Okay, so I know that title doesn't work that well, but it's good enough for me today.
I know February is a short month, but that doesn't mean time usually moves faster! It has moved surprisingly quickly though, considering all we've had on our already overflowing plates. I'm glad February is almost over. To me the start of March means that spring is springing.
I need crocuses and daffodils and green buds. I need the hope of renewal and rebirth. I need a fresh start so very badly. Here are the fresh start areas I'm looking forward to:
Frankie -
Sending Frankie away was difficult, but she really needed it. We are optimistic about her impending return (a week from today). We are cautiously optimistic, only because her choices are out of our hands. That being said, we are hopeful because she has fantastic skills and support. We pray she will choose to use these resources.
Health -
I am so so so so so so (did I mention so) very sick of illness. Since Max has been born, we've visited the ER twice for me and twice for Max. We've visited our pediatrician's office seven times in the past seven weeks (although one was for a well-baby check). The RSV has been the most persistent condition we've had to deal with, and it kills me to have Max back on oxygen. He hates it. I don't know if babies his age (ten weeks) are capable of deliberate behavior, but he rubs his face on me to remove his cannula and thrashes his head while I am putting it back in his nose. Hopefully, he'll be done with oxygen by the middle of the week. Also, I have signed up for Weight Watchers so that I can start planning now for our March 1st start date. I'm apprehensive (having failed at losing weight so many times before), but I am motivated. It's past time for me to start taking better care of myself. Michael says he's going to join me in it, and I hope he will.
Homeschool -
I've decided I'm not a huge fan of the K-12 curriculum we have chosen for Adam. We're still using it, but we're shopping for a more unit based approach. I think we've found a good one at www.movingbeyondthepage.com It's more unit based, and encourages a more critical thinking mindset.
House -
Tomorrow is about getting organized. Then, starting this week my dear friend, Nicole is going to help me actually deep clean. I know it's a little early for spring cleaning, but I don't care. I need to feel like my house is manageable, especially since winter is entailing a lot of time being INDOORS in my house.
Finances -
I haven't really had a chance to delve into that as much. Too many things are in the air. I need to figure out a way to bring in a source of income, and I actually want to start purchasing and selling scrap gold because I have an amazing in with a refinery (via my dad) and can actually get a significantly higher sell price than almost any other place. As my dad says, there are people out there who want to sell their gold, and do so all the time - I just have to find them.
Ugh - that's enough talk about what I want to start anew with. It's all overwhelming, and talking about it in big chunks reminds me of how overwhelming it is. Since I can't deal with it all at once, I'm not going to.
The most prevalent thing for me right now is that we are on the mend from this horrible RSV thing. This weekend is simply about rest and cleaning. I know these sound like opposites, but it's just about finding a balance.
And on that note, it's time for me to go nurse the baby. (When isn't it time to go nurse the baby?)
Friday, February 19, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
February Dinner Calendar
It's been a busy year so far and we're only in month two! Nothing remarkable has happened, which isn't a bad thing - actually, it's kind of nice. We pass our days together - homeschooling, watching old school Sesame Street, taking drives. It's peaceful and exhausting and stir-crazy making, and in its own kind of way, lovely.
Thomas is increasing his vocabulary - besides Mama, Daddy, No, Night Night, and hi, he also knows the word 'nana (as in banana) and can sign the word for "more." Everything is a phone to Thomas and he "talks" to people all the time. In fact, if you get a phone call from me and I'm not there, it's probably Thomas calling you while I've snuck away for necessary reasons. He seems to have a penchant for calling Frankie's therapists on a (sometimes) daily basis.
Max is growing by leaps and bounds and has his two month checkup this week. I bet he'll weigh in at least 12 pounds. He's finally (finally!!!!) off of oxygen and I can schedule the tank pick up as soon as we clear him for a couple more nights on his monitor.
Michael and I are looking to recarpet our heavy traffic family room. We also want to replace our Rubber Ducky yellow walls with a soft cocoa-y color.
I am planning a get together of other home schooling families for Valentine's Day, and I'm excited for new friends for both Adam and myself.
Frankie is still at Second Nature, and we are making plans for her transition home. I pray with all my might that she can make a go of this and turn her life around.
Adam reported to me today that he didn't want to meet new people right now because he is shy. If you know him, you just snorted, and possibly did a spit-take.
Like I said, not much happening. Looking at different home school curriculum possibilities for Adam, continuing my quest for a cleaner, more organized home and life, and looking forward to starting Weight Watchers on March 1st. Honestly, it may not be an exciting life, but the older I get, the better "less excitement" sounds.
Until next time .... (oh, and the dinner calendar is below)
Since it didn't print, tonight was dinner out, and tomorrow is Tacos. You can take it from there.
Thomas is increasing his vocabulary - besides Mama, Daddy, No, Night Night, and hi, he also knows the word 'nana (as in banana) and can sign the word for "more." Everything is a phone to Thomas and he "talks" to people all the time. In fact, if you get a phone call from me and I'm not there, it's probably Thomas calling you while I've snuck away for necessary reasons. He seems to have a penchant for calling Frankie's therapists on a (sometimes) daily basis.
Max is growing by leaps and bounds and has his two month checkup this week. I bet he'll weigh in at least 12 pounds. He's finally (finally!!!!) off of oxygen and I can schedule the tank pick up as soon as we clear him for a couple more nights on his monitor.
Michael and I are looking to recarpet our heavy traffic family room. We also want to replace our Rubber Ducky yellow walls with a soft cocoa-y color.
I am planning a get together of other home schooling families for Valentine's Day, and I'm excited for new friends for both Adam and myself.
Frankie is still at Second Nature, and we are making plans for her transition home. I pray with all my might that she can make a go of this and turn her life around.
Adam reported to me today that he didn't want to meet new people right now because he is shy. If you know him, you just snorted, and possibly did a spit-take.
Like I said, not much happening. Looking at different home school curriculum possibilities for Adam, continuing my quest for a cleaner, more organized home and life, and looking forward to starting Weight Watchers on March 1st. Honestly, it may not be an exciting life, but the older I get, the better "less excitement" sounds.
