With Shaughnessy's birth has also come the emergence of the 'Motherbeast'. The Motherbeast personifies all the primal, raw feelings of protectiveness and nurturing that have flared up in me. It's overwhelming, to say the least, and sometimes kind of scary. Seeing my daughter endure all the things she's had to endure so far in her tiny, short life has been like poking a stick at the Motherbeast and I get truly angry. There's so much frustration and helplessness in having a preemie that you just want to BLAME someone, take it out on someone and make them FIX it. I literally want to resort to violence at times, and I'm surprised at myself.
Which brings us to the other side of things. Because when I'm not feeling the protective fierceness of the Motherbeast, I'm feeling the frightened guilt of a puppy who knows it's done something bad and that there's a reckoning coming. I did it wrong. I didn't carry my baby until she was ready to come out. My body was so inhospitable that I couldn't make it a safe place for her to stay. I FAILED her and she has to suffer for my inadequacies. Isn't someone going to punish me for that?
It's been drilled into me by many people (doctors, psychiatrists, social workers, nurses) that these feelings of guilt and shame and self-blame are normal, that every mother who suffers from pre-eclampsia has the same thoughts. Intellectually I am thankful to know that. Emotionally, it's hard to hang on to it. I know that my part in this wasn't easy, that it wasn't my fault, that I could have died from the pre-eclampsia as well and that having Shaughnessy when I did saved both of us. But I visit the websites that tell me how she should be developing in my womb, still safely tucked away in a warm, pain-free environment until being born a fat, healthy full-term baby and I mourn that for her. And for me. And for Andrew, who has had a painful few weeks and has had to juggle work, illness, worry and stress around all the hospital business, not to mention having to quarantine himself away from his brand-new daughter almost this entire time. He hasn't been able to comfort himself with sitting at her bedside, giving her hand-hugs, holding her from time to time. He's had only pictures and my reports on her sweetness to satisfy his paternal instincts and it's just not enough.
I know this will all get easier. We'll look back on this time as difficult but necessary, and it'll seem like such a short blip in the bigger picture of her life. Right now, though, it's fricking hard.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Mother bear is gonna rough you up.
OK, so after singing the praises of WCH like I did in my last entry I will admit that there are a couple of nurses that I simply do not like. NICU nurses, specifically, since it really didn't matter if there was anyone taking care of me who wasn't sweetness and light all the time. Motherhood, however, apparently makes you very protective and the thought of someone not treating your fragile little premature daughter with anything but love and tenderness is awful.
Mom came to town again yesterday and we got to spend hours visiting Shaughnessy. The day nurse was nice, if a little bit less than self-confident about absolutely everything. I think she was pretty new, but it didn't matter because any time she second-guessed herself she got someone else to step in so there wasn't any reason for us to feel like Shaughnessy wasn't getting proper care. Shaughnessy's night nurse, though, was a nurse that simply rubs me the wrong way. I've seen her get impatient with crying babies before, and she just has a really brisk, clinical way of doing things that doesn't include the parents at all if they happen to be there.
Mom and I stood back and gave her room while she did Shaughnessy's hands-on care and even though she wasn't being precisely rough with her it still made me feel uncomfortable to see the way she was flipping my baby around like a rotisserie chicken, fast and not exactly gently. Shaughnessy didn't cry at all and seemed more thoughtful about it all than anything and she's not a baby that's afraid to complain when something's not right. I'm sure this woman knows her job and knows it well, but parents of preemies feel like their babies aren't getting enough affection as it is so to see their major caregivers dealing with them like objects rather than a son or daughter is upsetting, to say the least.
I asked her if she wanted us to leave the NICU entirely while she worked with my baby girl and her answer was, "Oh, I don't care what you do." All righty then. You don't have to be Nurse McFriendlypants, but 'I don't care' is not a helpful answer. I asked a few questions and made a few comments but she just wouldn't engage, so I pretty much gave up and went and sat in the waiting area since my back was hurting and I didn't feel good. After she was done Mom came and got me and we sat with Shaughnessy a while more until Mom had to catch her bus back to Kingston, but I felt sad that for the rest of the night my girl had this woman instead of someone more affectionate and interactive.
I was also starting to get a scratchy throat last night and when I woke up today it was even worse, so I can't go in to see Shaughnessy until it's better. I'm hoping it gets better with a quickness because it WILL break me if I can't go visit her. I don't know how Andrew's managed since this is the worst illness he's had in forever and it's kept him out of the NICU for a long time now. I called today to see how our girl was doing and as it turns out she got an IV burn from the IV line they put in yesterday, which means that the vein the IV was in got compromised and the IV fluid leaked out and damaged the surrounding tissue. I haven't seen it yet and they assured me that it was being treated so I'm trying not to assume that it's horrible, but it's extra-difficult not to be able to go see her now that I know she was in pain the night before. Poor little monkey.
Mom came to town again yesterday and we got to spend hours visiting Shaughnessy. The day nurse was nice, if a little bit less than self-confident about absolutely everything. I think she was pretty new, but it didn't matter because any time she second-guessed herself she got someone else to step in so there wasn't any reason for us to feel like Shaughnessy wasn't getting proper care. Shaughnessy's night nurse, though, was a nurse that simply rubs me the wrong way. I've seen her get impatient with crying babies before, and she just has a really brisk, clinical way of doing things that doesn't include the parents at all if they happen to be there.
Mom and I stood back and gave her room while she did Shaughnessy's hands-on care and even though she wasn't being precisely rough with her it still made me feel uncomfortable to see the way she was flipping my baby around like a rotisserie chicken, fast and not exactly gently. Shaughnessy didn't cry at all and seemed more thoughtful about it all than anything and she's not a baby that's afraid to complain when something's not right. I'm sure this woman knows her job and knows it well, but parents of preemies feel like their babies aren't getting enough affection as it is so to see their major caregivers dealing with them like objects rather than a son or daughter is upsetting, to say the least.
I asked her if she wanted us to leave the NICU entirely while she worked with my baby girl and her answer was, "Oh, I don't care what you do." All righty then. You don't have to be Nurse McFriendlypants, but 'I don't care' is not a helpful answer. I asked a few questions and made a few comments but she just wouldn't engage, so I pretty much gave up and went and sat in the waiting area since my back was hurting and I didn't feel good. After she was done Mom came and got me and we sat with Shaughnessy a while more until Mom had to catch her bus back to Kingston, but I felt sad that for the rest of the night my girl had this woman instead of someone more affectionate and interactive.
