It’s a boy.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t updated.
Honestly – it’s taking every bit of energy I have just to get through the day.
I’ve been trying to throw myself into work since it helped with the Bunny. But that just hasn’t been working as well this time. Sporadically at best.
It’s just really really scary.
It’s a boy.
17 weeks, 5 days.
T minus 6 weeks and 2 days to viability. Maybe then I’ll be able to breathe again.
Bunny turned 8 months old on Monday.
And all around me, people who have given birth around the same time as me, or perhaps a little before or after, are either discussing, working on, or already pregnant with baby number 2.
When it was starting to be clear that my pregnancy with Bunny was going to have a happy ending, Shmerson and I had a discussion. He was worried that I would want to jump directly to baby number 2 after Bunny was born. He was afraid that no time would pass and I would feel the pressure – and pressure him – to start trying again.
I was pretty sure that within months I would want to go again. As much as he didn’t trust me, I didn’t trust myself either. And logically we both knew that if nothing else, my body needed time to recover.
So we made a deal: No discussing baby number 2 until Bunny was 18 months old. That felt like a really long time for me. I thought for sure that even with that promise, I would never actually be willing to wait that long. I assumed that by the time Bunny would be about 6 months old I’d be hiding the condoms and peeing on sticks.
Now that everyone around me is back on the Baby Crazy Train, I thought for sure I would want to hop on board with both feet. I was waiting to have that itch to go again.
Monday night was Israel’s Independence Day. It’s holidays like these that make me look back and reflect, and also look ahead. We went to my parents’ place to get a good view of the fireworks. Bunny was asleep in the guest bedroom, and Shmerson and I hugged on the balcony and watched.
This time last year, we hadn’t quite reached viability yet. I was going absolutely stir crazy and I was TERRIFIED. Looking at those fireworks, I couldn’t quite believe how far we’d come.
There are days I still feel like she’s not real. That I just look at her in awe. That I feel like my head is about to explode because holy crap – this amazing creature is mine to keep.
So on Monday night as we watched the fireworks, I looked ahead to next year and did the math: a year from now Bunny would be 20 months old. That’s two months past the 18 month “green light”. Will I be pregnant again?
Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks: Will I even WANT to be pregnant again?
The truth is that the answer is “maybe not”.
When we first got on the Baby Crazy Train I wanted three kids. There are days I still think that I want 3. But then I do the math. I’m almost 34. 35 is considered advanced maternal age and we already needed some medical intervention to conceive Bunny. So if we want 3, we can’t really take our time about it.
And getting pregnant for me is just the beginning of an ongoing nightmare. How many tries will we need to make another baby stick?
And say that baby sticks – that means another cerclage. Most likely bed rest at least for part of the pregnancy (even if it’s voluntary and just for my sanity). 9 months of anxiety again.
And this time we have Bunny to think about.
When I put that all together – I’m not quite sure I want 3 any more. I’m not quite sure how much more I can handle.
My body and my soul have been through the ringer. I NEVER want to go back there again. I will never again spend 3.5 years straight either pregnant or trying to get pregnant in pursuit of a baby.
I can’t do that ever again.
Yes – I want to bring Bunny a little brother or sister. Yes, perhaps 2 more would be nice.
But will we even be able to make it happen?
And even if we can…
I want to enjoy my baby girl. We have to move and get some more stability and cut down our commute. I want to continue to get my body back. I want to continue to get to know myself. I want to get back to enjoying my husband and my marriage. I’m working very hard on getting a life right now and I’d like to keep it for a while.
All of those things are important. All of those things would be pushed aside in pursuit of number 2.
So on Monday night, as I contemplated where we’d be a year from now, I literally felt dread at the thought of being pregnant.
Dread. This is how much I’m NOT ready to think about number 2.
And I don’t think I’ve ever surprised myself more.
Even with everyone around me working on it. Even with my dwindling fertility and the ever-ticking biological clock.
Maybe when we hit 18 months I’ll be ready. Heck – maybe I’ll even be hungry for it by then.
But for the first time in a long time – I’ve taken myself out of the race. I don’t feel the pressure. I don’t feel like I want to play catch-up with anybody.
I have chosen not to hop on this Baby Crazy Train.
For now, I’ll hang out at the station and play a game of peek-a-boo with Bunny.
And I’m just fine with that.
You may now pick your jaw up off the floor.
Warning: If you couldn’t tell from the title, this post deals with my female bits. Please don’t read on if this in any way disturbs you. This warning is specifically aimed at my brother who vocally complains when I TMI on here. Sissy – stop reading now! Kthnksbye.
Yesterday was my six week postpartum check up. I packed Bunny up in the car to show her off a bit and we headed over to see the Russian.
