For the past several weeks I have been 'on the edge' of going into labour - and I think it might be one of the most emotionally exhausting experiences you can put yourself through.
Imagine, for a moment, a huge life-changing, irreversible event with an uncertain outcome that depends on factors largely outside of your control, and that may or may not happen at any point during the day or night, requires medical facilities distantly located from your present location and has the power to greatly damage your body (but might not). Now assume that the only control element you have over this event is a list of 'possible triggers' and another list of 'possible dissauders' that may allow you to exert a modicum of will over the event; maybe stopping it or slowing it down, and maybe speeding it up or kick-starting it - but the lists are vague, and mostly unscientific, and have their own inherant problems. You have one other tool, as well, and that is a somewhat agreed-upon societal belief that the event will be immediately preceeded by several smaller 'mini-events', which theoretically will allow you to, if not control the situation, at least recognize it.
That's waiting for childbirth.
And I've been waiting for weeks, mostly because I've noticed two things. The first is that at the end of my pregnancies I have lost the ability to recognize labour signs. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that almost all signs of immediately impending labour are with me with increasing regularity. I'll get contractions, for example, and they will get closer together, and more intense, and longer. They'll last for hours, days even, and then they'll stop. Or I will have an undeniable urge to clean, and as I'm cleaning I'm interspersing it with desperate bathroom runs and enough cramping and back pain to down a horse, and then...nothing.
None of the pre-labour signs seem to apply to me with any certainty at all.
The second thing I've noticed is that none of the triggers work. Those things that are supposed to help start labour don't seem to work at all, and in some cases are slowing down any progress I am making. I have walked until my hips were too sore to take another step, eaten food where the only outcome was to make me sick, induced vomiting and other unpleasant things, nursed until I was blue in the face, sat on bouncy balls, rocked on my hands and knees, watched tv while standing on my head, forced my husband to learn how to use a Rebozo, drank hippy tea that claimed to 'tone my uterus', taken up dancing, rubbed and pressed on accupressure points until my heels were raw and people started to look wary when I asked for a backrub, and yelled at my abdomen while simultaneously attempting to 'remain calm and relaxed'.
None of these things have worked. This led me to believe that maybe a vague 'something' might be wrong. I verified my pregnancy dates, had an ultrasound, checked my bloodwork and made sure the baby was as optimally positioned as I could manage. All was good...she just, well, wasn't coming. She wasn't coming. Then I wondered if I was being impatient; maybe she needed 'more time to bake'...and that amount has now hit 8 days with no signs of impending labour on the horizon. Or maybe every sign of impending labour on the horizon, depending on how you look at it.
And so, today, I'm taking a break. I'm going to do nothing to start or help labour along. I'm going to sit on my bum, I'm going to eat and drink whatever I please. I'm going to take an Advil and relax my contractions away in a hot bath whether it stops them or not. I'm going to knit, and spend some time with my son and ignore the nagging feelings that I should be doing something. I'm going to give Samuel a cup instead of encouraging him to nurse, and we're not going to discuss 'Baby' at all. In fact, I think we might go to playgroup this morning, and I might have a giant coffee and a croissant.
Because sitting on the edge is exhausting. Sometimes it's truly better to hop off on one side, regardless of the side, and just BE for a little bit.
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Friday, May 4, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Appointment Update
There is a plate of blue cheese and liverwurst waiting for me in the livingroom, maybe with a pickle, and so this is going to be a fast update.
David and I made the hour long trip to the city today for my fetal assessment, which went exactly like I thought it would in terms of scheduling. I was early, and they took me early anyway, and I sat for 20 minutes with a monitor belt on and then had an ultrasound.
Good news is: the baby is fine. In fact, she's better than fine. I needed two 'peaks' on the monitor for movement and heart rate, and I had four, interspersed with textbook calm periods. They were thrilled. My ultrasound showed that she was moving wonderfully, perfectly formed, swimming in almost double the amniotic fluid she needed as a minimum, and my placenta showed no signs of aging at all.