I was also starting to get a scratchy throat last night and when I woke up today it was even worse, so I can't go in to see Shaughnessy until it's better. I'm hoping it gets better with a quickness because it WILL break me if I can't go visit her. I don't know how Andrew's managed since this is the worst illness he's had in forever and it's kept him out of the NICU for a long time now. I called today to see how our girl was doing and as it turns out she got an IV burn from the IV line they put in yesterday, which means that the vein the IV was in got compromised and the IV fluid leaked out and damaged the surrounding tissue. I haven't seen it yet and they assured me that it was being treated so I'm trying not to assume that it's horrible, but it's extra-difficult not to be able to go see her now that I know she was in pain the night before. Poor little monkey.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
WCH Rocks!
While being in the hospital is never FUN, it does have nice moments. I suspect that the Women's College Hospital has some sort of rigorous testing system in place to make sure that all the medical professionals working there are part guardian angel or something because I've never in my life experienced so many indescribably kind people in one place. Most all of the nurses who took care of me babied me extravagantly, bringing me countless cups of ice water and apple juice, chiding me about eating my meals, tsking over the state of my poor, swollen, scabbed-up, bruised arms (from all the blood-drawing and the bandage tape that ate away my skin) and generally treating me with more compassion than I'd ever expected. There was no sense of it being anyone's job; they were genuinely caring.
Of course, they were also doing their jobs, as evidenced by the carefree way in which they regularly walked into my room and demanded to see my crotch or boobs or incision. The most amusing thing to me was Fart Watch 2009. They were very concerned about my first fart after surgery and every time anyone entered my room the first thing out of their mouth was, "Have you passed gas?" I wasn't allowed solid food until that happened, so by the end of Fart Watch I was eagerly anticipating it as well. It finally, finally happened at 10:43 a.m. on Wednesday the 5th. I farted. And it was awesome.
I think this is possibly the only time in my life I will ever openly and publicly admit to engaging in that particular bodily function, so write down the date or something.
The people who have made the strongest impression on me were Maja, the nurse in charge of me from the minute I was admitted to the high risk delivery unit, and Beverly, a lovely nurse in the NICU.
Maja really did remind me of an angel, which is SO cliched when it comes to nurses, I know, but she was an incredibly solid rock of support and comfort during a time of shock and fear for me and Andrew. We were being swept along on this unstoppable tide of sudden major surgery and our daughter coming into the world three months early, and Maja very calmly explained everything to us that she could. She also had no compunction at all about physically comforting me, putting a hand on my shoulder or hand whenever she could just to remind me that she was right there beside me. When I was getting the epidural injected into my spine she stood in front of me with her hands on my shoulders and reminded me to breathe whenever it seemed like I was getting panicked. She told me afterward that there came a moment when she herself got overwhelmed with everything going on and head to leave the operating room for a moment to breathe deep and calm down, and I have to say that I didn't even notice, she was just so ever-present and reassuring.
They delayed moving me to the recovery part of the floor long enough that Maja couldn't come with me to see Shaughnessy for the first time and she was visibly upset about it, telling me that she'd been looking forward to sharing that special moment with me and how disappointed she was that the nurse taking me was someone that I didn't even know. I was disappointed too and ended up having some separation anxiety over the abruptness of my move and being taken out of her care so suddenly. She was the best nurse I've ever had in my life, bar none, and I'm immensely grateful for her. We'll definitely be bringing in a major thank-you gift for her soon.
As for Beverly; she's a lovely, kind Australian woman who goes to great lengths to make sure that I feel involved in Shaughnessy's care and gives me as much information as she possibly can whenever she sees me, even if she's not assigned to Shaughnessy that day. She was the first NICU nurse to insist that I help her with Shaughnessy's 'hands on' care, when they change their diapers, feed them, give them a little break from the CPAP and do various other things related to their well-being. She let me pick my daughter up in my hands for the first time while she changed the bedding under her, had me wipe off her face and mouth of the bubbles they blow when they're on CPAP, take her temperature and just generally interact with her in ways I hadn't before. They do this with all the parents, yes, to ease us into taking care of a preemie, but Beverly did it with so much kindness and understanding of how I must be feeling to watch what amounts to strangers having so much more access to my own child than I do. You can tell when the nurse working with your baby actually cares about how you feel, and Beverly cares. A lot.
These are just the two standouts, of course. Like I said; almost every single person at WCH has been unfailingly kind and caring and genuine. HAVE YOUR BABIES THERE, Torontonians! I recommend it!
Of course, they were also doing their jobs, as evidenced by the carefree way in which they regularly walked into my room and demanded to see my crotch or boobs or incision. The most amusing thing to me was Fart Watch 2009. They were very concerned about my first fart after surgery and every time anyone entered my room the first thing out of their mouth was, "Have you passed gas?" I wasn't allowed solid food until that happened, so by the end of Fart Watch I was eagerly anticipating it as well. It finally, finally happened at 10:43 a.m. on Wednesday the 5th. I farted. And it was awesome.
I think this is possibly the only time in my life I will ever openly and publicly admit to engaging in that particular bodily function, so write down the date or something.
The people who have made the strongest impression on me were Maja, the nurse in charge of me from the minute I was admitted to the high risk delivery unit, and Beverly, a lovely nurse in the NICU.
Maja really did remind me of an angel, which is SO cliched when it comes to nurses, I know, but she was an incredibly solid rock of support and comfort during a time of shock and fear for me and Andrew. We were being swept along on this unstoppable tide of sudden major surgery and our daughter coming into the world three months early, and Maja very calmly explained everything to us that she could. She also had no compunction at all about physically comforting me, putting a hand on my shoulder or hand whenever she could just to remind me that she was right there beside me. When I was getting the epidural injected into my spine she stood in front of me with her hands on my shoulders and reminded me to breathe whenever it seemed like I was getting panicked. She told me afterward that there came a moment when she herself got overwhelmed with everything going on and head to leave the operating room for a moment to breathe deep and calm down, and I have to say that I didn't even notice, she was just so ever-present and reassuring.
They delayed moving me to the recovery part of the floor long enough that Maja couldn't come with me to see Shaughnessy for the first time and she was visibly upset about it, telling me that she'd been looking forward to sharing that special moment with me and how disappointed she was that the nurse taking me was someone that I didn't even know. I was disappointed too and ended up having some separation anxiety over the abruptness of my move and being taken out of her care so suddenly. She was the best nurse I've ever had in my life, bar none, and I'm immensely grateful for her. We'll definitely be bringing in a major thank-you gift for her soon.
As for Beverly; she's a lovely, kind Australian woman who goes to great lengths to make sure that I feel involved in Shaughnessy's care and gives me as much information as she possibly can whenever she sees me, even if she's not assigned to Shaughnessy that day. She was the first NICU nurse to insist that I help her with Shaughnessy's 'hands on' care, when they change their diapers, feed them, give them a little break from the CPAP and do various other things related to their well-being. She let me pick my daughter up in my hands for the first time while she changed the bedding under her, had me wipe off her face and mouth of the bubbles they blow when they're on CPAP, take her temperature and just generally interact with her in ways I hadn't before. They do this with all the parents, yes, to ease us into taking care of a preemie, but Beverly did it with so much kindness and understanding of how I must be feeling to watch what amounts to strangers having so much more access to my own child than I do. You can tell when the nurse working with your baby actually cares about how you feel, and Beverly cares. A lot.