I haven’t talked much about my postpartum body here, so here’s a quick rundown:
I only had one first degree tear that required stitches. Ute cramping was a bitch and a half for the first week or so, but then that pretty much went away. My blood sugar leveled out almost immediately after the placenta was evicted. My feet were hella swollen for about a week. I get the occasional stabby pain in my nether regions but that should stop soon. I’ve lost about 20 pounds (bunny’s almost 7 and the placenta included) since Bunny was born. No diet, I assume all of it (or at least most of it) was water weight. Heavy bleeding lasted only about a week, and then I had light bleeding for another 3 weeks. There’s still quite a bit of fat on my bones and I am much heavier than I would like. I’m carrying the weight of five pregnancies, 6 months of modified bed rest, and 3.5 years of comfort eating to treat my depression. A Weight Watchers membership is in my very near future.
So considering all of that, my folded over stomach (which is in desperate need of some yoga – also in my near future), and my epic stretch mark collection, my body has bounced back remarkably well. I really do count myself quite lucky. I know that recovery is a biyotch for a lot of women. My biggest issue was the horrible chemical anxiety loop I had. My body, on the other hand, made it out in very good condition.
So I wasn’t expecting any surprises when I went to see the Russian.
And guess what? For a change – there weren’t any.
I walked in, he took a look at Bunny and deemed her “Very nice, she has your nose.”
Then I had a magical date with Ole’ Wandy (oh how I didn’t miss him) and was pronounced “just fine.”
Once back at the Russian’s desk, he half laughed as he asked me if I wanted birth control, since he knew my answer would be “hell to the no.” He gave me a referral to get my blood sugar assessed just to make sure that the gestational diabetes is all gone, and that was it.
Me: “So I forget – how often do I have to come in to see you now?”
The Russian: “Once every six months for a check up. So six months from now. My secretary will call you with a reminder.”
Me: “So that’s it?”
The Russian: “Yep.”
I got up, grabbed Bunny’s carrier, and with that – my lady parts were officially liberated.
Seriously you guys – there should have been a ceremony or something. Imaginary trumpets went off in my head, but I really do think plaques should have been awarded. There also should have been some sort of interpretive dance or something to celebrate the occasion. They could have gotten Jimmy Kimmel to host.
Ok, so there was no fanfare, but my lady parts are officially on parole! After 3.5 years of getting poked and prodded down there by what seems like All the People, my ute, cootch, and all peripherals have now gained their independence.
Shmerson and I made a deal while planning for Bunny’s arrival. If all went well, talk of going for a second will resume NO SOONER than when Bunny is 18 months old.
It wasn’t an easy thing to agree to. After all, my biological clock is a moody diva. I didn’t write about it here but it took us 6 months to conceive Bunny, and I was monitored and took clo.mid. 18 months means we won’t even start trying until I’m going on 35. That does make me a little nervous, especially considering that my current pregnancy to live baby ratio is 5:1. Those odds aren’t exactly stellar to say the least. But Shmerson insisted, and I really was compelled to agree: My body needs a freaking break. It’s been through the ringer and needs some TLC.
So no hormones of any kind (condoms will do just fine in the meantime, thankyouverymuch). No pee sticks.No speculums or surgeries. No ultrasounds. No blood tests.
A cease and desist letter has been sent. The papers have been signed. The judge’s ruling is final. And so forth.
For the next 18 months at least, my lady parts are officially free. And I think I feel pretty good about that.
Fly lady parts, fly!
I want to keep my cool during labor, and not be overwhelmed by anxiety.
I want to labor naturally until I’m about 5cm dilated, then get an epidural. And I want that epidural to work perfectly. Because the pain from pushing and crowning scares the eff out of me.
I want to try to be calm enough so that I won’t feel the need to constantly be hooked up to a fetal monitor until it’s absolutely necessary.
I want a simple labor, with no complications.
I want her to come out easily, without doing too much damage to me, and without doing any to herself.
I want her to be here already. Alive. Screaming. Crying. Doing what babies do.
In my arms.
I’m being admitted for induction as we speak. Wish me luck.
I’ll see you guys on the flip side.
So yeah. Nothing.
Nada.
Zero.
Zip.
Zilch.
Even Braxton Hicks stopped showing up a couple of days ago. The bastard.
39 weeks tomorrow. And trust me when I tell you I am NOT fun to be around right now.
Guys – I’m going nuts. I know, I know, any day now and all that junk. Thinking that it’s close is NOT HELPING.
Every freaking minute feels like FOREVER right now. I’m so over this. Seriously.
I’m seriously losing my mind. On Friday I had a “feeling” that it would happen on Sunday. So I spent all of Saturday finishing up every trace of work I had. Then it didn’t happen Sunday. And now I’m bored and pissed because it didn’t happen and I don’t have any work to distract me.
So I want to email my boss and tell him to give me a new assignment. But the thought that I will most likely have time to do that assignment depresses me to no end. It’s like if I don’t have any work to do, maybe it will happen today. Of course that’s wrong and stupid.
When we thought I’d be getting the cerclage out on August 20th, I was saying confidently that I had a “feeling” that I’ll be giving birth on the 27th. That’s tomorrow. I just know I’m going to be spending all day tomorrow on the couch crying.
I can’t cook more than just enough for one meal. The prospect of “I’ll be eating this tomorrow” makes me downright despondent. That means I’m giving in to one more day of this endless wait.
