So in a couple of recent blog posts I mention using cloth diapers. In this post, I plan to elaborate on the Why, How, and What.
What are cloth diapers? Cloth diapers are the diapers your grandmother and her mother and her mother used to diaper their children. Cloth diapers were all you had until the first disposable diaper was invented and patented in 1948 by Valerie Hunter Gordon. Even then, disposables didn't become popular or widely used til the late 50s, early 60s.
How did I learn about them? Well, I remember one day I was looking through the bathroom cabinet in search of a wash cloth when i came upon what I think was either a flat (large, one layer of cloth), or a prefold (a flat cloth pre-folded ready for use). I remember asking my dad what it was and was shocked to learn that babies actually pooped on it! There have been countless other run-in's with cloth diaper propaganda, but that memory stuck out at me most and is what triggered me to search for them when I was pregnant and and in need financially with my second son.
Why do I use cloth diapers? For one, they're cute as all get out! Just check out this diaper from one of the main retailers I use. Also, like I stated before, I needed help financially when I was pregnant with my second son, Mikah. Because I had to quit work so early and also be hospitalized in order to stay pregnant, if left us pretty ragged. Had it not been for lots of donated disposables the first few months of his life and later cloth diapers, we might have gone bankrupt. Using cloth diapers also helps me stay home with my son because the money that might have been used on disposables can now be added into groceries, gas, or other bills. Living on one income doesn't leave you with a whole lot at the end of the week and I'm glad I don't have to choose between food and diapers.
So many families go through hard times at any point in their life. I've seen news reports of parents reusing dirty disposables just to last until pay day so they can still buy food. It's sad but it can be helped with a little innovation and an open mind.
Little hands
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Friday, January 24, 2014
Insecure
I'm trying so hard not to be jealous of women that have the perfect pregnancy and birth. I feel victimized and traumatized from my first birth and I feel lied to from my second. Why can I not get over these things. It's so hard NOT to be the victim yet the more I educate myself on these things the angrier I get. There is, however, a good outcome to educating myself. I have hope that next time will be different. If there is a next time... Thinking that my time for babies has come to an end is such a depressing thought for me. I don't want to be done. I had planned for at least 3-4 children. What happened? I barely carried one. One. Mikah. I should be happy with him, but some days I feel I need a do over.
As healing as Mikah's birth was for me, it wasn't all sunshine and daisies. Mikah's birth was healing in the fact that he came home to me instead of the NICU and I didn't almost die with infections. The first few weeks of his life were not easy. I still suffered from PPD and PTSD from Ein so all that anxiety from the 35 weeks I tried to stay pregnant with Mikah and the depression from my first experience came crashing in as soon as we got home. As if it wasn't enough my body couldn't sustain him without medical intervention, my body couldn't be his source of food either. Because he was early he wasn't strong enough to feed for very long. Knowing what I do know about breastfeeding now, I know that if I would have fed him on demand like I initially wanted and had I ignored every one's discomfort at me nursing in public, we might still have a healthy relationship to this day. Still, because of my doubt and high anxiety, the remarks and comments I had expected myself to easily brush off actually sealed the deal in breastfeeding.
So, my failed breastfeeding relationship just gave my crappy self-esteem room to move a little lower. I cried probably every day the first 2 months fighting off the thoughts of hopelessness and deeming myself a worthless mother. You had one job as a mother, to feed him, and you can't even do that. At least with Ein you had an excuse. He was in the NICU and you had to pump. Mikah is right here at your breast. Feed him! Worthless. Yea, needless to say, I was not a friend to myself.
I remember sometimes I would check Facebook to see who I might could talk to about these feelings, but I was embarrassed and scared. I'm just being foolish. If I take a walk I'll feel better. If I tell someone, they might take Mikah away from me! So instead, I took pictures of Mikah like crazy. Just to capture that moment of happiness I felt so I could look back at it when having a rough day and remember that and tell myself, "see, you were happy there. It can happen again." No one tells you that you might not love your baby everyday, or love yourself everyday, but it does happen.
Though I haven't had an ideal pregnancy, birth, or bond with my son, I love him more than anything and would do anything for him. Just having these mental illnesses and daily struggles with them make it harder for me to realize that I deserve him. If I never have another child, I hope that I can finally be okay with just Mikah, because he deserves that much. He is more than good enough for me and I'm trying desperately to be good enough for him.
As healing as Mikah's birth was for me, it wasn't all sunshine and daisies. Mikah's birth was healing in the fact that he came home to me instead of the NICU and I didn't almost die with infections. The first few weeks of his life were not easy. I still suffered from PPD and PTSD from Ein so all that anxiety from the 35 weeks I tried to stay pregnant with Mikah and the depression from my first experience came crashing in as soon as we got home. As if it wasn't enough my body couldn't sustain him without medical intervention, my body couldn't be his source of food either. Because he was early he wasn't strong enough to feed for very long. Knowing what I do know about breastfeeding now, I know that if I would have fed him on demand like I initially wanted and had I ignored every one's discomfort at me nursing in public, we might still have a healthy relationship to this day. Still, because of my doubt and high anxiety, the remarks and comments I had expected myself to easily brush off actually sealed the deal in breastfeeding.
So, my failed breastfeeding relationship just gave my crappy self-esteem room to move a little lower. I cried probably every day the first 2 months fighting off the thoughts of hopelessness and deeming myself a worthless mother. You had one job as a mother, to feed him, and you can't even do that. At least with Ein you had an excuse. He was in the NICU and you had to pump. Mikah is right here at your breast. Feed him! Worthless. Yea, needless to say, I was not a friend to myself.
I remember sometimes I would check Facebook to see who I might could talk to about these feelings, but I was embarrassed and scared. I'm just being foolish. If I take a walk I'll feel better. If I tell someone, they might take Mikah away from me! So instead, I took pictures of Mikah like crazy. Just to capture that moment of happiness I felt so I could look back at it when having a rough day and remember that and tell myself, "see, you were happy there. It can happen again." No one tells you that you might not love your baby everyday, or love yourself everyday, but it does happen.
Though I haven't had an ideal pregnancy, birth, or bond with my son, I love him more than anything and would do anything for him. Just having these mental illnesses and daily struggles with them make it harder for me to realize that I deserve him. If I never have another child, I hope that I can finally be okay with just Mikah, because he deserves that much. He is more than good enough for me and I'm trying desperately to be good enough for him.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
This Ad... Oh Motherhood...
This ad, brought to you by Boba, reveals the heart-warming, side of motherhood. The fear, the joy, the hope. Though, I am disappointed that adoption wasn't a part of it. I know adoptive mothers go through the same thing spiritually, if not physically. What do you think of it?
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Toddler Sniffles and the Rest of Humanity
If you are or have been a caretaker of a sick toddler then you know that you can expect some sleepy days, some tantrums, some snuggles, and a whole lot of snot. It can be hard, sometimes, to keep up with your sick toddler because it can seem like they have no off switch for any illness and leave you more worn down than they are. If this is not you, I am SO jealous that your sweet baby sleeps through his/her illness and/or cuddles for hours on end. My little guy is currently playing with the curtains and will probably terrorize the dog in a split-second.
Still, life goes on and you'll probably need groceries, more medicines, or have to take your little joy to the doctor. That's when the battle really begins. With all the germs flying around this season, people tend to revert back to animalistic instincts around the sickly and, if it weren't against the social norm, I'm sure there would be snarling and barking as to keep them illness-free. Most people will tell you to keep it at home and as much as I'd like to it's not always an option. Sometimes I need to get out just for my sanity and keeping the illness in the home isn't helping us get any better. I'm not trying to sound insensitive as I know there are those with immune deficiencies that dread a sick toddler. This post is not for you. This is for those that can afford a doctor's visit and only want to discourage loving, worn out parents.
Taking your rambunctious, fever-crazed toddler to the doctor isn't as easy as you might think either. There are surfaces to touch, to taste, and to smell and also other snot-faced children to kiss. I love that I have an affectionate toddler that loves to share. Snot sharing, however, not so much. When did waiting for the doctor to call on you become such an Olympic event? I'm pretty sure most of those sports were created by a mom or dad with at least four children under the age of five.
