Monday, July 23, 2007
A Quick History of La Leche League
Seven women who brought breastfeeding back from extinction. When they founded their organization in 1956 only 21% of all infants in the "Medically Advanced" United States were breast fed at all. Now breastfeeding rates are at 71%. All it takes is open conversation between women to keep this going, to help truth persevere over "comfort proteins". Did you know about the Nestle boycott?
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Life is Powerful and Precious
I might be lucky to be alive today. Last night I had a very close experience with the mystery of nature and the awesome powers it contains. Certainly, this little tale can be taken as a warning to anyone who wants to believe it.
Yesterday evening we experienced several thunderstorms, the last of which hit very near bed time. The lightning strikes were close enough that we unplugged our computers. A few minutes into the down pour that accompanied the lightning my husband remembered the garage door was still open. He lay helpless on the couch smoothered by our eleven month old son. I volunteered to run out and close it.
I paused a moment at the door trying to decided which garage light to turn on, inner or outer. I settled on both so that I could really see the raindrops. When I stepped out I saw is was raining really hard and it was wonderful to see since we have been experiencing a drought.
I walked around the back end of my car to see that the rain was splashing considerably far into the garage, maybe three feet. I pulled the door down and slowed it down with my hand. I was in bare feet so I took three or four quick large steps towards the lock on the door. There I was in wet bare feet, turning the lock when I saw (not so much on the “heard”) a huge flash of light and I knew it was bad. I felt it go up my leg! Up the right side of my body! Ahhh! AAHHHHH!
I dodged back between the cars where it was dry. I couldn’t decide what to do, if I was alive, if I was ok. My leg hurt, my right arm felt funny. My skin looked blueish. My heart, I don’t know, it felt funny. I’m not sure it was racing but I was certainly freaked out. I climbed over the hood of my car and up the garage steps. No one could have paid me to go back around the cars through the wet concrete.
When I opened the door, there stood my husband and baby wondering if I was ok. Very dramatically I start up with “I’ve been stuck by lightning”. Well yes maybe I had been but obviously I was ok. My right leg still feels a little weird today, one day after and it ached last night, but mostly I’m just fine. What really amazes me is I don’t really remember hearing it. Hubby started telling me how it hit our backyard and that it was so loud the glasses in the kitchen cabinet rattled. Maybe there was a half second delay between the strike and the thunder. I don’t remember hearing it. However I won’t soon forget it either!
Lightning Strikes
Yesterday evening we experienced several thunderstorms, the last of which hit very near bed time. The lightning strikes were close enough that we unplugged our computers. A few minutes into the down pour that accompanied the lightning my husband remembered the garage door was still open. He lay helpless on the couch smoothered by our eleven month old son. I volunteered to run out and close it.
I paused a moment at the door trying to decided which garage light to turn on, inner or outer. I settled on both so that I could really see the raindrops. When I stepped out I saw is was raining really hard and it was wonderful to see since we have been experiencing a drought.
I walked around the back end of my car to see that the rain was splashing considerably far into the garage, maybe three feet. I pulled the door down and slowed it down with my hand. I was in bare feet so I took three or four quick large steps towards the lock on the door. There I was in wet bare feet, turning the lock when I saw (not so much on the “heard”) a huge flash of light and I knew it was bad. I felt it go up my leg! Up the right side of my body! Ahhh! AAHHHHH!
I dodged back between the cars where it was dry. I couldn’t decide what to do, if I was alive, if I was ok. My leg hurt, my right arm felt funny. My skin looked blueish. My heart, I don’t know, it felt funny. I’m not sure it was racing but I was certainly freaked out. I climbed over the hood of my car and up the garage steps. No one could have paid me to go back around the cars through the wet concrete.
When I opened the door, there stood my husband and baby wondering if I was ok. Very dramatically I start up with “I’ve been stuck by lightning”. Well yes maybe I had been but obviously I was ok. My right leg still feels a little weird today, one day after and it ached last night, but mostly I’m just fine. What really amazes me is I don’t really remember hearing it. Hubby started telling me how it hit our backyard and that it was so loud the glasses in the kitchen cabinet rattled. Maybe there was a half second delay between the strike and the thunder. I don’t remember hearing it. However I won’t soon forget it either!
Lightning Strikes
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Doggie Gets a Hair Cut
So why would anyone shave such a beautiful dog? Because as he has aged his hair has become thicker and his ability to manage the heat seems to have lessened. The flea and tick drops from the vet also have failed to prevent him from picking up ticks in the backyard. MY guess is that his fur was too thick to get full protection. The last straw was finding a bloated and popped tick in the kitchen that my baby had stepped on and tracked all over the floor.
I swore years ago I would never cut his hair because he was so beautiful but between the previously stated problems and the amount of hair that has litterally clogged the vacumm cleaner I decided it was best. This way The baby has almost no where to grab onto Bluew and pull his hair. I call that a bonus.
It's all just one more sign of my changing priorities, and the limits of my time. I could have put more energy into brushing out Bluew but my back hurts, and my back hurts, and Grady needs me, and well... my back hurts. I still love the dog a lot, but there is more on my plate.
As to why the haircut is so ugly, I did it my self with a dull clipper set. It took way too long but Bluew was a really good sport. Now Mark he calls Bluew the "Ack Ack Dog" after the characters in Mars Attacks. When the neighbor saw him the first thing he said was "I thought that dog was fat, but he's not." I told you guys...
