Sharing

Snippet only just turned 5 weeks, but we have suddenly reached the point of rapid change. Literally, he seems different day to day now. He seemed the same for four weeks---shrimpy and scrawny, mostly unconscious of the world, zoned out and unfocused. Then, at the end of week #4, he bloomed. We discovered him smiling at us---genuinely smiling---this big, open-mouthed, joyful smile. The more we smiled back, the bigger his smile became, and he wriggles with it, overwhelmed with a happiness he cannot name. Although the exercise is mostly mimicry, I think the exchange passes more than copy-cat expressions between us. I would like to think he feels the love coming from us, and shines it back to us with those sweet eyes. There is something in them, and it's more than a ditto machine---I think it may be his first hint at appreciation.

Appreciation, certainly, does wonders for me when I'm nursing him and the breast pain is still as potent as ever. I'm disappointed that the antibiotics have not calmed the enflamed tissues, and I worry that if they haven't by now, they aren't going to. I see my OB tomorrow for a followup visit, and I already feel guilty about having to report to her that she was wrong with her prescription. I hate disappointing people in authority, afterall, but I haven't been able to observe the slightest improvement in my situation. It's the Advil that makes it tolerable, taken every four hours back to back. But, it's also the results I see in Snippet that make it something I can continue to do, despite the pain. He is growing so much! He has a plump, round belly that is comically out of proportion with the rest of his body. I wish I could know his actual weight, but he doesn't have another pediatrician appointment until December. (Maybe I'll hop on the scale with him tomorrow at the doctor's office.....then again, that does involved ME hopping on the scale, a horror I have not endured since my last OB visit prior to Snippet's delivery.) Seeing him healthy and thriving keeps me regularly nursing, as I try to meditate on all the good it is doing him rather than the pain it is causing me.

And, on days when he is yanking the crap out of my nipples in seeming glee, I can focus on another bit of good that my milk is able to do. I had never heard of milk sharing until my friend, Karen, mentioned it on her blog. I instantly thought it was something I might be interested in doing, and started nagging her for information and contacts. Through a Yahoo Groups board established to connect donors with parents in need, I was able to make contact with a local woman who was seeking a milk donor for her ailing nephew. Imagine my surprise when she told me he had been born on the same day as Snippet! Any lingering misgivings I had about donating disappeared in that moment, and she and I made arrangements to meet up. She came by my house two weeks ago to pick up the first batch of my frozen stash.

I had been debating for several days about how much milk to give her, even up until she actually arrived. But, then as I was standing in the freezer loading up the bags for her, I realized how silly it was to hold any of it back. Her nephew certainly needed it more than we did, as Jake has only bottle-fed Snippet twice since he was born. I could certainly pump more milk right away to build up a quick supply for us. I tried to pretend that practicality was the only reason I was reluctant to give her everything I had, but I knew there was more to it than that. All the milk bags are dated, and as I loaded them up for this woman, I found myself avoiding any of the bags dated October 9th, 10th, 11th....anything from the first week after Snippet was born. I would pick them up, then put them down and scurry along to something with a later date. I was so scared to let those early bags go, those that contained some of the very first milk that I painfully produced. Afterall, the pain I'm feeling now is nothing compared to the pain of engorgement when my milk first came in. Just looking at those dates made me instantly recall the tears, the confusion, the nearly thwarted desire to do the best I could for my baby. That milk seemed more valuable than all the rest, as it cost me so much to produce. But, also, it was symbolic---my first milk for my first baby, two feats that amaze me still.

As I debated, staring into the freezer door, I gained sudden clarity and threw all the milk into the cooler. All of it. And, was strangely elated. I could just give it all away to a greater good. Give away the pain of those days, and have it completely leave my house, and hopefully ebb from my memory. And, rather than think of it as giving away the joy of those days as well, I decided to think of it as sharing the joy of those days---nourishing this other baby, this sick baby, with all my love that surged for Snippet. I felt complete liberation as I closed the cooler, and closed the now-empty freezer door.

The Breast Report, Part 2 (or, On Being Stubborn)

When I was a kid, my parents weren't exactly sympathetic types, especially when it came to complaints about health or pain, etc. Unfortunately, I think our dire financial situation usually motivated their apathy. Any complaint about pain from my brothers or me was almost always met with a "Suck it up" attitude or, worse, teasing about being a wimp, exaggerating, or accusations of faking for attention. The result of this is that I stopped telling my parents, or anyone, when I felt ill. I had a massive infection in a pierced ear when I was 12 and hid it from my parents until they happened to see one day that my ear was crusted over and oozing fluids. As a teenager, I kept an abscessed tooth hidden for weeks until I couldn't stand the pain anymore and burst into tears one day in church. As unhealthy as those events were, though, that struggle has made me pretty tough when it comes to pain and sickness as an adult, which is something I've come to take a pathetic pride in. I have worked for my current boss for four years and not once called in sick. I avoid medications of all kinds at all costs, preferring to make my body, and my will, rise to the occasion and tough it out.

