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Sometime during the Autumn of 1992 Paris and I moved back to Seattle to find a midwife and settle in to have this baby. For a while we lived
in our Volkswagen microbus. But sometime around November it became
obvious that not only was I outgrowing the tiny bus bed, but it was
quickly
becoming a tad too cold for the freedom of outdoor living to be what it
once
had. So we moved into a nice little hippy frat in the University district. This place was great. There were about 15 of us living there, most of whom were either musicians, employees of the local vegan restaurant/coffee house/juice bar/health food co-op, or any combination of the above. As you may have ascertained, none of these are particularly reliable sources of income. And with the house being four stories, eight bedrooms, and optimally located there was generally a crunch for rent. We would have the best parties at the end of the month. $5.00 at the door bought admission, endless beer and the free entertainment of 3-5 bands. It was always a gas, and we often had enough money left over to buy some groceries for everybody. Years later, people would stop me on the street to ask if I was the energetic, dancing, pregnant girl. Oh, I’m sure you can just imagine how incredibly conducive this situation was to my gestation. Actually, despite living on the third floor in a house that was several flights of steps up from the street, itself, I loved it. It was great exercise. What more does a pregnant woman need, right? Well according to our midwife – folic acid, iron, regular eating habits, and possibly even childbirth education classes. I took the first two, tried to do my best with the third, but drew the line at the last one. As far as I was concerned, CBE classes were just fine for out of touch, yuppie, new agers, but I KNEW my body, thank you very much. Not only that, but I had read Spiritual Midwifery until it was falling apart and was looking forward to the rushes of contractions as well as a psychic connection with those present during labor. Yep. I didn’t have a clue. Forty weeks came and went. I began to worry a little. Fortunately, labor began at 10:30 pm ,
a mere 3 days after my due date. I
called the midwife. She told me to get
in the bath. So we have lots of pictures
of me lying in a tub looking for all the world like a very enthusiastic
manatee. This didn’t stop my labor, but
it did slow it considerably. We called
Beth back to report contraction times. She said to try to get some sleep. She’d be sending her assistant Lynn over in a couple of hours. So Paris
slept. I stared at the back of his head
and became more uncomfortable with each contraction. When Lynn arrived, Paris awoke long enough to
settle her into our big comfy chair. So
again I worried as everyone else slept. Beth arrived the next morning to find that I’d worried
myself into a quite, panicked state. My
contractions were still further apart than they would prefer. I grew to hate my beloved stairs as Beth had
us climb up and down, pausing only to slow dance with Paris
for each contraction. In all reality I
probably only ascended those steps a few times. But in my mind the time stretched on forever. A few hours later, Beth checked my dilation to find that I was at 7 centimeters. Great, 3 more to go. I felt a bit discouraged, but was ready to keep going. I ate some canned pears, and wandered around a bit more. As tired as I was, I had no doubt that this felt good, healthy and right. Two hours found me still at 7 cm. At this time Beth suggested some Cohosh tincture and the rupturing of my membranes. Sure, I thought, whatever’s going to get this kiddo out. She scraped. I gulped. WHAM! My contractions hit me like a freight train. There was no psychic peace in this room. There was no connection to anyone else. As I sat writhing upon our big chair, I felt like a horse in a fire. All I knew was that I wanted to escape, but couldn’t find a way out of the terrifying heat. I have absolutely no idea how much time passed before they checked my cervix again. All I know is that it hurt non stop, and I felt like I needed to push. God did I need to push. Beth checked me and grew a bit pale. I was told that I had swollen to 5 cm. What? Was she telling me that I was going backwards? Apparently the pressure of my bearing down had placed undue
stress upon my cervix and it was swelling. Not only that, but the urge to push was getting stronger all the
time. She told me to lift my chin. She told me to pant. She told me to make horse noises with my
lips. I’d been wandering around in an over-sized T-shirt for the past day, and saw no reason to change that. So Lynn and Paris wrapped a sarong around my waist and we began the descent to the street into Beth’s two door, small, economy car. Paris sat behind my seat which we had leaned waaaay back. It was approximately 4:30 pm when we took off across town to Providence Hospital. Now I know that some of you are familiar with Seattle traffic. It is unbelievable at rush hour. When people in Phoenix talk to me about traffic, I unabashedly laugh in their faces. Buddy, you don’t know what the word means. So there we were racing across
