tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53031117488047773882024-03-05T14:01:05.945-08:00Old, Fat and Knocked UpStaceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5303111748804777388.post-27003781378907741612012-08-27T22:15:00.000-07:002012-08-27T23:42:59.359-07:00Motherhood's darkest secret<br />
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"I can't do this," I wailed to The Brit as he held our sleepy son in his arms. "Not tomorrow, not tonight, not next week. Seriously. We made a mistake. We need to put him up for adoption."</div>
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J. was a month old. I couldn't fathom making it to the next day without a nervous breakdown; the thought of 18 years filled me with the deepest despair and dread. That night, the only thing that got me to talk to The Brit instead of quietly putting J. into his car seat and surrendering him and a bag full of onesies at his birth hospital was this thought: "I lost my mom. I'm sure as hell not putting anyone else through that pain and loss."</div>
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<b>Hi. My name is Stacey, and I have postpartum depression and anxiety.</b></div>
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After the first eight weeks, J.'s pregnancy was a relative piece of cake. The delivery? That's another story, but suffice to say: four hours top to toe, no epidural, pushed out in 20 minutes. Violent but quick. Despite wonderful care and a speedy labor, I sat in the delivery bed, watching the sunrise, holding J. and thinking, "Is that it? He's interesting, but what do I do now?"</div>
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The insta-love? The "I was put on this earth to take care of this person?" Not for me. I was robbed of that moment. And so much more.</div>
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In fact, that's exactly it. Postpartum depression robs you of everything the childbearing experience is supposed to entail. And yet, you're expected to smile. To seem in rapture with a mewling cabbage. To feel something for this lump of flesh that appeared in your house and won't go away. Underneath it, you feel sorry for the kid -- that he's being robbed too. Because he is. And so is your partner. And so is everyone around you, whom you've shut out because you're isolating and telling everyone "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'M FINE -- I JUST NEED SLEEP."</div>
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Which you do. Desperately, because (as your therapist will later explain to you) your neurotransmitters can't replenish themselves due to sleep deprivation. You think you can't do this because, physically, you can't. Your brain is on strike. Add to that too much thyroid medication (hello anxiety) and the uncovering of a weird genetic mutation that doesn't allow your body to process B vitamins (hence, no serotonin -- gee whiz) and you have the perfect recipe for bottoming out. Right when you can't afford to do so.</div>
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The Brit let me sleep through that night -- my first six-hour stretch since two nights before J. was born. I felt fine the next morning. "I've pushed through worse," I lied to myself. "I thrive in crisis situations. I run a company. This kid isn't even eight pounds. What can he do to me?" Not much, it's true -- but my wonky brain doesn't understand that. And that same brain -- the one I have adored and relied on faithfully for 39 years -- can kill me if I don't watch it.</div>
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Which, in a fit of rebellion, it almost did. No, I (thankfully) never got to the point where I was truly suicidal, but I'd be lying again if I didn't admit to getting really creative that weekend about how I might go about it. And the saving thought there was, "But I'm not taking J. with me. And I'M NOT DESERTING HIM."</div>
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After weeks of swapping night shifts in the TV room, that Sunday night we tried to let J. finally sleep in our room in his bassinet. And he kept us up all night because he HATED his bassinet. By 2pm the next afternoon, I found a new bottom in the pit of despair. By 3pm, I was about to load up the car again. Only The Brit forcing me to call my stepmom stopped me, a call in which she made me pinky-promise to call my midwife the moment we hung up.</div>
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So I did. And the nurses checked in with me every three minutes while we waited for the midwife to finish a patient exam. She talked me off the ledge and asked if I had someone with me and J. constantly until 10am the next morning, when she could see me. She said to head straight to the ER if I felt like I was going to hurt myself, J. or anyone else. And all I could think was, "Whoa. Am I on house arrest 5150? When did I become this person?"</div>
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Since that 10am appointment on July 3rd, I've slowly started to recover. After a ridiculous amount of blood work, I'm on the right meds for all of my concurrent conditions, including methylated B vitamins that I will need for the rest of my life. I'm seeing an amazing therapist who specializes in PPD. I exercise regularly and make sure I get at least 15 minutes of morning sunlight each day. I go to a support group every other Friday, full of incredibly strong, persevering women. I have good days and "dip days" where the lights seem to dim, but at least they don't go out completely like they did almost two months ago. And each dip is a little less, well, dippy.</div>
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The Brit and I have blown through our savings to hire a night nanny a few nights a week -- expensive, but sleep is so critical...as is the support and advice she gives us every visit. Going against every self-sufficient instinct in my body, I opened myself up to accepting help from friends and family. And, for once, my aunts meddled in the right way by calling my stepmom and telling her I needed her in July, not in September when I went back to work. So she hopped a plane 36 hours later and spent almost a month with us, giving us an extra pair of hands and teaching us how to maneuver with a newborn. It takes a village, indeed.</div>
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<b>To clarify some lies: Being a parent isn't instinctual. </b>It's not a special skill mothers unlock because they give birth or sign adoption paperwork. The first 2-3 months are brutal, with or without PPD. Bonding and love are not always instantaneous -- and can often take weeks or months -- because the baby is truly a stranger. And I say all of this with a relatively good kid and a supportive husband who not only works from home, but truly believes he's responsible for 50 percent of J.'s care.</div>
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So here we are at J.'s three-month mark. It is a milestone of survival -- for all of us. We are figuring out what works for us as a family, including breastfeeding (yes, primarily, as it is and has been the only thing I could do consistently for J. throughout this trauma) and a wonderful preschool that J. is attending three days a week until I go back to work in a couple of weeks and we move up to five days. Being J.'s primary caregiver on Mondays and Fridays is exhausting, but a challenge I've met with great success. And I'm so glad I pushed myself to do so.</div>
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I learned to fake it and remain calm with J. until the feelings became real. And he has rewarded me with beautiful smiles, ongoing fascination at my actions, and a yearning for Mama when he is unsettled. Let me tell you -- nothing fills your empty heart like that moment where your kid snuggles in, gives a shaky sigh, and calms down in seconds. Nothing.</div>