Until next time .... (oh, and the dinner calendar is below)
Since it didn't print, tonight was dinner out, and tomorrow is Tacos. You can take it from there.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
A visit from Grandpa Coach
Seven plus years ago, when Adam was soon to be born, I asked my dad what he would like the kids to call him. In my family, we always referred to our grandparents by their title plus their first name (i.e. Grandma Sarah, Grandma Katherine, etc). I thought though that I would let our parents choose. Michael's father and my mother are deceased, so they got Grandpa Leroy and Grandma Sherry by default. Michael's mother chose Nummie, which was how Frankie already knew her. Michael's step-father was already known as Daddy Jack, so that stuck too. Hiram chose not to have a title, so we assigned Grandpa Hiram to him (although he objects because technically he says he's not their grandparent, we consider him to be so anyway). Mary Kay chose KK because that's what her nieces and nephew already called her. My father, who had coached soccer for many years, jokingly said "I don't know Kristin. Tell them to call me Coach, alright." So I did :-) He became Grandpa Coach, and Grandpa Coach it remains.
We loved having him here for Christmas, and hope he gets to come back sooner rather than later. We had a really beautiful visit - nice and simple. Meals, a little thrift store shopping (if you know my dad, it's the only place he shops - well, that and eBay), exchanging of Christmas gifts (thanks to both Dad & MK for their generosity), and just family time together. They say to always leave them wanting more - well, Dad - we want more. We miss you and wish we could see you a lot more often.
We loved having him here for Christmas, and hope he gets to come back sooner rather than later. We had a really beautiful visit - nice and simple. Meals, a little thrift store shopping (if you know my dad, it's the only place he shops - well, that and eBay), exchanging of Christmas gifts (thanks to both Dad & MK for their generosity), and just family time together. They say to always leave them wanting more - well, Dad - we want more. We miss you and wish we could see you a lot more often.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
January Dinner Calendar plus BIG life lessons
This is a lengthy post, but here's a dangling carrot to get you through - there's a great Adam quote shortly before the end. Please know that I am not trying to force my views on anyone. I hope you'll read this because I'm sharing a piece of who I am, but know that I write about who I am - not who I think anyone else should be. And I'm writing this because this blog is for my posterity. I'm not a good journal keeper, but by keeping this blog I'm taking a step in the right direction. So here goes...
My dear sweet friend Michele often wonders how I do this - how do I balance Frankie's extensive needs, the needs of Adam, the needs of Thomas, and have a newborn, oh yeah and a home and a marriage and a sense of self? How do I cope day to day?
Well, that's the answer - I have found that for the most part I do exactly that - cope day to day. I try not to make too many long range plans, and try to plan for tomorrow...tonight. We pack the diaper bag at night. We lay out our clothes for the next day at night. We plan our school lessons at night. We set out tomorrow night's dinner ingredients to defrost at night. I go to the grocery store at night. Soon, I'll be making tomorrow's lunches at night. This is all pretty new to us, and we're not perfect at it, but we are doing our level best and have to be satisfied with that.
Here are a few more of my coping skills:
The dinner calendar and anything else that helps me feel organized honestly make a huge difference. And Michael makes a huge difference - I could absolutely not do any of this without him. I have no idea how single mothers manage. I really don't. And I cope because I have amazing friends who seem to know exactly when to bring dinner and/or listening ears to my table. I let go of the idea that my house has to be clean and perfect. For now, I've even let go of the notion that our individual daily clothing choices have to work well together. I'm learning to let go - but I'm doing so because I know I need to, and I know I'll be able to reclaim some of my standards later. And frankly, those that I don't reclaim, I won't reclaim for a reason.
We live in a time of enormous expectations - people expect themselves to have the best car, the nicest home, a perfect picture of a perfect life. I've bought into all of it. I am a covetous person. I wish I weren't and I'm trying to teach myself not to be. I covet that other people have a baby girl and I don't. I covet that you are better at keeping your house clean than I am. I covet your relatively newer car. I tend to look at the best of what everyone else has and compare it with the worst things in my life. It's horribly detrimental because I really do need the lesson of being happy with what I have because I really am so incredibly blessed. And I have learned that I am so far from unique in this - which I why I share it in such a public place. Because someone else who reads these words should remember this and know they aren't alone. Not long ago, on Facebook I posted the following:
"None are exempt from hard times and not are exempt from better days. Do not envy another's blessings unless you covet their trials as well."
Funny how I've never wished for someone else's trials instead of my own.
One of my all time favorite quotes reminds me of why it's important to have appropriate expectations:
"Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he has been robbed. The fact is that most putts don't drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to be just people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, and most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. Life is just like an old time rail journey ... delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride."
-Gordon B. Hinckley
I am learning (with a little reluctance and resistance) to lower my expectations.
Mostly though I make it through each day because I have faith -- faith makes the biggest difference of all. I am able to stay hopeful and positive because of that faith. I wholeheartedly believe that the good Lord would not entrust me with these precious children if He didn't believe that I could be worthy of that trust. What I do with that trust is up to me, but knowing that He trusted me enough to put these precious souls into our imperfect hands - that gets me through.
It's more than His trust in me though - it's reciprocal. My faith and trust in Him gets me through. When all else fails - when I feel hopeless and helpless, I know there is someone watching over me. It is not His place to protect me from trials. Without trials, I could not stretch and grow. He, however, sustains me and makes my burdens lighter. He blesses me, even when I doubt Him - even when I am fearful of the unknown ahead. Even when everything around me looks like I am about to unquestionably fail, I can pray. I can trust in the promptings of His spirit, and honestly - I have NEVER once been mislead. Even when all the evidence in the world pointed me toward a horrific end, when those sweet peaceful promptings come (and thankfully they always have), I can rely on my past experiences (how I wish I could rely solely on faith) and TRUST.
This is a true fact that I have learned:
When facing any obstacle, you literally have only two choices:
1) Make it through
OR
2) Die.
Really, those are the only options. So since 99.999999% of the time you're going to make it through, the quality of how you do so is somewhat in your control. It's okay to take a short amount of time to mourn the loss of whatever change is taking place. But pick yourself up and move on. People do it every day, and they amaze me.
