Birth Story, Part 1

Okay, I REALLY am horrible at this blog thing. But I'll try to come to my happy conclusion with this post. I guess Stick-It, now known to the world as DS#3, will have to get used to having things done long after the fact.

Okay, I don’t have my glasses or contacts. We manage to get my DF, who is en route, on the phone. He reverses direction, goes to my house, grabs my glasses, contacts, CAMERAS (yeah Dad!) and half-packed bag (yes, I know, Mom, thanks for being such a nudge!), and brings all with him. DF arrives, different people are buzzing in and out of my room, and I keep watching the clock. I’m signing papers and don’t even know what I’m signing at this point. New baby classes? No thanks. Breastfeeding class? No thanks again, I remember how to do that. I’m thanking my lucky stars I didn’t have to throw a tantrum – when doing the NSTs and OB visits and every other medical situation with this pregnancy, I made it clear that I would not walk into L&D 4. The room that I delivered my stillborn son, Jimmy, in, where I held him and said “goodbye” before I could say “hello”. Bad enough that I had NSTs in the same room where Dr. Grandpa told me Jimmy’s heart had stopped. I would not have tolerated L&D 4, Dr. A-Hole being on for the delivery and not Dr. Fav, or both. So, I try to focus on the fact that neither of these things is occurring. But there’s still no Dr. Fav. I want to see this man. I want to have him tell me what is going on. I don’t know these midwives, and since they’re not doing the surgery, thanks but you’re not Dr. Fav so I don’t really want to listen to you. I just want this baby out of me because I'm getting the feeling that it isn’t safe in there anymore.

Dr. Fav finally shows, smiling, providing answers. He explains that the baby is fine but the lack of growth is a concern. With Stick-It being as far along as he is and having scheduled a c-section for the following Friday, he would prefer to deliver Stick-It now. His only concern with a 36 week, 6 day old baby is the maturity of the lungs. He reassures me that a neonatologist is on hand for the delivery. He does not think that Stick-It will need the services of the hospital's Level 2 NICU, but it is there if needed. I’m praying at this point that he’s right. DM points out my cough, which is bronchitis and for which I was supposed to begin antibiotics today. He tells her that part of the meds I’m getting will be an antibiotic, so that won’t be a problem.

Dr. Fav leaves and my parents step out to give me and DH a moment alone. I look at DH and get weepy. We hold hands and I tell him I love him, and to tell DS#1 and DS#2 how much I love them. He starts to tear up and says I can tell them myself. Now I’m getting pissed. I again say “Tell the boys I love them.” He tells me not to talk like that. I love the man, but Je$u$ C^r*(st, could he please just say, “Okay, honey, I’ll tell them, but everything’s going to be fine.” I pointedly tell him that I need him to promise me. He finally does.

We decided the minute the stick turned blue that my DM would be there for the birth. She's been there for all deliveries but the arrival of DS#1 and is great in medical situations; as an OB/GYN nurse for years and the daughter of an OB/GYN, she should be. When we knew Stick-It was breech and would most likely be a c-section, there was little discussion. DH does NOT handle that stuff well – he can’t watch CSI’s opening credits without gagging. And I need someone to be my voice in these situations - who better than my DM?

Then it’s time. The anesthesiologist comes in. Funny guy. Tells me a few jokes, goes over everything. He walks out. DM, who, with DF, is back in the room, tells me he’s a good one. The butterflies pick up. My knees are shaking. Then the nurse, a very nice woman who tells me she’ll be accompanying me to the OR, tells me to get up out of bed so I can walk into the OR. What?!? You have to be wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair but I have to walk down the hall, hauling my IV pole with me with one hand while my other hand desperately tries to keep the back of this piece of cloth that you amusingly think covers my massive girth closed so my ass isn’t hanging out for all to see? In booties that I’m going to trip over any second? On knees that are threatening to not hold me up? Oh, and the best part – here come two firemen down the hall. They’re doing the fire safety inspection or something like that. How do I know? Because the nurse mentions it as we walk out in front of them. I hear my name being called, loudly. By one of them. Because I KNOW them! Both! They were students at our school, in a program in my division. I turn, and the other guy says, “Wow! Good luck!” Yep, hope my ass is still covered…

I walk into the OR with the nice nurse helping me maneuver the IV pole. I am directed to walk around the table, which I’m then helped onto. The nice nurse helps me lean forward as the anesthesiologist starts drawing on my back and washing it with very, very cold stuff. Then I hear someone say, "Well, look at you. Change of plans today, huh?" It’s one of my favorite nurses, the L&D nurse who advised me against aversion, who'd been there for a number of my NSTs, and who would have been there today for my 1:00 NST. “Yep,” is all I can croak out; I’m still on the verge of tears, and trying to remain calm, which is very difficult in a room so cold it could double as a meat locker when you’re being told to lean forward so a nice man can stick a really long needle in your back. DM isn’t here yet. They keep telling me they won’t start without her, but she's not here.

Now more doctors and nurses. I’m lying down. I have an anesthetist, another very nice young woman, at my head with a mask and they’ll all putting different monitoring devices on me. Now the drapes are up and Dr. Fav is asking if I can feel the really cold stuff and I can’t anymore. Or the pinch on my stomach. It's weird. I can feel the tug and pull, but not any other sensation. Finally, just as he starts to cut in, DM is next to my head. She starts to talk to me in one ear, telling me to focus on her. My only job at this point is to breath, which is unique – my other pregnancies were all vaginal deliveries.

Dr. Fav announces that they have … a butt. Exactly that way. “We have a butt.” I feel tugging and pulling, and it takes effort to remove Stick-It. They need lots of pressure. He's finally out and the nurse carries him to the table, the neonatologist bending over him. He’s not crying. He’s limp. I try not to panic, but the tears start because… he looks just like Jimmy. My DM tells me he’s okay. I tell her to go over, to be with him. I start to pray, let him breath, let him breath. I ask Jimmy to help him, to not have our hearts broken again, to be with him. The neonatologist comes over and tells me he’s okay, and we hear a weak cry coming from the table. The cry gets stronger, but he’s little, so much more than either of his big brothers. The neonatologist tells us that he swallowed some amniotic fluid, but she reassures us that he’s fine – his first Apgar was 4 and his second is now 8. DM and I are now crying. They bring him over next to me so I can see him and kiss him. Then they take him out the door, and usher my mother out.

The Ultrasound

Wednesday, January 30th, 2008… a day that will live in infamy (sorry, FDR). Had an early morning ultrasound scheduled. Was still PO’d at the tech for not telling me the weight last week. I mean, if you’re supposed to do a BPP (biophysical profile) every week, don’t you think the weight might be important?!?!

So, in I go. Everything looks fine. She’s measuring and calibrating. Heart rate is still in the mid-120s, something I need to know for the NST I have later that afternoon. Stick-It looks fine. His cord is NOT around his neck, the first question I have asked every tech at every u/s during this pregnancy. Then, the last question: "so, how much does he weigh?" Her response? "About 6 lb., 7 oz."

What the F#@&!?!?!?!

I, as calmly as possible, say, "Gee, he was 6 lb., 9 oz. TWO weeks ago. Are you sure that’s right?"

She responds, "I didn’t tell you that." "Yes, you did." She checks her computer. "Well, you know, ultrasounds can be off by half a pound. Everything looks fine."

Really, sweetheart?!?! Well, this ain’t your kid, your pregnancy, and you haven’t lost the previous two, have you?!?!

I leave the office, calmly, and immediately dial my mother. "Mom, he’s 6 lb., 7 oz. He was 6 lb., 9 oz. If I were still your patient (the OB/GYNs my mother worked for were my docs in my teens and 20s), what would you tell me to do?" Her advice? "Go to the doctor’s office right now and tell them you need to see someone. They need to review your reports right away." Good, that's what I was going to do anyway, but somehow having my mother-slash-the nurse-slash-the OB doc's daughter tell me to do it backs up my decision.

So, down one flight I go. I do not call DH, who will not handle bad news at all well. I figure I’ll wait until I know more, then if I need to, I’ll call him. I go to the counter, explain the situation, ask when Dr. Fav is in. Not until 9:00 a.m. is the response. It’s only 7:45 a.m. I ask if another doctor is available, and am told they’ll have one of the nurse midwives review my reports. They apparently call upstairs, because the next thing I know is that the u/s tech is in the waiting room telling me that she’s brought down both reports, which are now being reviewed, and someone will speak with me shortly. Gee, thanks, but I have the impression that 1) you aren’t too pleased that I have questioned you, and 2) you are now concerned that you missed something.

