The Duchess

A Clean Cave at Last

I made it! I checked into the hospital around 10 AM on Wednesday and I was home by five. The short stay unit had some of the worst nursing I have ever been subjected to. Apparently my new name is Honey, or Sugar and sometimes Darlin'. I had to request that my hospital bracelets be put on, after which she only put my main bracelet on I had to again request that she attach my bright orange allergy bracelet, you know so if they gave me drugs they wouldn't be the wrong ones and I Would Die

If you have been around this site for a long time you know my history, if you are new thanks to twitter and my big mouth you may want to go into the archives and look at the first few posts, I am not linking to them because, well for a lot of reasons and I don't have to. So thanks to said history, and resulting PTSD, I tend to freak out when there are things on my face or I can't move my arms. I am VERY clear about this when I do my pre-op screen w/ the hospital and with my doctor and with the nurse who sucked and again I have to tell the nurse who comes and puts in my IV and she promised she would tape a note to my file (which as a side note is kept in a 2" three ring binder) and of course she doesn't but I can hear the nurses talking about me because their station Is Right Outside My Door. I finally can't take it anymore and start to cry. I am advocating for myself and it feels like no one is listening. Why the hell do you tell us to "speak up" if you are still going to ignore me because I have a newsflash if you don't listen you are going to have one freaked out woman on your hands and that isn't good for anyone.

When the anesthesiologist showed up in my room to introduce him self (I was offered the same great lady from my C-section but she would have been switched from some cool heart surgery, how pissed would she have been....) I took a chance and repeated verbatim the same three sentence warning I had told 6 other people, he kind of nods and says it is time to go. Or at least I think he says it is time to go, he is a mumbler (new word) extraordinaire in fact he rivals Milton form the movie Office Space (stapler guy). I ask him if I should walk and he says okay and then he proceeds to push my empty bad out of the room and down the hall, everyone working in the wing finds this very funny and I feel stupid. I totally would have ridden in the bed, I have no problem with it at all and now I look like a jack ass. Now that I am typing this however I wonder if my 3-sentence warning didn't freak him out a little. He did listen hear me however because as I was telling the OR nurse (who was trying to put oxygen on me) the same thing and this time crying while saying it, he told her to stop and I was still sitting up and trying to cry quietly, she stopped and put her arms around me and said it would be fine and she was so sorry she wished I had told someone (WHAT THE FRACK). At this point I was so over it and embarrassed that I was crying that I just kind of hung my head. the last two things I remember were looking over my shoulder and seeing the versed in the syringe all milky white, I said thank you to the Doctor and he said no problem and within about thirty seconds I could no longer sit up I said I was going to go ahead and lay down (ever the control freak to the end) the nurse helped me lay down and the Doctor said that should help with the fear and then I was out. and naked for all nine people in the room to see (why so many people you ask, I agreed to students in the room and also the resident (?) working with the anesthesiologist had the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen he also looked mildly shocked to see me made me wonder if he recognized me from somewhere, thanks small town).

In the next minute I was awake and in some rocking pain. I felt like I had just screwed a Rhino with an attitude problem, as soon as I could get out of there I was gone cheeseburger (the nursing may suck but my god the cheeseburgers are to die for) in hand.

Pathology won't be back until next week my post-op is next Thursday. DocAwesome called me the day after to make sure the bleeding had slowed apparently I bled "more than he cared for" during the D&C portion of the day. This whole situation has left me really wondering about another baby; as in how the hell do I get my hands on one, and we all know what that means...

To My Dearest.

My Dearest Sasha,

I have been meaning to write this letter to you since about month seven of my pregnancy. I had bought a baby book and there was a special envelope for a letter to baby from Mommy. I haven't gotten around to putting a letter on actual paper but believe me my dear I write to you daily in my head.

I am having surgery in the morning and while I expect to be home and whining by dinnertime this last year has taught me that life can and will change in an instant and it is important to seize the time you have when you have it. These things are important to me and I hope someday we will sit and laugh at how I was afraid and so I wrote them all down. My hope is by the time you are old enough to need this advice you will be very sick of hearing it. From me. This is not a full list, which will go in the baby book, but this is a good start.

