That Day is Here!
I was finally able to finalize my book and publish it myself! It took so much time and effort, both emotionally and spiritually to write this book. I have to thank my husband and my two children for getting me through this grueling process.
I wrote this book not only to help myself process what I have been through, but to reach out and help other women who have struggled or are currently struggling with postpartum depression, psychosis, or bipolar disorder. I hope to relate to a broad audience and satisfy what readers are looking for.
Please preview it, read, tell me what you think!
Book link:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QN6L43C
Friday, December 5, 2014
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Pop Goes the Potty
Potty training...and birthday parties!
Potty training is a messy, messy thing. Older kid is going a pretty good job at it, he hasn't had an accident in weeks, and stands up to pee on a stool and everything. He can even pull up his big boy pants himself! But the number one problem is with number two...
He cant seem to go number two when he isn't sleeping. Which is a problem because that means we can't predict when he might go when he's awake. Because he doesn't. He sleep poops.
I asked our pediatrician about this, and he suggested putting him on the potty ten minutes before he naps, and ten minutes before he goes to bed. I've tried this, and all I have managed to get out of him are a couple of toots.
We have an award system for the kid; he gets a gummy bear whenever he successfully goes pee pee in the potty. It seems to be working, until he gets tired of gummy bears. But who gets sick of gel made from the melted bones and hooves of animals? Maybe I need to try a more vegan approach and give him Twizzlers instead...
The baby is the big ONE now! And walking around like crazy. It took him about two days to accomplish this. I mean, seriously, at least give me some warning before I have to go out and spend $40 on new shoes for you. I mean, at least the day before my nonexistent paycheck. We had a toned down party at my grandma's house, and do let me share the picture of my beautiful, cream cheese icing, triple fudge chocolate chip, hand made cake.
Hey, at least I tried. And it only cost me about $10 to make! Take that, Publix and your delicious chocolate iced cakes of wonderment.
James got plenty of gifts, and was extremely pleased with the bags and paper and Styrofoam that came with each one. He was also pleased with his smash cupcake.
Potty training is a messy, messy thing. Older kid is going a pretty good job at it, he hasn't had an accident in weeks, and stands up to pee on a stool and everything. He can even pull up his big boy pants himself! But the number one problem is with number two...
He cant seem to go number two when he isn't sleeping. Which is a problem because that means we can't predict when he might go when he's awake. Because he doesn't. He sleep poops.
I asked our pediatrician about this, and he suggested putting him on the potty ten minutes before he naps, and ten minutes before he goes to bed. I've tried this, and all I have managed to get out of him are a couple of toots.
We have an award system for the kid; he gets a gummy bear whenever he successfully goes pee pee in the potty. It seems to be working, until he gets tired of gummy bears. But who gets sick of gel made from the melted bones and hooves of animals? Maybe I need to try a more vegan approach and give him Twizzlers instead...
The baby is the big ONE now! And walking around like crazy. It took him about two days to accomplish this. I mean, seriously, at least give me some warning before I have to go out and spend $40 on new shoes for you. I mean, at least the day before my nonexistent paycheck. We had a toned down party at my grandma's house, and do let me share the picture of my beautiful, cream cheese icing, triple fudge chocolate chip, hand made cake.
Hey, at least I tried. And it only cost me about $10 to make! Take that, Publix and your delicious chocolate iced cakes of wonderment.
James got plenty of gifts, and was extremely pleased with the bags and paper and Styrofoam that came with each one. He was also pleased with his smash cupcake.
How adorbs, really.
But now, I have to go. The baby (now one year old) is trying to bang on these keys while simultaneously chewing on a big block of said Styrofoam. More later!
Love you all.
Friday, August 15, 2014
Suicide, the Selfish Act
Robin Williams is dead.
I am sure the entire world knows by now that one of the greatest and most beloved comedians is dead. By his own hands. This was not a murder, this was not a jealous person committing homicide, this what not a wife lashing out at a husband, or a random drive-by shooting. This was a suicide.
A suicide. Death by your own two hands.
A selfish decision? I do not think so.
Someone I know the other day said, "What a waste of talent; a waste of life."
I could not disagree more strongly. Why can't we celebrate his life, or the wonderful things he left behind? It wasn't a waste, it was a wonderful, laughter filled life.
Also a life littered with depression.
What kind of disgusts me is what this has done. It has brought out strong opinions. On both sides. One side is saying "Finally! Suicide will be better understood, and mental illness will be normalized! Don't you see what it does??"
And then there is the more accepted view of "Suicide is selfish. It is wrong and unforgivable."
Well, I would say that most people who believe such idiocy have never suffered such deep depression, that you stare death in the face. And it looks really damn good.
I will go on and say that last December, during my postpartum psychosis episode, I considered it. And wrapped a tie around my neck. I wanted death. I wanted to die, I wanted the pain to end. I was so far gone, that the only thing keeping me tied to this world was God. I was to the point where even my children were not a reason to stay anymore. That is somewhere no one should be, ever.
I have considered it a few times, in fact. After suffering from anorexia and bulimia since 10th grade, the respect for yourself is pretty much gone, and you harm yourself thinking it will take the pain away. But then you get to the point where that doesn't do it for you anymore, and where else do you turn? That is when suicide happens. When you are looking at yourself in the mirror, and see in your eyes nothing but pain and sickness, and realize you are worthless. Not just to the world, but to yourself. And there is no point.
When people say that suicide is selfish, it literally makes my stomach twist. "You don't understand!" I want to shout. People are in pain, they are hurting and just want it to end. It is not just mental illness that brings that out. Terminal illnesses that bring large amounts of pain, when you lose a loved one, or chronic illnesses bring out the craving for the end of the pain.
Have you ever stubbed your toe, and it hurts so bad you cannot cry, you just sit there gasping and wondering when the searing pain will end? Yeah, take that and maximize it to one million. Then it would MAYBE be comparable.
Another reason this makes me so angry, is because i know this will remit. Why does it take a celebrity committing suicide to bring this out of the shadows? To somewhat break the stigma? I have seen statistics saying that help lines are getting more calls since Robin Williams' suicide. That is absolutely wonderful. But, realistically this will eventually fade. And we will step back into the dark of ignorance. And go back to hiding our depression, our anxiety, our postpartum issues, our mania. We will go back to self medicating and hurting ourselves more instead of seeking help and not being afraid of what friend or family will think or say.
I pray that does not happen, but it will.
This is why I am in school for psychology because, oh Lord I want to help people. I want to stop people from doing something like this. I want them to see there is help, there is hope, and that life is not just means to an end.
No one needs to hide. Not anymore.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Acceptance
So, everyone. It has been awhile, hasn't it?
I have been in a whirlwind of hospitalization, medication regulation, and, unfortunately, divorce.
I was hospitalized again, at the beginning of April. My depression was beginning to creep upon me again, and I went in practically begging for ECT to be given. Thankfully, my doctor talked me out of it.
"Just try it." she said, holding out the prescription of Wellbutrin to me. I was reluctant, because that was the same medication that had sent me into a manic tailspin before. We had agreed upon 150 mg instead of 300 mg. "If in four weeks you are not feeling better, come back here and we will dicuss another series of ECT."
That was on April 8th, and I have not been back.
I did spend my birthday in the hospital. It was very sad, but my fellow patients made me a card, signed it, and sang me happy birthday during recreational therapy. There is always a sense of camaraderie in there. Maybe because we are all suffering, so we all understand how badly we all need someone who understands and will not judge us, just because we have a diagnosed mental illness. We are all running the same race, just with different shoes on.
It is now near the end of May, and I feel incredibly stable. I feel like I can now walk a straight line, instead of constantly falling and shaking. My sense of reality is clear, and I now see a future ahead of me without a hospital stay every month. I must remind myself, there is no shame in going back, when needed.
I am still battling depression. It is not so much that I cannot breathe. I just have to get away and cry, or just sit and absorb everything around me, and remind myself that things are going to be alright.
One great thing that my therapist has told me is, "we all are attempting to paint the same picture, the picture of happiness and satisfaction in our lives, but the brushes are all different." Everyone is struggling. Even that happily married couple you are friends with, or that succesful lawyer. Or that mom who seems so adjusted. You never know what is going on behind their closed doors. I have to remind myself every day people are having it way, way worse than you are right now.
I hope to continue writing this blog, I dropped out for awhile; things were just getting a little heavy for me.
I hope everyone has a great second half of the week. Cheers.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Where Am I Now?
Well, some time has gone by,
and I will admit, I have been ignoring my blog a little bit. I have been pretty busy, moving and just taking care of two young kids and all. But mostly, feeling back to myself again.
Well, not completely myself.
After ECT, my depression was obliterated. The suicidal part, I will say. ECT put me into a temporary stupor of complete bliss. I had a totally ditsy, care-free personality, and almost no memories of the weeks I had the treatments done. I was happy as a clam. Once that faded, I just felt normal. But the psychosis left with me a searing emotional wound.
Now, I am left to deal with the aftermath of the depression. The healing process. Which will not be easy in the least bit. I cry daily. Over anything. I am left an empty shell, trying to grow my sense of motherhood back.
Every time I see a newborn baby, I am reminded that I lost that. I have no memories of James' newborn days. And not in that hazy, I-am-a-new-mom-I-get-no-sleep lack of memories, but the loss of memories that comes from having psychosis. It just simply never existed.
Every time I see someone breastfeeding, hear someone talk about it, I want to close my ears and disappear. I know, formula is wonderful, and without it, James couldn't eat, but breastfeeding is so important to me for bonding. Because of my medication, I can't do it. If James is crying, I can't do anything but rock him and pray he stops. There is no soothing breast to give him, no napping together after a good feeding, nothing. And that kills me, every time I remember.
So, now what? My therapist tells me that, to get through this healing process, I need to "live intentionally." I have no idea what that means. Even after she explained it to me, I STILL don't get it. So, I have decided to try to use my life to figure that out. That means, playing with my toddler more, trying to live in his world. Using my past experiences to help others. Going to lunch with my sister spontaneously. Catching up with friends I haven't talked to or seen in months. Maybe that is what she meant.
