A Tale of Two Epidurals, or, The Poppy Arrives

Other alternative titles for this post include: "So That's What a Contraction Feels Like", "A 1???" or "Pleasepleasepleaseplease".

Monday night, the 9th, we spent some time debating when the Poppy would arrive and how (c-section or VBAC).  But debating when a baby will arrive is about as productive as juggling greased lemons so eventually we gave up and went downstairs.  I played Diablo 3 for a while until I realized this off and on discomfort was coming in, shall we say, regular intervals.  Like some kind of, I dunno, contraction perhaps? 

But we didn't really know what to do about it so we went to bed.

After a couple hours of contractions (and no sleep for me), we decided it was time to go in.  But first I threw up dinner (stupid cough).  Anyhoo, we arrived at the hospital about 2 AM and they told me I was at a sad little 1 (of the required 10).  I maybe cried because I didn't want to be sent home again.  But after walking the halls a bit I made it to a 2 and they admitted me.  

This is what happens when they try to draw blood and it won't come out. 

Over the next hour or two, the awesome Dr. B. came by and broke my water (weird) and I made it to a 3.  At that point I was restricted to my bed and decided to get the epidural.  "He'll be here in twenty minutes" they said.  Twenty minutes turned into an hour and it was an awful hour.  Awful.  But he finally showed up and did the thing.

This is what happens when they don't use a short tube on your IV.  Or something?  Lots of tape.

Everything was good for a half hour, until I realized I could feel everything again.  It was very similar to several past experiences at the dentist.  "Oh, are you still not numb?  I guess we'll give you another shot."  It was about another hour before Epidural Man returned, and it was an even awfuler hour.  I was so tired, I couldn't get out of bed and it hurt so bad.  So so so bad.  By this point I'd thrown up three more times.

At this point I started muttering "Pleasepleasepleaseplease", to no one in particular.  Looking back, I feel like I was a crazy person, clawing at my overtight ID band and grabbing at the bed rails.  I was quiet, but crazy.  Drewbles is nice and says I did great notwithstanding.  Anyway, they couldn't explain why the epidural didn't take and so did it again (it was nearing noon by this point).  

Then I fell asleep.  

I was woken up an hour later because the Poppy's heart rate kept dipping and they tried rolling me from this side to the other to get it to pick back up (which it did).  Side note: have you ever tried to roll side to side when you can't feel half your body?  It is basically impossible.  At this point I told Drewbles I was half a body guy.

So, after all the repositioning they told me I was at a 9.5!  Just like that!  In spite of my contraction pattern they said!  So the nurses went over pushing protocol, Dr. B. came in, they gave me some oxygen and put me to work.  Pushing is not hard when you can't feel anything.

Dr. B., the nurses and Drewbles were all so encouraging, and about forty-five minutes later the Poppy made her entrance at 1:56 PM, exactly on her due date.  They plopped her up on me, all bloody and gooey and it was awesome, especially since that couldn't happen last time.  After waiting a bit Drew got to cut the cord, which he didn't get to do last time.  All kinds of firsts, considering this was our second baby, right?  

(Also I got to see the placenta which was bloody, gooey and awesome but not cute at all.)

The Poppy weighed in at 8 pounds, 1 ounce and was a half inch longer than Boo Boo at 20.5 inches.  I love that she has the same fluffy dark hair, though I still cannot explain it.  Thanks, heartburn!  I GUESS.

(I love so much that I don't have heartburn anymore!  And no stupid cough and food doesn't taste like barf!)

So, in the end, after all the low placenta stuff and the breech stuff and the lack of progress stuff, we avoided that second c section and had a perfect VBAC.  Go me, go baby, go everyone else!  I really had no issues with my c-section recovery, I thought it was pretty easy and in some ways it was easier than VBAC recovery.  Mostly I don't like either.  But I'm really glad that I didn't HAVE to have another c-section.

(Custom dry erase marker portrait from Drewbles.  The nurses love these.)

So far the little miss is quite mellow and content.  When she wants something she'll tell you, but she's easily pacified and very snuggly.  I see a lot of sibling resemblance until she opens her eyes, but we'll see what happens as she grows. 

Ready to go home.