town in the crush of it all. We careened
around Metro buses. We ran orange
lights whenever possible. At one point I
remember looking up into the face of a man in a van. The look I saw
there, I will never
forget. I think he realized what was
going on at the moment our eyes met. There, at that moment, may have
been my one truly psychic moment during the entire labor. Poor van guy. Poor, poor van guy. So off we went. Eventually we arrived at Providence where they wanted me to do, what else, but paperwork. As I whimpered, Paris Beth explained to me that the plan was to give me an epidural so that I could numb away the urge to push. The thought was that if I was not bearing down, the cervix would further relax and dilate according to its own agenda. Where, I couldn’t help but wonder, was this thinking a few hours ago when they scraped open my bag of waters and drugged me with the tincture which began this crazy nightmare? But I didn’t say that. I said that I understood. I said that I thought that was a wise decision. So they inserted an IV Foley. This was they could give me some fluids to help keep me going. They apparently also had a policy about juicing a person up prior to Epidurals. There was also the general hospital opinion that it would be a good idea to be prepared “just in case.” So there I lay, waiting until it was time for the epidural. About 45 minutes later, they were finally able to track down the anesthetist. He came in, told me to bend over, and inserted the catheter into my epidural space. A bit of burning and it was done. The thing I’d never wanted was done. I didn’t get my natural childbirth. I cried to know that this was true. I began to feel very otherworldly and removed. Then I looked up and noticed that everyone was looking at me strangely as one nurse read the jagged lines on the monitor printout. You guessed it. My blood pressure had dropped dangerously low. So I was equipped with an oxygen mask. It didn’t take long to dampen from my tears. So I waited. And I waited. And my labor slowed down. It slowed further. They talked to me about Pitocin. I agreed. They turned up the epidural to deal with the painful effects of the Pitocin. Little did I know how typical this story is. The difference being that, I never planned on this. I never wanted to “bring on the drugs.” In fact, when I later saw my paperwork, it had a big read stamp across it that read FAILED HOME BIRTH. That felt good...so good. Anyway, after they doped me up with Pitocin and ass numbing
Epidural drugs, Beth sent Paris away to grab himself a sandwich. After
he left she leaned right down in my face. She told me that the doctors
fully expected to be doing a c-section on
me if I didn’t dilate within the next 2 hours. But, she also told me
not to worry about that. She knew me better than that. She told me to
take a nap...that I needed and
deserved it. That I was to have sweet
dreams, and when I awoke I would be fully dilated and we’d go ahead and
push
this baby out. And you know what? I did just that. I took my nap. I woke up about an hour later for a vaginal check. Lo and behold I was fully effaced, dilated and ready. There are, in my opinion, no sweeter words than, “You can push, now.” And push I did. I pushed for an hour and a half. I turned a few parts of myself inside out. Yes, I have some truly unfortunate photos of that, too. Aren’t you glad I don’t post them? Sometimes I wonder how it is that OBGYNs have families, at all. Just when I thought that I’d never get her to come out, I was told to feel her head. I was told to look in the mirror. That’s my kid, thought I. Oh my, that’s my kid! Pushing became so much easier then. She was out in just a few more contractions. But the elation was short lived. Paris
caught Maya. I heard that she was a girl. I heard them instruct him to cut the cord. Then someone said, “We’ve got a slow
one.” Suddenly, she was so far away. They had her across the room, under a heat
lamp, rubbing her – so hard. “What’s the
matter with my baby?” I asked. No one answered. But Beth looked over at me. She said, “Call to her. Let her know that you want her.” “Maya”, I called, “I love you.” “We love you!” “Come to us.” “Maya we love you!!!” Paris standing next to the table was also calling out to our baby. She opened her eyes...that exact mirror of his. Looked straight into his, and sighed as if to say, “Thanks for waiting.” Everyone sighed in response...in unison. They continued to work on her for a few minutes. Evidently, the little gymnast had somehow wrapped her umbilical cord around her throat three (3!) times. This may have contributed to her slow start. And as everyone was gazing at the lovely infant, I felt something shift. Oh great. It was my leg. They’d left me at the squatting bar. And my leg was slipping out from under me and over the side of the bed. Clinging to the bar I tried to heft my great whale of a self back up. “Wonderful,” I thought, “One of the most beautiful and poignant moments of my life, and I’m going to fall naked onto the floor.” Fortunately, that did not occur. Somebody did indeed notice and I was numbly rearranged. I stayed in that room for another little while, practicing