I hope to see myself in a better light in the coming months. Until then, I can just keep praying and moving forward.
and I will admit, I have been ignoring my blog a little bit. I have been pretty busy, moving and just taking care of two young kids and all. But mostly, feeling back to myself again.
Well, not completely myself.
After ECT, my depression was obliterated. The suicidal part, I will say. ECT put me into a temporary stupor of complete bliss. I had a totally ditsy, care-free personality, and almost no memories of the weeks I had the treatments done. I was happy as a clam. Once that faded, I just felt normal. But the psychosis left with me a searing emotional wound.
Now, I am left to deal with the aftermath of the depression. The healing process. Which will not be easy in the least bit. I cry daily. Over anything. I am left an empty shell, trying to grow my sense of motherhood back.
Every time I see a newborn baby, I am reminded that I lost that. I have no memories of James' newborn days. And not in that hazy, I-am-a-new-mom-I-get-no-sleep lack of memories, but the loss of memories that comes from having psychosis. It just simply never existed.
Every time I see someone breastfeeding, hear someone talk about it, I want to close my ears and disappear. I know, formula is wonderful, and without it, James couldn't eat, but breastfeeding is so important to me for bonding. Because of my medication, I can't do it. If James is crying, I can't do anything but rock him and pray he stops. There is no soothing breast to give him, no napping together after a good feeding, nothing. And that kills me, every time I remember.
So, now what? My therapist tells me that, to get through this healing process, I need to "live intentionally." I have no idea what that means. Even after she explained it to me, I STILL don't get it. So, I have decided to try to use my life to figure that out. That means, playing with my toddler more, trying to live in his world. Using my past experiences to help others. Going to lunch with my sister spontaneously. Catching up with friends I haven't talked to or seen in months. Maybe that is what she meant.
I hope to see myself in a better light in the coming months. Until then, I can just keep praying and moving forward.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
ECT & Me
So, I sit here trying to get my thoughts together. It's not an easy task, especially after undergoing two rounds of ECT.
Eleven days ago, I went back into being inpatient at Carolina Center. We did the usual "how are you doing, why are you back, how is your medication working." Me, being fed up with being hospitalized for this mess, decided to go forward with ECT. It was a hard decision, but so far, I believe I have made the right choice.
On Friday morning, I was woken up around 5:45 am and given a Zantac and a Zofran for nausea. They give you this so you don't vomit and end up aspirating it during the seizure they induce during ECT. I was seriously nervous. I spent the whole night before just praying and giving the next morning up to God and hoping for the best.
After I took the medicine, I was led down several hallways, into a room named "ECT Suite." My heart was racing, and they showed me to the first of several beds in the recovery room. There were about seven other people there, and all seemed as nervous as me.
I had about six circular things stuck to my body and had wires attached to them. I got two electrodes stuck to my forehead and an IV put into my arm. Then, I waited.
I was second in line to receive my treatment. I was rolled through the double doors and into the treatment room. I talked with the doctors for a few minutes, and was laid back onto my bed. I breathed into an oxygen mask, and three breaths later, it all goes black.
I woke up in the recovery room, remembering nothing, but I had a searing pain radiating from my chin to my right jaw joint. I had no memory loss to speak of, and felt somewhat different, but not much.
Now, after my second treatment I had on Monday, I feel a difference. My thoughts don't race as much, my emotions aren't as raw as they were during the depression, and my hopelessness is starting to melt away. But, I do have memory loss. I don't remember yesterday morning at all. I am having some trouble with word recall and putting sentences together. But, if it came down to choosing between contemplating suicide daily and having issues thinking of the word "microwave", which would you choose?
This treatment is not for everyone, but I can really feel a difference already. I am excited about my upcoming treatments; my next one is tomorrow at 9:00! I will be done by April, and will be ready to celebrate a really happy birthday, and start enjoying life with my children again.
Eleven days ago, I went back into being inpatient at Carolina Center. We did the usual "how are you doing, why are you back, how is your medication working." Me, being fed up with being hospitalized for this mess, decided to go forward with ECT. It was a hard decision, but so far, I believe I have made the right choice.
On Friday morning, I was woken up around 5:45 am and given a Zantac and a Zofran for nausea. They give you this so you don't vomit and end up aspirating it during the seizure they induce during ECT. I was seriously nervous. I spent the whole night before just praying and giving the next morning up to God and hoping for the best.
After I took the medicine, I was led down several hallways, into a room named "ECT Suite." My heart was racing, and they showed me to the first of several beds in the recovery room. There were about seven other people there, and all seemed as nervous as me.
I had about six circular things stuck to my body and had wires attached to them. I got two electrodes stuck to my forehead and an IV put into my arm. Then, I waited.
I was second in line to receive my treatment. I was rolled through the double doors and into the treatment room. I talked with the doctors for a few minutes, and was laid back onto my bed. I breathed into an oxygen mask, and three breaths later, it all goes black.
I woke up in the recovery room, remembering nothing, but I had a searing pain radiating from my chin to my right jaw joint. I had no memory loss to speak of, and felt somewhat different, but not much.
Now, after my second treatment I had on Monday, I feel a difference. My thoughts don't race as much, my emotions aren't as raw as they were during the depression, and my hopelessness is starting to melt away. But, I do have memory loss. I don't remember yesterday morning at all. I am having some trouble with word recall and putting sentences together. But, if it came down to choosing between contemplating suicide daily and having issues thinking of the word "microwave", which would you choose?
This treatment is not for everyone, but I can really feel a difference already. I am excited about my upcoming treatments; my next one is tomorrow at 9:00! I will be done by April, and will be ready to celebrate a really happy birthday, and start enjoying life with my children again.
Monday, February 17, 2014
The Road to Recovery
So, my antidepressant gets kicked up tomorrow. I have noticed it makes me seriously panicky, and it has destroyed my appetite. I feel as though I have to remind myself to eat.
Tomorrow I am also going to start weaning off of my antipsychotic, and to be honest I am super scared. It has been a crutch for over two months now and I am afraid of relapsing into my psychosis again once I am done with it.
But, as much as I am afraid, I am excited. If they think I am ready to start minimizing my medicines, that's a good thing. It means I am showing signs of recovery, and that my mind is mending itself. As one of my psychiatrists put it, psychosis is like a broken arm. First you put a cast on to stablize it, then you slowly move down to a brace, then eventually it is healed enough to be on its own.
I am confident in my doctors that this is the right decision. I am still fighting daily awful anxiety and depressive thoughts, but I am now getting breakthroughs of light and hope each day as well. So that in itself is recovery.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Seeing the Light
The power of prayer. It is an amazing thing. I truly believe that prayer and medication was what got me through this.
Today is the first day I am seeing the light.
Exactly three months ago today, my psychosis started. Exactly three months ago today, I descended into my own personal hell. My heart broke, my mind betrayed me, and my soul seemed to be shattered. I was someone else.
Today, I feel hopeful. I feel happy. I feel like I am coming through to the other side. This day is the first day that I have had no psychotic or depressive symptoms whatsoever. I found myself smiling at my newborn, and feeling pure joy. I have not felt that since he was born. I played with my oldest, genuinely enjoying it. God is good.
God is good, all the time!
I thank anyone and everyone thinking of me and praying for me throughout this hard time. I believe in miracles, and this was one.
Praise be to God.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Why Do Things Happen to Me?
There is one question I have been avoiding throughout this whole Postpartum Psychosis deal.
"why?"
I mean, you shouldn't question God's motives, right? Everything happens for a reason, right?
I feel like everything is happening at once right now. Illness, job losses, a newborn baby, it is all coming together and it just isn't making sense to me at the moment. Even when things are good, do they really make sense? Or is it because they are good, it doesn't matter if it makes sense? Why don't we ever search for meaning in the good parts of life?
God gives us struggles to bring us closer to Him. I truly believe that. I can't wait to see what He has in store for me after this hard time. It is hard to keep praising Him, but what else do I have to do? I won't curse Him, that will get be nowhere.
Just like Job, you shouldn't curse or turn from God when things get bad. You need to let Him take control instead and just let Him do His work. Weep, of course, because emotion is normal, but don't get angry with your Maker. That is what I have to keep reminding myself, and boy is it hard.
That's why I have my daily devotionals; A Guidepost First Year of Motherhood, and Jesus Calling. They have both helped me throughout, and I strongly encourage getting a daily devotional book, even if things are going great. It just might help pull you out when your life gets turned upside down.
Another thing that has helped me is to keep a "I'm Grateful" journal. Every morning I have to name five things I am happy to have in my life, and even though somedays are hard, I try to think of even the smallest thing, like my toothbrush, or a window to look out of in my bedroom.
Just some thoughts for ya'll if you are also going through the mud right now. Just let God carry you, it's going to be okay.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Recovery and ECT
Requiem for a Dream,
One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest, White Heat, all of these movies have scenes of someone being treated with ECT. These movies have highly demonized the procedure.
Why am I bringing this up? Because my psychiatrist highly recommended it for me. She said my depression and mania are swinging rapidly, and medication is not helping me fast enough. ECT stands for "electroconvulsive therapy." The psychiatrist puts two electrodes on your head, one on the right side of your head, and one on top. They give you a shock for about 5-10 seconds, and create a grand mal seizure. Thankfully, they give you a muscle relaxant and your body is not damaged by the seizure. You are also sedated the whole time. So, all in all, it isn't too bad of a wrap.
Risks: memory loss.
I have plenty of things I would not mind forgetting, most things date back before 2010. I mean, who doesn't want to forget their awkward middle school days? I know I do.
I am really nervous about the procedure. Not the shock, but the going under part. I have only been sedated once, and that was for my wisdom teeth. I don't remember a thing, but I still hate the idea of losing control and being at the mercy of doctors, even if they know what they are doing.
Apparently, ECT is a very common treatment for morbid depression, mania, and psychosis. Which I have all three, haha! So, hopefully it is as miraculous as it seems. More than likely I will undergo up to six treatments, two of which will be inpatient.