When I was 15, I attended an Outward Bound course. I had an instructor named Robyn, who gave me one of the best pieces of advice I have ever received. She said:
"You can make yourself miserable or you can make yourself strong. The amount of work is the same."
She was dead on absolutely right.
And, here's how else I get through -- my kids. My kids make me laugh. They make me cry joyous tears. They reaffirm everything about why I am doing what I am doing. Today, Adam (out of the blue) said the most amazing thing to me. My seven year old - my sweet, astute, wonderful little boy said this:
"Mom, you may not know everything, but for me you know everything I need."
Michele, and everyone else - that's how I do it. And that's why I do it.
And here's the dinner calendar - it's been done for awhile, but I haven't had time to post it. Enjoy, and as always, feel free to email me with any questions or for any recipes!
My dear sweet friend Michele often wonders how I do this - how do I balance Frankie's extensive needs, the needs of Adam, the needs of Thomas, and have a newborn, oh yeah and a home and a marriage and a sense of self? How do I cope day to day?
Well, that's the answer - I have found that for the most part I do exactly that - cope day to day. I try not to make too many long range plans, and try to plan for tomorrow...tonight. We pack the diaper bag at night. We lay out our clothes for the next day at night. We plan our school lessons at night. We set out tomorrow night's dinner ingredients to defrost at night. I go to the grocery store at night. Soon, I'll be making tomorrow's lunches at night. This is all pretty new to us, and we're not perfect at it, but we are doing our level best and have to be satisfied with that.
Here are a few more of my coping skills:
The dinner calendar and anything else that helps me feel organized honestly make a huge difference. And Michael makes a huge difference - I could absolutely not do any of this without him. I have no idea how single mothers manage. I really don't. And I cope because I have amazing friends who seem to know exactly when to bring dinner and/or listening ears to my table. I let go of the idea that my house has to be clean and perfect. For now, I've even let go of the notion that our individual daily clothing choices have to work well together. I'm learning to let go - but I'm doing so because I know I need to, and I know I'll be able to reclaim some of my standards later. And frankly, those that I don't reclaim, I won't reclaim for a reason.
We live in a time of enormous expectations - people expect themselves to have the best car, the nicest home, a perfect picture of a perfect life. I've bought into all of it. I am a covetous person. I wish I weren't and I'm trying to teach myself not to be. I covet that other people have a baby girl and I don't. I covet that you are better at keeping your house clean than I am. I covet your relatively newer car. I tend to look at the best of what everyone else has and compare it with the worst things in my life. It's horribly detrimental because I really do need the lesson of being happy with what I have because I really am so incredibly blessed. And I have learned that I am so far from unique in this - which I why I share it in such a public place. Because someone else who reads these words should remember this and know they aren't alone. Not long ago, on Facebook I posted the following:
"None are exempt from hard times and not are exempt from better days. Do not envy another's blessings unless you covet their trials as well."
Funny how I've never wished for someone else's trials instead of my own.
One of my all time favorite quotes reminds me of why it's important to have appropriate expectations:
"Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he has been robbed. The fact is that most putts don't drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to be just people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, and most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. Life is just like an old time rail journey ... delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride."
-Gordon B. Hinckley
I am learning (with a little reluctance and resistance) to lower my expectations.
Mostly though I make it through each day because I have faith -- faith makes the biggest difference of all. I am able to stay hopeful and positive because of that faith. I wholeheartedly believe that the good Lord would not entrust me with these precious children if He didn't believe that I could be worthy of that trust. What I do with that trust is up to me, but knowing that He trusted me enough to put these precious souls into our imperfect hands - that gets me through.
It's more than His trust in me though - it's reciprocal. My faith and trust in Him gets me through. When all else fails - when I feel hopeless and helpless, I know there is someone watching over me. It is not His place to protect me from trials. Without trials, I could not stretch and grow. He, however, sustains me and makes my burdens lighter. He blesses me, even when I doubt Him - even when I am fearful of the unknown ahead. Even when everything around me looks like I am about to unquestionably fail, I can pray. I can trust in the promptings of His spirit, and honestly - I have NEVER once been mislead. Even when all the evidence in the world pointed me toward a horrific end, when those sweet peaceful promptings come (and thankfully they always have), I can rely on my past experiences (how I wish I could rely solely on faith) and TRUST.
This is a true fact that I have learned:
When facing any obstacle, you literally have only two choices:
1) Make it through
OR
2) Die.
Really, those are the only options. So since 99.999999% of the time you're going to make it through, the quality of how you do so is somewhat in your control. It's okay to take a short amount of time to mourn the loss of whatever change is taking place. But pick yourself up and move on. People do it every day, and they amaze me.
When I was 15, I attended an Outward Bound course. I had an instructor named Robyn, who gave me one of the best pieces of advice I have ever received. She said:
"You can make yourself miserable or you can make yourself strong. The amount of work is the same."
She was dead on absolutely right.
And, here's how else I get through -- my kids. My kids make me laugh. They make me cry joyous tears. They reaffirm everything about why I am doing what I am doing. Today, Adam (out of the blue) said the most amazing thing to me. My seven year old - my sweet, astute, wonderful little boy said this:
"Mom, you may not know everything, but for me you know everything I need."
Michele, and everyone else - that's how I do it. And that's why I do it.
And here's the dinner calendar - it's been done for awhile, but I haven't had time to post it. Enjoy, and as always, feel free to email me with any questions or for any recipes!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
The Story of Max plus a little more...
December 1, 2009
9:00 am
I am officially 37 weeks today. Just barely considered full term. I am two days away from my scheduled induction date, and those two days loom before me as though they are two decades. And I am in pain. So much pain. I cannot walk without having searing, shooting pelvic pain because of the pressure of baby in my pelvis. I later learn that this has created caput succedaneum - a natural yarmulke of sorts that stems from the head putting pressure on the pelvis. I call my doctor ... and beg him to approve an induction TODAY.
9:30 am
I get a call from Labor and Delivery at the hospital I'm delivering at. "Can you be here at 11:30 for an induction?" What???!!! I'm crying joyous tears, my relief is so immense. I will be there.
