Birthright September 3, 2010

This has really been weighing on my mind. I know I’m really going out on a limb here, but I need to lighten up.

I feel like if I hear one more person contradict themselves or show me the hypocrite that they really are, completely unawares, my mind may split in two.

There has been a lot (A.LOT.) of hot debate on the immigration in the last few years what with the election and all, but it seems to me that it has really been coming up a lot lately. As in, people say the most asinine things I have ever heard. Either verbally in words, or posted as a facebook status, of their own idea or copying a quote. And I feel like it is just going to continue to follow me around and disturb me until I do something. Posting responses doesn’t seem to get anybody’s attention, and I don’t have any followers that I know of on here, but I’m hoping that just writing this will free me of at least a little bit of the upset I am carrying around.

My only disclaimer before I start my tangent is that I have not always been so liberal, and it is over time that I have come to see things as they should be. That being said, I understand that different people come from different backgrounds and have different ideas for different reasons, be they good or bad, but we all have a responsibility to question… everything.

OK.

So, let’s say that you are not a liberal open-minded person, and you are of the opinion that people from other countries should not be allowed to move to the US. Does this include all people? Or only people that are a different color or different religion that you? Let me also ask, are you 100% Native American? Because as far as I know, somewhere down the line, maybe 1, 10, or 100 years ago, someone in our family migrated to America, and for that reason alone you are now an American citizen. What do you think that person had to offer ‘The Land of The Free’ when they first stepped onto foreign ground? My guess is that it probably wasn’t very much, except hard work and the ambition and dedication to make a life for themselves and their family.

One thing I hear/see frequently is people griping about illegal immigrants or foreigners being able to get free medical care while [the person making the statement] can’t get the same care; how is that fair? I’ll also go out on a limb and make a guess that most of the people with this same attitude are against any kind of socialized medicine, because of course, that takes away our freedom. So… Mrs. X travels to the U.S. on a tourist visa for vacation. She has no intention of staying past her visa expiry date, but while she is in ‘The Land of the Free and Opportunity’ something completely out of her control happens, and she gives birth to a premature baby. Who has an unplanned  stay in the NICU. Of course she doesn’t have insurance, and of course she doesn’t have the kind of money needed to pay that medical bill sitting around. Neither do I. I’m guessing that you probably don’t either.

I don’t even know where to begin here, but technically this baby can get a U.S. passport now, right? He does, after all, have a U.S. birth certificate just like so many other Americans. Since his parents don’t live in the U.S. and didn’t plan on staying, does this mean that you also think now that he should not be considered an American citizen? Just curious, because after all, we don’t control where we are born, yet where we are born can in so many ways have the greatest impact on our lives.

Are [so many] people suggesting that mom doesn’t get medical care because she is not a U.S. citizen and she doesn’t have the cash to pay? Since mom is not a U.S. citizen, should baby not be able to enjoy the benefits of being born in the U.S.?

I can (somewhat) understand that born and raised American citizens feel that there is a lot of work that can be done in the U.S. while it seems that the country is doing things to make life great for so many that live in other countries*, but at the same time, I would venture to guess that a lot of these same people that don’t like the idea of U.S. tax dollars going to feed starving children in other countries had no problem with the ‘War on Terror’.

Should families not be able to have international adoptions because there are so many children in the U.S. that are in need of families that want to love them and take care of them?

Should there be no such thing as non-profit organizations that help people that do not live in the U.S.?

I have had an amazing opportunity to live outside of the United States. Not in a fancy country that has all of the comforts of home, but a third world country where I have seen children using cardboard boxes as mattresses on a sidewalk at night; where a mother carries her infant around with nothing but a ragged shirt, no diaper even, begging for change; where patients in the hospital have to send someone outside to buy their medications at the pharmacy; where babies in the NICU scream themselves exhausted from hunger if their mama is not available to come and nurse them; where a makeshift one-room shack with a corrugated tin roof is the place so many families call home.

I am so thankful to have had this experience, and I am grateful for everything that is available to me because I happened to be born in the United States. I don’t however, think that it makes me any better or any more deserving than any one else on this earth, and I believe that all people, in every nation, have a responsibility to every other person in every other nation, to reach out and help. It doesn’t matter what color they are, it doesn’t matter where they live, it doesn’t matter what they believe; they are a living, breathing, feeling person, and just because they don’t share something in common with you doesn’t mean that you are relinquished of any responsibility to help a person in need in whatever way you are able.