My name is called, and I meet with N., one of the nurse midwives. She tells me that Stick-It is okay, but there is some concern that his growth rate that was so great is no longer. She mentions that Dr. S. over in the hospital doing a section (I have no clue who Dr. S. is), and that K., another nurse-midwife, will meet me in L&D. They want to just run some tests, and possibly do an amnio to check for lung maturity. She hands me the two u/s reports, telling me to take them with me to L&D, as it will be faster than them faxing them over. I am still in a fog. I’m now apologizing to N. for appearing to be a worrywart, and explain that we had lost Jimmy four years ago this coming Monday, and that I just am being cautious. It doesn’t dawn on me and she is describing procedures that indicate their concern as well. Instead, I am just relieved that they are taking my concern seriously and not putting me off like their tech seemed to. I ask N. to please let Dr. Fav know I’m here and what’s going on. N. reassures me that he will be informed the minute he comes in the door. I cling to this thought, as I somehow know that Dr. Fav wants this baby to be born alive and healthy as much as we do. Being the granddaughter of an OB/GYN and the daughter of an OB/GYN nurse, I can tell you that most of them do mourn the losses their patients experience. Then again, from dealing with all the different docs during the last five years, I can also say that Dr. Fav is one in a million and really does care.

Back to my car to get my personal bag. I have a bag filled with work stuff, a personal bag with my calendar and phone numbers, and another bag with various odds and ends. I call home, but realize that at 8:10 a.m., DH is at the bus stop with DS#2. I call his cell, and tell him that I need him to come to the hospital, that everything’s okay, but they want to run some tests in L&D based on his u/s weights. I call my mother back and am more straightforward: "Mom, I need you to come to the hospital now. They want to run more tests." I get weepy for a moment then realize that I am within 100 yards of the hospital with Stick-It still kicking; we have a chance that he’ll be fine. The last call? To my office, of course. M., the part-timer, is the only one in, as E., my counterpart, has taken yet another day off. My boss isn’t coming in today, so it’s just M. and the other Dean. I tell M. that I should be in at some point, but they’re sending me into L&D for more tests, as Stick-It’s weight seems off from the u/s. She wishes me good luck and tells me to call when I know more. I am now in the main door of the hospital.

Into the elevator, and pressing the button for the L&D floor. Open the unsealed envelope containing the two u/s reports. Hey, they're my records, right, so I can review them if I want. Even to my untrained eye, something is not right. Stick-It’s abdominal circumference is smaller, his weight is down (and they’ve circled it on the report from today), and many of his measurements are only days ahead of the previous reports, despite being 14 days apart. Now I get weepy again, and sense the worry rising in my throat. Take a deep breath and wipe my eyes, reassure myself that we’ll both be fine. I report to L&D, and the woman at the desk who I have dealt with so often when checking in for my NSTs thinks I’m there for another NST. I tell her what N. told me, and she calls in. She then hands me my file to bring onto the unit, which I find interesting. I am taken to L&D Room 8, and hooked up for what I think is another NST. Stick-It is moving around as usual and his heart rate is good. My BP and pulse, on the other hand, as at all time highs: 130/73 and 91 respectively. Normal for me is 90/60 and 60. And the parade starts into my room: DH, looking gray and nervous; my mom, smiling, telling me that everything is going to be okay; a variety of medical personnel. One of the other nurses I’ve had before for an NST appears. Having been for 11 previous NSTs, I’ve gotten to meet a number of the nurses. Seeing their faces calms me down. M., another nurse who used to work with my mom pops her head in to say hi.

Then K. appears and introduces herself. She tells me that they’ve reviewed the reports, and Stick-It is scoring 8 out of 8. Passing my NST will make it 10 for 10, and the NST looks good. Then she tells me that Dr. Fav is in, and is clearing his schedule, and that he’ll be over. They’ll be taking me in to be sectioned at 10:30 a.m.

HELLOOOOOOOOO?!?!?!?! No, you must be wrong, because I’m scheduled for next Friday to have this done at 9:00 a.m. I’m not ready NOW! I’m not packed. I’m supposed to be at work. Stick-It is only 36 weeks, 6 days. I don’t even have my damned glasses or my case for my contacts.

Things Bubble Over

Hard to believe it's been two weeks since my last post. My concerns regarding both my boss and DS#1 came to a head the next day. My boss got a ride in with the other Dean from our office suite, who was BS when they finally arrived at 9:30 a.m. It seems, according to his assistant, that my boss had agreed to have him pick her up at 8:30 a.m. However, when he arrived at her house, she wasn't ready, telling him to give her "a few minutes". Twenty minutes later, he was still waiting in his car for her; she didn't even have enough common decency to invite him in to wait for her. Most of the day was spent with her in meetings and giving me a list of stuff she needed immediately. I was able to get her everything she needed, and had had the smarts to phone her at 8:00 a.m. to remind her to bring in her external hard drive so that I could back up my computer files for her. The best part? This backup does not contain any of the forms or files that I personally created and used. Things like the office manual that she demanded I write up, despite that not being part of my job, I removed from those computer files to my personal thumb drive. She has a paper copy, but that's it. I even ended up staying late to back up my system Tuesday (1/29) and removing a bunch of personal computer files from my computer.

Which leads me to DS#1 and everything finally coming to a head with him. I got home late that Tuesday (luckily my Mom and Dad were available, and had picked up DS#2, brought him home, fed them dinner (which DH had already made before going to work), and they had had their baths. My Mom and Dad both commented on how out of sorts DS#1 seemed. When they left, DS#1 came in to talk to me, and ended up in tears, sobbing about a nightmare he'd had the night before that we'd lost this baby, that he didn't want me to have surgery, he didn't want me to have to be away from home for four nights, he was scared that something might happen to me, some kid at school had been teasing him about his "girlfriend", he had just switched to a bunch of new teachers and wasn't sure he would do as well as he'd done the previous two quarters, and so on. I just held him while he cried, trying my best to reassure him that we were doing everything we could to bring this baby home healthy and safe, and that I didn't want to be away from them either but they could call me and come visit me and the new baby every day, and we talked about school and the other kids. He finished having a good cry and went to bed.

I finished folding all the baby clothes I'd washed the day before, and the next morning, before my 7:20 a.m. ultrasound, I put them in the dresser in the baby's room. I also had all my toiletries gathered on the top shelf of our linen closet, and my two old nursing nightgowns, my nursing bras, and my granny panties already in my half packed suitcase. My mother's nagging for me to have my bag packed kept resonating in my head, but I figured I would:
- color my roots Wednesday night,
- finish out the week at work, telling folks know after my OB appointment on Thursday that I was only working three more days,
- DH and the boys and I would finish getting the house ready over the weekend,
- I'd schedule a bikini wax for Saturday,
- the following Thursday my mom, who convinced me NOT to work until the day before my scheduled C-section, would come over and help me finish getting the house ready,
- and finally, on the morning of Friday, February 8th, I would report at 7:00 a.m. for my scheduled 9:00 a.m. C-section.

What's that saying? Oh yeah... "the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry" or something like that, from Robert Burns "To A Mouse". Well, I now know EXACTLY what that means!

36 Weeks, One Biotchy Boss, and Some Inappropriate Comments

Work is increasingly frustrating and unbearable, mostly due to the continued absence of my boss. Yes, having broken her wrist on the 10th of January, she has still not returned to work. Questions regarding who is covering her position as Dean have gone unanswered by the VP's office, as she does some things from home. But between her appointments and the painkillers she's on, it is a hit-or-miss arrangement. Further raising my frustration level is that she has done NOTHING about hiring someone to cover my maternity leave. We have a pile of resumes for a job that was supposed to begin last week, but no direction as to what to do from either her or the VP’s office. Add on top of that that she was to have had surgery last Friday, which they then cancelled as she had a fever, and her return date is unknown. Well, until five minutes ago, when she called me (ooooohhh, FINALLY!). She plans on being in tomorrow, and has a laundry list to go through with me. It will be interesting to see what her attitude is, since she’s been such a wench towards me. The number of people who have commented on her lengthy absence is mounting along with their frustration levels; it was noted by one of my department chairs that I returned to work faster after losing Jimmy (I was induced, delivered him, and was still back to work within a month). Others have been just as ticked off, having suffered broken limbs, cardiac issues, etc., and having returned to work sooner than she. On top of it, she has an EXTREMELY bad habit of, when you are out on sick or vacation leave, of just assuming that she can call you at home. I mean, this woman called my hospital room when I was in LABOR with DS#2 to check on me and then ask two or three questions as to where items were. This time around, I’m not answering the GD phone. Even better, her boss, the VP, is a high-school classmate of my parents. DM has stated that, if my boss does call the house, she will speak with her, reminding her that I’m on leave. The second call that takes place will result in DM calling the VP personally to bitch at him regarding his Dean’s behavior. I can’t wait!