So, when breastfeeding wasn't going well, I stayed focused on plowing forward, focused on things just getting better naturally with time and determination. I did call a lactation consultant when the nipple bleeding started to make sure that was a normal side effect, and she assured me, in a very kind voice, to just keep going, keep at it----to suck it up, if you will. So, I did. Until today, when the pain I have been experiencing on Big Lefty nearly drove me to tears last night. For any Univ. of Googlers who I could possibly help out, here are the details: (and to snag your search phrases: Breastfeeding pain, breast infection, pain while breastfeeding...)

Every time Snippet latches on, there is sharp, searing pain for about 15-20 seconds, that shoots all the way up to my armpit. It's the kind of pain that makes your eyes water, makes you grit your teeth, makes you break out in a sudden sweat. Yet, despite all that, I have to breathe deeply and try to relax so my milk will let down. Also, since little Snippet is looking me square in the eyes, I don't want him to see that I'm in pain, so I try to relax my face, too, and smile down at him as though everything is fine. The sharp pain settles into a dull ache for the rest of the nursing session, but then once he's finished nursing, or I have finished pumping, the breast tissue pain begins. It's always in the same place, about an inch above the nipple. If you stuck a clock on my boob, the pain would run the arc of 10-12 o'clock. Once it starts, it lasts FOREVER---two hours at least, but last night it lasted four hours, until I finally gave in and took some Advil.

So, I called my OB this morning, who had me come in for a checkup. I described all of the above to her, and then she asked an interesting question: Were there any red streaks on my brreasts? Why, yes---lots, in fact, but I just assumed they were part of the lovely new look of my boobs, adding their color to the veiny grossness and giant, dark areolas. When I showed the streaks to my doctor, she freaked out and said, "No, no those should not be there. That's not normal." Turns out the streaks were just the confirmation she needed to diagnose me with a breast infection. It doesn't appear to be thrush/yeast, but instead some kind of bacterial infection. The likely culprit is the bleeding that happened a few weeks ago, which opened a place for bacteria to jump in and start some shit. She prescribed 500 mg of Dicloxacillin for me to take four times a day for seven days. I'm seeing her next week for a followup to see if things have improved. If not, we'll try something else, but she promised she could get this to go away.

I was so incredibly relieved on the drive home. I was really starting to think that this pain was something that I was going to have to just deal with for the entire next year. The months ahead felt dauntingly long, as just getting through one day of this each day has been trial enough. I was so relieved that my memories of breastfeeding Snippet will hopefully be mostly good ones, rather than reflections on pain. And, of course, there was also a big part of me that was relieved that I wasn't just being a wussy, a wimp, a whiner. I only wish I had called sooner, rather than feeling determined to suck it up, tough it out, get the best of it so it didn't get the best of me. Yeah, one day.....that therapist and all......

In A Whir

I hear blog posts in my head throughout the day. I babble them to myself internally a few lines at a time, and they disappear into the laundry, the telephone, paperwork and the swoosh-swoosh dance that I do with Snippet. I think many of them will stay gone forever, but I'm hopeful a few will make it into text someday.

Instead, here are some brief thoughts and updates, which seem to be the only kind of communication I can conjure lately:

My boss has incredibly, wonderfully extended my maternity leave until January, but on the condition that I do as much work as I can from home in the meantime. I am so grateful to stay at home longer with the baby, but I find that I am now even more stressed and short on time than ever I was in the past few weeks. Between feeding and caring for Snippet, unending housework, caring for the dogs and cats (which seems pitifully no more than throwing food in their bowls and giving them a guilty pat on the head), calling clients and doing paperwork on the computer, I have not had a moment to myself. I miss reading novels the most, as when I do have a few minutes to hastily read, I feel obligated to read parenting books. I can already foresee the danger of burning the candle at both ends, as I'm also not getting much sleep since Snippet is still waking up to nurse every 2 hours at night. I'm not sure where I'm getting energy through the day---sheer determination and adrenaline, I suppose, as I know there is no other option but to keep constantly moving.

Breastfeeding is still not the smooth operation I was hoping it would be by now. It's certainly better, as the engorgement seems gone forever, but the nipple pain and general breast tissue pain lingers. Poor Big Lefty still is troubled, as each time Snippet latches on, I feel searing, sharp pain for a solid 15 seconds. This ebbs away to a dull ache while he is nursing, but only truly disappears some time later when I chug back a few Advil. I wish I knew what was plaguing the left side, as the right feels only slightly painful with each latch. I've come to dread the left-side feedings and preface them to Snippet with a quiet pleading, " Be nice to mama, please??" each time before he starts to nurse on that side.

