the pharmacy and tell them to get off their ass and hurry the hell up. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain but this was the worst pain I have ever felt. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they came with the morphine. But first they had to lock it into a box on the IV pole. It seems they really have to keep an eye on the narcotics. I kind of wonder if the reason it took so long is that they needed to find an armed security guard to walk it up to the maternity ward and couldn’t find one. Then they handed me a button and said it would give me a dose whenever I pushed it, but not more than one per ten minutes. I could see the clock on the wall without my glasses (I’m near blind so it had to be a big clock) and pushed it every ten minutes until the pain had been reduced enough for me to sleep.
When I woke up, the first thing I wanted to do was go to the NICU. Remember, I haven’t held Eddie yet. Ever. It takes two people to push me over there. First off, the doors at the hospital are just big enough for a wheelchair (I couldn’t walk yet) and someone had to push me. Also, they don’t stay open. Dumb. Second, I am basically chained to the pole with the morphine. It’s going to be a day before I can switch to regular pain killers. The other IV fluids they have going into me (drip and antibiotics) could have been taken off the pole and carried on the chair. But the morphine is locked onto the pole. So there has to be another person to open doors and push the pole. It’s a big fat pain in the ass and of course, we have to go to the opposite side of the floor. Then I have to scrub up, not easy when I have trouble getting up and standing. They are really making me work to see my kid. A less determined person might have just said to forget it and go back to the room.
Every new parent thinks their kid is the most perfect thing they have ever seen, I’m no different. Most newborns to me look funny and not cute. Eddie didn’t have that newborn weirdness to him. I was relieved I wasn’t repulsed by him. I’ve never been much of a baby person and don’t like to hold other people’s babies, but this was different. I was worried about that all during my pregnancy. This felt right in a way in doesn’t when the baby isn’t yours. After holding him for a little bit I started to try and breastfeed. By this time he had been given several bottles of formula and pretty much had a pacifier in his mouth whenever there wasn’t a bottle in it. From everything I had read, I was in for an uphill battle. Added to that the fact that I have pretty large breasts to begin with, which can be hard for a baby to deal with. Men like getting a large breast stuck in their face, babies, not so much. I was also hampered by the many wires they had attached to him and the IV that was in my wrist. I was having difficulty getting him to latch on and not just take the nipple. Then the nurses descended on me, the supposed “breastfeeding experts”. The thing they weren’t experts in is how the mom is going to feel when suddenly everyone is grabbing her breast and trying to stick it in baby’s mouth. And as they got frustrated it wasn’t working, I got frustrated with them. I knew at this point he wasn’t going to starve, so I was trying to take it easy. I wasn’t too successful and feeding him this time around and I was getting tired from all the effort, so I went back to my room.
I did this several more times that day with differing levels of success. Of course, no matter how successful or how long I fed him, they stuck a bottle in him on their schedule anyway. It’s not too encouraging when whatever I did to feed him didn’t really matter to them. It was really exhausting to move that much with staples in my abdomen. It hurt to get up and take steps, but they really push you to do that. They want to know as soon as you poop, it’s a way of knowing your abdomen muscles are working properly. That wasn’t happening yet. I did have some gnarly gas though. And it really hurt to sneeze or cough. Ow.
That evening, I was planning to go attempt to feed Eddie again and the NICU called the maternity ward and said, “Don’t bother coming, we are just going to give him a bottle”. That was about the end of my patience. I lost it. I even threw my phone on the floor, it almost broke (it did damage it pretty good). I started to wonder why I was even going over there at all. And this was still only the first day of me being a mother. Later that night a friend of mine came to visit and cheered me up. I was really starting to feel sorry for myself. She convinced me I needed to go right now to the NICU even if I didn’t try and breastfeed, just go hold my son for a while. I had also mentioned to her I felt stupid because every time I went over there I forgot to take pictures. She helped the nurse get me over there and came with me into the NICU. As soon as we got there, I realized I once again forgot my phone. My friend, being ever the smart cookie, just smiled at me. And then pulled my phone out of her pocket. Some of those pictures of Eddie and I are still some of my all time favorites. I held Eddie until 12:05am Friday morning. Happy first day of life!
