In my attempt to not make my blog baby-focused or parent-focused, I'll refrain from writing yet another post about Bryony. However, I will just say that she is doing quite well, other than a little projectile spitup and a slight rash on her left cheek (face cheek, that is). She goes for another check up tomorrow, so hopefully these issues will be addressed. Okay, and I just HAVE to at least mention the fact that the other night, my boob was so engorged with milk that milk literally started spraying out, like a water hose. I was so fascinated, I forgot to grab a towel to catch all the liquid. Crazy thing, this motherhood business.
Lots of things going on this week. First, Ed McMahon died, then Farrah Fawcett, then Michael Jackson. I have to admit I didn't flinch about old Ed; after all, he was 86 and had been in poor health, so I wasn't that surprised. When I heard about Farrah, I was sad but not surprised. Adam and I had watched her documentary "Farrah's Story" last month and saw all that she'd been going through with the anal cancer for the last 3 years. It's hard to believe the beauty from the 70s "Charlie's Angels" fame had become a sickly ghost of her former self. The real shocker, however, was Jacko. I had not been aware of the painkiller addiction or any other ailments that he'd been suffering through. In fact, I had caught an episode of "TMZ" the day before and one of the paparrazi had proudly talked about touching Michael's hand through a limo window. I thought MJ was weird, but healthy. The news of his death definitely hit like a shockwave, reminding me of my own early childhood years in adoration of him. So sad.
My mother was in town visiting last week. It was a tense, stressful visit in many respects because our house is so small, the baby cries so loud, and in my typical fashion I felt a need to entertain her, although it was hard to do much with a newborn in the picture. The days were hot (we topped off at 92 degrees one day), and I literally slept on the dining room floor that night with Bryony strapped to her car seat next to me, not far from the air conditioning unit. Our bedroom was too hot, and the idea of having a warm little body anywhere near me--to nurse, to burp, to comfort--was too much. The floor never felt so good. But Mum was a lifesaver, and kept saying over and over again how glad she was to have come. She actually said she had a good time and was sad to leave, which was hard for me to believe, considering I was in poor spirits for much of the visit and baby's spitup ruined several of Mum's outfits. But I guess grandmas have a touch more perspective on things, and can sit back and enjoy what seems like grunt work to me.
Surprise! Adam took Kika and Greg House to the vet two weekends ago. Kika had a UTI that needed medicating, and Greg needed some itch relief. Well, this doctor gave Greg a steroid injection that has WORKED!!! The last of his open sores have scabbed over and I have not caught the little guy licking, biting or otherwise molesting his skin since the injection. He also has pills to take for when the itch comes back. He might be on medication for life but at least he has stopped bleeding all over everything.
Construction is coming to an end on the house in the next week or so. The guys Adam hired have done a bangup job on the house. I just hope for all the work we put into it that we're able to sell/rent it when the time comes.
I feel the need to catch a nap now, but alas! baby has just awakened. Time to put those firehoses to good use.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Are You My Mother??
My friend Cindy sent along a wonderful box of goodies for Bryony, including several classic children's books. Amongst them was P.D. Eastman's (s/he writes the books in the Dr. Suess style, if you're not familiar) book "Are You My Mother?" Essentially, a little baby animal goes from species to species asking if they are his mother before finally finding his own mother. Very cute.
What wasn't so cute was what happened the first week of Bryony's life on the outside. I had had a long day--my incision was oozing fluid through gauze pads, towels, and ultimately my clothes; I was on the phone with hospital staff for almost 1/2 an hour trying to figure out what to do; Adam, Bryony and I hiked around three wings of the hospital before realizing we were not anywhere close to where we needed to be. After driving across town to the doctor's office, I finally checked in at the front desk while Adam parked the car.
When I sat down in the lobby, I sat at the end of a long row of chairs; there was a teenage girl and a woman she called "grandma" at the other end. When Adam brought Bryony inside, immediately the girl started commenting on how small and cute Bryony was, and encouraged her grandmother to observe. Adam came and sat right next to me, positioning Bryony's car seat between us. He smiled at the ladies as they rambled on and on about Bryony. Eventually, "grandma" looks at Adam and inquires, "Well, where's her mama?"
I was already so over all the events of the day that I didn't even dignify her question with a glance her way. I couldn't believe that numbskull didn't realize that Adam was sitting right next to the woman who was likely the baby's mother. Who did she think I was? The Caribbean nanny that Mr. Adam hired to look after his baby girl? Anyway, Adam looked at her and jovially said, "Well, she's right here!", jerking his head in my direction.
The woman, embarassed, paused, then said, "Oh! Well, of course! Duh!" I continued to look down at the paperwork I was filling out. I couldn't be bothered. But it made me think about things. Did Bryony not look like me at all? I mean, I know she's fair, but surely she has some aspect of her mother in her...right?
Adam asked me the other day if it bothered me that she is still so fair in complexion. Jokingly, I replied, "We've still got time, buddy." He laughed, but then I added more seriously, "It's weird, because I really don't care very much who or what she looks like. She's going to look the way she's going to look. I know she's my daughter, and she knows I'm her mother; that's all that matters. However, sometimes, when I'm nursing her, and I look down at this fair-skinned little baby nursing from my brown boob, it makes me think of the days of slavery, when black women served as wet nurses to the master's children." Adam just stared at me for a few beats before shaking his head and declaring that I truly am a wacky dame. Well, hey, he asked.
What wasn't so cute was what happened the first week of Bryony's life on the outside. I had had a long day--my incision was oozing fluid through gauze pads, towels, and ultimately my clothes; I was on the phone with hospital staff for almost 1/2 an hour trying to figure out what to do; Adam, Bryony and I hiked around three wings of the hospital before realizing we were not anywhere close to where we needed to be. After driving across town to the doctor's office, I finally checked in at the front desk while Adam parked the car.
When I sat down in the lobby, I sat at the end of a long row of chairs; there was a teenage girl and a woman she called "grandma" at the other end. When Adam brought Bryony inside, immediately the girl started commenting on how small and cute Bryony was, and encouraged her grandmother to observe. Adam came and sat right next to me, positioning Bryony's car seat between us. He smiled at the ladies as they rambled on and on about Bryony. Eventually, "grandma" looks at Adam and inquires, "Well, where's her mama?"
I was already so over all the events of the day that I didn't even dignify her question with a glance her way. I couldn't believe that numbskull didn't realize that Adam was sitting right next to the woman who was likely the baby's mother. Who did she think I was? The Caribbean nanny that Mr. Adam hired to look after his baby girl? Anyway, Adam looked at her and jovially said, "Well, she's right here!", jerking his head in my direction.