Still, life goes on and you'll probably need groceries, more medicines, or have to take your little joy to the doctor. That's when the battle really begins. With all the germs flying around this season, people tend to revert back to animalistic instincts around the sickly and, if it weren't against the social norm, I'm sure there would be snarling and barking as to keep them illness-free. Most people will tell you to keep it at home and as much as I'd like to it's not always an option. Sometimes I need to get out just for my sanity and keeping the illness in the home isn't helping us get any better. I'm not trying to sound insensitive as I know there are those with immune deficiencies that dread a sick toddler. This post is not for you. This is for those that can afford a doctor's visit and only want to discourage loving, worn out parents.
Taking your rambunctious, fever-crazed toddler to the doctor isn't as easy as you might think either. There are surfaces to touch, to taste, and to smell and also other snot-faced children to kiss. I love that I have an affectionate toddler that loves to share. Snot sharing, however, not so much. When did waiting for the doctor to call on you become such an Olympic event? I'm pretty sure most of those sports were created by a mom or dad with at least four children under the age of five.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Discipline and Toddlers
*This blog post is not bashing parents who do physically discipline their children. Choose what's right for your family as I will mine. Thanks for reading!*
So besides the trouble I have with family members not following my son's restrictive diet, I also have a hard time getting them to lay off the discipline advice. None so much as my father. Now, I love my dad and I respect him in a way a daughter should respect her father, up until a point. My dad and I have a rough history together, but he's cleaned up his act enough that I allow him to be in mine and my son's life. I don't know if that right there leaves him thinking he can raise my child how he sees fit or what, but I'm not having it.
My dad whipped me as a child, not spanked, whipped. I don't want to get into details but let me just say that he was very well known for losing his temper and losing control. He's not like he was and is still working out his anger issues, but not enough for me to trust him to physically discipline my child. I welcome advice from my elders on how to discipline Mikah because they've been through it and I do need ideas and help from time to time. I don't, however, need or want advice from teens and non-parents, nor do I want the old saying, "Spare the rod, spoil the child. Proverbs 13:24 " (which, depending on the version of text, it says nothing about a rod, only to chasten them if you love them. (paraphrasing) as the offered words of wisdom. I really don't care if that's what the Bible says to do. The Bible also says, "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Exodus 22:18" but I'm not going on a witch hunt any time soon and neither is anyone else.
Point being, I don't care who says it's right or how it worked for you. It doesn't work for my son, I won't be doing it to my son because of my own anger issues, and I would like others, especially my own father, to respect or at least acquiesce to my parenting style and wishes. Every child is different when it comes to things like this and Mikah isn't even 2 yet so, obviously, we're still trying to find our groove. Instead of petty, mumbled remarks behind my back or even blatant disrespect for my parenting journey, why not try some carefully chosen words and phrases like, "You're an excellent mother. Keep up the good work!" Or, "I know you can do it and Mikah's smart, he'll get the hang of it. Just be consistent. I love you both."
See, not that hard. I bet even my dad wanted to hear that once in a while. Why do you think there are so many parents since his generation and on decided that whipping their kid weren't for them? Because maybe they have the scar(s) to prove it doesn't work.
Monday, January 13, 2014
MommyCon
*This is not a promotional post. I have not and will not receive any special compensation for blogging about MommyCon (though that would be sa-weet!) and their sponsors. Though I do recommend you research them. :D*
Hooray for MommyCon!!! What is a MommyCon? I'm so glad you asked! MommyCon is a safe haven for hippy parents like me! No, seriously. It's a safe haven/ festival/ fair for like-minded parents with forward thinking concepts. There are local birth professionals, baby brands you know and love, popular bloggers, and big-hit personalities. All or welcome, not just the hippy, AP, granola parents.(No offense.)
They head out all of the country through most major cities. They also have a Facebook page and I love that they interact with their followers. MommyCon hosts retailers like Ergo, Sloomb, Britax, and Motherlove and even give you free step-by-step instructions on baby wearing, how to safely install a car seat, and even give demonstrations.
So why do I care so much? Well, I'm kind of like a kid in a candy store with this one. I've never been and really want to go. I live in a pretty decent sized town with a 30,000 population count, but there are hardly any like-minded parents here. Yea, we all want what's best for our children, but besides from a couple of my friends and a few strangers I've met along the way, no one here cloth diapers, baby wears, uses amber teething necklaces, do play-based learning, etc. I'm such a nerd for this stuff that whenever I'm at Wal-Mart and see another mom baby-wearing that I have to stop myself from giving them a high-five. I want to touch all of the cloth diapers, I want to try Mikah in some of the woven wraps, and I want to squeal with delight when I see Jessica from The Leaky Boob.
I can see it now. I roll up in there with Mikah on my back, safely tucked into the Ergo while sporting his amber teething necklace nestled gently on top of his organic cotton t-shirt. Of course, his cloth diaper will have to be color-coordinated, just in case something happens to his pants... If only I can convince my husband to make the 4 hour trip.
All of THAT being said, I just want to have a good time with mamas like me that push the norm for their kids, moms that think outside of the box yet thrive to get back down to basics. Community is what I'm after, even if I have to pay for it.
Hooray for MommyCon!!! What is a MommyCon? I'm so glad you asked! MommyCon is a safe haven for hippy parents like me! No, seriously. It's a safe haven/ festival/ fair for like-minded parents with forward thinking concepts. There are local birth professionals, baby brands you know and love, popular bloggers, and big-hit personalities. All or welcome, not just the hippy, AP, granola parents.(No offense.)
They head out all of the country through most major cities. They also have a Facebook page and I love that they interact with their followers. MommyCon hosts retailers like Ergo, Sloomb, Britax, and Motherlove and even give you free step-by-step instructions on baby wearing, how to safely install a car seat, and even give demonstrations.
So why do I care so much? Well, I'm kind of like a kid in a candy store with this one. I've never been and really want to go. I live in a pretty decent sized town with a 30,000 population count, but there are hardly any like-minded parents here. Yea, we all want what's best for our children, but besides from a couple of my friends and a few strangers I've met along the way, no one here cloth diapers, baby wears, uses amber teething necklaces, do play-based learning, etc. I'm such a nerd for this stuff that whenever I'm at Wal-Mart and see another mom baby-wearing that I have to stop myself from giving them a high-five. I want to touch all of the cloth diapers, I want to try Mikah in some of the woven wraps, and I want to squeal with delight when I see Jessica from The Leaky Boob.
I can see it now. I roll up in there with Mikah on my back, safely tucked into the Ergo while sporting his amber teething necklace nestled gently on top of his organic cotton t-shirt. Of course, his cloth diaper will have to be color-coordinated, just in case something happens to his pants... If only I can convince my husband to make the 4 hour trip.
All of THAT being said, I just want to have a good time with mamas like me that push the norm for their kids, moms that think outside of the box yet thrive to get back down to basics. Community is what I'm after, even if I have to pay for it.
Friday, January 10, 2014
McDonald's Play-Place Protocol
*In this blog post there will be appearances from my best friend and his 3 year old daughter. For privacy purposes their names will be "Funman" and "Le-Le", respectively.*
Yesterday, after running errands with Funman, Mikah and I decide to join our friends at McDonald's for a small lunch and a run around the play-place. It was a really gloomy, wet day so I was pretty satisfied to have somewhere, besides my house, to let Mikah burn off his toddler energy. Even better, Mikah had never been prior to this one occasion so I was curious as to how he'd react.
He and Le-Le had a great time running, jumping, and rolling around. Mikah didn't quite get what he was supposed to do, but Le-Le was a pro at it. She tried to get him interested a few times, but Mikah was just as happy jumping inside a big, red "ball"... as he put it.
Then, the others came... Two women and their kids came in with their lunch maybe 5 minutes after we had gone in there. The oldest two, a boy and a girl, were older than our kids by probably a few years. The oldest was the boy and he was sweet and patient with both Mikah and Le-Le. The girl, however, was bossy and rude. She initiated adventures through the winding tubes but only if you did as you were told. Though, even with her attitude, there were many things that were easily overlooked. Funman and I even got in there with our kids so that Le-Le wouldn't get upset that her new friend didn't want to play anymore.
After a few minutes of climbing, chasing, and sliding, Funman and I got out to catch our breath. That's when the other kids got their infant brother in there with them so he could "explore". At first it was cute, but then the little girl decided that no one was allowed in the tube where he was at. Le-Le, not understanding this, tried to get in to see the baby but the little girl was not having it. She pushed Le-Le and I reprimanded them telling them to share. Then the little girl yelled at her, telling her to stay out when Le-Le tried again to play! That's when Funman started getting upset and confused as to how to handle the situation. Instead, I kept telling them to share and stop being mean, but when the little girl forced Le-Le out of the tube I scolded her and told her to keep her hands to herself.