America became the place it is because people from foreign lands saw that things could be better, and worked to make it happen.

Culture. Shock. August 4, 2010

Where I am here, on the other side of the earth, things are different. I was expecting different when I got here, and I think I adjusted well, but there is still something weekly, if not daily that just shocks me for at least a second. This last week it was more than one, and it was day after day after day.

First, a friend/neighbor was sick and had to be admitted to the hospital. Since there was nobody else volunteering to go, or even one that said yes when asked directly, I was the ‘watcher’ as they call them here. That means that I was at the hospital for a great amount of time during the admission, running here and there to get food and more supplies from home. This is in addition to having duty, and while conveniently the hospital happened to be the same as friend was admitted to, said hospital is about 1-1.5 hours away from where I live, depending on how I am traveling.

Now, this was all good, and I am not complaining, but I just have to say that what bothered me has bothered me before. It is times like these that we see who people really are. Who is really a friend, and who really gots-your-back. Lots of people knew friend was sick. Lots of people knew I slept not a wink in over 24 hours and have 3 children I would love to see for at least a minute in the craziness that can be my life, and lots of people knew that I was traveling back and forth sometimes twice a day between duty and keeping friend company. But do you think that anyone offered to trade places with me? Even for just the afternoon? Enough said, I just needed to vent and now I can move on.

The next thing that got me is the difference between what a private room and the ward patients experience. I have put many a hour into the medical ward at this hospital, and I’ll just say that it is not a place I would like to be in when needing any kind of medical care.

Ward equals up to six beds in one room with noises, lots of people in and out, and could be lights on for 24 hours… mostly student nurses attending to your needs, which typically equals a visit every two hours for vital signs depending on what the good doctor ordered. The CR (or bathroom as we like to call it in the west) is shared by everyone, might not have a shower, typically has not been cleaned since Moses was breathing, and has only a hole where there may have at one time been a door knob. Sheets and gowns are not typically changed during the entire hospital stay, and you may have an additional fee if they are.

Private room equals two sheets on the bed, two pillows, a TV, a fridge, and a private CR with a shower. They get better food for meals, better dishes, and they even get a snack. The sheets were changed while we were there without any request being made. There were three staff nurses for no more than 10 patients, while in the ward they could have three nurses with as many as 60 patients.

Big.difference.

On a general note, I have to say that I was shocked, but not really, when I noticed that the stretcher in the ER that friend was placed on had a sheet that had not been changed since the last patient, or who knows how much longer. How do I know that you ask? There was a little blood dripping there that I noticed. My observant self also noticed some blood drippings on the floor that had not been cleaned up.

That was Friday. Fast forward to Monday, 3 pm -11 pm shift duty. To make a long story short, I observed a human being with feces draining from an abdominal wound that had dehisced, a colostomy bag made out of what appeared to be a tube normally used for suctioning and a rubber glove, and a decubitus ulcer. I haven’t been impressed with the care I have generally observed since I have been here, but this one just made my jaw drop.

Fast forward again to Tuesday 3 pm – 11 pm shift, different hospital. I got my patient assignment, which was nothing too terribly toxic. Went to take the vital signs, and my classmate is waving at me and speaking lip. I went out to the hall and asked her what she was trying to tell me, and the answer was, “you might want to put a mask on because there is a patient in there who has PTB.” Enough. said. I asked to be reassigned because I am not really sure if my reaction from the BCG vaccine was really positive, and The Baby has now had two doses that were NOT reactive. My choice was a patient in the other ward room, but there was another PTB patient in there as well. Aren’t these patients supposed to be in isolation? Why weren’t they at least sharing a room while the other non PTB patients shared another room? I’ll never know the answer to that one, that’s just the way they roll here.

So. Really. All I wanted to do here was make a note so that I would never forget this past week, and be reminded of how little we really have to complain about living in such a rich, developed country.

By the way, another thing that has been nagging at me… Um… if you live in the U.S. and you are not a Native American Indian (or whatever the politically correct term that we are using these days is), you my dear are really an immigrant too… Maybe not directly, but somewhere along the line one of your family members traveled to the U.S. from another country. Stop bitching about immigrants. Please.

Out With The Old January 1, 2010

I’m not very different from everyone else.  The last twelve months have been a roller coaster ride for me.  Every time things seemed to settle down, either in a good way or a bad way, all of a sudden that incline came out of nowhere and I then there I was, facing a landslide decline.  The downhill was not always bad, not always scary, sometimes it was just that rush of excitement that I needed.