I am disgustingly fat and floppy. My stomach, once a lovely nearly-flat surface from months of dedicated ab work and determined calorie restriction, is now squishy, soft and funny-shaped. None of my pre-pregnancy pants fit, or will even zip, so I'm still wearing maternity pants. A couple of pairs of my fat-pants will grudgingly zip up, but they fit weird and are uncomfortable. I'm able to wear several of my pre-preg shirts, but many of them are sized to my previous B-cup boobs instead of my current obnoxious D-cups, so if I squeeze into them, I walk around looking like a girl seeking the wrong kind of attention. I am now strategizing what I must do to begin losing some of this weight, so that at least I can cross "indulge in self-loathing" off my daily list of Things To Do.

Snippet finally lost his tummy stump, a full 4 weeks after he was born. That nasty, black button was hanging on by a disgusting thread of goo and finally went awol on Monday. Snippet was wearing a gown that morning, so the stump apparently fell off and onto the floor. Jake went looking for it, but found nothing. We can only assume one of the dogs ate it.

Yesterday's election was an incredibly bright spot. Jake and I stayed up late to listen to Obama's acceptance speech, and both of us welled with tears as we held Snippet and whispered to him that he may be growing up in a whole new world of possibility. (And, for once, after hearing election results, we did not debate the practicality of moving to Canada.)

Anyway......Snippet's still amazingly asleep, so I'm off to read about vaccines and fret a great deal....

Postpartum Potpourri

My thoughts and observations haven't been very leisurely and longwinded much these days, but instead seem to come in little bursts. So, here are the Best Ofs from the muddled mix:

I think it's safe now to say that breastfeeding has finally become something less than an exercise in self-torture. I noticed about four days ago that I woke up with boobs that actually felt NORMAL---nice and squishy, instead of rock-hard masses. I was afraid to post about it, feeling certain it was some kind of fluke. But, it's been four days and they still feel quite soft and pillowy. The nipples are still achy most of the day, but this pain is totally manageable. The only sharp pain now is the latch pain that lasts about 15 seconds each time Snippet starts to nurse. I'm hopeful that this will soon disappear. It is quite-quite possible that we have finally turned the corner, and will be leaving all those nasty painful miseries in the past. Also, I debate whether to one day tell Snippet that I saw him suck down a piece of a nipple scab last week. Hmmm......I might save that tidbit for when he's older and is in the kind of big trouble that deserves some creative punishment.

Snippet's weight is progressing really well, in spite of my breastfeeding complaints. Here are his stats so far:
Birth Weight = 7 pounds 5 ounces
Weight at Discharge from Hospital 2 Days Later = 6 pounds 15 ounces
Weight at Pediatrician Appt. 2 Weeks Later = 7 pounds 13 ounces

Within an hour of bringing Snippet home from the hospital, I had poop on my shirt. I'm not sure if that is a sign of successful induction into parenting, or sheer hilarious abject failure at my new job.

It is not cute when Jake snores (though, sidenote,it's really, really cute when Snippet snores). If I'm not just generally annoyed at Jake's loud snoring, then I'm likely to feel slighted, like he's snoring on purpose to rub in my face the fact that I, actually, am NOT snoring. I am slumped in bed breastfeeding Snippet in the middle of the night for the 2nd or 3rd (or, oh-geez, 4th!) time since going to bed. Or, I am slumped in bed just rocking a cranky-for-no-good-reason baby, trying to soothe him back to sleep, while trying to keep myself from falling asleep and thereby allowing him to roll off the bed to be eaten by the cats (who don't normally eat children, but who just might in this case since they clearly don't enjoy his presence.)

Last Saturday, Snippet peed on his own face. How is that kind of trajectory even possible? Note: Jake was changing his diaper at the time, not me! Perhaps I'll save that tidbit for some time when Snippet claims Daddy is sooooooo much cooler than me.

I pay obsessive attention these days to the material that floors are made of. I am TERRIFIED of dropping Snippet. I walk up and down our stairs with him very slowly, very intentionally stomping each foot on each step, to make sure I don't hurry and mis-step. I also have less patience with Girl-Cat, who loves to sleep the full-length of the 3rd step from the top. Since she's a big girl, this leaves me barely one foot-width to fit and step past her. When I'm out in public, I check the floors of each place we go---concrete nearly catches my breath in my throat with absolute horror, hardwood is mildly scary, laminate and linoleum flooring is practically worry-free. I am curious to find out what it would cost for us to cover all the floors in our house with 5-inch thick shag carpeting.

The Breast Report

(There is an important ETA in the "First Week Home" catagory. I forgot to clarify when to use warm compresses, versus cold packs....)