The woman, embarassed, paused, then said, "Oh! Well, of course! Duh!" I continued to look down at the paperwork I was filling out. I couldn't be bothered. But it made me think about things. Did Bryony not look like me at all? I mean, I know she's fair, but surely she has some aspect of her mother in her...right?
Adam asked me the other day if it bothered me that she is still so fair in complexion. Jokingly, I replied, "We've still got time, buddy." He laughed, but then I added more seriously, "It's weird, because I really don't care very much who or what she looks like. She's going to look the way she's going to look. I know she's my daughter, and she knows I'm her mother; that's all that matters. However, sometimes, when I'm nursing her, and I look down at this fair-skinned little baby nursing from my brown boob, it makes me think of the days of slavery, when black women served as wet nurses to the master's children." Adam just stared at me for a few beats before shaking his head and declaring that I truly am a wacky dame. Well, hey, he asked.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The Business of Bryony Being Born
It's taken me far longer to write this narrative than I expected or planned, mostly due to time constraints, but to some extent also to emotional setbacks. Bryony's birth was a completely different experience than what I had imagined it would be, and to a large extent I'm still grieving the birth story I had waited nine months for. I know to many people this seems silly--after all, I have a wonderfully healthy baby in my arms--but being cut open after planning for months for a vaginal delivery really is a traumatic beast. I'm really not being melodramatic here.
Tuesday, May 26
Due date. I got loads of phone calls and e-mails asking if there was any action (or baby) yet. As of then, nothing.
Wednesday, May 27
Started having mild pains and cramps. They were coming periodically, every 15-20 minutes or so. I was sacked out on the couch for most of the day, second-guessing myself as to what this could be. It seemed much too mild to be labor pains, so I just lay around, breathing my way through them. Adam even convinced me to go to my prenatal yoga class that night, since it was likely the last one I'd make it to. My instructor joked that I could go into labor in the middle of class. I was having mild pains during class but was mostly able to ignore them during the breathing and relaxation poses. By the time I got home, I was feeling good. By the time I went to bed, however, I was getting miserable. Sleep came in bouts, alternating with abdominal pains every 10-15 minutes. I was now getting more sure that I was entering labor.
Thursday, May 28
I woke up around 7am after using relaxation breathing to get through a night's worth of contractions. I started timing them and found they were occurring anywhere from 7-15 minutes. I called the birth center later that morning and told midwife Kip; she said I was likely in early labor, but the contractions were too far apart to justify having me come in. So, I labored at home, all day long. Thank goodness I'd taken several months of prenatal yoga, and studied up on the Bradley technique, as there was no way I'd have been able to labor on my own otherwise. I was on my side, taking long, deep breaths, visualizing each contraction, most of Thursday. It was a long, painful, difficult day, but little did I know, it was just the beginning.
I had an afternoon appointment at the birth center that day. Adam drove me, and as soon as I walked through the door, I fell to my knees from an agonizing contraction. Midwife Clarice and Adam collected me and helped me to a chair. After a lot of questions and some deliberation, Clarice diagnosed me as going through prodromal labor, meaning my prelabor symptoms (which often go unnoticed by some women) were painful and prolonged for me. There was no way to know how soon active labor would come about. In the meantime, I just had to wait and keep laboring through. I was tired, hurting and starting to lose a little confidence at this point.
Friday, May 29
The night before was agonizing. I moaned and groaned through my breathing as each contraction came. They started to get closer together, but were still fairly irregular. I couldn't believe it when Adam woke up refreshed and happy; I was sure my middle-of-the-night wails would have kept him awake. I couldn't get out of bed, so I just lay there, half-naked, allowing the contractions to take over, and doing my best to respond to them. At this point. they were coming roughly every 7 minutes. Adam advised me to call the birth center. Kip still said they weren't close enough to have me come in. I was starting to feel desperate. How could I go through this much pain for this long, and still not be near active labor? It seemed unreal to me. But I labored on for several more hours. By the middle of the afternoon, I didn't think I could take much more laboring and wondering and not knowing. The suspense of what was going on was just too much to take on top of the pain of the contractions. I called the birth center back and spoke to Clarice, who told me to come in to get checked out. At that point, I was willing to risk being sent home just to have the comfort of being checked out by a professional. Adam and I hurriedly gathered our overnight bags, fed Greg House and brought Kika along with us. She'd have to stay in the car while we were at the birth center, but at least he could walk her every couple hours, rather than keep her at home and risk an accident.
We got to the birth center and Clarice immediately took me into an examination room. A pelvic exam showed that I was only dilated 1-2 cm. My ego deflated immediately; how could I have gone through so much to have dilated so little? My spirits rose, though, when Clarice suggested I stay to get some extra help with the labor. She knew I was in an emotional downhill spiral and needed support. When she took me to the green room, the room I'd picked out several months earlier to labor in, I immediately peeled off all my clothes and just let the contractions rack my body. Clarice had a hunch that the baby was turned with its face to the side, causing the crown of the head to push not downward into my pelvic bone, but rather in some other direction that was slowing cervical dilation. She had me do a series of exercises (3,3,3s) during the contractions to try to get the baby to move its head to face backward. At some point during these exercises, midwife Sandra appeared. Little did I know she's also a massage therapist; she gave me a great foot massage as I was laboring. I'll always remember that foot massage! Clarice had to leave so midwife Shelli came in to take over. She had me finish the 3s exercise and then checked me again for dilation...still only 2 cm. While disappointed, my spirits were buoyed by the fact that I was surrounded by the women I trusted. Whatever happened, and however long it took, I knew they had my best interest at heart.
My contractions started to slow down to every ten minutes or so, and I started to panic that labor was slowing down. Shelli had advised me to rest to gather my energy; instead I started walking around to try to get the contractions coming more close together again. Adam, Kika and I took a walk to the grocery store across the street, which caused the contractions to arrive every 5-7 minutes. I was thrilled to deliver the news to Shelli upon our return. I labored around the birth center throughout that night, walking through the kitchen, trying to eat to keep up my strength. At one point, around 2am, I realized I was getting sleepy, and so I tried to sleep, but to no avail. Every 5 minutes, I was woken up by increasingly painful and intense contractions. Adam and Shelli stayed up talking while Sandra rested up and I found that every position--standing, sitting, lying--resulted in deep, guttural, moan-inducing pain. Surely this baby was coming soon, right?
At some point, Shelie (or was it Sandra?) filled up the birthing tub with warm water so I could labor more easily. It felt good to get in the tub and let the warm water clothe my body. But the contractions didn't come more easily; quite the opposite, actually. The warmth of the water seemed to make them come more frequently and more painfully. It was a long night.