breastfeeding, adoring my baby, and congratulating myself. About 30 minutes later we moved to a regular
room where Paris slept on the
floor. I spent another mostly sleepless
night. But this time it was because I
couldn’t take my eyes off of the exquisite girl in my arms. I couldn’t believe that anything could be so
beautiful. Lying in the eternal twilight
of the hospital room I was surprised, at one point, to notice the door
opening. Imagine my bewilderment upon
spying a nun standing in the entry. Her
only words...”Bless you, my child.” |
say hi
MM: 8.14.06
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Scene: The three gals at Ross. Maya’s in the dressing room trying on pants as Kajsa and I roam the aisles looking for anything that might be the slightest bit entertaining to either of us. Kajsa is, of course, whining that we neeeeeed to go to the pet store next door – RIGHT NOW. Me: Kajsa, you’re being ridiculous. Kajsa: Mom, don’t say dickless. Say Oh man. Lady in next aisle: Trying to hide uncontrollable snickering… *~..o* |
monday memory 4.17.06
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The first
year of my marriage was really grueling. Not because Chris and I were having any particularly dire marital
problems. But, you see, Kajsa’s
diagnosis came just a few short months after our wedding. So there was a lot of trying, and crying and
(for lack of a better word) why’ing.
During that year, I wandered through life as a zombie. I don’t remember much of it well. But I know that Chris and Maya were always there being supportive and helpful. After the dialysis started, things began to calm down a bit. And while I had a fairly strict routine, but it wasn’t enveloped in such a cloud of fear. ...*~..~*... Imagine my
surprise when, a week before our one year anniversary, Chris told me that we
wouldn’t be able to go to our niece, Sarah’s birthday party that year. He further informed me that I should pack for
an overnight trip. But he wouldn’t tell
me where we were headed...just that it was a couple hours away. So I
packed up the dialysis machine, feeding pump, scale, blood pressure machine, 15
different meds, renal formula, two boxes of dialysate, diapers, and toys. I also loaded a change of clothes and
toothbrush for myself. And then we
headed out. And what a beautiful drive
it was. I’d been
trying to imagine for three days, where we might be headed and had thought of everything from the San Juan Islands to one of the Portland Bed and
Breweries. I simply had no idea just how
well my husband knew me. We headed east
and then north, meandering past giggling rivers full of icy spring melt. As we drove I began to think that I knew where
we headed. You see there’s this little Bavarian town
in the Cascade
Mountains
that I’d always wanted to visit, Leavenworth. It’s cheesy as all get out, but so am I, so I was quite taken with the
idea. Well, when
we got to the room, there were chocolates, wine, a fireplace and a
Jacuzzi. But we couldn’t stay because
there was a horse and carriage waiting for us downstairs. We rode around Leavenworth for a while enjoying the scenery
and the nice slow pace. Chris and I
cuddled as Kajsa proclaimed “Horsy!” many, many times. We later
strolled along the main street and had dinner in one of the German pubs. The next day was more of the same...perfect! It was a laid back and very much needed
couple of days. I’ll never forget
it. We don’t
get to do this kind of stuff very often. But whenever things get really challenging in our life, I look back on
that time and think about how good it is when it isn’t being so hard. I think about how much I love my husband, and
how much he loves me back...even when times are tough. Wednesday
will be our third wedding anniversary. For such a short time, it sure has been intense. I can think of no one I’d rather face life’s
challenges with. Happy
Anniversary, Chris. (And yes,
I’d do it all again.) |
monday memory 4.10.06
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It was on Maya’s fourth birthday that my best friend took her to get her ears pierced. They were both so excited about it. I can only imagine the scene: Maya feeling scared, but putting on her brave face. Gem telling her what a big and courageous girl she was. I say I can only imagine it because I wasn’t there. In fact I had no idea that this was even being considered. And I know that I didn’t necessarily handle it very well. (Unfortunately, I can be that way sometimes. I’m working on it, but it’s a long way to knee jerk tact for me.) Anyway, I was so surprised by this change. It wasn’t that Gem had done so without consulting me. Our friendship didn’t work that way, still doesn’t. (Although, Gem, if you read this. Chris is hoping to take her for her first tattoo. Maya just rolls her eyes when he brings the idea up.) Nope, it was not about permission, or toe stepping or any of