The post-pardum posts that are brewing concern a variety of things, mostly simple quirky stuff going on. But, the unquirky subject most on my mind is also the activity that has most hijacked my days since Snippet was born. Breastfeeding has been, far and away, the most difficult thing about being a new parent. Everything else is going so incredibly well! Snippet is a calm, sweet boy who mostly cries for a specific reason that can be addressed. The dogs love him, and he is totally unphased by all of their barking and crazy antics. Jake is a great Dad, a natural with children who has even done really well on a couple of solo afternoons he spent with the baby.

It's just the damn breastfeeding that is being so tiresome, so difficult, so frustrating. Despite the 3-hour class I took, the videos I watched and the books I read, I was not AT ALL prepared for the actual experience of breastfeeding. I was mentally aware of some of the problems, but when it came to actually experiencing them, I had no emotional coping skills. Here is a basic run-down of my experiences so far. Of course, I'm not a lactation consultant, so any first-time-moms out there should heed my advice and tales with due caution. However, I do feel like my experiences will surely visit upon someone else, and I would like to be helpful if I can.

BREASTFEEDING IN THE HOSPITAL: Snippet took to breastfeeding as though he and I had been practicing it forever. As soon as the staff gave him to me after delivery, I took him straight to the breast, hoping to cash in on that fabled window of magical opportunity. And, it was magical---all sparkly and surreal, and made me feel like a total superhero. I couldn't believe my breasts actually WORKED, and that Snippet knew what to do with them. The nurses hovered around us, waiting to help, and were astounded to see that I already knew what to do, and that Snippet was working so well with me. I had ferociously read online and in books about getting the latch correct, so I dove right in: used the C-hold, touched Snippet's lower lip, guided him to proper placement, and we were off and running. A couple of times when he tried to just yank on my nipple instead, I broke the bad latch with my pinky finger and corrected him. The nurses were amazed, saying I was one of the best breastfeeding first-time-moms they had ever seen, and they wanted to know what resources I had used. They made me feel so confident in myself. I was soaring when I left the hospital, convinced that this early success was an omen of the ease to come.

FIRST DAYS HOME: We were released from the hospital on Wednesday, October 8th, and by the next day my milk had come in. By that evening, my breasts had ballooned a full cup size, from the C-cup I had become while pregnant to a D-cup. I was astounded at their sheer size, especially the left one which I took immediately to calling Big Lefty. It was a full D, while the right was more like a near D. My nipples at this point were starting to feel a little sore, but it was manageable.

FIRST WEEK HOME: By Friday night, engorgement had set in. I remembered hearing about this during my research, but being pretty baffled by it, too. My resources said it was guaranteed to happen to everyone, but to just continue breastfeeding and it would go away. I was woefully unprepared for this problem in actuality. Engorgement basically means your breasts swell up with the rush of first milk, which your tiny newborn can't possibly drain off. So, then your breasts become these rock-hard masses that are hot and sore, and create nipples that are impossible for your baby to latch onto. Since my research had said that feeding the baby was the remedy for engorgement, I continued to feed Snippet, though he struggled to latch. I scoured the internet looking for treatment of the swelling and pain, and found that massaging the hard breast tissue with a hot washcloth right before I nursed him worked wonders. It softened the tissue, and allowed me to hand-express quite a bit of milk so that Snippet could get a better latch. Some websites even recommended that I use my pump to pump off some of the excess milk to enable a better latch, but they didn't mention how to cope with a screaming infant while first taking the time to massage and then sit at a pump. So, instead, I would turn Snippet over to Jake while I massaged and hand-expressed simultaneously, until latch conditions were more favorable. (ETA: In between nursing sessions, I applied packs of frozen peas to the entire breast, which is supposed to help the swelling go down and numb the area somewhat to give pain relief. The hot washcloth should only be applied in the minutes before nursing to soften things up and help you hand-express to create a better nipple latch. Then, after nursing, you're supposed to switch back to the cold packs.)

SECOND WEEK HOME: By the start of week two, I realized that by letting Snippet nurse from engorged nipples, some nasty damage had been done, especially to Big Lefty. While still coping with engorgement, my nipples began to bleed. This was when the whole house of cards nearly fell apart. Here I was with gigantic, hard, painful boobs, and now there was this searing, knife-like pain whenever Snippet latched on, coupled with actual blood dripping out with the milk. I ran sobbing to the bathroom, massaging, dabbing at the blood, and dripping milk all over the floor. I was so completely overwhelmed and distraught because it seemed that every waking (and even sleepy!) moment was spent on breast care---either feeding the baby, massaging, pumping, applying lanolin, hand-expressing, etc. When Jake opened the door to check on me, I told him I felt like a totally incompetent mother because everything on the internet said these problems were all my fault. He said the internet is full of a lot of bullshit, and I should call the hospital. I continued to cry, dripping all my multiple fluids onto his tee shirt, and promised I would call the next morning.

