Happy Birthday Wesleyann Sabbath

Fair warning, this is a long post.

Wesleyann’s birth story starts out at about noon on Monday, November 15^th 2010. I was due on the 9^th, so the doctors wanted to do a Bio Physical Profile (BPP). I’d had one with Makaya, and it didn’t end well, so I was stressing out. I sent a text message to our doula, Sabbath. She was the calm collected voice of reason I knew she would be, and she helped me relax and breathe until the appointment later that afternoon.

At the appointment, everything was great with the baby, except for fluid levels. They still gave me a high score, but because of the fluid levels, they suggested delivery as soon as possible. When this was relayed to the doctors in Iowa City, they didn’t seem to share the same sense of urgency. They just wanted me to wait it out and come in for a regular appointment the next day at 2 pm. This was unacceptable. With Makaya, the situation was very similar, there was no fluid, and she was already showing early signs of distress. I didn’t want that to happen to this baby too. After several calls back and forth between myself, Cosette (my midwife in Des Moines) and Sabbath, we all decided to just go.

So at 7 pm on Monday, November 15^th, we made “The Calls.” We called Robert’s mom to come watch Makaya, and since she had a two hour drive, we dropped Makaya off at a friend’s house to wait while Robert and I got in the car and set out for Iowa City. We stopped for dinner before leaving town and Sabbath helped us relax, and also pumped us up mentally for what we were about to get ourselves into.

The drive to Iowa City wasn’t as relaxing as I would have planned. Robert had worked that morning, so he had been up since 3:30 that morning. He was falling asleep at the wheel, so I ended up having to drive.

When we got there, thankfully, they were expecting us. I have no idea what Cosette said to the people she talked to, but she certainly worked some magic. We waited for a short while in a family waiting room, I assume they were preparing a room and all the necessary paperwork.

I was anxious and excited. I don’t do well in hospitals, and I was about to start the longest day of my life to date.

Once we were in the room, they checked me so they had a “starting point,” and I was at a ‘fingertip’. This was great news for me because I was already ahead of the game as far as I was concerned. They hooked up the pitocin, I sent out some e-mails, and then we all settled in and waited for the ball to start rolling.

About 3 am, my water broke. The contractions started to pick up, and the roller coaster was moving at full speed.

By mid morning on Tuesday, labor was full on. The contractions were strong and quickly paced, but I was managing. We all thought that the pace I was moving at would give us a baby by dinner. Boy were we wrong.

By Tuesday afternoon, I was working with a nurse named Sun. She was a little Asian lady who was so calm and relaxed. I remember calling her my Zen Garden. She was just what I needed at that point in my labor. She was my anchor, and I appreciated her quiet presence. She would just drift in and out of the room, only bothering us when she really needed to. I remember I was using the birthing ball, and bouncing through contractions while Robert applied pressure to my hips and back. There was a time, two or three contractions maybe, where Sun just squatted in front of me, holding the monitor on my belly so she could get a reading of the baby’s heart on the strip, then once she had what she needed, she made a few notes on the computer, and quietly left the room.

Later, when I was recovering, Robert said when it came time for Sun’s shift to be over, she didn't want to leave. He said that she chased off the next nurse a few times before she reluctantly said good bye to me. This little bit of information makes me smile every time I think about it. She was so sweet, and I really enjoyed her presence and what she brought to my labor.

Labor continued to progress.

My overnight nurse Tuesday evening to Wednesday morning was Emily, and she brought new energy to the space. By this point I had been in labor for 20+ hours, and had been awake for more than 30 hours. I was wearing out, and Emily helped me hang in there. She was amazing, and did everything in her power to keep me from having to get an internal monitor. There was one point where I was on the bed, on hands and knees, and Emily was holding the monitor on my belly as I rocked and moved through several contractions.