Saturday, May 30
Saturday morning came quickly. I couldn't believe that dawn arrived and I was still in the same position--extreme pain, little dilation and no baby. Shelli had called Kip, who had arrived sometime in the early morning hours. Originally, Kip was going to be called when active labor started and another pair of hands would be needed to help catch baby. I knew, however, that Kip was called now because very little was occurring and another brain was needed to help solve my perplexing case.
By mid-Saturday morning, contraction pains had gone from tolerable to teeth-gritting to sheer terror-inducing. With each wave of pain and squeezing, another scarier and more intense pain arrived...in my rectal area. Now every contraction caused a pain that made my butt feel like it was going to split...again *smirk*. Every 2-3 minutes I was not moaning, but screaming as rectal pain seared through. I could barely keep it together to even try to breathe anymore. I was exhausted--I hadn't had sleep in days, my body was raw from constant and seemingly endless pain, and my spirit was almost broken--there was no end in sight. After yet another pelvic exam, I was still dilated at only 2-3 cm. I was seriously starting to think about my options at this point. I could get through this pain, I knew, but only if there was an end in sight. With my cervix not showing any signs of dilation, I didn't know how much longer I could do this. Adam and I started talking about a transfer to hospital. I had been laboring for 3 1/2 days at this point, with the pain being intolerable for roughly 12 hours. How much longer could I go?
Around 7am I told Adam I was ready for a transfer to hospital. Though both my heartbeat and the baby's were just fine, I didn't think I could handle the pain any longer. It was agony I'd never experienced before and I'd had enough. Adam asked me to fully consider the decision, since I'd planned for so long to have a natural childbirth. But I knew this was the right way to go, as much as I hated having to do it. My body just couldn't take anymore. As he was on his way to take Kika home, I was sitting, laboring on a medicine ball, when all of a sudden I felt a sharp *POP!*, and my water broke. I called the midwives to me, and they immediately did a pelvic exam. Sure enough, I was now dilated to 5 cm!! I was overjoyed! All of my dreams of delivering my baby at the birth center were renewed. When Adam returned to take me to the hospital, we told him the wonderful news, and we stayed to allow me to labor further.
Further was the operative word. I labored, but nothing further happened, except for the rectal pain becoming even more excrutiating. I was tired of trying to get through the pain, and decided to start bearing down--pushing--as each contraction came. It felt good to push, but deep down I knew it was futile. Baby didn't really feel like it was coming out. I almost broke Adam's neck on several occasions as I grasped for something--someone--to hold onto during the brunt of the pain. He tried to catch a few winks of sleep in the midst of my labor, but I woke him up with each scream of pain I was experiencing. I labored through the rest of the morning, into the afternoon, and looked upon the evening with dread. At this point, I'd been at the birth center for almost 24 hours, and I needed to know that progress was being made. Kip did yet another pelvic exam, which concluded I had SHRUNK back down to 2-3 cm. I cried. How could this be? With the rectal pain getting worse, and the contractions coming back-to-back with no respite in between, I knew that my options were running out. I'd have to go to hospital now; I just couldn't bear this any longer. Adam was tearing up as he saw me screaming in pain, knowing there was nothing he could do to help me. Kip crawled into bed with me and held me through the contractions, talking quietly to me to get me past them. She told me that it was my choice to either continue laboring or to transfer, that no one would judge me or think poorly of me whatever I decided. She offered to contact a chiropractor who might be able to give me an adjustment that could help baby's head move into proper position. I decided to wait for that last-ditch effort. While she hurried away to get in touch with the chiropractor, I suffered through 3-4 back-to-back contractions, with no break. That was it. I'd met my wall. I was either going to hospital to get a painkiller or I was staying at the birth center to split in half. I told Adam through my tears and clenched teeth that I needed to go...right....now.
Adam immediately went into overdrive, packing up all our necessary items while holding me as each contraction grew more painful as it became more frequent. I was in a bit of a haze as the midwives told us where in the hospital to go, and which doctor would be waiting for us. Midwife Sandra accompanied us to the hospital, following us in her car. It was good to know that we would have an advocate with us during this ordeal. We drove down Grand River Avenue, past the main commercial strip adjacent to campus. It was surreal to see college coeds, enjoying cups of iced coffee underneath a late Saturday afternoon sun, while I writhed and howled uncontrollably with each contraction. I had the momentary realization that I had become the caricature that I had for nine months berated--the out-of-control woman in labor, shrieking and screaming and carrying on. How did I get to this place, instead of maintaining the calm serenity I had fought so hard to achieve?
We finally made it to the hospital, and Adam ran inside to get a wheelchair. I hobbled over to the wheelchair, and sank gratefully inside, only to jump out screaming again when the next contraction pierced the rectal nerve. I think Adam was near crying at this point, as he ran, overnight bags dangling from his shoulders, pushing his howling wife as she continued to half-jump out of the wheelchair. The elevator couldn't arrive soon enough. Adam was muttering curses under his breath. We were definitely a sight to see; I knew that, even through the dazed state I was in. We got out on the 3rd floor, and made our way down to the Mother-Baby Center. Immediately Adam called out "Mother in distress!" just as I went to another contraction. Since they were expecting me, the nurses immediately took me into a private room and started prepping me for the epidural. The anaesthesiologist seemed to be taking his sweet time, but I knew that everything I needed at that moment couldn't come fast enough. I later learned that the nurse ordered the anaesthesiologist to give me the epidural before he went to assist a scheduled C-section. Thank goodness for that nurse.
As much as I couldn't wait to be pain-free, I also knew that the epidural would be difficult, a) because you have to sit completely still as it's inserted, and b) because my attempts at a drug-free childbirth were all but gone. I decided to try concentrating on a) since I knew I couldn't really do much about b) anymore. When the doctor came in to perform the epidural, I found him to be quite smug and intolerant of my situation. I was obviously in the throes of something pretty bad, but he was more intent on yelling at me in the midst of my back-to-back contractions than being sympathetic. The nurse, while stern, was the one who kindly instructed me on how to sit, and where to place my hands, and how to press my back toward the doctor. She even asked the doctor to wait until I was past a contraction before he proceeded, knowing that there was no way I'd be able to "sit still" through all that pain. She was fabulous. It took about 15 minutes before I could no lnoger feel any pain from the contractions; in fact, I couldn't even feel the pressure from the contractions anymore. Adam would look at the monitor and tell me that I was in the midst of one, and I was dumbfounded by the complete lack of sensation. No wonder so many women opt for the drugs to begin with!