These are just the two standouts, of course. Like I said; almost every single person at WCH has been unfailingly kind and caring and genuine. HAVE YOUR BABIES THERE, Torontonians! I recommend it!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Hey, let's talk about my chesteses.
So far this mom thing is really bizarre for me. Obviously nothing happened as planned or expected, so I'm kind of swimming in the deep end with regard to exactly how I'm supposed to be feeling or acting. Mostly I just give myself permission to feel however I happen to because what's right or wrong in this situation?
Now that I'm out of the hospital and back home I'm spending most of my time pumping breast milk, preparing to pump breast milk or figuring out when to next pump breast milk. I HATE pumping breast milk. Really, really do. It's so detached and impersonal to sit there attached by the boobs to a machine for twenty minutes at a time and stare into space while waiting for it to end. The type of breast pump the hospital sends you home with is called a double electric, meaning you pump both boobs at once with great, electricity-fueled force. This is nice and efficient, yes, but also extremely limiting as you have to hold the contraption in place with your hands. So I sit there, like a bored dairy cow, and stare around while enduring the least sexy form of nipple torture ever.
The cats are intrigued, of course. Mong sits a small distance away and just watches kind of askance, not really approving of the process. Shelley, unsurprisingly, is much more scientifically interested in the whole thing and wants to get right in my lap and watch up close. Because my range of movement is extremely limited I am reduced to doing a kind of chicken wing flap with my occupied arms to try to dissuade him, or draw one knee up to make my lap less inviting. He is not easily dissuaded and will eventually park himself up against my leg if he can't get in my lap, watching in a very intent and discomfiting manner what is going on with my poor, poor nipples.
Nipples, nipples, nipples. I never really thought I'd end up talking much about one of my MOST PRIVATE body parts in this blog because I wasn't planning to breastfeed. Since Shaughnessy ended up being preemie, though, breast milk is one of the best things for her and I can certainly oblige. It turns out that producing breast milk is a crazy skill I have. It's like, effortless for me. When the lactation consultant came to talk to me in the hospital I was in the middle of pumping and quit early so I could chat with her. She did a total double-take when she saw the amount I'd already pumped and was all, "Is that the volume you usually produce?" I was like, no, I usually get more. She was impressed. My boobs; they are enthusiastic. Which is awesome, because as much as I HAAAAATE to pump it's extremely gratifying to feel like I'm doing something so directly beneficial and mother-like for my daughter.
Even though breast-feeding in itself is also a procedure that limits your movement and takes up time I can only look forward to it as a great improvement as I'll actually be holding my daughter and bonding with her, able to look down at her and into her eyes and interact with her. I won't be hooked up to a happy yellow robot that doesn't want to bite me and pull my hair.
Now that I'm out of the hospital and back home I'm spending most of my time pumping breast milk, preparing to pump breast milk or figuring out when to next pump breast milk. I HATE pumping breast milk. Really, really do. It's so detached and impersonal to sit there attached by the boobs to a machine for twenty minutes at a time and stare into space while waiting for it to end. The type of breast pump the hospital sends you home with is called a double electric, meaning you pump both boobs at once with great, electricity-fueled force. This is nice and efficient, yes, but also extremely limiting as you have to hold the contraption in place with your hands. So I sit there, like a bored dairy cow, and stare around while enduring the least sexy form of nipple torture ever.
The cats are intrigued, of course. Mong sits a small distance away and just watches kind of askance, not really approving of the process. Shelley, unsurprisingly, is much more scientifically interested in the whole thing and wants to get right in my lap and watch up close. Because my range of movement is extremely limited I am reduced to doing a kind of chicken wing flap with my occupied arms to try to dissuade him, or draw one knee up to make my lap less inviting. He is not easily dissuaded and will eventually park himself up against my leg if he can't get in my lap, watching in a very intent and discomfiting manner what is going on with my poor, poor nipples.
Nipples, nipples, nipples. I never really thought I'd end up talking much about one of my MOST PRIVATE body parts in this blog because I wasn't planning to breastfeed. Since Shaughnessy ended up being preemie, though, breast milk is one of the best things for her and I can certainly oblige. It turns out that producing breast milk is a crazy skill I have. It's like, effortless for me. When the lactation consultant came to talk to me in the hospital I was in the middle of pumping and quit early so I could chat with her. She did a total double-take when she saw the amount I'd already pumped and was all, "Is that the volume you usually produce?" I was like, no, I usually get more. She was impressed. My boobs; they are enthusiastic. Which is awesome, because as much as I HAAAAATE to pump it's extremely gratifying to feel like I'm doing something so directly beneficial and mother-like for my daughter.
Even though breast-feeding in itself is also a procedure that limits your movement and takes up time I can only look forward to it as a great improvement as I'll actually be holding my daughter and bonding with her, able to look down at her and into her eyes and interact with her. I won't be hooked up to a happy yellow robot that doesn't want to bite me and pull my hair.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
How to have a baby in the most dramatic way.
Let me tell you what happened.
On the night of February 27th I had a pain in my upper right torso area. It was not incredibly excruciating or anything. It felt almost exactly like mild gallbladder attacks used to feel when I still had a gallbladder. I had any of a number of things to blame such a pain on, of course, such as coughing due to the cold I was recovering from or a newish heartburn effect. Whatever it was I kept noticing it, but not feeling affected enough by it to worry overmuch. It was annoying and I took some Tylenol and hoped for the best.
It faded by the next morning and I carried on with life. Saturday night, though, I noticed a headache starting up on the left side of my head. Kind of radiating up from my neck and around to my forehead. I popped a couple more Tylenols but by the next morning it was on both sides of my head and was much worse. I figured it was a migraine since it had some of the same symptoms and results, like nausea and light sensitivity. So Sunday night I still had a headache that hadn't really responded to pain meds much. On Monday morning the headache seemed a bit less, but still present, and by Monday night I was getting pretty worried. I get lots of headaches, yes, but three-day headaches are a rarity for me and headaches that don't respond to pain meds during pregnancy are a bad sign.
I'd read about pre-eclampsia, and one account in particular that I'd shared with Andrew as an example of something that I hoped would NEVER happen to me. One of my favourite webcomic authors had her daughter quite early as a result of pre-eclampsia and had presented symptoms from quite early on, mostly very swollen feet. I wasn't having any issues like that, my pee sticks for protein had been coming up clear at the doctor's office and my blood pressures seemed to be OK. The visit to the obgyn right before Jen and Colin's wedding had a tiny bit of protein in my urine, but it was a trace amount.