Things to Remember

You are so loved. You were so wanted and loved before I ever met the you that you are. I longed for you, dreamed for you, and craved you. The day that we met was easily the best and worst day, imagine having everything you have dreamed of handed to you in a 7.7 pound squalling package, everyone looks to the mom for answers but the truth is that we were just meeting for the first time (I have never felt that kind of fear and joy at the same time) and I had no clue what I was doing. Before you I had never seen what innately good really was. Your spirit and joy for everything around you is infectious as is your constant smile and laughter. Your eyes are so wise it is almost like you are saying not to worry you and I will be okay, we will take this adventure together.

Be kind to everyone you meet. There is never a reason to be mean to people, you never know what is going on in their lives and you never know when you may need help from someone. The same goes for if you are having a bad time, there is no reason to take it out on others. You would be surprised how far a kind word and smile will get you. Always smile at other women; this may seem weird for me to say but something happens around middle school and girls can be mean and awkward and a smile can disarm a situation like nothing else. Also you are stunning inside and out when you smile.

Be fair and honest, lying never helps anything and unless you memory is flawless it usually catches up with you. Be kind to all the people you meet. Always tip 20%. If the service is awful go with 15% trust me the server will get the message with a 15% tip, they may be having a bad night but they are still tipping out every other person in the restaurant (that's right sometimes as much as 40 percent of what they are tipped). Donate generously whether it be time or money there is nothing more rewarding than knowing you have given to help make the world better (Go ask Grandma to tell you the starfish story)

People will say things to you, about you and sometimes for you. Own your voice and know that you are who you are and there is nothing wrong with that. Don't let ANYONE tell you there is ANYTHING wrong with you. My biggest regret in life has been my over concern of what other people think of me. In the end you have to like you, also please make sure you love yourself before you ever try and love someone else. Never compromise your morals or potential just to make someone else happy.

Drink Slurpees in the summer and hot chocolate in the winter, go on spring break, please don't TP houses (Again go ask Grandma to tell you the story about Aunt C.) Get a job learn how to drive a stick, sleep in, go to the beach, love all music, travel, love, live.

If you ever can't talk to me you can always talk to Aunt J. She can answer anything and everything plus she knows more about beauty products than any human should and she is good at math and making mac and cheese. She can fill in the blanks and hold your hand when need be. She rescued me when I didn't even know I was lost. She is the perfect example of choosing your family. Not all family shares blood with you, you create and surround yourself with those people who are genuine. Some of the best people in life are friends.

Your father is a good, caring man;  he loves you fiercely and would do anything for you. Be patient with him, you are his little lady and that will never change. You will always be the tiny girl that he brought home in ladybug pajamas. Yes his love of golf is annoying but so is my shoe collection and coffee habit.

I wanted to name you Lorelai...any questions about that one can be answered by the Gilmore Girls and your father.

I love you bug and I will do anything in my power to make sure you and I go on this adventure together, even in the mandatory teenage hating years I will win you back one emo song, latte, and Nordstrom trip at a time.

You are now and forever my greatest joy.

Love,

Your Mom

I thought I had won.

When I first moved to Typepad Lane and rolled out my welcome mat I was a young bright eyed infertile hoping to meet some other ladies in the same saddle er, stirrup.

Then I finally became pregnant with a viable pregnancy. I was going to have a baby (yes I was borderline smug and bitchy) I had won, I had kicked my stubborn, un-agreeable, downright mean reproductive (or unproductive) bits into submission and while they did not go quietly they did their job. I had a real live healthy baby and I was almost smitten with my lady garden. For the first time in 11 years we were on the same page. I figured we would go our separate ways, well as separate as you can when you are all wrapped up in the same annoying, pretty package.

I was so wrong.

It started about thirty days after the c-section, I had my first period. 30 days.On.The.Dot. Even though I was breastfeeding AROUND THE FREAKING CLOCK. I thought it was a fluke, it couldn't be real,  I had more carefree time coming my way after all I was breastfeeding (!) (I could write a book on that one) then thirty days later I had it again and again. It was weird and yet strangely familiar, unlike dealing with the squalling infant that left the hospital with me I knew how to deal with Red.