10:30 am
I have showered. The car was packed a few days ago. I have called Michael and told him to meet me at the hospital. I am ready to go. I start to put shoes on. My toenail polish is chipped. I can't have this. I know I'm insane, but I purposely made sure my toes would be cute during labor because I'd be looking at them for quite some time that day. I tell my friend Rhea that we have to stop at the nail salon to get it fixed. She (like most people would) thinks I'm crazy, but I insist. It's not like I'm actually in labor yet.
11:30 am
We arrive at the hospital. By 12:30, Pitocin has been started. The epidural will be placed soon. I begin a delicious course of ice chips as meal replacement. We start making phone calls - in labor, etc. Will keep you updated, should go quickly (hahaha), will call when something happens. I think I made plans to nap at this point. We arrange with our friend Kristy to join us at the hospital to photograph Max's birth. "Don't worry," I tell her "my labors are usually fairly easy and fast."
1:00 pm
No progress.
2:00 pm
No progress.
3:00 pm
No progress. The kids come up for a brief visit, just to see that Mommy was okay. I am. They are too. They leave.
4:00 pm
No progress.
4:30 pm
Kristy arrives. We had expected to be starting to push around now. Doctor arrives to break the amniotic sac. According to my husband, I lost gallons of amniotic fluid. They relate the amount of fluid to a local mountain stream. No wonder I couldn't walk. Things should start to go faster now. Kristy left to get food. This was a good call on her part.
Fast forward to 8:30 pm. I have different nurses now (hooray for Lisa Ehlers, my new nurse). I'm dilated and effaced most or all of the way. Don't really remember. Lisa suggests we try a couple of "practice" pushes to see what happens. What happens? Not much. Lisa and I work on pushing and at some point, my doctor arrives. So, now I'm working on pushing as the urge presents itself, but everyone else is having a little party. I had suggested my doctor find some tunes on his iPhone. I think we listened to some Beatles. Everyone is laughing, joking around - very casual atmosphere. We're all playing "guess baby's weight." (For the record, we all waaaaaay underestimated). For some of the pushing, I don't even tell anyone I'm going to. I just count it out in my head as I'm pushing. Sadly, we're still not making much progress.
10:00 pm
I'm exhausted. I'm trembling from all of the pushing. I beg for vacuum extraction. I didn't know that vacuums are really hard on babies. I only knew that he wasn't descending the way I needed him to, and I was getting worn out. I didn't want to be worn out, but I almost didn't have the strength to lift my head to my chest while pushing. I didn't want to run out of energy, and giving up wasn't an option. My doctor explained it like this "If you try to put a shape through a child's shape sorter and you change the angle of the shape even slightly, it won't fit through its designated spot." I later learned that this was probably a result of the epidural coupled with a slower labor (due to Pitocin), which may have relaxed the uterine floor such that baby couldn't descend at the correct angle. The doctor starts extracting. The mood of the room becomes more somber. I'm pushing with every last ounce (just recalling it brings tears to my eyes) of energy. Everyone's cheering me on to pushpushpushpushpush. I hear the vacuum popping on and off of my baby's head, and all I can do is pour every ounce of energy into getting Max here. My epidural is almost completely worn off and I hurt.
In my mind, I'm recalling the story a friend told me about her first daughter's birth. Her baby was also not coming out the way she was supposed to. She poured every ounce of her being into that delivery, knowing that her success was critical and that her baby depended on her strength. She had progressed too far for a c-section, and everything was in a critical state. She told me that she used every bit of energy that she had, and then some because the stakes could not have been higher. I draw on her story for strength and inspiration. Who knew that this many years after (nine, I think), that it would be the inspiration I would need to get me through this moment.
I keep pushing. I am scared. I have entered an alternate state of reality. Everyone is nearby, but no one is in my reality, except for Michael. I need him to hold my hand, to keep me tethered to reality. But mostly, there is only me, and pushing, and prayer. And fear. And finally, finally, I hear that Max is emerging. And that he has a lot of blond hair. "10:35 pm," my doctor calls the time of birth. I don't think I even had the strength to weep. Somebody puts him on my belly and I kiss his fuzzy little head. He's having trouble breathing, and they take him away to clean him up and give him oxygen.
It's time to deliver the placenta. I thought the hard part was over. Bear in mind, I have no epidural on board any longer. The placenta is not coming out. The doctor begins manual extraction (GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WARNING. Skip to the next paragraph if you do not wish to know how such an issue is resolved). My doctor's entire arm is in my uterus. He is scraping away at placenta. I feel the pressure of him pulling out whatever he can grasp. I hear blood splashing on the floor. I hear him order meds to help with the bleeding. My teeth are chattering, hard, from blood loss and exhaustion. I am freezing cold and they are out of warm blankets. My lower half is exposed to the cold air as the doctor works to remove the retained placenta. I am so cold. I am so out of it, yet in so much pain. The doctor grabs a banjo curette. This is a medical device used to remove retained placenta. I feel my uterus being scraped, and I hear more blood pouring on to the floor. Eventually, I have received so much medication that my teeth are chattering non-stop.
I am so so so so cold. I think of Kristy, and hope that this is not too traumatic for her, but don't have the strength to offer her any reassurance. Deep down I know that I will be okay, but I don't have the strength to communicate much to anyone. I ask for oxygen simply so that I can feel my warm breath on my face as I breathe in and out of the mask. I cover my head with blankets in a desperate effort to warm up. I hear my doctor tell my husband that the relentless teeth chattering is a side-effect of the clotting medication I've received. I'm hear him say that I've lost about a liter and a half of blood. Somewhere in this, I hear that my baby weighed eight pounds, eleven ounces. Now I know why else I was in so much pain. Someone brings him to me for a kiss before he is taken away to the NICU. My love for him is overwhelming.
I know that he is having difficulty breathing, but also take comfort in the Lord's prompting that he, like me, will weather through this. I hear my doctor ask me a question. My answer is unintelligible due to the chattering of my teeth. I hear him telling Michael that I will want to shower soon, but that I will be weak from blood loss and need to stay in bed as long as possible. I hear him tell me that I will spike a fever. I manage to communicate that I need pain medication. I finally get more blankets, and succumb to the sweetness of the pain medication, which make me drowsy enough to stop my teeth from chattering. I welcome the fever (103 degrees) because it makes my body, at long last, warm. I become aware that the doctor is leaving. I hear him giving instructions, and I drowsily relish not being freezing anymore.