Eventually, a wireless telemetry monitor became available, and Sabbath had me get in the tub for a while. It was awesome while the water was nice and hot, but it cooled off really quickly. I remember Sabbath leaving Robert and I alone in the bathroom for a while, and Robert sleeping in a chair while I drifted in that in-between state, not quite asleep not really awake, between contractions. I asked him at one point if I had bad breath. It had been forever since I had last brushed my teeth, and I had been breathing through the contractions (through my mouth) for a really long time. He told me no, but I think he was lying to spare my feelings.

When I couldn’t stand the water any longer, I got out and crawled back into bed.

I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep.

Emily’s shift was ending, but she was so confident that I was going to have a baby soon that she moved the baby warmer into the room, and she had found a little knitted hat for the baby to wear. We were sure that the baby was going to be a boy (no ultrasound, just a gut feeling from mom), so she found a cute little brown and blue hat for him.

It was around this time that I finally gave in and asked for something to take the edge off the contractions so I could rest a bit. They gave me an injection of something, but Robert kept waking me up with his snoring.

I may have thrown a pillow at him. 

It may have also been around this time that I told him to "please stop chewing his fucking gum."

It eventually became clear that an internal monitor was necessary, and after a second injection of pain meds, they placed the monitor.

By now, the morning shift change had happened, and I now had Rachel for my nurse. I remember when she came in for the first time, I looked over at her and said, "I've been doing this for a long time, and I've had a lot of nurses. How about if you're my last nurse, ok?"

By this time I had been in labor for more than 30 hours, and on pitocin the entire time as well. Aside from the few minutes where I dozed between contractions, I hadn't slept for more than 48 hours. I was beyond tired, and I was seriously worn out.

When the three new doctors walked into my room I knew it wasn't going to be good news. I didn't want to hear it, and I felt a deep sense of failure before they even said anything. I will forever remember them as a black cloud that rolled into my room, shooting lightning bolts from their eyes, and disdain from their mouths.

After they left, I broke down. I had failed again. 

Then a spur caught my brain and whispered in my ear, “You don’t have to accept this. Ask for another doctor. You have rights.”

And that’s just what we did, we got a second opinion.

Robert and I asked for a second opinion, and requested a doctor we had worked with earlier on Tuesday, Dr. Fairbanks.

She came up, and gave us her opinion. But then she asked us for ours as well. She talked to us, she listened to us, and she helped us make the best decision possible for everyone, not just the baby. In short, she respected us, and she was awesome and amazing all at one time.

Once the decision had been made, and plans were underway for the C-section, the atmosphere changed.

There was new energy in the room. There were people coming and going, everyone was busy with a task.

And I finally got to brush my teeth.

The staff at the hospital and our doctor in particular worked very hard to respect every request, every issue I had going into the surgery. They called in the head of anesthesiology because the anesthesiologist on call was a man, and I had asked specifically for no men to be present other than my husband.

While I was busy signing forms and getting into the SIHG (standard issue hospital gown), Rachel was busy doing the most important job of the day. She was finding a nurse just for the baby so she wouldn't be taken immediately to the nursery. 

This was huge. With Makaya, because of the circumstances surrounding her birth, it was hours before I got to see her. I didn’t want that to happen again.

I don't think I can ever thank her enough for that gift.

When everything was set, and everyone was in scrubs, we walked to the operating room. It was surreal. I was scared and nervous and excited all at once.

Once we were in there, they realized that my IV was bad, and that’s why it had been hurting me for so long (it wasn’t placed correctly, and for the past two days, it had been killing me. I started calling the hand it was in the “gorilla hand” because I couldn’t bend my hand back, I had to support my weight on my knuckles like a freaking silver backed gorilla.) They replaced my IV, and got the spinal going. I was glad they suggested a spinal instead of an epidural, I really didn’t like the idea of a needle sitting in my spine for a prolonged period of time. *shudder*

At 11:38 they started surgery. Because of the previous C-section, there was a lot of scar tissue to get through, and it was taking a long time.

One of the black cloud doctors suggested that because I had been in labor for so long, and hadn’t progressed any farther was because my uterus was rupturing. I disagreed. Loudly.