As for that sibling, he likes to look at her and has held her once on his own initiative.  He doesn't seem to resent her, though he's definitely been a bit touchy.  But we are just trying to be patient and sympathetic to this big change in his world and I think things will settle down soon.  (You can compare his newborn pictures on this post.  They both like having their fluffy hair washed.)

(I have two kids?  Whaaaaa?)

 

(He loves this cup!  Luckily I still had an identical one from when he was born.)

And now we are a family of four, just like that.  It is amazing how these little humans grow and develop and finally enter the world, ready to go. 

Welcome, little one!  We're going to have a great time.

In Which the Speck Arrives

Today we got a baby!  It is weird--one minute you're just there and the next minute someone says, "Hey, here's this baby and it's yours!"  But enough about that for now.  Here's a summary of how it all came about and, of course, a plethora of pictures.

Last Thursday at my weekly doctor's appointment (with my favorite tennis-ball-pulverizing Dr. D) we found out the Speck was breech--meaning his head was up instead of down, which is how it should be.  So, we scheduled a version--a procedure where doctors manually turn the baby from the outside--for the following Tuesday and were told that if he couldn't be turned then they would do a c-section that day.  I was not really ever planning or expecting to have a c-section so we spent the weekend hoping he would turn.   

Monday morning (my birthday!) we had a false alarm that had us at the hospital for a couple of hours and we learned that he was adamantly breech.  So come Tuesday morning, at the early hour of 5:30 we headed to the hospital again for the version.

 Last picture of the Speck's spacious estate.

 Last picture before, well, everything after.

Long story short, he could not and would not be turned!  Such a stubborn Speck!  They wound up putting in an epidural before trying to turn him and man, they were aggressive (they meaning two doctors working together).  So aggressive that I threw up after.  So!  It was off to the chamber of c-sections.  At this point, I have to confess, it was kind of a relief because if he had turned, I would have been induced and not been able to eat for HOURS.  (Although I STILL didn't get to eat for hours because my lunch tray was misplaced.)

So official!

So totally out of it!

Once in the OR with my unresponsive legs and lower-torso, a lot of things happened and most of them I could not really see.  Partly because they confiscated my glasses and partly because I was trying to sleep the whole time.  Yes.  I was just so completely tired, it was ridiculous!  Then, all of a sudden, I heard something about feet and just a moment later there was a baby in the world, wailing for all to hear.  Drew cried.  I tried to keep my eyes open.

And so there he was, our little Speck, out and about in the world for real and no longer taking up my internal real estate.  He cried and cried and cried and I laid there like O.o for a while.  The doctors discovered that his cord was wrapped between his legs and around his chest, which sounds painful, and that was the reason he couldn't be turned.  That's what you get for doing ever so many flips, flops and rolls, my little man!  Anyway, Drew got some pictures and eventually they brought him over to see me and I was like O.o  And then they sewed me up and I threw up again.  Throwing up laying down?  Not pretty.
 

 

(These were both before I had throw up all in my hair...)

After that I eventually went back to my room and stuff happened.  But enough about that!  Here's the fun stats: he weighs 8 pounds, 15 ounces--not exactly tiny.  We weren't too surprised that he was over 8, as we were both larger babies, but even so he was bigger than I expected.  He's also 20 inches long and has long fingers and rather wild fingernails.  But the biggest surprise was all the dark hair!  I expected a bald baby, with maybe some little blond wisps but with two dark-haired grandpas I guess there was always the chance for dark hair.  Wacky!

This was the part of the bath he enjoyed most.

I did post his name on Facebook (his middle name is Drew's), but I haven't really wanted to use it on my blog.  For now, I will call him the CAG or maybe the Speck or maybe Baby or maybe Hey You Little Man.  I should also say that Drew has been such a nice husbandman throughout the day's events.  He's been so helpful and supportive and has already changed the first diaper.  I couldn't have done it without him!
 

 Awwww.  Drewbles couldn't be happier!

 Drew's parents came by for a visit and brought treats I am looking forward to eating.

  So much hair!  I guess all that heartburn was not for naught.

 Sleepy.

 Hurray!  Jell-o lunch at last!

And that is essentially how the Speck entered the world.  So far everything is going just fine, and though his birthing was not what I anticipated, this is how it happened and I don't think he could have gotten out any other way being so tangled in his cord.  Maybe next time?  Wait, let's not talk about next time just yet.  We're happy enough with the Speck.

