First of all, whoever spins the web of my life has a keen sense of irony, because my OB apt was bumped due to an emergency C-section. I should have had an emergency C-section with Little T. Instead he got stuck instead my birth canal and had to be turned which was excruciating and life-threatening for both of us.

I felt my cervix yesterday and it just felt horribly wrong. Instead of a nice slightly open C-shape, it's a droopy udder with weird bumpy bits. It was ripped to shreds when Little T got stuck there. Now blood gets stuck there when I have my period and it hurts like hell. I feel like my cervix will never hold together to have another kid. It can barely hold together towards the end of my cycle. I feel like my uterus is going to fall out. Not that I want another kid. We'd already decided on two before Little T was born. I put off going to the OB, because I thought I didn't want to go and be told that I was now infertile, and I had that choice taken away from me. Then I read a diary entry from Mary Anne and I realised that I wasn't going to make things better by hiding, so I finally made an apt.

And the good news is the gods had a good laugh, because at least on the ultrasound and on physical exam my uterus and cervix appear fine. There are no polyps, no masses. There are a few small cysts on my ovaries but those are pretty much par for the course for me. My CBC was normal, but the hormone work hadn't come back yet. I guess that could still be screwy. I talked with my OB frankly about my feelings and that something isn't right down there. Trauma about sums it up.

She suggested the patch for the heavy painful periods. It comes in a space-age pouch with a little dancer on it. It amuses me.

After going to the OB, I realised I actually didn't want to hear I could get pregnant again. One of my biggest fears is another accidental pregnancy. Now part of me says "well you didn't do badly with accidental pregnancy, which produced a healthy child Special K, whereas my charted and obssessed-over pregnancy produced Little T a medically fragile child. Even so another accidental pregnancy scares the beejezus out of me. Okay another pregnancy and baby does.

I still feel my wyrd is to have three kids. Maybe one of them won't be a bio-kid, but it doesn't really matter, because most of me thinks I'm insane to contemplate another child since Little T is about four children in himself. I really don't have a desire to have a third child. I just always thought I'd have three kids until Special K was born and I'm a case proof that birth control isn't 100% effective. Hence it's my wyrd.

So I'm relieved and confused, and I'm going to try the patch after my period. And I feel lucky to have choices.

I cried on the way home from Little T's hand apt, because the hand surgeon told me that Little T's left arm probably wouldn't improve much. I wasn't going to cry. I was going to just tough it out. Then I thought to myself "If I were my friend, would I think it was okay to cry?" So I cried. Not as much as I thought I would. I didn't have any particular dreams for his arm as such.

It did really hurt to hear that part of the cause might be brachioplexus. I'm still letting go the small voice that blames me for not making the horrible OB do an ultrasound on Little T's entire body and not just his head. When I was admitted, the nurse examined me and probably felt his arm and asked for an u/s to see where his head was. The OB on duty very snidely agreed and just waved the wand briefly over his head. I had a fleeting desire to ask to see the entire body, but it seemed silly at the time, so I didn't ask. If she had, she would have seen his huge left arm, and we'd have both been spared an incredibly traumatic birth. Even if she had no, I'd have felt less regret, because I'd have done every possible thing I could. I so rarely regret speaking up and asking for what I want, but there it is.

And that reminds me of my uncle's question "How do you cope with all this?". He asked me as we were sitting at the reception of my brother's wedding, which no doubt influenced my answer: We have some choices in life, but a lot of our choices come as part of a package deal. I didn't grow up in the richest country in the world, but I choose to stay here. I chose C to be my husband. I'm happy with those decisions. Even knowing what I know now, I wouldn't want to choose someone else. I choose the entire package.

And I didn't choose that horrible OB and probably she'd have just made fun of me for asking to see the entire body and refused. I went to the hospital in labour, but not active labour, and my water had been broken for just two hours. It was also my second birth and with my first, my sack had not broken until almost when Special K was born. Even so, the OB insisted that she give me pitocin. I equally insistently refused. I said I'd go into active labour on my own. I was right. And pitocin might well have killed Little T. So I got the big thing right. She got angry with me and that clouded her judgement. I think she labelled me as a "difficult patient" and ignored her nurse who noticed something was wrong.