I need prayers and thoughts during all this. I am extremely nervous, but I feel that God is leading me to that procedure for a reason. I have to get better for not only myself, but for my two little babies and my husband, who has been nothing but wonderful throughout this whole mess. I just want to feel like me again, happy me. There is a difference between manic happiness and natural happiness. If you have ever been manic, you know what I mean. It's miserable.
So, hopefully it goes well. I go to talk to the doctors about it tomorrow, and most likely will start Monday. Will update afterwards as fast as I can!
One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest, White Heat, all of these movies have scenes of someone being treated with ECT. These movies have highly demonized the procedure.
Why am I bringing this up? Because my psychiatrist highly recommended it for me. She said my depression and mania are swinging rapidly, and medication is not helping me fast enough. ECT stands for "electroconvulsive therapy." The psychiatrist puts two electrodes on your head, one on the right side of your head, and one on top. They give you a shock for about 5-10 seconds, and create a grand mal seizure. Thankfully, they give you a muscle relaxant and your body is not damaged by the seizure. You are also sedated the whole time. So, all in all, it isn't too bad of a wrap.
Risks: memory loss.
I have plenty of things I would not mind forgetting, most things date back before 2010. I mean, who doesn't want to forget their awkward middle school days? I know I do.
I am really nervous about the procedure. Not the shock, but the going under part. I have only been sedated once, and that was for my wisdom teeth. I don't remember a thing, but I still hate the idea of losing control and being at the mercy of doctors, even if they know what they are doing.
Apparently, ECT is a very common treatment for morbid depression, mania, and psychosis. Which I have all three, haha! So, hopefully it is as miraculous as it seems. More than likely I will undergo up to six treatments, two of which will be inpatient.
I need prayers and thoughts during all this. I am extremely nervous, but I feel that God is leading me to that procedure for a reason. I have to get better for not only myself, but for my two little babies and my husband, who has been nothing but wonderful throughout this whole mess. I just want to feel like me again, happy me. There is a difference between manic happiness and natural happiness. If you have ever been manic, you know what I mean. It's miserable.
So, hopefully it goes well. I go to talk to the doctors about it tomorrow, and most likely will start Monday. Will update afterwards as fast as I can!
Monday, January 27, 2014
Hospital Stay: Take Two
So, here I am again...
...fresh out of the psych ward once again, looking through even newer eyes. I was there for only five days this time, thankfully.
I had been put on the medicine Depakote about a month again, and after two weeks I had gained 11 pounds from it. I called my psychiatrist frantically, asking why I was gaining so fast. I was eating right and exercising. I even started a detox, and STILL kept gaining. Needless to say, we stopped that medicine quickly.
In the days waiting to start my new medicine, I started losing the weight quickly. Now, I am back to where I was before I started gaining, thankfully. But, stopping that medicine was not without consequences. My symptoms from the psychosis started to slowly creep back in. My depression began to overtake me, the thoughts and delusions tried to get me back in their grasp, so I knew something needed to be done. I checked myself back into Carolina Behavioral Health.
This time was not NEAR as bad as the first time. The group of people there were much more positive, and I actually had a friend of mine staying there at the same time as me. I was much more relaxed as I knew what to expect. That didn't make it any easier to be away from my husband and babies, though.
They started me on Lamictal, and raised my Risperidone, an anti psychotic, another milligram. I would say it has made me feel great, but I am still in the process of getting better.
This illness, the psychosis, can take over a year to recover from. You lose everything in this illness, your confidence, your sense of self, your sense of motherhood at some level. It hurts all parties involved, your family and friends. It hurts them to see me go through this, but I know they are proud of me for shouldering this the best that I can.
I know God is using this as a way for me to escape to Him. He is using this as an opportunity for me to cling to Him, and only Him. He is doing this to better myself and to make me appreciate my life and the bond with my family. I know when I get better from this, I will have a whole new view on life itself, and I am excited for that day to come.
...fresh out of the psych ward once again, looking through even newer eyes. I was there for only five days this time, thankfully.
I had been put on the medicine Depakote about a month again, and after two weeks I had gained 11 pounds from it. I called my psychiatrist frantically, asking why I was gaining so fast. I was eating right and exercising. I even started a detox, and STILL kept gaining. Needless to say, we stopped that medicine quickly.
In the days waiting to start my new medicine, I started losing the weight quickly. Now, I am back to where I was before I started gaining, thankfully. But, stopping that medicine was not without consequences. My symptoms from the psychosis started to slowly creep back in. My depression began to overtake me, the thoughts and delusions tried to get me back in their grasp, so I knew something needed to be done. I checked myself back into Carolina Behavioral Health.
This time was not NEAR as bad as the first time. The group of people there were much more positive, and I actually had a friend of mine staying there at the same time as me. I was much more relaxed as I knew what to expect. That didn't make it any easier to be away from my husband and babies, though.
They started me on Lamictal, and raised my Risperidone, an anti psychotic, another milligram. I would say it has made me feel great, but I am still in the process of getting better.
This illness, the psychosis, can take over a year to recover from. You lose everything in this illness, your confidence, your sense of self, your sense of motherhood at some level. It hurts all parties involved, your family and friends. It hurts them to see me go through this, but I know they are proud of me for shouldering this the best that I can.
I know God is using this as a way for me to escape to Him. He is using this as an opportunity for me to cling to Him, and only Him. He is doing this to better myself and to make me appreciate my life and the bond with my family. I know when I get better from this, I will have a whole new view on life itself, and I am excited for that day to come.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Now, I'm Excited!
So, these are the things that I'm excited about...
...now that I am a mom!
Things change when you have children. Things that you didn't use to care too much about or you just never thought about suddenly turn into magical moments or magical holidays or whatever it is you are excited about now that you have kids. It's great! So here is what is so exciting to me now.
1. Christmas.
Yes, I have always loved Christmas, but now I am planning in advanced as soon as Christmas is over for the next one. I love to imagine my two boys opening their presents in the years to come, playing Santa, stuffing stockings, eating cookies (who isn't excited about that?) and just enjoying the holiday spirit a little more each year now that you have faces to watch light up in the morning each year. And of course, sharing the Nativity story has a whole new meaning to it. I get to share with them the wonderful happening of Jesus' birth, and to let them know Christmas is more than just gifts and well, for me at least, insane amounts of candy and food.
2. Grocery shopping, or any shopping.
I have never been a shopper. But now I find myself cutting coupons and looking for deals and getting super ecstatic about 2 for 1 buys or half off buys. Butter is 2/$6? SCORE! kind of thing. I love standing in line and lining all my stuff up and just watching it proudly go up the conveyor belt. I love taking my toddler with me and watching him name all the foods and eat his cookie he gets from the deli. I might be totally weird for this buy hey, at least I enjoy my shopping!
3. Washing dishes.
I love it. I have no idea why, but I get a sense of accomplishment when I see all those clean dishes in the drying rack waiting for me to put them up. A clean apartment in general is what I aim for, and at the end of the day when I can muster up the strength the tackle it, I get really excited when I'm done.
4. Birthdays.
Birthdays were fun for me until about 17. Then I stopped having parties and then they just became an excuse to go a little crazy and have some fun for a night or two, then move on. But now that I get to plan birthday parties for my sons, I am so excited! I've got one coming up in about a month, and I have to get to it. They are both something to look forward to, and also to dread. Because it means they are growing up, all too fast.
5. Baths.
Oh man, I love baths. When the two are down for the night, I know I can just slip into my porcelain (hey I can pretend) bath tub and just sit in there and read, or check Facebook, or read my magazines in total and complete peace and warmth. It's my sanctuary of sanity. I love it.
6. Dates with the Hubs.
I never realized how exciting it is to go out with your man until you have NO TIME to do it! So now that I have only once a week, or less, to get alone time with my Hubs, I treasure it. Last night, we got to go out and play some pool. I looked forward to that night all week! And now that it's over, I get to plan the next one. So exciting.
...now that I am a mom!
Things change when you have children. Things that you didn't use to care too much about or you just never thought about suddenly turn into magical moments or magical holidays or whatever it is you are excited about now that you have kids. It's great! So here is what is so exciting to me now.
1. Christmas.
Yes, I have always loved Christmas, but now I am planning in advanced as soon as Christmas is over for the next one. I love to imagine my two boys opening their presents in the years to come, playing Santa, stuffing stockings, eating cookies (who isn't excited about that?) and just enjoying the holiday spirit a little more each year now that you have faces to watch light up in the morning each year. And of course, sharing the Nativity story has a whole new meaning to it. I get to share with them the wonderful happening of Jesus' birth, and to let them know Christmas is more than just gifts and well, for me at least, insane amounts of candy and food.
2. Grocery shopping, or any shopping.
I have never been a shopper. But now I find myself cutting coupons and looking for deals and getting super ecstatic about 2 for 1 buys or half off buys. Butter is 2/$6? SCORE! kind of thing. I love standing in line and lining all my stuff up and just watching it proudly go up the conveyor belt. I love taking my toddler with me and watching him name all the foods and eat his cookie he gets from the deli. I might be totally weird for this buy hey, at least I enjoy my shopping!
3. Washing dishes.
I love it. I have no idea why, but I get a sense of accomplishment when I see all those clean dishes in the drying rack waiting for me to put them up. A clean apartment in general is what I aim for, and at the end of the day when I can muster up the strength the tackle it, I get really excited when I'm done.
4. Birthdays.
Birthdays were fun for me until about 17. Then I stopped having parties and then they just became an excuse to go a little crazy and have some fun for a night or two, then move on. But now that I get to plan birthday parties for my sons, I am so excited! I've got one coming up in about a month, and I have to get to it. They are both something to look forward to, and also to dread. Because it means they are growing up, all too fast.
5. Baths.
Oh man, I love baths. When the two are down for the night, I know I can just slip into my porcelain (hey I can pretend) bath tub and just sit in there and read, or check Facebook, or read my magazines in total and complete peace and warmth. It's my sanctuary of sanity. I love it.
6. Dates with the Hubs.
I never realized how exciting it is to go out with your man until you have NO TIME to do it! So now that I have only once a week, or less, to get alone time with my Hubs, I treasure it. Last night, we got to go out and play some pool. I looked forward to that night all week! And now that it's over, I get to plan the next one. So exciting.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Why Chores Are Awesome
Yes, chores rock!