About half an hour into the epidural, a middle-aged female doctor walked in and introduced herself as Dr. Herta. She said that while she was not the doctor assigned to my case, she had specifically asked to work with me when the midwives called into the hospital because she had worked with transfers from the birth center before. It was at this moment that my stars began to realign. Half-delirious from lack of sleep, 4 days of pain, and now an epidural drip, I didn't even think twice about saying, "You're the doctor from the City Pulse article!" She looked thoughtfully for a second, and then smiled in understanding. I told her how I'd read an article about natural childbirth options in the Lansing area two years ago, and how I was impressed by how she, an OB/GYN at a hospital, advocated for natural childbirth for women who wanted it. In fact, she'd had two of her children at the birth center, and had homebirthed another! I was elated; if I wasn't going to be able to birth my baby at the birth center, how lucky was I to get the one doctor in Lansing who is committed to natural childbirth? I knew I was in good hands, and that whatever happened, it would be because it was necessary.
7pm I was put on Pitocin to try to get my contractions intense enough to encourage my cervix to dilate. I couldn't believe that the contractions I'd been experiencing for the previous 4 days hadn't been "intense enough". Sandra clarified that while they were indeed strong enough, they didn't last long enough to "open things up down there."
9pm I could start to feel the contractions even through the epidural. I decided not to press the button for more pain relief even though the rectal pain was coming back. Between the epidural and the pitocin, I figured baby had gotten quite enough medicine, so I'd live with some pain if it meant minimizing baby's medication dosage.
9:30pm Really glad I made that decision because baby's heart rate was starting to even out--not a good sign. Baby was starting to feel distress from the pitocin (just like I read many babies do), and I was starting to stress out from the thought of baby being stressed. I kept asking Sandra and Adam what baby's heart rate was and if it was okay. The nurse came into the room at one point and said I was being taken off the pitocin because it was causing baby too much stress. Just before she left, she told me I might want to keep the idea of a C-section in the back of my mind. I waited until she left the room, and then I cried.
10:00pm Adam, Sandra and I discussed the potential C-section. While I felt like an utter and complete failure to necessitate one, after four days of laboring, I knew that my top priority was getting baby out of me safely. But I couldn't quite shake the urge to cry every time I thought of being cut open, of having my baby taken from me immediately after birth, of drugs being pumped into my system that would filter to the little one, of possibly not being able to bond with and subsequently nurse it. It was devastating, but I kept trying to put on a brave face.
10:45pm Dr. Herta came back into the room and sat down. It was good to see her. She did yet another pelic exam and I was still only dilated 4 cm. She said it was time to talk about options. I knew what was coming. She told me that baby and I were both still doing fine, so I could continue to labor if I wanted to see if I might dilate more. However, she said that her recommendation would be a C-section; she said that non-emergency cesaereans are much easier to perform than emergency cesaereans, so that was something to keep in mind. Since Adam and I had already talked things over, I knew we had already decided to have the C-section; there was no point in risking anyone's health or well-being. I choked up as I gave Dr. Herta the go-ahead. She took my hand kindly and said, with complete sincerity, "I know this wasn't what you wanted. But you've been at this for FOUR DAYS. You did your best. It's not your fault; there's nothing you could have done. And if you decide to have a second child, there's no reason you shouldn't be able to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesaerean)." I knew this decision was the one that needed to be made; it just hurt so badly to have to make it.
11:15pm The nurses, physician's assistants and rest of the surgical team started to prep me for surgery. A guy named Jack started injecting me with a spinal through my shoulder. It was cold and caused my entire spine to ache. I moaned with pain. He kept saying that most people don't react that way to the injection; then he pumped more through that made me want to scream. Adam donned the blue scrubs provided for the partner to wear into the surgical room. It was strange to see him decked out like a doctor, hair cap and all, and to be wheeled out into a hallway, through double doors, to a surgical room where I would momentarily be sliced open, but also become a mother. Very strange mix of emotions. It was all very surreal, almost like a campy horror movie.
Whatever the drug was that Jack kept pumping into me, it was making me very cold--I started to shiver uncontrollably--and loopy. I started joking around with him, telling him that I couldn't figure out why he hated me so much as to torture me with all these drugs, since we'd only met 20 minutes earlier. He grinned but I could also tell that he was a little uncomfortable with being accused of torture. He injected yet another drug into my shoulder. I shivered and told him he was mean. He said he was sorry. Adam was taking pictures of all the doctors and nurses and surgical team. Eventually he came to stay by my head as the procedure was about to begin.
Midnight You don't feel a whole lot once those painkillers kick in. There was a sheet separating my head from my lower body, so I couldn't see anything; I could just feel minimal pulling and pressing sensations. At some point, I could feel a lot of pushing on my abdomen as the team started to push baby out of my uterus toward the incision. Jack kept telling me to take big breaths, because baby still needed oxygen. I told him there was no way I could take big breaths with people pushing on my upper abdomen. He laughed and said, "Well, okay, take little breaths, then!" Adam alternated between talking to me, stroking my head, and looking over the sheet to see what was going on. I was really proud of him; he usually can't stand the sight of blood, so I was impressed that he could watch my belly being cut open. At one point, the pressing stopped, and I heard Dr. Herta ask Adam to announce what the sex was. Adam breathed out with a broad smile on his face, "It's a little girl! Lauren, we have a little girl!" I remember taking in this knowledge, but not having any feeling about it. I wanted to be happy and emotional, but nothing came. I was too drugged and tired to really feel anything.
Immediately the team, accompanied by an incredulous Adam, took the baby girl to the chamber to clean her off and out. I remember asking Adam repeatedly if she was okay. He kept saying, with a big grin on his face, "She's great! She's great!" I was angry that so many other people got to touch her and hold her before I did, but I was also so sleepy and cold that I was afraid I'd drop her if they gave her to me. I trusted Adam's presence there to be enough for the both of us, but it hurt my heart to know that she was not held first by either of her parents, as we had planned for and looked forward to for months. Her own mother wouldn't hold her until almost 15 minutes after her birth.
I looked over at one point and saw Adam holding her, posing for pictures while the nurses snapped away. Eventually he came over and put her on my chest, my arms and hands still shivering with cold. The first moment I saw her, I thought, Wow, she looks like my brother Walter. I said so to Adam and he grimaced and said, "Okay, so that would be wierd..." I rolled my eyes at him and just stroked her little face and all her thick dark hair. Everyone in the room was exclaiming over her hair and how quiet and observant she was. She barely cried. I wanted so badly to soak in the moment, but was so tired and cold. I remember asking Adam to take her so I didn't drop her. Eventually they transferred me to yet another bed and wheeled me into a recovery room where we reunited with Sandra. She stayed until 3am and helped me learn to breastfeed properly, and with follow-up to the surgery. Adam and I were so glad she was there; it made a difficult situation so much easier to swallow.