HELP FROM THE HOSPITAL: I called the hospital's lactation consultant, who was so wonderful and comforting. Everything I read online blamed bleeding and sore nipples on the mother's inability to recognize a bad latch. But, I KNEW Snippet had a good latch, and so did all the nurses and the consultant who had checked me at the hospital. I knew something else had to be going on. The consultant confirmed this, saying that many women have a breaking-in period that lasts several weeks. She said my nipples had had life pretty good before this, but now they were having to take on a whole new tough role. The only way to get them over this hump was to allow the pain to happen, coping with it by pumping one side for a 24-hour period so it could heal while the other side took the brunt of the abuse. Then, I should switch this routine, so that the other side had a 24-hour window to heal over. Jake said it sounded to him like learning to play the guitar---a lot of people give up early on because it hurts your fingers, but once you build up the callouses, you're good to go. Apparently, it's the same with nipples.

THIRD WEEK HOME: Starting on my third week now, things are finally going a little smoother. I'm still dealing with engorgement on the right breast, and trying to get it under control. I use the massage techniques, and pump it down in the morning, which brings wonderful immediate relief. Then, the rest of the day, I alternate Snippet at each feeding. (I've heard it recommended that the baby should nurse from both breasts at each feeding, but Snippet will often refuse to latch on a second time, so I don't prematurely interrupt him.) I'm using some caution here, because I want to avoid having my body think it needs to provide enough milk for both the baby and the pump. Usually the right side starts to get engorged again by the evening, so I wonder if I'm still not getting the equation quite right.

While I was pregnant, I remember hearing and reading the statement that X-percentage of women stop breastfeeding after the first week, though no one ever clarified the reasons for this decline. Well, now I know why, on multiple levels. Were it not for all the great health advantages of nursing, I, too, would have called it quits after that first week. Instead, I'm pushing forward, with faith in the words of the consultant who assured me it gets easier each day, each week, until suddenly, it's a simple, painless part of my day, that brings more satisfaction than frustration. I'm definitely not there yet, but I'm hopeful that soon I will be.

The ETAs

I asked Jake to read Snippet's birth story, to check my accuracy, which I suspected might have some sketchy points. During the delivery, I was trying so hard to stay connected IN THE MOMENT, so that as much of the experience as possible would imprint on my mind for recall in the years ahead. But, as the pain increased, my connection to details around me notably decreased, as I focused more and more inwardly, noting less and less of the activity and atmosphere around me.

Jake's correction points aren't many, but they do seem worth noting for the record. So, here they are....the Birth Story ETAs:

1. Apparently the pitocin was increased several more times, long after I zoned out with the pain. The last number I recall seeing was 18ml, but Jake says they actually didn't stop the increases until it hit 24ml. Yikes! I don't know what the maximum allowed dosage is, but if they had taken that much higher, it's quite possible that Jake would have slugged someone.

2. Jake would like the record to reflect that he was *not* sitting in a chair during my labor, but was standing the entire time. I would normally have some sympathy and hugs for his aching back, feet, etc. but COME ON. However, the record is now officially corrected.

3. I forgot to mention the delivery of the placenta. It slipped my mind because it didn't involve much effort on my part, and I was so distracted trying to watch Snippet with the nurses. The placenta seemed to take only a moment to deliver, and I do recall the icky squishy feeling as it left me. My OB held it up for Jake and I to see, which was actually a really cool moment. The doc called it, "Your son's old apartment." I have to say, it looked rather roomy.

In my mind I'm working on various post-pardum posts, though none of them have hit the keyboard. My days with Snippet seem to unwind in light speed, eaten up by his every-two-hours feeding sessions, unending laundry (due to his multiple wardrobe changes throughout the day), and a compulsion to have the house as clean as possible at all times. At first, this compulsion was motivated by the constant (and sometimes unexpected) stream of visitors we received in the past two weeks. But, now that the house is mostly quiet, I still feel compelled to spend every moment endlessly tidying. This is NOT how I want to spend this priceless time with Snippet (which expires in 4 weeks when I have to go bak to work), but I feel horribly guilty just sitting around the house while Jake is working all day. Also, I know that once I return to work, I won't be able to keep the house this clean, so it's as though I'm trying to be the model housewife for as long as I can. Even still, our house is far, far from spotless---it's just less disgusting than normal. This gives me a strange pleasure, and makes me feel more motherly somehow. So, I wake up each day with a long list of cleaning and organizing projects, and develop an unkind headache if I try to ignore the next item on the list.

I feel certain this attention to my microcosm is also propelled by the fact that Snippet and I have been on house arrest since his birth. Our pediatrician asked us to keep him strictly home until his 2-week checkup this Wednesday. If he looks healthy, then we'll be released to introduce Snippet to the rest of the world. And, just in time, as I've started to become a bit claustrophobic, and I'm pretty sure the constant housecleaning is some reaction to that. The longer I'm pinned in these walls, the more dust, dog hair and general muck I see, and panic that the existence of such things will get me reported to the Bad Mother Patrols.