So, you're probably thinking "why on earth would anyone say chores 'rock'?" Well, I can tell you! Chores give you a myriad of things to do when the rain is consuming your day, and your toddler is cracked out on mint and chocolate pie and your two month old is screaming in the swing because the toddler stole his binky and threw it in the trash can.
Can you tell how hard I'm trying here?
Without further ado, some reasons why chores (and other boring tasks) can be awesome!
1. It makes time go by fast.
How many times a day do you glace at the clock, willing for that seven o'clock time to roll around and the bath time towels to come out and bath toys to come dancing out from under the sink? I know for me personally, many, many times a day. To make time go by, make a list of about two to three time consuming tasks to accomplish by the end of the day. Once you finish the last one, it's at least an hour or so closer to bed time! And we all know how exciting that time can be,
2. It burns calories.
This is true. An hour of cleaning burns 1000 calories (or 100, depending on how many cookies I ate that day) Just thinking about the bending, stretching, reaching, squatting, and other motions your body is making brings a sense of accomplishment to you!
3. It can be fun.
Turn on some music next time you wash dishes. If you are like me, and many other households, you totally ignore your dishwasher. I prefer doing the cleaning myself, and dishwashers suck power like crazy, AND water is included in our rent, so killing two birds with one stone. You can dance around, practice your vocals with the scrub brush, and if you are alone (or have no filter or inhibitions like moi) you can sing out your Brittany Spears as loud as you please. Dance around with the vacuum. Cleaning is what you make it. So make it rock! as the late Miley Cyrus says (I say "late" because that girl is not what she used to be)
4. It gives you a sense of pride.
I know that when I get something I normally would be back burnering done, I feel so good about myself, and my home. Like today, I went through all my drawers and my closet, and took out everything I don't wear anymore, and bagged it up. It provided an insane amount of space; as it turns out I don't wear NEAR as much of my clothes as I thought. And it gave some stylish (circa the 90's) clothes to Goodwill. I loved having that additional space in my closet, and now I have an entire drawer to dedicate to...I have no idea yet!
5. Organizing can ALSO be fun.
I know that when I go to Target and devour their dollar bins, I get so excited like Santa on Prozac. Those bins are awesome. I just went on Tuesday because they had finally laid out their Valentines Day through Saint Patrick's Day stuff, and along with it trial sized things (love those) and different ways to organize your stuff. I bought some cute micro sized laundry baskets to store my makeup in, and a couple hooks to hang up my new apron and oven mitts on! I know this all sounds cheesy, but when you are an organization junkie like me, this screams awesome to you.
6. It gives you something TO DO!
If all else fails, it fills up a day, and in the end, a cluttered home means a cluttered mind! But a freakishly clean home means a weird, too empty robot mind. So...just stay in the middle, okay?
So, you're probably thinking "why on earth would anyone say chores 'rock'?" Well, I can tell you! Chores give you a myriad of things to do when the rain is consuming your day, and your toddler is cracked out on mint and chocolate pie and your two month old is screaming in the swing because the toddler stole his binky and threw it in the trash can.
Can you tell how hard I'm trying here?
Without further ado, some reasons why chores (and other boring tasks) can be awesome!
1. It makes time go by fast.
How many times a day do you glace at the clock, willing for that seven o'clock time to roll around and the bath time towels to come out and bath toys to come dancing out from under the sink? I know for me personally, many, many times a day. To make time go by, make a list of about two to three time consuming tasks to accomplish by the end of the day. Once you finish the last one, it's at least an hour or so closer to bed time! And we all know how exciting that time can be,
2. It burns calories.
This is true. An hour of cleaning burns 1000 calories (or 100, depending on how many cookies I ate that day) Just thinking about the bending, stretching, reaching, squatting, and other motions your body is making brings a sense of accomplishment to you!
3. It can be fun.
Turn on some music next time you wash dishes. If you are like me, and many other households, you totally ignore your dishwasher. I prefer doing the cleaning myself, and dishwashers suck power like crazy, AND water is included in our rent, so killing two birds with one stone. You can dance around, practice your vocals with the scrub brush, and if you are alone (or have no filter or inhibitions like moi) you can sing out your Brittany Spears as loud as you please. Dance around with the vacuum. Cleaning is what you make it. So make it rock! as the late Miley Cyrus says (I say "late" because that girl is not what she used to be)
4. It gives you a sense of pride.
I know that when I get something I normally would be back burnering done, I feel so good about myself, and my home. Like today, I went through all my drawers and my closet, and took out everything I don't wear anymore, and bagged it up. It provided an insane amount of space; as it turns out I don't wear NEAR as much of my clothes as I thought. And it gave some stylish (circa the 90's) clothes to Goodwill. I loved having that additional space in my closet, and now I have an entire drawer to dedicate to...I have no idea yet!
5. Organizing can ALSO be fun.
I know that when I go to Target and devour their dollar bins, I get so excited like Santa on Prozac. Those bins are awesome. I just went on Tuesday because they had finally laid out their Valentines Day through Saint Patrick's Day stuff, and along with it trial sized things (love those) and different ways to organize your stuff. I bought some cute micro sized laundry baskets to store my makeup in, and a couple hooks to hang up my new apron and oven mitts on! I know this all sounds cheesy, but when you are an organization junkie like me, this screams awesome to you.
6. It gives you something TO DO!
If all else fails, it fills up a day, and in the end, a cluttered home means a cluttered mind! But a freakishly clean home means a weird, too empty robot mind. So...just stay in the middle, okay?
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Crawling From the Deep: A Note on Postpartum Psychosis
I almost didn't write this.
I didn't want it to become real. I didn't want it to be something that actually happened. But I would not be doing what I believe God called me to do, which was to educate others about this really rare, but really severe and detrimental illness that plagues up to 1 to 2 out of 1000 women. That doesn't sound like a lot, but to the women who it hits, it hits hard, and it's something like you have never experienced.
If you want more facts, visit this site here: http://www.postpartum.net/Get-the-Facts/Postpartum-Psychosis.aspx
And for more personal accounts, visit here: http://www.postpartumprogress.com/the-symptoms-of-postpartum-psychosis-in-plain-mama-English
But more on my story.
My symptoms started at 5 days postpartum. I remember the second it started, then everything else afterwards is a blur. I had a full on hallucination of a stationary object moving, then not moving anymore, and that should NOT happen. I was sleep deprived, yes, but my reaction was a total psychotic break down. The weeks that followed was a giant blur of fear, delusions, and constant irrational thoughts, followed by extreme irritation, uncontrollable crying, and begging with God. I would prostrate myself, shiver in the shower, and plead with Him to make it stop. To end it all.
That's when I knew I needed help.
I would research for hours, pace for hours, sweat and cry and thinking non stop. I reached out to my OB/GYN and they gave me Zoloft. That made it worse; that made it much, much, much worse. I only thought longer, harder thoughts, and I believed them. I believed every single thought in my head. If you had told me that the was red and grass was purple, I'd believe you. I questioned everything, even God. That shook me to my being.
During all this, I never had thoughts about my baby, but I was scared. I was so scared I was going to end it all. I was scared of being alone. I didn't know what I was capable of, with those thoughts.
At six weeks postpartum exactly, I checked myself into Carolina Behavioral Health, knowing they would not let me out until I got better. Not with a newborn at home.
I was so scared. It was such an extreme decision; committing myself. I was surrounded by, what I thought it the time, psychopaths. But I was in there, so I was just like them. Turns out, I was.
We all had a bond. We all had families that needed us, we all had mental illnesses that needed treatment. And most of them had a relationship with God. But more on that later.
As soon as they got me a room, and I had an extremely tearful and scary goodbye with my mother, I lay down and waited for sleep to take me, where I had the one solace from my thoughts. Prayer and sleep; it was all I had left.
The next morning, I was woken up at 5:45 in the morning to get my weight and blood pressure taken. They refused me my Zoloft, but I didn't care. It didn't help me, it only made me feel more insane than I already felt. I saw a psychiatrist almost immediately. She listened to my sobbing (I had already told this story about five times, and each time it got worse and worse) and she nodded her head and seemed totally unfazed by what I had to say. She had a swift diagnosis. Postpartum psychosis with an underlying bipolar one disorder. The Zoloft had made my mania way worse, what I needed was an antipsychotic and a mood stabilizer. She started me on those right away.
I immediately felt relief. I felt somewhat "normal" knowing that I had a diagnosis. But that did not take it all away. What I had needed to be treated fast. I would be staying a week. I could only see my family every other day for an hour. And thankfully one of those days would be Christmas.
That was the worst part, being away from my family. I had been nursing, so I continued to pump and send home bottles. But formula still had to be supplemented. And when they had to add an antipsychotic dose in the morning time to rid the morning of anxiety, I couldn't use that milk anymore, so I was forced to dry in the hospital.
I don't remember any of that first month. I had to acclimate back to being at home and get to know James all over again. I didn't know him at all. And Isaac seemed foreign as well. I had to be gentle with myself, I had to give myself time. But I could not feel better fast enough.
Healing from this will be hard. I have residual depression. That will remain for months. This was a traumatic experience, to say the least. My relationship with God grew in the hospital. I met people from all walks of life, and on the first night I had there anxiety free, we all held a little Bible study and took verses that meant a lot to us and applied them to our lives. My favorite one was Luke 9:23 "Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me."
My cross to bear in this life was enduring this illness. And the bipolar will remain with me the rest of my life. But, I believe God gave me this illness to show other women that there is help when you need it. There is a God who loves you, and awareness needs to be shown for this illness as well. I feel as though women hide in the shadows when they feel bad after their babies are born, that they have to be perfect. That is so not true! Postpartum hormones do a number on your mind and body. There is a huge gradient of feelings you can have after having a baby. Do not be ashamed. Reach out. Someone will be there.
Thanks for reading.
I didn't want it to become real. I didn't want it to be something that actually happened. But I would not be doing what I believe God called me to do, which was to educate others about this really rare, but really severe and detrimental illness that plagues up to 1 to 2 out of 1000 women. That doesn't sound like a lot, but to the women who it hits, it hits hard, and it's something like you have never experienced.