The daily movement of Stick-It brings joy on my part as well as being increasingly uncomfortable. The u/s tech didn't bother measuring size or weight last week, deciding that she didn't need to based on his 92nd percentile placement the week before. I will remind myself Wednesday to demand it, as Dr. Fav has requested it; I'm sure that a medical degree outweighs whatever degree you have to be an u/s tech.

We did bring both boys to last week’s early morning u/s. DS#2, the 8-year-old, was enthralled the minute the tech turned on the sound and you could hear the baby’s heartbeat. The amount of blue goo (u/s gel) distributed across my belly by the tech also was a source of amazement to him. DS#1, the 12-year-old, was more interested in the actual scan, and asked for a few pics to take, as his science teacher offered him extra credit if he brought some in (they will be doing some anatomy & physiology this term, I guess).

After the scan, they were dropped off at their respective schools. That night, DS#1 came into the TV room where I was folding laundry. I could tell something was bugging him, and sure enough, there was. The u/s pics had been the source of attention that day, and DS#1 was talking with a group of his friends. These are kids we go camping with every summer, that are on his indoor soccer team, a close bunch of kids whose parents, particularly the moms, are close to DH and myself as well. It seems that his buddy E., in the midst of this circle, proceeded to say to DS, “Jeez, would you just quit talking about this baby already?!?!” DS, being a sensitive kid, said nothing back, but was obviously upset about it.

My advice was that he approach E. when there was a group around, even if it were after their soccer game the next night, and say something along the lines of “You know, E., about what you said the other day about how I should quit talking about this baby… I don’t think you understand why my whole family is so excited. You don’t know what it’s like to be looking forward to having a baby brother and then to be told that he’s died before you could meet him, or to have to bury him, or watch your parents cry. So if I’m excited and I’m talking about it all the time, that’s not my problem.” I told him that he’d look like the good guy, and at the same time wouldn’t be attacking his friend or telling him to shut up or being argumentative, that all he’d be doing was trying to explain the situation. He told me the next day the kid had backed off, but I still had my concerns.

On top of this, Dr. Fav, at last week’s appointment, indicated that he doesn’t think Stick-It is going to turn. Apparently, there was hope (and room) for him to turn on his own when he was in the frank breech position (head up, butt down, with his knees tucked to his chest and his feet in the air by his head). This last week’s u/s showed that he’s now in the incomplete breech position, which means one of the legs is now down and his foot is by his butt, almost bracing him against turning. He’ll make the final call at this week’s appointment (my 37 wk), but we’re scheduled at this point for a C-section on Friday, February 8th.

We’ve shared this news with the boys, and it seems to have only heightened DS#1’s growing apprehension about this whole situation. He’s gotten very clingy, to the point at which he didn’t want to go to one of his buddy’s houses Saturday night for a sleepover, and he has made a comment to DH along the lines of “nothing good ever happens at that hospital”. He has a point: my DM had breast cancer surgery there, DH had his heart attack there, we learned that Jimmy was stillborn and I delivered him there, a year later I was in the ER having my miscarriage and then two months later my D&C, and my DF, with a bleeding ulcer so severe that we almost lost him, was treated there. I called my GF, the mom of the kid he turned down, back on Saturday night to explain that DS is just getting very apprehensive. She had some great suggestions, as did DH. I think that in the next day or two, I’m going to call E.’s mom, another GF in this group, just to ask that she ask E. to give DS some leeway. I don’t know if it will work, particularly as she’s one of those moms who never admits that her kid does ANYTHING wrong (he’s getting a rep as something of a bully lately) and she’ll probably blow it off, but at least I’ll have had my say.

Keep your germs to yourself

I have a major pet peeve with a coworker who CONSTANTLY lectures everyone in the office about taking vitamin supplements and Airborne to prevent colds, etc., but who ends up being sick the most often out of the three secretaries in the office. What pisses me off is that she won’t stay home when she’s sick. Instead, she comes in, hacking over all of us, and complaining about how lousy she feels. This goes on for a day or two, and then she’ll call in sick the day after she’s had a big date or gone to a concert. Granted, she may be sick, but for God’s sake, stopping breathing on me.

I bring this up because last week she and her boss were both coughing, and she was complaining per usual. And what happened? I caught her cold. 35+ weeks pregnant, a long weekend, so much to do, and all I could accomplish was to lie on the couch, coughing and hacking my way through the weekend. We did manage to get some things done, like rearranging some of the furniture in the house, moving it to new locations, but I still haven’t gotten my bag packed, Christmas totally put away, baby clothes down from the attic and washed, or the bassinet out.

Even more fun is trying to cough with a full bladder while someone is using it as a sitting cushion. TMI, but I have taken to wearing thin maxi-pads as protection against the occasional overflow when coughing. Oh, and I’ve pulled every muscle in my diaphragm and belly, drunk WAY too much decaf Irish tea with honey and milk, and consumed almost a whole bag of cough drops. Of course, based on those lovely medicine charts your OB gives you at the beginning of your pregnancy and the ensuing confirmation call to the OB nurse, all I can take is Sudafed for the congestion, Robitussin (plain) for the cough, Tylenol for the headache that began this morning, and use saline spray. Let me tell you, none of it is really helping. My rice pack has been in the microwave so often I’m afraid it will begin to pop. Other than that, the only thing that helps is a lengthy hot steamy shower with my B&B eucalyptus/spearmint “Relax” candle burning (opening up my nose somewhat), but I can’t stay in the shower all day! So, I did the smart thing: I called my primary care physician per the OB nurse’s orders. Got a fast appointment this morning, and saw Dr. Blondie. She was impressed with how good I looked, said my lungs were clear (which we need for me to have a section!), I was probably on the verge of a sinus infection, and that both ears were definitely infected. She also wanted to give me something to get rid of the post-nasal drip, as it would be VERY PAINFUL to be coughing like this and have a C-section incision to be dealing with, so… one prescription for Zithromax, and I was back to work.

Yes, to work. Not home on the cough, curled up with yet another cup of tea and honey. No, I came to work today as payback, coughing and hacking in the direction of those that gave me this. I sound like a frog. But I don’t have a choice. Any time I have, I am desperately trying to hang on to in order to have some pay coming in during my maternity leave. On top of that, it’s the first day of classes, and very much frowned upon for anyone to be out. Well, that is, apparently, for anyone but my darling boss to be out. She is STILL out with her broken wrist, this being her THIRD week, and according to our discussion on Friday, she only plans on being in ONE day this week.

Today, she hasn’t even called once to check in! So, I’ve just been giving out her home number to all the faculty calling to talk to her. On top of all this, she hasn’t even begun to interview for my replacement while I’m out! God, I’m almost hoping she stays out for another two weeks, and then I can just call in and tell her that, according to Dr. Fav, I’m out of here!

Ultrasounds and Extra Viewers

Julia's post regarding an article about how someone told their son that they were pregnant again after a miscarriage by taking him with them to the first ultrasound struck a note with me. I stand in awe of the folks who after a loss treat their current pregnancy as though they don't have a care in the world, never have a minute's doubt, and truly believe the entire time that everything will be fine. Having lived through both (and only from my experience) would I surmise that it has something to do with how and when they lost the prior pregnancy or pregnancies. I mean, if you lose a pregnancy because of something that you know, like low progesterone, do you worry less when you're being treated for it in the next pregnancy? I know that, even though Stick-It is viable, I can't bring my heart to totally accept that he'll be fine and healthy and I'll finally bring another child home.

Regarding the article, I have never brought a kid to an u/s. It's hard enough having DH there (Mr. Anxiety does nothing to calm me). I show them the pics later. You know, the ones where you look at them thinking “well, Doctor, that inkspot reminds me of a butterfly” while the parent-to-be coos “Look at the whittle nose! Isn’t he the spitting image of his father?!?”

DS#2 has asked to come to one, but it just hasn’t been doable. I’m anxious enough, and what if he were there and …. On top of that, all my u/s are in the middle of the day (up until next week, when they are at 7:20 a.m. for two weeks) and he is in school (hmmm… maybe we can get him to one, but then are we being unfair to DS #1 who has to be at school no later than 7:23 a.m. …). And since I’m so far along AND the u/s techs just LOVE to spread that get ALL over the place, I find my underwear ending up around my knees, and showing my vajayjay to my boys isn’t on my current to-do list.

When I was about 9 weeks along, we did tell them we were expecting, out of sheer necessity. These are not stupid kids, and besides, DS#1 is Mr. Big Ears. Having lived through their dad's heart attack 4 years ago, losing their brother at 28 wks three months later, the pregnancy and miscarriage a year after that (a whole ten days after we had told them we were pregnant, but that the baby might be very sick and not make it), all the early-morning shuffling and drop-offs so I could make the RE for bloodwork & u/s, etc., they knew something was up. We were just very honest that I was pregnant and that I would have a lot of appointments so the docs could do their best to make sure this one was ok.