At some point while trying to nurse our new little girl, fighting sleep, and looking in wonder at this incredible little person, a nurse came in to ask if we'd settled on a name, to which I answered, "Yes, Bryony Mittman." After she left, Adam turned to me sheepishly and asked, "Do you think we could change the name? I think I like Rory better than Bryony..." After shooting him the look of death, he backed down a bit and said, "Sleep on it, okay?"
So that's the story of how our little girl came into the world. It wasn't the way we had planned or expected or hoped for, but as Midwife Clarice said, it was the way Bryony needed to be born. I'm still trying to accept that. As much as all of the medical professionals tell me that the way she was turned kept me from dilating, I keep thinking that if only I had been able to labor a little longer, suffer a little more pain, maybe I would have dilated and she could have been born at the center. Deep down I know it's ridiculous and unproductive to even think that way; she's here and healthy and I'm here and healthy, and that's all that matters. But it still hurts.
Our midwives are my heroes. They stayed the course with us for 24 hours straight; Sandra stayed with us from Friday night till early Sunday morning. I love her for that. Clarice, who checked me when I initially came into the center Friday evening, called it right from the beginning--baby's head was turned to the side, and that was impeding progress. As Kip said, "We often have the labors that are like the lives we lead." If there's anything that Bryony has already inherited from me, as that four-day-long labor has proved, it's my stubborness.
That makes me happy.
Tuesday, May 26
Due date. I got loads of phone calls and e-mails asking if there was any action (or baby) yet. As of then, nothing.
Wednesday, May 27
Started having mild pains and cramps. They were coming periodically, every 15-20 minutes or so. I was sacked out on the couch for most of the day, second-guessing myself as to what this could be. It seemed much too mild to be labor pains, so I just lay around, breathing my way through them. Adam even convinced me to go to my prenatal yoga class that night, since it was likely the last one I'd make it to. My instructor joked that I could go into labor in the middle of class. I was having mild pains during class but was mostly able to ignore them during the breathing and relaxation poses. By the time I got home, I was feeling good. By the time I went to bed, however, I was getting miserable. Sleep came in bouts, alternating with abdominal pains every 10-15 minutes. I was now getting more sure that I was entering labor.
Thursday, May 28
I woke up around 7am after using relaxation breathing to get through a night's worth of contractions. I started timing them and found they were occurring anywhere from 7-15 minutes. I called the birth center later that morning and told midwife Kip; she said I was likely in early labor, but the contractions were too far apart to justify having me come in. So, I labored at home, all day long. Thank goodness I'd taken several months of prenatal yoga, and studied up on the Bradley technique, as there was no way I'd have been able to labor on my own otherwise. I was on my side, taking long, deep breaths, visualizing each contraction, most of Thursday. It was a long, painful, difficult day, but little did I know, it was just the beginning.
I had an afternoon appointment at the birth center that day. Adam drove me, and as soon as I walked through the door, I fell to my knees from an agonizing contraction. Midwife Clarice and Adam collected me and helped me to a chair. After a lot of questions and some deliberation, Clarice diagnosed me as going through prodromal labor, meaning my prelabor symptoms (which often go unnoticed by some women) were painful and prolonged for me. There was no way to know how soon active labor would come about. In the meantime, I just had to wait and keep laboring through. I was tired, hurting and starting to lose a little confidence at this point.
Friday, May 29
The night before was agonizing. I moaned and groaned through my breathing as each contraction came. They started to get closer together, but were still fairly irregular. I couldn't believe it when Adam woke up refreshed and happy; I was sure my middle-of-the-night wails would have kept him awake. I couldn't get out of bed, so I just lay there, half-naked, allowing the contractions to take over, and doing my best to respond to them. At this point. they were coming roughly every 7 minutes. Adam advised me to call the birth center. Kip still said they weren't close enough to have me come in. I was starting to feel desperate. How could I go through this much pain for this long, and still not be near active labor? It seemed unreal to me. But I labored on for several more hours. By the middle of the afternoon, I didn't think I could take much more laboring and wondering and not knowing. The suspense of what was going on was just too much to take on top of the pain of the contractions. I called the birth center back and spoke to Clarice, who told me to come in to get checked out. At that point, I was willing to risk being sent home just to have the comfort of being checked out by a professional. Adam and I hurriedly gathered our overnight bags, fed Greg House and brought Kika along with us. She'd have to stay in the car while we were at the birth center, but at least he could walk her every couple hours, rather than keep her at home and risk an accident.
We got to the birth center and Clarice immediately took me into an examination room. A pelvic exam showed that I was only dilated 1-2 cm. My ego deflated immediately; how could I have gone through so much to have dilated so little? My spirits rose, though, when Clarice suggested I stay to get some extra help with the labor. She knew I was in an emotional downhill spiral and needed support. When she took me to the green room, the room I'd picked out several months earlier to labor in, I immediately peeled off all my clothes and just let the contractions rack my body. Clarice had a hunch that the baby was turned with its face to the side, causing the crown of the head to push not downward into my pelvic bone, but rather in some other direction that was slowing cervical dilation. She had me do a series of exercises (3,3,3s) during the contractions to try to get the baby to move its head to face backward. At some point during these exercises, midwife Sandra appeared. Little did I know she's also a massage therapist; she gave me a great foot massage as I was laboring. I'll always remember that foot massage! Clarice had to leave so midwife Shelli came in to take over. She had me finish the 3s exercise and then checked me again for dilation...still only 2 cm. While disappointed, my spirits were buoyed by the fact that I was surrounded by the women I trusted. Whatever happened, and however long it took, I knew they had my best interest at heart.
My contractions started to slow down to every ten minutes or so, and I started to panic that labor was slowing down. Shelli had advised me to rest to gather my energy; instead I started walking around to try to get the contractions coming more close together again. Adam, Kika and I took a walk to the grocery store across the street, which caused the contractions to arrive every 5-7 minutes. I was thrilled to deliver the news to Shelli upon our return. I labored around the birth center throughout that night, walking through the kitchen, trying to eat to keep up my strength. At one point, around 2am, I realized I was getting sleepy, and so I tried to sleep, but to no avail. Every 5 minutes, I was woken up by increasingly painful and intense contractions. Adam and Shelli stayed up talking while Sandra rested up and I found that every position--standing, sitting, lying--resulted in deep, guttural, moan-inducing pain. Surely this baby was coming soon, right?
At some point, Shelie (or was it Sandra?) filled up the birthing tub with warm water so I could labor more easily. It felt good to get in the tub and let the warm water clothe my body. But the contractions didn't come more easily; quite the opposite, actually. The warmth of the water seemed to make them come more frequently and more painfully. It was a long night.
