Whilst feeling sorry for myself recently, I had a realization. In my general efforts to keep my writing as real and honest as possible, I forget most of the time to write about things that are not horrible, hard, and devistating. But normal, everyday life is as real as it gets because it isn't everyday that I am passing kidney stones, or puking a million times because I'm pregnant, or having panic attacks, or having a miscarriage. In fact, most days I am not doing these things. So with that, I will tell you about my day.
Today was exceptionally normal, and nothing bad even happened. Sam woke up early with the baby and let me sleep in-actually, he does this most days and it is a beautiful gift. We did chores, and laundry, and ended up organizing and purging lots of unneeded junk. It feels pretty good to be able to walk inside of my laundryroom again. I bleached a once white rug that has been sitting in the laundry room for months waiting to be treated (who even puts white rugs in high traffic areas anyways?!). That rug almost looks white again so I am going to call that one a success. We talked about going to the zoo but ultimately decided to go another day because staying home together sounded kind of nice. I played with my son and fed him some new foods-he was pretty sure he liked them. Discovering new things with him is one of my favorite pastimes. I changed a few diapers and made a few bottles, but when he took a three hour nap I did a little victory dance in my head. The dishes got done but the carpet didn't get vacuumed. I convinced Sam to pare down his costume collection which cleared up a ton of storage space. I convinced myself to pare down my wardrobe which saved even more. Most importantly I found my glue gun-not that I needed it today but that thing had been missing for, like, ever. We both wiped a runny nose over and over, but we also got lots of smiles and laughs form our littlest Sam. Leftovers and a frozen chicken pot pie got eaten for dinner in between random chores and getting buddy ready for bed. Dad Sam did bedtime and I got to spend a few quiet moments by myself. We sat together in bed and Sam watched a movie while I drafted the Relief Society newsletter and made a birthday list. Feeling pretty proud of myself for being a week ahead of the game there. Bath time for me was enhanced by my amazing (read: not actually functional) home made bath bomb-but at least it smelled nice. Instead of being annoyed my insomnia I painted my toenails and shaved my legs for the first time in probably weeks. And as my polish sat drying I decided to write about my beautifully average day where nothing bad even happened. What a blessing real life can be. I am so glad that my everyday looks a lot more like this than the days I most often blog about. So here's to all of the entirely forgettable days that fill up so much of my life. Without you, I would be a complete mess.
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Saturday, January 21, 2017
Life
You spent the day marching. I spent the day crying. You marched for lots of rights that I want just as much as you. But as you marched for the singular right to choose to take away your child's life, I was losing mine. I was given no choice. No one marched for him or her. No one marched for me as I sobbed on the bathroom floor. Women's rights ARE human rights. But HUMAN rights are also human rights. I had no choice when the human inside of me, whom I had only known for mere weeks, lost its little life. I have never been so devastated not to have a choice. The inability to choose LIFE has left me powerless and disheartened. How a woman could not fight with everything to preserve this is beyond my reaches. Life is life and until one is lost it is nearly impossible to fathom it.
Sunday, January 1, 2017
The Rest of the Story
Months have passed since I began retelling my story, so with the start of this new year I am determined to finish it. Details have grown thin over the months but what is left must be preserved. So here the story continues:
Thirty long weeks of pregnancy had passed in a hellish fashion and I was finally regaining strength and normalcy through the blessings of modern medicine. Food was no longer the enemy, so I ate. And ate. And ate. It was glorious. Gladly I watched the numbers rise on the scale at my bimonthly appointments. Seeing my body do what it was supposed to brought me joy and relief and eased much of the anxiety I had about my impending delivery. I was healthy and I was ready to do things the healthy, natural way-forget the 7 months of malnutrition, my body was made to birth a baby and I was going do it the way God intended. Determination was the name of the game at this point.