I can’t make plans for a day in advance. All I can think about is “Maybe today will finally be the day.” My mom wants to come over on Wednesday and take me out for a pedicure. The thought that I’ll still be stuck on my freaking couch waiting on Wednesday is depressing to no end.
And it’s too freaking hot out to do anything either. So all the “keep yourself busy and distracted” advice is doing nothing but annoying me even more.
It’s the worst limbo ever.
I mean, I’ve had some hard days during this pregnancy. I think these last few days have by far been the hardest. The anticipation and anxiety are killing me.
On Wednesday my acupuncturist came over and did the induction thing. I had cramping for a couple of hours after – then nothing.
He came over again yesterday, and again today – we’re doing the mega-induction treatment now – the one that is 4 sessions. Every day until this Wednesday. It’s not cheap, and I don’t know if it will even work, but I can’t NOT try, if that makes any sense.
Of course Shmerson and I have also been doing everything else possible to get this thing going, from taking walks to awkward mega-pregnant sex.
On Thursday the high-risk OB said he doesn’t see a reason for medical induction at all. I know this is generally good news, but I admit a small part of me was a bit disappointed.
Right now as far as he’s concerned I’m coming in for one last appointment at the clinic this Thursday, then starting at 40 weeks, it’s check-ups at L&D until I either go into labor naturally or they decide it’s time to induce. To quote him – “like any normal pregnant woman”.
I know I should be happy about this on some level, but OMG – the thought of this dragging on to 40 weeks and beyond is enough to make me want to cry. On the other hand, I can’t even fathom asking for a C-Section or an induction. Both of those options are terrible. So I have to wait it out. And wait some more. And some more.
Yesterday Shmerson remarked that it wasn’t too long ago that we were wishing to make it as far as 24 weeks. Now we’re almost 39 weeks. I know I should be grateful. I’m just so sick and tired and anxious.
I just want this behind me already. I want to know what’s next.
I need her here, safe.
Dear Mr. Hicks (if that’s even your real name),
You are a sadistic bastard. I don’t know where you came up with the insane idea of fake contractions, but the whole concept proves that you are a sick, sick man.
And that whole thing about them not hurting, and just feeling like muscles tightening? You are a lying lier that lies. They hurt. They hurt like hell.
So the pain starts and I get my hopes up – thinking “Ok! Maybe this is finally it!”
But then you’re all: “Ha ha! Screw you! That was just me and my fakety fake fake contractions! They’re not going to be regular or anything! No labor for you today!”
And then all I can do is sit around, and be frustrated. Again
Seriously, what is your problem? What kind of twisted brain comes up with this? You’ve got issues.
Look, I get that my body needs to “rev up” for the real deal. I assume there was some sort of committee that somehow put you in charge of deciding how to get that to happen.
I’m also pretty sure that the committee is either corrupt or made up completely of men (who are most likely Republicans). Because your ideas are sadistic and stupid.
So eff you and your stupid fake contractions. I’m planning a huge protest against you. With signs and everything. Just as soon as I get this baby out of me.
Sincerely,
Mo
Dear Amanda Bynes,
I believe I just found out what it feels like to have someone “murder my vag.ina”. I wanted let you know that contrary to what you may think, this was not fun. In fact, it hurt like a mofo. It actually still does. And no, I don’t think it would have hurt any less if Drake had been the one doing the murdering. Just thought I’d give you a head’s up.
Kthnksbye,
Mo
So I’ve been through an —- interesting —- 48 hours to say the least.
Let’s recap, shall we?
We arrived at L&D yesterday morning to get the cerclage removed. I was nervous, but mostly because of the small chance that cerclage removal can cause labor.
Here’s what I thought was going to happen: We arrive, I get an NST, I go in to see a doc. The doc inserts a speculum, it hurts. The doc grabs the cerclage and removes it. It hurts a bit more. I have another NST, and go home.
That’s what everybody told me was going to happen. It never even occurred to me that it would go any differently. Which is weird, considering I’m so good at coming up with worst-case scenarios.
Here’s what actually happened:
B5 passes the NST with flying colors. We wait a while and the doc calls me in. Shmerson comes in with me. The doc inserts a speculum. It hurts like hell.
Then he tells me he can’t reach the stitch. No big deal, he says. We’ll just get a bigger speculum.
A bigger speculum arrives. The doc inserts it. It hurts like hell. He still can’t reach the stitch. Apparently, the Russian did too good a job. The thing is just too high up.
That’s when things get messy. Tools are tried. Another doctor is called in. Things are stretched and pulled. I writhe in pain (keep in mind this is all being done without any pain relief, because this is supposed to be a 2-minute simple procedure). At one point I have 2 doctors and one resident with some sort of tool/hand up in my lady bits.
Finally, after 45 minutes (!) they give up. There’s only one option: I come in the next day, go under general anesthesia, and have it removed that way.
So home we go. Needless to say I was freaking out. Granted, I’m used to general anesthesia by now, but for some reason the thought of it when I’m this far along just was not sitting well. Plus – I was terrified that all of the “stuff” they did down there would bring on labor and I would have to go in for a C-section because the freaking cerclage was still in there.