Red was different at first I thought maybe she was just working out the kinks after her long absence, stretching her legs and reacquainting me with the routine. The second and third months were also different, longer, odd, and more painful. I started to think maybe this was going to be the new normal and that is when month four hit me harder than a Mack truck without brakes.

The pain alone was enough to leave me laying on the bathroom floor head buried in a towel wondering if I had any pain killers left from the c-section, I had to change my clothes, sheets, SHOES but after NINE days it was gone leaving only it's memory and a cotton bill that rivals the national deficit.

When Red came to visit for month five she brought her friend Spot along. Spotting in the middle of the month has always meant my cervix is on fire, in need of attention. I don't mess with the spotting, weird bleeding when I am supposed to be bleeding is one thing, random "Oh jeez I guess white was a bad idea even though I should be golden for at least another 12-15 days" bleeding is reason to pick up the phone and make an appointment for the stirrups.

To say I was shocked when Doc (I can't remember his nickname at the moment) told me my cervix looked lovely (What the...) is synonymous with GM having a few extra cars sitting around. So I scheduled a sonohysterogram (SHG) for the following week. Dr. Google had already informed me that nothing was wrong; I was insane or possibly pregnant. For the record I am cool with insanity as pregnant without third party help isn't going to happen. So I showed up for my SHG and after taking a pregnancy (snicker with me won't you?) test we got down to brass tacks. All in all the SHG took a bit longer than the HSG but with less pressure...more leaking, less sticky. It only took about four seconds for me to know this was not going to go my way.

Hanging off of every available surface were these stalactite things, knobby and long and ugly. My lining was measuring 18 instead of 7-9. Double? How did this happen? The last time I saw my Ute this close without a baby inside, it was so pretty and calm, the one part of my reproductive posse to always behave, the shiny Breck girl among us. Now I felt betrayed and surprised and sad. Oh so very sad, one more thing to add to my gynecological resume.

Uterine Polyps

Altogether not a big deal, ya know if they don't end up being cancerous because that is one of the few things not on my resume yet. To be clear I have no reason to believe that the polyps are or will be cancerous. I am just PISSED that my body is failing me AGAIN. Doc (can't remember his nickname) told me to go home a talk to Duke and decide if I want more children because a hysterectomy may be the best route.

Hold the fucking phone. I am twenty-nine, a hysterectomy?!?!? Do I want another child? I don't even know what I want to be when I grow all the way up or what I want for breakfast or if I even want breakfast, maybe I will just have coffee.

I did the only thing possible I left the office and cried. Hard. Then I called Doc (super amazing and can't remember his nickname either, delivered S.) for a second opinion. After he talked me off the ledge we decided that the best course would be Surgical Hysteroscopy and D&C.

Joy.

As long as everything goes well I get to keep my body parts, and I get a guaranteed nap. Surgery is set for the 24Th, AM style.

Behaving like a hussy can lead to property loss.

One cold and dreary winter night in my very early twenties I set out with a bunch of girlfriends to get drunkour groove on. We went to a lovely bar on Whyte Avenue and proceeded to drink everything that wasn't nailed down...including other peoples drinks.

Being the loudmouth outgoing one of the group I often would flit about the bar making small talk with everyoneguys. On this particular eve with my vodka goggles working overtime I started chatting up a rather dashing fellow. I bated my eyelashes and mentioned I was from the good old USA (I was in Canada and this was pre 9/11 so the US was still a popular place, plus I was stacked back then and that Lennie Kravitz tune American Woman was popular put all three together and it was free drink city) and was in town on a top secret mission. We were hitting it off and I excused myself to go and let my friends know I had "hooked" a live one and I was sure I was moments away from being asked to dinner/coffee/marriage so I could get my green card and work legally, also I really needed to pee.

As luck would or wouldn't in this case have it I could not find my friends anywhere, I was pissed they ditched me and even more mad that I had no way home and was not about to spend twenty-five bucks on a cab for one. Looking back I really didn't search all that long for them, in fact in my drunken state I probably casually glanced in the general direction I had last seen them on my way to the bathroom, to this day they swear that I left before them and that they watched me go. Whatever.