Monday, May 07, 2007
Death Among Us
It has been a while since I have had to go to a funeral, so this last weekend I was very saddened to accompany my husband as he said good bye to a good friend, Mike. I have burried aquaintences and grandparents, but I've never seen someone have to burry a buddy. Watching sobbing, and fighting my own tears I hope we don't have to do this again for a long long time.
My husbands friend was like a brother to him, someone who laughed with him and challenged, even aggrevated him. Mike was the center of a whole world of good friends who played poker, watched sports and traveled together. My husband even stood up for Mike when he married, briefly, in the eighties.
We traveled 8 hours to attend his funeral that didn't do justice to "The Mike" and left all of his friends yearning for a fuller experience and a deeper grieving venue. How could a funeral ever do justice to someone who was so very present and alive? Certainly not a funeral full of preaching. No one was able to get up and eulogize him properly, and it seems many fought the urge to walk out.
I find myself weeping at times for my husbands loss. I have been facing my own futility this last week, because try as I might with hugs and kisses I could never really make this better for him. My husband is going to have to process this sudden and premature loss all by himself. Not only do I want to make it better for him but I am struggling to process the loss too. How does someone so vital sit down on his couch and die alone at the age of 50? How vulnerable are we all? What thread keeps us all going, yet takes someone so special.
This is not something we will ever really understand, and like the other deaths I have experienced it haunts us in the strangest of moments. It seems unreal. Despite the open casket and the empty shell inside it this will seem unreal for a very long time. My husband has lived so far away from Mike and his large group of firends for a few years now. This will take some time yet to believe it is true. For them it is immediate and horrible. What do you do when you can't go see Mike two or three times a week?
Mike left without an official will, so as his passing is shocking enough, the familys impending struggle to settle his affairs leaves us all sickened and reeling. It has me wondering - are my affairs in order? Are we going to be ready when death comes for us? Can I spare my family unnecessary and prolonged pain?
My husbands friend was like a brother to him, someone who laughed with him and challenged, even aggrevated him. Mike was the center of a whole world of good friends who played poker, watched sports and traveled together. My husband even stood up for Mike when he married, briefly, in the eighties.
We traveled 8 hours to attend his funeral that didn't do justice to "The Mike" and left all of his friends yearning for a fuller experience and a deeper grieving venue. How could a funeral ever do justice to someone who was so very present and alive? Certainly not a funeral full of preaching. No one was able to get up and eulogize him properly, and it seems many fought the urge to walk out.
I find myself weeping at times for my husbands loss. I have been facing my own futility this last week, because try as I might with hugs and kisses I could never really make this better for him. My husband is going to have to process this sudden and premature loss all by himself. Not only do I want to make it better for him but I am struggling to process the loss too. How does someone so vital sit down on his couch and die alone at the age of 50? How vulnerable are we all? What thread keeps us all going, yet takes someone so special.
This is not something we will ever really understand, and like the other deaths I have experienced it haunts us in the strangest of moments. It seems unreal. Despite the open casket and the empty shell inside it this will seem unreal for a very long time. My husband has lived so far away from Mike and his large group of firends for a few years now. This will take some time yet to believe it is true. For them it is immediate and horrible. What do you do when you can't go see Mike two or three times a week?
Mike left without an official will, so as his passing is shocking enough, the familys impending struggle to settle his affairs leaves us all sickened and reeling. It has me wondering - are my affairs in order? Are we going to be ready when death comes for us? Can I spare my family unnecessary and prolonged pain?
Thursday, April 26, 2007
The Power of Language
Here is a link to an amazingly well thought out and poinient article about the over cautious use of language by the health professionals who wish to promote breast feeding. In in they artfully point out that "special", as is "breast feeding promotes a special relationship between mother and child", is sometimes too complicated and that "best" gives way for a lower standard to slip in. It leaves the reader asking if "Breast is Best" is the most effective way to communicate the truth about the importance of breast feeding.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Virginia Tech
I attended Virginia Tech for seven semesters starting in the fall of 1993 and left for personal reasons in 1997. During my time living in Blacksburg I came to really love the community and I absolutely mourned when I had to leave to find work. Blacksburg is a small town with a very strong "hippy", politically aware community. More than that, as a student who ventured into town I felt immeasureably safe. I was cautious at night, as common sense would dictate, but I was very free to relax and be myself. There was always something very isolating about the campus. I loved the arcitecture, but I had more than one acquaintence point out that it felt like a prison. Knowing I was only one of tems of thousands of student was very isolating in many ways. Had I been stronger in spirit I think I would not have suffered that quite so much. Certainly I had professors who were warm, approachable and despite my being one of 500 or 150 students in a class they knew who I was.
It is this memory that makes the stories comming from the tradgedy in Blacksburg that much harder to hear. Professors, even at this big school, love the students and the high ideals of their institutions. Though they feel free to criticize the compensation packages, they relish turning there 20 year old students "On".
What a horrid sacrifice was made by the professor who blocked the door with his body so that his stuidents might escape. How gut renching to see the halls of learning turn into a blood bath. I can't begin to comprehend the emotional chaos this is playing on Virginia Techs professors.
Norris Hall, as I remember was a really cool building, where the walls are covered with the accomplishment and project synopsises of it's brightest. The hand rail on the stairwells where in some places just painted piping. I never studied there, never learned there, but I walked its halls with friends. I can't imagine how they will move forward when the walls are now covered with lifeless blood.