All of this happened while the two women they came with just sat eating and talking like nothing was happening. Funman quickly decided that playtime was over so I changed Mikah's diaper and we were out of there. We discussed what had just happened when we got into the car and that's when Funman commented, "I didn't know what to do. I mean, what's the protocol for that? Is there a McDonald's play-place protocol? Ugh, stupid parents." We had a pretty good laugh about that and went on our way. I feel like we handled the situation well, but both Funman and I have heard tales of fights breakout among parents for strangers disciplining each other's children, Even adults being rude to children at places like these. So what is the protocol? In this day and age we all have to walk around on egg shells, it seems, just to want to defend our kids. Silly.
Picture of an authentic McDonald's play-place for reference. Minus the millions of unattended children and mass chaos and confusion. :D
He and Le-Le had a great time running, jumping, and rolling around. Mikah didn't quite get what he was supposed to do, but Le-Le was a pro at it. She tried to get him interested a few times, but Mikah was just as happy jumping inside a big, red "ball"... as he put it.
Then, the others came... Two women and their kids came in with their lunch maybe 5 minutes after we had gone in there. The oldest two, a boy and a girl, were older than our kids by probably a few years. The oldest was the boy and he was sweet and patient with both Mikah and Le-Le. The girl, however, was bossy and rude. She initiated adventures through the winding tubes but only if you did as you were told. Though, even with her attitude, there were many things that were easily overlooked. Funman and I even got in there with our kids so that Le-Le wouldn't get upset that her new friend didn't want to play anymore.
After a few minutes of climbing, chasing, and sliding, Funman and I got out to catch our breath. That's when the other kids got their infant brother in there with them so he could "explore". At first it was cute, but then the little girl decided that no one was allowed in the tube where he was at. Le-Le, not understanding this, tried to get in to see the baby but the little girl was not having it. She pushed Le-Le and I reprimanded them telling them to share. Then the little girl yelled at her, telling her to stay out when Le-Le tried again to play! That's when Funman started getting upset and confused as to how to handle the situation. Instead, I kept telling them to share and stop being mean, but when the little girl forced Le-Le out of the tube I scolded her and told her to keep her hands to herself.
All of this happened while the two women they came with just sat eating and talking like nothing was happening. Funman quickly decided that playtime was over so I changed Mikah's diaper and we were out of there. We discussed what had just happened when we got into the car and that's when Funman commented, "I didn't know what to do. I mean, what's the protocol for that? Is there a McDonald's play-place protocol? Ugh, stupid parents." We had a pretty good laugh about that and went on our way. I feel like we handled the situation well, but both Funman and I have heard tales of fights breakout among parents for strangers disciplining each other's children, Even adults being rude to children at places like these. So what is the protocol? In this day and age we all have to walk around on egg shells, it seems, just to want to defend our kids. Silly.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Lost His Mind!
Ever wonder why Wal-mart seems to be fully of crazy kids, mainly toddlers and infants? It seems like every when one starts crying, they all start. I remember saying I'd never have a kid like that. Oh boy was I wrong.
Mikah and I had a glorious Tuesday. It was filled with tantrums, quick decisions, and anxiety. He missed his nap. That one little crucial part of his day was missed and now I have an aching hip because of it. I love my son, I really do. I also love being a mother. Although, when my days are like that, I am IMMENSELY happy for bed time. Then I remember that bed time can also be stressful. Moms really have no breaks. That's when Mikah does something like flashes an award winning smile at me or cuddles under the covers with his "Mama" and I suddenly forget the reason for being so fed up in the first place.
When he does things like that, I am immediately calmed and am able to assess the situation. It's because I love him and no matter how hard it gets, I can make it through. Something fires through my synapses and I can see that 2 hours ago Mikah was acting more well-behaved than I was. I am then suddenly guilt ridden and am able to see the "bigger picture".
So I am glad that I have that "Wal-Mart kid" because he's not always like that. Heck, today he was waving at complete strangers. If it's good all the time then I'll forget the bad times. Yea, I know that just sounded crazy, but hear me out. If there are no problems in life then you never have to fix anything. If you never have to fix anything you never learn, never grow. A little ordered chaos in life is a good thing. Mikah happens to be mine. I have to keep my emotions in check or else, how would I be able to teach him? The "bigger picture" is him.
Mikah and I had a glorious Tuesday. It was filled with tantrums, quick decisions, and anxiety. He missed his nap. That one little crucial part of his day was missed and now I have an aching hip because of it. I love my son, I really do. I also love being a mother. Although, when my days are like that, I am IMMENSELY happy for bed time. Then I remember that bed time can also be stressful. Moms really have no breaks. That's when Mikah does something like flashes an award winning smile at me or cuddles under the covers with his "Mama" and I suddenly forget the reason for being so fed up in the first place.
When he does things like that, I am immediately calmed and am able to assess the situation. It's because I love him and no matter how hard it gets, I can make it through. Something fires through my synapses and I can see that 2 hours ago Mikah was acting more well-behaved than I was. I am then suddenly guilt ridden and am able to see the "bigger picture".
So I am glad that I have that "Wal-Mart kid" because he's not always like that. Heck, today he was waving at complete strangers. If it's good all the time then I'll forget the bad times. Yea, I know that just sounded crazy, but hear me out. If there are no problems in life then you never have to fix anything. If you never have to fix anything you never learn, never grow. A little ordered chaos in life is a good thing. Mikah happens to be mine. I have to keep my emotions in check or else, how would I be able to teach him? The "bigger picture" is him.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
They're Not Your Medical Records.
Yesterday I went to the hospital I delivered my sons at to retrieve my medical records. I had looked online in advance to see what that required. Based on the hospital's website, all I would need is a photo I.D. and to print and fill out a consent form. Indeed, I came prepared with my consent form and I.D. in hand while alternately dragging my beloved toddler behind me because he wanted to "dead weight" as soon as we turned the corner.
I walk in the small office and immediately notice that the desk has two FULL clipboards of consent forms readily available. O.K. Kind of peeved that I had to spend 30 cents to print off my copies but, that's fine. I'll know next time if I need to do it again. Then the secretary comes from around an unseen corner behind the desk asks if she could help me. I hand her the paper with my information on it and tell her I would like my medical records. She asks me what I want them for and I said personal. "Yea, but what will you use them for?" I guess she asks me this because there's a whole different process for transfer of care. I don't know, so I tell her the truth.
I want them because there are still unanswered questions pertaining to the pregnancy and births of my two sons. I tell her I need those files before I can seriously consider having another child. If there is any hint that a c-section is my only option, Mikah will be an only child. I know that any pregnancy can result in a c-section but without the option to VBA2C then the cons are far too great.
After relaying some of this to her she starts asking me the dates I want. She clicks around for a little bit, gets ready to print, and then tells me it'll be $45 and some change.... WHAT?! "Forty-five dollars? For what?" I can't believe it. I was so close to closure, to being informed. That's more than my phone bill! She tells me, "The forty-five dollars is to get your medical records." So I ask her, "Uh, why do I have to pay that just to get MY medical records? I don't understand. It didn't say that on the website." She sighs and rolls her eyes a little and says, "Yes ma'am, I know. We're trying to fix it. Everyone says that, but you have to pay it if you want your medical records because their not actually yours, they're (name of the hospital)."
My jaw dropped. This is preposterous. Last I checked, they were mine. She asks me if I still want them and I sarcastically tell her that I won't be buying my medical records unless I can get them for free or at a discount. Obviously that didn't happen or I wouldn't have typed this blog post, or, at least not like this. Good new is, though, that I can get it through my doctor for a flat fee of $18. Hmm, I really hate the idea of it not being mine but I guess I can understand because that's a lot of paper and ink. I do have half a mind to call and ask how much they'd charge me if I brought my own paper.
Seriously though. Why do they make it so hard for their patients to be and stay informed of their own health. How many other people have gone through this I wonder? $45 may not seem like a lot but it is to me and my household. To me, it's $45 to heal.
I walk in the small office and immediately notice that the desk has two FULL clipboards of consent forms readily available. O.K. Kind of peeved that I had to spend 30 cents to print off my copies but, that's fine. I'll know next time if I need to do it again. Then the secretary comes from around an unseen corner behind the desk asks if she could help me. I hand her the paper with my information on it and tell her I would like my medical records. She asks me what I want them for and I said personal. "Yea, but what will you use them for?" I guess she asks me this because there's a whole different process for transfer of care. I don't know, so I tell her the truth.