After the bathroom break I head back to the Dude and mention I am now flying solo so we should probably leave and go make out somewhere. Conveniently he lives just a few blocks away why not just head to his hovel for a nightcap. So I agree and yes I know how stupid this is and wrong but just try and put that aside for a moment. We get to his place and it's all bachelor style and whatnot and we have a drink and we are making out on the couch and it's warm in his house so I take off my FAVORITE sweater (I did have a tank top on underneath) and throw it on the couch. At this point I had determined he was slightly more drunk than I  and also I was not really interested but also I was not yet sober enough to drive home (my car was at the bar 6 blocks away). I figured I could kill another two hours and then be good to go.

As we move from the couch to the bedroom (there was no sex, there was whiskey if you get my drift, but no sex) I notice something on the dresser...handcuffs? Oh shit. What the hell had I gotten myself into? It seemed I was about to be the main character in a Lifetime movie. Then I noticed the gun holster. Fuck. I tried to play cool and told him my head was spinning lets just cuddle (every guy dreams of hearing that) and then I waited him out. He passed out fairly quickly and as soon as I could I wiggled out from underneath his arm and tried to retrieve my sweater which his fat-ass cat was sitting on.

Every time I tried to pull the sweater out the cat would hiss at me. SO I went into the kitchen (then seems dis-jointed to me but I was drinking) and wrote a note saying I had a great time and call me. No name. No number. Then I left, leaving behind my sweater (I still miss that sweater) and a small piece of my dignity. I walked six blocks at five in the morning in a tank-top during winter in Edmonton. I drove home and vowed to become a nun or at least someone who doesn't drink so much that she can't find her friends.

Three weeks later I was pulled over for speeding and guess who the officer was. Officer Dude was pretty cool about the whole thing but he never offered to give me back my sweater. Jerk.

You tell me and then I will tell you.

Twitter is down for an hour so I might as well write up a little post here. Yes I have an addiction to twitter, what can I say I love instant gratification.

I have been pretty quiet on this blog since giving birth mostly because I don't have time to write (between work, baby, sitting on my arse, drinking, sitting a the gas station) and also because I am unsure of how much people really want to hear about my life post-infertility. After asking, begging, pleading, paying for something I really wanted and then getting it and then having a really hard time with it, well let me just say that if I clicked onto a blog two years ago to read a new mom complain about being a new mom my eyes would probably be permanently damaged from rolling them so hard.

I don't feel as though I fully fit in with the ALI crowd, although I still fit two of the three criteria and once an infertile always an infertile in my case. I have a child now, I have crossed over the great divide, I junk punched infertility in the squid and shouted "You know why!!!" in its face. I don't feel like I fit in with other mommy bloggers because I still feel like a fake and that at some point someone will wake me up and say the last six months was a dream. I definitely don't fit in with the writers, just check out the grammar it's almost painful.

I do know this, I have missed being able to blow off steam here. I have missed connecting with other people who are clever and keep me on my toes. So tell me (in the comments) how much you want to know? Can handle? Do you want to hear about the new adventures in this kingdom or should I close up shop and just stick with the twitter?

Wordless Wednesday: Purple For Maddie

DONATE  

 

 

 

A Dark Day

I was going to publish a post today about my participation in Relay For Life. Instead I have to talk about what has been weighing on our minds for the last week in our house.

Madeline Alice Spohr, seventeen months old, died. You read that right, she died and it has shaken me. I never have commented on Heather's blog but I, like so many others, silently followed their journey. Maddie was such a smart, beautiful presence and reading about her made me even more excited to have a daughter of my own. I hoped Sasha would be half as happy as gorgeous Maddie.

Since having Sasha I don't log on to my blog, email, facebook or google reader very often. Heck I don't do the dishes or laundry or sometimes even leave the house. I am ensconced in this little creature that is my child. When I did log into my google reader and found this news last week I burst into tears and then made Duke come in and read and watch the tribute. He sat and cried with me for we both can't imagine how horrifically hard impossible this must be on Heather and Mike.