I have been struggling over the last few days both with some decisions I have to make in everyday life, and with the decision as to whether I should make The List.  You know the one, it has a Part A: all those things from the last twelve months that I deem to be list worthy, and then comes Part B: all those things I resolve to do in the next twelve months.

But why do we make these lists?  Especially the ones we resolve to do in the next twelve months?  How many times over the course of your life have you made those resolutions and then actually followed through with them?  I have decided not to make a list after all; I have decided that instead of making a list of resolutions to try to stick to… I am doing one thing only, I am going to wake up each morning and take a moment or two to meditate on all of the things I have to be thankful for.  I have been thinking that I need a little fine tuning of the attitude, and I think that this one daily exercise will help keep me centered, focused on what is really important.

While most of you are just waking up and starting your new year, I am half a world away.  My first day of the new year is already almost over.  Today was a challenge for me.   I find myself standing at one of those major forks in the road where I am forced to make some very hard decisions.  Today I made a conscious effort to give thanks for all of my blessings, and come back to center before I reacted to anything.  With this effort, I hope that I smiled at least once more than I did yesterday.  If I did, then I was successful.

The Baby May 26, 2009

There are only 14 months between the birth of Popo and ‘The Baby’.  So I have the Manchild who is now 12, Popo who recently turned 2, and The Baby who recently turned 1.  After the birth of Popo, I was nervous about what this pregnancy might bring for me, and had many open and helpful conversations with the doctor through the months. 

 

At my first prenatal appointment, I asked about something that had been weighing on my mind; what was really considered to be a reasonable/safe number of c-sections before mom should call it quits.  The doctor said that generally they recommend that you have no more than 3 c-sections, but that if a mom feels strongly about it, it is possible to have more.  She said that she has moms that have had 5 c-sections and they have been fine.  We also discussed the subject of VBAC, but since Popo and The Baby would be so close together, we decided that a planned c-section for The Baby was best.

 

We also talked about what the liklihood was of the recurrence of HELLP Syndrome, and what I could expect as I came closer to my due date; she would be monitoring me very closely, and she said that my treatment would be very conservative;I should expect frequent appointments and regular non-stress tests (NST) along with regular blood work.

 

Throughout this pregnancy, I felt much better than I had with Popo, nothing out of the ordinary, not even any swelling, so I can say that I was more than surprised when I went in for a regular check up at 30 weeks to find that my blood pressure was 140/90!  Needless to say, the nurse pratitioner I had been scheduled to see sent the Dr. in, and I was sent right over to the hospital for an NST and blood work.  She also asked me that dreaded question, “are you working?”  That was the day I was ordered to spend the remainder of this pregnancy on my left side.

 

For 7 weeks I complied; I made weekly trips to the Dr, and bi-weekly trips to the L&D unit for NSTs.  I became a frequent flyer, and counted down the weeks then days until I knew that I was at the point where I knew I wouldn’t have to transfer to The Big Hospital if things started to make a downhill turn.  My blood pressure stayed within a ‘normal’ range all along until about 37 weeks. 

 

I had a horrible cold that I just couldn’t seem to shake; over the weekend I had made one trip into L&D for an unscheduled NST due to lack of baby activity, and another trip into the ER because I was severely dehydrated, and no matter how much I drank, I just couldn’t get myself hydrated.  On both visits the end result was the same; I was fine and The Baby was fine.  Even though I begged to differ on both trips, I went home and tried to keep myself hydrated and make sure The Baby was still moving, I knew I had another Dr. appointment on Tuesday anyway.

 

Tuesday came and to the Dr. we went.  I had a scheduled ultrasound scheduled that day to check growth and fluid level; the uldtrsound tech said that my fluid level was low and that I would have to talk to the Dr. about it, lucky for me I would not have to wait to hear what that meant (though I knew what it meant, ultimately).  My blood pressure was checked and my urine was dipped, and the Dr. came in to the examination room to tell me that she had called the hospital to schedule the anesthesiologist, and The Baby would be delivered the next morning… the fluid was low, the BP was high, and there was protein present in my urine.

 

Even though at this point I expected her to tell me this, I still started crying because I still hadn’t really expected to hear this today.  We went home and packed and headed over to the hospital because I had to have another NST and the Dr. had decided it would be better if we stayed overnight to be monitored.

