baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahaahahahaahahahhahahaha…. yeah. that was a bad joke…
I’m pretty certain most, if not all, of my loyal readers are already aware that Little Man is here! This is the story, a few days late of how shiz went down.
As you already know if you’ve been keeping up with my drivel, I’ve been experiencing “prodromal” labour for a couple of weeks now. Which sucked. The contractions seemed to be increasing in severity, but never getting any regularity whatsoever. I’d contract every 5 or so minutes for an hour, just to have them slow down to about every 20 mins for an hour then pick up again… In any case, I was told by the OB covering for Dr. Awesome that if I started bleeding or leaking fluid to get my ass to the hospital. None of that ever had a chance to happen.
Friday night was pretty miserable, I barely slept, and just felt a general state of total fatigue and crap- contracting constantly, again without any rhyme or reason. I tried taking Ty.lenol to calm things down with minimal success. Saturday was worse…. much much worse. I knew the contractions I was having were labour contractions, but because they never came closer together or had any regularity whatsoever, I was extremely reluctant to go get checked out. (believe me, it’s really NOT fun to drive 1/2 an hour to the hospital to get told to “suck it up princess- it’s just false labour; faking it will not get you any sympathy here” <— yes, I WAS actually told this during my last pregnancy during the five weeks of prodromal hell I experienced- it was one of many many horrible awful very bad no good things spouted to me during that time). So anyway, by 11pm Saturday night, I was in the tub writhing in pain that was enough to bring me to tears, a very epic accomplishment considering I live in constant pain from the fibro, and so have a very very high pain tolerance. My husband, knowing this, became pretty concerned, and called L&D, who, obviously, told him to make me come in… so I argued with him for about half an hour and told him I’d just take more Ty.lenol and try to sleep it off… hahahahaahahaha
Needless to say, my husband won the argument… I went in to L&D to discover their equipment actually works, and although irregular my contractions were most definitely measuring in the level of “painful”. I was checked for dilation and given a very brief external U/S to ensure the stitch had not already ruptured. Lo and behold, my asshole cervix was opening- I was 1-2cm, with a guessed length of about 1/2-1cm only. GO ME!! There was some discussion among the OB on call and perinatologist who I love- she was the perinatologist whom I met with during my previous hospital stay- and myself on the best course of action. I was given two choices; wait it out and hope upon hope that the labour stopped, risking the stitch rupturing, hemorrhage, big mess and possible hysterectomy OR deliver this “term” baby NOW. Given the U/S dating, we all assumed I was closer to 37 weeks than 36, and because I’d been given steroids already to help with lung development, everyone agreed that was our safest course. Hubs left the hospital to take our surprisingly un-exhausted Gremlin home to bed, and I was prepped for surgery; Getting an IV started was a bitch, I got poked about 5 or so times for that, and twice to get bloodwork drawn. Then was taken down to the OR to try and get a spinal started. It actually worked out in my favor that we weren’t able to get it started, because the OB got called away to do a delivery!! By the time he go back, the spinal would have worn off- so right out to sleep I went.
The surgery went well, and at 4:07 am July 29th, 2012 my wee man was born!! A whopping 8lbs 13oz and 20 inches long! (my little short-ass!)
Unfortunately, the tale doesn’t quite end there… I awoke in a room and was asked if I would like to see my boy. It was explained that he was slightly more premature than was suspected- his estimated gestational age only 36 weeks, and that due to that, and the fact that I had GD (which can cause delay in lung development, even when controlled well), he was having a bit of trouble breathing and would need to be in the NICU. They wheeled him in to see me, CPAP mask in place, and removed his little cap to show me his abundance of dark, slightly wavy hair- he looks just like his daddy!!! I quickly dozed back off, I’d been given a goodly dose of morphine after surgery (I also had my tubes tied), but I dreamed of my sweet, dark-haired little love.
It’s now four days later and I’m your typical, exhausted, post-partum mom. Recovery from the surgery has been very hard, and complicated by the high level of activity I’ve had to maintain due to trips to the NICU, both in hospital (long friggin walk from my ward to there), and now being home, with an active toddler making daily trips to the hospital (more long friggin walks from the parkade to the NICU); almost complete lack of ability to have any sort of real “rest” between 2-3 hour wakings to pump so that wee man can get every single drop of breast milk available to him, and the stress of having a babe in NICU. For the most part, I can’t say a single bad thing about the staff at the hospital here- they have done so much and been so kind, and helpful- the complete opposite of the experience I had with Gremlin, but it’s still stressful all the same- and made harder by the fact that I do have my little Gremlin and have to divide my time between a toddler who can’t understand why mama has to be gone so much time, and a little man in the hospital who I want to be with so desperately it’s almost physically painful.