Duke had once asked me if I felt like I know the people of the blogs I follow. At first it seemed creepy when I said yes but as I thought more about it I realized that some of the people who read this very blog know more about me than my family, friends or even husband at times. I share a great deal of my life, dreams and disappointments here. Progress, setbacks, fear and happiness. When I share those things I am always amazed at how perfect strangers know how to make me feel better. Or if not better than at least less alone.

Grief is a funny thing, and I have said this before, it isn't just emotional steps that you take and then magically all is right with you again. Grief is with you forever, sometimes quietly in the back of your mind and sometimes shouting in your face at two in the morning. Grief is yours to take out and put back as you need to. When I get Sasha up in the morning and I look at all the potential in her little face and the pride and excitement to start her day, I am quite literally taken back by the thought that every day with her is a gift and that being her mother is a privilege not a given.

I have wanted to email Heather a dozen times but what would I say? I wish I lived closer to them and then I could have made a casserole or done their laundry. Alexa said it best as she often does, I don't want there to be a tomorrow. I don't want the memories of Madeline to end with her memorial service. So I am doing the only thing I can think of. I am writing this and I am wearing purple. It isn't much but it's what I have. Sasha and I are wearing purple today and when people have asked me why we are dressed alike I have responded that it is in honor and memory of a brave, brilliant and beautiful girl named Madeline. I promise to never forget Madeline. Never.

If you can please donate to the March of Dimes in Madeline's name. You can find other information here on how to donate to Mike and Heather directly. This community is a wonderful group of people and I have no doubts that you will share your comfort and love with Heather and Mike just like you have done for me countless times. 

I need a hug.

First off let me say that a whole month without a post sucks. I simply don't see how all you lovely women do it all.

Second, I am tired of writing under a false name, half of you already know my name and the other half I bet couldn't care less. The Duke and I are getting a little bit old to go by our college nicknames, sometime in the next year I hope to re-introduce you to us. Plus I just don't think it is fair that we have fake names and Sasha has to use her real one.

We went to Sasha's four month well-baby checkup almost two weeks ago. It started the same as every other appointment we stripped her naked, she giggled uncontrollably as she often does when we undress her...I am hoping she outgrows this before her teen years. Then we put her on the scale, DUM DUM DUM

11lbs. 11oz.

Shit.

She was 10.11 at her last appointment two months ago. Clearly she is not getting enough to eat the nurse, doctor, PA and lactation chick tell us. As I am sitting there holding my beautiful daughter I am trying very hard not to cry. I have failed her and I didn't even know it. The doctor asked if she was crying all the time or not sleeping, she had actually been very happy and had started sleeping up to ten hours at night.

All I could think in that appointment was that the people that read this blog would make me feel better. This was fast followed by the thought that you might not. That you too might think I have failed. I have seen some of the bitter breast battles that go on at other blog sites. I pride myself on not really caring. In fact wasn't I the one who said I didn't care if I breastfed or not, whatever works for the family. Then I tried it and it was hard at first and I needed help and luckily people who were kind and normal came to help me and I was able to do it. In fact if you must know it was the easiest thing I have done with my body to date.

Then it started to get harder, my milk production went from about 6-7oz every four hours to ONE OUNCE. I started pumping around the clock and using teas and supplements and with that help my milk went back up to about 4-5 ounces, every 4-6 hours. Still not great milk production but Sasha seemed okay with it and she was outgrowing her clothes so I assumed her weight would be on track at her next checkup. Oh how I hate to be an ass.

We left the doctor with strict instructions on supplementing and starting solid foods. I came home nursed Sasha for forty minutes and then offered her a four ounce bottle of formula that she promptly downed in two minutes flat. Then while she laid there giggling and cooing because she was finally full, I sat there feeling even worse because I didn't know my baby was hungry. Not only could I not conceive her on my own, or give birth to her on my own now I can't feed her on my own. It sucks and I am angry with my body.