So, the three-day headache was concerning me but I wasn't having any other symptoms like swelling or vision disturbances. I decided in the end that it was better to be safe than sorry so on Monday night after Andrew got home from work we headed out to the emergency room at Toronto General to ask about my headache.
I'll just get this out of the way right now so I don't have to repeat it a lot: We don't really know why we went there instead of Mt. Sinai. We were on autopilot or something, it's where we went last time we visited an emergency room and in the end it worked out pretty much the same as it would have in any case.
The wait ended up not being too terribly long for me to get in and talk to a nurse at the ER. She sat me down and asked me what all was going on, I said I'd had this three-day headache that was unresponsive to pain meds, she strapped on the blood pressure cuff and when it beeped she did a total double-take. "That can't be right." Yep, she thought the machine was broken, like in some cheap movie script. So she took it again, it was even more alarming and she was like, "OK, this is an issue." I did have to go wait again in the general waiting area but it really wasn't all that long, thankfully, as it kind of turned out that I was a walking seizure waiting to happen. Andrew and I were called back into the ER and I got on a bed and pretty much didn't get up for days.
The poking and prodding and questioning and needling and blood-pressure-cuffing began in earnest. Things get fuzzy for me at this point because they started me on magnesium sulfate and it made me light-headed and flushed, which was very distracting. Basically after a lot of talking about pre-eclampsia, how I definitely had it, how dangerous it is, how close I was to having seizures and brain hemorrhages and dying we were told that the baby pretty much should come out that night so that I wouldn't die, and kill her in turn. My 28 week baby, since apparently I ONCE AGAIN had the weeks counted wrong, argh.
I was instinctively like, "No, that's stupid," but that was inside my head. In reality I knew there wasn't much choice, so Andrew and I were like, "Um, OK." They were talking about DYING, which is scary to hear in your face like that.
Usually I'd have been transferred over to Mt. Sinai for the c-section, but they were having a flooding issue so I was taken by ambulance over to Women's College Hospital at around 10:00, to Andrew's best recollection. I am SO thankful that's where I had my baby. I cannot say enough good about the place or the people that work there. It is just yes in every way possible.
Things happened fairly quickly. I was taken to the high risk delivery floor and they got me ready for surgery. Andrew wasn't allowed in the operating room while they did the epidural and that part ended up taking longer than we thought it would. I have to say that the epidural was the most unpleasant part of the entire operating procedure for me. Mostly when women giving birth have one they've been in labour for a while, so the physical sensation of the epidural is overshadowed by the pain of labour. In this case not so much. I felt everything the anaesthesiologist did, and it was pretty unpleasant the time he injected in a spot where there wasn't enough anaesthetic. Once it was finished and took effect everything was great. I couldn't feel a thing from my chest down and I was immensely grateful that they waited until then to insert the catheter!
So they found Andrew and the surgery started. I was feeling weird because of the mag sulfate and they also gave me some morphine so it's somewhat fuzzy for me, but I remember thinking that it felt exactly like a description I'd read of getting a c-section, where you are on a bed and there are people trying to wrestle a pair of too-small jeans onto your body. It really did feel a lot like that. Then there was a HUGE sensation of pressure and pulling and suddenly I heard someone say, "It's a girl!" Then I heard a couple of little tiny cries and I knew our daughter was born. It was 1:35 a.m. on March 3rd.
I didn't see her at all. Andrew did get a glimpse of her, but they took her immediately away to get her intubated in case she couldn't breathe on her own, even though she'd definitely breathed enough to cry out which was a very good sign. I was left to get reassembled and stitched back up, then I was taken to recovery.
Things get even fuzzier for me at this point. I remember talking to my nurse, talking to Andrew, asking about Shaughnessy and things like that. I was probably in shock, plus drugged a bit and the mag sulfate was still being administered through the IV so I wouldn't have a seizure. Eventually I was wheeled back to the high risk birthing unit and I stayed there until the next day.
Andrew had of course contacted my mom and sisters and so my mom came as soon as she could the next day to see me. My mom is awesome. I know she pretty much had zero sleep and yet she came all the way to Toronto and sat at my bedside and just hung out with me while I lay there all woozy and stupid from the mag sulfate and whatever other drugs were messing me up. She and Andrew got to go see Shaughnessy; something I couldn't do while I was still on the mag sulfate since I was still a seizure risk and they didn't want that to happen in the NICU. It was really hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that I was no longer pregnant since I hadn't actually seen my own baby yet and physically I didn't feel a whole lot different since the numbness was still present. I made sure to tell them to touch her, though. For some reason it was really important to me that somebody who loves her touched her.
Mom had to leave that evening, but I was so, so glad she'd come. The whole experience had been pretty terrifying and surreal and having my mom appear was incredibly comforting. Thank you, Mom, for being so awesome.
I finally got to see Shaughnessy the next morning after they took me off of the magnesium sulfate and moved me to the high risk recovery part of the floor. It was a bit rushed, but being able to see my incredibly tiny daughter for the first time was amazing. She was so very small inside her big old incubator, all wrapped up and covered in tubes and wires and things stuck to her body. I couldn't do anything but look at her and hope with everything in me that she was going to be all right.
There's lots more about being in the hospital, which I was up until yesterday with soaring blood pressure and general recovery from the c-section. It's not all that interesting, though. What's awesome is how great our little girl is doing. She's apparently a tough, smart little baby what with all the breathing on her own and not needing any assistance beyond a CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) device that reminds her to keep taking breaths just in case she ever forgets. The nurses consistently tell us how cute and funny she is and that she has a feisty little attitude and lots of personality. While I was in the hospital I spent a lot of time beside her incubator staring at her little self, touching her sometimes (although preemies are not necessarily all about the wanting to be touched, as it turns out, although a hand placed on them and held still is comforting,) and generally just getting used to the idea of being a mother!
Andrew promptly came down with some kind of virus right after our daughter was born so his contact with her has been a lot more limited than mine, unfortunately. He should be better in time for us to both be able to hold her, though, since her belly button IV came out today and that means more mobility for her. We've been taking some pictures and admiring her teeny little self. Here; admire her, too:
On the night of February 27th I had a pain in my upper right torso area. It was not incredibly excruciating or anything. It felt almost exactly like mild gallbladder attacks used to feel when I still had a gallbladder. I had any of a number of things to blame such a pain on, of course, such as coughing due to the cold I was recovering from or a newish heartburn effect. Whatever it was I kept noticing it, but not feeling affected enough by it to worry overmuch. It was annoying and I took some Tylenol and hoped for the best.