The positive side of it all is this- my sweet boy-child is here, and he is doing very well. He spent a day and a bit on CPAP, moving up to nasal cannula, and has been doing trials on room air since Wednesday. He was able to start taking the breast Wednesday night, and is a voracious little piggy! He’s definitely his father’s boy- apparently hubs’ mom used to cry when she had to feed him because he was such an insatiable little hog!! He’s a lot more alert every day, he wakes when he hears my voice every time I come to visit now and starts wiggling like mad to be picked up. He loves his paci like it’s a part of him, and is the most amazing little snuggler- when doing kangaroo care he literally tries to wrap his wee little arms around you, or grabs your finger like a lifeline- he just never wants to be let go. He is the most amazing little miracle and I love him more than life itself. I can’t wait to bring him home and have our family all together again under the same roof.
Because I’m bored, have nothing better to do right now, and am going to be busy over the weekend… ish…
How far along? 13w2d
Bedrest so far: if you want to be REALLY technical, my restrictions are not currently that far off from a partial bedrest… I want to go back to work so bad, I had a total bitch day today and was mad at everyone for ME not being able/allowed to do anything.
Total weight gain/loss: for some unknown and wholly miraculous reason, I have neither gained, or lost
Maternity clothes?: not this week!!! maternity clothes are hurty on bruised-up ouchy incisions. It’s all hubby’s pajama pants for me this week- the looser the better!!
G.D. : still good!!
Cervical Length?: no longer a pertinent issue, as I am now the proud owner of an abdominal cerclage and have taken my shitty cervix out of the equation. Take THAT you betch!!!
Labor signs: no real labour signs, but have had some post-op cramping which is sucktacular, but quickly taken care of with tylenol
Medications?: prenatals, diclectin, iron supplements, copious amounts of tylenol, and prometrium (oh fun!!)
Sleep: better since being drugged unconscious earlier this week. The anesthetist was awesome, I’ve never been put out so gently in my life!
Best moment this week: having the recovery nurse describe my little Pip during the U/S I have absolutely no memory of whatsoever due to being drugged off my ass. Also, the care I got at the hospital. I felt really well cared for and totally taken care of.
Worst Moment this week: Finding out when I finally got back to the day surgery ward that I had been gone for a total of almost 4 hours- my poor husband was panicked and terrified. No one explained that they were just being super duper cautious due to me having some oxygen level issues and so he was left to think the worst.
Movement: Nothing palpable by me… TONNES of gas from the surgery- with laparoscopic surgery, they fill you up with air to make things easier to see. They try to get most of it out while the incisions are still open, but unfortunately, some gets stuck and has to come out the usual ways… oh yeah, I’m chock FULL of the sexy!!
Food cravings/aversions: I’ve been sticking to pretty generic, bland food. My tum’s been pretty delicate. I had a craving for alphagetti of all bloody things!
Belly Button in or out?: um… gone… I am grieving. They poked a hole right through… I now have the belly button that isn’t!!
Gender: if past history is any indication, this one is packing boy parts.
What I miss: sleep… sweet sweet sleep… not having a house that’s looks like a bomb went off in half the rooms!
What I am looking forward to: being able to work again, and to move without it seeming like a great production that takes forever!!
Weekly Wisdom: someone told me that my memorial tattoo was one of the most beautiful ways to remember a lost child they’d ever seen. It was a very touching moment.
Milestones: woohoo second trimester!! TAC is done!!
Symptoms: hormones and emotions from hell!!! still nauseous too… boourns!!
Been a pretty epic week so far!
29 weeks yo!! yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!