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As for me? I'm about 75 percent there. I have days where I feel like a mom and days where I feel like a babysitter, but the former are catching up to the latter. I wake up in the morning, not because my brain is cycling through anxious thoughts and I can't stop my feet from repeatedly clasping each other, but because I have a job to do. And a son who will be smiling at me in a few minutes time.</div>
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<b>And I'm here to remind anyone who may be reading this and facing their own struggle: PPD is 100 percent treatable. One in eight women get PPD -- <u>you are so not alone</u>. </b>Cling to those two facts in your darkest moments. I know I have, and continue to do so. <b><i>If you feel like you're going to hurt yourself, your child, or anyone else, call 911. <u>NOW</u>.</i></b> And do not listen to anyone who says it's all in your head. I mean, it is -- but it's very real, caused by hormones, <b>NOT YOUR FAULT</b>, and you can be helped. You deserve help. And so does your child.</div>
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As my endocrinologist reminds me: "Be kind to yourself." It's amazing how little we do that. But it's the most important lesson of all -- now and throughout this adventure known as motherhood.</div>
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~*~</div>
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<b><u>If you need help, here are some resources that worked for me</u>.</b> May they help you until you get the one-on-one support you need:</div>
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* <a href="http://www.postpartumprogress.com/the-symptoms-of-postpartum-depression-anxiety-in-plain-mama-english" target="_blank">The Symptoms of Postpartum Depression and Anxiety (in Plain Mama English</a>): Postpartum Progress is a wonderful resource all-around. Highly, HIGHLY recommended.</div>
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* <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Postpartum-Depression-Dummies-Shoshana-Bennett/dp/0470073357/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1346130551&sr=8-1&keywords=postpartum+depression+for+dummies" target="_blank">Postpartum Depression for Dummies by Dr. Shoshana Bennett</a>: I read this after seeing my therapist for a few weeks and was comforted to know that many of the techniques and neurological explanations she told me were reiterated here.</div>
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* <a href="http://www.postpartum.net/" target="_blank">Postpartum Support International</a>: Information, resources, where to get help no matter where you are.</div>
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* <a href="http://postpartumcouples.com/AZsupport.html" target="_blank">Arizona Postpartum Wellness Coalition -- Support Resources</a>: If you need a free support group in Arizona, you can find one here. In Phoenix, the group at St. Joseph's is wonderful. If you need it, I will give you a ride -- just drop me a line.</div>
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Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5303111748804777388.post-13416101587787675882012-05-13T22:55:00.003-07:002012-05-13T22:57:35.955-07:00Week 36: Destination UnknownThis Mother's Day has been surreal, overly poignant, and difficult. Most of the reasons why are <a href="http://oldfatknockedup.blogspot.com/2012/02/week-22-mama-can-you-hear-me.html" target="_blank">explained in depth here</a>, so no need to rehash.<br />
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That aside, I've received sweet messages from loving friends wishing me a "Happy Mother-to-Be Day" or similar. And as appreciated as those sentiments are, it really drove home one fact about my pregnancy that seems completely off-kilter from most women I know.<br />
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I can't fathom having a child. It's only three or so weeks away, but its still too abstract. I'm not scared. I'm not nervous. I'm nothing. I simply can't focus on the reality that's soon to slam in. Hard.<br />
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Last weekend, a dear friend -- mom of a two-year-old and Baby G's godmother-to-be -- visited us. Partially because we've been apart for too long; partially to help us with last-minute preparations and advice.<br />
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About 24 hours in, she turned to me and said: "So really. You're so zen. What do you want or need to know?"<br />
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I shrugged and replied: "Nothing, really. Which isn't to say I totally know exactly what to do with the kid. But I'm not there yet."<br />
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She raised her eyebrows. "How so? I mean, when I was where you were at, I was crazy reading books and preparing and such."<br />
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And I thought about it. Aside from installing the car seat, we're as physically prepared as we can be. I've read books. The Brit and I have chosen a pediatrician and agree on all major newborn issues. We even went to Costco today to stock up on Stuff and Things. There's not much else to do but wait.<br />
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So I replied: "I can't get past labor and delivery. We still have that major hurdle to survive. And only after the kid is here and we know what we're dealing with will it seem real. And THEN I'll probably call you in a panic state, but really. Until I have something to worry about, why even get there?"<br />
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I tell people I'm excited because that's the stock response, but the truth is: I'm, at most, curious. I can't get excited about something that isn't real. And perhaps that's because we were ambivalent for so long about having children. Perhaps it's because the romantic, rose-colored glasses about motherhood completely skipped my brain (having a newborn in the house when you're 17 will do that to a gal). Perhaps it's because death and illness is much more real to me than birth and renewal, and I do not count my healthy chickens before they hatch. Perhaps it's the postpartum hormonal roller coaster to come that scares the bejeezus out of me. Or maybe it's all of that combined.<br />
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The cliches do not apply here. I'm truly hoping all of this goes away within moments -- or even days -- of Baby G. making the scene. But only time will tell.<br />
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P.S. For those who are curious, The Brit posted a few pictures of the nursery and Baby G.'s big sister <a href="http://creamyranch.blogspot.com/2012/05/waiting-just-anticipating.html?spref=tw" target="_blank">over here</a>. Feel free to take a peek.Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5303111748804777388.post-29916287345148308532012-05-03T15:27:00.001-07:002012-05-03T15:32:38.566-07:00Week 35: Baby Got BackNo news is good news, as they say. And that's blessedly been pretty much been the story of this pregnancy since the end of first trimester.<br />
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Aside from some fatigue, I've had a really easy go of it. No major aversions. No morning sickness. No serious cravings -- except vodka martinis, but what can you do. Only up nine pounds (so far). Didn't pop until Week 27 -- and it's only been in the last month that I'm blatantly showing. Blood pressure steady around 110/72, and all tests/ultrasounds right on target. B-O-R-I-N-G, but also awesome.<br />