 

The next morning I was prepped and rolled into the OR for delivery.  I was absolutely terrified of the spinal, (my close friend had said that was the absolute worst thing she had ever experienced in her life, and I am not to keen on needles), but the anesthesiologist and the nurse were amazing.  DH was right by my side the entire time snapping pictures and talking to me while Teh Baby was delivered.  The ansethesiologist was so patient and absolutely wonderful in answering all of my questions and telling me what was going on the entire time (as a nursing student, I have seen a few scary things in clinicals, and I was afraid I would be too focused on the monitors or what was going on in the OR). 

 

It was such a wonderful experience to be awake for the birth of The Baby; so different from my previous births with The Manchild and Popo.  She was born healthy, but had a lot of fluid in her lungs (she required a lot of suctioning) and was having a little trouble breathing after a bit, so she was taken to the nursery for some oxygen and closer monitoring.  After a few hours she passed some meconium and was as good as new!  The brought her into my room and there she stayed until we went home. 

 

While this is not the birth that I would have ‘chosen’ if the ‘choice’ was available, I am grateful for the final outcome, which is that I had a birth where both baby and mom were healthy.  I had a very hard time dealing with the birth of Popo, especially because I truly had a different experience in my mind, and not only was it completely differentthan what I had in mind, but the disappointment was compounded by the fact that I left the hospital without my baby, and although she didn’t have any major complications, she was not able to join the family at home for a month.  I recently came across a great blog of a mom who has had 4 c-sections, and this post that she wrote really helped me realize that it is not the experience per se that matters, but the overall outcome and how you choose to move forward after the fact that is important.  I completely agree that society puts too much emphasis on the experience of birth, and surely this interferes with the emotions of many new mothers who are already dealing with so many changes (both internally and externally).

 

I was by far the most prepared for this birth as far as having educated myself as a patient, as well as making sure that the Dr. and I were on the same page throughout the entire pregnancy.  As women we need to educate ourselves; we need to be aware of all options that are available, and we need to ask questions, and sometimes stand up and say no.  We should be more prepared for truly necessary interventions.  Pregnancy and birth should not be treated as an illness, but as a natural life occurrence.  We need to help other women understand it as that.  We need change, but it will not come without work from all of us.

My Little “Lucy” May 14, 2009

The Man Child would be 10 years old soon after the birth of my second baby.  While the years passed between the birth of The Manchild and my little “Lucy”, I went through many changes myself; I had moved several times, quit a job I stayed at for several years even though I was miserable, went back to school full time, got married, earned my associate’s degree, and enterered a nursing program in order to earn my bachelor’s and start working as a nurse.  Little did I know that there were other things planned for me, and while my daughter is now 2 years old, I am still trying to get through nursing school 4 years later!

 

My Daughter’s Birth Story

After The Manchild was born and time passed, I knew that things would be different if I had another child.   I would be more educated in my options, and have a better, more open dialogue with my doctor throughout the pregnancy.  I would not just blindly accept whatever was given to me.

 

The pregnancy went as well as we could have hoped for; no complications, I had started CBE classes, including Hypnobirthing, talked to my husband and mother about what I wanted and how they could support me through the process, wrote a birth plan and discussed it with my Dr., who was supportive of what I had written.

 

When I was around 25 weeks, I just didn’t feel good and I started to swell.  “That’s normal,” they said, “yes, even this early.”  In the next week or so I had a few extra trips to the Dr.’s office to check the blood pressure because I had a few headaches in addition to the swelling.  “Still normal,” they said.  I was sent for some blood work, just to be sure and get a good baseline, just in case.  In the few weeks that followed the swelling became worse and worse, and overall I just didn’t feel good.  At my 30 week appointment, my blood pressure was somewhere in the range of 130+/90 which was quite a jump for me, and there was a little protein in my urine.  I waited for the doctor to come in.  “Are you still working?” she asked as she entered the room.  “Yes,” I said cautiously.  “Not anymore,” she said.  I asked about school, I had just started my second semester of my junior year.  She shook her head and told me that I would spend the rest of this pregnancy on bed rest, that is, after a trip to the hospital for some testing.

 

As I headed over to the hospital, I called work to let them know I would not be in… for a while.  I wondered what would happen with school, I was so close to being done!  I spent the day in the hospital hooked up to the monitor with regular BP checks and waited for blood work to come back from the lab.  No, I didn’t have a headache, and no I didn’t seefany floaters.  I was sent home with a 24 hour collection bottle, strict orders to stay on my left side, and no, there wasn’t a need for me to monitor my blood pressure at home.  This all happened on a Friday.