Six weeks later and I was in OB triage with stomach pain and a blinding headache. Just a migraine and a stomach ache, no big deal. Another week passed and I was back in triage getting the stink eye from some salty nurses for coming in for a headache. Never mind the vision changes, swelling, stomach pain, dizziness, and high blood pressure-if I laid on my left side for a while it would go back down so clearly I was just being a baby. Over and over again I was told that there was no way I could have preeclampsia because I didn't meet this or that requirement. Over and over again I was promised that nothing could possibly be wrong.
Thirty eight weeks pregnant and I had gained almost ten pounds since my appointment 7 days prior. Ten pounds in a week after not gaining ten pounds my entire pregnancy. Eyebrows were raised at this point and my induction was scheduled for a week later. Relief was in sight. So what if I had started out adamantly opposed to being induced, I needed this baby on the outside of my body. Hope wasn't totally lost for a natural delivery though when a few days later I started contracting. Several hours of hard contractions two minutes apart made me feel confident in my decision to head to the hospital. I was having a baby, I just knew it. Back to the salty nurses I returned to OB triage where I was hooked up to monitors while eyes were rolled and patronizing voices were used. Contractions were coming hard and fast, but after an hour my cervix had not progressed a millimeter. Time to walk. And walk. And walk. Hours of walking, contracting, and waiting, and still no progress. In fact the nurse who came to check me after my latest lap around the hospital informed me that my cervix was actually less dilated than the original nurse had reported. More waiting while the baby and my contractions were monitored. Out of sheer boredom and frustration I began listening to the nurses' conversations at the desk right outside of my open door- a patient comes in screaming and a nurse proudly states "she was making too much noise so I told her she wasn't in active labor. She is actually dilated to a 5." laughs and chuckles leaving me with absolutely no trust or confidence in the care I am receiving. Watching my monitors I notice that my baby's heart rate seems to be dropping with each contraction I have, to which the nurse tells me "its just the position of the sensor, everything is just fine. You aren't in active labor so we are going to send you home. Don't come back unless you are bleeding or your water breaks."
Two more days I walked and contracted at home, waiting for my water to break. Hoping and praying to do it on my own, to have the natural delivery I had planned and hoped for. July 22 rolled around and still nothing. I headed into the hospital at 7AM to check in for my scheduled induction slightly defeated, but mostly relieved for this all to be over. Paperwork was filled out and an IV was started (after 6 tries, 3 of which by the nurse anesthetist) and in went the pitocin. Not my ideal, but everything was going fine so far. Contractions were not unbearable and I was able to move around the room and bounce on a birthing ball. Once again I felt hopeful. Once again, however, my baby's heart rate began to drop. My nurse would come in to reposition the monitor and have me change positions and things would go back to normal. By 2PM very little progress had been made so when the doctor offered to break my water I gladly said yes. At this point I was all to happy to throw out my ideal birth plan to get this kid out. Just like that, things started happening. Here came the REAL contractions. In my back. Like burning, firey, lava of stabbing, pounding pressure. I had to be dilating. Something had to be happening. And I had to get an epidural. 4PM and no birthing ball, or rocking chair, or breathing techniques were giving any relief to the intensity of the back labor I was experiencing. Pain and stress led to diarrhea, which led to a nurse cleaning that diarrhea, which led to much crying and begging for the lower half of my body to be put to sleep. Sweet relief came in the form of a tiny indian woman with a big needle. After the epidural was in, my cervix was once again checked and I was told once again that not much progress was being made. Now confined to the bed, my monitors were set and more clearly reading each contraction and carefully tracking the baby's heart rate. It was dropping. The stronger the contraction, the lower it would drop. I was turned on my side. Not much improvement. Turned on the other side. Still the same. Pitocin was turned off. Contractions slowed and almost stopped. But baby's heart rate perked right back up. Slowly the pitocin was started again. I was angled, and positioned, and carefully monitored as the dose was brought back up enough to restart my labor. But with new contractions, the decels returned. My angel nurses never left my room, trying everything possible to keep me contracting and to keep my little guy safe.