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We did have a blip on the Practically Perfect Radar when Baby G. stubbornly decided to stay breech a little longer than wanted. But we came home, did some hoochie-coo trickery involving slant boards and The Brit talking to my nether regions ("HELLOOOOO! THIS IS YOUR FATHER! COME TOWARD THE VOICE!"), and the kid miraculously flipped head down sometime in the past week. Which is great, because undergoing an external version (where two docs manually turn the baby from the outside) didn't sound fun. And involves *shudder* an IV.<br />
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What's fascinating, looking at this from the inside out, is how being plus-size has affected this project. Luckily, I work with a midwife who could care less about size, so long as the pregnancy progresses in a healthy manner. Aside from an extra glucose test due to family diabetes history, she's never asked me to do anything different from any of her other patients. In fact, when I didn't gain more than two pounds by end of second trimester, I panicked a bit.<br />
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"This is a first for me," I said to her, "But...I'm worried that I'm not <i>gaining</i> weight."<br />
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We both laughed at the absurdity of it all, then she reassured me I was doing great. "The <i>baby</i> is gaining on schedule. You're eating healthy and getting exercise. That's all that matters. Just consider it an overdue gift from your long stalled-out metabolism."<br />
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Being a big gal has other unexpected pregnancy compensations, too. Such as no strangers rubbing my belly to date. Sure, I get the "Is she pregnant or well-fed?" glances (to which I want to say "Both!" but don't). If that's the price to pay to avoid personal assault, so be it.<br />
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The downside? MATERNITY CLOTHES. Ask any pregnant plus lady with an ounce of style and she will throw up her hands in full, unbridled lament. To which I say to her -- there is a way, but only if you're bold and enjoy the fitted look. Knits, stretchy fabrics, tunics plus leggings, and high-waist dresses my friends -- and buy a size or two up.<br />
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I'm lucky in that I lost 15 pounds prior to conception, so all of my too-big tops and dresses fit great now. Pants are a different story, of course, but I've managed with one started-way-too-big-now-fit pair of black stretch pants. For jeans? A <a href="http://www.ingridandisabel.com/category/ingrid-isabel-catalog/bellaband" target="_blank">belly band</a> extended my old jeans through second trimester, followed by one pair of not-great-but-manageable maternity jeans. In all, I've only purchased about $100 worth of actual maternity clothes. Of course, I then justified a splurge on a new spring tote, but hey. Mama's got a brand new bag.<br />
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Here are other tips I've found helpful:<br />
<ul>
<li>Eat a fruit and/or vegetable at every meal. </li>
<li>Watch your sugar, processed food, and
white carb intake. Once it's past your taste buds, it's not doing you or the kid any good anyhow.</li>
<li>Take a walk most every day (TIP: Having a dog is GREAT HELP in doing
this...trust me, my lazy ass knows).</li>
<li>Drink lots of water, even if you're
peeing every 20 minutes. I know, I know -- annoying, isn't it? It gets
more frequent once the baby heads down. Sorry.</li>
<li>Let other folks --
especially your partner -- wait on you hand and foot. But be sure to thank them for doing so.</li>
<li>Let go of control. This is the hardest part, but it's a fact: Your body is in charge. You're not. And you can't change that -- whether it's now, during labor/delivery, or post-partum.</li>
<li>You're going to hear/read about gestational diabetes and pre-eclampsia,
but don't panic -- and don't let your medical team freak you out. In
fact, if you feel your OB or midwife is dwelling primarily on your size,
assuming C-section, and/or trying to find associated complications
without compelling test results, switch providers. Seriously. Even in
third trimester. You are not a statistic waiting to happen.</li>
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<b>All of this is to say to voluptuous gals considering or going through pregnancy: don't let your size define what your body can do or how it looks.</b> If anything, you are more prepared for body changes (and how to stylishly dress a tummy) than our more svelte sisters. Relax and enjoy
the fact that you, of anyone, are built to handle this challenge. Hips ahoy!Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5303111748804777388.post-30533837075994870302012-02-06T14:25:00.000-08:002012-02-06T16:13:14.193-08:00Week 22: Mama, Can You Hear Me?Despite all going well on the Uterine Front, the double whammy this past week of the Komen/Planned Parenthood nonsense and news today of <a href="http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/2012/02/06/goodbye/">Susan Niebur's passing</a> from inflammatory breast cancer has me reeling.<br /><br />Kids being raised without parents due to illness -- particularly cancer -- always hits me at ground zero. You see, I lost my mother to metastasized colon cancer when I was 10 years old. She was 36. It was violent and ugly and unlike anything anyone should have to go through -- but anyone who has firsthand knowledge of cancer doesn't need to hear that. Regardless of physical or emotional pain, the hole left behind is immense. No amount of therapy (and I went through plenty, thank goodness -- it's the only reason I can function) or amazing family (and I have that, particularly my dad who is a hero beyond measure) or finding love or deciding to have a child will fill that space. It's just there. And it's gapingly unfair.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ9Qhlv8SnhNp6kbG6RO0tidnnFhigcmpTk0Ui9spbdkKwKa0e5bjNJ6Qjxu_MAC-dIiFv-CzpmQ0XxSB2NFtAW_pkRF4E2Lt0y4eVRyAq7IDYrBEcLKYnmA_mPXaSfQc190wJ1sRiBMV7/s1600/13444_405702547829_578687829_4432158_1002356_n.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ9Qhlv8SnhNp6kbG6RO0tidnnFhigcmpTk0Ui9spbdkKwKa0e5bjNJ6Qjxu_MAC-dIiFv-CzpmQ0XxSB2NFtAW_pkRF4E2Lt0y4eVRyAq7IDYrBEcLKYnmA_mPXaSfQc190wJ1sRiBMV7/s320/13444_405702547829_578687829_4432158_1002356_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706174111095461522" border="0" /></a><br />The beginning of this pregnancy was filled with doubt. I didn't have the usual recourse of asking my mom what she went through, or family medical issues. No one in the family remembered much (after all, Mom's last pregnancy was 36 years prior -- and it was the 70s, so women weren't as open about or aware of complications). There are so many holes when I talk to my midwife, genetic counselor, and other medical folks. We just don't know.<br /><br />My mom won't be able to hold my hand in the delivery room -- just like she didn't get to see me become a Bat Mitzvah or a college graduate or a vice president or a bride. She can't show me how to swaddle a baby or calm down a fussy child or tell me how to gracefully handle and support a precocious kid who is too smart for his/her age. The echo chamber is real.<br /><br />My kid will never get to meet his or her grandmother. Hell, I'll only be able to tell him or her the fuzzy remembrances of a small child, and so much of that is colored by pain and chemo and learning to clamp broviac ports and loss. I dread the day when my son or daughter will want to know more about Nana Stefani -- what do I say when I don't really know? How do a handful of faded pictures, an embroidered Passover matzah cover, a teeny-tiny Doobie Brothers t-shirt, and a few pieces of jewelry stand in for someone who would have deeply loved you, if not for a tumor?