 

I went home and stayed on my left side, and monitored my BP anyway.  By Wednesday, I decided to call the Dr.’s office as it was getting worse.  I had bought myself a trip to the L&D floor for a non-stress test and more blood work.  It was around 5 p.m. when I arrived there, and the Dr. working that evening was one who was on staff at my regular Dr.’s office, but I had only seen once or twice.

 

This Dr. was pretty abrasive this evening; after the lab tech came up and drew some blood, she decided to talk to me about my birth plan.  She told me that it was nice that I had taken the time to write the birth plan, but I needed to understand that things change, and it is normal to experience pain and use medication during labor and delivery.  I told her that I understand that I may not have everything I am hoping for due to emergency situations that may arise, but I had talked to the other Dr. about it already, and she was comfortable with the plan I had written.  My pressure was reading around 150/100 on the monitor, and the Dr. asked the nurse to get another reading with a larger, manual cuff.  The nurse came back with a bariatric cuff that was sizes too large for my arm, and got a reading that was lower than my ‘normal-not-pregnant’ BP.  The Dr. said that since my blood work was normal and she was more comfortable with this pressure, she was going to send me home.  “But that BP is not right,” I said, “It is lower than anything I’ve had ‘normally’ in years”.  She pretty much ignored what I said and told me that she was comfortable with sending me home, and I should just call if I have any more problems.

 

After arriving home, I continued to monitor my BP, which still lingererd around 150/100, both with a wrist cuff, and my manual cuff which definitely fit me.  I parked myself in bed on my left side, and watched some TV.  Shortly after 11 p.m. I began vomiting, so I called in to the Dr. on call.  I told her that my pressure was still up around 150/100, and I was now vomiting.  She told me to head in to L&D at the hospital.  I called my husband (who worked second shift) and told him he needed to come home and take me in.

 

After some time in triage, they transferred me to a room and monitored the baby and my BP, still getting readings around 150/90.  They called in to the Dr. with a report, and she asked them to use the larger manual cuff again.  I explained to the nurse what had happened earlier and I was not comfortable using the larger cuff, and I had brought my own that had markings that confirmed that it was the appropriate size.  She seemed to agree that the larger cuff was not giving an accurate reading, but the shift changed and a new nurse came in and told me that I seemed to have a stomach virus and I would have a liter of IV fluids.  She had an extremely difficult time getting the IV in, and ended up placing it in the antecubital area, which was quite uncomfortable.  After the first liter went in she said I could have another liter, or go home.  Since I was frustrated, exhausted, and miserable, I decided to just go home to the comfort of my own bed. 

 

When she removed the IV, my arm started to bleed… a lot.  The nurse thought this was unusual, and asked me if I have ever had trouble with IVs before.  I said no, and just held the cotton ball with a lot of pressure to try to get it to stop.  15 minutes later, after we arrived home, the IV site was still bleeding, and I told my husband I thought this was very strange.  After finally getting it to stop bleeding, I decided I was going to have a conversation with my regular Dr. the next day, and went to bed.

 

Thursday morning I called the Dr. and expressed to her my serious discontent with the way things had been handled the previous evening, and told her that I would not be going back to L&D if the Dr.s on call and nurses could not figure out how to take an accurate BP.  She said she would note my file and suggested that I bring my own manual cuff to future visits so that there would not be any questions, and she would call a prescription in to the pharmacy that would hopefully help get the BP under control.

 

Friday morning came, and I got up to head in for my regular weekly appointment.  I felt miserable, and started vomiting in the shower.  My husband and I headed right in to the Dr.’s office (I had an 8:30 a.m. appointment).  As soon as we walked in I told the receptionist I had been vomiting, and could they go ahead and send me back to an exam room, and she said, “I can see you aren’t feeling well.”  They sent me back to the exam room and we waited for the nurse practioner to come in.  When she came in she said that I was reading +4 for protein in my urine, and she was sending me right over to the hospital for labs. 

 

Because I had not been feeling well for weeks, and I had been brushed off a few days ago as still being fine, I guessed that the lab work would come back and I would just be sent home, so I told my husband I would try to find someone to pick me up so that he could go to class.  my husband waited with me while they drew some blood, and I called my father to see if he would be able to come pick me up.