West Ambler Johnston was my second dormatory during my freshman year at Tech. My room was by the elevators, noisy and isolated. I lived on the third floor, if I remember correctly. Many of my friends, in the VT Band lived on the second floor. I imagine that hall is a naturally good place to house the band because of it's proximity to the playing feilds. The dorms become large families too, with doors left open and socializing a common way to avoid homework. I know that these events in one part of the dorm, the fourth floor, will rock the lives of the 890 some residents who have lived there. Roomates may not always get along but dorm identity is a strong part of who you are and who you know on a campus as large as Virginia Techs.
I want to know so much more about what has happened and yet I am deeply impacted by the news. To see the campus that I ultimately loved propped up on the screen so CNN can have various pundits and students in shock ramble on about the events is heart breaking. The revelation that this angry student had sent warning signs out and that at least one teacher was disturbed by his writing, and attempted to alert the administration is alarming. That nothing was done about it is not suprising to me. Virginia Tech, it always seemed was a bit of an arrogant machine. Having had my own encounters with a neglectful mental health facility (granted 10 years ago) I can see how this students was not directed to help fast enough, or perhaps not directed at all. Without getting into my personal details let me tell you that when I asked for assitance and told the staff I was having a "crisis" they scheduled me an appointment for three full weeks later and sent me out the door with my little reminder. In my distress I forgot the appointment, and went back, still in crisis to ask for another and again was given an appoinment for 3 weeks later. Repeat this cycle yet one more time and I was ready to withdraw from school. It was when I told this to staff that I was pulled into a quick meeting where I was criticised for not seeking help sooner. I can only imagine what this student encountered if he sought help at all, or if anyone tried to seek it for him.
Here is a link to a list of the victims and their stories.
It is this memory that makes the stories comming from the tradgedy in Blacksburg that much harder to hear. Professors, even at this big school, love the students and the high ideals of their institutions. Though they feel free to criticize the compensation packages, they relish turning there 20 year old students "On".
What a horrid sacrifice was made by the professor who blocked the door with his body so that his stuidents might escape. How gut renching to see the halls of learning turn into a blood bath. I can't begin to comprehend the emotional chaos this is playing on Virginia Techs professors.
Norris Hall, as I remember was a really cool building, where the walls are covered with the accomplishment and project synopsises of it's brightest. The hand rail on the stairwells where in some places just painted piping. I never studied there, never learned there, but I walked its halls with friends. I can't imagine how they will move forward when the walls are now covered with lifeless blood.
West Ambler Johnston was my second dormatory during my freshman year at Tech. My room was by the elevators, noisy and isolated. I lived on the third floor, if I remember correctly. Many of my friends, in the VT Band lived on the second floor. I imagine that hall is a naturally good place to house the band because of it's proximity to the playing feilds. The dorms become large families too, with doors left open and socializing a common way to avoid homework. I know that these events in one part of the dorm, the fourth floor, will rock the lives of the 890 some residents who have lived there. Roomates may not always get along but dorm identity is a strong part of who you are and who you know on a campus as large as Virginia Techs.
I want to know so much more about what has happened and yet I am deeply impacted by the news. To see the campus that I ultimately loved propped up on the screen so CNN can have various pundits and students in shock ramble on about the events is heart breaking. The revelation that this angry student had sent warning signs out and that at least one teacher was disturbed by his writing, and attempted to alert the administration is alarming. That nothing was done about it is not suprising to me. Virginia Tech, it always seemed was a bit of an arrogant machine. Having had my own encounters with a neglectful mental health facility (granted 10 years ago) I can see how this students was not directed to help fast enough, or perhaps not directed at all. Without getting into my personal details let me tell you that when I asked for assitance and told the staff I was having a "crisis" they scheduled me an appointment for three full weeks later and sent me out the door with my little reminder. In my distress I forgot the appointment, and went back, still in crisis to ask for another and again was given an appoinment for 3 weeks later. Repeat this cycle yet one more time and I was ready to withdraw from school. It was when I told this to staff that I was pulled into a quick meeting where I was criticised for not seeking help sooner. I can only imagine what this student encountered if he sought help at all, or if anyone tried to seek it for him.
Here is a link to a list of the victims and their stories.
Friday, March 30, 2007
There was Poop on the Rug
I am having a crazy love hate relationship with my diaper free life style. Grady isn't sure if he hates the toilet all together or not. Every morning he is fine with using the "toilet", but to be honest he is peeing into the shower and it runs down my leg as he sits on my lap. So it's a yea and a nay. It certainly feels better for him, he relaxes afterwards. It's all those other pees and poos throughout the day that I seem to miss so often. The logic behind pursing this Elimination Communication is very solid.(Check out the book below)
What I find most challenging is getting over what other people will think of me scrubbing poop out of my rug. I've been up to my elbows in poop many times, I could really care less. Heck - I know it all came from me in the beginning anyway
Some days are good, some are bad. I think the reward is knowing that Grady really is starting to get it - he is just very determined to either be in constant motion or sound asleep, which makes it pretty hard to get him to sit on the pot even when I "know" he needs to.
What I find most challenging is getting over what other people will think of me scrubbing poop out of my rug. I've been up to my elbows in poop many times, I could really care less. Heck - I know it all came from me in the beginning anyway
Some days are good, some are bad. I think the reward is knowing that Grady really is starting to get it - he is just very determined to either be in constant motion or sound asleep, which makes it pretty hard to get him to sit on the pot even when I "know" he needs to.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Baby Food
Check out your reaction to this photo. Are you shocked? Offended? I'm nursing my son, and think it is pretty wonderful. Some people still confuse this scene with porn and would label me obscene. What do you think and why?