<br /><br />In all of this, I am lucky. Lucky that I have the most compassionate, empathetic stepmother in the universe. As she's done since I was 13 years old, she's doing her damnedest to support me. She's the one I call with detailed doctor reports. She will hold my hand in the delivery room. She will be an incredible grandmother (even if she refuses to actually be called "Grandma" -- and she does. Too old sounding.). And she, through my baby brother, has given me one hell of a role model on how to be a fantastic mom. We both cry when we talk about my mom -- me, for what I can't have; her, for what she can't replace.<br /><br />Life is a funny thing -- not a day goes by that I don't miss my mom (or, more to the point, the concept of having a mom), but I also can't imagine my world without my stepmom or my baby brother, who are easily two of the five most important people in the world to me. Don't ask me to choose. It's a "what if" I can't even consider.<br /><br />And all of this? Aside from emptiness, I'm livid. Beyond angry that politics and money and grandstanding are higher priority than saving real lives and families. Cancer is complex, but the treatment standards aren't working. Compassion and support are truly lacking. And we're worrying about pink yogurt lids and pointless walks for "hope." Give me a break. Fuck your survivor ribbon nonsense. We are all AWARE. Give money to research and let's get on with it. We don't have time -- or lives -- to waste.<br /><br />So do something. Do something real so that one more mother doesn't have to desert her children. Today, you can give money to <a href="http://www.ibcresearch.org/">The Inflammatory Breast Cancer Research Foundation</a> in honor of Susan Niebur. Or to the <a href="http://www.ahns.info/foundation/index.php">American Head and Neck Society Foundation</a>, so that no one else will have to go through the nonsense my beloved aunt is currently handling so she can meet her great-great niece or nephew. Or to <a href="https://secure.ppaction.org/site/SPageServer?pagename=pp_ppol_Nondirected_OneTimeGift&__utma=1.2073967028.1328139308.1328139308.1328570477.2&__utmb=1.3.10.1328570477&__utmc=1&__utmx=-&__utmz=1.1328139308.1.1.utmcsr=%28direct%29%7Cutmccn=%28direct%29%7Cutmcmd=%28none%29&__utmv=-&__utmk=179064356">Planned Parenthood</a>, who are truly supporting women's health and <a href="http://plannedparenthoodsavedme.tumblr.com/">saving lives through screening</a>. Tomorrow, it may be another research foundation for another person whose time and luck ran out. Maybe that handful of cash gets one more person on the road to early treatment. Or provides funding for the breakthrough that allows us to kill these tumors once and for all. Or allows one more mother to meet her grandchildren.<br /><br />All we can do is try.Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5303111748804777388.post-91927398710669547732012-01-13T10:35:00.000-08:002012-01-13T12:23:28.623-08:00Week 19: If you try, sometimes you find you get what you need."Whoa."<br /><br />I stopped putting my sweater back on with one arm in and one arm out. "What?"<br /><br />"Don't panic, but your blood pressure is elevated by 40 points."<br /><br />The only thought that flashed in my head was: pre-eclampsia. And how we almost lost my cousin to it. Twice.<br /><br />In came the midwife, who handed me tissues and calmed me down with a kind laugh and said, "You're fine and the baby is fine. You can't have pre-eclampsia until at least next week. And even then, this isn't it. This is just your 'get out of jail free' card, if you'll take it. Now let's talk about how to make this right."<br /><br />We discussed my work load. How lucky I am to work for myself, and therefore be in somewhat of a position of power over my daily tasks. How I'm not sleeping or eating due to work stress (which is fairly par-for-the-course for PR folks, sadly). Her advice: "It's time to cut back. Not entirely, of course, but your body is in control right now. You have to convince your mind to listen is all. And believe me, this won't be the first time you have to make an adjustment like this. <span style="font-style: italic;">It's okay to give yourself a break.</span>"<br /><br />There's no crying in PR, but let me tell you -- in the immortal words of Spinal Tap, I cried, cried, cried all the way home. And then I sat down with The Brit and made some hard decisions.<br /><br />Yes, I just signed contracts the week before. And as usual, I said "Absolutely!" to new, exciting projects. A new year (and fresh budgets) is good for that -- you get a little giddy at the possibilities. Of course, the extra money doesn't hurt, especially with unpaid maternity leave on the horizon.<br /><br />But something has got to give -- particularly with two lives on the line.<br /><br />So I had a heart-to-heart with my main client. Who immediately put pressing priorities to the side, found another consultant to take on part of my load, and fixed the time/responsibility issue within 30 minutes. And then followed up these actions by calling me and talking through, as a friend would, the mental difficulty of evolving from hard worker to working mom. "I know this is a big transition for you," she said. "You've been doing things a certain way and framing your life like so for almost two decades. But I promise that soon enough, this new life will fit much better. And you'll get just as much personal satisfaction out of it. Probably more."<br /><br />This morning, I received two exceptionally kind e-mails from my main client contacts, making sure I'm all right and thanking me for being so valuable to the team. I'm in a tough industry, but it's the people that make it more than a paycheck. Especially those who realize, even if it takes a mini-crisis to do so, that we're really only human after all.<br /><br />I had a proper dinner last night -- my first good meal in a week. I slept eight full, hard hours. Today, my heart doesn't hurt. In fact, it feels at least two sizes bigger than it did yesterday. And that's from gratitude. Sheer gratitude for the people who surround me, near and far.Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5303111748804777388.post-50735140516012589972011-12-26T17:02:00.001-08:002011-12-26T17:52:08.987-08:00Week 16: Movin' Right AlongWhat a difference six weeks can make.<br /><br />I'm not going to lie -- first trimester was a traumatic, bewildering experience. I'm very lucky that the usual symptoms (e.g., morning sickness, fatigue, etc.) were so mild as to be almost non-existent. A little food aversion and a nap here and there and I was fine. But I would not wish the uncertainty and drama of my first eight-to-ten weeks on anyone. The bleeding episodes and medical uncertainty nonsense still haunt me. In fact, I don't know that I will truly calm down until I'm past Week 20. Maybe not even until third trimester. Hell, probably not until the kid arrives and it's all done. Let's be honest here.<br /><br />Still, I'm trying to focus on the fact that all tests have come back perfect. We've heard a nice, strong heartbeat and seen the little Avocado doing the caterpillar in my belly. I think I'm starting to feel flutters. No weight gain until this week (and that may just be holiday overindulgence rather than baby). And still no need for maternity clothes. Excellent.<br /><br />A friend asked last night how I'm feeling. Physically, I'm now fine (except for having to be super careful about round ligament strains -- whoa, are those painful). Mentally, I think we're in the eye of the hurricane. We've purposely put off registry/nursery/pediatrician shopping/etc. until after the first of the year. But suddenly, that milestone is...a week away?!? Holy bajoly. So much to do, but I can only consider what's absolutely necessary -- and even that seems overwhelming.