The Story of Snippet's Birth

I want to preface Snippet's story by saying that I debated heavily about how to write it, with much concern for my friends and readers who are still pregnant. I wanted to tell my story, honestly and openly, but I didn't want to frighten anyone who still has her own journey ahead of her. As I fretted about editing myself, or advising pregnant readers not to read, etc., I realized that the real truth is that every woman's birth experience is difference. My story is here, in its entirety, to serve as a record for Snippet and I, and to share the experience with you---you, who have showed me such warmth and compassion over the years and who I feel deserve an honest account. With so many variables in labor and delivery, there is no reason for any pregnant readers to suspect that their experience will be anything like mine. It may resemble it in some respects, but I feel certain that, in the end, every woman has her own day of encounter. This is the story of mine:

I was lying in bed, almost asleep, around 11:30pm on Sunday, October 5th, when I felt a gush of fluid. I first thought to myself a long string of mental swear words and then, “Okay. Evaluate. Don’t panic. THINK. Could this possibly be anything other than my water breaking?” As I turned in bed, I felt another gush, so I jumped up and made my way downstairs, walking bow-legged with my hands between my legs in some bizarre attempt to hold the liquid in, while gushing in spurts all the way. Once I got to the bathroom, I checked the fluid---clear, with no odor. Fluid continued to fall out of me as I stood there, so I was completely sure it was the amniotic kind. I was amazed, really, to see myself leaking freely all over our sage green bath mat---each outpouring a confirmation that a clock had been struck, a wheel had been turned.

Jake and I decided to wait until dawn to call the hospital, in hopes that I would develop contractions in the meantime. They kicked in around 2am, but they were very, very mild. I tried to get as much sleep as possible, but I was pretty anxious and only slept a few minutes at a time. We got up around 7am and finished packing the hospital bag (which had really been packed just fine for the past two weeks, but I found a million things to change about it in those last minutes), ate breakfast, fed the dogs, etc. I had completely soaked the maxi pad I wore to bed, but after I got out of the shower, I did not notice any futher leak of fluid. I did finally see the infamous “bloody show” I had heard so much about. Unfortunately, my contractions totally disappeared after the shower. It was 8:30am at that point, and I knew we were going to be in trouble if we didn't call my doctor’s office, since he had actually asked us to call the hospital immediately if my water broke.

We drove to the hospital with a slightly dark sense of a loss of control. On the one hand, it was the last place I wanted to be---turning myself over to a System that would likely not respect our wishes for an intervention-free birth. But, on the other hand, I was anxious to get there, as I knew it was the required first step to meeting our baby. We hopped an elevator in the hospital lobby, and met a nurse inside who had already selected the maternity floor for herself. She took a look at me and said, “Guess you’re going where I’m going, huh?” She looked to be in her mid-50s, but I couldn’t tell anything about her personality during our brief, silent journey up to the 5th floor. She walked us through the maternity security entrance, announced our arrival to the triage nurse, and disappeared on her way elsewhere.

Upon arrival, my OB man-doc checked my cervix and found I was 3cm dilated. I had the slightest hope that they might let us go for a walk to try to get the contractions going, but they were all pretty upset with us that we had waited so long to come in. By the time we were admitted it was 9:30am--- ten hours since my water broke. My OB said he understood our concerns about not wanting intervention, but felt there was no choice but to start Pitocin. He felt that the risk of infection was too high, especially since we had waited so long already. He said he would give me a 24-hour window to deliver, and then they would start running antibiotics. He did not say what other interventions might occur at that point, just that we would all re-evaluate things and figure out what to do next.

Jake and I weren’t at all happy about his assessment, considering that our Bradley classes and independent research describe the safety of allowing a state of ruptured membranes for much longer than 24 hours. If I were giving birth at a birthing center, I am certain that they would have allowed me to remain at home for some longer length of time before considering labor augmentation. However, Jake and I do not live close enough to a birthing center, and knew that by agreeing to a hospital delivery, we were agreeing to conditions that may not meet our ideal. Accepting that this road, altered from the plans we had so carefully and intentionally drafted, was going to be our road was something that only took us a moment. We knew we had no choice but to accept, and decided to leap into the present and deal with this new situation, rather than plead or wish for things to be different.

By 11am our first nurse had the Pitocin going at 3ml per hour. I was so hopeful it would just stay at that level, but my contractions were barely noticeable. The nurse increased the dosage 4 more times in the next few hours, getting it up to 18ml at the final increase. The contractions had definitely picked up along the way, feeling like strong menstrual cramps. Whenever the contractions kicked in, I used the deep breathing techniques I had learned in the Bradley classes, and also found it really helpful to use a technique from yoga. Whenever I'm in a difficult yoga pose, I find a strange visual aberration somewhere in the room and fixate on it---a smudge on the floor, a nick in the paint, etc. This always helps me to hold the pose, but it also turned out to be a great way to tune out the pain of the contractions. I wish I had been able to use our birthing ball, or to walk around, but since I was on Pitocin, IV fluids, and constant monitoring, they made me stay in bed except to use the bathroom.