For some reason, the hand surgeon asked if I wanted to have another. We have thought about it. He said "It's not hereditary." I know that. And unlike perhaps many able-bodied parents, I never had the dream of the perfect child. And I still wonder if Little T might not also have my movement disorder as well. Special K doesn't appear to. I just don't know if we can handle Little T and Special K and a third child. We were thinking two kids before Little T was born anyway. But never say never.

And I realised it's so much his arm that bothers me. It's other people treating him badly. I mostly want to spare Little T a painful childhood. Because I know what it's like to be teased mercilessly because you have a disability. But at least I can provide him a soft place to land. I already know he's a very strong person and there's just something about him that attracts people, charisma if you will. I think if we can get him through all these hospitalizations in one whole piece and that's still an if in my mind, he'll be okay.

I got stressed out today, because

Little T had granulation tissue from his g-tube, but at first we couldn't figure out what it was.

Little T cried a lot and refused to be put down for hours from all the poking about from us figuring things out

My sister sent me an email that the top for our bridesmaids' costumes for my brother's wedding is on sale and therefore going out of stock quickly. The web site claimed that a nearby store had it, but when I called, they said they didn't. I'm between sizes, so I need to try two sizes on to see which one fits. Stress stress.

I realised I don't have a dress to wear for my hs reunion this weekend. C said "You have opera clothes." Yes, but these are a) for San Francisco and b) too formal for a hs reunion dinner. More panic and stress.

Clothes shopping stresses me out, because it's never clear that throwing more money, or more time at the problem will achieve the desired result, a me that looks good. I'm 5'8" and have an hourglass figure. Well, okay, I used to have an hourglass figure before two kids. Now I have a figure that looks great in the right clothes, but in the wrong clothes, I look fat, and worse pregnant. Not that being pregnant is so bad, but it's highly embarrassing for both of you if someone says you are and you're not. Most clothes are designed for shorter women, or fatter women, or unreal women like Barbie. I'm not tall enough for "tall women clothing".

So I go shopping in the vain hope I can find something that fits and I like. I wish I knew how to accomplish, except by going to stores and trying things on. I wish there was some sort of Amazon thing for clothes "If you liked this dress, here's another dress you may like." IMO clothes are still in the preInternet era. Some marketing guru figures that women love to shop. Maybe some other women. Not me. If you hate to shop for clothes too, shout it out, sister! Fundamentally, to me, clothes shopping is flailing in the dark. I hate that.

It's stressful. Here's how I react to stress. First my heart starts pounding and my breathing quickens. Then I get a headache. Then my stomach starts to hurt and finally if I get stressed enough, I feel light-headed and nauseated. Under extreme cases, I simply shut down. This is different from remaining calm. I'm far from calm. I'm a soda pop bottle. If you can get me to open up, I fizz all over the place. It's messy and inchoate and quite ineffectual. With C, I don't shut down, I just start yelling at him. Needless to say, he doesn't appreciate it. This time I didn't yell. I just fizzled for a bit until C got me to calm down and decide what to do.

C called the nurse who said that the cream I got from Little T's last GI apt should suffice.

I ordered the two sizes online. I have to pay $10 in shipping, and I have to return the one that doesn't fit, but at least in that case, throwing more $$ and time at the problem seems to have solved it.

At C's suggestion, I called a friend to go shopping with tomorrow. I still may not find a dress, but at least I get to spend time with a friend.

My movement disorder worsens under stress, but a friend from hs commented that it was a lot better when she saw me after an absence of several years. I no longer try to control the amount of stress I experience. After Little T was born, that was impossible anyway. I try to control my actions and take better care of myself.

When I gave birth, waves of pain cascaded over me and sometimes I thought I couldn't handle it, then I'd start to panic and everything would get worse. I learned to try to remain calm and just ride the wave, because eventually it would pass. For me, the feeling that this moment of intense pain will never end is the worse. But all things in life pass. So if I know what I'm supposed to do, I usually remain relatively calm under intense situations or crises. It's when I don't know what to do that I freak out. Fortunately as I get older, I encounter more situations and learn better what to do in each. Or at least I have C to calm me down while I figure things out. I love that man.

Summary:

Special K was born 1 day before her expected due date on April 20, 2002 at 7:15am.

At birth, Special K was 7lb 1 oz and 20 inches long w/a head of 32.5cm. She had Apgar scores of 9/9. She nursed shortly after birth and has been a breastfeeding champ ever since. C and I are absolutely thrilled with our #1, albeit somewhat dazed.