 

There was a different Dr. on call this day, and he said he wanted to check the lab work to see what was going on, and there was a possibility that I may need to be transferred to the larger hospital.  I don’t remember a conversation with the Dr. or the nurses where they specifically told me, even after the blood work came back, how sick I was.

 

The Dr. left, and I heard the nurses chit-chatting at the nurse’s station that she would expect it to be a lot higher than 75, especially with the dehydration… she came in and told me that my labs were back and she was going to have the Dr. come back and take another look at me.  When he came back he said that he had called ‘the big’ hospital and I would be transferred, and he explained that I was going to have an IV of magnesium sulfate started and get a shot of steroids that would hopefully help the baby’s lungs develop, just in case they had to deliver the baby early.  I would have one shot today, and another in 24 hours.  The ambulance came, and transferred I was… thank goodness my husband stayed with me!

 

When I arrived at ‘the big’ hospital, I had another non-stress test, another set of labs, and an ultrasound.  I asked the Dr. what the bottom line was, becuase up until this point, I didn’t really know what was going on, other than I was sick.  He said that the bottom line was that I was not going to be pregnant fro much longer (I thought to myself, not much longer, so now I’ll have to stay here a couple of weeks on bed rest?).  I asked him what “not much longer” meant, and he said that hopefully they would be able to hold the delivery off at least another 24 hours so that I could get the second shot of steroids, but it was all dependant uopn my lab results. 

 

Shortly thereafter, the Dr. returned to my room with a brood of other Dr.s and said that as soon as an OR opened up, I would be having an emergency C-section… my platelets were at 62,000… I thought for a second… platelets, they should be 150,000+… and I looked at him and asked him if I was going to bleed out when they cut me open.  His response was that it was a serious concern, and I may need to recieve blood products.

 

I talked to the anesthesiologist who said I would have to be under general due to the risk of bleeding with a spinal, and the NICU Dr.’s came in to explain the baby may need respiratory support since I was only at 31 weeks, and what I should expect when I came out of surgery.  It all happened in a whirlwind.  It was like a dream… the next thing I knew I was being wheeled in to the OR joking with the anesthesiologist about making sure I was really asleep.  When I woke up they told me I had a baby girl who was doing well in the NICU, only needing a CPAP at this point.

 

I had to stay in bed for the next 24 hours, because of the magnesium sulfate, so I didn’t see my DDD until she was a day old.  When my wonderful nurse wheeled me in to the NICU to see her, it was amazing.  The intensity of everything that happened did not hit me until the next day when I went into the NICU by myself to see my beautiful baby, and I was overwhelmed with emotions and just cried and cried.  Her nurse came over to me and said, “she is doing great, you know that, right?  She is OK.”  I nodded yes, regained composure, and started to learn about what I should expect in the days to come.

 

I was blessed to have a wonderful nurse when I was transferred to the ‘big hospital’, and we were even more blessed that our Little “Lucy” had ABSOLUTELY AMAZING nurses her entire stay in the hospital.

 

This birth experience could not have been any more different from what I was hoping for, but I learned a lot through it, and am grateful that we were blessed with a healthy baby who just needed some time to grow and learn to eat before we could take her home with us!

The Manchild April 9, 2009

I recently wrote a post on becoming a doula.  Since that post, I have been very focused on exactly what it is that I want to do, and what my long term goals are.  Over the last few years I have become more and more interested in women’s health; I would love to not only help women have the experience they want to have while birthing, but also to educate women in general on how they can take control of their own health care and realize that they have choices.  This all stems from my personal experiences with the births of my three children, and what I have learned over the years, not only as a patient, but also as an advocate.

 

My Son’s Birth Story

My oldest child is a boy who I lovingly call the Manchild.   He was delivered by an emergency cesarean section almost 12 years ago.  My plan was to have a birth as natural as possible, but there were other things in store for me. 

 

I woke up the morning before with a sore back, and called out of work becuase I generally wasn’t feeling great.  My mother commented that it was likely a sign of the new arrival coming.  I spent the day hanging around the house, nothing eventful happening.  In the evening I watched some tv and went to bed, when I realized I was having contractions (maybe around 10 p.m.).  I called the Dr. when they seemed to be close enough that I was concerned, and she instructed me to wait a little longer, they weren’t close enough together.   Around 11:30 my water broke, and the Dr. gave me the OK to head into the hospital.