When Dr. Fairbanks finally got to my uterus, she announced that I was not in fact rupturing, confirming what I had already asserted earlier, despite the black cloud doctors prediction, and my previous incision was still perfectly intact. 

It took a long time to get through all the layers of scaring, and it was quiet in the room, just murmurs between the doctors and the nurses.

Finally at 11:58 am, Dr. Fairbanks announced, "I see baby!"

There was suddenly so much commotion. Everyone talking and it was so loud I yelled, "SHHHHHH! I can't hear my baby! I missed hearing my daughter; I don't want to miss this one!"

And everyone stopped talking all at once, and then I heard her.

I heard my baby's first cries.

They were beautiful, and I can still hear them when I close my eyes and think about that moment.

It took sooo long for them to bring her to me. It felt like it took longer to bring her to me than it took to cut through to her. In reality it was really about 7 minutes and then I got to see her. 

I got to touch her and hold her and smell her and kiss her, and I haven't stopped since.

I told Robert I wanted to name her Wesleyann to keep his family name, and Sabbath in honor of the person who was so instrumental in helping us have a better birth this time.

He agreed.

That's how our family grew one year ago today.

Happy Birthday Wesleyann Sabbath. I love you more than you will ever know.

...and then I got to see her. 

I got to touch her and hold her and smell her and kiss her, and I haven't stopped since.

Happy Birthday Wesleyann Sabbath.
I love you more than you will ever know.

In honor of what I was doing ALLL day last year, I used my "Birth" mug for my coffee on the 16th.

I Must Be Crazy

If we wait for the moment when everything, absolutely everything, is ready, we shall never begin.- Ivan Turgenev, novelist, poet, playwright

This quote spoke to me on a number of levels. As a writer, it reminded me that I need to just sit down and write, or I'll never get my stories out of my head. As a mother, it reminded that life isn't going to wait, it's going to carry on with or without me. 

Yesterday, I was cleaning out Danger Baby's closet, packing up the outfits she has finally out-grown, and getting some of the warmer clothes moved to the front to prepare for the shifting seasons. As I sifted through the tiny dresses hanging in her closet, I came across the one her sister wore home from the hospital more than seven years ago. 

A white and pink sleeveless dress with little tiny pink rosebuds embroidered on it. I remembered waiting in my hospital room for my husband to return from the store with something for our little girl to wear. His mother was concerned that I was letting him chose our daughter's outfit, but I had complete faith in him. He didn't let me down. The Angry Midget had her hospital mugshot taken in that dress, and wore it several times once she was home as well. Fast forward a few years, and I had another little girl to share that dress with. Danger Baby wore it a handful of times and looked just as cute in it as her sister did all those years before.

When I packed that dress up the first time, I was a little sad because my baby was growing up, but I carefully put it away with the intention of getting it back out in a few years for my next baby. When I folded up that little pink and white dress yesterday, it was with a much heavier heart. I didn't pack it away with the intention of seeing it again in a few years, I packed it away in a special box for long term storage. 

When The Angry Midget was little, every milestone was greeted with joy and excitement. I was a little sad that my baby was growing up, but I knew that there would be more babies, and that I would get to enjoy the stages that were being left behind all over again with another little person some day. After six years had passed, and we were still a one child home, I brought myself to terms with the fact that that was all the more we were ever going to have. Relief was among my primary emotions at this realization. The birth didn't go well, and I was, quite frankly, not looking forward to ever going through that again. 

I had a hard time with Midget's first day of Kindergarten. She really wasn't my baby any more. I had a pang of regret that I hadn't focused more on her milestones, and really enjoyed and reveled in them. I regretted my "First of Many" attitude. Even if we would have had more, each child is different.

Then in March of last year everything was turned on its ear. I was pregnant again, and I was less than thrilled about it. Eventually, I came around and now I have not one but two beautiful little girls that I talk about all the time. That pregnancy was the best worst thing that ever could have happened. It brought my husband and I closer together. It strengthened our relationship. It helped him realize that I needed him to step up his parenting game and help me out a lot more. 