You can check out her "designer salon" hair of black w/frosted highlights.

I had the unmedicated childbirth I wanted and it was overall a very positive experience. My bag of waters didn’t break until after I was fully dilated. And C basically helped break the baby’s fall out of me, because she was born with no hospital staff present.

Birth Story:

On the afternoon of April 19, I started having contractions. I’d been having contractions off and on for the past couple weeks, so I didn’t dare believe anything was really happening. C and I walked a few blocks to have dinner at 5:30pm with a couple who already has 1 child, and is expecting another in November. Walking there stimulated more contractions too strong to continue walking while they were happening. We timed them for a bit and they were about 6-7 minutes apart. Though this had happened before for several nights running, so we weren't quite ready to believe that this was really it. However the contractions got more uncomfortable through dinner, and we were going to back to our friends' place at 6:30pm, but decided instead to head home.

I felt like walking so we walked a few blocks to the library to return some books then went home again. In retrospect I’d never had contractions where I had to stop and focus on relaxing in order to make them manageable, but doing this made them quite manageable. I had no other visible signs though and I didn’t want to be disappointed.

When we got home, we decided it was time to pack for going to the hospital. I said I didn't know if it was the real thing, but at least it would give me something to do. We kept a log of the contractions from about 7:00pm to about 11:00pm as they gradually decreased to under about 5 minutes apart. I’d had contractions 5 minutes apart before, so I was waiting for that 4-1-1, which is when my OB had said to go to the hospital.

After we finished packing, we watched a episode of "Charmed" (on our Tivo) where Phoebe discovers she is pregnant. We had to pause the show frequently for contractions that were just over 5 minutes apart. After the show was over at 11pm, we decided to call the hospital to ask them if we should consider going in. After a bit of phone tag, we finally talked to the OB on call at 11:30pm. He said that since it was a first-time birth, we should wait two hours.

I wanted to lie down and sleep. However I couldn’t sleep through the contractions and they were more painful lying down, but if I sat on the birthing ball it somehow eased the pain. The contractions came in waves that built up, and somehow the ball applied the right sort of pressure that helped me ride the peak. C was absolutely wonderful in helping me focus on each contraction, and rubbing my back. Massaging the small of my back also helped ease the pain. However there was no bloody show, no water breaking, no nothing, so I still wasn’t sure this was it.

Finally at 11:42pm, I had a tiny amount of blood, but then nothing. So I laboured on. At 1:25am, I started to drip blood, so I agreed to go to the hospital. We live only 10 minutes away from the hospital, but we had to stop and I had to get out of the car for each contraction, because I couldn’t deal with them sitting down. This made for a long car trip. A 10 minute car ride stretched into 35 minutes.

To my delight, when I got to the hospital at 2:10am, I was already 4-5 dilated and fully effaced. The nurses strapped me up to the monitors and insisted I lie in bed for 20 minutes. They became concerned, because although the baby’s heartbeat was strong and steady, it didn't accelerate to my contractions at all. I really didn’t feel anything was wrong. I have a disability that causes me to jerk from time to time and I figured that the baby just thought contractions was just another type of jerking.

My parents arrived at around 2:30am and it was very soothing to have my mother there. Even though she did seem a bit worried, I felt reassured by her presence that everything was okay. My dad tried asking me a few questions, didn’t get much of a response and finally left the room to go read. Eventually at around 5am, he went back to my house.

The nurses said I was dehydrated, which was true, and asked me if I’d get an IV. I refused and said I’d drink more water. Drinking definitely helped my labour progress. The contractions got closer together and I felt that the pain was becoming unmanageable lying there, so I got up from the bed. I sat on the birthing ball and the monitor kept slipping off as I shifted position. The nurses tried to get me to lie on my side in the bed, because they were still concerned about the baby. They said it was better for the baby, so I tried it. The pain was unbearable doing that and I could only endure it for 2 contractions before I got up again. The baby’s heartbeat didn’t change while I was lying on the bed anyway. I wanted to go soak in the tub, but they wanted to still monitor me. I had to go to the bathroom anyway, so I took off the monitors and sat on the toilet for a bit. It didn’t feel as good as the birthing ball.