Saturday, May 30
Saturday morning came quickly. I couldn't believe that dawn arrived and I was still in the same position--extreme pain, little dilation and no baby. Shelli had called Kip, who had arrived sometime in the early morning hours. Originally, Kip was going to be called when active labor started and another pair of hands would be needed to help catch baby. I knew, however, that Kip was called now because very little was occurring and another brain was needed to help solve my perplexing case.
By mid-Saturday morning, contraction pains had gone from tolerable to teeth-gritting to sheer terror-inducing. With each wave of pain and squeezing, another scarier and more intense pain arrived...in my rectal area. Now every contraction caused a pain that made my butt feel like it was going to split...again *smirk*. Every 2-3 minutes I was not moaning, but screaming as rectal pain seared through. I could barely keep it together to even try to breathe anymore. I was exhausted--I hadn't had sleep in days, my body was raw from constant and seemingly endless pain, and my spirit was almost broken--there was no end in sight. After yet another pelvic exam, I was still dilated at only 2-3 cm. I was seriously starting to think about my options at this point. I could get through this pain, I knew, but only if there was an end in sight. With my cervix not showing any signs of dilation, I didn't know how much longer I could do this. Adam and I started talking about a transfer to hospital. I had been laboring for 3 1/2 days at this point, with the pain being intolerable for roughly 12 hours. How much longer could I go?
Around 7am I told Adam I was ready for a transfer to hospital. Though both my heartbeat and the baby's were just fine, I didn't think I could handle the pain any longer. It was agony I'd never experienced before and I'd had enough. Adam asked me to fully consider the decision, since I'd planned for so long to have a natural childbirth. But I knew this was the right way to go, as much as I hated having to do it. My body just couldn't take anymore. As he was on his way to take Kika home, I was sitting, laboring on a medicine ball, when all of a sudden I felt a sharp *POP!*, and my water broke. I called the midwives to me, and they immediately did a pelvic exam. Sure enough, I was now dilated to 5 cm!! I was overjoyed! All of my dreams of delivering my baby at the birth center were renewed. When Adam returned to take me to the hospital, we told him the wonderful news, and we stayed to allow me to labor further.
Further was the operative word. I labored, but nothing further happened, except for the rectal pain becoming even more excrutiating. I was tired of trying to get through the pain, and decided to start bearing down--pushing--as each contraction came. It felt good to push, but deep down I knew it was futile. Baby didn't really feel like it was coming out. I almost broke Adam's neck on several occasions as I grasped for something--someone--to hold onto during the brunt of the pain. He tried to catch a few winks of sleep in the midst of my labor, but I woke him up with each scream of pain I was experiencing. I labored through the rest of the morning, into the afternoon, and looked upon the evening with dread. At this point, I'd been at the birth center for almost 24 hours, and I needed to know that progress was being made. Kip did yet another pelvic exam, which concluded I had SHRUNK back down to 2-3 cm. I cried. How could this be? With the rectal pain getting worse, and the contractions coming back-to-back with no respite in between, I knew that my options were running out. I'd have to go to hospital now; I just couldn't bear this any longer. Adam was tearing up as he saw me screaming in pain, knowing there was nothing he could do to help me. Kip crawled into bed with me and held me through the contractions, talking quietly to me to get me past them. She told me that it was my choice to either continue laboring or to transfer, that no one would judge me or think poorly of me whatever I decided. She offered to contact a chiropractor who might be able to give me an adjustment that could help baby's head move into proper position. I decided to wait for that last-ditch effort. While she hurried away to get in touch with the chiropractor, I suffered through 3-4 back-to-back contractions, with no break. That was it. I'd met my wall. I was either going to hospital to get a painkiller or I was staying at the birth center to split in half. I told Adam through my tears and clenched teeth that I needed to go...right....now.
Adam immediately went into overdrive, packing up all our necessary items while holding me as each contraction grew more painful as it became more frequent. I was in a bit of a haze as the midwives told us where in the hospital to go, and which doctor would be waiting for us. Midwife Sandra accompanied us to the hospital, following us in her car. It was good to know that we would have an advocate with us during this ordeal. We drove down Grand River Avenue, past the main commercial strip adjacent to campus. It was surreal to see college coeds, enjoying cups of iced coffee underneath a late Saturday afternoon sun, while I writhed and howled uncontrollably with each contraction. I had the momentary realization that I had become the caricature that I had for nine months berated--the out-of-control woman in labor, shrieking and screaming and carrying on. How did I get to this place, instead of maintaining the calm serenity I had fought so hard to achieve?
We finally made it to the hospital, and Adam ran inside to get a wheelchair. I hobbled over to the wheelchair, and sank gratefully inside, only to jump out screaming again when the next contraction pierced the rectal nerve. I think Adam was near crying at this point, as he ran, overnight bags dangling from his shoulders, pushing his howling wife as she continued to half-jump out of the wheelchair. The elevator couldn't arrive soon enough. Adam was muttering curses under his breath. We were definitely a sight to see; I knew that, even through the dazed state I was in. We got out on the 3rd floor, and made our way down to the Mother-Baby Center. Immediately Adam called out "Mother in distress!" just as I went to another contraction. Since they were expecting me, the nurses immediately took me into a private room and started prepping me for the epidural. The anaesthesiologist seemed to be taking his sweet time, but I knew that everything I needed at that moment couldn't come fast enough. I later learned that the nurse ordered the anaesthesiologist to give me the epidural before he went to assist a scheduled C-section. Thank goodness for that nurse.
As much as I couldn't wait to be pain-free, I also knew that the epidural would be difficult, a) because you have to sit completely still as it's inserted, and b) because my attempts at a drug-free childbirth were all but gone. I decided to try concentrating on a) since I knew I couldn't really do much about b) anymore. When the doctor came in to perform the epidural, I found him to be quite smug and intolerant of my situation. I was obviously in the throes of something pretty bad, but he was more intent on yelling at me in the midst of my back-to-back contractions than being sympathetic. The nurse, while stern, was the one who kindly instructed me on how to sit, and where to place my hands, and how to press my back toward the doctor. She even asked the doctor to wait until I was past a contraction before he proceeded, knowing that there was no way I'd be able to "sit still" through all that pain. She was fabulous. It took about 15 minutes before I could no lnoger feel any pain from the contractions; in fact, I couldn't even feel the pressure from the contractions anymore. Adam would look at the monitor and tell me that I was in the midst of one, and I was dumbfounded by the complete lack of sensation. No wonder so many women opt for the drugs to begin with!