We went to the doctor on Wednesday for a cough (mild RSV) and she had already gained almost a pound, geeze, and then the real poop hit the fan. She had been fairly gassy all week and I figured her body was trying to adjust and then she started to vomit. When I say vomit I mean puke shooting out of her mouth and across the room at a rate of speed that would frighten Robert Downey Jr. after a wild bender. By the time I came home Friday night from work she had hives all over her body. With a little experiment and 45 calls between the doctor and me we have switched to soy formula and the hives and puking are gone for the moment.

Sasha is happy and healthy (other than her cough); I have given her a wonderful start with breast milk. Formula is not the devils drink, I was a formula baby and I am far wittier than most people I know including Duke who was breast all the way. So why do I feel so bad? Why can't I let go? Why do I still not feel settled in this role of parent? Why do I care what other people think?

Birth Story

To write in actuality what our birth story is would only require about two minutes and six sentences seeing as I was a scheduled c-section. There was no real drama or intense decisions to be made. There was no pain before and thanks to morphine none after. There was however truckloads, boatfuls and canyons deep with emotion.

Monday November 3^rd 2008

 

9:45 AM

I went to my normal appointment to be checked. I was officially 39w 4d and there was NOTHING. I told Dr. B that I was not leaving without an exit strategy; we worked out my odds of ever going into labor on my own. I sat and weighed all of my options and tried to listen to my gut. My gut told me this baby was not coming out, as badly as I wanted that I just knew.

 

11:30AM

My 4,654,735,623 NST is routine, I am having small contractions as I had been for the last three weeks, a whole lot of smoke and no fire. One thing I notice is that Sasha’s heart rate drops a little with every contraction, this is after an incident at around 37 weeks where I had one big contraction and her heart rate dipped into the 90’s and took two full minutes to recover. I have no desire as long as I am breathing air to re-live those two minutes of my life. I feel mixed emotions about the c-section but decided to stay the course.

 

7:30PM

Head out for one Last Dinner of Just Grownups with good friends. It feels strange that by this time tomorrow I will have been a full fledged parent for twelve hours already. We laugh and joke with no grasp of the full extent our lives are about to change.

 

9:30PM

Take a shower and scrub with the special soap they have given me make a mental note to use this against Sasha when she is a teenager…it smells awful.

 

10:15PM – 4:00AM

Toss, turn, rinse, repeat. There is no sleep for me. Duke on the other hand sleeps like a baby. I use this time to catch up on my DVR recordings and to panic and wonder if I made the right choice to become a parent. I decided it was a little late to worry and that no matter what I would love her and care for her the best that I could.

 

Tuesday November 4^th 2008

 

4:15AM

Take another disgusting shower with the nasty soap. I can’t wait for the first time she wants to take my car.

 

5:30AM

Check-in at hospital; get situated in my room, changed in to my gown. The nurse comes in to start my IV, misses the first time. After missing a second time she leaves and comes back with a second nurse who decides she will try my right arm instead. This is my dominant hand; never have the IV put in your dominant hand. As soon as all the paperwork is done (an amusing side note, they have you sign a form saying anything they take out of you becomes property of the hospital with the exception of the baby. Please make sure you take the baby with you. Really? The Hospital felt they needed to clarify this?)

 

6:45- 7:15AM

Duke and I are sitting around waiting, there is a shift change going on with the nurses. My stomach is going ape shit over the fact that very, very shortly I am going to meet this person who has been living in me. It is a total Game On and Get Your Shit Together You Are Going to Be a Parent moment.

***********************TMI!!! Poop Story to Follow!!! TMI*******************

 I must take three maybe four trips to the bathroom you know because my intestines are trying to escape my body. This is not a time for your dominant hand to be out of commission. I had not trained my left hand for an event of this proportion. I was the size of a whale trying to wipe my ass with a hand whose normal task is to collect the toilet paper from the roll. This second string player was not up to the task. After I did the best I could I made Duke look at my ass. He was very hesitant at first, even refusing until I pointed out with tears in my eyes that I was about to be strapped to a table, filleted like a fish and I did not want the good people of the hospital to think that I could not properly care for myself let alone a tiny helpless baby. So he looked and proclaimed that my butt was fine but that I needed to get a grip, I was there to have a baby not film porn. This made us both laugh and laugh and laugh and then my doctor entered the room…early.