that nonsense. It was just that standing there with her new bejeweled ears; she did indeed look so mature. In a matter of a few hours my baby had turned into a real live girl. I’d long known that she had her own ideas about things. She practically jumped out of the womb speaking in full, well articulated sentences. Heck, she even had her own, somehow tailored, bohemian style. But now, with the grown up ears, I knew that there was no turning back. She would never again be my tiny baby. It hit me that her childhood would go by so much faster than mine did. And I’d better watch out, or I’d miss it. It’s been ten years now. Maya is now taller than I am, and almost taller than Chris. She’s entering high school next year and working very hard on her grades in hopes of getting scholarships to college. And I just can’t believe the daily juxtaposition of little girl and young woman I still get to watch in her. Well, yesterday was Maya’s birthday. She turned 14. So you know what we did? We went to the mall – to Claire’s. There Chris presented Maya with her birthday present from him...a second set of holes in her ears. I stood back, since it wasn’t actually my gift, but I was there. I got to watch as she picked out the jewelry, and squirmed nervously, hoping that it wouldn’t hurt too much. Standing there, I watched this American rite of passage turned birthday present happening between them. And just for a moment, I could see my little girl before me. She was just as full of grace and beauty as ever. Happy birthday, Maya. I love you. |
So please feel free to talk back.
It makes me feel a bit less like I'm mumbling to myself.
Monday Memory 4.3.06
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The time I was driving along and found myself in the ditch? So there I was having a pretty good day. Believe it or not, despite my generally
chipper demeanor, this doesn’t actually happen very often. So anyway, I was headed in to Prescott
for my Pilates class and feeling pretty good because I’d gotten away from home
early enough to be able to stop and get a new set of work out pants. Yes, I actually have lost a bit of weight,
and everything’s somewhat loose. So I was driving along, thinking about what a great day it
was. I’d just backed the music up to
Burning Spear’s “Play Jerry Play” and was looking forward to a nice drive in to
town. It had been sprinkling all day,
and with my nostalgic feelings for Seattle
blooming, I fully expected nothing more than to enjoy a mellow, happy trip in
to town. Imagine my surprise, when all of a sudden the van began to
slide toward the left. I looked over
just long enough to see that I was headed (quickly) for a cliff face. Damn Arizona
rocks, thought I. So there I was,
racking my brain to remember all of the driving SNAFU scenarios I played over
in my mind – just in case. Turn in to
the curve...that was it. So I
tried. But there was NO response. None. Period. So I turned the wheel and
braked, toward the right. And that’s
when the van began to spin. It did not
spin slowly. In fact, I can barely even remember
the event. I do remember hitting my head
and thinking to myself, “Oh, is that all?” Then I was sitting in a ditch. The music was still playing, but the engine was off and all else was oddly quiet. I reached over and turned off the stereo. About that time, I realized that I’d hit a barbed wire fence. Thinking about liability, I figured I’d move the car and check to see how much damage I’d done. Like I needed to help somebody fix their fence. But when I went to pull away, the wheels just spun in place. “Great, now I’ve got to find something to put under the tire.” My first clue that something was wrong was when I tried to open the door. It stuck and then with pressure creaked, cracked, and bent metal. Bewildered, I stepped from the car. All I could think, once I saw my van was, “Holy Shit, this is bad.” And then, “Am I really okay - really?” I walked around the car a couple times before someone stopped. He called 911 and then let me use his phone to call Chris...who couldn’t understand a word that was coming out of my mouth. Once again, I would have made a great dolphin interpreter. I am just so squeaky when freaked out. But after a moment or two, we worked it out and he headed over. Chris got there about fifteen minutes later. So did two ambulances, three cops, and a partridge in a pear tree, for all I could tell. At one point my blood pressure was 150/90. At another, 70/50. Eventually, they figured that I was okay. And yes, I did at that time come to the realization that I do, indeed, know everyone in town. Not only did several of Maya’s friend’s parents work on me, but I was later asked how I was at the bank, the gas station, and the market. Whether that is a pro or a con, I am still unsure. But at least it is a heads up. I’m pretty much fine, now. But I have been a bit of a lush this week. Especially after getting the word that our beloved Fluffy was in fact totaled. So now we are off to purchase another vehicle. Chris is rather adamant that we get a 4X4, as this could help to prevent future hydroplaning events. I want something that actually fits my frame. Right now, we are leaning toward a Kia Sportage. I’d love to know what, if anything people know about these vehicles. They seem fairly reliable - from everything I’ve read so far. I just want to make certain that we’ve taken care of everything we can. That was, after all, a scary experience, the likes of which I never want to repeat. |