12:30 am
I am being moved to postpartum. My baby is not with me. I am sad, but know that he is getting excellent care in the NICU. I'm torn between wanting Michael to be with him, and wanting Michael to be with me. Around 2:00 am, I am okay with Michael leaving me to go see our baby. Somewhere around 3:00, someone brings me a sandwich. This is the first food I have eaten in over 17 hours. This is the best sandwich I have ever eaten in my life. I inhale it so quickly that it makes me throw up.
3:30 am
I have been allowed to get up and clean myself up. I am full, relatively clean, and feeling better than I hadfelt for several hours. I am ready to sleep. I have been saying for a couple of months now that were I to get pregnant again, it would essentially have to be a direct commandment. This birth has been so horrible, so traumatic, that I can most assuredly say that I should never do this again. I have mixed feelings about this. I wish I were young enough to have another baby. While technically, I am physically capable of another pregnancy, I believe I am done anyway. It is time to move forward as a complete family, even if it is a bittersweet feeling.
5:00 am
I am awake. I haven't seen my baby. I ask to be wheeled to the NICU. I think he's a little misshapen and funny looking, but he amazes me. I love him more than I know how to express. He really does have a ton of hair. He is so swollen from the fluid created by the vacuum extractor. I feel strong though. He is so much healthier than Thomas was when he was born. His head feels like mushy jell-o because of the cellular fluid created by the vacuum. He has a large hematoma and I'm told his head hurts a lot. I feel guilty because I didn't know that the vacuum could do so much damage. He's examined by the neonatologist, I'm assured that things will be okay, but that he will spend some time in the NICU.
The rest of my time in the hospital is fairly blurry. I don't want visitors because he's in the NICU. The only visitors I allow are our friend and pediatrician, Tucker Davis (whom Maxwell Tucker bears the name of), my friend Miriam (NICU nurse practitioner extraordinaire at Primary Childrens' Hospital and an amazingly reassuring presence and dear friend), my sweet, nurturing friend Sarah (whose friendship and support is valued beyond measure), and our bishop (what a source of spiritual strength he is, and he also brings excellent treats).
I don't really call and tell many people that we are here because I want to limit the amount of exposure Max and other NICU babies might have to various winter illnesses. The kids can't see him because they are not old enough to enter the NICU, and I hurt for their loss. Frankie is able to sneak in once, but only for a very brief time. The days become an endless cycle of sleeping, pumping, feeding, trips to the NICU, back to my room. I still can't walk well. I had hoped to be out of pain after my delivery, but no such luck. It takes time to heal, and even as I write this, I have not fully regained my strength. I lost 30 pounds. That's certainly a plus.
The third day after delivering, I move to an unused labor room. I am allowed to stay at the hospital and be near my baby. This is such a tender mercy because it is painfully unnatural to leave the hospital without my baby. I know because I had to do so with Thomas, and it was one of the worst things I have ever endured.
Max has a beautiful little roommate in the hospital. Her name is Gwen. She is tiny and weighs in just over six pounds. Max looks gargantuan next to her. With all of his blond hair and his red, puffy, swollen face, I take to calling him Sven (because he looks like some sort of Nordic Ski instructor). I later realize that Gwen and Sven are rhyming roommates. Her mother, Jill, and I decide that this would be a cute wedding story (Gwen and Sven met in the NICU when they were brand new to the world). Jill hasn't been through this awful process before. I have, but that doesn't entirely ease the burden. We lean on each other for strength. We talk and compare notes and have cake together. I am so grateful for Jill. As of this writing, I'm hoping we can get our families together some time next week.
There are overwhelming moments of fear when despite every prompting I have felt, despite my faith, I foolishly doubt. There are moments when I weep with panic that every slight setback means my might baby might not make it. There are moments when I cling to Michael and shake with that doubt. And then there are many more moments - where overwhelming love for my baby, and faith in the Lord, and trust for the doctors and nurses overcome everything and I feel tremendous peace...and hope...and joy.
December 10, 2009
We finally get to bring Max home. We had hoped to bring him home the day earlier, but we were waiting to see if he would gain weight. We almost didn't get to bring him home on the 10th either, because he still hadn't turned that weight gain corner, but his neonatologist said that it was basically sixes to leave him or take him home. We we were so anxious to be done with the NICU.
Max came home on oxygen. Home oxygen is an amazing miracle and a minor inconvenience. I keep thinking back though to the pioneers, and how if Max had been born during that era, we likely both would have died. How even my sweet Thomas, with all of his medical needs after having been born early would have died or suffered some form of brain damage due to lack of proper oxygenation. I am so grateful for the medical technology we have today. Even now, Max still needs a tiny bit of oxygen. He has Persistent Pulmonary Hypertension, which basically means that the vessels in his lungs are not quite large enough to accommodate his need for oxygen. He is expected to outgrow this condition in a relatively short matter of time.
December 13, 2009
I have not been feeling well for several days. I attributed the shortness of breath to the constant temperature change of going in and out of the NICU. I attribute the exhaustion and intense night sweats to after effects of giving birth. I have chills and am achy - I assume this is from exhaustion, night sweats, and having given birth. I haven't had time to go to the doctor. I decide to see if I might possibly have a fever. I do. I finally go to Urgent Care. I have Pneumonia. I am given some powerful antibiotics and am sent home. I am again grateful for modern medicine.
December 20, 2009
I have been breathing better and have lost the urge to cough, but we've faced a big drama with Frankie. I am feeling worn down and run out, but assume it's because of the drama. I get home from seeing a friend who is also one of our experts who helps us determine Frankie's best course of treatment. I feel feverish, but again assume it's because I was overdue to pump. 102.2 degrees. I call a dear friend and neighbor who comes over at 10:00 at night to stay with our children while Michael takes me to the ER. I learn I have a kidney infection, and have probably had it since giving birth. We get home at six am, and Michael leaves for work. He is my hero.