So I spent the whole day in bed, drinking lots of cold water. I did have a few contractions through the day, but they were not regular.
This morning we headed back to the hospital. They had an emergency section right as we got there which lead to a delay with all the day’s surgeries. I ended up waiting in a surgical gown for 3 hours with nothing to do except freak out. All while starving and parched since I wasn’t allowed anything since midnight. That was fun.
So then the surgeon comes in and tells me he would like to try again without anesthesia. I go along, because obviously – who wants general anesthesia? We go into a procedure room and the torture session begins.*
I won’t go into detail, but basically the surgeon manages to remove two pieces of the cerclage (after about half an hour of painful messing around up in my bits). But there is still one piece left. There is more digging. To say it hurts is the understatement of the century.
Finally, it’s decided to pull out the big guns. We’ll go into surgery, he’ll try one more thing with a fancy surgical tool, and if that doesn’t work, it’s general anesthesia for me.
So another room. Another 15 minutes of pain, pushing, and prodding. Finally, the doctor gives up and calls in the anesthesiologist. At this point I’m no longer nervous about going under. I’m relieved.
So ten minutes later I’m in recovery and that effing stitch is finally gone. They send me for an NST and B5 is fine.
Now I’m home, and everything is ok. Except of course that my vagi.na has been murdered. It hurts to sit. It hurts to pee. There is bleeding and bruising which hurts. It just all freaking hurts.
I guess this is good preparation for the damage that will be done during childbirth, right?
The one upside, is that now I’m a bit less eager for labor to start. My junk needs a while to recover before I try pushing a human out of it.
All in all, good times. And yet another reminder that I have no control. Over anything.
* Just to clarify: I’m not upset with the doctors at all. I know they had my best interest at heart with trying to avoid general anesthesia.
Let me start by saying everything is fine. Now on to the story:
B5 has had a relatively consistent movement pattern. Today she decided that patterns are for losers.
I’m used to a nice barrage of kicks in the morning. Today, she barely poked me once when I woke up. Her movement is relatively consistent throughout the day. Today she was quiet.
At first I wasn’t too concerned. I still felt an occasional jab though they were few and far between. But by the afternoon I was anxious to the point of distraction. I wasn’t getting any work done. I was staring at the computer screen, not able to concentrate on anything, while at the same time just trying to will B5 to give me a nice big movement like she usually does.
But nothing. It’s not that she wasn’t moving at all – but what I felt was TINY. Comparable to week 16. Not 35 weeks by a long shot. It was like she was barely there.
I did some kick counts and again, she squeaked by. I knew logically that it was enough but it was simply NOT LIKE HER. By 4pm I whipped out the doppler – something I hadn’t felt the need to do in weeks and weeks. It took me 15 minutes to find her heartbeat, and even then it was only for a few seconds.
By that point I was hysterical.
On one hand, I knew that logically everything is supposedly fine. But having been through worst-case-scenarios before all I could think about was the what-ifs.
Whether something was wrong or not, my PTSD was in full force and I was terrified. I called my health service’s nurse hotline and was very honest about feeling movement, but just LESS.
Because I was high risk, she told me to go to L&D, just in case.
My mom came over to pick me up and Shmerson left work early to meet us there.
Of course the moment I was put on the monitor B5 decided it was time to practice some dance moves. Something I had been longing for all day. I calmed down a bit but was still not convinced that everything was fine.
BTW – it took the nurse a moment or two to get a good hold of B5’s heartbeat as well. Seems like she’s just in an awkward position.
U/S showed a “perfect” rear placenta, fluid levels normal, and a perfectly healthy B5.
The doctor was very sweet and reassuring. I guess with my history, no one really judges me if I freak out once in a while.
Honestly I don’t regret going to get checked out. Even with the SLIGHTEST chance that something is off, I know too much about what can go wrong. I’m not taking any chances.
But I think in this home stretch things are really starting to take a toll on my psyche. Between switching meds, being stuck at home all day in the sweltering heat, and my building anxiety over what’s to come I guess I was destined for a meltdown.
T-minus two weeks until the cerclage comes out (as of now we’re back to removal at 37 weeks). Let’s hope I manage to keep my sanity – at least as much of it as I have left.
PS- THANK YOU ALL for your sweet comments on my last post. They made me feel a helluva lot better, and a lot less alone. You guys are the best.
Let’s put aside my trauma. Let’s put aside my losses. Let’s put aside my PTSD. I talk about that enough. It’s time to come clean about another side of it.
The truth is I’m not just scared of things going wrong.
I’m also scared of things going right.
Before loss. Before trying. Before getting married. Before any of this. I was scared of childbirth. Terrified of it. Not the labor pains. The pushing. The pushing of something so big out of something so small. It scared the bejeezus out of me. That fear has come back with a vengeance.
I’ve been through labor before but Nadav was so small. B5 isn’t term yet and she’s already so big. How in the hell am I going to get her out? That freaking terrifies me.
No matter how many stories I read. How much I educate myself. Thinking about it brings on panic.