Monday Memory 3.27.06
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“They’re wrong.” “That’s all there is to it.” “Things like this just don’t happen to me.” Once the denial dialog cleared I realized that this was, indeed, my new life. From now on, I was the mother of a child with a serious chronic illness. Devastating news, yes, but this wouldn’t be a problem for me. I have always been so good at picking myself up, brushing off the dust and moving on to the next big adventure. I figured that this would just be another minor adjustment to make. Heck, simply having kids is a major life change. We’d just have more changes to make than we’d originally planned for. While still in the hospital, my husband and I decided that we’d never let this change who we were – or how our tiny baby lived her life. Kidney Failure was just a part of her life. As far as we were concerned, we’d never let it define her life...or ours. We’d never be the people with “the miracle baby” or “our little angel.” So I spent months, no years, trying to pretend like frequent hospitalizations, daily lab draws, and an overflowing mound of medical supplies were just no big deal. I would only allow myself to fully break down in tears at the doctor’s office. To friends and family I was strong, funny and casual. Or so I thought. Looking back on it, I must have been horribly transparent. I spent so much of my life pursuing the illusion of a cavalier attitude toward Kajsa’s illness that the obsession with a lack of obsession eventually became my life. And then one day I woke up, and realized what I’d allowed to
happen. I’d become one of the invisible
ones – the parents of chronically ill children. There are thousands of us. Otherwise
why would every major city have its own Children’s Hospital? But aside from special interest pieces on the 11:00 news, how often do we hear
about sick kids – or the families who love them? At the market I routinely find contact
information for moms who home school, breastfeed, cloth diaper or simply want
to get their children together on Thursdays.
I wondered how much support there actually is available for parents of children with chronic illness. So off I went to my local bookseller, in hopes of locating a book about Pediatric Kidney Failure. Knowing that this was an unlikely subject, I was willing to read about anything vaguely related to our situation, and simply adapt it to her condition. But I found nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. I found books for parents of children with special needs. But they were for autism, ADHD, and even anorexia. The closest I found was one lone book about parenting children with Down Syndrome. “How could this be” I wondered to myself. Furthermore, what am I going to do? So I began visiting online chat rooms. I started a CaringBridge page and later moved onto a blog. I began to find other parents with whom I could relate. Our one unifying factor seemed to be an original fear of being alone in uncharted parental territory. Slowly, I realized that there is nothing wrong with defining my relationship with Kajsa, in part, by her illness. We all define our motherhood by our children’s unique needs, be they organ failure, dyslexia or even the need to get to cheerleading on time. And that’s just fine with me. I do not need to deny who I am. To do so is to dishonor not only my own needs, but those of my child. If you participate, leave your link in Uisce's lovely autolinky. But please, if you can, leave comments, too. They just make my day. |
Monday Memories 3.20.06
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what a scary criminal I am? Well, I promised Jen that I share the story of my warrant. And since I actually did nothing wrong, I figure it’s probably alright. So here goes. Back in 1990 I spent some time touring around with The Rainbow Family of Living Light. Yep, in case you hadn’t guessed it, I was a total gypsy-hippie chick. (Shocking, huh with all the home-birth/living in vans stories, and all.) In the October there was to be a regional gathering in Colorado,
and I figured that would make a great place to be. So off I went with some friends to Boulder. We rolled in at around 10:00 The next morning I was feeling a bit crowded, and since I’d heard what a scenic town Boulder was, I thought I’d go check it out. What’s more, I really needed to find a phone to check in with my folks. Yes, even off-the-grid, society spurning, rebellious youths should call their parents to let them know that they are OK. Maya, if you read this, please remember that. There may come a time... So I walked up to Pearl Street, to
a coffee house that I’d heard of called Penny Lane.