With that, I was sent home free until my Monday appointment.
So, I mean, great news and all, but on the other hand, I am still pregnant. 41 weeks and counting, now. I walked over 2km when I got home, which actually seemed to stop the contractions, and so I'm off to sit on my borrowed exercise ball and see what that does, if anything.
David and I made the hour long trip to the city today for my fetal assessment, which went exactly like I thought it would in terms of scheduling. I was early, and they took me early anyway, and I sat for 20 minutes with a monitor belt on and then had an ultrasound.
Good news is: the baby is fine. In fact, she's better than fine. I needed two 'peaks' on the monitor for movement and heart rate, and I had four, interspersed with textbook calm periods. They were thrilled. My ultrasound showed that she was moving wonderfully, perfectly formed, swimming in almost double the amniotic fluid she needed as a minimum, and my placenta showed no signs of aging at all.
With that, I was sent home free until my Monday appointment.
So, I mean, great news and all, but on the other hand, I am still pregnant. 41 weeks and counting, now. I walked over 2km when I got home, which actually seemed to stop the contractions, and so I'm off to sit on my borrowed exercise ball and see what that does, if anything.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Induction...that's the question.
Alright. So we're past due now, and here's the deal.
When I went past due with Samuel I felt a great deal of pressure to just have the baby already since my mother and my sister were coming down to help me after the birth, but could only be here for a very short and completely non-negotiable amount of time. And so I agreed to an induction at 41 weeks, which turned out to be a terrible, horrible, no good very bad thing.
Now my mother is here again to help with baby #2. She's been here 1 week already, and can stay up until the 5th of May. There is a leeetle bit of flexibility this time, but not really, and so every day that ticks by is another wasted day of having my mom here. I don't need to tell you how incredibly helpful having her here after the baby was born would be, (not that she isn't helpful now, of course, my kitchen has never been cleaner) and instead of utilizing this help I'm sitting around, timing contractions that look like this:
3 min.
8 min.
1 min.
52 min.
3 min.
And handling all sorts of fun, completely unsolicited advice and fielding lots of ridiculous comments and way. too. much. physical contact.
So, is it any wonder that this coming Monday, when I am going in for my next OB appt., I'm starting to feel that old pressure to perform? It isn't my mother who's making me feel this way, but ME. I want her to meet her grand-daughter. I want to know Samuel is safe and sound while I'm at the hospital. I want to not have to rushrushrush to get discharged, rushrushrush to get a ride home and rushrushrush to figure out everything again on my own. Again. On my own. Agaaaaaaain.
I have literally tried everything I can think of, excluding the truly unpleasant and clearly illogical induction options. I've done them all. In clear defiance of all generally accepted convention the contractions actually come much less frequently and with significantly less intensity when I move in any way. Five weeks of contractions have equalled, um, essentially no progress physically, anything that is supposed to start labour has pretty much drawn it to a screeching halt, and every change I see alters the next day.
The next choice is a clear one: do I go in to my appt. on Monday and agree to some professional assistance, or do I throw my hands up in the air, ignore logic, and muddle through the constant fights with the doctor, the constant questions and prying eyes of the population at large, and the lack of any help from family whatsoever in order to try for a zero-induction labour?
Clear choice, no clear answer.
When I went past due with Samuel I felt a great deal of pressure to just have the baby already since my mother and my sister were coming down to help me after the birth, but could only be here for a very short and completely non-negotiable amount of time. And so I agreed to an induction at 41 weeks, which turned out to be a terrible, horrible, no good very bad thing.
Now my mother is here again to help with baby #2. She's been here 1 week already, and can stay up until the 5th of May. There is a leeetle bit of flexibility this time, but not really, and so every day that ticks by is another wasted day of having my mom here. I don't need to tell you how incredibly helpful having her here after the baby was born would be, (not that she isn't helpful now, of course, my kitchen has never been cleaner) and instead of utilizing this help I'm sitting around, timing contractions that look like this:
3 min.
