Sicky

So we all just shared our first family cold.  I suppose it is nice to have that milestone behind us, but I would have preferred to keep it at bay until Nora was a little older...or until our pediatrician was back from traveling in Buenos Aires...or until we were actually in Barranquilla instead of traveling in Medellín...but whatever.  It is over now, gracias a Dios.  Not everyone is so lucky.

My friend Kelly has a friend whose son had the same due date as Peanut.  He was born earlier but with no problems and life was good for a while.  Somehow he contracted an intestinal virus and became very, very ill.  He was hospitalized and even died and was resuscitated.  He is still alive (last I knew), but has a hard road of recovery to travel as his intestines heal outside his body.

His parents have to be a wreck.  I stayed up for 3 hours watching Peanut sleep after she stopped breathing for a moment because her nose was stopped up.  We knew where the cold came from (thanks Papi...), and we were still anxious because we didn't know how it was going to affect a 2 month old baby.  Every time she coughed she sounded like she was breaking her lungs, and I just wanted to squeeze her tight and make it all better.  I can't imagine having to feel all that through glass in the ICU.  I have been praying for Berend and his parents every day.

As for us, Richard and I are still coughing and a little snot-filled, but Peanut is all better.  They bounce back fast everyone says.  For Berend's sake, I really hope so.

Legends of the Legume

Peanut, 9/12/2010

It has been over two weeks, and I have been meaning to write about Peanut's birth.  Some of the reason I have not gotten this done before is that time seems to slip so quickly away, but some of it has been my reticence to put it all into words.  I think it important, yet somehow an experience that was so deeply embodied seems to defy being summed up on a page.  I am unable to capture the intensity, the good and the difficult.  As my body continues to heal and my heart continues to grow the whole process totters between carnal and mythical.  Imperfect as it may be though, "hay que intentar" (you've gotta try), ¿no?

Querida Peanut,

Though you came to rest in my arms on September 22, I feel as if the story of your birth begins a bit earlier.  One could argue it begins 9 months earlier, but even the final drama began a few days before your official debut.

It was Monday, in the early hours of the morning, and I felt odd.  I did not feel like I needed to go to the bathroom, and yet it felt as if the muscles of my bladder would not stay under my control.  Each hour I would get up to go to the restroom, but little resulted, yet still I could not fall deeply asleep for sensing a drip, drip, drip that reminded me of Poe's tell-tale heart.  By the time light had dawned I knew something was happening, but I was still not sure what.  

I should tell you now that many a time throughout our nine months together I was told that "I would just know" things.  "I would just know" when you began kicking.  "I would just know" when my water broke.  "I would just know" when contractions began.  "I would just know" when it was time to push.  Unfortunately it seems I am a little slower than folks believe me to be.  Ah well, you will undoubtedly agree when you are 14.  

At any rate, I called Dra. Lucia to let her know what was happening, and when I went to her office she first believed my water had broken, just with a small tear or something that had not allowed the movie-like gush to occur.  After moving your head around and thinking longer, she decided it was simply my mucous plug that was very watery and signaled a move toward labor but not yet an immediate one.  That afternoon we returned to check on your heartbeat and movements as well as my contractions (heartbeat and movement -  good; contractions - non-existent), and we were told to walk around more and see if we could encourage effacement and dilation.

Then there was Tuesday.

While Monday was sort of exciting (maybe we are almost there!), Tuesday was a little frightening.  What had been a clear or reddish-tinted liquid began to have a greenish tint, and though I know virtually nothing, I do know that any time something leaving your body is green it is basically bad news.  Another call to Dra. Lucia.  Another trip to her office as soon as possible.

The fear was that somehow the green color was due to the fact that you had passed some meconium already and that you were potentially in distress.  The confusion was that my water still did not seem to have broken, so there was no way for meconium to be showing up this way.  But something was green...  So back to monitoring in the afternoon again.  You still seemed fine, contractions were still merely a dream.  Dra. Lucia was willing to wait, but she was concerned.  I sensed we were running out of time with her, and I was also very worried that you were having some trouble we could not identify.  I was afraid.

Early morning on Wednesday I began to feel some pains.  They were not bad, but I did notice them.  I began to look at the clock to see if they were coming at even intervals because then I felt I might legitimately be able to call them contractions.  They were every twenty minutes or so for a little while, but then they faded into uneven patterns and when I moved around I was not sure if I felt them at all.  Was it simply discomfort?  I wasn't sure.

I texted Dra. Lucia anyway, just to let her know.  She asked me to come into the clinic that morning first thing, 7:30am, so that she could see me.  "No problem," I said, and started to get ready.  But then the roller coaster of worry snuck up on me again, and I began to wonder why she wanted to see me so quickly.  Could it be that she thought something was wrong and she just didn't want to say it over the phone?  My heart pounded as we took a taxi to the Clínica Asunción.  