I’d just used the pay phone (on the
public sidewalk, mind you) to say hi to my mom, when two police officers
approached me. I figured this would be
an interesting meeting of the minds, but knowing that I had done nothing wrong,
I was not worried. Evidently, they were not of the same opinion. As they stood there the female officer pulled out her tablet and began to write me a ticket...for trespassing. Of course I inquired as to how such a thing could be. As far as I knew, using a public phone on a public sidewalk was no indiscretion. She told me that there had been a complaint from Isadore, the owner of the coffee house, stating that I’d been there for several days causing trouble and spending no money. When I informed her that there must have been a miscommunication of some sort, as I had only arrived the night before. She, in turn, accused me of lying, since Isadore had pointed me out specifically. Now mind you, the whole time that this conversation was taking place the police had their backs turned toward the café. Furthermore, I was watching the proprietor chase people around with a baseball bat. Did I tell the cops this? You betcha! Her response (the male officer never said a word) was, “I know Isadore. He is a good man. He would never do anything like that.” Despite my insistence – not to mention that of the crowd that had gathered, she didn’t even turn around to look. So I figure I never stood a chance. I was going to get that ticket, no matter what. There I was a few minutes later, standing on the sidewalk,
perplexed by the odd turn of events when I thought to look down at the
ticket. And that’s when I noticed the
court date. She’d set it for a month
later. A month later?!? By that time the gathering would be over, and
it would be very, very cold in Colorado. Even if I found a place to live, a way to pay
for it, and decided to show up for my day in court, all of my witnesses would
be gone. Furthermore, I did not have an
extra hundred or so dollars to throw toward a false ticket. The way I figure it, the lovely law enforcers
of Boulder So I went to the gathering, had a lovely time, and left Colorado
never to return. My statute of limitations
ended almost fifteen years ago, but I have yet to revisit the fair city of Boulder. It’ll take a lot to get me there, too. After the harassment and slander, I think they
owe me an apology first... |
I am still blown away by other’s knowledge of code.
I thank him for developing this and sharing it so kindly.
So please feel free to share your thoughts and ideas.
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MM 3.13.06
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We moved back into the Volkswagen bus when Maya was three weeks old. And, despite what you might think, this was just fine with me. Living in a large band house in the University District with an infant had become a bit much to manage. Since Paris (Maya’s dad) had taken off by then, my only decision seemed to be where I wanted to go next. A good place to start seemed like the Eastern Washington Healing Gathering. I knew that it was occurring for about a week and that I’d get to see lots of old friends while I mulled over my next adventure. I was really excited to begin showing my beautiful little girl the world. So off I went. And for the next week I attended workshops on Massage and Rebirthing. I dug latrines. I drank copious amounts of wheatgrass juice. You know, I still don’t understand why something so good for you, has to taste so nauseatingly awful. In the evenings I sat around the campfires catching up with old friends. One of these was Anastasia. She was living, at that time, on some communal property just outside of Olympia;
and extended an invitation for Maya and me to spend the rest of the summer
there. Since I’d been planning to make
my way to Eugene, Ashland
and later the Redwoods, I figured it would make a great stopover. It was a beautiful piece of land, full of statuesque Cedars and meandering streams. There were several unique structures built upon that property, all connected by footpaths. Anastasia and her roommate lived in a three story-one room home with spiral stairs leading to a couple different landings for sleeping. Another home can only be described as a grounded-flying saucer. It was round with walls angling outward on the main floor, and then back in for the second level bedroom. My ability to stay was procured with a promise to work a
certain number of hours per week in the garden. We grew produce to sell at the local farmers market. So out I’d go each
morning with Maya strapped to my chest, to weed around artichokes and
garlic. My afternoons, I spent visiting
with others on the property, or heading in to Olympia
for supplemental groceries. The evenings
came early. I’d take a dip in the wood
fired cedar hot tub, as Maya slept a few feet away in
our van. Once soaked clean and content,
I’d curl up next to her to dream of turnip tops and treetop fairies. We didn’t leave until the harvest was up and the weather had begun to turn. It was a simple, sweet summer. I was happy to have found new friends, and for the memories I’d made. And as I headed south that September, I knew I’d always have some special reflections to share with Maya about her first full season in my life. If you participate, leave your link in the comments and I'll post it below. Ocean Lady Jen Shelli Norma |