 

7:15-8:15AM

As he entered and announced we were ready to roll I am pretty sure my heart stopped for a minute. I hopped out of bed slipped on Duke’s flip-flops and grabbed the two little bottles of stomach acid reducer I was supposed to drink before surgery. I asked if I should drink them now and the Doc replied that I should have had those 20 minutes ago. So there we are the three of us, Dr. B, Duke and I walking across the maternity ward, opening little airplane sized bottles of antacid, my ass hanging out of my gown, Duke fiddling with the camera.

We are stopped in front of double doors I had not been through since 2006 when I had emergency surgery for the ectopic pregnancy. I am making jokes and then I am “introduced” to my nurses for the day. Mary and Christina will be with me all day. Christina is a new nurse who is being proctored by Mary she is sweet and caring and I am very happy to have her be part of my team. When everyone is about to see you naked I have decided it is better to think of it as a team affair. Mary was my admitting nurse when I had the ectopic. She was the one who talked me out of the bathroom and promised me I would make it through, she held me while I cried and comforted me when I howled and shouted that I knew I was never going to be a parent. She ran interference for me with my in-laws before I knew how to do it myself. It is because of Mary That I made it through the ectopic and I had only seen her once in passing since then. She recognized me and gave me a very knowing smile.

 

It was time to head into the OR, Duke would wait outside while they got me on the table and gave me my spinal and whatnot. There are two sets of doors the first set takes you into the OR hallway and then there is another set into the actual surgical suite. Mary and I stood there together waiting for the okay to come in. She looked at me and said, “I guess life does come full circle sometimes, I am happy to be here with you right now.” To which I promptly lost my shit. I had been doing okay until that moment but I just started to cry and repeat, “I can’t believe I made it, I hope I am making the right choice for a c-section.” We talked and cried for a minute more and then the door opened and we went in.

Once inside I was introduced to the rest of The Team, there was Dr. A, a very awesome anesthesiologist who used aromatherapy (and drugs) when I started to feel sick during the surgery. Angela a nurse who had done most of my NSTs was there as my surgical nurse for the day. It was an operating room full of women with the exception of my Doctor. It was My Dream Team and they were helping me over the last hurdle to make my dream come true. There was so much love in that room, so much hope and excitement. I asked Mary and Angela if it was always like this and they told me not very often.

They placed my spinal and man was that a trip, I had a moment of panic at not being able to move but Mary just held my hand tighter. Duke was brought in and was standing by my head, he would have sat down but I wouldn’t let go of Mary. Dr. B started the surgery and we all held our breath.

 

7:45AM- 7:00 PM

The cord is short and around her neck. Mary leans into me and tells me how smart it was to choose a c-section any other way could have been catastrophic. Dr. B comments that the baby looks like her father and just like that there is screaming from Sasha and crying from me and Duke and everyone one else. Duke kisses me and then goes to Sasha, Mary lets go of my hand for the first time and takes pictures. I try to remember to breath and I try to remember to remember and then things go fuzzy. Dr. A pushes something into my IV and the world becomes sharp again; she will repeat this process two more times. Duke and Sasha leave for our birthing suite and they stitch and staple me and then take me back to the birthing suite for recovery. For the next hour and a half they are checking vitals and bleeding and my uterus which contracts down at an astonishing speed. Mary pushes pain drugs into my IV and helps me latch Sasha for a first go round of breastfeeding. The next twelve hours pass in an instant. President Obama is announced as the winner (I am told this the next day) and I fall in love with a little lady named Sasha.

The rest of hospital stay was not without incidence, I had a very hard second night but that is another story for another time. Sasha is here now, every step was worth it.

She is my greatest joy.

 

Birth Story in Pictures!

Last Moment as a Twosome

 

The C-Section

  The thing he is pulling past her ear is the cord.

  She came out screaming...

  She still does this arm move.

  The best thing I have ever seen.

  Apgar testing

 I refused to let go of the IV pole.

So happy

  Sasha and I, can you tell which one of us is getting the good drugs?

  Sasha and Mary

The End...for now.