I want them because there are still unanswered questions pertaining to the pregnancy and births of my two sons. I tell her I need those files before I can seriously consider having another child. If there is any hint that a c-section is my only option, Mikah will be an only child. I know that any pregnancy can result in a c-section but without the option to VBA2C then the cons are far too great.
After relaying some of this to her she starts asking me the dates I want. She clicks around for a little bit, gets ready to print, and then tells me it'll be $45 and some change.... WHAT?! "Forty-five dollars? For what?" I can't believe it. I was so close to closure, to being informed. That's more than my phone bill! She tells me, "The forty-five dollars is to get your medical records." So I ask her, "Uh, why do I have to pay that just to get MY medical records? I don't understand. It didn't say that on the website." She sighs and rolls her eyes a little and says, "Yes ma'am, I know. We're trying to fix it. Everyone says that, but you have to pay it if you want your medical records because their not actually yours, they're (name of the hospital)."
My jaw dropped. This is preposterous. Last I checked, they were mine. She asks me if I still want them and I sarcastically tell her that I won't be buying my medical records unless I can get them for free or at a discount. Obviously that didn't happen or I wouldn't have typed this blog post, or, at least not like this. Good new is, though, that I can get it through my doctor for a flat fee of $18. Hmm, I really hate the idea of it not being mine but I guess I can understand because that's a lot of paper and ink. I do have half a mind to call and ask how much they'd charge me if I brought my own paper.
Seriously though. Why do they make it so hard for their patients to be and stay informed of their own health. How many other people have gone through this I wonder? $45 may not seem like a lot but it is to me and my household. To me, it's $45 to heal.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
My Rainbow Baby
For every storm, whether physical or metaphorical, there is a rainbow to be had after it. My second son, Mikah, would be my rainbow. A calming, and healing second chance at motherhood. This is his story.
It was only 9 months after the birth and death of my first son that I found out I was pregnant with Mikah. I was working as a cake decorator at the time and letting myself once again experience life my way. I can't say my husband and I didn't try, because maybe I was, but we had just once again started to co-exist as husband and wife. Grief does a number on marriage, and it did to us.
It seems like from day 1 I knew I was pregnant. I knew it at least a week before it showed up on a pregnancy test so I immediately began to prepare. I was going to VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), it was best for my body and my baby. I also wasn't going to let any aches or pains slide this time, no matter how small. My doctor would know everything. I told all of this to my CNM (certified nurse midwife) at my first appointment. I think that was when it was deemed, based off my first pregnancy and delivery, they'd label me as a high risk and so my care would be transferred to the in-office high risk OB.
Incompetent Cervix is what I was diagnosed with or what they think caused my preterm labor and delivery with Ein so we set up a game plan. If this pregnancy stayed viable past 12 weeks then at 15 weeks I would get a cerclage (stitch the cervix closed) placed and then start p17/progesterone shots at 20 weeks to keep this pregnancy from ending the same way. A VBAC was still possible and going to term was possible, but I didn't want to get my hopes up.
As the weeks progressed I stretched and stretched. I'd recommend waiting longer than 9 months postpartum after a c-section to have another pregnancy because it hurts pretty badly for your scar to stretch when it may not be completely healed. At 15 weeks, I had the surgery for cerclage. That was pretty uncomfortable and awkward. I was awake with a spinal block and a team of nurses and my high risk doctor looking at my vagina spread open and my feet in stirrups. Through out the 30 min procedure I could feel everything being done to me, despite the drugs. The room was below freezing and again, the nurses were talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas with family. My doctor was amazing though. He got them to shut up by telling them to come see what he was doing and had them more involved.
The surgery was a success. I contracted for a few days after but had medicine to keep it from progressing. Eventually, I had to quit work, yet again, because of the demands of my job conflicting with my work restrictions. I had been put on limited home bed rest to keep my blood pressure manageable and keep my cervix from contracting. I was bored and miserable, but my baby was more important.
At 20 weeks I went to the hospital in preterm labor. I was almost immediately put on a magnesium I.V. drip in Labor & Delivery and when my contractions finally stopped a day and a half later, I was admitted to hospital bed rest. Hospital bed rest, not exactly what I wanted for me or this baby. In the weeks to come I would be diagnosed with Hypertension, Gestational Diabetes, be discharged and readmitted a few days later for preterm labor again, and stay in fear of the fast approaching 28th week. My milestone.
The 28th week of pregnancy we were prepared. When I say we I mean my me, my doctor, and the nurses were all prepared for a maybe. I prayed the night before, and I'm sure I had others praying with me, that this little one would at least make it one more week. As was my mantra those days. "Just one more week. Please God, just one more week and he's yours." I stayed up that night until 2-3 am the next morning. I took a nap and then woke up to the increased activity outside my hospital room door. I watched the sun come up over the bricked room that was my view. It was beautiful, and I felt fine. It was a pretty uneventful night, morning, day and I was happy with that. Again, I was ready.
After that week there were really no contractions to be seen unless I moved around too much. I was discharged at 30 or so weeks because I was tired of being locked up in the hospital away from family. I was depressed and lonely, so for my benefit and mental health, my doctor discharged me into the hands of my family. I only stayed home until 32 weeks because my blood pressure was too high for comfort. Back to the hospital I went for safe keeping. At 34 weeks the cerclage was removed because my doctor was leery of contractions busting my stitch. After that it was the waiting game. He thought I would go into labor, but I didn't. The only thing progressing was my blood pressure.
The protein levels in my urine were increasing and I was warned about induction and/or c-section. C-section. I did not want it. I cried and cried and cried. It would be the same as last time. It would kill me this time for sure. How could this happen again? I cried into a shoulder of one of my favorite nurses at the time and she told the doctor to talk with me. We set up a plan for "just in case" and agreed it would be family centered. My husband would be there at all times unless I said otherwise, and my family would be allowed to stay in my room for support. I felt better, but not quite. Major surgery is major surgery.
On the morning of April 15, 2012 at 35 weeks and 5 days gestation, my blood pressure was too high for comfort. I was dizzy, nauseated, and my urine protein results hadn't come back in yet to say otherwise. My doctor spoke with me and we decided something was going on and it was high time for Mikah to be born. I made the call to my husband, said we're having a baby, and called the rest of the crew. One nurse asked if I was O.K. with this because she had seen my melancholy expression. "Yea, I think so. It's not how I wanted, but I think it's for the best now." So she gave me a hug and said let's go. She wheeled me down to Labor & Delivery where they set me up and prepped me for surgery. My close family was there and we said a prayer that everything would be fine.
So I got a healing c-section. The nurses were friendly and comforting and my husband was present and we were informed. My family didn't hold him until I said so and Mikah was big and healthy for his gestation, weighing in at 5lbs 13oz and 18 1/2 inches long. I did have to have a magnesium drip for the first 12 hours after birth because of Pre-E but they didn't start it until I had had at least a good hour of bonding for which I'm grateful because the magnesium was not kind to me or my senses.
The recovery was hard, but not nearly as hard as it was before. The hardest part was my emotions and hormones. There could be many reasons why, but I'll have to get my medical records to find out. Something I am pursuing. For now, though, I am enjoying Mikah, like I wanted. We may add another or we may not, but for right now, I'm his and he is mine.
It was only 9 months after the birth and death of my first son that I found out I was pregnant with Mikah. I was working as a cake decorator at the time and letting myself once again experience life my way. I can't say my husband and I didn't try, because maybe I was, but we had just once again started to co-exist as husband and wife. Grief does a number on marriage, and it did to us.
It seems like from day 1 I knew I was pregnant. I knew it at least a week before it showed up on a pregnancy test so I immediately began to prepare. I was going to VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), it was best for my body and my baby. I also wasn't going to let any aches or pains slide this time, no matter how small. My doctor would know everything. I told all of this to my CNM (certified nurse midwife) at my first appointment. I think that was when it was deemed, based off my first pregnancy and delivery, they'd label me as a high risk and so my care would be transferred to the in-office high risk OB.
Incompetent Cervix is what I was diagnosed with or what they think caused my preterm labor and delivery with Ein so we set up a game plan. If this pregnancy stayed viable past 12 weeks then at 15 weeks I would get a cerclage (stitch the cervix closed) placed and then start p17/progesterone shots at 20 weeks to keep this pregnancy from ending the same way. A VBAC was still possible and going to term was possible, but I didn't want to get my hopes up.