We did tell them the sex (yes, I'm one of those people who needs to know) by stopping at a bakery and getting 3 gingerbread men (this bakery makes both gingerbread men and women). I laid them out on the table at home, saying "This one is yours, this one is yours, and who do you think this one is for?". At that point, DS#2 responded with glee, “FOR MY NEW BROTHER!!! YEAH, IT’S NOT A GIRL! ALL GIRLS DO IS WHINE AND CRY!!!” We had to quickly tell him that not all girls are like his friend Chloe (the original spoiled girl that we camp with every summer). DS#1 pumped his fist in the air and said “Alright! I win the bets!!!” Turns out he had made ‘some’ quarter bets with friends, him saying it would be a boy, them saying it would be a girl. When questioned further, it turned out he would be collecting from about 20 kids in his class!!!! Great, next year he’ll probably be a bookie taking odds on the local teams from the teachers!

I find it interesting how those with living children prior to a loss have to walk a different tightrope than others, carefully weighing the situation and the decisions against what is best for ALL their children. Any thoughts, folks?

35 Weeks and Counting

I’m apologizing now for how wordy this post is. I wish I could just post like some of you, to the point in one or two succinct paragraphs, but I just don’t write like that, and hey, since I post so infrequently, they may as well cover it all. So, here’s a short version of what’s below:
Stick-It’s a big baby who doesn’t like NSTs; MIL has a health scare and FIL’s being an ass; most likely a C-section to schedule; my bemoaning my never-ending to-do list; travel systems and registries; a new used car just in the nick of time; and the lack of sympathy for my biotchy boss.

Measurements right off the bat. Stick-It hates NSTs. He moves around so much that the monitor won’t trace on a continuing basis, which means I’m spending at least an hour or two every time I have one of these things. His baseline seems to be somewhere between 122 and 132, and his accels usually are in the high 140s/low 150s when he moves. He did have a few decels yesterday between 104 and 117, but was pronounced okay. Yesterday’s u/s, which my mom’s best friend (aka my other mom) came to with me, estimates that he is now 6 lb. 9 oz., up from 5 lb. 11 oz. last week, still in the frank breech position, quickly running out of room, and with a head that’s measuring two weeks ahead (did I ever tell you that DS#2 had a head that was 14¾ inches around AT BIRTH, and was a vaginal delivery?!?!?). Oh, and I had a u/s tech yesterday who was one of the nastiest I have ever had before in my life. One of my big concerns, obviously, is where the Hell is the cord, and when I repeatedly asked, she wouldn’t respond. Same tech waltzed into the room during my u/s last week (being done by a different tech), gave major attitude when asked a question by my tech, and proceeded to leave the door to the exam room open while she was moving supplies in and out of the room, while I lay there, draped, my underwear pulled half off, and my stomach exposed. She pulls this crap next week, and we’re having a “discussion” with her boss.

On top of Stick-its visits, I have the in-laws to contend with. MIL had a scare; her defibrillator battery was totally out of power in the minimum amount of time it’s supposed to last. She went in last Friday to get recharged, which, due to her fragile health, is always a crap shoot. DH and I haven’t privately nicknamed this woman “Lazarus” for nothing. It was obvious something was up, as she’s forgotten that I’m pregnant the last few conversations we’ve had, never mind when I’m due, what we’re having, or what we’re naming him. Then there’s FIL to contend with. He wants me to have this kid on the 11th because that’s his late brother’s birthday; he’s already told DH he’s going to call this kid by his late brother’s nickname – Spike. I’m getting so friggin’ hormonal that I’m about to tell FIL to pound sand. If he had been half as attentive to us when we lost Jimmy (he wouldn’t even get on the phone with DH, and forget them coming home for the service or to support us), I’d might be willing to give some attention to his demands, but at this point, I’m tempted to get nasty and play the measuring-up game on him, you know, the “what you haven’t done that my parents have done” comparison. For all that we’ve been through and all the ways that my parents have supported us versus the way that those two have treated us, there is SO not a contest.

At the office visit today, Dr. Fav is 50/50 in favor of trying an inversion, which I’m really not in favor of, and also is willing to just reserve an OR now for a C-section. I am really hoping that Stick-It turns but I am becoming more resigned to the idea that the only way this one is coming out is surgically. Did I mention that DH was a breech baby, and since this kid is getting named for DH, should I have expected any less? Dr. Fav was also concerned about him being too big to be delivered vaginally if he did turn, so we had a discussion consulted the calendar in the exam room. I nixed the 11th and the 4th (Jimmy’s day) right off the bat. He asked about the 8th, which may be our best option. That way, DH will have a two day weekend that he won’t need to burn time for, the boys would be off from school and could come visit, and Stick It would be delivered at 38 weeks and a day. Even if Stick-It turns, Dr. Fav will most likely induce me then, so it looks like Stick-It only has three more weeks to cook.

On the home front, we didn’t get tons of stuff done this past weekend. We were able to check a few things off my to-do list, but not many. Still need DH to move furniture around and to get the bins of clothes down from the attic. That’s this weekend’s big plan, along with packing my bag the rest of the way and straightening up the house. DM has threatened, I mean offered, to come help me neaten up the house, but I’m putting her off. I just want to do it so I know where stuff is, and DH and the boys need to get off their asses step it up jump to my aid help me this weekend.

We did a car seat which is in fact part of a “travel system”. DH and I are too old and tired to be lugging one of those car seats around so we opted for the travel system. I also spent a lot of time looking on the ‘Net and did online registries at BRU and Tar’get, making it easier when dragging, I mean going with, DH and the boys to make some final decisions. I haven’t done a registry since DS #1 was due 12½ years ago. But we need a pack’n’play, a high chair, and a few minor things, and with our friends, particularly the girls, constantly berating DH about having a shower, this seemed the easiest route. I already have demanded that no one do anything until he arrives, and, despite their protests, they’ve respected that. What really ticked me off was that DH had to repeatedly tell them in no uncertain terms that I would never forgive him or them if they did anything ahead of this baby’s arrival, as putting the baby stuff away the week after we lost Jimmy was something I couldn’t go through again. Some of them just couldn’t get it. Even my DM was getting PO’d with the girls, and I think she said something to one of them. Now that we’ve got registries, they can pick up some of the stuff if they want, and if not, we’ll at least know exactly what we need to grab when they have coupons and sales over the next few months.

We also had to buy a new van this past weekend. Okay, not new, but a used van to replace mine on which the transmission was about to blow. We lucked out as the dealership in town had a 2003 with 69000 miles on it, and they gave us a great deal, taking my 1998 with 120000 and giving us full trade-in value plus a few grand. I’m not too happy about having a new car payment to deal with, particularly with a new arrival and the possibility that I will be looking for a new part-time job, but at least the new van is reliable and won’t be surprising us with major repair bills (we bought the two year/24000 mile warranty).

Oh, and my darling boss broke her arm last week, Wednesday to be exact. She apparently broke the two major wrist bones in her left arm and is now casted up past her elbow. It doesn’t help that she’s left-handed. So she’s not in the office, classes start here at the college next week, and she’s phoning me from home with her to-do list, mind you, while on heavy-duty pain meds. No update if she’ll be in next week. No update at all. And this is the biotch that has nickel-and-dimed my time during this pregnancy, giving me such grief over coming in 15 minutes late in the mornings when I had really bad nausea that I would throw up at summer camp drop-off, even though I was willing to make the time up, that I had to speak with HR and the union about it. So, needless to say, if this woman had been even a bit kind to me during this pregnancy and in the previous few years, I might actually feel sorry for her, but since she’s been the most demanding, unreasonable micro-manager, I have no use left for her. This is a woman (and yes, she has kids) who, when I told her I needed to leave early to go to the doctor to (the day I was panicked about not feeling Stick-It move as much when I was at the point I’d lost Jimmy), her comment was, “Oh, you’ll be fine. You have to be. You don’t know what I went through the last time. I couldn’t even speak, I was so upset. The words wouldn’t come out of my mouth.” DUHHH?!?!?!? What YOU went through when I lost MY child?!?!? Yep, it’s all about her, folks, and that’s all that matters in her world. This is the same woman who told me to take whatever time I needed after I lost Jimmy (after DELIVERING him, mind you), but, oh, do you think you’ll be back in a week or two because the work is really piling up. Same thing after my DH had his heart attack when I was 13 weeks along with Jimmy. Mind you, I was only out for five days when DH had the MI, and 18 workdays (4 weeks) when we lost Jimmy. Well, won’t she be surprised when I, with my union’s backing and standing behind my ratified contract, exercise my right to take as much leave as possible. I’m aiming for (mostly unpaid) 16 weeks’ maternity leave followed by 24 weeks’ parental leave followed by an unpaid leave of absence of at least a year. With DH working second shift, I’m going to look for something part-time in the mornings. Stick-It won’t go to daycare for at least the first year (BIG savings to make up for my loss of income), I’ll be able to schlep the boys to afternoon sports and stuff, and my years of service with the state and my job will be protected under our contract. Oh, yeah, and I won’t have to deal with Her for quite a while. Looks like a win-win for me!