8 min.
1 min.
52 min.
3 min.
And handling all sorts of fun, completely unsolicited advice and fielding lots of ridiculous comments and way. too. much. physical contact.
So, is it any wonder that this coming Monday, when I am going in for my next OB appt., I'm starting to feel that old pressure to perform? It isn't my mother who's making me feel this way, but ME. I want her to meet her grand-daughter. I want to know Samuel is safe and sound while I'm at the hospital. I want to not have to rushrushrush to get discharged, rushrushrush to get a ride home and rushrushrush to figure out everything again on my own. Again. On my own. Agaaaaaaain.
I have literally tried everything I can think of, excluding the truly unpleasant and clearly illogical induction options. I've done them all. In clear defiance of all generally accepted convention the contractions actually come much less frequently and with significantly less intensity when I move in any way. Five weeks of contractions have equalled, um, essentially no progress physically, anything that is supposed to start labour has pretty much drawn it to a screeching halt, and every change I see alters the next day.
The next choice is a clear one: do I go in to my appt. on Monday and agree to some professional assistance, or do I throw my hands up in the air, ignore logic, and muddle through the constant fights with the doctor, the constant questions and prying eyes of the population at large, and the lack of any help from family whatsoever in order to try for a zero-induction labour?
Clear choice, no clear answer.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
There is way too much gastrointestinal information in this post!
Earlier this week I cavalierly tossed out an opinion that came back to bite me in the bottom last night. I was on the phone with a friend, and I was lamenting how long it seemed to take toddlers to understand very simple concepts. Case in point:
“That’s a purple crayon. Purple. Not green, Sam, purple. Purple. That’s the green one over there. No, that’s purple. It’s purple. It isn’t green, Samuel...”
I could feel my blood pressure rising! It never occurred to me that if I made God the parent in that conversation, and made myself the toddler, our conversations and His attempt to impart basic knowledge to me would sound just as frustrating!
Fortunately, I will continue to repeat the ever-crucial difference between green and purple crayons, and God will continue to repeat His instructions and hopes for me ad nauseam, as last night showed me all too well!
It started around 9pm or so with a stomach ache. The baby was moving a lot, and when I was late into my 3rd trimester with Samuel I remember an awful 72 hour period where he flipped into a transverse position and sent me to the emergency room in agony as a 21", almost 9 lb lump of wiggly boy stretched my uterus into shapes it hadn’t been used to for 8 months. This ache felt like that.
I walked, and the pain got worse. I rested, and the pain got worse. I tried lying in a hot bath and the pain got worse. I ate a bowl of cereal (not a good idea) and had some water and woke David up. “I feel awful!” I wailed to him.
After we agreed that these were not contractions, David decided I had indigestion and I ate some Tums and then wandered the house in a blur of pain for a few hours until trying to lie down again in bed. I couldn’t get comfortable. Up and down and up and down...
But David works tonight until 11:30pm, and so he HAD to be well-rested and couldn’t afford to stay up with me if my problem was probably, I dunno, ‘too much pork for supper and a touchy tummy’. He went back to sleep and I kept up my routine. I would lie on the sofa for 30 minutes, then run to the bathroom, then back to the sofa. In between bathroom jaunts I had cold sweats, then hot flashes and tossed and turned on the sofa as the clock ticked past the hours and I fitfully dozed when the pain let me.
Finally around 4am I got into bed and the pain, while not gone, was definitely in the realm of pain-but-not-agony now and I fell into a very awkward sleep.
This morning, my abdomen was very tender to the touch, sore and swollen, but no longer feeling like it was being ripped from end to end. I treated myself to a cab to work and just made it in the door before making a mad dash to the church kitchen to lose everything I’d eaten in the past 18 hours. I was dizzy and weak after, and my abdomen is still very sore and a bit puffy, but I felt a lot better once I’d been sick and realized that yes, this had probably been a 24 bug of some kind and not, say, appendicitis or something truly serious.