December 26, 2009
We have just celebrated our first Christmas with all of the children that are likely to be born to us. We are sad that Frankie cannot be here to celebrate with us. She has been struggling with behaving appropriately for a couple of months now, and things have come to a head. We had to make the difficult decision to provide a drastic intervention. She has gone to Wilderness Camp. She must learn to be willing to move her life in a positive direction. She must learn that even though she was a victim of her bio mom's life and lifestyle, she hasn't been a part of that world for a long time and that she must now move forward. She must give up being a victim and start living in today. If she cannot, she probably cannot live here. She is incredibly disrespectful to me. She is obnoxious to and disproportionately impatient with her brothers. We walk on eggshells so that she won't explode, and she does anyway. She exploded a week ago Thursday, and it was frightening for all of us. We had to take drastic measures, and we have. We are sad, but hopeful.
We still had a wonderful Christmas. Santa was very good to all of us. I marvel at the blessings in our lives. We are together. We have a warm and cozy home. Money is not plentiful, but it is plentiful enough. Michael has a good job. We have access to programs that can help our daughter. We are relatively healthy. We live in a country where we have the freedom to worship the Lord as we see fit. We have dear and kind friends and neighbors who have brought meals to us. We have dear and kind friends and neighbors who helped us make our annual Christmas Eve tradition possible this year. We have dear and kind friends and neighbors who have removed the snow from our driveway and walkways. My father is here visiting, which brings joy to me that is beyond measure. I dropped him off at the phone store today, and when I came in to find him, the sales clerk asked me if she could help me find anything. It was thrilling to reply that I was looking for my father.
As we embark on this new year, my goal is to organize my life better. I want better scheduling, more thorough planning, and the insight to know when to let things go. I smile every time I look at the Christmas lights on our home because we only managed to complete a small area of lights over our garage. Our lights look to be about one fourth complete, because they are only one fourth complete. I smile because this is one way I can learn to let go and focus on what truly matters. We did our best.
I am excited to start Weight Watchers and see it through to the end. I am so excited for our church meeting time to change to 1:00 pm because we will be able to have more leisurely Sundays. I am excited to begin this next phase of our lives. Although I cannot say with 1000 percent surety that we will never have another child, I can say that I am 1000 percent sure that my family feels as complete as it's going to get in this lifetime.
We are so grateful for you, our friends and family. We wish you every blessing you may stand in need of. We hope your 2010 starts out beautifully. We again extend a heartfelt invitation to each of you who are far from us to visit us. We still have an enormous guest room, and we are not afraid to offer it for your use. We love you and thank the Lord for your presence in our lives.
Until next time (when hopefully you'll be visiting us)...
9:00 am
I am officially 37 weeks today. Just barely considered full term. I am two days away from my scheduled induction date, and those two days loom before me as though they are two decades. And I am in pain. So much pain. I cannot walk without having searing, shooting pelvic pain because of the pressure of baby in my pelvis. I later learn that this has created caput succedaneum - a natural yarmulke of sorts that stems from the head putting pressure on the pelvis. I call my doctor ... and beg him to approve an induction TODAY.
9:30 am
I get a call from Labor and Delivery at the hospital I'm delivering at. "Can you be here at 11:30 for an induction?" What???!!! I'm crying joyous tears, my relief is so immense. I will be there.
10:30 am
I have showered. The car was packed a few days ago. I have called Michael and told him to meet me at the hospital. I am ready to go. I start to put shoes on. My toenail polish is chipped. I can't have this. I know I'm insane, but I purposely made sure my toes would be cute during labor because I'd be looking at them for quite some time that day. I tell my friend Rhea that we have to stop at the nail salon to get it fixed. She (like most people would) thinks I'm crazy, but I insist. It's not like I'm actually in labor yet.
11:30 am
We arrive at the hospital. By 12:30, Pitocin has been started. The epidural will be placed soon. I begin a delicious course of ice chips as meal replacement. We start making phone calls - in labor, etc. Will keep you updated, should go quickly (hahaha), will call when something happens. I think I made plans to nap at this point. We arrange with our friend Kristy to join us at the hospital to photograph Max's birth. "Don't worry," I tell her "my labors are usually fairly easy and fast."
1:00 pm
No progress.
2:00 pm
No progress.
3:00 pm
No progress. The kids come up for a brief visit, just to see that Mommy was okay. I am. They are too. They leave.
4:00 pm
No progress.
4:30 pm
Kristy arrives. We had expected to be starting to push around now. Doctor arrives to break the amniotic sac. According to my husband, I lost gallons of amniotic fluid. They relate the amount of fluid to a local mountain stream. No wonder I couldn't walk. Things should start to go faster now. Kristy left to get food. This was a good call on her part.
Fast forward to 8:30 pm. I have different nurses now (hooray for Lisa Ehlers, my new nurse). I'm dilated and effaced most or all of the way. Don't really remember. Lisa suggests we try a couple of "practice" pushes to see what happens. What happens? Not much. Lisa and I work on pushing and at some point, my doctor arrives. So, now I'm working on pushing as the urge presents itself, but everyone else is having a little party. I had suggested my doctor find some tunes on his iPhone. I think we listened to some Beatles. Everyone is laughing, joking around - very casual atmosphere. We're all playing "guess baby's weight." (For the record, we all waaaaaay underestimated). For some of the pushing, I don't even tell anyone I'm going to. I just count it out in my head as I'm pushing. Sadly, we're still not making much progress.
10:00 pm
I'm exhausted. I'm trembling from all of the pushing. I beg for vacuum extraction. I didn't know that vacuums are really hard on babies. I only knew that he wasn't descending the way I needed him to, and I was getting worn out. I didn't want to be worn out, but I almost didn't have the strength to lift my head to my chest while pushing. I didn't want to run out of energy, and giving up wasn't an option. My doctor explained it like this "If you try to put a shape through a child's shape sorter and you change the angle of the shape even slightly, it won't fit through its designated spot." I later learned that this was probably a result of the epidural coupled with a slower labor (due to Pitocin), which may have relaxed the uterine floor such that baby couldn't descend at the correct angle. The doctor starts extracting. The mood of the room becomes more somber. I'm pushing with every last ounce (just recalling it brings tears to my eyes) of energy. Everyone's cheering me on to pushpushpushpushpush. I hear the vacuum popping on and off of my baby's head, and all I can do is pour every ounce of energy into getting Max here. My epidural is almost completely worn off and I hurt.