By 3pm (four hours after the start of the Pitocin) I was only dilated to 4cm. I tried not to think negatively about that small increase, though, remembering what our Bradley instructor had said about how the progress of those numbers doesn’t really indicate how close you are to delivery. And, she was right. By 4pm (just one hour later), I was entering early transition and everything changed at that point, including the nurse who was assigned to us. Imagine my surprise when the nurse who greeted us was the same woman who had met us in the elevator upon arrival that morning. I wondered how different I must look to her now compared to the clean, quiet, pulled-together woman I was that morning. She put my mind at ease the moment she walked in the room and said, “Well, now, this the kind of birth I love to attend! Doing it the way we did it when I was having my kids. So, let’s do this thing, huh?” She was exactly the helper I needed---someone who saw natural birth as a worthy challenge, rather than an inconvenience or perceived martyrdom. She got it. She understood why I was doing it, and she was ready to jump in with me and take on the worst to come.

It was exactly around this 4pm staff shift-change that the pain really started to become overwhelming. My only coping mechanism was to sit on the very corner edge of the bed with my feet on the floor. Jake sat in a chair across from me, and I just rocked and leaned into him during the contractions. As they worsened, I would rise up off the bed and hunch over, fully leaning into him, my head buried in his chest and turning side to side, my hands clutching his tee shirt and pulling it toward me. I desperately tried to find other positions to labor in, mentally referencing the Bradley recommendations and the natural birthing books I had read. I tried squatting on the bed, getting onto hands and knees, laying on either side, laying on my back----all to no avail. None of the positions gave any sense of relief, so I returned to sitting on the corner of the bed where I could lean again into Jake. He was such good support, offering anything he could to help (which, honestly, was inherently nothing) but without being too intrusive. My only consolation was my own voice---I moaned low and deep when the contractions started and then heard my voice rise in crescendo with the rise in pain, to the point that I was full-on shrieking in gasps at the summit of the contractions. And, yes, I was totally naked by this point. It just struck me at some unknown moment as the thing that I should be doing. I remember yanking in frustration at the hospital gown, my skin pouring with sweat, and the kind nurse saying, “Let’s get this off you, sweetie. It’s just getting in the way.” I was only getting about 1 minute of rest between contractions at this point. I was crying, asking bizarre questions of the universe that poor Jake tried his best to answer in vain: “Why is the baby hurting me? Why is nothing working? I don’t know what to do….nothing works….” It was my greatest frustration to feel so completely victim to the pain.

By 5pm I was 7cm dilated. This news was difficult to hear because I was really in considerable pain by that point. But, I also felt such determination to keep going without pain medication, since I had already come so far. At around 6:15pm, I started feeling the uncontrollable urge to push. It was like a strong spasm during some of the contractions, at the height of which I was clutching at my extreme lower abdomen, just above the pubic hairline. The pain was so intense there, as the baby’s head made it way toward the world. The nurse checked me again and said there was just a small lip of cervix left, and once that was gone they would let me start actively pushing. By around 6:45pm, I was fully dilated and the pushing began.

The pain of delivery was completely different from the pain of labor. It was an intense burning sensation, but it was also tempered by the action of pushing. Jake instinctively climbed behind me on the bed, his legs bent and parallel to mine on either side, and helped pull my legs back, while telling me in endless repetition to keep going, that I was doing great, that the baby was almost here. It was such a relief to be able to finally DO something proactive, rather than just sit in agony and helplessness. I knew this was the endgame. Finally, the path ahead was markedly shorter than the path behind.

When I was pushing, the entire world disappeared behind my closed eyes. I concentrated every cell of my being toward delivery, toward ending the pain and releasing my baby. I had such desire to push that I could hardly withstand the short wait to the next contraction. During one push, I suddenly kicked my doctor with both feet, planting one foot firmly on each of his thighs as he sat in a twin spread-eagle pose opposite me. It amazes me to recall that, instead of withdrawing at my assault, he actually moved closer in, so I could kick him better and harder during the next push.

A half-hour later, at 7:14pm, Snippet was born and the pain instantly began to ebb away. The relief, and the joy, was torrential.

The hospital staff gave us the baby immediately after delivery, and Jake cut the cord right under my eyes while the baby lay on my stomach. The staff used the time of my perineal stitching to weigh the baby and check him over. I had a second degree tear, and some vaginal tearing further up. Thankfully, I never felt any of the tears as they occurred, and though the pain of the stitching was unpleasant, it was so minor compared to the hours preceding it, that I really hardly noticed it. All that I noticed were the slow minutes that passed during this time, waiting for Snippet to be returned to me. Immediately after the doctor finished his work, the staff gave the baby back to me to sooth and begin breastfeeding. He roomed-in with me for the entire stay while Jake and I got to know this little creature who was somehow now ours forever. We were discharged in the afternoon on Wednesday, October 8th.