We met Dra. Lucia in the Emergency Room lobby and she said, "So, it is a good day to have a baby, ¿no?"  An ultrasound said that you were okay, but I was not at all effaced or dilated.  When she said "Well, let's check you in" I was stunned.  Everything I had read about birth said not to go to the hospital too early because it was more likely that the birth scenario would end in a c-section, not to mention that it is just easier to live your life in your own home while you wait for things to build.  We had not even brought our bag (expertly packed by your father, of course) because if you were well then I figured she would just tell us to go home.  But it seemed that was not the path we were on, so we checked in, found our room, and your Papi went back home to get our things.  

While he was gone I was given part of a tablet to help me efface - not to induce labor, though sometimes that is a result of the effacing.  I was comfortable, excited, anxious for your dad to return, and wondering what would come next.  That was 9:00.

I did not have to wait too long.

By 10:00 your dad was back and setting up the array of early labor activities we had planned.  We had the little computer with 2 movies, the iPod with early and active labor music rotations, a book, and I don't even remember what else.  We let folks know we were in the hospital, set up the computer, turned on the first movie and got about 25 seconds into it when the first pains hit.  

All the books will tell you that labor builds gradually.  You have some pains every 20 minutes, working down gradually to 3-5 minutes when you should go to the hospital, birthing center, or be prepared to get down to business at home.  Until then you should distract yourself.  Your body and mind will accommodate the pains slowly and your strategies to manage those pains can shift with them.  None of this was my reality.  I don't know if it had to do with the effacing tablet or if it was just my lot in life, but when my pains hit they hit strong and hard from the get go.  Your dad recorded every time I felt pain, and it seemed way too often to be contractions, but I didn't know what else it could be.

By 12:00 when Fanny and Gloria came to visit I was having pains every minute and a half - one shorter, and therefore more manageable pain, followed by a longer pain that seemed do-able only because it would be over and I would have three minutes until it came again.  After a very brief greeting everyone got into the act with me rubbing my head against a pillow, Fanny letting her hand be twisted out of shape by mine, your daddy pushing down on my back, and Gloria holding my leg to stop it from shaking.  

At 3:30 Dra. Zoila, the on-call doctor, came in to check me, and I had dilated 1 cm.  You've gotta be kiddin' me.

At that point we decided to opt for an epidural.  On the one hand I felt like we were on that slippery slope the books warn you about for going into the hospital early, but on the other hand I knew that I would not make it a lot longer without something since I had been in almost constant pain since 10:30 with only 1 cm to show for it.  So at 4:30 I was wheeled into the surgical room, told I would get a partial pain killer so I could still participate actively in the labor, and instructed to curl up in a ball and not to move.  If I was worried about the pain from the needle, I should not have been.  I'm not sure it was the "tickle" I was informed it would be, but after searing pain for the previous five hours, the epidural was a walk in the park.  

And sure enough it did help for a little while.  Tia Susanne who came all the way from Bogota to be with us arrived at 5:00, and I was able to talk with her and just stop occasionally for pain.  It was as if I was getting a peek at the labor I thought I would have at 10:00 in the morning!  The anesthesiologist came in to see how I was doing and said he was glad to know I had teeth (that I could smile), and hopes in general were higher than they had been in a while.  Unfortunately that only lasted about an hour.  (In fact, your Tia Susanne thinks I shouldn't even mention the epidural since it didn't seem to cut much of the pain at all in her opinion.)

The challenge is that this being my first time to do any of this, I have no idea if what happened from there was more like normal or still particularly intense.  But, for me, the intensity came back quickly and then simply never left.  A part of the reason for that (I came to understand) was that you were facing the wrong way (head down, but face up rather than face down), so your head and back were pressing on my spinal column (ouch).  Thus a lot of the pain I was having was not "productive" pain; it was not the result of contractions...it was just pain.  But you were all good, thanks be to God.  It was a pretty comfortable position for you - why move? - and it was evidently also all but impossible for you to make your way out.  Dra. Zoila pushed for a c-section.  Luckily, Dra. Zoila was not my physician.

Dra. Lucia and I had talked a lot about how much I wanted a vaginal birth and that it meant a lot to me.  Your dad and I were clear that if there were any problems for you then we would certainly concede to a c-section, but we really wanted a genuine shot at a more natural birth.  We had been told that some doctors here would schedule me for a c-section based solely on my age, so our conversations with Dra. Lucia had been very clear from the start.  Keeping an eye on your heart rate and trying to figure out how to help me turn you around, she then had me sit up, legs crossed and start to push just to see if it would do anything.  Given that after a dilating cream and the return of persistent pain I was only dilated 7 cm with no desire to do any pushing, I did my best, but not much changed.  