As the weeks progressed I stretched and stretched. I'd recommend waiting longer than 9 months postpartum after a c-section to have another pregnancy because it hurts pretty badly for your scar to stretch when it may not be completely healed. At 15 weeks, I had the surgery for cerclage. That was pretty uncomfortable and awkward. I was awake with a spinal block and a team of nurses and my high risk doctor looking at my vagina spread open and my feet in stirrups. Through out the 30 min procedure I could feel everything being done to me, despite the drugs. The room was below freezing and again, the nurses were talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas with family. My doctor was amazing though. He got them to shut up by telling them to come see what he was doing and had them more involved.
The surgery was a success. I contracted for a few days after but had medicine to keep it from progressing. Eventually, I had to quit work, yet again, because of the demands of my job conflicting with my work restrictions. I had been put on limited home bed rest to keep my blood pressure manageable and keep my cervix from contracting. I was bored and miserable, but my baby was more important.
At 20 weeks I went to the hospital in preterm labor. I was almost immediately put on a magnesium I.V. drip in Labor & Delivery and when my contractions finally stopped a day and a half later, I was admitted to hospital bed rest. Hospital bed rest, not exactly what I wanted for me or this baby. In the weeks to come I would be diagnosed with Hypertension, Gestational Diabetes, be discharged and readmitted a few days later for preterm labor again, and stay in fear of the fast approaching 28th week. My milestone.
The 28th week of pregnancy we were prepared. When I say we I mean my me, my doctor, and the nurses were all prepared for a maybe. I prayed the night before, and I'm sure I had others praying with me, that this little one would at least make it one more week. As was my mantra those days. "Just one more week. Please God, just one more week and he's yours." I stayed up that night until 2-3 am the next morning. I took a nap and then woke up to the increased activity outside my hospital room door. I watched the sun come up over the bricked room that was my view. It was beautiful, and I felt fine. It was a pretty uneventful night, morning, day and I was happy with that. Again, I was ready.
After that week there were really no contractions to be seen unless I moved around too much. I was discharged at 30 or so weeks because I was tired of being locked up in the hospital away from family. I was depressed and lonely, so for my benefit and mental health, my doctor discharged me into the hands of my family. I only stayed home until 32 weeks because my blood pressure was too high for comfort. Back to the hospital I went for safe keeping. At 34 weeks the cerclage was removed because my doctor was leery of contractions busting my stitch. After that it was the waiting game. He thought I would go into labor, but I didn't. The only thing progressing was my blood pressure.
The protein levels in my urine were increasing and I was warned about induction and/or c-section. C-section. I did not want it. I cried and cried and cried. It would be the same as last time. It would kill me this time for sure. How could this happen again? I cried into a shoulder of one of my favorite nurses at the time and she told the doctor to talk with me. We set up a plan for "just in case" and agreed it would be family centered. My husband would be there at all times unless I said otherwise, and my family would be allowed to stay in my room for support. I felt better, but not quite. Major surgery is major surgery.
On the morning of April 15, 2012 at 35 weeks and 5 days gestation, my blood pressure was too high for comfort. I was dizzy, nauseated, and my urine protein results hadn't come back in yet to say otherwise. My doctor spoke with me and we decided something was going on and it was high time for Mikah to be born. I made the call to my husband, said we're having a baby, and called the rest of the crew. One nurse asked if I was O.K. with this because she had seen my melancholy expression. "Yea, I think so. It's not how I wanted, but I think it's for the best now." So she gave me a hug and said let's go. She wheeled me down to Labor & Delivery where they set me up and prepped me for surgery. My close family was there and we said a prayer that everything would be fine.
So I got a healing c-section. The nurses were friendly and comforting and my husband was present and we were informed. My family didn't hold him until I said so and Mikah was big and healthy for his gestation, weighing in at 5lbs 13oz and 18 1/2 inches long. I did have to have a magnesium drip for the first 12 hours after birth because of Pre-E but they didn't start it until I had had at least a good hour of bonding for which I'm grateful because the magnesium was not kind to me or my senses.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
My First Son: Part 2
The next few days went better. He was a strong but tiny baby. He weighed 2lbs 14 oz. I eventually got to hold him, do the Kangaroo Care on my chest and sing to him. He melted my heart. I pumped my milk for him, the best for preemies, and felt like I was really doing something. It was not all happiness though. As with most births, blood is taken from the mother for testing. This is to find any infections or drugs in her system that might harm her or the baby. Well, apparently, drugs were in my system. As a result, it is policy for the hospital to inform Child Protection of this and form a case against the mother/parents. Some nurses treated me like dirt because of this. Wondering why I was crying. Also during this, I was fighting off a strange fever from infections like a UTI and bladder infection. I kept getting sicker, and kept being investigated. Every time I left the hospital, it seemed like I got worse. That or my husband and I had to do a drug test. Nothing showed up in those or in Ein, but the board wouldn't let it go. There were no answers to be found in any direction.
By November 22nd I had a cystic infection in my incision, a bladder infection, kidney infection, UTI, and yeast infection. I was in so much pain I could barely walk. I was also becoming antibiotic resistant and my fever wouldn't break. On the morning of November 23rd, I went to visit my little one. He wasn't doing too well. He had started spitting up a few days earlier because he was receiving formula now that I had to take antibiotics for my various infections and he didn't tolerate it well. That morning he couldn't keep anything down and his belly was a little swollen. The nurses would watch him and would let me know what his doctor thought after he made his rounds that morning.
The NICU doctor overseeing Ein's case paid me a visit. I was on the phone with my mother-in-law telling her how Ein was doing when he popped in and said, "Well, I have some bad news..." " Oh nooo," was my only reaction. He told me that Ein's stomach was swollen and that his reflux had gotten worse, something that I had already known from my visit. He said the reason for it might be inflamed intestines or a hole in his intestines. It's common for preemies and usually medicine will ease the the inflammation but if it got any worse than he would need surgery. I immediately told him to do what needed to be done and to do it right away. I was floored. Everything had changed so quickly that morning that I couldn't even remember what the doctor said to tell my husband.
As the day progressed, Ein got worse. I don't know when or how it happened but I was informed that Ein would need to be air lifted to Children's Hospital 2 hours away for surgery and was diagnosed with Necrotizing Enterocolitis. What that meant was my little boy's intestines were dying. An infection spread from a hole and surgery was needed to save his life. We were informed he had a 10% chance of living if he didn't get there soon. It seems like it took the paramedics forever to stabilize him for transport. We just sat there, watching, waiting. I remember getting angry at one paramedic because he was just sitting there, sipping coffee and checking his watch. There were also nurses behind me talking loudly about their day, joking about their exams and boyfriends. But the thing I remember most were the nurses that hugged me. The ones that looked into my eyes with their teary eyes and silently communicated their sympathy and prayers. They gave me his bed things to take with us, which I still have, and stayed with us for as long as they could. I'll never forget that.
I was discharged from the hospital with medicine and instructions so that we could follow Ein by car. My wonderful aunt drove us the full 2 hours there. It was a tense and nearly silent drive. Ein arrived 30 maybe 40 minutes before we did so I got a call from the head doctor about what they planned to do. He needed blood and plasma transfusions before he could even have the surgery. The surgeon/ nurse/ doctor/ whoever seemed iffy about performing those tasks without us there but I told him he had our permission to do what needed to be done. Some other words were exchanged, probably more statistics, but I've blocked them out.
We finally get to the hospital and Ein is just being stabilized. We have a consultation about the surgery and are brought to a sleeping/waiting room for parents spending the night or waiting through a long surgery. A preacher woman is sent to us to either keep us company or provide hope. She prayed with us, for us, for Ein, for the doctors, and hardly left our side. I'm not sure how long the surgery was but we were finally called in to the consultation room again by the main surgeon. A small, sweet woman with sorrow in her eyes. The surgery was a fail. Ein's intestines were too far gone to be saved and there was nothing she could do. She was sorry, she tried, but that's what Necrotizing Enterocolitis does. She walked out to leave us together in our grief and my husband and aunt walked out with her to let our family know. Suddenly I was alone. My head was pounding and my chest was heaving and heavy. The floor looked peaceful so slid down from my seat so that I could melt into that shiny, waxed, purple sea.