I saw something wonderful in Boarders book store yesterday. Another mother was sitting cross legged on the floor of the childrens book section nursing her third child, a six month old daughter. I was so proud of her. I wanted to say so... but I also wanted to act as though what she was doing was perfectly normal so I said nothing to her about nursing. Her curious daughter looked up as I walked by. I hope she realized as I said hello and pointed to Grady and Mark that I was not blushing. I was glad to know I wasn't blushing. I know I used to be a little confused about it myself. Now I understand it's just baby food and mother love.
I saw something wonderful in Boarders book store yesterday. Another mother was sitting cross legged on the floor of the childrens book section nursing her third child, a six month old daughter. I was so proud of her. I wanted to say so... but I also wanted to act as though what she was doing was perfectly normal so I said nothing to her about nursing. Her curious daughter looked up as I walked by. I hope she realized as I said hello and pointed to Grady and Mark that I was not blushing. I was glad to know I wasn't blushing. I know I used to be a little confused about it myself. Now I understand it's just baby food and mother love.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Change is Inevitable
I have the bad habit of sitting on the couch. I watch too much TV and I let a lot of time pass by. I don't get much done. A to-do list on my fridge gets ignored and I try to get comfortable with the pangs of procrastination. I pretend they are not there and I have an extra cookie.
Admit it, we all do it. I am learning however that I can not hold time still. Try as I might the things I need to do must still get done. I suppose I put it off because I know more to-dos will come along. Despite the illusion I live, all these things are piling up.
I could get philosophical and reflect on "what I really need" which is always nothing. Then have another cookie. The problem with that is that my son keeps changing. Just a few weeks ago he was learning to roll over. Shortly after that he was "crawling" and now "the little engine that could" is trying to stand and walk.
I can not stop this progression. There simply are not enough cookies or TV channels. Even Girl Scout Cookies are powerless.
Of course I want to see my son grow and change and become one day a handsom man who takes his mother to dinner. Along with those dreams for him comes the inevitable reminder that time stands still for no one.
My waist line may actually be changing too. The lawn will start to grow soon and all the procrastination in the world will not keep my son from learning how to turn over the dogs, water bowl.
I just wish he was still 'still' and cuddley a little longer.
Admit it, we all do it. I am learning however that I can not hold time still. Try as I might the things I need to do must still get done. I suppose I put it off because I know more to-dos will come along. Despite the illusion I live, all these things are piling up.
I could get philosophical and reflect on "what I really need" which is always nothing. Then have another cookie. The problem with that is that my son keeps changing. Just a few weeks ago he was learning to roll over. Shortly after that he was "crawling" and now "the little engine that could" is trying to stand and walk.
I can not stop this progression. There simply are not enough cookies or TV channels. Even Girl Scout Cookies are powerless.
Of course I want to see my son grow and change and become one day a handsom man who takes his mother to dinner. Along with those dreams for him comes the inevitable reminder that time stands still for no one.
My waist line may actually be changing too. The lawn will start to grow soon and all the procrastination in the world will not keep my son from learning how to turn over the dogs, water bowl.
I just wish he was still 'still' and cuddley a little longer.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Idiopathic Urticaries
I went to the doctor three days ago because my cold wasn't just a cold anymore. I was swelling and itching all over. This doctor had never met me before so I think he wasn't sure I was for real. He looked at my swollen lips and swollen hands. He seemed to be trying to believe me that they were swollen. I showed him my red blotchy skin, I told him it itched. He was wide eyed, studious and perplexed. He told me not to take the Dayquil(R) or Nyquil(R) again, maybe that was causing the reaction. Then instead of a perscription for an antibiotic he wanted a blood sample. (Wow) He wanted a sputum sample (Cool) and then he sent me home with a perscription for an Epi-Pen.
Wow, I thought, he believes me. Maybe this is serious. Neither of us could figure out why I was having an apparent allergic reaction. Being the skeptic that I am, and being that I never take very good care of myself I didn't fill out the perscription.
Late that night I woke up to burning, itching skin, and swollen uncomfortable hands. The only thing I could think about was how tight my wedding band was. After an ice cold soaking in our tap water and some soap I finally got my ring off. I took a dose and a half of an antihistamine and went back to bed worried. My eyes and face had looked puffy in the bathroom mirror.
In the morning the skin around my eyes looked bloodshot and scary. I was still swollen and uncomfortable even with all that benedryl. I was so worried that I headed back to the doctor. After a grueling wait of about 45 minutes (with an appointment) the doctor finally saw me. I told him I waited all that time to show him my eyes. Interesting. He mentioned that he thought I had idiopathic urticaries. Wow, I thought, this guy has been working on this case. We discussed it a bit, he called for the blood results. Half of them were ready. I gave him that sputum sample from the morning. He had me pee in a cup. Not pregnant. Nothing wrong so far, not bacterial.
He told me that the problem with idiopathic urticaries is that 99% of the time no explanation is ever found. He wrote down urticaries on tissue paper for me. My baby tried to then eat it. He was then done with me. He said he would call with the results of the rest of the blood work. Oh, by the way, I asked, is this perminatnt. Not usually.
Like anyone would I came home and punched urticaries into Wikipedia. I think my new doctor (I haven't had one for over two years)was afraid to tell me I had hives. Not only did I have hives but they are of unexplained origin (the idiopathic part). I kind of laugh now because even though I'm itching like crazy I get the joke. If something is labeled idiopatic it logically follows that 99% of the time the cause goes undetected.
I woke up this morning with swollen hands and lips and itchy skin. Ha - the joke is on me!