The birth of my second daughter also helped heal some of my own wounds from my first daughter's birth. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't exactly how I wanted it to be, but it was still wonderful and I'm glad I had the chance to try again. I'm also very sure that I don't ever want to go through that process again. So sure in fact, that R and I have been discussing permanent pregnancy prevention (I'm of the opinion that since I've had two surgeries, it's his turn, but he's not convinced yet.) 


At lest I thought I was sure.

Now that Danger Baby is growing up, and reaching all her milestones, I'm trying to just live in the moment and enjoy every stage as she masters it. Unlike last time, I know this time that she is our last baby, and I'm really sad about that. So sad, that I'm actually considering another baby. 


Yes, I think I may in fact be crazy. I'm considering another baby. But if we have another, I would want to wait about four more years. This poses a lot of problems. My age as well as R's age primarily. Four years from now I will be 37 and R will be 49. That's pretty old to be having a baby. Of course, it's probably just hormones making me think I want another baby, and who knows how I'll feel next month or next year, much less four years from now. 


For now, I'll just try to enjoy every moment with Danger Baby and The Angry Midget, because as I've already learned, you never really know where life is going to take you, or what it's going to give you along the way.

The Man, The Angry Midget and Danger Baby

Time: Can I have some now, please?

I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.
- John Burroughs, essayist and naturalist

I have been trying to finish a post that I started almost two months ago, but every time I sit down to work on it, something happens, and I'm pulled away. It seems like there just isn't enough time to do what needs to be done. There isn't enough mom to go around.

This week is staff appreciation week at my daughter's school. The 3rd VP PTA Board position is in charge of fundraising and Staff Week.

I'm the 3rd VP.

It has been no secret with my family that I have found being on the PTA Board very stressful. Add to that the fact that I gave birth this school year and have been dealing with breastfeeding issues, a slow growing baby, a six year old who is suddenly acting out at school and at home, a husband who is in danger of losing his job (which means no insurance, or income for our family) and has been sick off and on for more than two months, a furnace that's trying to kill us, and the ever increasing cost of everything but no increase in paycheck size dilemma that most families are facing these days, and you get a very stressed Mama.

This week it seems to all be coming to a head.

We got the furnace fixed, so it won't kill us in our sleep. The down side is I had to use the money set aside for getting us significantly out of debt to do it.

After some drama, the second to last fundraiser is finally behind me (I hope).

Staff appreciation week had a bit of a rough start, but I think things are smoothing out.

My husband's job is no more secure than it was before. That still makes me a little ill when I think about it, so I just try not to. It's not exactly the "Ostrich Approach" but it's working for now (mostly).

Then Monday night happened.

Ahhh, Monday...

Monday my husband came home from work early. He never does that. Ever. It doesn't matter how horrible he feels, he toughs it out to the end of his shift. He asked me to call the doctor in the morning. This is also very out of character for him, so I knew he was really bad off. At the appointment, the student doctor writes it off as a 24 hour bug, and is ready to let him out the door. Then the ARNP comes in and starts talking to him. She does a physical exam, palpating his abdomen, and tells him that she wants to do blood work because she's concerned it's his gallbladder. Initial results come back that there is no sign of infection of any kind, so that rules out food poisoning and 24 hour virus. More signs that point to a gallbladder issue.

We are supposed to hear back today about his blood work, and if further testing will be required.

Yesterday, in the doctor's office, I was fine with this. It was no big deal, everything would work out ok. Now, 24 hours later, it's a different story.

I've had to wait for blood work results before. Hundreds of times. I've been impatient, because I needed a Rx refill. I've been nervous because my baby's health was at stake.

I've never had this feeling before though.

I don't even know what it is.

But I have a suspicion it's fear.

Deep down, I know everything will be ok. No matter what the results are, I know it will all work out. But...

But then there's that voice that pipes up every once in a while that says, "Not always, not always."

So, that's where I'm at today.

Waiting.

Waiting for someone else's blood work to come back.

Waiting to hear, "It will all work out."