To be continued... Next time, a contrast of nursing styles: the nurse from hell and the most awesome nurse on the planet.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Little Tujunga Canyon Road
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| Valentine's Day |
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The view from this turnout is pretty amazing.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
The Struggle of Childbirth
Warning: This post will use fun words like vagina, cervix, uterus, placenta, catheter, and other things that may not be for the easily grossed out. It’s about a baby being ripped out of someone else’s body. You have been thusly warned.
Childbirth is not for the weak. No matter what the situation it is a struggle. It’s kind of amazing that the human race has lasted as long as it has considering this is what we need to do to reproduce. I read everything I could and envisioned what I would do in different situations. Let me tell you, I did not run enough scenarios to prepare me for what actually happened.
My due date was Friday, July 15. My baby shower was on Sunday, July 17. What can I say, I live on the edge. I had an appointment on July 21, if nothing happened by then they were going to schedule an induction. I went to that appointment still pregnant, still no signs of labor. I wanted to put off the induction as long as they would let me to see if I went into labor naturally. I knew my husband had some work appointments over the weekend so I talked them into waiting until Monday night, July 25. I got to the hospital around 9pm. They did an ultrasound to make sure the baby was facing the right way and things like the placenta and umbilical cord were in the right place. Or at least not the wrong place. Baby looked great, everything was great. About 10pm they gave me the first drugs to jump start labor. It would take about 12 hours to gage if it was starting to work. My husband went home and I slept. Next morning: nothing. So they gave me another dose. Another 12 hours, only a slight dilation of the cervix. This entire time they had me on an IV drip and were carefully measuring my urine output. I kind of felt like a toddler being toilet trained. They gave me different drugs, and something started to happen. Enough that they were able to insert a tube through the vagina and blow up two balloons, one on either side of the cervix. The idea is that it would put pressure on the cervix to encourage it to open up.
This was NOT comfortable in any way. Also, I had the end of the tube taped to the inside of my thigh. Ug. I was so happy when it fell out while I was peeing. My water broke or at least partially broke at that time as well. Conveniently, I was sitting on the toilet when that happened. Less mess to clean up. Now they started the good drugs in earnest. This somewhere around Tuesday night or Wednesday morning. I was dilated 4 centimeters and it was starting to look promising.
The contractions started really coming at this point. They were bad. Worse than I imagined. Worse than I could have ever imagined. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. I was able to handle the pain, but I couldn’t have followed any kind of directions or tried to push. My poor husband was freaking out seeing me in that much pain. I know he wished he could have taken it all away. Love him so much! The worst thing was that the contractions were coming but the cervix was stubbornly not dilating. Finally I couldn’t take the pain anymore and had the epidural. I think if things had been progressing faster I would have done it without drugs like I intended, but I didn’t see an end in sight. And I can tell you, I do NOT look forward to ever getting one of those again. It does not feel good. The worst part of the whole thing was the anesthesiologist asking me if he had the right location on my back. Um, dude, you’re the one looking at it, and you’re the professional. How should I know? Got the catheter put in at this point as well. At least I no longer have to get up to go to the bathroom, right?
So now the contractions are still coming but I am in little to no pain. I have still only dilated 6 centimeters. It’s Wednesday night, July 27. I came in and they started the drugs 48 hours ago. I have heard women screaming from down the hall followed by baby cries at least three times, if not more. I am ready for this kid to be out. If the contractions are allowed to go on much longer the constant squeezing of the uterus will start to put the baby into serious distress. I also was starting to run a low fever and they had ice packs all over me. They finally gently suggest that maybe they should do a C-Section.
My worst nightmare has just come true.
C-Section. The words ring out in my brain. C-Section. No. No. C-section. Nononononononono. No. C-section. NO! NO! NO!
At this point, I have quite a crowd in my room as earlier in the day when there was the big jump in cervix opening everyone thought it was going to happen soon. My dad was there as well as two good friends of mine, and of course my husband. My first thought when they suggested a Caesarean was to just flat out tell them no, this kid is coming out of the hole that is already in my uterus, thank you very much, you don’t need to make another one. But then I thought about the fact that the hole nature had provided was not getting big enough for the kid. So I shooed everyone except the husband out of the room so we could talk about it.