If you want more facts, visit this site here: http://www.postpartum.net/Get-the-Facts/Postpartum-Psychosis.aspx
And for more personal accounts, visit here: http://www.postpartumprogress.com/the-symptoms-of-postpartum-psychosis-in-plain-mama-English
But more on my story.
My symptoms started at 5 days postpartum. I remember the second it started, then everything else afterwards is a blur. I had a full on hallucination of a stationary object moving, then not moving anymore, and that should NOT happen. I was sleep deprived, yes, but my reaction was a total psychotic break down. The weeks that followed was a giant blur of fear, delusions, and constant irrational thoughts, followed by extreme irritation, uncontrollable crying, and begging with God. I would prostrate myself, shiver in the shower, and plead with Him to make it stop. To end it all.
That's when I knew I needed help.
I would research for hours, pace for hours, sweat and cry and thinking non stop. I reached out to my OB/GYN and they gave me Zoloft. That made it worse; that made it much, much, much worse. I only thought longer, harder thoughts, and I believed them. I believed every single thought in my head. If you had told me that the was red and grass was purple, I'd believe you. I questioned everything, even God. That shook me to my being.
During all this, I never had thoughts about my baby, but I was scared. I was so scared I was going to end it all. I was scared of being alone. I didn't know what I was capable of, with those thoughts.
At six weeks postpartum exactly, I checked myself into Carolina Behavioral Health, knowing they would not let me out until I got better. Not with a newborn at home.
I was so scared. It was such an extreme decision; committing myself. I was surrounded by, what I thought it the time, psychopaths. But I was in there, so I was just like them. Turns out, I was.
We all had a bond. We all had families that needed us, we all had mental illnesses that needed treatment. And most of them had a relationship with God. But more on that later.
As soon as they got me a room, and I had an extremely tearful and scary goodbye with my mother, I lay down and waited for sleep to take me, where I had the one solace from my thoughts. Prayer and sleep; it was all I had left.
The next morning, I was woken up at 5:45 in the morning to get my weight and blood pressure taken. They refused me my Zoloft, but I didn't care. It didn't help me, it only made me feel more insane than I already felt. I saw a psychiatrist almost immediately. She listened to my sobbing (I had already told this story about five times, and each time it got worse and worse) and she nodded her head and seemed totally unfazed by what I had to say. She had a swift diagnosis. Postpartum psychosis with an underlying bipolar one disorder. The Zoloft had made my mania way worse, what I needed was an antipsychotic and a mood stabilizer. She started me on those right away.
I immediately felt relief. I felt somewhat "normal" knowing that I had a diagnosis. But that did not take it all away. What I had needed to be treated fast. I would be staying a week. I could only see my family every other day for an hour. And thankfully one of those days would be Christmas.
That was the worst part, being away from my family. I had been nursing, so I continued to pump and send home bottles. But formula still had to be supplemented. And when they had to add an antipsychotic dose in the morning time to rid the morning of anxiety, I couldn't use that milk anymore, so I was forced to dry in the hospital.
I don't remember any of that first month. I had to acclimate back to being at home and get to know James all over again. I didn't know him at all. And Isaac seemed foreign as well. I had to be gentle with myself, I had to give myself time. But I could not feel better fast enough.
Healing from this will be hard. I have residual depression. That will remain for months. This was a traumatic experience, to say the least. My relationship with God grew in the hospital. I met people from all walks of life, and on the first night I had there anxiety free, we all held a little Bible study and took verses that meant a lot to us and applied them to our lives. My favorite one was Luke 9:23 "Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me."
My cross to bear in this life was enduring this illness. And the bipolar will remain with me the rest of my life. But, I believe God gave me this illness to show other women that there is help when you need it. There is a God who loves you, and awareness needs to be shown for this illness as well. I feel as though women hide in the shadows when they feel bad after their babies are born, that they have to be perfect. That is so not true! Postpartum hormones do a number on your mind and body. There is a huge gradient of feelings you can have after having a baby. Do not be ashamed. Reach out. Someone will be there.
Thanks for reading.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
The First Month
When do I get to sleep again?
So, where to start? I am exhausted, bleary eyed, anxious, and hormonal. Four weeks later. My toddler has a cold, my newborn loves to nurse (way, way too much) and my husband has a job that means overnight hours, which means nighttime duty is MINE! Hooray!
Not that I'm complaining. Yes, I am tired, but really in love with this little blob laying in his Boppy pillow right now. He is so sweet and sleeps fairly well at this point (actually had our first five hour stint last night, whoo!) AND he nurses well and takes pacifiers at the same time! Whoever said pacifiers ruin nursing, well, they didn't have my baby!
So the toddler loves his brother. Absolutely loves him. But he is in exile at the moment, suffering from what I am hoping is just a cold. If it's any stronger then I need to go ahead and start taking my anxiety medication now. Because if anything sends this mama through the roof with panic, it's sickness. What do you do when you've got a sick toddler and a newborn baby to keep in perfect health? Ship them off with auntie, and hope she doesn't get sick. Or that will be MORE medical bills to pay.
Tummy time has been paying off thankfully. He holds his head up pretty well. He is attempting to roll himself over, not that that will happen for quite some time. Or at least, I hope not. I wish I had some weight and height stats to share, but the doctor appointment is scheduled until next Friday.
But, have I been getting me time? Certainly. The good thing about having daddy around during the day time is I get to go walking and start my exercise routine again, and the kids get quality dad time! I also get to take baths and everything else, but that's just when the kids are asleep. Kids, wow. It's still weird to type about having more than one! It's been a tough adjustment, but I'm getting there.
My incision healed very well, I was thankfully able to get off the medication after about two weeks. Motrin is a wonder drug, by the way. I highly suggest it to anyone for, well, anything. Starting to exercise has been tough, and I feel horribly out of shape. I was able to lose thirty two of the forty five pounds I put on. I'm guessing it was mostly water, how else would it have come off so easily?
But here is to a great but shaky first month, and here is to many more good ones to come!
So, where to start? I am exhausted, bleary eyed, anxious, and hormonal. Four weeks later. My toddler has a cold, my newborn loves to nurse (way, way too much) and my husband has a job that means overnight hours, which means nighttime duty is MINE! Hooray!
Not that I'm complaining. Yes, I am tired, but really in love with this little blob laying in his Boppy pillow right now. He is so sweet and sleeps fairly well at this point (actually had our first five hour stint last night, whoo!) AND he nurses well and takes pacifiers at the same time! Whoever said pacifiers ruin nursing, well, they didn't have my baby!
So the toddler loves his brother. Absolutely loves him. But he is in exile at the moment, suffering from what I am hoping is just a cold. If it's any stronger then I need to go ahead and start taking my anxiety medication now. Because if anything sends this mama through the roof with panic, it's sickness. What do you do when you've got a sick toddler and a newborn baby to keep in perfect health? Ship them off with auntie, and hope she doesn't get sick. Or that will be MORE medical bills to pay.
Tummy time has been paying off thankfully. He holds his head up pretty well. He is attempting to roll himself over, not that that will happen for quite some time. Or at least, I hope not. I wish I had some weight and height stats to share, but the doctor appointment is scheduled until next Friday.
But, have I been getting me time? Certainly. The good thing about having daddy around during the day time is I get to go walking and start my exercise routine again, and the kids get quality dad time! I also get to take baths and everything else, but that's just when the kids are asleep. Kids, wow. It's still weird to type about having more than one! It's been a tough adjustment, but I'm getting there.
My incision healed very well, I was thankfully able to get off the medication after about two weeks. Motrin is a wonder drug, by the way. I highly suggest it to anyone for, well, anything. Starting to exercise has been tough, and I feel horribly out of shape. I was able to lose thirty two of the forty five pounds I put on. I'm guessing it was mostly water, how else would it have come off so easily?
But here is to a great but shaky first month, and here is to many more good ones to come!
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Ten Reasons Why C-Sections Suck
Surgery, it's what's for dinner!
So, if you have had a C-section, you know the worst of it, and the best of it. But mostly the worst, because that makes up about ninety percent of the whole experience. The only good thing, in my opinion is convenience. Set a date, wait for it, it comes, the end. Up to an hour later, you've got yourself a baby. Sounds nice, huh?
WRONG!
Now, I am usually a person of high, high pain tolerance. I will bear lots of pain, and be ridiculous about getting through it with no help. But C-sections leave me completely incapacitated. For some reason, the second time around has been much harder, in my opinion. Maybe it's the re-opening of scar tissue, a bigger baby, and having to take care of a toddler afterwards, but SOMETHING made this time extremely trying. And now that I am getting along on a whisper of Motrin, I feel like writing about how much C-sections suck, and why. So here are ten reasons why they just suck.
1. A whack shave job.
Have you noticed that when you get surgery, they shave the area beforehand? I'm guessing it's because they need to get the area nice and clean to cut through (barf) and can't risk an infection. Well, both times, it's like someone took a lawn mower to me down there, and they were wearing a blindfold. And had been drinking. So, it's either take it all off afterwards, or wait until it to go back to normal and just try again yourself a few weeks later. (Who are you kidding, no one is going to be doing anything down there for a few weeks afterwards anyway, so it doesn't really matter. But it still sucks.)
2. A catheter.
That thing you don't really notice until it has to come out, yeah. That bag of pee next to your leg. Coming out of you. That thought alone makes me want to vomit. And pass out. I seriously can't even describe how insanely grossed out I am by those things. And then you have to pee after it comes out, and nope, you can't leave the hospital until you do. That's tough to do! And then you have the risk of a urinary tract infection if they put it in wrong or if it moves around too much, and even if you don't get an infection, it hurts SO BAD to pee for a couple week afterwards. It's just uncomfortable.
3. Waiting for your legs to come back from the dead. No, make that your whole body.
It took me a good six hours to feel my body again. And I don't know if I'm alone on this, but I hate feeling numb. It freaks me out. So, when they put the spinal in (ouch!) and I had to fall back onto the operating table, when I felt everything start to feel fuzzy, it took every ounce of me to not pass out. I requested no narcotics as well, so I faced this completely coherent. So, once I got to the recovery room, baby in tow, I just prayed my legs would come back. I could move them somewhat, but had no feeling whatsoever. The epidural in my first delivery made me feel the same way as well, so I'm just weird about that. It sucked.