In my mind, I'm recalling the story a friend told me about her first daughter's birth. Her baby was also not coming out the way she was supposed to. She poured every ounce of her being into that delivery, knowing that her success was critical and that her baby depended on her strength. She had progressed too far for a c-section, and everything was in a critical state. She told me that she used every bit of energy that she had, and then some because the stakes could not have been higher. I draw on her story for strength and inspiration. Who knew that this many years after (nine, I think), that it would be the inspiration I would need to get me through this moment.
I keep pushing. I am scared. I have entered an alternate state of reality. Everyone is nearby, but no one is in my reality, except for Michael. I need him to hold my hand, to keep me tethered to reality. But mostly, there is only me, and pushing, and prayer. And fear. And finally, finally, I hear that Max is emerging. And that he has a lot of blond hair. "10:35 pm," my doctor calls the time of birth. I don't think I even had the strength to weep. Somebody puts him on my belly and I kiss his fuzzy little head. He's having trouble breathing, and they take him away to clean him up and give him oxygen.
It's time to deliver the placenta. I thought the hard part was over. Bear in mind, I have no epidural on board any longer. The placenta is not coming out. The doctor begins manual extraction (GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WARNING. Skip to the next paragraph if you do not wish to know how such an issue is resolved). My doctor's entire arm is in my uterus. He is scraping away at placenta. I feel the pressure of him pulling out whatever he can grasp. I hear blood splashing on the floor. I hear him order meds to help with the bleeding. My teeth are chattering, hard, from blood loss and exhaustion. I am freezing cold and they are out of warm blankets. My lower half is exposed to the cold air as the doctor works to remove the retained placenta. I am so cold. I am so out of it, yet in so much pain. The doctor grabs a banjo curette. This is a medical device used to remove retained placenta. I feel my uterus being scraped, and I hear more blood pouring on to the floor. Eventually, I have received so much medication that my teeth are chattering non-stop.
I am so so so so cold. I think of Kristy, and hope that this is not too traumatic for her, but don't have the strength to offer her any reassurance. Deep down I know that I will be okay, but I don't have the strength to communicate much to anyone. I ask for oxygen simply so that I can feel my warm breath on my face as I breathe in and out of the mask. I cover my head with blankets in a desperate effort to warm up. I hear my doctor tell my husband that the relentless teeth chattering is a side-effect of the clotting medication I've received. I'm hear him say that I've lost about a liter and a half of blood. Somewhere in this, I hear that my baby weighed eight pounds, eleven ounces. Now I know why else I was in so much pain. Someone brings him to me for a kiss before he is taken away to the NICU. My love for him is overwhelming.
I know that he is having difficulty breathing, but also take comfort in the Lord's prompting that he, like me, will weather through this. I hear my doctor ask me a question. My answer is unintelligible due to the chattering of my teeth. I hear him telling Michael that I will want to shower soon, but that I will be weak from blood loss and need to stay in bed as long as possible. I hear him tell me that I will spike a fever. I manage to communicate that I need pain medication. I finally get more blankets, and succumb to the sweetness of the pain medication, which make me drowsy enough to stop my teeth from chattering. I welcome the fever (103 degrees) because it makes my body, at long last, warm. I become aware that the doctor is leaving. I hear him giving instructions, and I drowsily relish not being freezing anymore.
12:30 am
I am being moved to postpartum. My baby is not with me. I am sad, but know that he is getting excellent care in the NICU. I'm torn between wanting Michael to be with him, and wanting Michael to be with me. Around 2:00 am, I am okay with Michael leaving me to go see our baby. Somewhere around 3:00, someone brings me a sandwich. This is the first food I have eaten in over 17 hours. This is the best sandwich I have ever eaten in my life. I inhale it so quickly that it makes me throw up.
3:30 am
I have been allowed to get up and clean myself up. I am full, relatively clean, and feeling better than I hadfelt for several hours. I am ready to sleep. I have been saying for a couple of months now that were I to get pregnant again, it would essentially have to be a direct commandment. This birth has been so horrible, so traumatic, that I can most assuredly say that I should never do this again. I have mixed feelings about this. I wish I were young enough to have another baby. While technically, I am physically capable of another pregnancy, I believe I am done anyway. It is time to move forward as a complete family, even if it is a bittersweet feeling.
5:00 am
I am awake. I haven't seen my baby. I ask to be wheeled to the NICU. I think he's a little misshapen and funny looking, but he amazes me. I love him more than I know how to express. He really does have a ton of hair. He is so swollen from the fluid created by the vacuum extractor. I feel strong though. He is so much healthier than Thomas was when he was born. His head feels like mushy jell-o because of the cellular fluid created by the vacuum. He has a large hematoma and I'm told his head hurts a lot. I feel guilty because I didn't know that the vacuum could do so much damage. He's examined by the neonatologist, I'm assured that things will be okay, but that he will spend some time in the NICU.
The rest of my time in the hospital is fairly blurry. I don't want visitors because he's in the NICU. The only visitors I allow are our friend and pediatrician, Tucker Davis (whom Maxwell Tucker bears the name of), my friend Miriam (NICU nurse practitioner extraordinaire at Primary Childrens' Hospital and an amazingly reassuring presence and dear friend), my sweet, nurturing friend Sarah (whose friendship and support is valued beyond measure), and our bishop (what a source of spiritual strength he is, and he also brings excellent treats).
I don't really call and tell many people that we are here because I want to limit the amount of exposure Max and other NICU babies might have to various winter illnesses. The kids can't see him because they are not old enough to enter the NICU, and I hurt for their loss. Frankie is able to sneak in once, but only for a very brief time. The days become an endless cycle of sleeping, pumping, feeding, trips to the NICU, back to my room. I still can't walk well. I had hoped to be out of pain after my delivery, but no such luck. It takes time to heal, and even as I write this, I have not fully regained my strength. I lost 30 pounds. That's certainly a plus.