Thank God I am blessed with the most amazing, supportive husband on the planet. Who also isn’t afraid to admit he was just as scared as I was.
We decided about 11:20 to do the C-section. They didn’t seem like they were in a complete rush at that point so the freaking out husband and dad-to-be asked if he had time to go outside and collect his thoughts (I wished I could have done that too!). All of the sudden they are wheeling me into the operating room. I kept saying, “You are not cutting me open until my husband gets back! Where is he? Wait!!!” They kept assuring me he was right outside. Good thing he came in before they started doing anything or they would have had a crazy woman on their hands. It seems that something on the baby monitor made them move with a bit more urgency. Getting the epidural turned out to be a good thing as that was already set up. At this point, it is about 11:45pm. So... will the kid be “born” on the 27th or the 28th? I can see the big clock on the wall even without my glasses on. It inches ever closer to midnight and they are starting to work on me. I can hear the doctors and nurses talking but I’m tuning them out because if I listen to what they are saying I’ll get grossed out knowing they are talking about me. I am just concentrating on my husband and trying to talk to him as much as possible. Then the clock hits 12:01 and I at least know the birthdate, even if I still don’t know the gender yet. 4 minutes later, they announce it’s a boy and I can hear him crying. My husband was convinced it was going to be a girl, and I can still hear him say, a little unbelievingly, “I have a son?” Finally, I could put a name to this thing that had been kicking me for so many months. Meanwhile, I’m still strapped to the table as they continue to put everything back together and staple me up. And thus the clueless journey began. Little Edward Russell had come into the world.
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| Edward Russell shortly after being yanked out of me |
Next time: the switch from labor and delivery to the maternity ward.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Selfie at 28 weeks
28 weeks pregnant, the start of the third trimester. I am really starting to feel pregnant. 3 months to go.
Day trip to Santa Barbara
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| The Pyramid at the cemetery |
Every year on April 5, or the Friday or Monday closest to April 5, I go to Santa Barbara for the day. It’s a pleasant 90 mile drive from my house and is under a 2 hour drive, assuming the freeways are not a complete disaster (I know, that can be hard to assume on any given day, a lot of it is knowing what time to go to avoid traffic). What is special about this day? It’s my mom’s birthday. She would have been 72 this year. When my great grandmother died, my grandparents buried her in what I think is the most beautiful cemetery ever, the Santa Barbara Cemetery Association. They also bought enough plots for themselves and my mom. Interestingly enough, they only got four plots despite the fact my mom was married to my dad already. It’s worked out since my grandparents were both cremated they share a plot, and there is still one available for my dad.
It was such a huge blessing that they did this. When my mom died unexpectedly in a car accident in 2000 (see the post I Miss My Mom for the story) it was one less thing I needed to worry about. It was fitting that she be buried in Santa Barbara where she grew up, a place she loved, even if part of me would have liked to have her closer to me. After my mom died I started going to visit on her birthday. I try to go at various other times, but I never miss a birthday. It was less depressing than going on the anniversary of her death. It’s become quite a tradition. I stop at the grocery store nearby that has a flower department to get some flowers. I have found a yummy Mexican place to get lunch to bring with me (but not when it’s a Monday, they are closed and I have to find some other place). I then head over to the cemetery and have a picnic lunch and sit and enjoy the beautiful view. The cemetery is on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean to the south. There are mountains to the north. All in all it is really pretty and relaxing. After I eat lunch I usually stroll around the cemetery. It’s been there a while and it’s interesting to look at all the old grave markers. Over the years the basic traditions have remained but I try to find something new to do every time I’m there.
Two years ago I was about 6 months pregnant, same as this year. Last year was the first time bringing Eddie to meet his grandmother. It was a bit of an adventure bringing an eight month old with me. He was still eating mushy solid food and still needed a bottle feeding several times a day. It was a lot more work packing for that trip than any one before it.