So far, no word back on the evil bad no good awful glucose test, which I am taking as a good sign! Hooray!! Of course the day is only just begun and Mondays are notorious for springing bad news on a person! I’ll keep hoping for no 3 hour glucose and exult in the fact that I am 29 weeks!!!!! wooooo
Am I ridiculously happy about this?? um- does a bear shit in the woods?? Of COURSE I am… just a few (like, 9) short weeks ago I didn’t even think I’d make it to 24 weeks nevermind the 90% survivability of 28- and here I am a week past that!! I remember reading blogs of women who’ve done this before me, who spoke of 14 weeks bed rest with full-term babies, those who were on bed rest who still had preemies, but take home babies nonetheless, and I thought “that will never be me”.. I will never make it that far- and having NO CLUE how on earth anyone could do it. To be on bed rest for such a long time- even with reduced restrictions at some point seemed impossible to me. And yet… here I am- 9 weeks in and still holding on, going strong, obeying the rules and it’s paying off. I’m doing it and I’m going to get the greatest reward a girl can have- my very own take home baby. Squeeeeeeeeeeee!!!
The last few days have been crazy… hell, who am I kidding, the last six MONTHS have been one rush after another. I haven’t had time to process- and that’s where other people’s blogs come in… I read a very broad range, and I have found quite a few who know exactly what I’m thinking- who know how to say things that I just can’t seem to come up with words for myself.
There are things that I’m just not eloquent enough to say. Like the fact that I hate my father. It’s not actually true. I don’t hate him… not anymore. I realize that he’s mean, and hateful, and controlling. I realize that he just doesn’t know how to show affection or approval. I also know that my stepmother is REALLY a wicked stepmother-an evil manipulative bitch.
This past summer, I made a decision to cut them out of my life. It wasn’t an easy decision, but I honestly feel it was the best decision I could have made for my daughter. For most of her life, they have been WONDERFUL grandparents. I mostly avoided them for MY sake, but I allowed a relationship to flourish with my child. Until they started doing to her what they did to me. You see, my father and stepmother aren’t content to just hate other people- they have to convert YOU too. As a teen, when I lived with them- the target was my mother. Picture if you will, a young girl, trying to find her own identity, and being told constantly that HALF of her genetic makeup is complete crap- that her mother is the worst person in existence. Imagine being cornered, LITERALLY and having hate rammed down your throat. Hate directed at the person who raised you. Who, while married to the evil asshole, protected you from the worst of his abuse. And don’t you DARE disagree!! If you try to defend yourself OR your mother- well then.
If you’ve never been verbally or psychologically abused, it’s extremely hard to understand how awful it really is. I once spoke with a friend who lived with a man who psychologically abused her for years- but he never laid a hand on her. She said to me, “I WISH I’d been hit- it would have been easier.” And I can relate.
My husband is not my daughter’s father, but he is most assuredly her daddy. He is there for her 200%. He checks in on her before bed at night after I’ve given hugs and cuddles. He play fights with her in the grocery store so she doesn’t get bored. He plays video games with her, and goes outside to build snow forts, and other forts. Everything any child could ever want in a dad- he is/does/gives her.
My father and step-mother hate him. They hate him with a passion bordering on psychotic. And so the indoctrination began. The last time my daughter spent with my father and stepmother was last summer. They took her camping for a week. My daughter came home in tears. She was hurt, and couldn’t understand why gam and gamps (her words for them) hated her daddy. She didn’t understand why they thought he was bad- she doesn’t understand that her fucking gam and gamps never TRY to call. Hardly even TRY to contact her. But they TOLD her that her daddy didn’t let her see them. That he wouldn’t LET them call. And they wouldn’t LIE to her would they?? They spent the entire week attempting to make her hate him. An entire week that an 8 year old spent, not having fun- but being told that her daddy is a mean, horrible person. Stop and think for a second what this might do to a child- then stop and think how damaging this might just be to a child who’s biological father has virtually no contact with her. Now, I’ve been in this situation. She’s not actually going to come home and think, “wow, my daddy is horrible!” she’s going to think “what is wrong with me?? My first daddy left me, and my new daddy is a bad man- but I still love them both- so does this mean I’m bad???”
It might seem far-fetched- unless you’ve been there. Every hurtful, horrible thing they ever said about my mother, I reflected back on myself. If my mother was bad, and horrible, and evil- well then didn’t that make ME bad, and horrible, and evil??
The “indoctrination” of my daughter was not the only reason I cut them out. It was simply the last straw. It wasn’t even a dramatic exit. I simply never called them again. And they’ve never even TRIED to contact me or my daughter. They have phone numbers for my PERSONAL cell phone that my husband doesn’t even touch other than to put on the charger for me because I tend to forget. They have email addresses for both my daughter and I. They know where we live, (it’s within 1/2 an hour of them) and they know that I speak to my brother frequently and if necessary, they could contact me through him. They haven’t even TRIED.