About half an hour into the epidural, a middle-aged female doctor walked in and introduced herself as Dr. Herta. She said that while she was not the doctor assigned to my case, she had specifically asked to work with me when the midwives called into the hospital because she had worked with transfers from the birth center before. It was at this moment that my stars began to realign. Half-delirious from lack of sleep, 4 days of pain, and now an epidural drip, I didn't even think twice about saying, "You're the doctor from the City Pulse article!" She looked thoughtfully for a second, and then smiled in understanding. I told her how I'd read an article about natural childbirth options in the Lansing area two years ago, and how I was impressed by how she, an OB/GYN at a hospital, advocated for natural childbirth for women who wanted it. In fact, she'd had two of her children at the birth center, and had homebirthed another! I was elated; if I wasn't going to be able to birth my baby at the birth center, how lucky was I to get the one doctor in Lansing who is committed to natural childbirth? I knew I was in good hands, and that whatever happened, it would be because it was necessary.
7pm I was put on Pitocin to try to get my contractions intense enough to encourage my cervix to dilate. I couldn't believe that the contractions I'd been experiencing for the previous 4 days hadn't been "intense enough". Sandra clarified that while they were indeed strong enough, they didn't last long enough to "open things up down there."
9pm I could start to feel the contractions even through the epidural. I decided not to press the button for more pain relief even though the rectal pain was coming back. Between the epidural and the pitocin, I figured baby had gotten quite enough medicine, so I'd live with some pain if it meant minimizing baby's medication dosage.
9:30pm Really glad I made that decision because baby's heart rate was starting to even out--not a good sign. Baby was starting to feel distress from the pitocin (just like I read many babies do), and I was starting to stress out from the thought of baby being stressed. I kept asking Sandra and Adam what baby's heart rate was and if it was okay. The nurse came into the room at one point and said I was being taken off the pitocin because it was causing baby too much stress. Just before she left, she told me I might want to keep the idea of a C-section in the back of my mind. I waited until she left the room, and then I cried.
10:00pm Adam, Sandra and I discussed the potential C-section. While I felt like an utter and complete failure to necessitate one, after four days of laboring, I knew that my top priority was getting baby out of me safely. But I couldn't quite shake the urge to cry every time I thought of being cut open, of having my baby taken from me immediately after birth, of drugs being pumped into my system that would filter to the little one, of possibly not being able to bond with and subsequently nurse it. It was devastating, but I kept trying to put on a brave face.
10:45pm Dr. Herta came back into the room and sat down. It was good to see her. She did yet another pelic exam and I was still only dilated 4 cm. She said it was time to talk about options. I knew what was coming. She told me that baby and I were both still doing fine, so I could continue to labor if I wanted to see if I might dilate more. However, she said that her recommendation would be a C-section; she said that non-emergency cesaereans are much easier to perform than emergency cesaereans, so that was something to keep in mind. Since Adam and I had already talked things over, I knew we had already decided to have the C-section; there was no point in risking anyone's health or well-being. I choked up as I gave Dr. Herta the go-ahead. She took my hand kindly and said, with complete sincerity, "I know this wasn't what you wanted. But you've been at this for FOUR DAYS. You did your best. It's not your fault; there's nothing you could have done. And if you decide to have a second child, there's no reason you shouldn't be able to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesaerean)." I knew this decision was the one that needed to be made; it just hurt so badly to have to make it.
11:15pm The nurses, physician's assistants and rest of the surgical team started to prep me for surgery. A guy named Jack started injecting me with a spinal through my shoulder. It was cold and caused my entire spine to ache. I moaned with pain. He kept saying that most people don't react that way to the injection; then he pumped more through that made me want to scream. Adam donned the blue scrubs provided for the partner to wear into the surgical room. It was strange to see him decked out like a doctor, hair cap and all, and to be wheeled out into a hallway, through double doors, to a surgical room where I would momentarily be sliced open, but also become a mother. Very strange mix of emotions. It was all very surreal, almost like a campy horror movie.
Whatever the drug was that Jack kept pumping into me, it was making me very cold--I started to shiver uncontrollably--and loopy. I started joking around with him, telling him that I couldn't figure out why he hated me so much as to torture me with all these drugs, since we'd only met 20 minutes earlier. He grinned but I could also tell that he was a little uncomfortable with being accused of torture. He injected yet another drug into my shoulder. I shivered and told him he was mean. He said he was sorry. Adam was taking pictures of all the doctors and nurses and surgical team. Eventually he came to stay by my head as the procedure was about to begin.
Midnight You don't feel a whole lot once those painkillers kick in. There was a sheet separating my head from my lower body, so I couldn't see anything; I could just feel minimal pulling and pressing sensations. At some point, I could feel a lot of pushing on my abdomen as the team started to push baby out of my uterus toward the incision. Jack kept telling me to take big breaths, because baby still needed oxygen. I told him there was no way I could take big breaths with people pushing on my upper abdomen. He laughed and said, "Well, okay, take little breaths, then!" Adam alternated between talking to me, stroking my head, and looking over the sheet to see what was going on. I was really proud of him; he usually can't stand the sight of blood, so I was impressed that he could watch my belly being cut open. At one point, the pressing stopped, and I heard Dr. Herta ask Adam to announce what the sex was. Adam breathed out with a broad smile on his face, "It's a little girl! Lauren, we have a little girl!" I remember taking in this knowledge, but not having any feeling about it. I wanted to be happy and emotional, but nothing came. I was too drugged and tired to really feel anything.
Immediately the team, accompanied by an incredulous Adam, took the baby girl to the chamber to clean her off and out. I remember asking Adam repeatedly if she was okay. He kept saying, with a big grin on his face, "She's great! She's great!" I was angry that so many other people got to touch her and hold her before I did, but I was also so sleepy and cold that I was afraid I'd drop her if they gave her to me. I trusted Adam's presence there to be enough for the both of us, but it hurt my heart to know that she was not held first by either of her parents, as we had planned for and looked forward to for months. Her own mother wouldn't hold her until almost 15 minutes after her birth.
I looked over at one point and saw Adam holding her, posing for pictures while the nurses snapped away. Eventually he came over and put her on my chest, my arms and hands still shivering with cold. The first moment I saw her, I thought, Wow, she looks like my brother Walter. I said so to Adam and he grimaced and said, "Okay, so that would be wierd..." I rolled my eyes at him and just stroked her little face and all her thick dark hair. Everyone in the room was exclaiming over her hair and how quiet and observant she was. She barely cried. I wanted so badly to soak in the moment, but was so tired and cold. I remember asking Adam to take her so I didn't drop her. Eventually they transferred me to yet another bed and wheeled me into a recovery room where we reunited with Sandra. She stayed until 3am and helped me learn to breastfeed properly, and with follow-up to the surgery. Adam and I were so glad she was there; it made a difficult situation so much easier to swallow.