4. Standing up the first time.
Everyone who has ever had a C-section, or some kind of abdominal surgery, knows that this is by far one of the most painful things you will experience. First of all, it takes such strength to simply sit yourself up, move your legs to the side of the bed, scoot yourself to the edge, stand up, and straighten up. That act alone, the first time after surgery, will take you about ten minutes. And you will be gritting your teeth and begging for mercy during the whole thing. And then add shuffling to the bathroom, sitting down, then getting back up. I feel so bad for my first nurse in rotation, and my husband, because they both had to help me about a million times to go to the bathroom. I felt such relief once I could do it alone.
5. Not being able to drive for two weeks.
That is a cruel thing to do to a mom. Especially one with a toddler. When it gets dark early. You are shelled in your home for two weeks unless someone feels like they can drive you and a newborn and a toddler somewhere for you to just get some sanity. You look forward to that day to drive with such fervor. I know I am. I've got five days. I've even got a paper countdown chain.
6. Not being able to take a bath for three weeks.
If there is one thing you are in severe need of after a hospital stay and taking care of a newborn, it's a nice, long, hot bath. After the initial pain fades, the soreness sets in, and you feel like you got hit by a truck. You wake up and think "Oh my lord, end it now. END IT NOW!" as you reach for your painkillers and pray they just take you to a happy place, far, far away. How lovely would it be to be able to soak in a hot bath after that? I also am counting down to this. I am honestly more excited about taking a bath than being able to drive again.
7. Riding in a car.
The ride home from the hospital is just harsh. Every turn, bump, brake, red light, swerve, speed bump, it jolts your incision and just hurts. You end up pumping an invisible brake the whole time, shouting at your husband to slow down while clutching your incision, hoping it doesn't burst open at the next intersection. And getting out of the car? Forget about it. You can't pull yourself out of that metal house of pain.
8. Gas in your....neck?
If you have experienced this, you know how awful it can be. I am over a week postpartum, and still have a bubble in my shoulder somewhere. You can't lay down where it is, lean towards it, and you can't get it out. It has to make its way out. How it does, I have no idea. I'm still waiting.
9. Gas. Just gas.
You get pretty gassy while undergoing surgery, all the air getting sucked up into your wound. It hurts, and getting it out is a chore. I know that every nurse asked me at least five times if I had passed gas yet. And it got to the point where I'd lie, wondering what they were going to do to me if I admitted I hadn't. But once it started, it didn't stop. For days. I felt so happy once it happened, I would say that about eighty percent of my pain was from gas alone.
10. Stitches/Staples/Steristrips.
If you had staples, I am so sorry. I got lucky to where I did not have one with either of my surgeries. I can't imagine getting those taken out. And without numbing or anything, ugh! How do you survive? The staples I have dissolve, so I am just waiting for them to start crumbling and be left on the inside of my underwear waistband. Steristrips are just awful. I just took off the last ones today, I had to peel them off by day ten. I procrastinated, knowing that if I did it too soon, it would hurt terribly. I ended up taking them off in the shower, which by the end, I was in the floor, just barely conscious. I am such a baby.
So there, ten things that suck about C-sections. Maybe next week, I'll blog about all the wonderful things about them. Just kidding.
So, if you have had a C-section, you know the worst of it, and the best of it. But mostly the worst, because that makes up about ninety percent of the whole experience. The only good thing, in my opinion is convenience. Set a date, wait for it, it comes, the end. Up to an hour later, you've got yourself a baby. Sounds nice, huh?
WRONG!
Now, I am usually a person of high, high pain tolerance. I will bear lots of pain, and be ridiculous about getting through it with no help. But C-sections leave me completely incapacitated. For some reason, the second time around has been much harder, in my opinion. Maybe it's the re-opening of scar tissue, a bigger baby, and having to take care of a toddler afterwards, but SOMETHING made this time extremely trying. And now that I am getting along on a whisper of Motrin, I feel like writing about how much C-sections suck, and why. So here are ten reasons why they just suck.
1. A whack shave job.
Have you noticed that when you get surgery, they shave the area beforehand? I'm guessing it's because they need to get the area nice and clean to cut through (barf) and can't risk an infection. Well, both times, it's like someone took a lawn mower to me down there, and they were wearing a blindfold. And had been drinking. So, it's either take it all off afterwards, or wait until it to go back to normal and just try again yourself a few weeks later. (Who are you kidding, no one is going to be doing anything down there for a few weeks afterwards anyway, so it doesn't really matter. But it still sucks.)
2. A catheter.
That thing you don't really notice until it has to come out, yeah. That bag of pee next to your leg. Coming out of you. That thought alone makes me want to vomit. And pass out. I seriously can't even describe how insanely grossed out I am by those things. And then you have to pee after it comes out, and nope, you can't leave the hospital until you do. That's tough to do! And then you have the risk of a urinary tract infection if they put it in wrong or if it moves around too much, and even if you don't get an infection, it hurts SO BAD to pee for a couple week afterwards. It's just uncomfortable.
3. Waiting for your legs to come back from the dead. No, make that your whole body.
It took me a good six hours to feel my body again. And I don't know if I'm alone on this, but I hate feeling numb. It freaks me out. So, when they put the spinal in (ouch!) and I had to fall back onto the operating table, when I felt everything start to feel fuzzy, it took every ounce of me to not pass out. I requested no narcotics as well, so I faced this completely coherent. So, once I got to the recovery room, baby in tow, I just prayed my legs would come back. I could move them somewhat, but had no feeling whatsoever. The epidural in my first delivery made me feel the same way as well, so I'm just weird about that. It sucked.
4. Standing up the first time.
Everyone who has ever had a C-section, or some kind of abdominal surgery, knows that this is by far one of the most painful things you will experience. First of all, it takes such strength to simply sit yourself up, move your legs to the side of the bed, scoot yourself to the edge, stand up, and straighten up. That act alone, the first time after surgery, will take you about ten minutes. And you will be gritting your teeth and begging for mercy during the whole thing. And then add shuffling to the bathroom, sitting down, then getting back up. I feel so bad for my first nurse in rotation, and my husband, because they both had to help me about a million times to go to the bathroom. I felt such relief once I could do it alone.
5. Not being able to drive for two weeks.
That is a cruel thing to do to a mom. Especially one with a toddler. When it gets dark early. You are shelled in your home for two weeks unless someone feels like they can drive you and a newborn and a toddler somewhere for you to just get some sanity. You look forward to that day to drive with such fervor. I know I am. I've got five days. I've even got a paper countdown chain.
6. Not being able to take a bath for three weeks.
If there is one thing you are in severe need of after a hospital stay and taking care of a newborn, it's a nice, long, hot bath. After the initial pain fades, the soreness sets in, and you feel like you got hit by a truck. You wake up and think "Oh my lord, end it now. END IT NOW!" as you reach for your painkillers and pray they just take you to a happy place, far, far away. How lovely would it be to be able to soak in a hot bath after that? I also am counting down to this. I am honestly more excited about taking a bath than being able to drive again.
7. Riding in a car.
The ride home from the hospital is just harsh. Every turn, bump, brake, red light, swerve, speed bump, it jolts your incision and just hurts. You end up pumping an invisible brake the whole time, shouting at your husband to slow down while clutching your incision, hoping it doesn't burst open at the next intersection. And getting out of the car? Forget about it. You can't pull yourself out of that metal house of pain.
8. Gas in your....neck?
If you have experienced this, you know how awful it can be. I am over a week postpartum, and still have a bubble in my shoulder somewhere. You can't lay down where it is, lean towards it, and you can't get it out. It has to make its way out. How it does, I have no idea. I'm still waiting.
9. Gas. Just gas.
You get pretty gassy while undergoing surgery, all the air getting sucked up into your wound. It hurts, and getting it out is a chore. I know that every nurse asked me at least five times if I had passed gas yet. And it got to the point where I'd lie, wondering what they were going to do to me if I admitted I hadn't. But once it started, it didn't stop. For days. I felt so happy once it happened, I would say that about eighty percent of my pain was from gas alone.
10. Stitches/Staples/Steristrips.
If you had staples, I am so sorry. I got lucky to where I did not have one with either of my surgeries. I can't imagine getting those taken out. And without numbing or anything, ugh! How do you survive? The staples I have dissolve, so I am just waiting for them to start crumbling and be left on the inside of my underwear waistband. Steristrips are just awful. I just took off the last ones today, I had to peel them off by day ten. I procrastinated, knowing that if I did it too soon, it would hurt terribly. I ended up taking them off in the shower, which by the end, I was in the floor, just barely conscious. I am such a baby.
So there, ten things that suck about C-sections. Maybe next week, I'll blog about all the wonderful things about them. Just kidding.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
The First Nights
Two under two with too much to do...
So this new addition to the family is actually going over much better than expecting. His older brother can't stop giving him kisses, pointing to him and saying "baby, BABY!" and doing other heart shatteringly adorable things to indicate how much he loves "baby."
The new addition on the other hand, is adjusting really well. The swing is a life saver, and believe it or not, it IS POSSIBLE to successfully breastfeed and use pacifiers at the same time. It really is. I promise. Don't let people demonize pacifiers, especially when you are running on two hour or less intervals of sleep.
The hospital stay was great too, but I missed my own bed so much, it was torturous. And the thing that sucks the most, is that when I got home and finally got into my own bed, it was so uncomfortable because of my incision that I ended up on the couch in the living room! So, so much for that.
They also have stopped taking your baby to the nursery when you request it. They don't take them there at all. So, your first night on the job is actually the first night in the hospital after you have had the baby. Sure, nurses come and go, but no break time! I got lucky so far with a baby that sleeps more than a Snorlax and nurses like a champ.
But this post is mostly about daddies. And no, not men who make babies, but daddies. The ones who step up and earn the title "dad".