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| So much room to run, Mama! |
Packing food for the trip is a lot easier now that Eddie is eating normal food. I brought some fruit for snacking and lots of cookies - we were celebrating his grandma’s birthday after all. I also put a container of milk and one of juice for the day. I made sure and ran Eddie around before leaving so he would get a good nap in the car. He slept all the way there. We got there just in time for lunch. The Vons I stop at had a special on daffodils, so I got a whole bunch of them to take with me. We then picked up our burrito at my favorite place. It’s big enough that Eddie and I can share one. We got to the cemetery and the weather could not have been better. I had been following the weather reports that said it was expected to be quite windy starting Friday, so I was afraid it was going to be gusty. Fortunately it was quite still and sunny, about 75 out. Gorgeous Santa Barbara weather. One of the interesting things when you go on the same day every year is how different the weather can be. The start of spring in Southern California can bring a lot of different conditions. I can’t remember it ever raining, but there have been some cold, overcast days and one year the wind was gusting 30-35 MPH. Those aren’t the ideal days. This year was an ideal day. I put out the blanket and got lunch ready. Eddie was more interested in running around than eating, which was ok since I knew he would snack all day. My mom is in the middle of a large meadow area with no above ground gravestones, so there is nowhere for him to hide.
After we were done eating, I put Eddie in the stroller to take a walk around. When he saw the boats out on the water, he got excited. He kept pointing and saying "Bo! Bo!". Often I walk around with no destination in mind, but today I did. I had noticed when I drove in there was a service today. For some reason I always like to go watch - from a distance of course. It’s a little painful because I remember what it was like being in the cemetery right after my mom died with all that fresh pain. But it’s also comforting because it does get easier as time goes by and you learn how to deal with the pain. So I walked over in that direction and found a place for Eddie and I to sit that was not intruding on the service. It was a small one. There was one year I was there and there was a huge service. There was even a mariachi band.
We walked back to the car and loaded up. The next stop was the house my mom grew up in. In all the years I’ve been driving up there I’ve never thought of driving by. My grandparents lived there until the mid to late 1970s. They moved from Santa Barbara, with its beautiful weather and only a few hours drive from where I grew up, to Phoenix, Arizona, with its miserably hot summers and either long drive or plane ride. But I’m not bitter, really. It’s a cute little house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Nothing super special. I wonder how my life would have been different if this was the house I associated my grandparents with instead of their house in Arizona.
I had decided to take the back roads home since I wasn’t going straight home. Plus by the afternoon the freeways are terrible. I had to go to Moorpark to work a checkpoint for a car rally. It was the first Friday of the month, and every month we put on a two hour car rally called the First Friday Niter. I know, clever name. So I followed CA-192 (CA for California Highway) out of Santa Barbara (much of it is also called Foothill Road, because it’s at the foothills of the mountains north of Santa Barbara). I then turned onto CA-150, which goes around Lake Casitas and through Ojai, ending at CA-126 in Santa Paula. At this point, I am in an area I know pretty well thanks to car rallying. I jogged over to South Mountain Road and then right on Balcom Canyon Road. The checkpoint was on Stockton Road and Balcom Canyon Road, so I wasn’t far. However, I needed to eat, so I headed down to CA-118 to go into Moorpark to find dinner.
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| Eddie is serious when it comes to his fries |
There are lots of places to eat along there, I think there is one of every major fast food chain. I knew there was an In ‘N Out there, so that was my first choice unless something else caught my eye. If you aren’t familiar with In ‘N Out, it’s a California legend. Fresh made burgers and you can actually watch them take potatoes and make them into french fries right in front of you. Eddie loves fries, and even more he loves ketchup to dip them in. Or even eat the ketchup without the fries, either way. He will sneak fries from in front of you if you don't give him enough. The only problem I have with In 'N Out doesn't have Joanna's Bathroom Parent Seal of Approval. Although they always have a large stall bathroom that fits an overactive todder and stroller if need be, they never seem to have a baby changing table in there. But I guess I shouldn't complain too much, at least there is enough room to easily do it on the floor and the bathrooms were neat and clean. It was a really fun day. Eddie and I both had a good time.
Happy Birthday, Mom.
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