Even though our experience was not exactly the one Jake and I were hoping for, we were still able to make it work. It has brought an incredible new depth to our relationship as well----something that is difficult to describe, but definitely present. It feels like the 3 of us conquered some huge mountain together, and can celebrate now on the down slope.

A World of Warmth

I want to THANK YOU all so very much for the wonderful, kind comments. They have been such a joy to read, both in the days I was still in the hospital and now that I'm home. It's so amazing to feel like the entire world is so happy for us. =)

Also wanted to let you know I finally got some photos up on the private picture blog. Try not to coo at your computers.

We Made You, With the Love in Each of Our Hearts

Little Snippet was born at 7:14pm yesterday, screaming the moment he emerged (in likely imitation of his mommy, I assume....).

He is 7 pounds 5 ounces and 20 inches long, with the sweetest, softest, blondiest hair.

He is the most lovely creature I have ever seen.

Each time he coos to the world and utters those uniquely newborn (and yet completely indescribable) sounds, I feel a surge of love and warmth for him, down to my toes and back.

Thank you for keeping us in your kind thoughts.

Full details to come (I promise!), but wanted to take a break from boob training and giant maxi-pad changing to let you know that we are doing great.

On the Drip

It's ten minutes until 2pm, and the Pitocin has been increased four times now. It's at 18ml per hour, and has finally taken effect. (I really hope this means they'll stop increasing it now!) The contractions feel very close together, though I don't know how close. It seems like just a minute or two apart, and they're lasting somewhere around a minute.

They suck.

They've gone from feeling like low menstrual cramps to spreading out all over the place---lower hips, lower back, and spreading upward in the sharpest points. I had some ideas for how I would get through them, but unexpectedly ended up using a technique I learned from years of yoga classes. When they kick in, I just stop everything and find a focal point---a nicked spot on the TV bureau, a smudge on the floor, a little red square on the wheel of Snippet's crib. I focus in, and then let my eyes blur and tune out out for the duration. Unfortunately for Jake, I also need him to stop talking as any chitty-chat sound becomes suddenly the most irritating thing in the world. He catches on, though, as soon as I start staring off into space and drop out of the conversation.

I wonder how long this technique will get me through.
I hope to Gawd no one does another internal exam anytime soon. That was some kind of mean business.

From the Front Lines

Well, I'll be damned, but the hospital has free wifi. Woot!

Jake and I waited until 8:30am to call my doctor to check in and let him know what was going on. At that point, it had been 9 hours since my water broke, and my contractions had slowed to near zilch. The doc sent me to the hospital to be checked and met us there with a disappointed air. He was peevy that we had waited so long to call, and said that normally contractions aren't regular by 4-6 hours after the water breaks, he cranks the Pitocin. By the time we saw him, it was 10 hours, so, yeah, he was peeved, but not bitchy or anything. He said Pitocin was the only option, and leaving the hospital to try walking, etc. was not an option this far after the damn breakage.

So. Here I sit, slumped in bed, with the Pitocin dripping away. It's Noon on the nose---12 hours since my water broke. They're starting me on low doses of Pit, but my contractions are still pretty lazy. I'm thinking Snippet is living the high life in his bachelor pad, and is not so much a fan of the whole being born thing. Why be born when you can just float around in a perpetual private sauna, complete with free food and a kickin' sound system?

Will update again soon......

At Dawn

The night passed fitfully, as contractions rose up about two hours after my water broke. I was up and down out of bed, restless, pacing, mostly scouring Univ. of Google for advice on what I should do. Go the hospital? Wait it out? I decided to wait it out, and am still at home. The fluid gushes continued through the night, completely soaking a overnight maxi pad, but now the leaks have mostly stopped. I changed the maxi and it's only slightly damp.

I finally got out of bed for good at 6am, and took a shower. When I first got up, my contractions were coming at about 6 minutes apart, lasting 45 seconds, but now, post-shower, they have slowed way, way down. They haven't stopped, but they're about 15 minutes apart, lasting 30 seconds. I ate a bowl of cereal and drank a protein shake while waiting for Jake to wake up. Once he takes a shower we're going to head to the trail where I walked Puppy yesterday in hopes of kicking the contractions back into overdrive.

I am definitely NOT going to the hospital with my contractions this far apart. That seems like a complete recipe for a Pitocin disaster. So, we'll be walking several miles, hoping that heats things up.

Snippet seems to be doing fine. He's still moving around plenty, so this comforts me in my decision to wait things out.