A Shocking Lack of Vomit

I will start out with the depressing part.  Most of the time I am okay with the fact that I don't live near any of my immediate family.  Partly because it's been that way for so long and partly because, well, that's how it is.  But sometimes it just kind of stinks, like when you want your Mama to pat you on the head or when there's a new Fast and the Furious but all of your Fast and the Furious buddies live states away.  Anyway, the point is that when you only see some of your family once a year or so, it is very exciting. 

That is why it was ever so exciting when Marci, my sister of all sisters, came to visit me!  You may recall that her last visit did not go *quite* as planned so we were extra determined that this trip would be all fun and no barfing.  'All fun' apparently translated to 'eat everything in the world'.  So here was our weekend, according to the food:

Thursday night: On the way home from the airport we stopped at IKEA for dinner.  I got the soup and mac and cheese--a winning combination?  (We also got a new shelf for the laundry room, wheeeee!)

Friday: We hit Brick Oven for lunch, after a morning of YouTube and Pilates and probably some kind of healthyish breakfast.  Brick Oven...is not so healthy, but it WAS tasty.  I got a lil calzone and Drew finally got that sandwich he'd been threatening to order for the last 4 years or so.

After seeing G.I. Joe (of course!) we stopped at the mall for some See's, then hopped over to Drew's mission reunion.  They had pistachios sans shells and we ate a lot of them. 

Once home we got some Indian takeout, since Marci hadn't really ever had it before.  Isn't Indian food just the best?  We ate it while watching The Help, because Marci hadn't seen it, and if that's not a mix of cultures I don't know what is.  That was Friday.  Apparently we took no pictures on that day.  

Saturday I had Raisin Nut Bran for breakfast.  Don't pretend you aren't fascinated!!!  After that exciting breakfast we took the train up to Salt Lake and got there just in time to beat the lunch crowd at the Lion House on Temple Square.  Marci had never been on a train OR eaten at the Lion House so maybe this weekend was as much about food as it was about doing things Marci had never done.  Look, we are on the train:

It was much more fun to ride during the day, when we could see all the dirt piles and junk yards.

After lunch, we parted ways for the afternoon session of General Conference.  Marci and I got excellent tickets from a nice random fellow while Drew scurried off to translate.  There was no food involved in this portion of the day, but I did have a lady tell me it looks like I've dropped.  No, I don't think that happens when you still have almost two months to go, LADY.  Look, here we are at Temple Square:

...

(Also, that's a Hmong tie...hearts aren't Drewbles's usual tie aesthetic)

(Not that hearts on ties are a bad thing)

Glamo!

 We were front and center on the plaza!

A few hours later--and a few purchases at H&M later (where Marci had never bought anything before!  So many firsts!)--we rode the train back to Provo for some Skyfall and some dinner from....In-n-Out!  We were nervous.  

(Oh hai, belly button.)

The (only) upside to our prior visit was that we got certificates for free meals and finally, all these months later, we put them to use.  Did we survive the night?!!?!?

Yes, yes, we did.  And there was much rejoicing in the morn!  It was sleepy rejoicing because we stayed up way too late discussing our childhood.  Luckily we had time for naps during the last sessions of General Conference on TV.  Hahaha, just kidding, Mom. 

Earlier that week a copy of the new Smitten Kitchen cookbook had arrived at the library for me, so on Sunday we feasted upon her New York Breakfast Casserole.  I can't link to the recipe obviously, but it is worth checking out her book for.  It's a mix of cut-up bagels, grape tomatoes, red onions and cream cheese, with an egg and milk mixture holding it all together.  Delicious!

For dinner we had grilled Reubens made with a corned beef brisket (I had never had corned beef brisket!).  I have been smelling sauerkraut in the kitchen ever since, but fortunately I love sauerkraut. "Sauerkraut, sauerkraut!...Forget that sauerkraut, you need to get to the store!" 

I told Marci that I would make her a red velvet cake.  So I did.  But since it also happened to be my brother's birthday, we called it his birthday cake.  It was a tasty accompaniment to some Daria and Dr. Doctor Who.

I used the SK recipe--two thumbs up, but double the frosting.

And then it was time for bed!  And before we knew it, it was Monday morning and we were driving back to the airport in the rain.  And parking by the wrong terminal.  And walking to the right one.  And saying farewell at security!  D:  

Baby, why you so big?