Wow, I thought, he believes me. Maybe this is serious. Neither of us could figure out why I was having an apparent allergic reaction. Being the skeptic that I am, and being that I never take very good care of myself I didn't fill out the perscription.
Late that night I woke up to burning, itching skin, and swollen uncomfortable hands. The only thing I could think about was how tight my wedding band was. After an ice cold soaking in our tap water and some soap I finally got my ring off. I took a dose and a half of an antihistamine and went back to bed worried. My eyes and face had looked puffy in the bathroom mirror.
In the morning the skin around my eyes looked bloodshot and scary. I was still swollen and uncomfortable even with all that benedryl. I was so worried that I headed back to the doctor. After a grueling wait of about 45 minutes (with an appointment) the doctor finally saw me. I told him I waited all that time to show him my eyes. Interesting. He mentioned that he thought I had idiopathic urticaries. Wow, I thought, this guy has been working on this case. We discussed it a bit, he called for the blood results. Half of them were ready. I gave him that sputum sample from the morning. He had me pee in a cup. Not pregnant. Nothing wrong so far, not bacterial.
He told me that the problem with idiopathic urticaries is that 99% of the time no explanation is ever found. He wrote down urticaries on tissue paper for me. My baby tried to then eat it. He was then done with me. He said he would call with the results of the rest of the blood work. Oh, by the way, I asked, is this perminatnt. Not usually.
Like anyone would I came home and punched urticaries into Wikipedia. I think my new doctor (I haven't had one for over two years)was afraid to tell me I had hives. Not only did I have hives but they are of unexplained origin (the idiopathic part). I kind of laugh now because even though I'm itching like crazy I get the joke. If something is labeled idiopatic it logically follows that 99% of the time the cause goes undetected.
I woke up this morning with swollen hands and lips and itchy skin. Ha - the joke is on me!
Friday, January 26, 2007
Great Thought On Molding Children
quote by A.S.Neill:
"No one is wise enough or good enough to mould the character of any child. What is wrong with our sick, neurotic world is that we have been moulded, and an adult generation that has seen two great wars and seems about to launch a third should not be trusted to mould the character of a rat"
"No one is wise enough or good enough to mould the character of any child. What is wrong with our sick, neurotic world is that we have been moulded, and an adult generation that has seen two great wars and seems about to launch a third should not be trusted to mould the character of a rat"
Monday, December 11, 2006
Opinions
I find the coolest little saying about opinions is "Opinions are other peoples problems". To assert this to my own situations and life is a whole other challenge. Certainly when someone forms an opinion about my choices the opinion is based on their own limited life experience. They could never truely understand my experiences and hence my choices.
Remembering this on a day to day basis is a whole other challenge. Why I am susceptible to opinions is surely a long story full of childhood drama. I think we all have experienced that on some level. What fascinates me is that at 31 I am still vulneralble to what "they" are thinking.
I find that if I dwell on presumed criticisms long enough I am completely paralized. I am unable to make decisions, unable to change, evolve, or move forward. That is the saddest thing of all. How could I possibly live a satisfied life, full of learning from mistakes and victories that are uniquely my own, if I don't ignore the groups chatter?
So today's challenge, as it is every day, is to be brave and steady myself against the 'punishment' of other people tounges, and satisfy my own growth curve.
Now off I go to satisfy a crying baby.
Remembering this on a day to day basis is a whole other challenge. Why I am susceptible to opinions is surely a long story full of childhood drama. I think we all have experienced that on some level. What fascinates me is that at 31 I am still vulneralble to what "they" are thinking.
I find that if I dwell on presumed criticisms long enough I am completely paralized. I am unable to make decisions, unable to change, evolve, or move forward. That is the saddest thing of all. How could I possibly live a satisfied life, full of learning from mistakes and victories that are uniquely my own, if I don't ignore the groups chatter?
So today's challenge, as it is every day, is to be brave and steady myself against the 'punishment' of other people tounges, and satisfy my own growth curve.
Now off I go to satisfy a crying baby.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Ceserean Section
Not a term anyone wants to hear. For me it was a moment in time I had realized was very much possible. My questions about it started about two weeks after my experience with it.
For me and my baby the c-section was medically necessary but that wasn't explained to me until 9 weeks after the surgery. Those nine weeks filled themselves with self doubt and feelings of failure as a woman. I know I am not alone in these feelings. What I didn't know and have begun to learn is that each woman’s story is entirely different from another’s. In addition to this I haven't heard a story quite like mine yet. I'd like to share it to spare someone else the same experience.
In the beginning, actually before the beginning I was committed to delivering my baby with the help of a midwife and a doula. Midwives believe in avoiding unnecessary medical interventions, and only intervening when medically indicated. Doulas are proven effective in reducing the use of narcotics and reducing the overall drama of delivery.
The essence of my story is that despite the fact that I had made many educated choices and chosen medical professionals that suited my needs I still did not receive the level I care I had work very hard for. So, to those who might think this is a complaint about cesarean, it is not. It is not a compliant that I stayed pregnant for three extra weeks.
I am disappointed that I was unable to deliver naturally, but I have become more disappointed in my midwives and how they handled my care in a hospital setting.
The midwives I chose to work with were recommended for natural birth and predominantly delivery babies at their own facility, a birth center, and carry on a partnership with an area teaching hospital.