 

I distinctively remember arriving on the L& D floor, heading into triage, and having that first exam… where they tried to convince me that I had actually wet my pants, because my bag of water was in fact intact.  I knew that this was not the case, and it took some time to finally convince them otherwise.  Finally they transferred me into the room where I would labor for the next 20 hours.

 

What I had in mind for this experience was not even remotely close to what happened in reality.  As my labor seemed to be progressing as slowly as possible, I was hooked up to a pitocin IV drip to help things along.  What I remember about this is that it made the contractions come much closer together, bringing with them much more pain, and an unbelievable desire to push, even though I was not even dilated to 5 cm.  I was not allowed to eat or drink anything “just in case”, I was not allowed to leave the bed, and I was not getting a lot of support or information from the nurses.  After the pitocin kicked in, they convinced me that I needed some pain medication and out came the demerol, and then they later convinced me that I would benefit from an epidural (which they were unable to administer).

 

After laboring for several hours with visits from the nurses here and there and internal exams galore, I was informed that if this labor did not begin to progress, I would be moved to the OR and have a cesarean.  The doctor came back in after what seemed like forever and did an ultrasound, and told me this was it, and to the OR I went.  I was put under general anesthesia, and woke up with the nurses calling to me that I had delivered a baby boy, and everything was well.

 

I wasn’t an educated patient; I didn’t know I could ask questions, and I certainly didn’t challenge anything the Dr. or nurses said.  I wasn’t encouraged to use the breathing techniques I had learned in the childbirth education class I had taken at the hospital, or to try different positions.  I didn’t get support from the nurses.  I was never told that the reason I was finally wheeled into the OR for an emergency cesarean was not because after 20 hours I never dilated past 5 cm (failure to progress), but because in fact my baby was in distress, he was delivered with the cord wrapped around his neck… twice (I am COMPLETETELY CONVINCED that the pitocin I was given caused my uterus to become hyperstimulated, causing my little manchild to be in distress).

 

Luckily there were no complications, but as the years went by, I became more aware that there are options other than just saying OK.  I decided that if I had another child, I would certainly do a better job as a patient, and a parent; educating myself and standing up for what I wanted.

 

While my medical records do reflect that the baby was in distress, the documented reason for the cesarean was “failure to progress.”  I found with my next child that this was like having an “X” stamped on my forehard as far as the willingness of Dr.s who would consider letting me try having a VBAC.

Laugh, Dance, Sing, Go Barefoot February 1, 2009

So after thinking and thinking and hemming and hawing, I finally registered for this blog site about a week ago. Then I almost wrote something at least 100 times, but I just didn’t know where to start. Jeremy has one, I read his friend Ron’s (which is absolutely hysterical), and in just the last day or so, I have seemingly become almost obsessed with blogs. I read Kayleigh’s, and I read some of the ones that she follows, and tonight I clicked on a different one that she follows, and it brought me right to tears.

 

Jeremy and Ron work for Aflac… and Ron posted a blog about life insurance for children; something none of us really want to consider, because, we will never need it, …right?

 

So anyway, back to the blog. I was reading some old blog of Kayleigh’s where she was writing about her sometimes being stuck on mothers who lose their children… I thought hmmm… a little dark, but whatever, we all have our things. Tonight while I am “happy clicking” around on all of these links in other people’s blogs, I landed on one that was titled “I Hate Cancer” The blog entry was just a picture and one line that said “click here to offer your condolences…this family just said goodbye to their baby girl.” And so I read on. I don’t know how old this little peanut was, but my guess is only a few years. Their baby girl died yesterday.

 

I have been seeing a lot of nonsense all around me lately; it seems like there are so many people that get stuck in these ruts… can you believe this or that? I don’t know when it was, but at some point in the last few months, I have become extremely grateful for what I have in my life.

 

We all go through our hard spots, you know the drill… no one said that it’d be easy, but no one said it’d be this hard… I have now been trying to take the time daily to thank God for the blessings in my life. Could things be better? Sure they could, but look at what I have… I have 3 beautiful healthy children, I have a place to live, food to eat, a job, a car to drive. Should I really be complaining about anything here? I don’t think so. I am still all teary eyed. This baby girl was a twin and I think she had two older siblings. Her parents watched her little body and soul suffer, they couldn’t help. They lost a baby. Their children lost a sister.

 

My heart is aching for them.

Next time I think it couldn’t get any worse, I will think again.

Be thankful, and take the time to give thanks.