Don't I have such a pretty sister?

Alas and alack.  I guess it's back to phonecalls and Facebook.    

The Tennis Ball: An Update

The post title is a little misleading because it's not as though the Tennis Ball is up to anything. It's not even up to, you know, existing. But I finally had my follow up appointment with Dr. D. last week and thought the news was worth recording. So here is the final chapter in the Tennis Ball Saga. I like to call it The Tennis Ball Saga: Full Color.

The most exciting part of the appointment was that I finally got to see the photos Drew saw a month ago. It's a strange thing to see the actual insides of your own body. It looks so straightforward in a medical diagram but really it's just a bunch of squishy things squished next to other squishy things.

But what you're all REALLY wondering is what the heck did this Tennis Ball look like? Right? Well. I'm sorry to say I don't have copies of the photos. But here's a little recreation I whipped up in Photoshop:
You knew that was coming! Here's the real deal:Pink, shiny, veiny. It reminded me very much of a slightly deflated balloon, and Dr. D. said it almost as large as the actual uterus. But it's no more and apparently the removal was very straightforward and simple. Even though I never felt it I have since realized it would sometimes be squashing my bladder. Yep. Unsquashed Bladder: the unexpected side effect of being Tennis Ball-free. And hopefully this is the last time my bladder comes up in a public venue.

AHEM.

Another photo I saw was of the endometriosis creeping all over an ovary. It looked like chocolate sauce, to be honest, but you'll just have to imagine that one--I draw the line on medical illustrations at fibroids. So, they removed all that, but he suspects there's more elsewhere in the region, and that it is most likely the real culprit in preventing offspring thus far. Just as a brief explanation of endometriosis is, it's when cells from the uterine lining (the endometrium) grow outside the uterus, which leads to various problems. The cause is unknown so there's no real cure either, and it's more about management. I can't say the news was a terrible surprise, and it won't be to anyone else who has known me through my younger years. Dr. D. thinks either my symptoms haven't been too bad or I just have a high pain tolerance. I'm not really sure either, not having been in anyone else's body for comparison, but I would say I have an Advil-assisted pain tolerance. Oh, Advil, how I love you and your sweet, sweet medicine.

Did I mention they found some cysts too? Of course! Those are gone now too.

So, that's just kind of what's going on now. No more tennis ball. Also no more surgical glue (hurray!). Just me and the endo. And Drewbles. Two out of three isn't too bad, eh?

In Which I Have No Tennis Ball

And now for the final act...the Tennis Ball's last stand.

But first I have two things to say. 1) No one need feel bad for not knowing about any part of this saga. We kept it under our hats. 2) Thanks for the well wishes! They were much appreciated.

Back to the Tennis Ball.

Tuesday dawned very early so that we could be to the hospital at 6 AM. We waited for a bit then I was sent off to get my blood drawn. Let me state for the record that I had my blood taken a number of times in January and never had a single problem. Sometimes I even watched the needle go in just to be tough. This time I got all hot and dizzy by the third vial and had to crumple up in the chair so I wouldn't pass out. After I dry heaved a little I felt all better.

The rest of the morning was much less eventful. In fact, I will break it down into the events that transpired, chronologically:

1) Nurse Jose walked in on my half-dressed self.
2) I put on Hospital Socks so my freshly painted red toenails went unappreciated.
3) I camped out in the pre-surgery area for a long time.
4) Nurse Jake made two attempts to get my IV in.
5) They took my glasses.

I mention my glasses because it meant that I never actually SAW the tiny robot hands in the room. I didn't see much at all except for blurry, blue-ish people wandering around a blurry room. Once I was on the table Nurse Jake told me to take some "yoga breaths" into the mask and I'm pretty sure I was out mid-courtesy laugh.

Can I just say how disorienting it is to wake up in a different place, in a different position with no memory of how you got there and without a brain capable of understanding anything? Well, it is. I have no idea how long I was in the recovery room, but at some point the nurse asked if I wanted to go see my husband and I said "Yeeeahhhhhhhh."

Off I went back to my room, falling asleep along the way. I am delighted to say that I had the mental capacity to follow through with my one goal for the day, and that was to make my first words to Drew be "What happened about me?" I DID IT.