After a moment, my aunt and husband walked back in and we asked to see Ein. They gave us a small room in the ward with a curtain half drawn so that we could say our good-byes. I don't want to sound insensitive when I say this, but he took a long time to die. I say it because that gave me hope. If he held on then maybe he would heal, it'd be a miracle. We needed a miracle. At 4:23 am on November 24, 2010, my little boy took his last breath. There were no more coos, no little cries. The pain medicine he was given allowed him to go peacefully, as I was assured. We were given the option to bathe him and dress him, I declined, but they also gave us a Shadow Box of little things like his tubing, eye mask, oxygen mask, and even some clippings of his hair. We stayed for a little while longer and then made our way back to the parking lot.
I remember trying to cry, to relieve the pain in my chest, but my eyes and mouth were dry and my stomach hurt from sobbing most of the day. When my aunt dropped us off at home, I felt so empty. This feeling of hope and expectation in our home had suddenly turned to anger and longing and sadness. We were so tired that we immediately curled up into bed with each other and just cried. We cried ourselves to sleep.
Over the next week or so, I continued to get worse and we continued to be investigated for the drug that was found in my system. The drug that was found was a sedative and apparently it wasn't something issued by the hospital. Even our caseworker fought for us because he believed us innocent. Still, the case couldn't be dismissed, we had to see it to the end. Eventually, the doctors figured out what was causing my infections and fever. I had Psuedomonas. No idea where it came from or how I got it, but it was the reason why many of the previous antibiotics weren't working. I needed the strong stuff and it wasn't until it was almost too late that we figured that out. December 2nd was the day I was finally discharged and on the mend from the my c-section and infections. Not sure how much later it was, but we also got a letter in the mail from the Child Protection Agency stating that we were found guilty of Negligent Supervision. It's the best they could do without any proof and without apologizing for being ass hats.
This birth was hard and traumatic for me. It's been 3 years and I can just now say that it doesn't hurt as much. I no longer have nightmares of it and can stand to hear a newborn cry without having a full blown anxiety attack. Instead, I help other women and new mothers in my situation. I give them a shoulder and hope. There is life after infant loss, but that's another blog post entirely. :D
By November 22nd I had a cystic infection in my incision, a bladder infection, kidney infection, UTI, and yeast infection. I was in so much pain I could barely walk. I was also becoming antibiotic resistant and my fever wouldn't break. On the morning of November 23rd, I went to visit my little one. He wasn't doing too well. He had started spitting up a few days earlier because he was receiving formula now that I had to take antibiotics for my various infections and he didn't tolerate it well. That morning he couldn't keep anything down and his belly was a little swollen. The nurses would watch him and would let me know what his doctor thought after he made his rounds that morning.
The NICU doctor overseeing Ein's case paid me a visit. I was on the phone with my mother-in-law telling her how Ein was doing when he popped in and said, "Well, I have some bad news..." " Oh nooo," was my only reaction. He told me that Ein's stomach was swollen and that his reflux had gotten worse, something that I had already known from my visit. He said the reason for it might be inflamed intestines or a hole in his intestines. It's common for preemies and usually medicine will ease the the inflammation but if it got any worse than he would need surgery. I immediately told him to do what needed to be done and to do it right away. I was floored. Everything had changed so quickly that morning that I couldn't even remember what the doctor said to tell my husband.
As the day progressed, Ein got worse. I don't know when or how it happened but I was informed that Ein would need to be air lifted to Children's Hospital 2 hours away for surgery and was diagnosed with Necrotizing Enterocolitis. What that meant was my little boy's intestines were dying. An infection spread from a hole and surgery was needed to save his life. We were informed he had a 10% chance of living if he didn't get there soon. It seems like it took the paramedics forever to stabilize him for transport. We just sat there, watching, waiting. I remember getting angry at one paramedic because he was just sitting there, sipping coffee and checking his watch. There were also nurses behind me talking loudly about their day, joking about their exams and boyfriends. But the thing I remember most were the nurses that hugged me. The ones that looked into my eyes with their teary eyes and silently communicated their sympathy and prayers. They gave me his bed things to take with us, which I still have, and stayed with us for as long as they could. I'll never forget that.
I was discharged from the hospital with medicine and instructions so that we could follow Ein by car. My wonderful aunt drove us the full 2 hours there. It was a tense and nearly silent drive. Ein arrived 30 maybe 40 minutes before we did so I got a call from the head doctor about what they planned to do. He needed blood and plasma transfusions before he could even have the surgery. The surgeon/ nurse/ doctor/ whoever seemed iffy about performing those tasks without us there but I told him he had our permission to do what needed to be done. Some other words were exchanged, probably more statistics, but I've blocked them out.
We finally get to the hospital and Ein is just being stabilized. We have a consultation about the surgery and are brought to a sleeping/waiting room for parents spending the night or waiting through a long surgery. A preacher woman is sent to us to either keep us company or provide hope. She prayed with us, for us, for Ein, for the doctors, and hardly left our side. I'm not sure how long the surgery was but we were finally called in to the consultation room again by the main surgeon. A small, sweet woman with sorrow in her eyes. The surgery was a fail. Ein's intestines were too far gone to be saved and there was nothing she could do. She was sorry, she tried, but that's what Necrotizing Enterocolitis does. She walked out to leave us together in our grief and my husband and aunt walked out with her to let our family know. Suddenly I was alone. My head was pounding and my chest was heaving and heavy. The floor looked peaceful so slid down from my seat so that I could melt into that shiny, waxed, purple sea.
After a moment, my aunt and husband walked back in and we asked to see Ein. They gave us a small room in the ward with a curtain half drawn so that we could say our good-byes. I don't want to sound insensitive when I say this, but he took a long time to die. I say it because that gave me hope. If he held on then maybe he would heal, it'd be a miracle. We needed a miracle. At 4:23 am on November 24, 2010, my little boy took his last breath. There were no more coos, no little cries. The pain medicine he was given allowed him to go peacefully, as I was assured. We were given the option to bathe him and dress him, I declined, but they also gave us a Shadow Box of little things like his tubing, eye mask, oxygen mask, and even some clippings of his hair. We stayed for a little while longer and then made our way back to the parking lot.
I remember trying to cry, to relieve the pain in my chest, but my eyes and mouth were dry and my stomach hurt from sobbing most of the day. When my aunt dropped us off at home, I felt so empty. This feeling of hope and expectation in our home had suddenly turned to anger and longing and sadness. We were so tired that we immediately curled up into bed with each other and just cried. We cried ourselves to sleep.
Over the next week or so, I continued to get worse and we continued to be investigated for the drug that was found in my system. The drug that was found was a sedative and apparently it wasn't something issued by the hospital. Even our caseworker fought for us because he believed us innocent. Still, the case couldn't be dismissed, we had to see it to the end. Eventually, the doctors figured out what was causing my infections and fever. I had Psuedomonas. No idea where it came from or how I got it, but it was the reason why many of the previous antibiotics weren't working. I needed the strong stuff and it wasn't until it was almost too late that we figured that out. December 2nd was the day I was finally discharged and on the mend from the my c-section and infections. Not sure how much later it was, but we also got a letter in the mail from the Child Protection Agency stating that we were found guilty of Negligent Supervision. It's the best they could do without any proof and without apologizing for being ass hats.
This birth was hard and traumatic for me. It's been 3 years and I can just now say that it doesn't hurt as much. I no longer have nightmares of it and can stand to hear a newborn cry without having a full blown anxiety attack. Instead, I help other women and new mothers in my situation. I give them a shoulder and hope. There is life after infant loss, but that's another blog post entirely. :D
My First Son: Part 1
One of the most important things you will ever do as a mom is give birth to your child. After 9-10 months of growing another human being inside you, the time has come to bring that little person earth side. It's a very special, emotional time for most of us because all of those anxious filled months of preparation and anxiety have come to close and you finally have to overcome the pain of your body stretching and pulling and pushing. For the rest of us, complications arise and can be present in both pregnancy and birth. Some with happy endings and some, well...
My first pregnancy started in June 2010. I had only been married 3 months and was excited to start this journey as a wife and mother. The first couple of months were OK besides normal fatigue from being pregnant, working, and suffering from Fibromyalgia. (Which I don't have anymore. Funny how pregnancy can do that.)I did end up quitting at 14-15 weeks though because my fatigue got progressively worse. I went to monthly prenatal check ups, getting more and more excited with every visit, but nothing but a high white blood cell count showed up and was immediately written off as a common illness. Around 19 weeks is when Braxton Hicks started, but I thought nothing of it because that was normal. At 23 weeks we found out we were having a boy and almost immediately decided to name him Ein Zeno Gabriel.