It faded by the next morning and I carried on with life. Saturday night, though, I noticed a headache starting up on the left side of my head. Kind of radiating up from my neck and around to my forehead. I popped a couple more Tylenols but by the next morning it was on both sides of my head and was much worse. I figured it was a migraine since it had some of the same symptoms and results, like nausea and light sensitivity. So Sunday night I still had a headache that hadn't really responded to pain meds much. On Monday morning the headache seemed a bit less, but still present, and by Monday night I was getting pretty worried. I get lots of headaches, yes, but three-day headaches are a rarity for me and headaches that don't respond to pain meds during pregnancy are a bad sign.
I'd read about pre-eclampsia, and one account in particular that I'd shared with Andrew as an example of something that I hoped would NEVER happen to me. One of my favourite webcomic authors had her daughter quite early as a result of pre-eclampsia and had presented symptoms from quite early on, mostly very swollen feet. I wasn't having any issues like that, my pee sticks for protein had been coming up clear at the doctor's office and my blood pressures seemed to be OK. The visit to the obgyn right before Jen and Colin's wedding had a tiny bit of protein in my urine, but it was a trace amount.
So, the three-day headache was concerning me but I wasn't having any other symptoms like swelling or vision disturbances. I decided in the end that it was better to be safe than sorry so on Monday night after Andrew got home from work we headed out to the emergency room at Toronto General to ask about my headache.
I'll just get this out of the way right now so I don't have to repeat it a lot: We don't really know why we went there instead of Mt. Sinai. We were on autopilot or something, it's where we went last time we visited an emergency room and in the end it worked out pretty much the same as it would have in any case.
The wait ended up not being too terribly long for me to get in and talk to a nurse at the ER. She sat me down and asked me what all was going on, I said I'd had this three-day headache that was unresponsive to pain meds, she strapped on the blood pressure cuff and when it beeped she did a total double-take. "That can't be right." Yep, she thought the machine was broken, like in some cheap movie script. So she took it again, it was even more alarming and she was like, "OK, this is an issue." I did have to go wait again in the general waiting area but it really wasn't all that long, thankfully, as it kind of turned out that I was a walking seizure waiting to happen. Andrew and I were called back into the ER and I got on a bed and pretty much didn't get up for days.
The poking and prodding and questioning and needling and blood-pressure-cuffing began in earnest. Things get fuzzy for me at this point because they started me on magnesium sulfate and it made me light-headed and flushed, which was very distracting. Basically after a lot of talking about pre-eclampsia, how I definitely had it, how dangerous it is, how close I was to having seizures and brain hemorrhages and dying we were told that the baby pretty much should come out that night so that I wouldn't die, and kill her in turn. My 28 week baby, since apparently I ONCE AGAIN had the weeks counted wrong, argh.
I was instinctively like, "No, that's stupid," but that was inside my head. In reality I knew there wasn't much choice, so Andrew and I were like, "Um, OK." They were talking about DYING, which is scary to hear in your face like that.
Usually I'd have been transferred over to Mt. Sinai for the c-section, but they were having a flooding issue so I was taken by ambulance over to Women's College Hospital at around 10:00, to Andrew's best recollection. I am SO thankful that's where I had my baby. I cannot say enough good about the place or the people that work there. It is just yes in every way possible.
Things happened fairly quickly. I was taken to the high risk delivery floor and they got me ready for surgery. Andrew wasn't allowed in the operating room while they did the epidural and that part ended up taking longer than we thought it would. I have to say that the epidural was the most unpleasant part of the entire operating procedure for me. Mostly when women giving birth have one they've been in labour for a while, so the physical sensation of the epidural is overshadowed by the pain of labour. In this case not so much. I felt everything the anaesthesiologist did, and it was pretty unpleasant the time he injected in a spot where there wasn't enough anaesthetic. Once it was finished and took effect everything was great. I couldn't feel a thing from my chest down and I was immensely grateful that they waited until then to insert the catheter!
So they found Andrew and the surgery started. I was feeling weird because of the mag sulfate and they also gave me some morphine so it's somewhat fuzzy for me, but I remember thinking that it felt exactly like a description I'd read of getting a c-section, where you are on a bed and there are people trying to wrestle a pair of too-small jeans onto your body. It really did feel a lot like that. Then there was a HUGE sensation of pressure and pulling and suddenly I heard someone say, "It's a girl!" Then I heard a couple of little tiny cries and I knew our daughter was born. It was 1:35 a.m. on March 3rd.
I didn't see her at all. Andrew did get a glimpse of her, but they took her immediately away to get her intubated in case she couldn't breathe on her own, even though she'd definitely breathed enough to cry out which was a very good sign. I was left to get reassembled and stitched back up, then I was taken to recovery.
Things get even fuzzier for me at this point. I remember talking to my nurse, talking to Andrew, asking about Shaughnessy and things like that. I was probably in shock, plus drugged a bit and the mag sulfate was still being administered through the IV so I wouldn't have a seizure. Eventually I was wheeled back to the high risk birthing unit and I stayed there until the next day.
Andrew had of course contacted my mom and sisters and so my mom came as soon as she could the next day to see me. My mom is awesome. I know she pretty much had zero sleep and yet she came all the way to Toronto and sat at my bedside and just hung out with me while I lay there all woozy and stupid from the mag sulfate and whatever other drugs were messing me up. She and Andrew got to go see Shaughnessy; something I couldn't do while I was still on the mag sulfate since I was still a seizure risk and they didn't want that to happen in the NICU. It was really hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that I was no longer pregnant since I hadn't actually seen my own baby yet and physically I didn't feel a whole lot different since the numbness was still present. I made sure to tell them to touch her, though. For some reason it was really important to me that somebody who loves her touched her.
Mom had to leave that evening, but I was so, so glad she'd come. The whole experience had been pretty terrifying and surreal and having my mom appear was incredibly comforting. Thank you, Mom, for being so awesome.
I finally got to see Shaughnessy the next morning after they took me off of the magnesium sulfate and moved me to the high risk recovery part of the floor. It was a bit rushed, but being able to see my incredibly tiny daughter for the first time was amazing. She was so very small inside her big old incubator, all wrapped up and covered in tubes and wires and things stuck to her body. I couldn't do anything but look at her and hope with everything in me that she was going to be all right.
There's lots more about being in the hospital, which I was up until yesterday with soaring blood pressure and general recovery from the c-section. It's not all that interesting, though. What's awesome is how great our little girl is doing. She's apparently a tough, smart little baby what with all the breathing on her own and not needing any assistance beyond a CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) device that reminds her to keep taking breaths just in case she ever forgets. The nurses consistently tell us how cute and funny she is and that she has a feisty little attitude and lots of personality. While I was in the hospital I spent a lot of time beside her incubator staring at her little self, touching her sometimes (although preemies are not necessarily all about the wanting to be touched, as it turns out, although a hand placed on them and held still is comforting,) and generally just getting used to the idea of being a mother!