At around 4am, I was 6+ cm dilated. The nurses were still concerned about the baby’s heartbeat, and I was tired. So I tried lying on my side between contractions and then getting up on the bed on all fours during contractions. That seemed to work, so I laboured until I felt the urge to push at around 6am. The nurse checked me, but unfortunately the contractions were about 2 minutes apart, and so it was during a contraction. At first she said I was fully dilated and then she had me do 1 push and decided I was only 8cm dilated.

Transition was really awful. I think the only thing that got me through it was taking one contraction at a time and knowing that it’d be over soon. I’d feel a dilation contraction,which I could deal with, and then I’d feel this overwhelming urge to push. For the first couple contractions, I couldn’t quite figure out how not to push, and so I did anyway, and felt an intense burning and bruising sensation that told me pushing was in fact the wrong thing to do. I also absolutely refused to let the nurses draw my blood for the cord blood during transition. What a ridiculous notion that I could hold still for that long!

In retrospect, I think resisted the urge to push for too long, because after a while I stopped feeling the dilating contractions and just the overwhelming urge to push. I had to push something and so I pushed out my stomach contents. After about 3 of these, I tried a tiny push and felt no burning, so I decided that I wanted to be checked. And to my delight at 6:20am I was checked again and found fully dilated.

Pushing felt so good after resisting it. The nurses wanted me to lie back so they could check my pushing. Well, I pushed with the same force that I pushed squatting, but gravity was working against me, so I didn’t push very effectively. I never did get the hang of holding my breath for the count of 10.-- It made me feel light-headed. However I did push with the force they wanted and it was pretty hard work. It felt very uncomfortable, so they got me a squatting bar and wanted me to lean up against that.

My bag of water started bulging out of me like a balloon and finally burst at 6:35am. I said I wanted to squat and squatted on the bed. The nurses asked if they could hook up an internal monitor to the baby. My bag of waters had broken anyway, and they were still concerned about the baby’s heartbeat, so I said okay.

I pushed without holding my breath, but silently focusing my muscles on pushing the baby down. My OB had told me that pushing was like having a big bowel movement. I pushed like that and it doesn't look like much from the outside. I don't hold my breath or tighten my face. The pushing is all "down there". The nurses decided that the baby wasn’t coming anytime soon, because “I wasn’t pushing properly”. And their shift ended at 7am, so they left the room.

In retrospect if I’d pushed with the same force I had before rather than the extra force I’d using lying on the bed, I’d have been better off, but I didn’t know any better. Anyway, I was making visible progress and C was encouraging me. I pushed through two more contractions, and saw the baby’s head. It was so thrilling! I reached down and touched it. I felt the ring of fire, so I tried not to push for a contraction.

Then I pushed through another contraction, and all of a sudden –- whoosh! The baby just slipped out. C was behind me and stuck his arm out to break the baby’s fall, fortunately to the bed. I heard loud lusty crying and I knew the baby was fine. I couldn’t turn around and see her because the umbilical cord was still attached. The nurses rushed in, and declared the time of birth to be 7:15am. They cut the cord and did their checks and her Apgar scores were 9/9, which is about as good as they get.

She came out so fast that I had 2nd degree tearing. I was on such an endorphin rush that I didn’t feel anything but pure pleasure. I had to lie in the bed for the OB to collect Kerensa’s cord blood, which was a little tedious, because it had to be done before the placenta could come out. After that was all over, the OB gave me a local anesthetic and stitched me up.

Finally I got to see my baby. I was prepared for a cone head, a bruised face, baldness or something, but she looked like her photo -- a little doll with a full round cap of "designer salon" hair of black w/frosted highlights. I thought she was so perfect that I couldn’t quite believe she was actually my baby.

I tried to breastfeed her, but I wasn’t good at positioning her, and she was very intent on looking at me and everyone else. She was incredibly alert. She had come out screaming and now she was in full blown explore the world.

I tried to breastfeed a second time later in the maternity ward with the help of a nurse, and she latched on well and sucked strongly, and has done so ever since.

So you might ask if I’d ever give birth in a hospital again? You bet. I basically got the birth experience I wanted and I really appreciated the nurses afterwards. I was so focused on giving birth the way I wanted that I could have been in a room anywhere. I can’t imagine cleaning up all that mess at my house. If I’m not at my house, I might as well be at the best place to handle emergencies. IME in a hospital, you do have to be assertive and stick to what you want. Legally they cannot make you do anything without your consent. And that was never a problem for me.