34 Week Update

It must be the hormones. I feel like I just posted an update when in fact it’s been three weeks. Is there an award for Worst Blogging Updater, because if there is, I think I’m in the running?

I am in a very bitchy mood today. I feel huge. I look like I have a regulation basketball under my shirt, and I have six tops and three pairs of pants that I’m rotating through. I spent most of Christmas week lying down on the couch in my nightgown sans bra, because that was how I was most comfortable. That, and we had the stomach flu in the house (yep, even me – Christmas Eve through the day after Christmas, for a 4 ½ pound weight loss!), the cold, and then DS#2 had pneumonia last week. Needless to say, we did nothing but eat Lipton’s Chicken Noodle Soup and watch TV in our PJs. And now, with the clock ticking, comes the onslaught of appointments.

At my 29 week appointment with Dr. Fav, I asked a bunch of questions, including if he were going to do NSTs, how often would I have ultrasounds, etc. The response at the time was u/s every 14-21 days, no NSTs yet. Next week, different story. Nothing wrong with Stick-It, Dr. Fav just changed his mind. I was informed that I would be having 2 NSTs every week AND an u/s every week AND seeing him every week! From 0 to 60, and wrecking havoc with my schedule, particularly considering that I am still working FT trying to reserve any accrued time to cover the unpaid maternity leave. Oh, and have I mentioned that I have SUCH an understanding boss (NOT)! Luckily the first week of this 4 appointment schedule was the week of Christmas, when my workplace is closed. I also wised up and booked all these appointments through my due date, figuring that its always easier to get the times that work for me and then cancel the appointments rather than hustling every week to cram them in. On the advice of L. (the appointment goddess), I booked my NSTs on Sundays and Wednesdays, eliminating one weekday appointment.

First NST was 4:15 p.m. on Christmas Eve (my DM came with me), next was that Thursday, along with an u/s and doc’s appointment. The NSTs do not go swimmingly, as Stick-It doesn’t seem to like being listened to. Baseline is in the 130s, and he often moves so much that they can’t get a read on him. They’re taking an hour to complete on average. So far, either DH or my mom have been able to be there with me.

The u/s after Christmas did show one surprise: Stick-It is frank breech. That apparently means he’s folded in half with his feet up by his head and he’s aimed butt first. This position apparently guarantees a scheduled C-section. Dr. Fav did mention trying an external inversion, but, because of losing Jimmy to a cord incident, he is reluctant to go that route. DM (a former OB/GYN nurse, and the daughter of an OB/GYN) proceeded to add her two cents after the office visit, as we sat having a cup of tea and waiting for my NST appointment. She’s totally against it in my case. The L&D nurse, who it turns out worked with her for a few years, also added her two cents, advising against it. And since I’m a wuss, I don’t think we’re going to even attempt it. Then my decision was reinforced by seeing one done on some poor woman on TLC. At the same time, I’m a wuss when it comes to surgery, so the C-sec isn’t that appealing either. Stick-It does still have some wiggle room, so I’m hoping he flips between now and 36 ½ weeks (2 ½ weeks to go), which is when we’ll have to start making some decisions. Oh, and the u/s yesterday showed that he’s weighing in at ~ 5 lb. 11 oz. and measuring 34w6d, still a week ahead.

This weekend, I'm pushing DH to finish moving stuff around so that the house is ready, and we're buying a new car seat/travel system thing. DH also needs to get the first two bins down from the attic so I can wash some clothes for this kid, and I'm packing my bag. Other than that, things like painting the room and setting up the crib will have to wait. Honestly, even though he's viable, I just can't face the thought of something happening and having to put all that stuff away again like I did with Jimmy. It will all get done eventually.

Ultrasound Update

Had an ultrasound this morning to measure Stick-It's fluid and growth, as Dr. Fav is now charting this info. For the record, Stick-It is now estimated to weigh in at 4 lb. 1 oz., and is measuring at 32w4d. Pretty impressive for me being 30w6d today, huh?!?! No wonder I look like I swallowed a basketball already! See Dr. Fav tomorrow. Will post more, but need to get off computer, as boss is headed my way and is already talking to herself. Not a good sign.

Same Time, Different Pregnancy

Today marks the same point in this pregnancy as the point in my perfectly healthy third pregnancy when things went SOOOOooo Freakin’ Wrong. I woke up yesterday at 6:30. Well, I should say that I was woken up by DS#1 asking me to open the battery compartment on his cell phone to get it to start (long story, but I think the kid uses/jostles/jolts the thing so much the connection comes loose). Before you think this child is strange or calling friends way too early, he is up at 6:00 every morning and has to leave for middle school by 7:00 a.m.; school starts for the middle schoolers and high schoolers in our town at 7:23 a.m. I should also explain that I sleep on the couch most nights; it’s more comfortable on my back, and I’m a very sound sleeper, so if I nod off watching Dancing With the Stars, it’s over, folks. Because I’m always on my side sleeping on the couch, Stick-It’s kicks are enhanced, and for the past three weeks, he’s kicked me awake with his David Beckham impression between 4:00 and 4:30 a.m. As in pre-dawn!! As in EVERY MORNING!!!!

So, as I tried to rub some semblance of moisture back into my dry-contact-sealed eyes to solve the cell phone dilemma, I realized I hadn’t been awake from 4:00 on from the kicking. First thought? Wow, I must have been tired last night. Second thought? OH MY GOD, WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH STICK-IT?!?!?! Thinking back, I have noticed a change in his schedule of activity over the past week (meaning it’s becoming more normal; he’s not active all night and sleeping all day), but he’s started moving later (not as strong though). He seemed to be lower yesterday, and was fluttering and banging away, but it didn’t seem to be as strong as it had been. My rational mind kept telling me not to worry, but to counteract the rising I-can’t-breath-panic-attack-feeling, I called the OB nurse at my practice. After explaining the situation, I asked if I could come in to just get the heartbeat checked. Mind you, this is per Dr. Fav’s own instructions, he who had told me not to get a home fetal monitor, but to just come in whenever I needed to. Needless to say, hearing my mom’s voice, the voice of the woman who was my rock through finding out that Jimmy was gone, who was my L&D coach, who was there to hold and rock and kiss her grandson goodbye, and then having to put into words why I needed her to drive DS brought me to tears. She, of course, was ready to jump in the car to get to me. So, in reassuring her, I calmed myself down. Called DH and told me not to worry, but that for my sanity, I was going to have a listen. Announced to my boss that I needed to leave 15 minutes early for a doctor's appointment. She asked why. I told her that I just wanted to get checked, as he hadn't been as active today and that it was around the same time in the pregnancy as when we lost Jimmy (she was my boss then too). Her response? "Oh, you'll be fine. You don't know what I went through when you lost him. I couldn't even talk. I was so upset." I know in her own weird way she was trying to comfort me, but everything is always about her, and this was just another example of why, unless absolutely desperate, I have no intentions of coming back to this position after I have this child.

Off to the doc's I went, her words still ringing in my ears. After a short wait (I got to be one of the last patients of the day), I was in an exam room. Needless to say, Stick-It was fine. The nurse who did the check is a former coworker of Mom’s, and got the heartbeat right away. I could even hear the whooshing sound the valves make, since she was right over his heart. So, all is well, and I could sleep last night. Well, that is, until 3:27 a.m. this morning, when Stick-It decided to answer my prayers from the day before, and began his Muhammad Ali impression for the next 90 minutes!

Maternity Clothes Wars

I have reached the uncomfortable stage in my pregnancy, when you walk around swaybacked to make up for the huge belly in front. I was not on the slender side prior to this pregnancy, but I feel HUGE now. I can’t imagine how big I’ll feel in another three months! Having had two full-term pregnancies and one 28-week loss (the early loss meant I never got to the maternity-clothes stage), my ligaments are stretched (along with everything else), and I am carrying VERY low! I mean, the kicks are all at pelvic level unless I’m lying down on my side; then, Stick-It moves up a little. I am a pack rat by nature, and a procrastinator, so I never cleaned out any of the baby stuff. Honestly, I just shoved it away after losing Jimmy, and since I always thought we’d have one more child, I never went through it. Lucky for me, because I obviously need maternity clothes. Unfortunately for me, being bigger by about fifteen pounds (and in different places) than during my three previous pregnancies, a lot of the saved clothing either doesn’t fit or is off-season. So, realizing I have only a few (maybe three) pair of stretchy pants and four tops at home, along with a dress or two that still fit, I announced to DH on Monday that I needed to go shopping for a few more tops and bottoms to get me through the rest of this pregnancy.