At that point your Tia Susanne stepped in and suggested we get the birthing ball from our room, turn me over on all fours, and see if we could get you to turn over that way.  Dra. Lucia was skeptical, but willing to try it...as long as I stayed on the table.  So I don't know who, but someone went for that ball, somehow I turned over on all fours, and then I passed to a point in which I just wanted to cry and scream, and I thought there was no way this was going to happen.  Susanne was leaning over me and bearing her full weight on me.  Your dad was getting his hands crushed.  The two doctors were...taking pictures.  Yes, it seems the birthing ball was a new thing for them...

Dra. Lucia, Margarita, Peanut, Susanne

To be honest I thought then that it might all be over.  I did not have the energy or strength to keep going any longer, and the pain was ripping through me as if to tear me in half to try and get you out.  When I asked Dra. Lucia to check my dilation one more time, thinking that would help me decide if I was going to keep this up or not, she insisted I get on my back again.  I wasn't sure I could do it.  I really wanted her to check me while I was on that ball.  I figured I would move when I knew what the next step would be because even the thought of doing it "just to check" anything made me want to fall apart.  

From there things get very shady for me, and maybe your dad or Tia Susanne can fill you in.  I was still not fully dilated, but Dra. Lucia told me to start to push.  My legs were up in stirrups that were higher than Mount Kilamanjaro (I really should have taken a photo of that), and I realized I had no idea how to push.  For all the "prenatal classes" I had taken, I had only learned exercises to keep me flexible (likely helpful given those stirrups), but never anything about breathing or pushing or anything.  

In the end I think I dilated by the sheer force of pushing you out.  Dra. Lucia would tell me to push by saying, "Okay Mamie, fuerte, fuerte, fuerte, fuerte, fuerte."  It is about the only thing I can remember from that time, and it was something that helped me focus.  I laughingly say that you heard her and figured she was talking to you so that each time you push up your head or stretch out your legs you say to yourself, "I am strong, strong, strong, strong, strong!"

Eventually my/your waters did break, and eventually I did get to 10 cm, and Susanne talks about the moment she saw in the doctors' faces that this was really going to happen.  And when I say "doctors" let me be clear that we had a whole panel in the room with us.  The anesthesiologist was back  (I found out later that he got in on the game at one point, taking his arm and pressing down on my stomach to help push you out).  The pediatrician came in.  Dra. Zoila was there.  Dra. Lucia was in charge.  There was at least one nurse (Margarita) who had been helping us the whole time, but maybe others?  My eyes were closed from the time I got on my back again with my feet in the air and my hands on grips that helped me pull up and get air between me and the bed.  I don't know how long it took, but they promised you were coming, so I kept pushing until at some point I actually wanted to do so. 

And then, there you were.  

Once your head was out the rest of your little body just shot right on through.  You made a small cry, not too big, but enough to make us know you were all right.  They put you on my stomach but on some sterile blue paper and we asked to hold you closer, skin to skin.  You were warm and sticky - blue and covered in white and some red.  Evidently you came out with your arm beside your head (as you can often be seen now), and that led to an episiotomy with a fancy right hook to avoid the hemorrhoids that came back with a vengeance with all of that pushing.  But sticky, white, blue, red - you were beautiful.  Your heart shaped face and your small little body were all that I needed.  

I think it is not true that you forget the pain.  You can't really keep it in focus and remember just how much it hurt - that does get blocked out, I think for the sake of your mom's mental health - but you don't forget that it hurt.  What you know more is that somehow all the hurt is still really worth it.  You really are the prize.  You are the miracle.  You are my Peanut, my sweetest one, and it was worth it. 

So welcome to the world baby girl.  We love you, and God loves you.  And you are one great nut.

Don't Hold Your Breath Either

It seems that Peanut is taking his/her claim on Colombia (and Colombian time) very seriously because it seems super unlikely that we will have any big events on Tuesday.  I know that due dates are always estimates, and this one perhaps even more than most given that there has always been a little uncertainty on where we should even peg the supposed date in the first place.  All I'm saying is...I wouldn't hold your breath.

When we went to the OB office on Friday there was no contraction in sight on the monitor and zero dilation, hence, Peanut is unlikely to make an appearance on the 21st.  The good news is that the hemorrhoids are way down, no pain, and I am allowed to walk around more now.  Way to go on the shrinking songs/prayers etc. y'all!  Don't stop now though, this ain't over yet.

Don't Just Lay There!

Except in my case...do.

Well, after months of eating better than ever (mostly thanks to Richard), and exercising 3-4 times a week (yes, you read that right), and having perfect blood pressure, good weight gain, and no swelling, I am now on bed rest until the arrival of the Peanut.  Sigh.