10PM and we were all still struggling. No progress in my cervix. Decels still coming with each contraction. Pitocin stopped and started several more times. And my epidural was beginning to wear off to boot. Time for a new game plan. Only, I was not interested in hearing it. My doctor came in to tell me what happens in a c-section. I shut him out. Sam asked him question after question and I was so hurt that they had lost confidence in me-that they were just giving up. After all I had been through was a vaginal delivery just too much to ask for? Kindly and obligingly my doctor gave me one more hour. One more hour for my cervix to magically dilate. One more hour for my baby to suddenly stop being in distress. One more hour for me to wrap my head around having major abdominal surgery to save the life of my sweet son. One hour came and went and I was speedily prepped for surgery. Before I knew it I was on a table, and sam was in a white paper suit, and I was being cut open and hearing the words "thats not good" while crying, and praying, and waiting to know if my baby was alive.
July 23 2016, at 12:46AM Samuel Joseph Fuller was born via c-section. During the course of the procedure it was discovered that his umbilical cord was trapped between his head and my cervix, in prefect position for each contraction to stop blood flow. My body, in response did not progress naturally. Instead it preserved the life within it. Frustration morphed into awe as I realized that my body had not been working against me, but had been working for my son. Months of illness and changed plans gave way to lifesaving measures. My baby was here. He was healthy. He was safe. Most importantly he was alive. Had each of my complications not arisen this may not have been the case. What I thought had been my worst trial turned out to be my greatest blessing. I will forever be grateful for the gift that hyperemis gravidarum gave to me.
Thirty long weeks of pregnancy had passed in a hellish fashion and I was finally regaining strength and normalcy through the blessings of modern medicine. Food was no longer the enemy, so I ate. And ate. And ate. It was glorious. Gladly I watched the numbers rise on the scale at my bimonthly appointments. Seeing my body do what it was supposed to brought me joy and relief and eased much of the anxiety I had about my impending delivery. I was healthy and I was ready to do things the healthy, natural way-forget the 7 months of malnutrition, my body was made to birth a baby and I was going do it the way God intended. Determination was the name of the game at this point.
Six weeks later and I was in OB triage with stomach pain and a blinding headache. Just a migraine and a stomach ache, no big deal. Another week passed and I was back in triage getting the stink eye from some salty nurses for coming in for a headache. Never mind the vision changes, swelling, stomach pain, dizziness, and high blood pressure-if I laid on my left side for a while it would go back down so clearly I was just being a baby. Over and over again I was told that there was no way I could have preeclampsia because I didn't meet this or that requirement. Over and over again I was promised that nothing could possibly be wrong.
Thirty eight weeks pregnant and I had gained almost ten pounds since my appointment 7 days prior. Ten pounds in a week after not gaining ten pounds my entire pregnancy. Eyebrows were raised at this point and my induction was scheduled for a week later. Relief was in sight. So what if I had started out adamantly opposed to being induced, I needed this baby on the outside of my body. Hope wasn't totally lost for a natural delivery though when a few days later I started contracting. Several hours of hard contractions two minutes apart made me feel confident in my decision to head to the hospital. I was having a baby, I just knew it. Back to the salty nurses I returned to OB triage where I was hooked up to monitors while eyes were rolled and patronizing voices were used. Contractions were coming hard and fast, but after an hour my cervix had not progressed a millimeter. Time to walk. And walk. And walk. Hours of walking, contracting, and waiting, and still no progress. In fact the nurse who came to check me after my latest lap around the hospital informed me that my cervix was actually less dilated than the original nurse had reported. More waiting while the baby and my contractions were monitored. Out of sheer boredom and frustration I began listening to the nurses' conversations at the desk right outside of my open door- a patient comes in screaming and a nurse proudly states "she was making too much noise so I told her she wasn't in active labor. She is actually dilated to a 5." laughs and chuckles leaving me with absolutely no trust or confidence in the care I am receiving. Watching my monitors I notice that my baby's heart rate seems to be dropping with each contraction I have, to which the nurse tells me "its just the position of the sensor, everything is just fine. You aren't in active labor so we are going to send you home. Don't come back unless you are bleeding or your water breaks."