It makes it easier for me really. But part of me still hurts. Part of me even feels guilt- guilt that my daughter has lost a set of grandparents, and that the child I’m carrying now will never even know them. They don’t even know I’m pregnant. The “family” part of me feels like I should try- I should try to mend bridges, that I should forgive, and let them back in. That I shouldn’t deny my unborn child or my living child of family. That even if they ARE horrible, evil, people, I should at least TRY to maintain a relationship. And then I come to my senses. If they care- why haven’t THEY called? emailed? come to see us? It has NOTHING to do with my husband, and quite frankly, if they don’t like him- they can stop acting like fucking children and suck it up!!! My husband is MORE than happy to go out for the day if they wanted to come and visit. He’s fine with my going out to see them too, if I really wanted to. He’s just a convenient excuse for them to withhold affection and approval. It’s just one more mistake their stupid, fucked up daughter has made, one that I will regret someday- and go crying back to them… Too bad for them that I don’t and won’t need them ever again. Too bad for them that my husband GIVES me approval, that he’s there for me, and actually DOES care. It’s amazing how living with someone who is the polar opposite of abusive, and comes from a close-knit, healthy, happy family gives you perspective. I’ll never go back. I’m finally free.
I have been stabbed in the spine approximately 15 times. You really have NO idea how much that fucking hurts. I have a bruised vertebrae (from being poked so many times) and the muscles in my lower back around the area of bruise-y polka-dotted hell are in a constant state of spasm. I also have cramps from the most pissed off cervix and uterus in existence. My vagina feels like I’ve been gang-banged and I’m still getting shock-y feelings in my legs.
The moral of this story: getting a cerclage FUCKING SUCKS!!!
Now that I have had a chance to mellow…. and I have a single spare moment to myself- there’s something I would like to clear up.
Yes- my husband can be an ultimate douche. BUT- he is also the best husband in the world.
Picture a man who was COMPLETELY single for 2.5 years, wrapped up in work, video games, and that’s it. Negativo on the socializing. Except at work- in the military… yeah… oh yeah- testosterone picnic from HELL.
And then throw him into a relationship (yes- he had a choice) with a bipolar woman and her bipolar four year old and a mortgage (we wanted to move in together but paying rent for a shithole when a mortgage on a nice home was cheaper just made sense) and a car payment because we needed a bigger vehicle for all of us, and and and…. For the most part, he’s handled it with aplomb…
He’s actually handled things admirably. He is attentive, and kind, and listens. He judges my bipolar swings better than I do sometimes and he truly tries to UNDERSTAND like no one ever has- even people who HAVE bipolar. He doesn’t blame me for our infertility, though I DO blame myself and the guilt I feel for already having a child and not being able to give him one of his own (so far- I’m not out of this game yet!!) spills over. I DO get angry, and I feel hurt. And yes- my husband has most DEFINITELY withdrawn into himself and his games- but can you really blame him??? He lost his first son. His first child. His first pregnancy with a woman he loves.
He struggles EVERY SINGLE DAY to raise a child who’s biological father can’t be bothered. He pays for her meds, and a roof over her head, and for me to stay home so I can be here for her.
And all this time, it sits in the back of his head- that THIS may be all he ever gets. He loves a child unconditionally- and the man who doesn’t? Will always come first to her…
While his son, his baby, his only biological child, isn’t here.
The stats aren’t good. The divorce rate for bereaved parents is estimated anywhere from 60-80%. Day-to-day difficulties are hard enough for most couples (50% divorce rate for those who HAVEN’T had trauma like ours). In the past year- my husband has stood by me through my stepfather’s suicide, housing my mother for several months while she pulled her shit back together, dealing with my abusive, asshole father and psychotic step-mother (who disown me on a regular basis and try to make my daughter hate him), being a friend and support for my pot-head moron younger brother who repays him by treating him like a lower life form because he’s not “handy”, the diagnosis of my daughter’s bipolar, putting up with her “donor’s” bullshit- and the frustration it causes me (and her aggravation and abandonment issues because of it), and of course- the death of our son.
I’d run away too if I could. And if video games are it- then I need to speak up more. As of this point, my husband has informed the rude asshole “girlfriend” that he needs to clean his shit up and start treating me with respect if he’s (my husband) going to remain friends with him. He deleted the character on the server WITH the whiny bitch friend. He took me to the ballet!! (heh- actually it was already planned over a month ago- it was an anniversary gift- and TOTALLY his own idea!! – see I told you he’s not a complete ass).