<br /><br />I'm a super planner by nature, but it seems surreal to be making an itinerary for a person/event that won't be here for five months. I mean, you can go ahead and get the plane ticket and maybe reserve the hotel, but other than that -- why bother making specific plans until a couple of weeks in advance? And yet, folks want to know <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly </span>what we're doing and where we're going and what sights we hope to see. If you follow the metaphor.<br /><br />With the exception of the car seat and crib, I'd like to just take whatever hand-me-downs my friends have in storage (and from what I hear, it's almost everything except diapers and wipes) and be done with it. I'd love if someone could just hand me a list of 2-3 pediatrician and daycare options, rather than my having to find these folks from scratch. Do parents actually enjoy this stage? I can't imagine.<br /><br />But I promised myself I'd try to be more positive on this here blog. There's a lot to be happy about right now. I do feel really good. The Brit is thrilled with my already-apparent increase in bra size. We passed our Down's Syndrome, Trisomy 13/18 and genetic testing with flying colors. Our friends and family near and far have been marvelously supportive and excited -- even about our decision to not discover the gender until the kid arrives on the scene. Babysitters are queuing up and two sets of dear folks (one in my hometown; one here) have offered to throw baby showers. I believe three birth betting pools are already in the planning stage. To say we are surrounded by love and good humor is an understatement -- and something I never take for granted.<br /><br />I've also, through my amazing network of friends, <a href="http://uppercasewoman.com/">found</a> <a href="http://stfuparentsblog.com/">a few</a> <a href="http://westphillymama.com/">parent-type</a> <a href="http://sixyearitch.com/">blogs</a> that actually match my mindset. Small miracles in a sea of treacle and tripe. And viewpoints that both secure and challenge my preconceptions while reassuring me that Becoming Mama does not mean Becoming Mush. At least, not more than temporarily while you adjust to sleep deprivation.<br /><br />So, in short, I'm feeling extremely blessed as 2011 comes to a close and second trimester takes off with the new year. June is a long way away, but to finally say "five months" instead of "eight or nine" makes the slowly creeping weeks suddenly add up to much more than I think.Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5303111748804777388.post-63499283318968142252011-11-10T13:09:00.000-08:002011-11-10T13:35:08.764-08:00Week 10: Home Sweet HomeI'm fairly relieved to report that the last week has been fairly normal and without major incident. Still spotting a bit every day (and I wish I wouldn't), but I've come to expect that this is my status quo. A week from today, I'll go in for my next appointment with Donna the Midwife, full of various questions about why and how. I'm not expecting many answers, but hopefully the exam and ultrasound will show that our Kumquat (another upgrade -- and none too soon; we couldn't really relate to "grape") is cruising along as expected.<br /><br />I've also gotten my butt off the couch and out the scary front door, starting daily 30 minute walks and some arm weight exercises. I'm still inexplicably terrified to stray too far, even if I'm carrying my cell phone and know The Brit is no more than a five minute drive away.<br /><br />It doesn't help that incidents seem to happen when I leave my neighborhood. Just last week, I went to my monthly book club dinner (a much-needed night out) and had a small bleedthrough. Very minor in the grand scheme, but enough to make me wonder "Should I go home right now? But I can't, because I caught a ride with J. and no one knows the news..." I kept my mouth shut and did my best to ignore the situation until I got home. Of course, by the time I did, everything was fine. Tonight, I'm going even further afield (and, yet again, catching a ride with a friend) and the anticipation has my stomach in knots.<br /><br />I really want to be one of the women who embrace pregnancy for the unique, mindblowing experience it is. I want to trust my body, even in the difficult moments. But right now, I feel like such a prisoner of forces beyond my control. And the lack of explanations or root causes is not helping. Even my sleeping position is dictated by The Right Thing To Do -- preferably left side...and not on your back! Heaven forfend!<br /><br />I'm told to just hang in there until 2nd trimester, when all is rosy and amazing. I sure hope that is my experience, too. And I hope this "glow" and "incredible, thick hair" thing kicks in too. It's the least I should expect in exchange for the nonsense, isn't it?Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5303111748804777388.post-14068240479553439192011-11-02T15:33:00.000-07:002011-11-02T15:57:51.391-07:00Week 9: Don't Stop Believin'Did you know that "pregnancy" is the most searched health term on the Internet? If you find yourself with a Pumpkin Seed under the broiler and have access to a computer, you sure do.<div><br /></div><div>As I did with my wedding, I am doing my damnedest during pregnancy to stay OFF of mailing lists. I also found out early on that most forums and online communities are not helpful -- and, in fact, filled with misinformation and paranoia. And I wonder why medical professionals won't talk to women in a calm, logical way...</div><div><br /></div><div>That said, I did subscribe to one weekly e-mail service, recommended by a good friend. They send me an informative update every Wednesday, telling me what's happening aboard the Good Ship Uterus. Of course, on the side of this e-mail are ads from their sponsors and links to other articles and activities, but they're generally not obtrusive.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until I spied a whopper today.</div><div><br /></div><div>For "This Week's Activity," a clinical psychologist focusing on pregnancy and postpartum adjustment recommends that "...women set aside two 5-10 minute periods a day to think about their baby. Sit quietly and gently rest your hands on your belly. Focus your breathing and start thinking about your baby -- your hopes, dreams, intentions as a parent, etc. It's a great way to initiate the bonding process!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Where, oh where to begin.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know about other moms-to-be, but I can't think of a moment of any waking day when I'm NOT already thinking about this kid. Work is a welcome respite because it forces my brain to do something else. I know what sort of parent I hope to be (by age 38, I sure as hell hope I do), but I also know it will mostly fly out the window once reality sets in. And does this kid really need MY "hopes and dreams" pushed onto it from fetushood? Therapy is expensive...let's give him or her a bit of fighting chance, shall we?</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's an idea, Ms. Clinical Psychologist: How about two 5-10 minute sessions a day where you specifically DO NOT focus on the baby? Where you read a good book or enjoy a snack or kiss your partner or sing Journey songs into a spoon or have a dumb conversation with the cat? What if all parents took this advice to heart and carved out said time in their day-to-day, even after the baby arrives? Wouldn't we all feel more calm, more taken care of, and ultimately better equipped to take care of those around us?