Andrew promptly came down with some kind of virus right after our daughter was born so his contact with her has been a lot more limited than mine, unfortunately. He should be better in time for us to both be able to hold her, though, since her belly button IV came out today and that means more mobility for her. We've been taking some pictures and admiring her teeny little self. Here; admire her, too:
Saturday, March 7, 2009
We had a baby.
I've been trying to write a weblog entry about the fact that yes, we had our daughter, we have a baby now, Shaughnessy Patricia Joyce Jeanes was born on March 3rd, 2009, at 1:35 in the morning weighing exactly one kilogram and breathing on her own.
Somehow, that weblog entry hasn't been coming out. I'd start it and have to stop really quickly. It wasn't flowing the way I wanted it to. I couldn't tell it the way I like to tell a story. It took me a while, but I eventually realized why.
Why? Because it sucks. I had preeclampsia. My daughter should not be outside of my body. She should still be in there giving me heartburn, kicking my bladder, bouncing my laptop at unexpected moments. I should still be carrying her and I'm not. I'm not happy about that in the slightest and wish more than anything that it wasn't this way. So when I try to write about the actual events and find the humour in them (of which there is some, believe me) it's just ... too soon, I guess.
This week has been the hardest of my life, probably the hardest of Andrew's life, and no picnic for Shaughnessy, either. Our families and friends have been amazing, supportive and right there for us from the minute we let them know what happened and we're unspeakably thankful for all of you.
I'll write about it. I'll write about it the way I want to, tell the story the way I like to, and it'll be REALLY LONG.
Somehow, that weblog entry hasn't been coming out. I'd start it and have to stop really quickly. It wasn't flowing the way I wanted it to. I couldn't tell it the way I like to tell a story. It took me a while, but I eventually realized why.
Why? Because it sucks. I had preeclampsia. My daughter should not be outside of my body. She should still be in there giving me heartburn, kicking my bladder, bouncing my laptop at unexpected moments. I should still be carrying her and I'm not. I'm not happy about that in the slightest and wish more than anything that it wasn't this way. So when I try to write about the actual events and find the humour in them (of which there is some, believe me) it's just ... too soon, I guess.
This week has been the hardest of my life, probably the hardest of Andrew's life, and no picnic for Shaughnessy, either. Our families and friends have been amazing, supportive and right there for us from the minute we let them know what happened and we're unspeakably thankful for all of you.
I'll write about it. I'll write about it the way I want to, tell the story the way I like to, and it'll be REALLY LONG.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Writing from my deathbed.
Oh, man. I have been sick all week long. I'd felt something lurking for most of the week before and it hit on the weekend. It seems to be at most a seriously bad cold but it's getting old at this point. Bah.
It's why I haven't been writing much this week. A) It's boring to read about other people's snotty colds and B) I just haven't had much energy for it. So I've kept my writing to boo-hooing in Facebook and Twitter status updates about how sick and gross I am.
I have run into the Maalox condundrum, however, of timing my pregnancy-related heartburn relief with cold relief and other medication. Maalox (and other antacids) interfere with the effectiveness of medications if taken close together so I have to decide if I want relief from heartburn over relief from head-pounding stuffiness and sinus pain. It's a testament to how bad the heartburn is that I'll often choose the Maalox over the Tylenol because having to wait a few hours seems impossible. Admittedly I am trying to take as little as possible of the Tylenol Cold, even though it's supposed to be all safe and stuff.
Taking pills is no big deal for me. Some people gag on pills but I can knock back a handful at a time as long as I have a glass of water to wash them down. (Not that I've ever knocked back a handful, of course, but my re-reading of that last sentence tips me off that it sounds a bit alarming.) Ahem. Yes, I can take multiple pills at a time and not blink. Chewables, however, are another story and the Maalox are just plain old gross. They're mint which makes it better, but they don't really go anywhere while you're chewing them. They just get foamy and sit there in the same spot where you're chewing them, like they have a memory of the shape they were in and want to stay that way. It squicks me out like nobody's business and you can bet that I'm so relieved you're supposed to wash them down with water because swallowing that mess dry would be nearly impossible. Because it's not really dry; it's a pasty almost-gel that clings to every surface ack ick ugh!
O, this is the grossest entry. The baby is still kicking in there despite its momma lolling about like a serious invalid and hacking up a lung or two. I've been forcing food down as much as I can so that baby Jeanes is getting, like, vitamins and stuff and taking my pre-natals and making sure to keep aware of movement and all that. S/he's pretty consistent with when and what makes her/him kicky. Six a.m. aerobics are still a go, me on my left side always results in some irritated shoving around unless I am laying there just so, and random spazzes throughout the afternoon and evening are common. I think my coughing over the last day or so has been a bit alarming for the poor thing, but there's not a lot I can do about that, unfortunately.
Yeah, OK. I think I've exhausted my non-news for now. Things are good despite my having the plague. Andrew is going away for a little travel trip of about 24 hours so maybe by the time he gets back on Friday night I'll be somewhat less gross. Here's hoping!
It's why I haven't been writing much this week. A) It's boring to read about other people's snotty colds and B) I just haven't had much energy for it. So I've kept my writing to boo-hooing in Facebook and Twitter status updates about how sick and gross I am.
I have run into the Maalox condundrum, however, of timing my pregnancy-related heartburn relief with cold relief and other medication. Maalox (and other antacids) interfere with the effectiveness of medications if taken close together so I have to decide if I want relief from heartburn over relief from head-pounding stuffiness and sinus pain. It's a testament to how bad the heartburn is that I'll often choose the Maalox over the Tylenol because having to wait a few hours seems impossible. Admittedly I am trying to take as little as possible of the Tylenol Cold, even though it's supposed to be all safe and stuff.
Taking pills is no big deal for me. Some people gag on pills but I can knock back a handful at a time as long as I have a glass of water to wash them down. (Not that I've ever knocked back a handful, of course, but my re-reading of that last sentence tips me off that it sounds a bit alarming.) Ahem. Yes, I can take multiple pills at a time and not blink. Chewables, however, are another story and the Maalox are just plain old gross. They're mint which makes it better, but they don't really go anywhere while you're chewing them. They just get foamy and sit there in the same spot where you're chewing them, like they have a memory of the shape they were in and want to stay that way. It squicks me out like nobody's business and you can bet that I'm so relieved you're supposed to wash them down with water because swallowing that mess dry would be nearly impossible. Because it's not really dry; it's a pasty almost-gel that clings to every surface ack ick ugh!