And afterwards, it was nice to be taken care of. I was totally wiped out and still making a total mess. The nurses cleaned up after me, and the bed was adjustable, which made it much easier to find a comfortable position. They provided me with maternity supplies that I hadn’t thought of but needed like a donut. We also had an infinite supply of clean clothes and linens as C and I got the hang of feeding our baby, changing her diaper, etc. I also received 3 meals a day, which reminded us to eat. We could call on nurses for help at any time. And we did a couple times.

Special K stayed with us in my room the whole time, though we took a 2-hour break from her on the first day, so we could sleep. We had advice from people who have handled literally thousands of babies. We had the reassurance that our baby was perfectly healthy, as they checked her all the time. She has a bit of jaundice, but the pediatrician told us what to look for and it seems nothing to worry about. C said “it’d been a lot harder if we’d had to come in parenthood cold”. And I think even for subsequent children, I’d want a little pampering for both me and C afterwards – childbirth is of course very hard work.

My OB told me that she wouldn't stop me if I went into labour after my last apt on 3/26. I thought my baby was listening, because that morning I threw up, and had mild contractions accompanied by trips to the bathroom. At my apt I told my OB about throwing up, but forgot to tell her about my diarrhea. She noticed the contractions at the time, but they were mild and I figured they were just Braxton-Hicks.

That night I went to the BMC Listerine dinner. I had a good time. :) It was fun to put some names to faces and see some other folks again.

The next morning, I was having regular contractions 10 mins apart lasting about a minute and I was in the bathroom every time. I thought this was rather unpleasant and a bit weird, but figured this was just my lot in life. However, my husband and mother weren't convinced, and my husband called the OB in the early afternoon. The OB told me to take Immodium and that stopped the bathroom trips, but not the contractions, so I was asked to come in at 4.

I went in and was strapped to fetal monitors that measured the baby's heartbeat and my contractions. The monitoring was not as uncomfortable as I thought it might be. My contractions were now 8 minutes apart, but still mild. The OB said they were mild enough that the baby's heartbeat didn't respond to them at all. My cervix was also not responding much. However my contractions were like clockwork. And I just had this feeling that it would take a long while, but if they continued, eventually I'd give birth. My OB left for a while, and didn't come back until some minutes later.

Again my baby seemed to be listening, because the very next contraction was stronger, came after 6 minutes instead of 8, and through the monitor, I could hear my baby's heartbeat rise with it. My OB returned and told me she got into an argument with the hospital, who said that my baby was still premature at 36 weeks 3 days and therefore my delivery would be considered high-risk. Furthermore they had a code red at the NICU (Newborn Intensive Care Unit) and if I came, they'd have to send me to another hospital. Well, the last thing I wanted was to give birth at a strange hospital, and have some perinatologist poking at my baby. I'm sure they save lots of babies' lives, but I'd rather not have them near my baby if I can help it.

My OB told me to go home and rest until Sunday, and to try and calm things down. So I went to bed, and after a while, things did seem to calm down until 11pm when the contractions and the bathroom trips started again. I had already taken the maximum dose of Immodium, and we didn't know what to do, so my husband called my OB again. She said to take another Immodium, but if that didn't work, not to take any more, because the medicine wasn't working. She also suggested that it might be viral. Well, that jogged the memory of my husband who suddenly remembered that his officemate had been sick with the stomach flu over the weekend. I wish he'd told me that earlier, but at least my body finally got the message. The next trip to the bathroom, I didn't have a contraction, but instead felt that very unpleasant gut-wrenching sensation that usually accompanies the stomach flu. I hadn't felt anything like it the entire time and I've never been happier to experience it!

So I stayed in bed through Monday morning; sick for a couple days and then just resting. Though others of his co-workers reported they got quite sick, my husband never had more than mild stomach pains, so he took good care of me. He brought me some books on tapes from the library, so I wasn't totally bored. I'm having mild contractions again, though not regular, so I suppose it's a good thing I stayed in bed.

Before all this happened, I was waffling between wanting the baby out, and wanting to wait until it's time. Now I'm willing to wait. I'm fairly certain I could start the whole process again by taking castor oil. And I would if it was that or induction, but my OB says she'd be willing to hold off induction until May 5 (42 weeks). That's a loong time from now. And letting my body putter along and slowly get things ready seems much more agreeable to me now.