My last postpartum period included extreme exhaustion, engorged breasts beyond comprehension, and several episodes of mastitis. Not to mention the grueling postpartum depression/anxiety that I went through, that took months to get passed.
This time, nursing is going well, healing is going well, and postpartum depression is a slight echo compared to the orchestra that it was last time. But my husband is a daddy. A great daddy. He has used this time to really bond with our oldest, while letting me rest with the new baby. He has been cooking and cleaning and entertaining and just being an all around fantastic guy. He always has been great, but it's time like this that separate the men from the boys, and he really got it. He is already enduring crying jags from me about absolutely nothing, and practically carried me to and from the bathroom in our hospital room after the repeat C-section. He has been putting our oldest to bed and waking up with him in the mornings, because I can't lift him for four weeks. He took him out for an hour or so today, so me and the newbie could catch some Z's in peace and quiet.
I love this guy more than anyone else in the world, and nothing can change that. He is accepting me in the postpartum, saggy belly, taped up incision and all. He also held my hand through the repeat C-section I ended up having and reminded me that even though I could not get my VBAC, he still supports me and knows that my birth experiences don't define me, as they often do in the "mommy world." He rocks and prays with our oldest before bed, and is the reason that he knows how to say "amen" now. People have told me that I have gotten myself a "good one" and that could not be more true.
So this might have been sappy and all, but I mean every word. As hormonal as I am now, crying as I type this, my heart is exploding with the happiness of how much I have been blessed with, C-section scars and all.
So this new addition to the family is actually going over much better than expecting. His older brother can't stop giving him kisses, pointing to him and saying "baby, BABY!" and doing other heart shatteringly adorable things to indicate how much he loves "baby."
The new addition on the other hand, is adjusting really well. The swing is a life saver, and believe it or not, it IS POSSIBLE to successfully breastfeed and use pacifiers at the same time. It really is. I promise. Don't let people demonize pacifiers, especially when you are running on two hour or less intervals of sleep.
The hospital stay was great too, but I missed my own bed so much, it was torturous. And the thing that sucks the most, is that when I got home and finally got into my own bed, it was so uncomfortable because of my incision that I ended up on the couch in the living room! So, so much for that.
They also have stopped taking your baby to the nursery when you request it. They don't take them there at all. So, your first night on the job is actually the first night in the hospital after you have had the baby. Sure, nurses come and go, but no break time! I got lucky so far with a baby that sleeps more than a Snorlax and nurses like a champ.
But this post is mostly about daddies. And no, not men who make babies, but daddies. The ones who step up and earn the title "dad".
My last postpartum period included extreme exhaustion, engorged breasts beyond comprehension, and several episodes of mastitis. Not to mention the grueling postpartum depression/anxiety that I went through, that took months to get passed.
This time, nursing is going well, healing is going well, and postpartum depression is a slight echo compared to the orchestra that it was last time. But my husband is a daddy. A great daddy. He has used this time to really bond with our oldest, while letting me rest with the new baby. He has been cooking and cleaning and entertaining and just being an all around fantastic guy. He always has been great, but it's time like this that separate the men from the boys, and he really got it. He is already enduring crying jags from me about absolutely nothing, and practically carried me to and from the bathroom in our hospital room after the repeat C-section. He has been putting our oldest to bed and waking up with him in the mornings, because I can't lift him for four weeks. He took him out for an hour or so today, so me and the newbie could catch some Z's in peace and quiet.
I love this guy more than anyone else in the world, and nothing can change that. He is accepting me in the postpartum, saggy belly, taped up incision and all. He also held my hand through the repeat C-section I ended up having and reminded me that even though I could not get my VBAC, he still supports me and knows that my birth experiences don't define me, as they often do in the "mommy world." He rocks and prays with our oldest before bed, and is the reason that he knows how to say "amen" now. People have told me that I have gotten myself a "good one" and that could not be more true.
So this might have been sappy and all, but I mean every word. As hormonal as I am now, crying as I type this, my heart is exploding with the happiness of how much I have been blessed with, C-section scars and all.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Snacking, Stacking, and...Sleeping?
Sleep, I think....
I just don't understand. Why do pregnant women have to have insomnia? It completely goes against what we are supposed to be doing, which is resting, apparently. Here I am, at 1:30 AM, up and at 'em. Doing what? Organizing DVDs. Who does that?? A person with a bad case of nesting.
And it's hilarious, because OF COURSE my toddler did not nap today and OF COURSE I woke up at seven in the morning and OF COURSE I just happen to be eating the entire tube of Pringles at this same moment as well. I go through spurts of wanting to snack for hours. I will literally stand in my kitchen, stare at the food, pick something out, stand there and eat it, then repeat. And when I'm all done, I feel guilty. Just kidding, I feel no guilt. Just indigestion. Which, in my opinion, is worse.
Now, I need to vacuum the couch. But that will wake up the finally snoozing toddler. So, that will have to wait until the sun comes up and the hubs goes to work. Which, I also have to do tomorrow afternoon. So I probably should get some sleep. After I finish stacking these DVDs in ABC order...
What is it about pregnancy which makes us nest? I don't recall nesting when I was pregnant the first time. But I also was on bed rest, so maybe that makes a difference. It takes a lot to get myself to fall asleep without making some sort of list, mental or physical, for the next day. Or adding something to the whiteboard, or just simply pushing a chair back into place before I can breath a sigh of relief and resign myself to bed. It's like someone took my OCD and put it on absolute overdrive.
The hubs can't complain, why should he? I literally do everything. And not because I want to. I HAVE to. He can't fold laundry, he might do it wrong. He can't wash the dishes, he might do it wrong. He can't even clean up the living room without me rearranging something afterwards. So, I've told him to hold off while I am still up and running, and not bed ridden from either a C-section scar or a 4th degree episiotomy, and playing mommy the milk cow for another year.
For those of you who saw my adorable toddler in his apple costume, that did not come without a price. Yes, it was homemade BUT the stuffing from it is literally all over the apartment. I vacuumed up a ton this afternoon, and now it's once again found its way back to the carpet somehow.
I just don't understand. Why do pregnant women have to have insomnia? It completely goes against what we are supposed to be doing, which is resting, apparently. Here I am, at 1:30 AM, up and at 'em. Doing what? Organizing DVDs. Who does that?? A person with a bad case of nesting.
And it's hilarious, because OF COURSE my toddler did not nap today and OF COURSE I woke up at seven in the morning and OF COURSE I just happen to be eating the entire tube of Pringles at this same moment as well. I go through spurts of wanting to snack for hours. I will literally stand in my kitchen, stare at the food, pick something out, stand there and eat it, then repeat. And when I'm all done, I feel guilty. Just kidding, I feel no guilt. Just indigestion. Which, in my opinion, is worse.
Now, I need to vacuum the couch. But that will wake up the finally snoozing toddler. So, that will have to wait until the sun comes up and the hubs goes to work. Which, I also have to do tomorrow afternoon. So I probably should get some sleep. After I finish stacking these DVDs in ABC order...
What is it about pregnancy which makes us nest? I don't recall nesting when I was pregnant the first time. But I also was on bed rest, so maybe that makes a difference. It takes a lot to get myself to fall asleep without making some sort of list, mental or physical, for the next day. Or adding something to the whiteboard, or just simply pushing a chair back into place before I can breath a sigh of relief and resign myself to bed. It's like someone took my OCD and put it on absolute overdrive.
The hubs can't complain, why should he? I literally do everything. And not because I want to. I HAVE to. He can't fold laundry, he might do it wrong. He can't wash the dishes, he might do it wrong. He can't even clean up the living room without me rearranging something afterwards. So, I've told him to hold off while I am still up and running, and not bed ridden from either a C-section scar or a 4th degree episiotomy, and playing mommy the milk cow for another year.
For those of you who saw my adorable toddler in his apple costume, that did not come without a price. Yes, it was homemade BUT the stuffing from it is literally all over the apartment. I vacuumed up a ton this afternoon, and now it's once again found its way back to the carpet somehow.
Yes, he is so sweet, kissing that more than likely covered in pesticides pumpkin. Or, as he calls it, "mumkin". Seriously, where do these kids get this stuff? What is a mumkin? He probably thinks I look like a pumpkin, so he blended the words "mom" and "pumpkin" and is passive aggressively insulting me because he didn't get his tenth cookie after lunch that one day.
So, I am due in exactly one week and three days and have not much to show for it other than my extreme size increase in the waist and abdominal area. I still have to do a lot. A LOT! Like, my hospital bag is packed. I know women who have had their hospital bags packed since they got their BFP.
I guess I should go to sleep now, I mean, it is 1:46 now...
Maybe one more level of Candy Crush.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Raising a Healthy Toddler
Toaster Strudels, it's what's for dinner!
So, my almost 20 month old has learned several new words in the last few weeks, including "cookie", "apple", "banana", "doggy", "tree" and "meow". "Apple" is the favorite, he literally says it one million times a day. His favorite song in the world is "I Love Apples." Youtube it, it's a one hit wonder.
It has literally become an obsession. He calls anything that is round, red, and shiny an apple. Pumpkins are apples, peaches are apples, strawberries are apples. I'm almost afraid to take him to Skytop Orchard for fear of him spontaneously combusting at the sight of all those apples.
But, I am taking it into account that Isaac says "apple" so often. I think that it shows he has a somewhat healthy diet still. Sure, we all have that golden 12 months where they will eat anything you shove in their mouths just because it's different than formula or breast milk they've been having every single day for months. But, eventually, that ends. Yes people. It ends. Go ahead and tell me all day long that your 11 month old eats pears, sweet potatoes, and peas all day long with a smile on his face. I'll say right back that my almost two year old had Cheetos and pink lemonade for lunch, and that your time is going to come, too. Oh, and that he watches two hours of Modern Family a day because I am going to throw myself off my balcony if we have to watch Backyardigans one more time.
But really, he does eat pretty well. He drinks his milk, he likes water. Juice doesn't really happen often. He loves fruits and pasta, and doesn't get too many sweets or salty things. But forget veggies. We can worry about those in about fifteen years. We don't watch that much TV. But your options are limited when your home is under 1000 square feet and your yard is a parking lot filled with energy drink and alcohol fueled people driving to work at all hours of the day, and you share a car with your husband and he's gone to work five days a week. And it all starts over once he gets home, and I have to head to work. It's a pretty unfortunate cycle at the moment.