 

The following moves to PG-13 and may be unsuitable (TMI) for some readers.  Feel free to stop here and just hope all goes well when the day comes.

So the deal is, I have an impressive case of hemorrhoids.  I have always thought, if you are going to do something, do it right, and this is no different.  I now have a small mountain range on my behind, multi-colored even, and it hurts like the dickens!  Hemorrhoids are really just varicose veins getting overworked and a little pissed off about that.  To combat them we have begun a small pharmacy on my bedside table with antibiotics, anti-inflammatory pills, creams, stool softeners, witch hazel pads, along with the prenatal vitamin that has been a constant companion.  Ah, the joy.  

This is evidently remarkably common in pregnancy, either now or even after birth due to all the required straining and pushing, but it rarely seems to be a conversation piece.  Folks talk about this in hushed tones just like in Brighton Beach Memoirs when everyone whispered "cancer."  And I get it.  It's not an attractive dinner time topic, but hey - it's real and it happens, and it is no good to feel like you can't talk about it.  With double the blood pumping around in your body and the extra pressure of a baby bearing down on you, I am amazed this is not a required rite of passage (be thrilled to pieces if it was/is not).  

I am pretty stoic about all of it now, and it should not impede our desire to continue with a vaginal birth plan, but it ups the ante a bit, and I can't say it calms the nerves.  Still, it is way better than when we thought I was going to have to have surgery 2 weeks before my due date right on my down theres.  Bed rest is not all it is cracked up to be though.  My sides ache (can't lay on my back, can't sit, Lord knows I can't lay on my stomach), and I basically just get up to get a new bag of ice to strap on my behind and lay back down.  Thrilling and...you got it...chilling.  But it isn't for too much longer, and I know that whoever comes closest in the betting contest we have going, Richard and I will be by far the grand prize winners.  

In the meantime, however, I would invite all of you all to hum a shrinking tune whenever you are riding back and forth to work, out walking the dog, feeding your kids, whatever.  In my head it sounds a lot like the baseball organ vamp "shrink, shrink, shrink, shrink, shrink, shrink, shrink, shrink, shrinkety dinky dink!," but you do whatever comes to mind.  Feel free to record your best and send them to me.  I could use a little extra entertainment.

Testing, Testing, 1,2,3...

There are a lot of tests when you are pregnant.  It starts with the one in the picture, but it certainly doesn't end there.  Every time I go the doctor I have to have some test or another, and more often than not I have to go to a separate clinic to have it done, and I have to go "en ayuno" - fasting - so I can't even do it the same day.  I am glad for all the helpful this information this seems to be giving to my doctor(s), but gee maneezy!

It also turns out that we did not have some tests that we might have had were we to have been in the States, or if we had started with our OB earlier than we did.  More specifically, we did not have any of the 11-18 week testing for Down's Syndrome.  As every god-blessed book or website on earth harps on the various worries an over-35 mother should have (not the smallest of those is ever managing to become pregnant, step 1 down) I am very clear that the chances of a Down's baby is higher for me than it might have been if Richard and I had gone through all this earlier.  As it is now, the sonogram and such don't seem to show any worrisome signs, but as with most tests it is not conclusive.  There is a test we could still do that might tell us something (or might not...and the false result rate is pretty high) which Dra. Lucia suggested to us, but we refused.  After all, why?

I mean, don't get me wrong, I am all up for knowing things ahead of time.  And the chance to read ahead, to figure out what (if any) services there are here for a child with special needs would certainly be valuable.  Still, Peanut is going to come however Peanut is going to come, and we are going to deal with that, love that, work that out, etc.  I worry about it sometimes, and I pray about it a lot, but in general I figure that I can't do much and that it is what it is (and will be), so we hope for the best.  

And lately I have worried about plenty of other things that we can't know at all until Peanut progresses all the way on out.  What if Peanut can't see, or hear?  What if Peanut really didn't get enough vegetables (this is likely true), and some internal system didn't get formed so well?  And of course the worst of all possibilities, what if something happens in labor or soon after and Peanut simply doesn't make it?

These things don't take up too much mental space, don't worry, but they are there.  I am sure they are there for everyone, at least in passing, but it remains absolutely stunning how much thoughts like that (especially the last ones) can just stop your heart.  It is amazing how much of an investment you can have in something you can't really see and someone you don't really know.  Perhaps that is one of the reasons people return so often to faith when children come along.  The prayers certainly start with a different intensity when you become responsible for another life, and the idea of a God you can talk to, feel close to, and be invested even though you can't really see her and you don't really know him suddenly doesn't seem so strange.

At any rate, no need to tell me all the reasons things will likely be fine.  I know the stats and I know I have done as well as I know how.  If you do have time, feel free to throw Peanut and family in your prayers though.  We can always use all the help we can get.