I was advised to go the hospital for induction when I was 42 weeks and 6 days pregnant. By all accounts my due date was accurate and labor was not beginning on its own. We had tried membrane sweeps, primrose oil, sex nipple stimulation (which can increase the body's oxytocin output, thus inducing labor), long walks and finally two rounds of castor oil (which by aggravating the intestines can sometimes successfully aggravate the uterus to contract). I was disappointed to not be delivering at the birth center but I was assured vaginal delivery was still an option. The biggest obstacle was in fact my cervix which had failed to dilate past 1 cm.
At the hospital the midwife inserted a Foley Bulb and the nursing staff hooked me up to the cursed IV and pitocin (I curse the IV because the swelling it causes is uncalled for!). I was hooked up to the trusty fetal monitors. Then the midwife left the room. She remained absent till the Foley Bulb fell out, roughly two hours. She checked me and I had dilated to 4 cm. Then the midwife left the room.
It is then I began to wonder what the hell was going on. Why was I being abandoned? When I saw midwives on videos, on TV, they had stayed in the rooms, hadn't they? A pattern was established and the wise female protector and guide I thought I was guaranteed by seeking out midwifery care vanished. There was no sense of grounding for me in the room.
I was checked in around six pm and the Foley Bulb was falling out around ten, maybe nine pm. Sometime around midnight, maybe eleven the midwife who was handling my case made an appearance to let me know she was taking on a case that was transferring from the birth center to the hospital. She'd be down the hall.
At one point, as I tried to cope with wave after wave of pitocin without any pain medication whatsoever I asked the nurse to cool it with upping my pitocin. Nurse Ratchet replied that "this was how people have babies". (AAAaahhhhhhhh!)
I called for my midwife who came back into the room (a huge hint she wasn't in the room much). I told her I didn't like the nurse, that she was being condescending. To this my midwife implored me to have patience with the nurse she was tired and just following orders.
Think about it, I was having a contraction every 30 seconds or so, no joke, and my midwife - my Gia - was asking me to empathize with the nurse. Sometime after that my midwife checked me again, I was five cm, and then she disappeared down the hall until two am.
I labored, I squatted, I bled. My husband held on for dear life and attempted to help me manage the pain (thank you honey!). My doula watched and swore she saw me progress into active labor. My contractions were on top of each other and there was no midwife for hours. Why wasn't she there holding my hand, reassuring my husband? Why was she avoiding me? Was I disappointing her? Was I not interesting enough?
At two am I was checked and my dilation had failed to progress. I could no longer handle the void and the pain. I asked for the epidural. I cried. I sobbed. My doula went home. Later she told me she cried for me, for that voids she kept seeing in my care all evening.
I woke up around seven am I think. The epidural was wearing off, so I requested a boost, a bolis was added. The epidural continued to wear thin every two hours or so and additional medication was added each time. I developed a fever and had to be put on antibiotics. I had to have a catheter inserted to manage all those fluids. I had an internal monitor inserted to monitor the contractions accurately. Gone were my hopes for a delivery without intervention, dashed were my dreams of a midwife guiding me through it all. Eventually I had to have Tylenol inserted (guess where) to manage the fever and an oxygen mask to assist the "fetus" (why do they use such a cold word during such a momentous precipice?) who had experienced a minor deceleration.
I had tubes coming out of me everywhere. And that little "fetus" was taking a beating as my body was being forced to contract every other minute. I was checked at one pm (about 18 hours into the ordeal) and I was still only five cm dilated. The midwife in charge of my care went off duty and a new midwife took her place. She said hello and left the room.
She came back at two and checked me, I was still five cm dilated and she said the baby's head was still molding.
"Molding?" I asked.
Yes, hadn't the other midwife mentioned it?
No.
Yes, well the baby's head is misshapen, molding, significantly and your cervix is swelling. Given your fever it is "my professional opinion" that you receive an immediate cesarean.
Of course we consented and I was rushed to the OR. Meanwhile my midwife caught up on old times with my nurse, an old acquaintance of hers. They chatted in the OR, and when I tried to solicit an opening for my midwife to pay some attention to me she quickly answered my question, wouldn't come near me, and went back to her conversation. So... women who fail to deliver naturally don't interest their midwives?
The surgeons and nurses all introduced themselves to me, the only request left intact from our written birth plan (no cord cutting, no tubs, no med free birth). The blue sheet was put up in front of my face and I began shaking from the medications. I begged for my husband. I was clearly emotional. The nurses in the room told me it would be "OK" (not much came from my midwife who stood away against a wall). He finally arrived and we talked and my void was partially filled.
Our son was born, and they did not hold him up and show him off (should I have written that into my birth plan?). His hand and feet were blue and he had a nasty little cone head from all that "molding" I had been unaware of. Soon enough he was whisked off and so was my husband to keep a watchful eye on him. I was good to know the baby had a protector if you will.
Postpartum rooms were all full. Recovery is basically a hallway intersection with three sets of double doors. There I met my baby - greatest is the moment you say hello and they look right at, know your voice instantly. We nursed a little, bonded. Then my husband and baby left again and went to the nursery.
He was born at 4pm, so I had been in labor for 21 hours. I was still in recovery when my nurse gave me an injection for the pain, told me there would be a second injection in five minutes. Then she clocked out for the day. Around seven pm I was alone in the hallway, "Recovery" and the pain was kicking in. No one came to see me, I had no nurse.
Someone, a blond nurse, who was covering stepped in and I asked for pain medication. She left. Moments went by (notice I suddenly have no midwife, no one to advocate for me). Another nurse, Nurse Ratchet (can you believe it?!) came in and asked what I needed. I said pain medication.
She wandered around looking for something and went back to the OR (I later realized) and came back with something and began to add it at my wrist where the IV lines entered. The blond nurse then walked in and asked her what she was doing, and Nurse Ratchet said she was giving me pain medication. The blond nurse asked her what medication?