And parenting. Holy fuck you guys I’m terrified of that. I’ve spent so long just concentrating on keeping a pregnancy I never actually fathomed that there would be a real live PERSON at the end of this. Who I have to feed and clothe and educate and parent. Me. What the fuck do I know?
Everybody says I’ll be an amazing mom. I still feel 14 years old on the inside. How the fuck do I parent?
Not to mention that I haven’t been able to bring myself to pick up even one freaking newborn parenting book. I just can’t do it. I just can’t wrap my head around it.
Everyone says there’s this magical moment where everything clicks into place and you suddenly feel like a parent.
I’d like to be after that magical moment please because I seriously think that if I manage to survive this, and I get a real, healthy, live baby out of all of this, my head will explode. I seriously think I will lose it because I’m having such a hard time truly imagining that this possibility is real. I still can’t fathom it. Pregnancy for me doesn’t lead to babies. It leads to hurt. If this actually leads to a baby I seriously think I will lose my mind because of my inability to wrap my head around it. And it looks like this may actually lead to a baby. That I have to push out. And then raise. Holy fuck. Just writing that is freaking me out.
Not to mention that I want to be after that whole part where I’m so stretched out and in pain I’m afraid my insides will fall out of me.
Seriously, I find that scary as fuck.
This is freaking terrifying. For reals.
And the waiting around for whatever outcome is just making life a laugh riot right now. I’ve been surviving this pregnancy through a nice combo of emotional detachment and distraction. But now B5 is so present. Things are starting to get really real. Holy crap.
Aren’t I just the picture of stability you guys? Good times.
Please don’t be hurt if I come off as judge-y or a cynical skeptic in this post. Like I said when I talked about birth plans – I feel how I feel, you feel how you feel. What I feel is in no way a judgement of your belief system, it’s just me. So let’s keep things respectful, ok? Ok.
So I’m still doing pretty crappy. I’m short on patience and filled with anxiety. I realize at this point there’s very little I can do about it. Even my therapist is concentrating on ways to make the time pass quicker rather than deal with all the feelings. Really, the only solution to everything I’m going through is to just power through it until I get to the other side. So I’m white-knuckling things. Fun times. I’m sure I’ll write more about it soon.
But I promised a follow up to my breastfeeding post and I keep my promises! Plus, I assure you, this one is a doozy.
…
…
Me. This is me we’re talking about.
The comments on that post really helped me get a plan together, and kind of have me convinced that dehydrating my placenta and turning it into pills which I can take may be a good way to stave off PPD. One thing’s for sure – even if it doesn’t help, it certainly can’t hurt.
After mourning the ideal picture I had in my head and giving it a lot of thought, my plan is to breastfeed for three weeks while doing all I can to prevent postpartum depression, and then after three weeks, assess my mental state. If I’m doing ok, then I’ll stay off the pills, but if I feel like I’m suffering, then on the pills I go. From everything I know, three weeks is a good time to really differentiate between normal “baby blues” and full-on PPD. I just really need to be honest with myself about my state of mind when I’m in the moment. I hope I can pull that off. Grieving the ideal picture I had in my head has helped that along a bit. I just need to keep the conversation going, so when the time comes I don’t try to manipulate things, but rather am honest with myself.
But I also want to feel like I did everything I possibly could to avoid PPD. Which is where this whole placenta-as-pills thing comes in.
But like everything in my life, pulling this off has proven to be complicated.
The thing is I can’t even fathom taking home my placenta and dehydrating it and encapsulating it on my own. Let me be perfectly clear: for me that’s just a step too far. I just can’t do it. It’s too much.
Ideally, we would grab the placenta, put it on ice, bring it to someone, and then a few days later pick up some nice neat bottles of pills. No muss, no fuss.
But alas, that is not to be.
I have literally looked EVERYWHERE, and there is nobody that provides this service in this country. Not one person. I’ve asked my doula, my acupuncturist, and anybody else who would conceivably know of anybody who provides this service, or would know someone who knows someone. Not to mention extensive google searches. NADA. It’s just not done here.
There is something though. But I admit I’m even more skeptical about it than I am about the dehydrated placenta pills.
Apparently there are private pharmacies here that will take a piece of your placenta and create a homeopathic liquid out of it. I even found a place that is literally a 10 minute drive from my house who does this.
All I would have to do is ask for a piece of my placenta (just a piece, no need for the whole thing), preserve it in alcohol, drop it off at the pharmacy, and a few days and about 40 bucks later – essence of placenta in a bottle.
But here’s the thing: I think homeopathy is complete and utter BS. So there is no chance for a placebo effect here.
Consuming full pieces of placenta, on some level makes logical sense to me. But droplets of water that supposedly have some sort of essence of the thing? It just doesn’t jive as well.
I know what some of you are thinking – how is one so different from the other?
I don’t know. It just is. One makes sense to me. The other doesn’t. And I just don’t know what to do.
And I’ll say it again: I am not dehydrating and encapsulating my own placenta. That is just not going to happen. It’s either homeopathy or nothing.
So- anybody have this done, or know of somebody that has? What do you guys think? Is essence of placenta better than no placenta at all?
(I seriously can’t even believe I’m having a discussion about this. But desperate times….)