O, this is the grossest entry. The baby is still kicking in there despite its momma lolling about like a serious invalid and hacking up a lung or two. I've been forcing food down as much as I can so that baby Jeanes is getting, like, vitamins and stuff and taking my pre-natals and making sure to keep aware of movement and all that. S/he's pretty consistent with when and what makes her/him kicky. Six a.m. aerobics are still a go, me on my left side always results in some irritated shoving around unless I am laying there just so, and random spazzes throughout the afternoon and evening are common. I think my coughing over the last day or so has been a bit alarming for the poor thing, but there's not a lot I can do about that, unfortunately.
Yeah, OK. I think I've exhausted my non-news for now. Things are good despite my having the plague. Andrew is going away for a little travel trip of about 24 hours so maybe by the time he gets back on Friday night I'll be somewhat less gross. Here's hoping!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Random Acts Of Gratitude
I keep meaning to post about this and forgetting, so here I am posting about it FINALLY!
My lovely friend Jerome is doing another year-long project, this year entitled Random Acts Of Gratitude. It's an awesome daily posting of things he is grateful for and it's so lovely to read it and get a smile out of it every day. When I used to keep my KayBeeBlog weblog daily I always said that one of the nicest things about it was that it helped me to find a positive about the day I'd had, no matter what, and I think that Jerome's current project has a similar effect. For Jerome I hope it does, of course, but it's so nice to read it as a friend and then want to hug him when I'm done.
Jerome, you are the greatest! I am grateful for YOU!
My lovely friend Jerome is doing another year-long project, this year entitled Random Acts Of Gratitude. It's an awesome daily posting of things he is grateful for and it's so lovely to read it and get a smile out of it every day. When I used to keep my KayBeeBlog weblog daily I always said that one of the nicest things about it was that it helped me to find a positive about the day I'd had, no matter what, and I think that Jerome's current project has a similar effect. For Jerome I hope it does, of course, but it's so nice to read it as a friend and then want to hug him when I'm done.
Jerome, you are the greatest! I am grateful for YOU!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
It's all about the socks.
Hello again. I seem to have a lot to say lately. I do like writing and used to blog so regularly that I guess I've reminded myself how much I get out of it! Also lately I've had a small run of funny little events when generally my life is so boring and predictable that it's less easy to find things to share.
Anyhow, I never did tell the wee story about shopping at The Bay with Andrew. It's not insanely hilarious, but it was definitely a highlight of a shopping trip that was not so successful for me otherwise. See, Andrew was looking for a shirt to wear to the wedding to match the ties that Colin had bought for the groomsmen. So, he took a small variety of shirts to try on in the change room while I parked myself on one of two seats outside the change rooms and waited. A couple of other women ended up sitting beside me while their partners tried things on but they were there and gone pretty quickly. Then another woman sat down and her husband headed into the change rooms with a couple of bathing suits (the kind that are like long baggy shorts.)
We didn't talk to each other or anything, just both sat and waited. Then her husband came out of his change room and peeked out of the changing area, wanting his wife's opinion. He was still wearing his button-up shirt and his socks, as well as the bathing suit in question. His wife began to quietly giggle when she saw him in his bathing suit and socks and he kind of sheepishly got her opinion while she continued to giggle at him, then took off back to his change room to try on another suit.
I had been trying not to giggle while he was there, and when he was gone I leaned over to her and said, "The socks really make the outfit," which caused her to immediately bust out laughing.
So we both lost our shit entirely and laughed and laughed and laughed and wiped away tears of laughter. I saw his change room door open again and tried to compose myself. He skulked down the wall of the hallway and when he got to the end where we were stuck out one of his be-socked legs and did a little pointy-toed sexy thing with it, then peeked out at us again. So she and I laughed some more and then she pulled herself together to give him her opinion on his second bathing suit and he went away again, all smiles. I told her that I hoped I hadn't hurt his feelings with the sock laughter and she assured me that no, if he could get a laugh he'd always go for the laugh. Hee hee.
When he came back out I assured him that his socks were very nice and looked great with the bathing suit and he and his wife laughed with me some more and then went on their merry way. I tried to share with Andrew how very hilarious and happy-making it had all been for me, and it really, really had been. I love running across happy, funny people like that.
Anyhow, I never did tell the wee story about shopping at The Bay with Andrew. It's not insanely hilarious, but it was definitely a highlight of a shopping trip that was not so successful for me otherwise. See, Andrew was looking for a shirt to wear to the wedding to match the ties that Colin had bought for the groomsmen. So, he took a small variety of shirts to try on in the change room while I parked myself on one of two seats outside the change rooms and waited. A couple of other women ended up sitting beside me while their partners tried things on but they were there and gone pretty quickly. Then another woman sat down and her husband headed into the change rooms with a couple of bathing suits (the kind that are like long baggy shorts.)
We didn't talk to each other or anything, just both sat and waited. Then her husband came out of his change room and peeked out of the changing area, wanting his wife's opinion. He was still wearing his button-up shirt and his socks, as well as the bathing suit in question. His wife began to quietly giggle when she saw him in his bathing suit and socks and he kind of sheepishly got her opinion while she continued to giggle at him, then took off back to his change room to try on another suit.
I had been trying not to giggle while he was there, and when he was gone I leaned over to her and said, "The socks really make the outfit," which caused her to immediately bust out laughing.
So we both lost our shit entirely and laughed and laughed and laughed and wiped away tears of laughter. I saw his change room door open again and tried to compose myself. He skulked down the wall of the hallway and when he got to the end where we were stuck out one of his be-socked legs and did a little pointy-toed sexy thing with it, then peeked out at us again. So she and I laughed some more and then she pulled herself together to give him her opinion on his second bathing suit and he went away again, all smiles. I told her that I hoped I hadn't hurt his feelings with the sock laughter and she assured me that no, if he could get a laugh he'd always go for the laugh. Hee hee.
When he came back out I assured him that his socks were very nice and looked great with the bathing suit and he and his wife laughed with me some more and then went on their merry way. I tried to share with Andrew how very hilarious and happy-making it had all been for me, and it really, really had been. I love running across happy, funny people like that.
Hey, baby-mama, do you come here often?
So yesterday I had to get up and go to the obgyn for a blood glucose test. I'd been given instructions the week before and so didn't eat or drink anything sugary beforehand. Now, the office that I go to is in the obstetrics department at Mt. Sinai so there's a central area for outpatient stuff where I had to go to drink my glucose drink. You take a number from a machine and wait around for a long time until your number comes up.
I sat down beside a nice Chinese woman and we ended up chatting for a bit, discovering we were there for the same reason and that we share the same obgyn. We were about the same number of weeks along and compared notes and bellies and whatnot until a tech came out and asked who was there for glucose testing. About eight of us swarmed him so he waved us back and said he'd take three at a time, and that he'd call for us every fifteen minutes. We showed our tickets and the three lowest numbers got to go with him. My friend and I weren't in the lucky group, so we headed off to the obgyn to pee on our sticks since during the one-hour waiting period after the glucose drinks we were supposed to go see our doctor.