"250 cc of le" Lepto- or Leso- something. I couldn't take in the full name, but I surely took in the awkward silence, the looks and the sudden change of action on Nurse Ratchet’s part. She stopped injecting, and they both quickly left. As the doors shut I realized I couldn't swallow. I was alone with no call button and was deliberately left by two nurses; there was no one to help me.
Sure I felt pretty scared, panicked. Honestly I'm not sure I could have spoken or called out. I just tried and tried to swallow. I didn’t regain an ability to swallow for over an hour.
Around 7:45 pm a completely different nurse came and took me to my room. There was my husband and sister and baby. I didn't let him out of my sight for very long.
The following day I received a phone call from my primary nurse midwife telling me she would come see me but she couldn't. She promised the secondary midwife would visit the next day. The next morning I decided two days was long enough and we committed to leaving the hospital that evening. I received another phone call, this time from the secondary nurse midwife telling me she just was too busy or whatever to come see me.
The OBs were great, the pediatricians friendly and the birth certificate processor was the first person -two days after the fact to tell us that the baby's cord had been wrapped around his neck twice, a complication listed in record next to my fever.
So...
As I ask why I never dilated it is said that my body was protecting my child. At least someone had been doing their job. Sadly I still battled self doubt and failure well after the fact and only recently have begun to feel better about myself.
Conclude...The title Nurse Midwife does not guarantee any specific caliber of care. It may sound nurturing but nurturing is not promised. In the future I advise a discussion with your provider about the level of presence the birth mother wants during that time.
For me and my baby the c-section was medically necessary but that wasn't explained to me until 9 weeks after the surgery. Those nine weeks filled themselves with self doubt and feelings of failure as a woman. I know I am not alone in these feelings. What I didn't know and have begun to learn is that each woman’s story is entirely different from another’s. In addition to this I haven't heard a story quite like mine yet. I'd like to share it to spare someone else the same experience.
In the beginning, actually before the beginning I was committed to delivering my baby with the help of a midwife and a doula. Midwives believe in avoiding unnecessary medical interventions, and only intervening when medically indicated. Doulas are proven effective in reducing the use of narcotics and reducing the overall drama of delivery.
The essence of my story is that despite the fact that I had made many educated choices and chosen medical professionals that suited my needs I still did not receive the level I care I had work very hard for. So, to those who might think this is a complaint about cesarean, it is not. It is not a compliant that I stayed pregnant for three extra weeks.
I am disappointed that I was unable to deliver naturally, but I have become more disappointed in my midwives and how they handled my care in a hospital setting.
The midwives I chose to work with were recommended for natural birth and predominantly delivery babies at their own facility, a birth center, and carry on a partnership with an area teaching hospital.
I was advised to go the hospital for induction when I was 42 weeks and 6 days pregnant. By all accounts my due date was accurate and labor was not beginning on its own. We had tried membrane sweeps, primrose oil, sex nipple stimulation (which can increase the body's oxytocin output, thus inducing labor), long walks and finally two rounds of castor oil (which by aggravating the intestines can sometimes successfully aggravate the uterus to contract). I was disappointed to not be delivering at the birth center but I was assured vaginal delivery was still an option. The biggest obstacle was in fact my cervix which had failed to dilate past 1 cm.
At the hospital the midwife inserted a Foley Bulb and the nursing staff hooked me up to the cursed IV and pitocin (I curse the IV because the swelling it causes is uncalled for!). I was hooked up to the trusty fetal monitors. Then the midwife left the room. She remained absent till the Foley Bulb fell out, roughly two hours. She checked me and I had dilated to 4 cm. Then the midwife left the room.
It is then I began to wonder what the hell was going on. Why was I being abandoned? When I saw midwives on videos, on TV, they had stayed in the rooms, hadn't they? A pattern was established and the wise female protector and guide I thought I was guaranteed by seeking out midwifery care vanished. There was no sense of grounding for me in the room.
I was checked in around six pm and the Foley Bulb was falling out around ten, maybe nine pm. Sometime around midnight, maybe eleven the midwife who was handling my case made an appearance to let me know she was taking on a case that was transferring from the birth center to the hospital. She'd be down the hall.
At one point, as I tried to cope with wave after wave of pitocin without any pain medication whatsoever I asked the nurse to cool it with upping my pitocin. Nurse Ratchet replied that "this was how people have babies". (AAAaahhhhhhhh!)
I called for my midwife who came back into the room (a huge hint she wasn't in the room much). I told her I didn't like the nurse, that she was being condescending. To this my midwife implored me to have patience with the nurse she was tired and just following orders.
Think about it, I was having a contraction every 30 seconds or so, no joke, and my midwife - my Gia - was asking me to empathize with the nurse. Sometime after that my midwife checked me again, I was five cm, and then she disappeared down the hall until two am.
I labored, I squatted, I bled. My husband held on for dear life and attempted to help me manage the pain (thank you honey!). My doula watched and swore she saw me progress into active labor. My contractions were on top of each other and there was no midwife for hours. Why wasn't she there holding my hand, reassuring my husband? Why was she avoiding me? Was I disappointing her? Was I not interesting enough?
At two am I was checked and my dilation had failed to progress. I could no longer handle the void and the pain. I asked for the epidural. I cried. I sobbed. My doula went home. Later she told me she cried for me, for that voids she kept seeing in my care all evening.