Well it would be dishonest if all I did here was just post about birth non-plans and shopping.
Because the truth is that day-to-day things sometimes really blow.
Today sucked. It’s not that anything specific happened. It was just one of those days, that have been getting more frequent lately where I just plain lost it.
I didn’t sleep properly, and I spent the entire day on edge.
Shmerson stayed home from work because he wasn’t feeling well, and instead of just taking care of him, there were bursts of taking care of him mixed with taking out my frustrations on him. Poor guy. And he wasn’t the only victim. Everyone I talked to today felt my wrath. I was short and unkind and I feel like shit about it, but I just couldn’t help it.
It’s as if I had a finite amount of patience, and that patience has run out.
I’m terrified that things may still go wrong, and yet I am SICK AND TIRED of being scared, even though I can’t stop it.
I’m worried all the time, and I’m SICK AND TIRED of being worried.
Plus – I would give anything right now for a slice of double cheese pizza followed by a hunk of chocolate cake.
I know I need to stick to the GD diet for the good of B5, but I am SICK AND TIRED of this stupid diet and eating the same freaking thing every day. I just want some freaking carbs. Like – real ones.
Days have just been dragging by at a snail’s pace. I feel like I want to DO things but I can’t without Shmerson here, and he’s only really free to do stuff on the weekends. So I spend all week just feeling stagnant. Like NOTHING is moving.
The only time I feel any sort of progress is on weekends when we actually get things ready for B5, and that doesn’t happen every weekend. And it’s like doing these little things makes the good stuff feel more real. But most of what I do is not getting ready. It’s just sitting around. Waiting, working, eating stupid diabetes-friendly food. Waiting some more.
Yesterday was the Jewish version of Valentine’s day. Shmerson jokingly tweeted: “On this day, what do you get the wife who’s not allowed anything?”
I LOLed. It’s funny because it’s true. And it’s also kind of sad for the same reason.
I am SICK AND TIRED of this. I know we’re in the home stretch, but each day feels like a month.
So today at around 6pm I had a mini meltdown and couldn’t stop crying for an hour. Poor Shmerson. I think he doesn’t quite know what to do with me any more. All he can do is tell me how little time there is left. But right now, for me, it seems like FOREVER.
Come what may – I want to be past this.
Truth be told – I want to see this little girl already, safe and sound and screaming her lungs out. Because I’m sick of seeing all the other possible outcomes and being terrified. I’m sick of the flashbacks. I’m sick of the worry. I’m sick of the uncertainty. I just want to KNOW already.
I AM SO OVER THIS.
I know there are only probably 4-6 weeks to go. I know that relative to “time served” that is nothing.
But right now it feels like everything.
Ok – so first of all, some updates after my previous post. I got some amazing feedback and advice, and I’ve made a few decisions. All of which I’ll talk about in a post probably later this week. But I really wanted to thank everyone who commented and emailed – you were a huge help in putting things in proportion and putting together a plan.
So… I’m 34 weeks. Which is totally crazy, right? I never EVER thought we’d make it this far. Granted, I’m still terrified (in fact I had a whole freaking out episode today which was fun), but holy crap you guys – 34 weeks.
My high-risk OB told me last week that he wants the cerclage out at 38 weeks. That’s in FOUR WEEKS. I think he suspects that removing it will jump start labor so he doesn’t want it out sooner. So I could be in labor in FOUR WEEKS. Some days it feels like that is FOREVER from now, but other days that’s like, really soon.
With that in mind, it’s time to make a plan and make some decisions, and I thought I’d share some of that with you guys.
A small disclaimer here – this is not a “birth plan” per se, but I know women can get kind of bitchy touchy around birth plan talk, so let me just say that my opinions are what’s right FOR ME. Whatever you think is good for you – knock yourself out, I’m not one to judge. So don’t judge me either. Ok? Ok. So here we go.
We’ve kinda-sorta chosen a hospital. There are 3 in my city, and we toured all of them. I was hoping to come out with a clear-cut “feeling” about one of them, but that didn’t end up happening. Each of the hospitals has upsides and downsides. In the end, we went with logic and the process of elimination: of the three, there is only one hospital in which I HAVEN’T had a loss. Since I don’t know what my mental state will be during labor, it’s best to keep me away from triggers. So we chose the one “loss free” hospital, even though it’s far from perfect. Plus – it’s closest to our home and our doula knows it really well, so that will help.
Now for the birth plan.
There isn’t one.
I’ve got some thoughts, but nothing that really feels like one of those detailed “plan” type-things. I don’t think I’m the “birth plan” type – if there is a type for that. And even if I was, let’s be honest: I’ve been through too much shit to think that anything I plan out will actually happen in the way I want it to. So no “plan”.
So here are my thought type-things instead:
Here’s the truth of the matter – my big thing is that I’m kind of terrified of getting a C-Section. Here partners aren’t allowed in the room in the case of an emergency section and that only aggravates my fear of it. I know it’s irrational, I know it won’t be the end of the world if it happens, but it still for some reason really scares me.
Which I admit is weird, considering I’ve had surgeries up in my lady parts before. But that’s neither here nor there.
