Experiments in Life

Well, little Emily is 9 weeks now. If you read my earlier post describing the labor and delivery, you know that she had it kind of rough from the beginning. Unfortunately, things didn’t go so great after we got home either. She was really fussy with gas and the broken collar bone. There were many sleepless nights and marathon nursing sessions. I thought things were going great with the nursing, turns out I was wrong. We began supplementing two days after leaving the hospital since she had lost additional weight upon going home. She lost a total of 10 oz. I didn’t really want to supplement so early, but getting her weight back up was important.

The first two weeks of her life are a total blur to me now. I remember seeing the sun rise on several occasions. I remember the terrible crying fits resulting from gas pains and how she never seemed to sleep like a newborn was supposed to. She never slept that ~20 hours most babies do. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with her, or if it was me or the combination of the two. My friend Misty told me that the first 6 weeks were the hardest. I soon discovered the truth behind her statement. No matter what people tell you and what stories you hear, nothing can prepare you for bringing home your first child. I knew that we would get little sleep at first, but I had no idea how bad the sleep deprivation could get. I now understand why it is used as a torture method. I would have said or done anything just to get a little sleep in a bed, without an infant clinging to me for dear life. She was so tiny and helpless…

Once Jon returned to work, I found it very difficult to deal with my new-found motherhood alone. This resulted in Emily’s first trip at a mere 3 weeks old. We went and stayed with my parents in Mississippi. It was during this trip that we discovered that my milk supply was woefully low. I began pumping after nursing in an attempt to increase my supply. The soreness became to great though and so I started pumping and giving it to Emily in a bottle. Afterall, the nursing itself wasn’t going well and she seemed to do better taking it from a bottle. I pumped every ~3 hours or so for about a week and my supply still did not increase. At the time, Emily was eating 5-6 oz. per feeding. I could barely pump enough for one feeding, and that was after a full day of pumping. As a result, we were supplementing heavily but I continued to offer what milk I had. After a week and a half, Jon came and picked us up and took us home. Two days later, I was calling my mom in tears. The next day I was diagnosed with post-partum depression. In hindsight, that explained a lot. I am still dealing with the depression, but I’ll leave that for another post.

My diagnosis resulted in yet another trip to my parents house for another week and a half. However, once I was medicated things began to get much better. Unfortunately, I had to wean Emily completely. Because the nursing had not gone well initially and my supply was low, I had no qualms about weaning her. I had entered breastfeeding with the same mindset I had with the natural labor: I’ll do it for as long as I can. Unfortunately that only turned out to be a month and some change. I had really planned on nursing for up to a year, but alas, it was not to be. My doctor said I should pump 2x/day for two weeks and then go down to 1x/day for two weeks in order to avoid engorgement and mastitis. My milk supply was so low already that it only took half that time at the most for it to dry up. I didn’t even need to pump daily. In fact, I was going almost two days or more without pumping before I would even hint at engorgement. I could not believe how quickly the milk dried up.

Although we all have encountered various stumbling blocks along the way, broken collar bones, nursing complications and the like, things are much better. Despite all that has happened, Emily is thriving and we are a much happier family. Emily became a new baby once I was medicated. Whether that was because she was picking up on all of my stress or because I could now see her as a person instead of some parasite attached to me constantly (harsh I know, but the truth nonetheless), I am not sure. All I know is that I feel much better after being prescribed Zoloft. It is a wonderful drug

We’ve come a long way in the short 9 weeks that Emily has been with us, and I look forward to all the time ahead of us. I already know that it passes by too quickly. I cannot believe that our little angel is 9 weeks old already. I am just trying to treasure every moment to its fullest, even the rough ones, for I know that at some point I will long for these days, even the sleepless nights. So I plan on holding her as much as possible and snuggling with her every chance I get for as long as she will let me. And after all that we have been through already, I absolutely love being a mother. It has fulfilled me in ways that I was incapable of imagining before now.

In closing, I have a few words and thoughts for my daughter:

I am so glad that you are here Emily. We waited so long to meet you, and now I look forward to being your mother, no matter what challenges may come. I love you now and always. You were meant to be my daughter as I was meant to be your mother. Only you could fill the space in my heart that I did not know existed. I remember what it was like before you were born, but I already cannot imagine my life without you. I am a better person because of you. Thank you for that.