</div><div><br /></div><div>But hey. At least I also found out the Pumpkin Seed is now a Grape. The Brit asked if it was a seedless grape. I raised an eyebrow and asked, "What do you think?" Luckily (and this is why I married him), he laughed.</div><div><br /></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5303111748804777388.post-49166383223706655042011-10-31T14:11:00.000-07:002011-11-02T16:15:21.960-07:00Weeks 6-8: Into the Great Wide OpenTo say the last three weeks have been the longest of my life is not an understatement. Looking back, it's hard to believe only a month has gone by since the fateful trip to Vegas where we celebrated both my baby brother's 21st birthday and the news of my pregnancy. Indeed, parents and siblings thrilled and cried at the news...though The Brit's mum (in typical Jewish mum fashion) worried that it was "bad luck" to share the news so early.<div><br /></div><div>Perhaps we should have listened to her.</div><div><br /></div><div>The following are snippets from an ongoing e-mail chain with my beloved Birthing Committee -- four very special friends who happen to be recent moms and have been my rock over this past month. I share them here not for sympathy or attention, but because the topics herein seem to be so hush-hush. It's not until you nervously mention symptoms or irregularities that you hear, "Oh, that's normal," or "Yeah, that happened to me," or -- worst of all -- the dreaded "we don't know why that happens, but you just have to muddle through. <i>There's nothing you can do.</i>"</div><div><br /></div><div>My anger about that last one has hit fever pitch over the last few weeks. The state of actual medical knowledge about women's health -- particularly pregnancy -- is appalling. And the calls for further research are few. I don't care if you've just conceived or are pushing the kid out -- we deserve answers to our questions, even if the answers aren't full of sunshine and light. And we also deserve to be treated with respect as thinking beings, not robotic babymakers whose only job is to smile nicely and do what we're told.</div><div><br /></div><div>The snippets tell the tale...</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:85%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i><b>October 13:</b></i></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i><br /></i></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">Last night, I had some spotting around 7:15pm. It stopped in the overnight, but needless to say I freaked out (especially after the missed miscarriage this past Spring). I luckily had a Week 6 exam scheduled for today. The doctor said she saw some blood, but the cervix isn't open (very good). Then she did a transvaginal ultrasound, and they couldn't find anything -- they should be able to see cardiac activity by now.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">So the end news is there is no news. We don't know if miscarriage is imminent, or if I'm just behind schedule and this is a freaky series of events. I had even! more! blood! drawn this afternoon, so should get an HCG reading in the next day or so. They also want me to go in and have a stronger, more precise/specialized ultrasound middle of next week.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">Of course, the wrench in all of this is that I'm supposed to go to NYC (for work) on Sunday for almost a week. I'm leaning toward cancelling the trip, unless anything drastic happens in the next 24 hours. I don't know.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i><b>October 19:</b></i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">The good news is there's no real news, here at the start of Week 7.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-style: italic; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">The spotting hasn't really come back. I'm going in for the high-powered ultrasound this afternoon. If they don't find anything, we'll try again next week. All good thoughts appreciated.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">Needless to say, I did NOT go to NYC. The decision killed me, but c'est la vie. I know it was the right thing to do.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">No test results thus far -- but then, I haven't bothered my OB's office to check.* As great as this office is when I'm there in person, they're not so good about follow-through on things like test results. All the more reason I'm switching to Donna the Midwife starting next week.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">We're meeting with a perinatologist for a genetic screening consultation next Tuesday. If I'm still having question marks, I'll ask him/her about them at that point, too.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i>* = They never did call me back with the test results. And ordered doubles on some blood tests while somehow "losing" my 1-hour glucose test. And screwed up sending all of my lab work to my new midwife until I hounded them repeatedly. In case you're wondering why I switched providers.</i></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i><br /></i></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i><b>October 19 (later):</b></i></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">So I think you all know the news now, but just in case...WE'VE GOT A BABY!</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">It's a little curlique and has a fetal heartbeat of 113. The ultrasound techs weren't supposed to tell me anything**, but one was in training so I asked questions when they said something to each other. Best guess is my dates are off by a week or so...hopefully I'll know more in the next day or so when I talk to the OB/nurse.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i>** = Can you believe this?! Here I am, freaking out for close to two weeks about whether or not I'm actually pregnant and the techs won't at least confirm if there is a heartbeat -- which they measured and listened to without my knowledge. And then they resorted to whispering. If the situation hadn't been so critical, I would have raised holy hell.</i></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i><br /></i></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i><b>October 20:</b></i></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">And in today's installment of The Fetal Chronicles...guess who has a bicornuate uterus?</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">If you're like me and said, "A what?!" -- apparently, my uterus is misshaped and has two "horns" at the top. It's also known as a "heart-shaped uterus," though I prefer to think it's like devil horns and, therefore, my uterus is TOTALLY METAL. Or something. It's genetic and something I've had since birth.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Anywho, the doctor didn't sound concerned about it and told me to stay off the Internet until I talk to the perinatologist on Tuesday, when I'll hear more about genetic screening, my ultrasound results, and any revised baby dates.*** Naturally, I obeyed her for seven whole minutes before Googling.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">What I've found out is that much depends on the severity of the shape. There are two concerns: 1) If the fetus is attached to the septum area (it will probably miscarry if so because there's not enough blood flow); or 2) If there isn't enough room for the baby to grow. I'm also at higher risk for C-section due to possible breech (again, the space issue). Other than that, it's no big thing...women with bicornuate uteri have babies every day, even if they have to have a few extra ultrasounds to be safe. </span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">And that's it! I'm starting to feel a little queasy today, which I hope is a good sign that I might be getting some morning sickness. Not too much, mind you -- just enough to know I'm at a lower miscarriage risk would be grand. And yes, I am the only woman in history who WANTS morning sickness.