So I’m scared of that and I want to avoid it. But again – I don’t think I’ll feel like a failure if it happens. At the end of the day I will do anything to get B5 here safe and sound.
But yeah – I really don’t want a C-section. It scares the crap out of me.
So at first I wanted to go au naturale just to minimize the risk of an emergency section. But after talking it through with my doula, I’m totally not there anymore.
My doula is anything but the crunchy granola type. She specializes in high-risk, so she’s very practical about medical interventions. It’s good because I’m not really crunchy granola either, so we work well together.
She’s all for avoiding C-sections, but pointed out several stories to me where an epidural actually helped relax the mom enough to move things along, and helped avoid a section that may have happened otherwise.
Once I heard that, the idea of pain relief seemed like a darn good one.
Then again – I’ve been through labor before. Nadav was of course much smaller, but I did cope with that pain without an epidural, so I know I can. The question is – do I want to?
The answer is that I just don’t know.
Here’s the thing – GD means I’ll have an IV line no matter what happens, and that I’m going to be monitored whether I like it or not. So there’s no use fighting against that kind of stuff.
What I want is a healthy, screaming baby, hopefully with minimal cutting and stitching. How I get there is less important to me when it really comes down to it.
So in the moment – if I want an epidural, I’ll ask for one. I don’t think it’s any sort of failure on a woman’s part to have pain relief, so I’ll take it if I need it. If I see that I can cope without it, I’ll avoid it, just because that will cut down on recovery time, but not because I think an epidural is some evil thing. I really don’t have an opinion on it either way except that it’s probably kind of weird to have your legs numb like that.
The one thing I don’t want is Pethi.dine. It’s a drug that kind of gets you loopy and supposedly helps with pain relief that they sometimes give here. I was given it when I was in labor with Nadav (and it didn’t help with the pain at all, so that’s a crock) and I hated the way it made me feel. I’m also afraid it will cause flashbacks. So that is definitely out.
Everything else is fair game as long as it gets B5 here safely.
So the plan really is: No Pethi.dine, try to avoid stuff that involves stitching if I can, get through labor with minimal freaking out, and bring B5 here safely and hopefully without my head exploding from that outcome.
Honestly? I’m a bit worried about the freaking out thing. One of my biggest fears outside of a section is that I’ll start having flashbacks and panic attacks while in labor. Right now I’m counting on the fact that I have a tendency to get calm and collected during a crisis, and therefore I can keep my feelings in check. I’m hoping that in my psyche, labor with B5 will be one of those cases where I somehow miraculously keep my shit together.
I’d like skin to skin and all that bonding stuff afterwards. But again, no hospital will guarantee that because of the GD. If my sugar levels are good during labor, then chances are I’ll be able to have that at least for a bit before they whisk B5 off to get her sugar levels tested. But if my levels are too high or too low – she’ll be at risk, so screw skin to skin and immediate breastfeeding. Just do what you have to do to make sure she’s ok.
Ahhh breastfeeding. I’ll be posting about that this week. But I think I’ve rambled long enough and made my point.
High-risk pregnancy really brings out the Practical Polly in me. I just hope I’ll be able to roll with the punches and keep my sanity in the process. We shall see.
So today I saw my psychiatrist for the first time since going on bed rest. I made the appointment now in order to get things squared away in case I have to deal with postpartum depression (PPD), which I’m at VERY high risk for. I wanted to make sure that in case of a med switch, we had plenty of time to pull it off.
I left the appointment practically in tears.
So here’s the deal:
I’ve been on a drug called zy.prexa for the last 4 months. It was a good interim solution because it can handle high-anxiety situations as well as curb depression. Though it’s not usually prescribed for depression and anxiety, it’s known to work for people who are SSRI-resistant (or in other words people who the usual happy pills don’t work on – like me).
So I walk into the shrink’s office and pretty much the first thing I tell him is that I have GD. Immediately he says that it could very well have been caused by the zy.prexa. I knew that weight gain was a side effect (knew that all too well, thank-you-very-much), but I had no idea it could affect my blood sugar. He told me that he wanted me to stop the pill immediately, and manage through the rest of the pregnancy with the occasional xan.ax (ok during the third trimester as long as I don’t take any after week 38), and that’s it. The zy.prexa has too much potential to do harm.
He also said that he would recommend I never take the pill again because he’s afraid of the long-term risks for my health, and that it may cause diabetes for me in the long run if I continue to take it.
I have to say I was a bit relieved. I don’t regret taking the pill – it helped me keep my shit together, and if GD is a side effect of that, so be it, but I’m glad to know that there’s a chance my blood sugar will even out more now that I’m going off the pill. And there’s no way of knowing if the pill caused the GD or is just not helping a set situation. Either way I can see an upside to both having been on it, and now going off of it.
Then came the bombshell:
Shrink: “So after you give birth, I want you to breastfeed for a week, then we’ll put you back on a low dose of cym.balta”.
Me: “Ok… Wait… What do you mean breastfeed for a week?”
Shrink: “There’s not enough research out there about cym.balta. You shouldn’t breastfeed while you’re on it.”