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MONDAY MEMORY 3.6.06
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Did I ever tell you about MY PREGNANCY AND BIRTH WITH KAJSA
I figured that my first step would be to find a like-minded
midwife, and wow, did I luck out with that one. I’d fairly recently moved to an area of Seattle’s
suburbs with which I was completely unfamiliar. So on a whim I flipped opened the phone
book. Toni was the only midwife
listed. And as I dialed I remember
thinking that if she doesn’t work out, at least she’ll know how to locate others
in my area. Our first stop turned out to be our last. Toni was absolutely amazing. Not only was she the mother of (I think) nine kids, but she’d worked as a Labor & Delivery nurse for 25 years before going to Midwifery school a decade prior. This woman absolutely knew what she was doing! Oh, and she’s an absolute peach, as well. Toni explained that she did not routinely perform pelvic exams during pregnancy until the very end, and liked to do as few as absolutely possible during labor. There were many other aspects of her practice that I connected with, and we knew right away that we could relax and enjoy the knowledge that we’d found our midwife. When I told Toni about my previous labor, she seemed a bit dismayed. She never said that anyone had done anything wrong, but I could tell that she didn’t really agree with the tinctures and membrane stripping that had been used to speed my labor. Rather than being unprofessionally blaming, she suggested that Chris and I attend some childbirth classes – particularly the Bradley Method of Husband Coached Childbirth. We originally balked at the prospect of spending twelve Thursdays driving to another town to learn what I believed I already knew. After all, since Maya’s birth, I’d become a Doula and attended many births. But Toni really encouraged this, and I knew, too, that Chris and Maya (who wanted to be there) did not have the benefit of my experience. So we signed up, and off we went. I can now say that we were very wrong about this being a waste of time. These were great classes that I would encourage any woman to take with a partner. (You don’t have to have a husband.) These curriculum was excellent. I did know most of the information; however, it was very reassuring to have a gentle refresher course. My confidence was further bolstered with the knowledge that Chris really left knowing what he was doing. In fact on the last day they had a competition for the guys to show of their knowledge retention skills. We walked away with the grand prize, consisting of a darling little Winnie the Pooh, fully accessorized, outfit. The effect upon Maya was encouraging as well. She watched enough birth videos to neither be grossed out by blood and/or moaning, nor frightened by them. Now while I do encourage anyone to participate in Bradley classes, I also have one caveat. This method is set up and instructed to help families to have 100% intervention free labors and births. I personally feel that this is fantastic. But you need to know going in, to take things with a wee grain of salt. I won’t say that fear tactics are used. But, allopathic medicine is, shall we say, not shown in the brightest light. I connected strongly with this view. Others might find themselves offended or possibly swept in. In fact, our class of 5 couples had one non-natural birth. It ended in a cesarean. When we met for our two month reunion picnic, Kajsa had already been diagnosed, and we’d spent a bit of time in the hospital. So it was especially important to me to go over and spend some time with the mom, talking about how beautiful her daughter was, and how lucky we all were to have our amazing children. But back to the birth: At our forty week visit, I told Toni that I was exhausted and that everything hurt. I’d been having very bad sciatic pain for weeks at that point, and continued to be blown away by the difference between gestating at 22 and doing so at 33. Toni asked me how I felt about castor oil. For those of you who may not know this, ingesting a certain amount of castor oil will give you horrid diarrhea. If you have a baby who’s all done and ready to come out, the process will begin your contractions. If that baby wants to hold on just a bit more, you’ll simply have the trots. Hmmm...I thought. I’ve been constipated for months now, and would really love to have my baby. Can you guess my answer? So Toni gave us her recipe for a castor oil milkshake and a little vial of the oil. The drive home from her office was exhilarating to say the least. We kept saying “We’re gonna have a baby!” It is also on this very drive that we officially decided that her name was to be Kajsa Gwyneth and not Amelia. We drove to Target and bought our blender, then hurried home to clean the house to a gleaming shine. Then we sat around and stared at everything wondering what it would look like once the baby was here. How would the house feel different? It was a very gentle yet exciting afternoon. I went to bed early that night with Chris’ assurance that
he’d awaken me at 5:00 am to see if I
really wanted to do this. Sweet dreams,
Mama. Sweet dreams, Daddy. Five came really quickly, and yes I wanted to get this baby out. So I sat in the dining area as Chris whipped up a nice chocolate milkshake for me. I slurped it down, peed, and went back to bed. It was 7:28 when