Now, I don’t think that God gave me a stomach virus in order to teach me a lesson. However, there were lessons in that horrible night that can be uncovered, although probably in a better way from someone functioning on more than a few hours of sleep. I thought about how when the pain got to be unbearable and I wasn’t able to think clearly, my reaction was to pray, but when the pain was still at a normal level, then I reacted by trying to control it myself! Prayer, you see, made an appearance as a ‘last resort’, and how true is that in so much of our lives?
Anyway, these are ramblings from a tired Mama who has a long day ahead of her and isn’t thinking very clearly at all. It’s a good day for dry toast and lots of hydration, I think. Oh, and Heavenly Father? I’m still pushing for making it at least until the 13th, okay?
“That’s a purple crayon. Purple. Not green, Sam, purple. Purple. That’s the green one over there. No, that’s purple. It’s purple. It isn’t green, Samuel...”
I could feel my blood pressure rising! It never occurred to me that if I made God the parent in that conversation, and made myself the toddler, our conversations and His attempt to impart basic knowledge to me would sound just as frustrating!
Fortunately, I will continue to repeat the ever-crucial difference between green and purple crayons, and God will continue to repeat His instructions and hopes for me ad nauseam, as last night showed me all too well!
It started around 9pm or so with a stomach ache. The baby was moving a lot, and when I was late into my 3rd trimester with Samuel I remember an awful 72 hour period where he flipped into a transverse position and sent me to the emergency room in agony as a 21", almost 9 lb lump of wiggly boy stretched my uterus into shapes it hadn’t been used to for 8 months. This ache felt like that.
I walked, and the pain got worse. I rested, and the pain got worse. I tried lying in a hot bath and the pain got worse. I ate a bowl of cereal (not a good idea) and had some water and woke David up. “I feel awful!” I wailed to him.
After we agreed that these were not contractions, David decided I had indigestion and I ate some Tums and then wandered the house in a blur of pain for a few hours until trying to lie down again in bed. I couldn’t get comfortable. Up and down and up and down...
But David works tonight until 11:30pm, and so he HAD to be well-rested and couldn’t afford to stay up with me if my problem was probably, I dunno, ‘too much pork for supper and a touchy tummy’. He went back to sleep and I kept up my routine. I would lie on the sofa for 30 minutes, then run to the bathroom, then back to the sofa. In between bathroom jaunts I had cold sweats, then hot flashes and tossed and turned on the sofa as the clock ticked past the hours and I fitfully dozed when the pain let me.
Finally around 4am I got into bed and the pain, while not gone, was definitely in the realm of pain-but-not-agony now and I fell into a very awkward sleep.
This morning, my abdomen was very tender to the touch, sore and swollen, but no longer feeling like it was being ripped from end to end. I treated myself to a cab to work and just made it in the door before making a mad dash to the church kitchen to lose everything I’d eaten in the past 18 hours. I was dizzy and weak after, and my abdomen is still very sore and a bit puffy, but I felt a lot better once I’d been sick and realized that yes, this had probably been a 24 bug of some kind and not, say, appendicitis or something truly serious.
Now, I don’t think that God gave me a stomach virus in order to teach me a lesson. However, there were lessons in that horrible night that can be uncovered, although probably in a better way from someone functioning on more than a few hours of sleep. I thought about how when the pain got to be unbearable and I wasn’t able to think clearly, my reaction was to pray, but when the pain was still at a normal level, then I reacted by trying to control it myself! Prayer, you see, made an appearance as a ‘last resort’, and how true is that in so much of our lives?
Anyway, these are ramblings from a tired Mama who has a long day ahead of her and isn’t thinking very clearly at all. It’s a good day for dry toast and lots of hydration, I think. Oh, and Heavenly Father? I’m still pushing for making it at least until the 13th, okay?