Me: “WHAT?”
There was a continual back-and-forth about this but basically the conclusion is this:
I can wait it out to see if PPD hits before I start taking the pill (about three weeks after giving birth), but if I do get PPD, I have no choice but to stop breastfeeding immediately because I would never risk it with cym.balta in my system. I can’t get another pill because me and SSRI’s (zo.loft, pa.xil and the like) are NOT friends at all, and zy.prexa is too big of a risk, so I’m stuck with this one form of happy pill, and I can’t do anything about it.
The fact is that there’s a pretty decent chance I’ll get PPD. I have practically every risk factor in the book between my losses and my history of depression. And if I get PPD, of course it needs to be treated, which means I won’t be able to breastfeed. So now here’s yet another thing taken away from me, and I fucking hate it.
Look – I joked that if breastfeeding doesn’t come easily to me I’ll happily use cym.balta as an excuse to stop. But I have a feeling that may not be the case. What if I love it? How can I give it up if it comes naturally to me and B5?
When I called Shmerson and told him the verdict he pointed out that these are first world problems. That six months ago I would have killed to be in a discussion about the risks of breastfeeding while on SNRI’s.
And he’s right, but right now it doesn’t make this hurt any less.
All I can do now is hope that by some miracle I don’t get PPD. But realistically I know that chances of that are close to nil.
So yes, this is a “fertile world problem”. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to cry my eyes out over it. So excuse me while I go do that.
We officially own baby stuff.
I mean, most of it isn’t actually in our home. That’s just a rocking chair we bought that they couldn’t keep until the birth. My mom and I both kind of freaked out when we realized we actually had to take that home today.
We just bought and paid for
A stroller
A car seat
A crib
Baby bottles
Pacifiers
Baby clothes
Baby blankets
I was hoping to maybe enjoy the experience, but I spent the hour+ shopping spree mostly in shock.
And then had half a panic attack on the way home.
We actually own a car seat. Like – an actual car seat where a baby goes. That’s insane.
Something hit me this week. With all our losses, I don’t think I’ve ever made the connection that a pregnancy is actually supposed to lead to a baby. It’s like I forgot that was even possible.
And that this pregnancy, at 32 weeks, is now most likely to lead to an actual, real-life baby.
That is freaking terrifying.
Between that and owning a real honest-to-goodness car seat, I just don’t know what to do with myself.
Pardon the repetition:
So I’ve been silent for a while because I was stuck in a brand-spanking new anxiety bubble.
Looking back at it, it was a totally illogical hormonal meltdown. But when you’re in the middle of it, it just seems incredibly real.
Here’s how it started: Last Thursday during the day I felt B5 move a little less than usual. I was a bit worried, but the kick counts I did were fine. On Friday, we had our second childbirth class with our doula, and I mentioned it to her. She was very sweet, and told me what to do if I get really concerned about less movement. Basically: That if I need to, I shouldn’t be afraid to go to the ER to get checked out. Nobody would judge me for it.
At the same time, my blood sugar readings have been a bit high. Nothing too big – 5 points over what they should be on average. But that was there.
Something about those two incidents started getting me to panic (I honestly can’t put my finger on what it was). On Saturday B5 opened a circus in my ute, so I calmed down a bit. But then again on Sunday – quiet. Again – the kick counts were fine. Things were just – softer than usual. The same thing happened on Monday. I knew logically that there was no reason for me to worry. I spoke to the high-risk nurse on Monday as well because of my slightly high sugar readings, and she confirmed, everything is fine.
But then something kind of snapped. On Tuesday I freaked. The eff. Out. I did 3 kick counts in as many hours. I called everyone from my mom to the high-risk nurse crying hysterically. They all told me to just go to the ER, but I knew deep down that this was all in my head and there’s really no reason to spend 5 hours in an ER over this.
I just kept on running through terrible scenarios over and over. It wasn’t really the quieter movement, or the slightly high sugar readings. It was the PTSD and the hormones wreaking havoc on my psyche.
We had our first tour of an L&D ward last night, and on the way there, B5 decided to re-open the circus. Finally I breathed deeply again.
Do I regret not going to the ER? No. I know that nothing is actually wrong right now. My high-risk OB looked at my blood sugar numbers yesterday and didn’t think it was necessary to medicate. B5 has been showing off in my ute all day today.
I think that two things are happening: The first, is that this is all becoming very REAL. I’m less than 6 weeks away from getting my cerclage removed. That’s next month. That’s nuts. It just seems surreal to have come this far. The second is of course the residual PTSD from everything we’ve been through. I can’t think about labor without remembering the last time I went through it. And it’s time I start thinking about labor. I need to find a way to do it without bursting into tears.
So I’ve upped my therapist back to once a week, and I’m trying to work through all of this. Slowly but surely I’m regaining hold of sanity. Let’s just hope that it sticks around.
I admit, this is posted with less joy and more trepidation than I expected when i first wrote about it here more than two years ago. But that doesn’t mean it’s not welcome. So without further ado:
Now here’s hoping the world doesn’t explode. I’ll let you guys know. 🙂