And now, an update for those who haven’t been shopping in a while: apparently, maternity clothes designers are suffering from the same malady as the designers of regular women’s wear and of children’s clothes. It seems they believe that a) you should look like a streetwalker at all times, or b) you have gobs of money to go buy very expensive, classic clothing. Since I’m not dressing like a hoochy mama looking for a daddy for her baby, and I'm not made of money nor willing to spend lots of it on clothes that will not be worn again (because I am D-O-N-E with my childbearing years after this one, ladies), I spent much of my holiday searching desperately for a a few reasonably-priced decent-looking pieces.

Now, I normally take an XL to accommodate my shoulders and bust for tops, and I’m a 16-18 in the bottoms department. Well, that translates for L*iz L#ange at T*arget to be a Medium. I’m not kidding. The crap they’re selling would probably fit those little girls like Nicole Richie who get pregnant with their tiny bellies and then bitch about hitting the 100-pound mark the week before they deliver. Ugh! Or, as I quickly discovered, the designers think we should all emphasize our busts and bellies with empire waists and scoop-neck collars that just make me look even bigger! And did I mention the ribbon on the empire waist that accentuates the bulge, or the wrap-style tops that don’t cover the oversized twins in front that were once my reasonably sized boobs? Further complicating matters are the sweaters and velour tops that they’re stocking. I’m sorry, I’m still working, and it takes place in an office that has no windows that open, a thermostat that is stuck on “unreasonably warm”, and is in a climate that today is hitting 60 degrees outside. I’m already hot from the hormones, idiots, why would I want to wear something to make me sweat more?

So, I managed to find one clingy XXL top that wasn’t too bad and one pair of black slacks. Between that and what I have at home, I hopefully can make it through the next three months. Hopefully, with some carefully mixing and matching, I won’t look like I only have two outfits to pick from!

Bedroom Shuffles (aka IKEA Rocks!)

When we found out that Stick-It was on his way, and it became apparent that he was healthy and sticking, we had to break a promise we made to the two older boys. Plans had begun for a yard sale, with the boys were driven to clean by the promise that they could keep the profits from any toys sold. I had my own visions of an attic empty of Rubbermaid bins of outgrown clothes and a garage free of baby furniture and strollers. Yes, Ms. Pack Rat that I am, I have thrown only broken items out; everything else is still on hand. And them each getting his own room was a good idea at the time, with one starting middle school. They have shared a room since the younger one was 18 months old; it was a hot summer and we had only one air-conditioner for them to share.

With the anticipated arrival of Stick-It, plans have changed. They will continue to share, and on top of that, are losing their toy room. Yep, our third bedroom (all upstairs) was their toy room, where the GameCube and DVD player lived with the board games, Legos and Matchbox cars. It was a great setup: they were upstairs, we occupied the TV room downstairs, and the living room furniture was left to fade in peace. In fact, we only had cable in one room – the TV room. Our bedroom has a TV with rabbit ears that got three or four stations.

Then came the pregnancy news. And plans changed. My father was pressed into handyman service, splicing the cable so that we now have it in our room, the TV room, and the living room; he also wired and rewired phone jacks, so we can have phones in two additional rooms if needed. Then, the decision was made to give the boys the TV room, while we’d take the living room as our respite. The toy room would be partially emptied and repainted for Stick-It, and the boys’ room would get two new (and matching) dressers and a bunk bed.

Have you ever tried to find reasonably priced, not-a-piece-of-garbage, furniture, particularly bunk beds that would hold an 8” mattress? Well, thank the Shopping Gods for IKEA, home of Scandinavian furniture, or, as I call it, the Mothership for Shoppers! I’ve been in this place once, but the impression was made. Mind you, I’m not looking for heirloom pieces. I’m looking for something that, if a kid gouges it with a pencil, I’m not going to need his college fund to fix, and that I won’t have any issues about letting him take with him when he moves out (then I can get the good heirloom stuff!). I know too many people who spent big bucks on a nursery or bedroom set for their little darling, only to have the kid chew the $800 mahogany crib rail to pieces or play Picasso on the side and top of the bureau with a Sharpie. And hey, I’m just too cheap to spend that type of cash.

So, after much whining, pleading, and demanding, my DH agreed to the pilgrimage to the Mothership last Sunday after church. I had researched online what pieces I wanted to see, so we weren’t going in blind. Tape measurer and notes in hand. Traffic wasn’t bad, so the trip took just under an hour. Once inside, it took about 2 hours to walk around, get some food in the caf, make our final decisions, load our flatbed, and get in line. Then, the harrumphing began. The Patriots' kick off was at 4:00 p.m. We got in line at 3:00 p.m. The watch checking began. DH’s temper with the kids was running low. The “knock it off”s started. I finally turned to DH, who snapped at me, “What?!?” I responded back curtly, “Knock it off yourself. I’ve told you we needed to do this three weeks in a row. And you always had an excuse. The Red Sox were playing. The Patriots are on at 1:00. Well, tough, you can listen to kick-off in the car!”. We got home during the first quarter, and I let him watch until almost half time. Then I told him to get up and come help me unload the bed. He was not a happy camper, but tough, I wanted these beds together, particularly as I couldn’t do the bureaus first with the boys’ beds in the room as they were; they wouldn’t fit.

It should be noted that, because DH is spatially challenged, I have always been the one to assemble things in our home. He is also a procrastinator, so that I have been the one at 7 or 8 months pregnant lifting furniture, putting together cribs, etc. Unless I throw a hissy fit, he doesn’t help. And honestly, with this pregnancy, on top of working fulltime and dealing with a 12-yo and an 8-yo, I’m just too friggin’ tired. Oh, and did I mention DH just this week transferred to an office closer to home (half the distance of his old one, so about 25 minutes away), but he’s now Monday through Friday 2:00 PM to 10:00 PM instead of Tuesday through Saturday days. So, I am essentially a single parent at night, dealing with pick up and practices and errands and dinner and homework and bedtime on my own. So, with that in mind, my demands to put together the beds Sunday night didn’t seem like I was asking too much to me.

With DH and DS#1 holding pieces up and together, I finished assembly at 9:00 p.m. The next night, I assembled one bureau, then Tuesday night, the second bureau was assembled and clothes put away in it. One bookcase has been moved in, and tomorrow DH will have to move the bureau that was in the boys’ room to Stick-It’s room (because it’s too heavy for me). Then we can clean out the rest of the toys, move the rest of the furniture out, clean and paint the room, and fix up the TV room for the kids. And if I’m still standing on Monday, I’ll be amazed! If we can accomplish that much, I’m hoping we can get everything done by Thanksgiving, when I hit 28 weeks. Then I can concentrate on cookie making, gift-wrapping, the holidays, and getting ready for Stick-It.

Workplace Woes

Off-pregnancy topic for today – need to vent about work. So far as I go, I’m feeling HUGE, can’t breathe due to the humidity in the Northeast, and Stick-It is kicking me awake every morning at 4:30 a.m. Not what a perpetual night owl deals with well.

Okay, my job sucks right now. Well, not the job, but my boss. She has for quite a while. I have worked in the same office for the past 12 years at a local community college as an Administrative Assistant to a Dean. This woman has become the walking example of a bad boss, and why people call state employees "hacks" to begin with. I know, you're asking yourself, "so why not leave?"

One, after 12 years, I have some really great benefits. Like 4 weeks vacation time. I’m making decent money. I have a 15-minute commute. And it’s not the toughest job in the world. But over the years, I’ll admit, it must have been something like suffering from Stockholm Syndrome for me. We had another Dean and his Admin in the office with us, and they were a piece of work, so for years, it was her and me in the same foxhole. And she was somewhat reasonable. Then came, about four years ago, her losing her dad. Then, little things, like three years ago, when my husband had his heart attack and I was 13 weeks along with Jimmy. Her response to the news? “Oh, I’m sorry. So, do you think you’ll be in on Monday, because the work’s piling up?” Then, four months later, her response to my losing Jimmy: “Oh, take as much time as you need, but do you think you’ll be back in three weeks, because the work’s piling up?” A year later, as her mother was dying and I had my miscarriage: “Well, now you won’t be so hormonal!” This from a woman who had a miscarriage a few months after her dad died, which she kept secret from everyone at work but me.