Thursday, March 8, 2012
A great trip to the ER
Last night I went to hop into the bath and discovered that I was experiencing, how do I say this delicately? One of the early signs of impending labour; let's leave it at that. Now, if this were to happen in about 4 weeks, I would be jumping for joy, but at 33 weeks gestation I was not jumping anywhere.
David, in true male fashion, freaked out. I, in true Amy fashion, ignored the situation and pretended it wasn't happening. Which by that point it wasn't anymore anyway, so it's all good. But this particular early labour sign came with a revelation.
I'm Rh- and every pregnancy I need a shot of an immunosuppressant called Rhogam. Technically, I'm supposed to get this at 28 weeks, but my family doctor forgot to remind me, my OB forgot to remind me, and I just plain forgot, and so here I am five weeks late for this shot and I really really should have had it by now.
Especially under, um, these conditions. Surely everyone whose given birth is following the subterfuge, right? Anyway, my friend Cari told me to drink some water and go lie down, which I was more than happy to do, and this morning I woke up and all was fine. Except for the aching and the contractions.
My OB was out of town and my family doctor had closed his office so my only option was the local emergency room, in which I waited for over four hours to see a doctor for a 10 second needle in the backside, and to have a little arguement about whether I was in labour.
"But, Ms. Elliot, if you are in labour then we'll need to give you steroid injections, so we should do a cervical exam to check out your dilation."
"Hmm. You see, I think that's a bad idea. Because I'm not in labour."
"But you could be."
"But I'm not. Because I'm not having any signs of labour and I'm 33 weeks along."
"But if you were, that would be bad."
" I agree. But I'm not."
And so forth. I eventually just went ahead with the exam and, lo and behold, my cervix is so far away from being ready for birth it might as well be under my rib cage. But I did get the satisfaction of being right. And then I got abig, fat needle in the bum, so pride goes before a shot, I guess.
In other words, I'm stiiiiiiilllll pregnant.
David, in true male fashion, freaked out. I, in true Amy fashion, ignored the situation and pretended it wasn't happening. Which by that point it wasn't anymore anyway, so it's all good. But this particular early labour sign came with a revelation.
I'm Rh- and every pregnancy I need a shot of an immunosuppressant called Rhogam. Technically, I'm supposed to get this at 28 weeks, but my family doctor forgot to remind me, my OB forgot to remind me, and I just plain forgot, and so here I am five weeks late for this shot and I really really should have had it by now.
Especially under, um, these conditions. Surely everyone whose given birth is following the subterfuge, right? Anyway, my friend Cari told me to drink some water and go lie down, which I was more than happy to do, and this morning I woke up and all was fine. Except for the aching and the contractions.
My OB was out of town and my family doctor had closed his office so my only option was the local emergency room, in which I waited for over four hours to see a doctor for a 10 second needle in the backside, and to have a little arguement about whether I was in labour.
"But, Ms. Elliot, if you are in labour then we'll need to give you steroid injections, so we should do a cervical exam to check out your dilation."
"Hmm. You see, I think that's a bad idea. Because I'm not in labour."
"But you could be."
"But I'm not. Because I'm not having any signs of labour and I'm 33 weeks along."
"But if you were, that would be bad."
" I agree. But I'm not."
And so forth. I eventually just went ahead with the exam and, lo and behold, my cervix is so far away from being ready for birth it might as well be under my rib cage. But I did get the satisfaction of being right. And then I got abig, fat needle in the bum, so pride goes before a shot, I guess.
In other words, I'm stiiiiiiilllll pregnant.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Reason #568 Why Baby Two Is Different Than Baby One
I've already lost track of how far along I am, when my ultrasound date is, what my blood pressure was and have forgotten to take my prenatal vitamin or keep track of my food choices for at least a week.
This would never have happened with my first baby.
This would never have happened with my first baby.
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