I woke up around seven am I think. The epidural was wearing off, so I requested a boost, a bolis was added. The epidural continued to wear thin every two hours or so and additional medication was added each time. I developed a fever and had to be put on antibiotics. I had to have a catheter inserted to manage all those fluids. I had an internal monitor inserted to monitor the contractions accurately. Gone were my hopes for a delivery without intervention, dashed were my dreams of a midwife guiding me through it all. Eventually I had to have Tylenol inserted (guess where) to manage the fever and an oxygen mask to assist the "fetus" (why do they use such a cold word during such a momentous precipice?) who had experienced a minor deceleration.
I had tubes coming out of me everywhere. And that little "fetus" was taking a beating as my body was being forced to contract every other minute. I was checked at one pm (about 18 hours into the ordeal) and I was still only five cm dilated. The midwife in charge of my care went off duty and a new midwife took her place. She said hello and left the room.
She came back at two and checked me, I was still five cm dilated and she said the baby's head was still molding.
"Molding?" I asked.
Yes, hadn't the other midwife mentioned it?
No.
Yes, well the baby's head is misshapen, molding, significantly and your cervix is swelling. Given your fever it is "my professional opinion" that you receive an immediate cesarean.
Of course we consented and I was rushed to the OR. Meanwhile my midwife caught up on old times with my nurse, an old acquaintance of hers. They chatted in the OR, and when I tried to solicit an opening for my midwife to pay some attention to me she quickly answered my question, wouldn't come near me, and went back to her conversation. So... women who fail to deliver naturally don't interest their midwives?
The surgeons and nurses all introduced themselves to me, the only request left intact from our written birth plan (no cord cutting, no tubs, no med free birth). The blue sheet was put up in front of my face and I began shaking from the medications. I begged for my husband. I was clearly emotional. The nurses in the room told me it would be "OK" (not much came from my midwife who stood away against a wall). He finally arrived and we talked and my void was partially filled.
Our son was born, and they did not hold him up and show him off (should I have written that into my birth plan?). His hand and feet were blue and he had a nasty little cone head from all that "molding" I had been unaware of. Soon enough he was whisked off and so was my husband to keep a watchful eye on him. I was good to know the baby had a protector if you will.
Postpartum rooms were all full. Recovery is basically a hallway intersection with three sets of double doors. There I met my baby - greatest is the moment you say hello and they look right at, know your voice instantly. We nursed a little, bonded. Then my husband and baby left again and went to the nursery.
He was born at 4pm, so I had been in labor for 21 hours. I was still in recovery when my nurse gave me an injection for the pain, told me there would be a second injection in five minutes. Then she clocked out for the day. Around seven pm I was alone in the hallway, "Recovery" and the pain was kicking in. No one came to see me, I had no nurse.
Someone, a blond nurse, who was covering stepped in and I asked for pain medication. She left. Moments went by (notice I suddenly have no midwife, no one to advocate for me). Another nurse, Nurse Ratchet (can you believe it?!) came in and asked what I needed. I said pain medication.
She wandered around looking for something and went back to the OR (I later realized) and came back with something and began to add it at my wrist where the IV lines entered. The blond nurse then walked in and asked her what she was doing, and Nurse Ratchet said she was giving me pain medication. The blond nurse asked her what medication?
"250 cc of le" Lepto- or Leso- something. I couldn't take in the full name, but I surely took in the awkward silence, the looks and the sudden change of action on Nurse Ratchet’s part. She stopped injecting, and they both quickly left. As the doors shut I realized I couldn't swallow. I was alone with no call button and was deliberately left by two nurses; there was no one to help me.
Sure I felt pretty scared, panicked. Honestly I'm not sure I could have spoken or called out. I just tried and tried to swallow. I didn’t regain an ability to swallow for over an hour.
Around 7:45 pm a completely different nurse came and took me to my room. There was my husband and sister and baby. I didn't let him out of my sight for very long.
The following day I received a phone call from my primary nurse midwife telling me she would come see me but she couldn't. She promised the secondary midwife would visit the next day. The next morning I decided two days was long enough and we committed to leaving the hospital that evening. I received another phone call, this time from the secondary nurse midwife telling me she just was too busy or whatever to come see me.
The OBs were great, the pediatricians friendly and the birth certificate processor was the first person -two days after the fact to tell us that the baby's cord had been wrapped around his neck twice, a complication listed in record next to my fever.
So...
As I ask why I never dilated it is said that my body was protecting my child. At least someone had been doing their job. Sadly I still battled self doubt and failure well after the fact and only recently have begun to feel better about myself.
Conclude...The title Nurse Midwife does not guarantee any specific caliber of care. It may sound nurturing but nurturing is not promised. In the future I advise a discussion with your provider about the level of presence the birth mother wants during that time.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
College Debts
College loans can not be justified unless you are pursueing a degree that will immediately turn around and make you a salary. If you are pursuing a willy-nilly science degree like I did it is pretty important to be commited to going on to pursue the masters degree that will lead to a paying job.
As it is I did neither and after graduating with a science degree in a feild that either employes thoses with masters or volunteers I would chalk it up as one of the biggest errors of my life. Had I had a masters degree I would have doubled my income potential and made the enormous $250 monthly payment bearable. As it is I have never been able to purchase a decent newsed car let alone a new one.
As it is I did neither and after graduating with a science degree in a feild that either employes thoses with masters or volunteers I would chalk it up as one of the biggest errors of my life. Had I had a masters degree I would have doubled my income potential and made the enormous $250 monthly payment bearable. As it is I have never been able to purchase a decent newsed car let alone a new one.
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