I shouldn’t have expected anything more from her. She has NO life outside of work. None. No support system, no friends, no one. She has aunts and uncles and cousins who live one town over from where she is, and no one helps her. And she doesn’t ask. She’s not “into” anything. At one point she told me her motto was “Just don’t get involved”. Not in her kids’ school, nothing. In fact, her kids are involved in NOTHING. No sports, no clubs, etc. The only time they did anything was when her husband had a different job and coached the boys. But in the last few years, that stopped. Three years ago, her mother was diagnosed with end-stage ALS, her husband had taken a position in his company where he was in Southeast Asia three out of four weeks a month, and she fell at home and broke her right foot (so she couldn’t drive). No family came to help her, no friends pitched in. Are you getting the picture? The woman is a loner with a capital “L”. And her husband, who seems like a nice guy, isn’t much better. The day after her mother’s funeral, he left to go back to Asia. After all, he’d been home for a full three days, coming in the day before the wake.

I, on the other hand, live in the same town I grew up in. I’m involved in both kids’ schools and their sports as well as in the town, as is DH, and we are surrounded by family and friends who will step up if asked, just as we do for them.

So, you might ask, what’s changed my mind about staying here? Well, three years ago, just as her mother was dying, we had a turnover in the office. The other Dean and his Admin retired, and new ones took their place, changing the whole tone of the office. I crawled out of the foxhole and started to realize what a Bitch she could be. A year later, just after her mother’s death, when she started to be truly unbearable (everything that went wrong was my fault, and she stopped giving me the tools to do my job effectively, like telling me her schedule), she announced that she was taking a year’s leave of absence to go overseas with her husband and kids. Woo-Hoo! She ended up extending it to 18 months, and I had an Interim Dean who was a dream to work for. He had his moments, but viewed me as his right hand and an integral part of the team. Well, she decided to return in June, and right as she did, I found out I was pregnant. Despite the hopes that she would come back somewhat less tense, the opposite has happened. She’s more paranoid and secretive than ever, and doesn’t like the fact that I no longer let her bullying ways slide, having had words with her quite a few times over her tone and attitude. But again, it’s never her.

She has made the past four months seem like an eternity, and is now on my case to tell her exactly when I’m planning on going out on maternity leave, how long I plan to take, and the date I expect to return. I have tried to explain that I have no clue at this point (after I confirmed that I only need to give her 2 weeks’ notice according to my union contract), that, as I learned with Jimmy, things can change at a moment’s notice, and that I’m not sure how long I’ll be out (things like daycare and how long I can afford to go without pay have to be figured out with DH). I’ve been told that the plan is to induce me two weeks’ early, but that could change. And I’ve been warned that I could also end up on bed rest (or, thanks to the stress she keeps inducing, I may decide to speak with my OB and be written out, if possible, even earlier!).

I also can’t get a straight answer from HR regarding their various leave policies, and now have to ask our union rep and office to clarify a number of these issues. I’m waiting for HR to also get back to me regarding what the increases would be in my insurance deductions if I did come back part-time, not that I’m sure that’s an option; my contract says it is, but I’m clarifying that with the union as well. I’m also waiting to get the list of fees from my daycare to see if there is a three- or four-day option, or half-days, as DH, in the middle of all this, is transferring to a closer office, resulting in, for now, him working Monday-Friday second shift starting next month (he currently commutes an hour each way, and works Tuesday through Saturday days). He has been told this won’t be for long, but it might actually work if I could find a 25-hour a week position somewhere.

But, like with most maternity leaves, I need to stay in my current position until I have this baby. Then, once I’ve delivered AND we have a sense of a plan as to when I need to go back, I’ll begin applying for different positions. Hopefully, I won’t have a problem finding something. As far as her questioning goes, I’m not saying anything besides “Gee, we’re trying to get some answers, and, as you are well aware, everything is up in the air when it comes to a pregnancy. There are no certainties.” And that, dear readers, is the light at the end of my current employment tunnel: not having to put up with Dean FruitLoops and her neurotic behavior, will be worth a reduction in pay and benefits!

It's A ....

It’s a boy. Another son. On one hand, I am so set for another boy! Clothes, toys, the works, I’ve already got boy stuff. Lots of it. And I know how to be a mother to a son. But now my apprehension grows even higher. I’m 20 weeks along with another son. I’ve been here before, and the sense of having the other shoe hanging over my head is ominous.

Our Level II ultrasound last week went well. Stick-It looked fine, and then the inevitable question: “Do you want to know what it is?”

Of course I did. DH was, as always, on the fence. But I don’t like surprises. At all. Period. And trust me, losing Jimmy, losing the next pregnancy a year later, and all that we’ve gone through at the IF clinic were enough “surprises” to last me a lifetime, thanks.

The tech moved the wand around my stomach because Stick-It once again wasn’t giving up any secrets. And then, there it was. Even I know what those were. Those were boy parts. The doc confirmed it.

As many of us have written, knowing that you will most likely never have a child of the other sex brings forward a range of emotions. Yes, we are infinitely grateful to be having a child at all. But there is something in knowing that I will never have a daughter to dress up, to braid the hair of, to take to Girl Scouts. Please don’t mistake my feelings; I love my sons with all my heart and soul. But this will be my last pregnancy, my last chance at having a child of the other sex in my house. I also know very well that mothers and sons have a very different relationship, particularly when the sons are grown, than mothers and daughters do.

I shouldn’t have even thought on an outside chance that this one would be a girl. Vegas wouldn’t have taken a chance on our odds. First, my DH is the youngest of 8 boys. That’s right. Eight in 12 years. My brother has two boys. The cousins on my dad’s side? All boys (the cousins on my mom's side, all two of them, have one boy and two girls between the two of them. And the boy and one of the girls were twins.) Out of my pregnancies, five now in all, I’m averaging 80% in the boy area. My two oldest, then Jimmy, now Stick-It (the miscarriage was too early to tell).

I also had one other major reason for wanting this child to be a girl. Having a boy after losing a perfectly healthy 28-week-old pregnancy with another son to a cord accident just makes me feel like I’m reliving so much of it. DH has similar feelings. I know the odds are in our favor that nothing like that will happen again, but I don’t like to gamble. Knowing this is another boy will just help my apprehension will grow until this child is delivered alive and is safely in my arms.

"Would You Like Some Cheese with That Whine?"

Before my whining starts, happy positive vibes to Thalia, who should have already met POB today! Thalia, we’re all thinking of you!

I have a cold. I thought it was allergies, but yesterday afternoon it quickly became apparent that it was something more. There are few more annoying things than being sick when you’re pregnant. I can’t breathe, my nose is either running or plugged and putting pressure on my head, my throat is raw from coughing, the crap that has run down my throat overnight tends to make me sick to my stomach in the morning, and, best of the best, if I cough and have even a half-full bladder, well, let’s just say I’ve taken to wearing pantiliners.

I have been using Sudafed sparingly, saline spray constantly, and have finally had a Hall’s Cherry cough drop without having it make me sick to my stomach. That and lots of chicken soup. Not the real stuff either. When I’m sick, I want Lipton’s Chicken Noodle Soup, Irish tea with honey, and lots of Jello. For now, no tea or Jello, as anything sweet is tending to make me nauseous. One of the quirks of this pregnancy.

I may even give in and go home at lunchtime today. That, or stick it out and bang in sick tomorrow. I just hate using any of my sick time, as any saved time is what I have to use to be paid for my maternity leave. And I already need to leave early Monday for my Level II u/s, and the following week DH is having his remaining two wisdom teeth removed, so I need to take a day for that. I'll just state for the record that the US and most of its companies totally suck when it comes to maternity leave policies.

How's Your Stress Level?

I know from the other blogs I read and from talking to other moms who’ve had a successful pregnancy after a loss that you never have a worry-free pregnancy. So when my OB asked at my visit “So, how are you doing? How’s your stress level?”, I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or punch him. How’s my stress level? You really want to know?

Every time I wake up that I don’t have sore boobs, I have a moment of panic that something is wrong. The nausea still continues, and I somehow find it reassuring. I haven't felt movement yet, which is not unusual for me (I usually feel the baby around 18 weeks, but I'm older and everything is a little more stretched out). Particularly for the first twelve or thirteen weeks, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something horrible to happen, for this pregnancy to end, just as the last two have.

I so strongly remember that the first night in the hospital when they were trying to start labor with Jimmy. I stood in the bathroom, naked, while my mother helped me into a fresh Johnny. I looked in the mirror at my boobs that were already deflated and the stomach that no longer showed any movement, turned to her, and said, “I don’t even look pregnant anymore. I don’t feel pregnant.” Twenty-one hours later, delivering my third son, who didn’t move, didn’t cry, who was already gone. Writing his obituary the next day, planning his graveside service, telling my mother that it was the only thing that I could do for this son that I would never get to mother in any other way.

A year later, hearing the voice of Dr. Grandpa tell me over the phone that the 7-week u/s didn’t look good, that my HcG wasn’t doubling, that the yolk sac was too big, and that this pregnancy probably would end soon (it went on for fifteen more days, a year to the day of Jimmy’s due date), and crying, asking myself why I was putting myself through this. Swearing that I wouldn’t do this again. Then the next year’s turmoil of secondary IF and the shots, the tests, the IUIs, having AF show up the day of my pregnancy test bloodwork. And now, being here.