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">*** = <i>So I get to the perinatologist and immediately ask for feedback on this situation. They looked at me with blank expressions and said, "I'm sorry, but we don't have any ultrasounds to discuss." And then they took pity on me. Read on...</i></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><b>October 23: </b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Scary bleeding today -- including a palm-sized blood clot. While at the sports bar, watching football, of course. I refused to leave (only me, I know). By the time we got home three hours later, I had one more rush of blood and then practically nothing since, except very minor brown spotting. I AM A FREAK. </span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Honestly, I think the best thing I'm doing right now is putting myself on modified bed rest. At least until I see Donna the Midwife on Thursday. I'd kill for a nice long walk at the moment, but I'm nervous about so much movement/being away from the house. </span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><b><i>October 25:</i></b></span></div></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Just got back from the perinatologist. After further scanning, he does NOT think I have a bicornuate uterus, but instead a 3cm fibroid off to the right. That, along with the normal Y-ish shape of the uterus leading into the Fallopian tubes, is probably what made the other techs assume I had a METAL UTERUS. He said my midwife might want to do a couple more ultrasounds to make sure, but that's his counsel. Wow. And the fibroid should be no problem, except for monitoring it for blood flow (it's in a place where it wouldn't interfere with the cervix, etc. -- though all of this possibly explains my ridiculous PMS pain on the right. FINALLY!).</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; ">Re: the clot and bleeding -- the doctor said it just is what it is re: 1st trimester bleeding, though he could see where the clot came from on my uterus (he said it looked like it was healing just fine).</span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">All that said, our Pumpkin Seed (We've been upgraded! And how seasonal!) is about 1.5 cm and has a fetal heartbeat of 158. Chugging right along where it should be for Week 8. They're not changing my dates at this point, so still due 6/6/12-ish.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><b><i>October 27:</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div></div></div></div></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; ">We met with Donna the Midwife this morning...and I don't think I've ever made a better choice in my medical care. We simply talked for 20 minutes or so, so she could get up to speed with the shenanigans of the last 2-3 weeks. Then she said, "You know, I could do an exam or even just poke your belly. But I'm not going to. You're OK as far as I'm concerned for a few weeks. Let's have you back just before Thanksgiving and I'll worry about other tests then. Oh, and by the way, the fact that you've seen a strong heartbeat? Your chance of having a miscarriage now is only 2%."</span></span><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">She also said we asked smart questions...and "you're so well-educated about all of this!" What a change!</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">So: next appt is Nov.18. We also scheduled my 1st trimester nuchal/PAPP-A screening the following week. YAHOOOOOOO!!!</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><b><i>October 28:</i></b></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">And on today's episode of As the Uterus Turns...</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">So we have more bleeding. Not too much and no clots yet (and still no cramping/tissue), but honestly. I'm getting really tired of this rollercoaster. I cancelled my dinner plans for tonight, which is devastating as I really need to get out of the house.</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Did anyone else have breakthrough bleeding around Week 8 or 12? It's about the only semi-maybe-we-don't-know explanation I'm getting, besides threatened miscarriage.</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Called Dad to ask if Mom had any bleeding with me, my brother, or prior to her miscarriage.**** He doesn't remember either way (and he also doesn't remember what week Mom was when she had her miscarriage). My grandma and the aunts don't know yet, so I can't call them. This no mother nonsense really, really sucks -- now more than ever.</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">On-call nurse told me the same thing as before -- watch and wait and if it gets worse (clots, heavy flow), go to ER. If I bleed through the weekend, she said to call first thing Monday and they'd sneak me in for an exam. Which is what I expected her to say, but still.</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I don't know if I can do this for 32-ish more weeks. How do you cope? I am feeling completely alone and angry and just let down by medicine, feminism, my body (with whom we all know I have a stellar relationship anyway)...you name it.</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I'm sorry for being so needy, but I just don't know what else to do.</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><i>**** = For those not aware, my mom died from colon cancer when I was 10 years old. Needless to say, the impact on my life has been immense, but my day-to-day just is what it is. I'm also incredibly lucky to have the World's Best Stepmother (and baby brother, thanks to her), whom I can't imagine not having in my life. That said, pregnancy and impending motherhood is bringing up all sorts of buried grief and unanswered questions, the likes of which I haven't felt or dealt with in 25 years. I'm sure this will be discussed at length in future, but there's the context for now.</i></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><b><i>October 29:</i></b></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Well, the bleeding stopped about 6-ish hours after it started yesterday...and really, it was just a bit here and there after the initial rush. </span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">The Brit and I had a huge talk this morning and we've decided I shouldn't go to the ER (ever) unless drastic things happen. I'm sticking to the status quo until my appt on Nov. 18. A long wait, but it's not going to change anything either way.</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">We also discussed my situation with Missing Mom, which is really the hardest part of all of this for me. After much waffling, I finally broke down and called my grandma and told her the news. My aunt happened to be over at the time, so she found out too. Both are sworn to secrecy, but they did tell me that my mom's pregnancies were pretty normal -- no bleeding that they can remember. So no real light shed on any of this, but I'm glad they know. We're going to have a big talk at Thanksgiving -- I have lots of questions for them that I hope aren't too hard to handle.</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">In somewhat spooky news, my iPod and the radio have been playing all sorts of songs lately that seem to be Messages from Beyond. I was laughing at myself for thinking such nonsense, then "Green-Eyed Lady" (Mom's all-time #1 personal theme) came on the car radio this afternoon. So you know. I don't know what to believe anymore, but I'd LIKE to believe that she's trying to hold down the fort from above...just like the miscarriage happened earlier this year so we would make up our damn minds on whether or not to have a kid.