When I got back to the outpatient area I ended up sitting beside a woman who looked much further along than me. She was also there for glucose testing and since it was very boring just sitting there we started yakking. It turned out that she's only twenty weeks along as opposed to my 27, but is having triplets! Wow. I was VERY interested in talking to her about what it's like and she was more than happy to share it. The triplets were a total surprise and since she has to have ultrasounds all the time to check on them they know the sexes and everything. Also they seem to be very healthy little babies and are pretty big, so a cesarean is pretty much guaranteed. She was all, "Yeah, I'm not pushing out one of them and then finding out I have to have a c-section for the other two anyhow." I'd feel the same way!
I finally got to drink my glucose drink (which is exactly like super-sweet orange carb drink) and the tech was impressed that I was able to chug it down fast. They give it to you in two cups and I just knocked them back quick since they weren't exactly delicious and the woman before me was having a hard time with hers, taking little sips and grimacing. The woman before her was all, "Mmmmm, this is delicious."
The doctor's waiting area was insanely busy so it was hard to get a seat, but when I finally did I ended up sitting beside a grandma who was there with her daughter and two grandkids. The one had been born just a month before and was a hilariously cross-eyed, foggy, squinchy newborn who made the ugliest faces at the waiting room over her mother's arm. I am always highly amused by that stage of babyhood, when being in the world is still the most alien thing to them since they're so used to the womb and haven't acclimatized at all to being out. This is not to say I think they're hideous; they're just so NEW.
Anyhow, the grandma was very proud of her grandkids and couldn't stop talking about them and ended up in a bit of a one-up war with a grandma sitting two seats down from me on the other side. Her daughter was there, wearing a 'pregnant is the new sexy' t-shirt over her big old baby belly and standing there while her mom took a load off. The daughter had apparently been colicky and so there was lots of talk about how this baby might restore the balance in the world by also being colicky. I was sympathetic to her, having also been colicky but having no recollection of doing it out of spite or innate meanness.
I finally got to see my doctor and he was as efficient as the time before, measuring my belly, listening to the heartbeat and advising me to switch from Tums to Maalox or Zantac since the heartburn is getting so bad. Then I dashed back to the outpatient lab with minutes to spare before getting my blood drawn.
This was the best part. The tech was the same guy who'd drawn my blood wayyyy back in the day when I had my first bloodwork done at the hospital. Back then I'd been nervous since I always am about needles and he had chatted me up really charmingly and casually, starting off by admiring my Claddagh ring and saying that I must be Irish and that Irish girls are his weakness. He inquired about my names and their meanings and I told him all about my mom and grandmothers and family history across the pond.
Well, this time I went in and sat down and pointedly looked away from the prep as he got out the tubes and needle. He started to chat me up and suddenly said, "You must be Irish. I can tell because you're wearing a Claddagh ring. Irish girls are my weakness."
I tried not to laugh and just went along with the conversation, but it took everything in me. The first time it was totally charming and put me at my ease: This time it was HIGH-LARIOUS and also put me at my ease because I wanted to laugh so hard. Dude obviously has a method for dealing with the needle-shy and it's very effective!
I sat down beside a nice Chinese woman and we ended up chatting for a bit, discovering we were there for the same reason and that we share the same obgyn. We were about the same number of weeks along and compared notes and bellies and whatnot until a tech came out and asked who was there for glucose testing. About eight of us swarmed him so he waved us back and said he'd take three at a time, and that he'd call for us every fifteen minutes. We showed our tickets and the three lowest numbers got to go with him. My friend and I weren't in the lucky group, so we headed off to the obgyn to pee on our sticks since during the one-hour waiting period after the glucose drinks we were supposed to go see our doctor.
When I got back to the outpatient area I ended up sitting beside a woman who looked much further along than me. She was also there for glucose testing and since it was very boring just sitting there we started yakking. It turned out that she's only twenty weeks along as opposed to my 27, but is having triplets! Wow. I was VERY interested in talking to her about what it's like and she was more than happy to share it. The triplets were a total surprise and since she has to have ultrasounds all the time to check on them they know the sexes and everything. Also they seem to be very healthy little babies and are pretty big, so a cesarean is pretty much guaranteed. She was all, "Yeah, I'm not pushing out one of them and then finding out I have to have a c-section for the other two anyhow." I'd feel the same way!
I finally got to drink my glucose drink (which is exactly like super-sweet orange carb drink) and the tech was impressed that I was able to chug it down fast. They give it to you in two cups and I just knocked them back quick since they weren't exactly delicious and the woman before me was having a hard time with hers, taking little sips and grimacing. The woman before her was all, "Mmmmm, this is delicious."
The doctor's waiting area was insanely busy so it was hard to get a seat, but when I finally did I ended up sitting beside a grandma who was there with her daughter and two grandkids. The one had been born just a month before and was a hilariously cross-eyed, foggy, squinchy newborn who made the ugliest faces at the waiting room over her mother's arm. I am always highly amused by that stage of babyhood, when being in the world is still the most alien thing to them since they're so used to the womb and haven't acclimatized at all to being out. This is not to say I think they're hideous; they're just so NEW.
Anyhow, the grandma was very proud of her grandkids and couldn't stop talking about them and ended up in a bit of a one-up war with a grandma sitting two seats down from me on the other side. Her daughter was there, wearing a 'pregnant is the new sexy' t-shirt over her big old baby belly and standing there while her mom took a load off. The daughter had apparently been colicky and so there was lots of talk about how this baby might restore the balance in the world by also being colicky. I was sympathetic to her, having also been colicky but having no recollection of doing it out of spite or innate meanness.
I finally got to see my doctor and he was as efficient as the time before, measuring my belly, listening to the heartbeat and advising me to switch from Tums to Maalox or Zantac since the heartburn is getting so bad. Then I dashed back to the outpatient lab with minutes to spare before getting my blood drawn.
This was the best part. The tech was the same guy who'd drawn my blood wayyyy back in the day when I had my first bloodwork done at the hospital. Back then I'd been nervous since I always am about needles and he had chatted me up really charmingly and casually, starting off by admiring my Claddagh ring and saying that I must be Irish and that Irish girls are his weakness. He inquired about my names and their meanings and I told him all about my mom and grandmothers and family history across the pond.
Well, this time I went in and sat down and pointedly looked away from the prep as he got out the tubes and needle. He started to chat me up and suddenly said, "You must be Irish. I can tell because you're wearing a Claddagh ring. Irish girls are my weakness."
I tried not to laugh and just went along with the conversation, but it took everything in me. The first time it was totally charming and put me at my ease: This time it was HIGH-LARIOUS and also put me at my ease because I wanted to laugh so hard. Dude obviously has a method for dealing with the needle-shy and it's very effective!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