The third day after delivering, I move to an unused labor room. I am allowed to stay at the hospital and be near my baby. This is such a tender mercy because it is painfully unnatural to leave the hospital without my baby. I know because I had to do so with Thomas, and it was one of the worst things I have ever endured.
Max has a beautiful little roommate in the hospital. Her name is Gwen. She is tiny and weighs in just over six pounds. Max looks gargantuan next to her. With all of his blond hair and his red, puffy, swollen face, I take to calling him Sven (because he looks like some sort of Nordic Ski instructor). I later realize that Gwen and Sven are rhyming roommates. Her mother, Jill, and I decide that this would be a cute wedding story (Gwen and Sven met in the NICU when they were brand new to the world). Jill hasn't been through this awful process before. I have, but that doesn't entirely ease the burden. We lean on each other for strength. We talk and compare notes and have cake together. I am so grateful for Jill. As of this writing, I'm hoping we can get our families together some time next week.
There are overwhelming moments of fear when despite every prompting I have felt, despite my faith, I foolishly doubt. There are moments when I weep with panic that every slight setback means my might baby might not make it. There are moments when I cling to Michael and shake with that doubt. And then there are many more moments - where overwhelming love for my baby, and faith in the Lord, and trust for the doctors and nurses overcome everything and I feel tremendous peace...and hope...and joy.
December 10, 2009
We finally get to bring Max home. We had hoped to bring him home the day earlier, but we were waiting to see if he would gain weight. We almost didn't get to bring him home on the 10th either, because he still hadn't turned that weight gain corner, but his neonatologist said that it was basically sixes to leave him or take him home. We we were so anxious to be done with the NICU.
Max came home on oxygen. Home oxygen is an amazing miracle and a minor inconvenience. I keep thinking back though to the pioneers, and how if Max had been born during that era, we likely both would have died. How even my sweet Thomas, with all of his medical needs after having been born early would have died or suffered some form of brain damage due to lack of proper oxygenation. I am so grateful for the medical technology we have today. Even now, Max still needs a tiny bit of oxygen. He has Persistent Pulmonary Hypertension, which basically means that the vessels in his lungs are not quite large enough to accommodate his need for oxygen. He is expected to outgrow this condition in a relatively short matter of time.
December 13, 2009
I have not been feeling well for several days. I attributed the shortness of breath to the constant temperature change of going in and out of the NICU. I attribute the exhaustion and intense night sweats to after effects of giving birth. I have chills and am achy - I assume this is from exhaustion, night sweats, and having given birth. I haven't had time to go to the doctor. I decide to see if I might possibly have a fever. I do. I finally go to Urgent Care. I have Pneumonia. I am given some powerful antibiotics and am sent home. I am again grateful for modern medicine.
December 20, 2009
I have been breathing better and have lost the urge to cough, but we've faced a big drama with Frankie. I am feeling worn down and run out, but assume it's because of the drama. I get home from seeing a friend who is also one of our experts who helps us determine Frankie's best course of treatment. I feel feverish, but again assume it's because I was overdue to pump. 102.2 degrees. I call a dear friend and neighbor who comes over at 10:00 at night to stay with our children while Michael takes me to the ER. I learn I have a kidney infection, and have probably had it since giving birth. We get home at six am, and Michael leaves for work. He is my hero.
December 26, 2009
We have just celebrated our first Christmas with all of the children that are likely to be born to us. We are sad that Frankie cannot be here to celebrate with us. She has been struggling with behaving appropriately for a couple of months now, and things have come to a head. We had to make the difficult decision to provide a drastic intervention. She has gone to Wilderness Camp. She must learn to be willing to move her life in a positive direction. She must learn that even though she was a victim of her bio mom's life and lifestyle, she hasn't been a part of that world for a long time and that she must now move forward. She must give up being a victim and start living in today. If she cannot, she probably cannot live here. She is incredibly disrespectful to me. She is obnoxious to and disproportionately impatient with her brothers. We walk on eggshells so that she won't explode, and she does anyway. She exploded a week ago Thursday, and it was frightening for all of us. We had to take drastic measures, and we have. We are sad, but hopeful.
We still had a wonderful Christmas. Santa was very good to all of us. I marvel at the blessings in our lives. We are together. We have a warm and cozy home. Money is not plentiful, but it is plentiful enough. Michael has a good job. We have access to programs that can help our daughter. We are relatively healthy. We live in a country where we have the freedom to worship the Lord as we see fit. We have dear and kind friends and neighbors who have brought meals to us. We have dear and kind friends and neighbors who helped us make our annual Christmas Eve tradition possible this year. We have dear and kind friends and neighbors who have removed the snow from our driveway and walkways. My father is here visiting, which brings joy to me that is beyond measure. I dropped him off at the phone store today, and when I came in to find him, the sales clerk asked me if she could help me find anything. It was thrilling to reply that I was looking for my father.
As we embark on this new year, my goal is to organize my life better. I want better scheduling, more thorough planning, and the insight to know when to let things go. I smile every time I look at the Christmas lights on our home because we only managed to complete a small area of lights over our garage. Our lights look to be about one fourth complete, because they are only one fourth complete. I smile because this is one way I can learn to let go and focus on what truly matters. We did our best.
I am excited to start Weight Watchers and see it through to the end. I am so excited for our church meeting time to change to 1:00 pm because we will be able to have more leisurely Sundays. I am excited to begin this next phase of our lives. Although I cannot say with 1000 percent surety that we will never have another child, I can say that I am 1000 percent sure that my family feels as complete as it's going to get in this lifetime.
We are so grateful for you, our friends and family. We wish you every blessing you may stand in need of. We hope your 2010 starts out beautifully. We again extend a heartfelt invitation to each of you who are far from us to visit us. We still have an enormous guest room, and we are not afraid to offer it for your use. We love you and thank the Lord for your presence in our lives.
Until next time (when hopefully you'll be visiting us)...
Friday, December 11, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
December Dinner Calendar
Thought I'd hurry up and post this before baby is born. Enjoy and call or email me with any questions. Next post WILL be baby. 'Nuff said ;-)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)