</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">~*~</span></div><div style=" text-align: -webkit-auto; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">Which brings us to the end of a very long October. Halloween came and went in a not-so-spooky rush. I'm still laying low and experiencing some minor brown spotting, but that seems to be status quo for my body. Donna the Midwife is encouraging me to start doing some light exercise, such as 15-20 minute walks and hand weights, but I'm nervous to get too far from the house by myself.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">In many ways, I'm in complete awe of what my body is going through. Seeing and hearing the Pumpkin Seed's heartbeat at the perinatologist's office was an amazing, tear-inducing moment. On the other hand, I feel extremely trapped in a series of events over which I have no control, yet said events have complete authority over my every move and decision. I'll admit I am also more than a little angry at the Pregnant Woman Police and The Eternal No on every possible food, drink or environment decision. I would kill for a (small) glass of wine and some sushi right now, but there is no in-between. Of course not, because women can't think for themselves based on risk/benefit analysis.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">That said, I know 1st trimester is particularly fragile. I've voluntarily given in through the end of 2011 on this point alone. But ohhhhhh the philosophical discussions being raised as I get deeper and deeper into this experience. Selfish? Perhaps. But is it really selfish when you consider I'm a human being, not solely a reproductive vessel? And one of those fundamental human rights is to make my own decisions based on information to hand? If your response is, "Oh, it's only nine months!" then brother, you haven't been pregnant. Or scorned enough as a patient.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">To quote my ever-wise grandma: "Oh honey. Pregnancy is like being old. Neither one is for sissies."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">You bet your sweet bippy they ain't.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5303111748804777388.post-42025435962668198192011-10-08T11:22:00.000-07:002011-10-08T12:04:56.532-07:00How Babies are Made...or, A Recipe for RisottoEvery woman has her story about how and why a kid. Some are sudden, some are planned, some are full of wonder or heartbreak. Ours is very roundabout.<div><br /></div><div>In early 2011, after a decade of extreme PMS cramping, I finally bit the bullet and scheduled a laparoscopy to get to the root of my lady issues. Dutifully, I showed up at the surgicenter on an early March morning, filled in forms, signed my life away.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Okay," said the nurse. "I just need a urine sample and we should be good to go."</div><div><br /></div><div>After passing the sample through the door, I stayed in the restroom to gown up. Not 30 seconds later, a knock on the door. "Hang on, sweetie," said the nurse. "You're pregnant."</div><div><br /></div><div>My response: "No, I certainly am NOT!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Her: "Yes, you are. And it's STRONGLY POSITIVE." I suppose I've always been an overachiever.</div><div><br /></div><div>Needless to say, the procedure did not happen that day. My husband and I went home completely bewildered, and figured out I was somewhere around Week 11 or 12. I had not a single symptom. In fact, we had just returned from a week in Spain where we ate and drank our way around the country. Great.</div><div><br /></div><div>Two days and a blood test later, I found myself in my ob/gyn's office getting an ultrasound. He found nothing. "My guess," he said, "Is you miscarried somewhere around Week 3 or 4 but never noticed it since it would have seemed like a normal period. Well, normal for you."</div><div><br /></div><div>Until that week, both my husband and I were 100% ambivalent about parenthood. We truly could have taken it or left it and either would have been fine. Over the last five years, we've both asked the other to just make a decision because my ovaries weren't getting any younger, but neither of us could. Therefore, my miscarriage was <i>not</i> a tragedy -- in fact, it was a blessing in disguise. Some may say a nudge from beyond to make a freakin' decision already.</div><div><br /></div><div>After 72 hours of pregnancy, we made a decision. We actually did want to give this parenting lark a go.</div><div><br /></div><div>My body didn't heal completely until May. Then the summer was busy and we had plans. "After Hawaii," I told the husband. "Then we'll really start trying."</div><div><br /></div><div>Three days after returning from Hawaii...boom. Conception.</div><div><br /></div><div>I forced myself to wait until Day 29 of my cycle to pee on a stick. I fully woke up exactly 15 minutes before our 8am alarm (miraculous, considering I am <i>not</i> a morning person). I already knew, and said knowledge had been supported by the Magic 8 Ball That Never Lies and told me "It is decidedly so."</div><div><br /></div><div>Indeed, it was. Those tests are supposed to take two or three minutes. Mine popped positive in less than 30 seconds. STRONGLY PREGNANT, again. Just a blastocyst, but the size of a poppy seed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Week 4 became a blur of reading to understand our little Poppy Seed and it's associated swirl of hormonal side effects. Phone calls to make appointments with potential ob/gyns and midwives (my beloved gyn has sadly retired from OB work). I learned that most providers don't want to see you until Week 8, yet the most dangerous time for birth defects is Weeks 5-8. </div><div><br /></div><div>"What do women who aren't as nerdy as I am do?" I angrily asked my husband. "What if they don't have access to quality websites or can't afford books?" It's a mystery I still don't understand. Fine, don't see me until Week 8 -- but why not fax, snail mail or e-mail a few "do this/don't do that" instructions to the newly pregnant?</div><div><br /></div><div>I insisted on "meet and greet" appointments during Week 5. So far, this is the smartest thing that I have done and I encourage any newly pregnant woman to do the same.</div><div><br /></div><div>At this moment, I am at Week 5, Day 3. Our Poppy Seed is now "the size of a grain of arborio rice" (the children...they grow so fast!). Therefore, our nickname for it is now "The Risotto." According to a lovely nurse practitioner I met with this week, we have the Lima Bean, Gummy Bear, and Alien phases to look forward to next. Aside from a little breast tenderness and a whole lot of digestive cramps, I'm feeling fine. No morning sickness. Yet.</div><div><br /></div><div>(You will notice I have no problem calling the embryo/fetus/baby an "it." For many reasons, we are not finding out its sex until it appears on the scene. For sake of easy pronouns, "it" is it.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Today, we are telling our parents the news. The husband's family lives overseas, so they will get a phone call in an hour or so. As for my parents and brothers...we are actually off to Las Vegas this evening for 21st birthday craziness with my baby brother. Our over/under re: them guessing the news is approximately 20 seconds after I order a club soda instead of a cocktail. </div><div><br /></div><div>After years of my "when/if" indecisiveness, I know my folks will be over the moon over the news of their future grandkid. We're kind of excited to know him or her, too.</div><div><br /></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370292739531591562noreply@blogger.com0