And now for the medical information portion of this story. I actually never saw the doctor after the surgery, but he gave Drew the scoop whilst I was busy being passed out. Drew even got to see pictures of the Tennis Ball! I'm so jealous. I'm hoping I get to see them at the follow up appointment. It seems unfair that so many people have seen my innards and yet I am not one of those people.

Oh, back to the medical stuff. Essentially, they made three smallish incisions and the Tennis Ball was taken out without a hitch. They also found a bit of endometriosis on one ovary (why does it feel so TMI to write the word "ovary"?) and snipped that off as well. Who knew, right? It's strange to think that so many things can be going on in your body without your knowledge. Thank goodness for tiny robot hands. Oh, and those doctors.

I spent most of the afternoon doing this:
I also spent some time lying on the bathroom floor because I thought I would pass out in there. There is no picture of that.

But here are some pictures of the prizes I got:

The sponsors of "How to Survive Wednesday"

At long, long, long last! And not a trace of...whatever that new one is called (that's a legitimate brain freeze)

I wish I had got a picture of these at the hospital when they were in better spirits. Hydrangeas are so lovely and so fickle.

Flowers from work. Thanks, work!

And thus the end of the saga. I have since named my snip snapped abdomen Tummy Tummisimo, and it appears to be healing up fine. It seemed weird to post a picture of the snip snaps, but if you would like to see how it all looks, I will happily email it. Who WOULDN'T want to see my stomach, right!?!?

In Which I Expound on a Tennis Ball

Disclaimer: Hopefully this blog post does not sound blithe. I'm not blithe about it per se, but I prefer to write about it with a certain degree of blitheness. It's a skill I learned from Gilbert Blythe. Oops, there's that blitheness.

Once upon a time, at the start of 2012, I was with child, but spoiler: I'm not anymore. I'm not saying that to get pity or whatever (though of course I won't turn down pity)--it was very early and it's just one of those things that happens. But it does play a pivotal role in the rest of the story so there it is.

So back in the early days of 2012 (ie, January 3), I was at home with Drewbles. I'd started bleeding the day before and it was getting worse the next day so we decided to get a professional opinion on the situation. We tried one place, then another and were finally sent to the ER, which makes this story sound much more urgent that it really was. It's much more dull when you know that insurance coverage and a lack of certain equipment was the blame.

And so began my first foray into the ER. It mostly consisted of Drew and me sitting there talking about how we had been sitting there forever. But in the process of our stay, which lasted several hours, they did a *ahem* quite invasive ultrasound and the doctor casually announced there was "a mass." After which he proceeded to leave and never return. Thanks, doctor!

The doctor arranged to send us to a nearby women's clinic two days later so they could pilfer some more of my blood. He also set up an appointment with another doctor, who turned out to be totally MIA the day of the appointment. Thanks, doctor!

Luckily one of the nurses came to talk to us and actually was interested in the mass! Thanks, nurse! So what was that mass? A uterine fibroid. (Fibroid=a benign growth) Can you guess how big it is? Yep, it's the size of a tennis ball. Just a fleshy mass the size of a tennis ball all up in my bidness.

By the by, I don't recommend doing a google search for pictures of fibroids.

It was another few days before we could meet with a third doctor, who actually exists AND was very helpful. He confirmed the miscarriage and we talked a long time about this fibroid. Since they're benign, doctors often will just leave them if they aren't causing any symptoms. But given the size of mine and the possibility that it is squishing my baby-making vitals, the doctor said it would be best to take it out. He also said there's a chance it could be an ovarian cyst, which means I could wind up one short in that department. BUT we'll be optimistic and stick with the fibroid theory. So this is what is going to happen this Tuesday:

Just imagine that penny is a tennis ball. Okay, so maybe that isn't *exactly* how the surgery will go. Actually the best part about this whole thing (besides having the tennis ball removed, I suppose) is what will actually be doing all the work:
Tiny robot hands! That may not be the official term but you get the idea. Here is how it actually all works:
The doctor sits yonder and controls the robot hands while utilizing a tiny robot camera to see the insides. In the past they removed fibroids via c-section so let's give medical science a big hurray.

So instead of having a baby AND a tennis ball, we now just have the tennis ball. Hopefully sometime we will have the one and not the other, but at any rate, come Tuesday the tennis ball will be history.