I was in love. I fantasized about my new mom life. The memories we would make, the moments we'd have. I wanted it all. In reality, it was slowly slipping away. A couple weeks after our gender reveal is when we started to get worried. Contractions were always intense but irregular and my fatigue and turned into an all out food aversion. I craved fruit and vegetables but couldn't stand the smell or taste of meat. Being that I am already beef and dairy-intolerant, it didn't leave me with a lot of options. There was also dizziness and headaches among my many pregnancy symptoms. Every check-up though, I was fine.
At 27 weeks I was pale, tired, irritable, and hungry. We had just moved into an apartment with an extra bedroom for the baby so I was anxious to set up a nursery. All that week though, all I wanted to do was sleep. Saturday, November 13, 2010, the last day of my 27th week, I could not get comfortable. My stomach hurt, my back hurt, I had a headache, I was bloated. "Maybe I had too much dairy today..." I thought. "I just need to lay down." I couldn't get comfortable either so on and off through the night I would soak my aching body in a warm bath. It relieved my back and hip pain and allowed me to sleep for an hour at a time until it hit 6am.
Sunday, November 14, 2010 at 28 weeks gestation: 6 am rolls around and I am crying for lack of sleep and pain relief. I keep telling myself and my husband it's only gas and my Fibromyalgia acting up. I'm fine. I finally call the nurse hot line for my doctor and am told to take Tylenol for the pain and if that doesn't help then to go to the E.R... I took the Tylenol and fell asleep for another hour or so. I think by the time I wake up again it's 7 or 8 am. I can't take it anymore. I am throwing up, my body is pushing, my emotions are extreme. Something is wrong, I think this is labor. We call hubby's mom to take us to the hospital. It's the longest time in my life. I feel like I'm dying. I am dying. I crawl on all fours to the bathroom while my husband yells at me to get up. I can't, I just want to sit, to squat. Why is my body pushing? His mother gets us and I can barely walk to the car. Every speed bump and pot hole tries to break me. I can't even breathe.
We finally get to the E.R. entrance and my husband grabs a nurse and wheelchair while I bellow out the door to "hurry!" Funny how when I get into the wheel chair I suddenly relax. I can breathe a little better, not too deep, but I can smile. I get to a room, am examined in mid-contraction and am told that I am 7cm dilated. SAY WHAT?! How? I'm only 28 weeks. "This baby is coming, it's too late to stall. The bag is bulging," says the doctor I've never met. My contractions come back strong and mingle with my shock and fear and leave me hazed for the rest of this. Well, the drugs do. I remember her breaking my waters, the most relieving thing, and then almost immediately I'm at a 9-10 cm dilated. I've had no drugs, still throwing up, and they've got me signing paperwork and poking needles in all at the same time. I'm not sure where my husband is or what's going on around me. I know I was yelling so loud that some doctor guy opened the door and yelled at the nurses to "Sedate her so she can quiet down." Whatever they gave me left me feeling like a shell. I had no emotions but I knew I was scared. Not feeling is worse I think.
I was wheeled into the O.R. with my husband and transferred to an operating table and had my knees thrust into my stomach and was told to push. I couldn't though, I felt weird. I couldn't breathe, I was bewildered at what was going on still. I kept saying I can't breathe, I need oxygen but they kept telling me, "No you don't, PUSH!" I would say I couldn't and they'd yell louder. So I yelled at my husband to hold me up but he just stood there, shaking. After a few threats of surgery I finally collected my thoughts and grabbed my legs. I felt nothing. No more contractions, no fear, no happiness, but having a purpose cleared my mind. I pushed, and pushed.
Then I was prepped for surgery. I'm not sure why but I think baby got stuck and vitals were dropping. My husband was all but pushed out the door and I was suddenly left alone on the table, holding on afraid I'd roll off. The doctor kept yelling for her team to get it together so she could deliver the baby but all I heard in the background was laughing and talk of family holidays. I felt exposed lying there and would try to cover up only to be told to lay still. Finally, the anesthetist arrived and put a gas mask on my face. I fought for a second because of impending vomit, but soon lost.
I don't know really know what happened next. I know the baby was born and sent straight to NICU because of how early he was. I knew what he looked like because of pictures but didn't get to see him until later that night. My nurses wheeled me down the hall to where the NICU was so I could see him. As they rolled me in, I looked anxiously for him. Which one was mine? It was quiet, like it should be, but the air was melancholy. As my nurses parked me in front of the incubator, I began to cry. What happened? What did I do to him? I failed. I did something to make this happen! I didn't want to be there. I wanted to leave. All I could say was how sorry I was. I would make this right.
My first pregnancy started in June 2010. I had only been married 3 months and was excited to start this journey as a wife and mother. The first couple of months were OK besides normal fatigue from being pregnant, working, and suffering from Fibromyalgia. (Which I don't have anymore. Funny how pregnancy can do that.)I did end up quitting at 14-15 weeks though because my fatigue got progressively worse. I went to monthly prenatal check ups, getting more and more excited with every visit, but nothing but a high white blood cell count showed up and was immediately written off as a common illness. Around 19 weeks is when Braxton Hicks started, but I thought nothing of it because that was normal. At 23 weeks we found out we were having a boy and almost immediately decided to name him Ein Zeno Gabriel.
I was in love. I fantasized about my new mom life. The memories we would make, the moments we'd have. I wanted it all. In reality, it was slowly slipping away. A couple weeks after our gender reveal is when we started to get worried. Contractions were always intense but irregular and my fatigue and turned into an all out food aversion. I craved fruit and vegetables but couldn't stand the smell or taste of meat. Being that I am already beef and dairy-intolerant, it didn't leave me with a lot of options. There was also dizziness and headaches among my many pregnancy symptoms. Every check-up though, I was fine.
At 27 weeks I was pale, tired, irritable, and hungry. We had just moved into an apartment with an extra bedroom for the baby so I was anxious to set up a nursery. All that week though, all I wanted to do was sleep. Saturday, November 13, 2010, the last day of my 27th week, I could not get comfortable. My stomach hurt, my back hurt, I had a headache, I was bloated. "Maybe I had too much dairy today..." I thought. "I just need to lay down." I couldn't get comfortable either so on and off through the night I would soak my aching body in a warm bath. It relieved my back and hip pain and allowed me to sleep for an hour at a time until it hit 6am.
Sunday, November 14, 2010 at 28 weeks gestation: 6 am rolls around and I am crying for lack of sleep and pain relief. I keep telling myself and my husband it's only gas and my Fibromyalgia acting up. I'm fine. I finally call the nurse hot line for my doctor and am told to take Tylenol for the pain and if that doesn't help then to go to the E.R... I took the Tylenol and fell asleep for another hour or so. I think by the time I wake up again it's 7 or 8 am. I can't take it anymore. I am throwing up, my body is pushing, my emotions are extreme. Something is wrong, I think this is labor. We call hubby's mom to take us to the hospital. It's the longest time in my life. I feel like I'm dying. I am dying. I crawl on all fours to the bathroom while my husband yells at me to get up. I can't, I just want to sit, to squat. Why is my body pushing? His mother gets us and I can barely walk to the car. Every speed bump and pot hole tries to break me. I can't even breathe.
We finally get to the E.R. entrance and my husband grabs a nurse and wheelchair while I bellow out the door to "hurry!" Funny how when I get into the wheel chair I suddenly relax. I can breathe a little better, not too deep, but I can smile. I get to a room, am examined in mid-contraction and am told that I am 7cm dilated. SAY WHAT?! How? I'm only 28 weeks. "This baby is coming, it's too late to stall. The bag is bulging," says the doctor I've never met. My contractions come back strong and mingle with my shock and fear and leave me hazed for the rest of this. Well, the drugs do. I remember her breaking my waters, the most relieving thing, and then almost immediately I'm at a 9-10 cm dilated. I've had no drugs, still throwing up, and they've got me signing paperwork and poking needles in all at the same time. I'm not sure where my husband is or what's going on around me. I know I was yelling so loud that some doctor guy opened the door and yelled at the nurses to "Sedate her so she can quiet down." Whatever they gave me left me feeling like a shell. I had no emotions but I knew I was scared. Not feeling is worse I think.