At some point while trying to nurse our new little girl, fighting sleep, and looking in wonder at this incredible little person, a nurse came in to ask if we'd settled on a name, to which I answered, "Yes, Bryony Mittman." After she left, Adam turned to me sheepishly and asked, "Do you think we could change the name? I think I like Rory better than Bryony..." After shooting him the look of death, he backed down a bit and said, "Sleep on it, okay?"
So that's the story of how our little girl came into the world. It wasn't the way we had planned or expected or hoped for, but as Midwife Clarice said, it was the way Bryony needed to be born. I'm still trying to accept that. As much as all of the medical professionals tell me that the way she was turned kept me from dilating, I keep thinking that if only I had been able to labor a little longer, suffer a little more pain, maybe I would have dilated and she could have been born at the center. Deep down I know it's ridiculous and unproductive to even think that way; she's here and healthy and I'm here and healthy, and that's all that matters. But it still hurts.
Our midwives are my heroes. They stayed the course with us for 24 hours straight; Sandra stayed with us from Friday night till early Sunday morning. I love her for that. Clarice, who checked me when I initially came into the center Friday evening, called it right from the beginning--baby's head was turned to the side, and that was impeding progress. As Kip said, "We often have the labors that are like the lives we lead." If there's anything that Bryony has already inherited from me, as that four-day-long labor has proved, it's my stubborness.
That makes me happy.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Milestone Maker
Our kid is already paving the way...making history and marking milestones, albeit for someone else. Check out her picture on the birth center's website:
http://greenhousebirthcenter.com/May2009.htm
Woo-hoo!!
http://greenhousebirthcenter.com/May2009.htm
Woo-hoo!!
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Keeping Me Humble
I've been wanting for several days now to fully write the narrative that was Bryony's and my birth experience, but it is long, complicated and full of emotion (at least for me) and I want to give it it's full due. So, I'll wait until I have time to write the entire story rather than give a fragmented account on the fly.
In any case, I thought I'd just give a few little tidbits from her first week of life that have kept us busy:
Bryony welcomed her first visitor, Mrs. Gonzalez, last Wednesday.
Mrs. G. declared that Bryony is actually her baby; with all the black hair, obviously she doesn't belong to either Adam or me, and since Mrs. G. once had a full head of black hair, it's easy to see that I was just carrying this little girl for ten months to pass her along to her real mother--Mrs. G.
Thursday I found that Bryony had vomited blood all over her bassinet. I was petrified. I got Adam out of the shower and we drove her back to the hospital--this time the pediatric emergency room--where they took us in straight away. Luckily, we found that Bryony is just fine--her blood work checked out great. It's actually her mother who's got the issue; after several days of nursing, I had some seriously raw, cracked nipples that were draining blood, which she was ingesting during nursing. I was advised to discontinue nursing until my nipples healed, and pump in the meantime.
So the breast pump and I have gotten to know each other quite well. It's mutual dislike. But my nipples are pretty much healed and fortunately, Bryony has gone right back to nursing from the breast. I am very happy.
Yesterday (Monday), I woke up to find that my incision was draining to the nth degree.
There was serous fluid all over my night clothes, and I ended up soaking through several towels I placed over the incision. I had Adam check out the issue and he said it looked as though I might have busted a suture, so once again, we went back to the hospital. After finally finding the right doctor's office, a nurse and doctor inspected the area and determined that it was not infected but just draining, which accounts for the additional pain I've been having. Most of the drainage has subsided today, so hopefully I won't be ruining any more clothing!
Bryony is doing just fine, just crying and eating and pooping like any normal baby would.
We're still trying to get her switched over from her night-active schedule to a day-active one, with little luck. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to keep a newborn awake...all the things that would keep an adult awake--bouncing, singing, talking, carrying her around--all seem to put a newborn to sleep. I'm not quite to the "been driven crazy" level yet, as I continue to put it all in perspective, but I am definitely being put in my place, day after day, by a baby. It's quite the eye-opener.
In any case, I thought I'd just give a few little tidbits from her first week of life that have kept us busy:
Bryony welcomed her first visitor, Mrs. Gonzalez, last Wednesday.
Mrs. G. declared that Bryony is actually her baby; with all the black hair, obviously she doesn't belong to either Adam or me, and since Mrs. G. once had a full head of black hair, it's easy to see that I was just carrying this little girl for ten months to pass her along to her real mother--Mrs. G.
Thursday I found that Bryony had vomited blood all over her bassinet. I was petrified. I got Adam out of the shower and we drove her back to the hospital--this time the pediatric emergency room--where they took us in straight away. Luckily, we found that Bryony is just fine--her blood work checked out great. It's actually her mother who's got the issue; after several days of nursing, I had some seriously raw, cracked nipples that were draining blood, which she was ingesting during nursing. I was advised to discontinue nursing until my nipples healed, and pump in the meantime.
So the breast pump and I have gotten to know each other quite well. It's mutual dislike. But my nipples are pretty much healed and fortunately, Bryony has gone right back to nursing from the breast. I am very happy.
Yesterday (Monday), I woke up to find that my incision was draining to the nth degree.
There was serous fluid all over my night clothes, and I ended up soaking through several towels I placed over the incision. I had Adam check out the issue and he said it looked as though I might have busted a suture, so once again, we went back to the hospital. After finally finding the right doctor's office, a nurse and doctor inspected the area and determined that it was not infected but just draining, which accounts for the additional pain I've been having. Most of the drainage has subsided today, so hopefully I won't be ruining any more clothing!
Bryony is doing just fine, just crying and eating and pooping like any normal baby would.
We're still trying to get her switched over from her night-active schedule to a day-active one, with little luck. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to keep a newborn awake...all the things that would keep an adult awake--bouncing, singing, talking, carrying her around--all seem to put a newborn to sleep. I'm not quite to the "been driven crazy" level yet, as I continue to put it all in perspective, but I am definitely being put in my place, day after day, by a baby. It's quite the eye-opener.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Introducing the Newest Charley!!
Bryony Sedona Mittman was born Sunday, 31. May. 2009 at 12:10am, and came in at 6 lbs, 8 oz, 20 inches. Complications arose during labor and we had to transfer to hospital, ultimately to undergo a cesaerean section. Bryony is healthy and strong and (sometimes) happy and we are both doing well. Many thanks for the barrage of well wishes from our wonderful friends and family. If only I had enough time to write everyone back individually. Here are a few early photos (Days 1&2) to keep you entertained. Again, many thanks to you all for your love and support; Adam and I are humbled and misty-eyed by the wonderful support system we've surrounded ourselves with.
Love
Lauren, Adam, Bryony, Kika & Greg House
Love
Lauren, Adam, Bryony, Kika & Greg House
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