I opened my eyes to a brand new day and a distinct unmistakable
tightening
through my abdomen. It’s begun. I woke up Maya and Chris. “I’m in
labor.” It felt mystical and special. It felt active...as in active
labor. Yep, that’s what Toni had neglected to tell
me. When you drink the castor oil, you
go right into active labor. It’s all
about the business at hand and getting it done. Fine by me -- I didn’t
need another long ‘is it or isn’t it’ kinda
labor. We called Toni who said she’d be over in a bit with
Collette, her apprentice. Don’t they
always have apprentices? Collette was a
really cool lady. She’d begun her
training in Oregon, but moved up
to finish at Seattle Midwifery School. She actually was working under the tutelage
of several midwives around the Puget Sound. I had a lot of admiration for her, and was
glad to have her around. I guess Chris told them that I was doing well, because they didn’t come over for about four hours. By that time I’d moaned and breathed my way around the house while Chris timed contractions and Maya supplied the deliciously icy glasses of Gatorade. I found that the only comfortable way for me to get through contractions was to be leaning forward on something, whether it was on hands and knees, standing braced against a wall, or sitting at the table with my head in my hands. The midwives arrived as I was coming out of the restroom and contracting at the same time. I remember hearing Chris say, “I think she’s getting close.” Or something along those lines. So they all had a bit of fun blowing up the kiddie pool while Toni checked my dilation. I was about 5cm at that point. Not too bad for 4 hours, but still discouraging. There was about an hour spent laboring in the kitchen, in the pool, with people pouring water across my belly. According to Chris, the mail was delivered at this time by John, our friendly neighborhood post man. How does he know this? Well, John walked past our kitchen window every day to deliver it. I can only imagine what he must have thought of our lovely scene. I never knew. I was so out of it. I felt again like a birthing animal. Only this time it instilled no fear. Rather I felt the confidence of knowing that I was part of the grand cycle of life. I had only the most hazy of connections with the people surrounding me and, in fact, once fell asleep between contractions. We even have a photo of me, mid-snore. I think it was around 2:00
that Toni told me that I needed to get out of the pool to go to the
bathroom. Afterward, she said, she’d
check my dilation again. So I went in
and had a couple of “Oh my God, I’m gonna turn inside freakin’ out.” Contractions
on the toilet, before I could get up to go into the bedroom. When she checked my cervix she found that I had an anterior lip. This simply means that the front side of my cervix was swollen. Probably from all of that forward leaning. Kajsa’s little noggin had been sitting on it for several hours. If we could get the cervix around her head then I could wander back out to the tub finish up this birth. So I contracted against the pressure of Toni’s fingers as she worked my cervix up around Kajsa’s head. Let me tell you, this is not a comfortable sensation. But we did this until voila, we had an opening for the little girl to glide through. Toni had just removed her fingers, when I felt the insanely uncontrollable urge to push. When I told her this, she informed me that we should hurry if we were going to get back to the kitchen for that water birth I’d fantasized about. I informed her that there was no way that I was getting back there. Everyone rushed in as I began pushing. Great glory, what a wonderful release. I felt like I’d been waiting for this moment of “It’s Ok, just do what your body tells you” for two births and twelve years. It was wonderful. I heard Toni tell Chris that if he was going to catch the baby, he’d better get over there RIGHT NOW. And he did, and I did, and Kajsa did...she slipped right out into Daddy’s big gentle hands. Maya captured it all on film. She took some amazing, yet graphic, shots that I will always cherish. Within moments I was trying to nurse this tiny baby, as we all cuddled on the big bed. Twenty minutes after she was born, I was told to hop into the shower and try to urinate. Is it too much information to say that it was both the best shower and best pee of my entire life? I guess you just had to be there. I stepped out to a towel and that had been warmed in the dryer. All the bed linens were in the wash. The house was miraculously cleaner that when we’d begun. And there was delicious fresh orange juice to be drunk. We called our friends and parents to let them know. Later on we had Chris’ mother, Lynne, over as well as his brothers, Erick and Steve and Erick’s wife, Katie. I served OJ all around and beamed as the family oohed and ahhed over the newest member of the clan. I can think of no other time in my life when I have felt such peace, pride and joy. |
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TAKING A NOSTALGIA BREATHER
I’ve really been looking forward to writing my Monday Memory
for the past week. Unfortunately, when
Sunday rolled around, I was simply not in the mood for the soul searching I
generally experience when completing a MM. Please accept my humblest of apologies. I fully intend to participate next week.
LOOKING BACK
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