Yes, he pisses me off, and YES-gawd yes, do I feel used up and spit out sometimes. But MOST of the time, I feel cherished, and cared for, and loved. It just doesn’t translate well on the interwebs.
Which is why I’m implementing a “day”. I’m calling it “why I love my husband, wife, S.O., life partner, etc etc etc…day.” From now on, every Thursday, I am going to think of something about my husband that I love- a reason why I enjoy being married, why I love being with a man who makes my life so complete. I’m going to think of, and tell the WORLD all the nice things he does for me. Because he does. And I don’t want my blog to be all about the negative. I realize that I’ve been (with pretty good reason) a sad sack. And I hate that I may be coming across as a depressing, boring, sad little person. That’s not me- I’m the “happy maker”. So now I want to inject some of that here… starting now…
Stay tuned for the first edition of “Why I love my Husband” day… coming up later because I have to get lunch started and switch over my laundry… bbl
A few weeks ago I posted this. Feel free to read it- or just take the summarized version you’ll get here, it’s no skin off my nose! 😀
Summary: I wrote a letter to a pro-life group to get their assistance/ask for tips & tricks for advocating for preemies. There is a current policy in place in hospitals that dictates that babies born under 24 weeks will not recieve resuscitation- or any other medical care. The gist: my son, born at 23weeks 3days- lived for four hours on his own, but was left to die. The medical community abandoned him as unsaveable- without even trying. Needless to say, I take a bit of offense with this policy that allowed him to die- and I want it GONE. I want the policy to change. But I need help- I can’t do this on my own, and I haven’t the first bloody clue how to go about advocating governments and hospitals, and all the bigwigs to change something. I am just one teeny weeny babylost mama who’s currently taking hormones to try to get pregnant again.
In any case- the agency I contacted sent me the following:
Dear PottyMouthMommy (she used my RL name- I changed it)
I was heart broken reading your email about the loss of your infant son. I called the Manitoba League for Life Office and discussed your story with the Executive Director. She said she has heard of this being done recently, but doesn’t know if it was your story she has heard. She said you should be able to have a copy of the policy the hospital was following and will give you a name of a lawyer who might help you persue litigation or inquiry into this policy.
I also spoke to the Executive Director of Life Canada our national prolife group. She was appalled and wondered if you would like to have your story published nationally. You would have to be willing to let your name be published. This would probably get more attention to the situation than anything else.
There are stories of infants surviving being born at 18 and 19 weeks gestation. I’m sure these are the exception to the rule, but I would assume that a baby of over 23 weeks would have a higher chance of survival if there were no other problems than being born prematurely.
If you would like to speak with me further you could call me. I’ll be home for the next few days.
*the lady who I contacted at this organization* (yes, I left her name out too- I want to protect people’s privacy here!!)
and so yeah… While I’m not comfortable pursuing litigation. (it won’t help me accomplish what I want to happen) I’m not entirely sure about going national either. (heh- I’m on the INTERNET- slightly more than national, no? or at least it WOULD be if people actually read this thing!!) What it boils down to is this: I am a chickenshit. I KNOW that I am strong enough to deal with the shitstorm that could very well hit my family. I know there is a chance that I may lose friends. (heh- try not to lose friends when you lose a baby- it’s actually harder than you might think- I can think of at least three people that don’t talk to me anymore because since I lost my son- and I only went batshit on one of them for being an insensitive asshole) I’m afraid of the beating my relationship with my husband might take. I worry about how this will affect my daughter, my family members. And mostly- I am just plain scared. What if I fail?? I wouldn’t JUST be failing Jellybean, my husband, daughter, myself. I’d be failing EVERYONE- everyone who’s standing behind me, hoping that I can make a difference. The friends who look at me and see the strong, outgoing, perpetually sunshiney go-getter- who can GET THINGS DONE. I am supposed to be the one who can take on ANYTHING. But this is huge- really really huge. And I can’t help but feel like this is that big ‘ol kick in the head- a very OBVIOUS “reason” for Jellybean’s death. (still doesn’t make it easier- but we take what we can get here). Listen to me get all existentialistic- hahahaha.
So should I do it? My gut, my heart, my friends who’ve stuck by me all say yes. My family says “proceed with caution”. My head goes “eep!!!!”. It’s the right thing. But is it the right thing for me?