Two more days I walked and contracted at home, waiting for my water to break. Hoping and praying to do it on my own, to have the natural delivery I had planned and hoped for. July 22 rolled around and still nothing. I headed into the hospital at 7AM to check in for my scheduled induction slightly defeated, but mostly relieved for this all to be over. Paperwork was filled out and an IV was started (after 6 tries, 3 of which by the nurse anesthetist) and in went the pitocin. Not my ideal, but everything was going fine so far. Contractions were not unbearable and I was able to move around the room and bounce on a birthing ball. Once again I felt hopeful. Once again, however, my baby's heart rate began to drop. My nurse would come in to reposition the monitor and have me change positions and things would go back to normal. By 2PM very little progress had been made so when the doctor offered to break my water I gladly said yes. At this point I was all to happy to throw out my ideal birth plan to get this kid out. Just like that, things started happening. Here came the REAL contractions. In my back. Like burning, firey, lava of stabbing, pounding pressure. I had to be dilating. Something had to be happening. And I had to get an epidural. 4PM and no birthing ball, or rocking chair, or breathing techniques were giving any relief to the intensity of the back labor I was experiencing. Pain and stress led to diarrhea, which led to a nurse cleaning that diarrhea, which led to much crying and begging for the lower half of my body to be put to sleep. Sweet relief came in the form of a tiny indian woman with a big needle. After the epidural was in, my cervix was once again checked and I was told once again that not much progress was being made. Now confined to the bed, my monitors were set and more clearly reading each contraction and carefully tracking the baby's heart rate. It was dropping. The stronger the contraction, the lower it would drop. I was turned on my side. Not much improvement. Turned on the other side. Still the same. Pitocin was turned off. Contractions slowed and almost stopped. But baby's heart rate perked right back up. Slowly the pitocin was started again. I was angled, and positioned, and carefully monitored as the dose was brought back up enough to restart my labor. But with new contractions, the decels returned. My angel nurses never left my room, trying everything possible to keep me contracting and to keep my little guy safe.
10PM and we were all still struggling. No progress in my cervix. Decels still coming with each contraction. Pitocin stopped and started several more times. And my epidural was beginning to wear off to boot. Time for a new game plan. Only, I was not interested in hearing it. My doctor came in to tell me what happens in a c-section. I shut him out. Sam asked him question after question and I was so hurt that they had lost confidence in me-that they were just giving up. After all I had been through was a vaginal delivery just too much to ask for? Kindly and obligingly my doctor gave me one more hour. One more hour for my cervix to magically dilate. One more hour for my baby to suddenly stop being in distress. One more hour for me to wrap my head around having major abdominal surgery to save the life of my sweet son. One hour came and went and I was speedily prepped for surgery. Before I knew it I was on a table, and sam was in a white paper suit, and I was being cut open and hearing the words "thats not good" while crying, and praying, and waiting to know if my baby was alive.
July 23 2016, at 12:46AM Samuel Joseph Fuller was born via c-section. During the course of the procedure it was discovered that his umbilical cord was trapped between his head and my cervix, in prefect position for each contraction to stop blood flow. My body, in response did not progress naturally. Instead it preserved the life within it. Frustration morphed into awe as I realized that my body had not been working against me, but had been working for my son. Months of illness and changed plans gave way to lifesaving measures. My baby was here. He was healthy. He was safe. Most importantly he was alive. Had each of my complications not arisen this may not have been the case. What I thought had been my worst trial turned out to be my greatest blessing. I will forever be grateful for the gift that hyperemis gravidarum gave to me.
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