I was wheeled into the O.R. with my husband and transferred to an operating table and had my knees thrust into my stomach and was told to push. I couldn't though, I felt weird. I couldn't breathe, I was bewildered at what was going on still. I kept saying I can't breathe, I need oxygen but they kept telling me, "No you don't, PUSH!" I would say I couldn't and they'd yell louder. So I yelled at my husband to hold me up but he just stood there, shaking. After a few threats of surgery I finally collected my thoughts and grabbed my legs. I felt nothing. No more contractions, no fear, no happiness, but having a purpose cleared my mind. I pushed, and pushed.
Then I was prepped for surgery. I'm not sure why but I think baby got stuck and vitals were dropping. My husband was all but pushed out the door and I was suddenly left alone on the table, holding on afraid I'd roll off. The doctor kept yelling for her team to get it together so she could deliver the baby but all I heard in the background was laughing and talk of family holidays. I felt exposed lying there and would try to cover up only to be told to lay still. Finally, the anesthetist arrived and put a gas mask on my face. I fought for a second because of impending vomit, but soon lost.
I don't know really know what happened next. I know the baby was born and sent straight to NICU because of how early he was. I knew what he looked like because of pictures but didn't get to see him until later that night. My nurses wheeled me down the hall to where the NICU was so I could see him. As they rolled me in, I looked anxiously for him. Which one was mine? It was quiet, like it should be, but the air was melancholy. As my nurses parked me in front of the incubator, I began to cry. What happened? What did I do to him? I failed. I did something to make this happen! I didn't want to be there. I wanted to leave. All I could say was how sorry I was. I would make this right.
Mother Knows Best
So, are you a new mom or have a new babe in you life? Do you feel like a parent-outcast sometimes due to your choices? Do you want what is best for your child?
I'm pretty sure that most of us moms, if not all, at least want what is best for our children but that can also lead to some pretty interesting views and parenting styles. Like me, I wanted/tried the exclusive breastfeeding, baby-wearing, BLW (baby-led-weaning), sign language, and cloth diapers, no Santa, and natural remedies for small illnesses. Some of these things worked out, some didn't. I had a plan, but had to learn what was the best fit for my family. Of course some of my family and friends, parents and non-parents alike, thought I was crazy or that I would never keep up with my goals. That I was too greedy in my wishes. Whatever, we are all still alive, healthy, and happy. It seems like I did something right.
The thing that is a constant and drives me insane is that there are still certain family members and friends that roll their eyes at me or just blatantly do not follow my parenting lead for my son. Whatever it is that I do must be so offensive to them that I can't even discuss the latest study from the American Academy of Pediatrics without an eye roll and a defensive attitude or even leave my son with family trusting they won't feed him a food off of his intolerant or no-no list. I mean, hey, I can understand that I can be overwhelming at times with all of my info but I'm not trying to sell you on a new parenting style or study. Most of the time, I just want to discuss what I read because I either found it amusing or found it thought provoking. I definitely don't understand why people would think I'm overreacting when I don't let my dairy intolerant son have ice cream.
I do what I think is best for my child. Can't we all just get along and respect each other for our differences? If you deal with this, don't deal with it. I've stood up for myself countless times, and it will probably never end, but it has gotten better because they know where I stand. Where do you stand? How about we just sit and chat about our cares and woes together while sipping a dairy-free fruit smoothie and watch our toddlers eat a stick. After all, that's where it's really at. Right? Right.
I'm pretty sure that most of us moms, if not all, at least want what is best for our children but that can also lead to some pretty interesting views and parenting styles. Like me, I wanted/tried the exclusive breastfeeding, baby-wearing, BLW (baby-led-weaning), sign language, and cloth diapers, no Santa, and natural remedies for small illnesses. Some of these things worked out, some didn't. I had a plan, but had to learn what was the best fit for my family. Of course some of my family and friends, parents and non-parents alike, thought I was crazy or that I would never keep up with my goals. That I was too greedy in my wishes. Whatever, we are all still alive, healthy, and happy. It seems like I did something right.
The thing that is a constant and drives me insane is that there are still certain family members and friends that roll their eyes at me or just blatantly do not follow my parenting lead for my son. Whatever it is that I do must be so offensive to them that I can't even discuss the latest study from the American Academy of Pediatrics without an eye roll and a defensive attitude or even leave my son with family trusting they won't feed him a food off of his intolerant or no-no list. I mean, hey, I can understand that I can be overwhelming at times with all of my info but I'm not trying to sell you on a new parenting style or study. Most of the time, I just want to discuss what I read because I either found it amusing or found it thought provoking. I definitely don't understand why people would think I'm overreacting when I don't let my dairy intolerant son have ice cream.
I do what I think is best for my child. Can't we all just get along and respect each other for our differences? If you deal with this, don't deal with it. I've stood up for myself countless times, and it will probably never end, but it has gotten better because they know where I stand. Where do you stand? How about we just sit and chat about our cares and woes together while sipping a dairy-free fruit smoothie and watch our toddlers eat a stick. After all, that's where it's really at. Right? Right.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Who or what is MirrorSeeing?
Hey! So Mirror Seeing is ME!! It is the name that was given to me at a Native American ceremony with my family and I use it for whenever or wherever I can easily and freely translate my passions.
My given name at birth, and the one I use daily, is Brittany. I'm a 24 year old married gal with two kids, one in heaven and one, a toddler, currently sleeping in his room. (My rainbow baby! (We'll have a lot of discussions about that later.)) I'm sort of a 'Jack of all Trades', meaning I tend to know a little about everything because I am so scatter brained that I can't pin-point exactly what I'm doing at any given time.
Family, love, faith, and truth are some of the things I value most in life. Having said that, I am only human and do not have "everything together". I have more breakdowns a month than I care to count and am a hard person to motivate. I am loyal to the end, though, and sometimes that means I demand the same from those I give it to which can make for some hurt feelings and misunderstandings. I battle daily with Bi-polar disorder, depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and Borderline Personality Disorder. On the bright side, I know the difference between a mental disorder and me just being a punk and will usually be the first to apologize or confess it, however long that may take.
I believe in second chances, helping others, a divine will, fate, an afterlife, spirituality, and that the Saints will win the Superbowl at least one more time before I die. I truly enjoy being a wife and mother. It's all I ever wanted in life. I didn't enjoy school growing up so I had never put much thought into it until I had my kids. Now, I really don't know what I want to do because I want it all. Like a sponge, I want to absorb as much as I can about Cosmetology, Midwifery, OBGYN, Pediatric care, NICU care, Social Working, Phlebotomy, owning a baby boutique for cloth diapers, Lactation Consultation, and Montessori certification. Oh yea, so much but so little time and money!
So I'm pretty sure that's me. Are you confused, is your head spinning? Yea, that's how I feel most days. I'll post about something that's been bugging me the last few weeks. As a mom to a toddler, I'm sure you can guess what it may be about. :D Stay tuned!!
My given name at birth, and the one I use daily, is Brittany. I'm a 24 year old married gal with two kids, one in heaven and one, a toddler, currently sleeping in his room. (My rainbow baby! (We'll have a lot of discussions about that later.)) I'm sort of a 'Jack of all Trades', meaning I tend to know a little about everything because I am so scatter brained that I can't pin-point exactly what I'm doing at any given time.
Family, love, faith, and truth are some of the things I value most in life. Having said that, I am only human and do not have "everything together". I have more breakdowns a month than I care to count and am a hard person to motivate. I am loyal to the end, though, and sometimes that means I demand the same from those I give it to which can make for some hurt feelings and misunderstandings. I battle daily with Bi-polar disorder, depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and Borderline Personality Disorder. On the bright side, I know the difference between a mental disorder and me just being a punk and will usually be the first to apologize or confess it, however long that may take.
I believe in second chances, helping others, a divine will, fate, an afterlife, spirituality, and that the Saints will win the Superbowl at least one more time before I die. I truly enjoy being a wife and mother. It's all I ever wanted in life. I didn't enjoy school growing up so I had never put much thought into it until I had my kids. Now, I really don't know what I want to do because I want it all. Like a sponge, I want to absorb as much as I can about Cosmetology, Midwifery, OBGYN, Pediatric care, NICU care, Social Working, Phlebotomy, owning a baby boutique for cloth diapers, Lactation Consultation, and Montessori certification. Oh yea, so much but so little time and money!
So I'm pretty sure that's me. Are you confused, is your head spinning? Yea, that's how I feel most days. I'll post about something that's been bugging me the last few weeks. As a mom to a toddler, I'm sure you can guess what it may be about. :D Stay tuned!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)