But Isaac loves to run and kick a ball when we do get the chance to go to the park or go on walks at the track. He's actually pretty good at dribbling with his feet, I think he might be a soccer star at some point. Or the first male Rockette. He loves being outside, loves animals, and can identify trees and the moon. So that tells me he gets enough time outside to be a normal, happy toddler.
I just wonder what is going to happen when this new baby comes (less than four weeks, people) and we have a long, dark winter of being locked inside 24/7 because I refuse to get intermixed with germ filled people with a newborn baby with me. Isaac was lucky, he was born in the late winter and at the end of flu season. His daddy is going to have to kick in a take him to the park while me and newbie stay tucked inside safe and sound until March.
So, I guess what I am saying, is relax. All moms know this. Sometimes, your child is going to refuse the fois gras you spent ten hours making for dinner, and ask for a toaster strudel instead, and be honest....you will end up giving it to them.
So, my almost 20 month old has learned several new words in the last few weeks, including "cookie", "apple", "banana", "doggy", "tree" and "meow". "Apple" is the favorite, he literally says it one million times a day. His favorite song in the world is "I Love Apples." Youtube it, it's a one hit wonder.
It has literally become an obsession. He calls anything that is round, red, and shiny an apple. Pumpkins are apples, peaches are apples, strawberries are apples. I'm almost afraid to take him to Skytop Orchard for fear of him spontaneously combusting at the sight of all those apples.
But, I am taking it into account that Isaac says "apple" so often. I think that it shows he has a somewhat healthy diet still. Sure, we all have that golden 12 months where they will eat anything you shove in their mouths just because it's different than formula or breast milk they've been having every single day for months. But, eventually, that ends. Yes people. It ends. Go ahead and tell me all day long that your 11 month old eats pears, sweet potatoes, and peas all day long with a smile on his face. I'll say right back that my almost two year old had Cheetos and pink lemonade for lunch, and that your time is going to come, too. Oh, and that he watches two hours of Modern Family a day because I am going to throw myself off my balcony if we have to watch Backyardigans one more time.
But really, he does eat pretty well. He drinks his milk, he likes water. Juice doesn't really happen often. He loves fruits and pasta, and doesn't get too many sweets or salty things. But forget veggies. We can worry about those in about fifteen years. We don't watch that much TV. But your options are limited when your home is under 1000 square feet and your yard is a parking lot filled with energy drink and alcohol fueled people driving to work at all hours of the day, and you share a car with your husband and he's gone to work five days a week. And it all starts over once he gets home, and I have to head to work. It's a pretty unfortunate cycle at the moment.
But Isaac loves to run and kick a ball when we do get the chance to go to the park or go on walks at the track. He's actually pretty good at dribbling with his feet, I think he might be a soccer star at some point. Or the first male Rockette. He loves being outside, loves animals, and can identify trees and the moon. So that tells me he gets enough time outside to be a normal, happy toddler.
I just wonder what is going to happen when this new baby comes (less than four weeks, people) and we have a long, dark winter of being locked inside 24/7 because I refuse to get intermixed with germ filled people with a newborn baby with me. Isaac was lucky, he was born in the late winter and at the end of flu season. His daddy is going to have to kick in a take him to the park while me and newbie stay tucked inside safe and sound until March.
So, I guess what I am saying, is relax. All moms know this. Sometimes, your child is going to refuse the fois gras you spent ten hours making for dinner, and ask for a toaster strudel instead, and be honest....you will end up giving it to them.
Friday, September 13, 2013
This is going to be a long one...VBACS and C-sections, my story.
Hum-dee-dum, being pregnant and all that...
So, 32 weeks pregnant as of tomorrow. I haven't looked at, or thought about, this blog since I was 13 weeks pregnant. I deserve an award for being noncommittal, I swear.
BUT, I did manage to do three loads of laundry this week, scrub both of my bathrooms clean and somehow keep my kitchen looking acceptable.
And now is the part where I don't know what to say.
What I have learned so far during this pregnancy, is that the smell of Styrofoam can make me hungry, that VBAC is a scary term, and that c section scars can stretch and itch worse than when you purposefully roll in a bush of poison oak. My iron level is at a not so great 11.4, and dropping. And keep that red meat away from me, I'll just take some spinach drenched in olive oil. And a chocolate milkshake. I haven't gained a pound in about two months, and that I don't mind so much. I also have a new stretch mark, beautiful. I was wondering when you would show up. Baby boy is already head down, and I get Braxton Hicks from simply breathing in too fast, so hopefully that is a good sign that labor will progress on it's own this time.
More on VBACs...
I had a C-section with Isaac. I was 40 weeks and 1 day pregnant when they started my induction. I had to be induced because of pre-eclampsia. My blood pressure was dangerously high, and the baby had to come. I was given Cervadil at 6:00 pm. The nurses asked me if I had eaten anything, and I told them I had cereal for lunch. Well, that sent them into a frenzy of getting my Chick fil a and thirty minutes later I was extremely full of greasy food and getting nervous. Why did I need to eat? Puh-lease. This labor will be 8, maybe 10 hours long. I'll be laughing it up, slapping down some good ol' hospital food here in about half a day, with a newborn baby boy snoozing away in his plastic cage next to my bed.
Contractions started intensifying around 8:30 pm. What did NOT help, of course, was the constant chart reading done by my father and now husband. "Oh, oh! Here comes a big one! Oh wow, that was a huge one, it said 10! 10 must be the highest, right? I mean, come on. Did that hurt? Oh. Now it's over. Oh, another one! Only a 6, you probably didn't even feel that one. You're doing so good. I bet you're already six inches dilated."
Try centimeters, and no. I wasn't even at 1/2 cm yet. Let's just say they both got a stern talk from my mother that encouragement is encouraged, spectating is not. Enough with the commentary.
Fast forward to 1:30 am, when a giant flood decided to wake me up. I had been sleeping for about an hour when gallons of liquid started coming out. I called my mom from the waiting room, I paged the nurse, and we were whisked off to Labor and Delivery from triage. Everyone was getting so excited. I remember the nurse's exact words were, "things are going to start moving so fast now!"
Yeah, okay.
My contractions were getting pretty painful, and I was at about 3 cm at this point. 8:30 am they started giving me Pitocin, and gave me an epidural as well.
10:00 am, no change.
12:30 pm, no change.
2:00 pm, no change, but lots and lots of vomiting. How great.
5:00 pm, no change.
Very discouraging, I must say. And I was getting irritable, exhausted, puffy, and frustrated. The OB came in, and announced that I had three hours to get going, or they would be forced to do a C-section. I was horrified. Was I seriously not progressing? What was taking so long?
8:00 pm marked a turning point. I was at 5 1/2 cm. But time was still running out. My epidural was failing, and I was in lots of pain, not mention exhausted beyond belief. It had now been over 24 hours. My water had broken, and infection was imminent. The OB was generous and gave me another two hours.
At 10:30, everyone was in the room. My mom, Nathan, my sister, my grandma, aunts, doctors, nurses. My dad had run out to get my step mom and I needed him there before they took me to the OR. I had 15 minutes. I was weeping at this point, broken by the fact that my body had completely failed me. What woman takes 27 hours to labor, and not even get to transition? Nathan was paled and exhausted too. He had to leave the room for a moment when they made the final decision to open me up. He didn't imagine this outcome, either.
Nathan scrubbed up, and I had to leave my family behind. I remember the white ceiling above me as they rolled my partially numb, swollen body into the OR. A team shifted me onto the operating table. I didn't move, I stared at the ceiling, a panic attack coming at any second. My heart rate was being played somewhere in the room, and the doctor had to tell me to breathe and calm down several times. I just told myself over and over to breathe in and out. I felt a strong tugging as they began. It is a violent surgery if you can feel that through all the morphine and who even knows what else they give you. I had no drugs to cloud my brain, so I remember everything perfectly. Nathan sat at my head, and whispered words of encouragement, but he was just as scared as I was. It took what seemed like hours, but at 11:09 pm, on February 28th, 2012, Isaac came into the world. I heard a squealing and what sounded like a little baby pig on the other side of the room, and there he was! They brought him around for me to see. He was perfect. His color was beautiful, and he had no bruising and a perfectly shaped head. The first thing the nurse said was "he's got mommy's nose!"
Nathan left to go to Isaac's side at that point, and they still had to sew me up. I asked about ten times if it was over yet, could I hold my baby. I didn't get to hold him until about an hour later. I wasn't the first person to touch him, talk to him, or anything. I didn't get to nurse him, no skin to skin. I had to wait until we were in the recovery room to get my moment with him.
The recovery was awful, and I refused drugs. I only took Motrin as a pain reliever. I was going to tough it out. I felt like I had to. Which was stupid mommy martyrdom at it's best, I now realize. No driving for two weeks, walking more than ten feet was grueling, and I had to put Isaac down after holding him ten minutes because it was just too much weight to have my back support.
So here I am, almost 19 months later, and I am doing it all again. But I am hoping for a healing experience. I want to try to have a VBAC. And I realize it is risky, yes. But I need a positive labor and delivery to erase the traumatic and literally scarring labor and delivery I had with Isaac. And yes, I know, all that matters is that the baby came out healthy. No. Don't tell me that. It's easy for people to say that, but they just don't know the emotional and physical repercussions a traumatic C-section can give someone. It is something you literally have to experience for yourself. Which, I would not wish on anyone.
If this VBAC fails, I will not beat myself up, I will not be down on myself, I will know I tried. I already have accepted the possible repeat C-section, and if it happens, it happens. God ultimately knows what He wants for me in the end. He has given me a healthy pregnancy so far, with way less stress and sickness and so on. I can't ask for more than that at this point.
Sorry for the somber tone of this post. I only had a limited amount of time to type it. And now I have to end it, because I just heard a giant diaper explosion occur over the baby monitor, and I have to go clean up what MIGHT be a catastrophic mess.
l8rz, cheese gr8rz!
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