Well, between the sleepless nights, the bottle washing, and the baby crying, I have not had the time nor the desire to really post much lately. However, it appears that things may be finally calming down some. Little Emily may finally be adjusting to life outside the womb.

I actually started this post a few weeks ago but am just now getting to finish it up and publish it. Emily is now 8 weeks old, better late than never right

As you can see from the title of this post, I am going to capture Emily’s first few moments in the world and what it took to get her here. Many of you may not care to read what I am about to write, but that is okay. I guess this post is more for me than for anyone else. I want to write about it before I forget it all. It is a story not for the feint of heart, so if you are expecting or don’t enjoy labor and delivery stories, I’d skip this one.

Here is my labor story…

After staying put for two weeks longer than expected, my doctor finally told me it was time to induce. We arrived at the hospital on Sunday, June 10 at around 7 PM or so. We checked in and then got settled in for the night. The nurse started hooking me up to all the monitors while another nurse put in a heplock so that if they needed to put in an I.V. later, the hard part would already be done. It took two tries, but she finally found a place on the side of my arm. The labor nurse for the eveing then checked me. She announced that I was only 4 cm dilated and the baby was at -1 station. She informed me that my doctor would be up soon in order to break my water. I was a little disappointed that I was not dilated any further than when my doctor checked me last, but I dealt with it.

My doctor arrived within half an hour. Apparently I was not the only patient who needed their water broken. She came in and checked me and announced that I was actually 6 cm dilated and the baby was at +3 station, meaning that the head was so low, she couldn’t get around her to break my water. At this point, I begin seriously questioning my labor nurse’s abilities. Since she couldn’t break my water, we decided to let me labor through the night and see what happened. We were all hoping that it would not be long. Alas, that was not to be.

As the night went on, my contractions became more and more painful. At this point, I was still trying to go as natural as possible for as long as possible. My doula was not there yet seeing as I was still handling things on my own well enough. Jonathan was extremely supportive as things began to unfold. He would talk to me and hold my hand and tell me he loved me. Unfortunately, the nurse decided we needed to push I.V. fluids because Emily’s heartrate was not “assuring” enough. However, once she started pushing fluids, the I.V. started leaking horribly. I think I wore most of that first bag of fluids, so she had to redo it. This was my third I.V. attempt, I began to worry that this may not be a good omen. Once the fluids got going though, Emily’s heartrate was great. The contractions were getting intense now but the nurse kept telling me that I had not yet gotten into a good contraction pattern. I think I asked her about it every time she came to check on me, and every time the answer was the same. I just wanted to cry because the pain was starting to get to me and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to handle much more.

As the night wore on, the pain got worse. It wasn’t so much the pain that I wasn’t able to deal with, it was the lack of sleep. I could hardly lay down comfortably because of Emily’s position. I pretty much had to stay in an upright position all night. Finally, Jonathan laid down to get some much needed rest and fell asleep. I had to ask the nurse for something to help me sleep. She gave me half a dose of nubain. It dulled the pain just enough for me to doze in between the contractions, but I woke up each time I had one, so there was no rest for the weary.

About six or seven that morning, I realized I needed help so we called my doula and told her to come on. Then things seemed to slack off a bit and we called her back and told her she didn’t have to rush. Not long after that, the shift changed and my new labor nurse came in and introduced herself. She was great. She checked me and I had only progressed 1 cm during the night. This was not good, after ~12 hours of labor, only 1 cm progression called for more drastic measures. My doctor came in and we had no choice but to start the pitocin. We agreed to start with the smallest dose possible to see if that would kickstart my labor. That’s when we called our doula to come in soon.

As the pitocin began to work, it didn’t seem all that bad at first. However, after a couple of hours, my coping skills were down to zero, even with the help of my doula. The pain finally began to get to me. I could no longer deal with it. And the worst part was that I still had not progressed and the pitocin dosage needed to be increased. At the lowest dosage, my contractions had begun to last for about 5 min. with a break of about a minute between each contraction. At this point, I wanted something for the pain. My doctor recommended an epidural for the pain. She said I could get a full dose of nubain but it wouldn’t help with the pain, I just wouldn’t care as much. The other drug options were not her first choice since they could have adverse effects on the baby. So, I chose an epidural.

I began to lose it soon after that decision was made. We could only hope that the anasteasiologist would appear soon. He finally made it not long after we called for him. Unfortunately he was in demand and everyone wanted him at the same time. Of course, it is almost impossible to bend over when you are having a contraction. I could not bend my back at all because it increased the pain so much. Finally, he managed to get it in. They laid me down and I started to lose it again. Laying down increased the already painful contractions exponentially. As I lay there trying to deal with the pain, I formed a blood clot at the epidural site and it would no longer work. We had to do it again. So, they sat me up again and the doctor started all over again. At this point, his pager was going off continuously. So much so that my labor nurse finally answered it for him. Then he got flustered and knocked over an entire epidural tray. The second epidural did not take either because the space was too tight, there was no room for the catheter to be threaded in. So, the third try is a charm right? That one finally took, however, it didn’t go in as far as he would have liked it to. But by this point, I had a couple of test doses of medication in me and it wasn’t so bad by the third try. Once the epidural kicked in, I was a new person.

For a procedure that normally takes just a few minutes, it took me an hour to get an epidural. Immediately after I was seriously numb and comfortable, I was checked and was at 9 cm and +4 station. Within an hour, I was at 10 cm and Emily was still at +4 station. It was time to push, unfortunately, my contractions started to die down at this point and I could no longer feel them. So the pitocin was turned up. The nurse would tell me when to push and I did. My doctor and everyone else said that I shouldn’t have to push for more than 30 min. or so since Emily was practically here. Unfortunately, that also did not happen.

I pushed for about 3 hours, and still no Emily. I had pushed in every position imaginable, which is very difficult when you are numb from the waist down. I was exhausted and felt like I had nothing left to give. I just could not get Emily’s head to drop anymore. She was essentially stuck. My doctor arrived and announced that we had to get this baby out and that I only had a couple of pushes to do so. I knew that if I didn’t get her out now, I would be in surgery very soon. The doctor had to use the vacuum to get Emily’s head out. I also ended up with a third degree laceration. Apparently I am really good at carrying babies, just not so good at delivering them. Emily was finally born late that afternoon, after 22 hours of labor. Twenty-two hours is a very, very long time. It would be a couple of days before we found out that Emily’s collar bone was broken as a result of the hard labor and delivery. This poor child had quite an entry into the world.

I remember feeling this enormous sense of relief as my child was born into the world. Hearing her first cry was amazing. I now understand why women cry after delivering a baby. It’s relief as much as it is happiness and elation. I was a bit worried though as I heard them call down a couple of NICU nurses. Apparently Emily was grunting which can be a sign of respiratory problems, especially after she had been in the birth canal for so long. But they dubbed her healthy and left soon after checking her out. I remember watching Jonathan hold her for the first time. There are no words to describe it. I tried to burn that image into my brain so that I never forget it. So far, I haven’t. So many of the events towards the end of my labor are a blur to me. I am surprised that I have remembered this much and how clearly I do recall it.

Although my labor and delivery experience was less than pleasant, it was my experience. It was the experience I was meant to have. My attitude afterwards was, “it was what it was and there is no reason to dwell on what went wrong.” I am not disappointed with how things went. It just showed me what I could take and what I couldn’t. I think I am a stronger person for the way the series of events unfolded. Would I have been happy had things gone better? Sure I would, but I wouldn’t change anything. I got out of this experience what I wanted, a healthy baby.

So, Emily, even though you have been in the world for a little while and our hearts even longer, welcome to our family!

You know, I never really gave much thought as to what it means to be a father or what they go through as they watch their children grow-up. In my experience, fathers can be fun, but they can be stern too. I’m sure the phrase “Just wait until your father comes home” still strikes fear into many children. But really, what does it mean to be a father? Now, I am certainly not the person to answer this, seeing as I am not a father nor will I ever be one. However, a recent experience has gotten me thinking about things, specifically from a father’s point of view.

Last week, as I was on my way to work, I heard this song about a father giving his daughter away at her wedding. It gave me goosebumps just listening to it. It made me think of my dad and what he must have gone through when I got married. It was really an eye-opening moment for me. So, Dad, here is my tribute to you and fathers everywhere, courtesy of the group Heartland. (I know the song is geared toward fathers and daughters, but I think it is applicable to fathers and sons as well.)

Here is the song…

Look at the two of you dancing that way
Lost in the moment and each others face
So much in love your alone in this place
Like there’s nobody else in the world
I was enough for her not long ago
I was her number one
She told me so
And she still means the world to me
Just so you know
So be careful when you hold my girl
Time changes everything
Life must go on
And I’m not gonna stand in your way

Chorus:
But I loved her first and I held her first
And a place in my heart will always be hers
From the first breath she breathed
When she first smiled at me
I knew the love of a father runs deep
And I prayed that she’d find you someday
But it still hard to give her away
I loved her first

How could that beautiful women with you
Be the same freckle face kid that I knew
The one that I read all those fairy tales to
And tucked into bed all those nights
And I knew the first time I saw you with her
It was only a matter of time

Repeat chorus

From the first breath she breathed
When she first smiled at me
I knew the love of a father runs deep
Someday you might know what I’m going through
When a miracle smiles up at you
I loved her first

-I Loved Her First by Heartland

This song is probably just barely touching the tip of the iceburg of fatherhood. But again I ask, what does it mean to be a father? I can only speculate. Joy? Love? Hope? Pain…in the sense that one day you have to let your children go? I may not know what being a father means, but I know what my father means to me. He could never be replaced. I have been truly blessed with wonderful father in my life.

Thanks Dad, for everything

The past couple of weeks have been very busy and rushed for me. It seems like time has really flown by. I didn’t quite realize how quickly or how much had gone by until a conversation I had with my husband on the way to work.

Jonathan: “Do you know what happens in 19 days?”
Me: Hmmm, what could it be. “Is it the vacation we are planning?”
Jonathan: “It’s 19 days until your birthday, you know your 27th birthday.”
Me: “Oh”

Turns out I had forgotten something. I can’t believe that I had already forgotten about my own birthday. What could be so important that I had lost so much time and forgotten so much?

That realization is partially responsible for my somewhat reflective mood at the moment. What else has occurred to jerk me back to reality and reminded me “to smell the roses” you ask? Well, it is something a dear friend of mine is going through at the moment. Her post on Limbo has made me pause for a moment.

Travel with me, if you will. While I have not experienced the exact situation my friend is in, I have experienced something similar. The day I heard the news is still a little fuzzy to me. I don’t remember a whole lot, other than waiting for what seemed like forever. In reality, I believe it was only a couple of hours. I got a phone call from my dad saying that my aunt had taken a turn for the worst. I knew she had been in the hopital for heart and blood issues, but she had just been taken out of the critical care unit and placed in a private room. She was doing better. He said he would call back and let me know what was going on. Well, I waited and I waited. Finally, I called him back. And there it was, the waiting was over. She was braindead….She was my only aunt…. It was right before Christmas….I did not get to say good-bye.

It took all I had to finish my conversation with my dad before breaking down. I think Jon was on the phone with someone at the exact time I finished my phone call and started sobbing. He must have heard because he was right there holding me before I could even take a breath. It was horrible. How could this happen? She was so full of life and had so much left to give.

I think a part of me has still been in denial about it, even though it’s been awhile. I’m not sure I’ve truly accepted her death. We didn’t see her very much growing up. Once my grandmother moved to town, we saw her a little more. Even though we didn’t see her often, her passing really hurt.

At least my friend was able to say good-bye, I envy her that.

So, where am I going with this post? I’m not really sure. All I know is that a good friend of mine is going through a hard time, and I’ve had a similar experience. Is it really like what she is going through? Maybe not. But I’d like to think that sharing my story has helped her in some way, or someone else for that matter. Maybe by posting this, I’ll have caused someone else to slow down and see the little things in life.

In loving memory: Aunt Freddie
I miss you.