So, how’s my stress level? I know very bad things can happen. For so many of us, it has. We don’t live in a vacuum like so many expectant moms. We've walked through the fire, the depths of despair, and come out the other side. I am one of the lucky ones; this is not my first child. This is my fifth pregnancy. I have two great kids at home. I have one son buried in our local cemetery in a plot that my father bought for us, where my husband and I will join him someday in the distant future. I have one child that I have only a few ultrasound pictures of. And every day that this pregnancy continues on, that I have an appointment where I can see this baby moving and get a blurry picture or hear it’s heartbeat, I am incredulous that it is happening, that I may actually bring this baby home.

Screening Results & Dr. Fav

First, mea culpa. Not that anyone seems to be reading this thing, but I still can't get my act together when it comes to keeping up with this blogging thing. I've had some great ideas for posts, but somehow always get waylaid.

I’m still in PregnancyLand. Stick-It’s still sticking. All-day nausea has subsided somewhat, but I still have my moments. This morning I couldn’t get to work until 11:00 a.m. I almost passed out twice, something that never happens to me. DH made me take my BP. It was 80/48, at which point he said he didn’t want me behind the wheel; I agreed, because I felt like crap. So the next two hours was spent lying down, trying to drink and eat something to get my metabolism and BP up. Finally it went up to 90/58, and now I’m at work.

First trimester screening results from the practice I was referred to came back, and were great. I have gone from a 1/70 chance of having a child with Down’s Syndrome to a 1/1380 chance; the genetics counselor noted that that is the same risk a 20-year-old would face. Same level of risk (same as a 20-year-old) for Trisomy 13 or 18 – from a 1/137 risk to 1/2721.

Then she asks the question: to amnio or not to amnio? Mind you, the only amnio I’ve ever had was with Jimmy. I know it had nothing to do with his choking on his cord, and at least we knew of all the things that he didn’t die of, but I’m also a person who analyzes numbers. The question I raised at the screening appointment was the 1/200 risk of miscarriage that the amnio carries, which the older OB at my practice had confirmed the week before. The genetics counselor corrected that. Due to their review of the latest studies from NY, which apparently has a similar population to the New England area, this high-risk practice (out of Mass General Hospital) now says amnios have a 1/600 risk of miscarriage. Still, that’s twice the risk as have a child with Down’s, and four times the risk of having a child with Trisomy 13 or 18.

So we’re opting to not do the amnio. I had the APF drawn Friday for the neural tube defects, and have my Level II u/s next Monday.

More reassuring was finally seeing “my” doctor in my OB practice. Dr. Fav is just a great guy. There are four doctors in this practice, along with some midwives (who I’ve never seen). Dr. Lady is my second pick in the office. Then there’s Dr. Grandpa, a man that my mom, an OB/GYN nurse, worked with for a few years two decades ago, before he and his two partners split and she went with one of the other partners. He’s nice, but a little too old-fashioned at times for me. I had to see Dr. Grandpa for my first appointment at 10 weeks and then again at 12 weeks (he couldn’t hear the heartbeat at 10 weeks, and wanted to see me at 12). Then the last partner, Dr. A-Hole, is the one who let me bleed for 8 weeks after my miscarriage before my D&C. He’s the one that I informed the intake OB nurse I would not see with this pregnancy. Actually, I said I wouldn’t let him within 20 feet of me, and that I still had friends and family who thought I should have sued him for dragging out my second loss with their office.

Now, you may ask why I would return to the same practice. Because when I asked my RE if there were anyone in the area that he would recommend for someone who finally got pregnant with his practice, he recommended Dr. Fav. When I posed my issues with Dr. A-Hole, he just told me that any woman who’s gone down the IF path has to be her own advocate when she does get pregnant, because most OB/GYN offices don’t handle pregnancies after losses well. And Dr. RE is a man I had and have great confidence in who was at one of the better Boston hospitals when it comes to high-risk pregnancies.

Anyway, Dr. Fav was on for my 16-week appointment; I’ve also got my 20- and 24-week set up with him. He greeted me, and did all the regular checks. Heartbeat was fine, my BP was fine, and I’ve only gained 9 pounds to date (pretty good for a “big” girl – I’m 5’7.5” (that 0.5 inch is SOOOO important!) and now weigh in at 207.5 pounds. Then he asked how I was, how much stress I was under (my response was “quite a bit at work”), and his plans. He wants me scanned every 3 weeks to check for fetal growth, fluid levels, and placenta health. He also wants to see me every 2 weeks, and in between doesn’t care if I’m in the office for heartbeat checks every day if that’s what I want. He also mentioned that his and my anxiety levels would be going up dramatically from about Week 24 until this child is delivered healthy and is safe in my arms. Sounds good to me, and it’s comforting to feel like I have someone watching out for me and Stick-It.

So, the next step is the Level II u/s. Hopefully, Stick-It will cooperate and we’ll find out what we’re having.

“And How Much Maternity Leave Does Your Company Offer?”

Ah, the question so few of us ask when interviewing for a position. Why? Because you might be marked as one of those women who actually wants to have children but needs to work to support those same children, someone who might need to take a few months off after delivering a bowling ball and then will dare to return to the workplace. And then, even if you end up on IF island, you're still marked.

Why is this an issue? Because I had my second OB appointment yesterday. (Yep, 12 weeks. Pinch me. Sorry, but I'm still waiting for the sound of the proverbial other shoe hitting the floor. But back to the point at hand...) Because the office computers were down, they couldn’t access anyone’s medical records because they computerized every G.D. record. So my appointment was delayed by 35 minutes. And that means that I had to stay late or take half an hour sick time. No big deal, right?

Well, due to the overwhelming generosity of my employee (I work for a state agency), I receive a whopping 10 days paid maternity leave. That’s right, 10 days. I know that’s more than some women get, but give me a break. And any more time than that is at my expense; to be paid, I have to use whatever time I have squirreled away. And of course, being that FOUR IUIs hadn’t worked and we figured we were at the end of our fertility road, I have used almost 100 hours of vacation time this year, including two weeks this summer. This would be shocking only if you realized that I NEVER take vacation time, let alone two weeks in the same three-month period.

So now, 30 minutes makes a difference. Keep your fingers crossed that the computers stay up for the rest of my visits.

Stick-It

Stick-It’s still sticking. Still pregnant. Wow. Can’t believe I just typed that. HcG came back at 14032 on 6/27, so we’ve still got doubling. OB ultrasound was done on 7/3. The thought of it terrified me; the first ultrasound with the last pregnancy was when they knew something wasn’t right. I even went back and, sure enough, because I’m both a packrat and detail-oriented, found my electronic calendar with that pregnancy. My HcG never got above the 2000 range last time. I know the numbers have been sooo much better this time, but the thought of having to see another screen with a baby dot on it and be told after the scan that things aren’t looking good is scary.

Had the u/s. The woman doing it, turns out, worked with my DM (did I mention DM was an OB/GYN nurse for 20+ years?). When she realized that I was DM’s daughter, she took extra time. Crown to rump length was 6.8. Yolk sac was 3.7. What’s so infuriating was the way with the last pregnancy I was told that the yolk sac measurements were abnormal, in a very patronizing way no less. Not a simple scientific explanation, like this time (“3.7 is good. Anything over 5.0 gives us cause for concern.”) Good. Give me facts, numbers, ratios, rates, something I can grasp and research and question.

Then I see the RE, not my regular one, but a very nice one. We’ll call him Dr. RE #2. And a resident who’s in training. Which I really don’t have a problem with. I think it’s great that this chick is going to find out what it’s like for the IFers of the world, and if she wants to stay in our sandbox. Dr. RE#2 is great. He greets me with "You're giving us a bad reputation. Congratulations!", referring, of course, to the fact that, while not one of their 4 IUIs worked, we managed to somehow end up where we are.

Everything is going well. He said I do need to stay on the progesterone suppositories twice a day for another three weeks (ugh!) as my levels were on the lower side. He then pointed out, however, that my progesterone levels have never been on the high side, pregnant or not, according to all the blood work they’ve done on me in the past year.

Another u/s in two weeks. I moved it up a little as we’re going camping next week, so the morning we leave, I get another picture. I’ll keep my emotions in check until then. Oh, and the morning sickness (or all-day sickness in my world) has started with a vengeance. That, combined with the low blood pressure I have with every pregnancy, is kicking my ass!!!

Progesterone

You great white waxy
suppositories
that I have to stick up my hoohaa
twice a day
according to the orders of the RE
who I have not actually spoken with
or even seen
yet
regarding this pregnancy.
Moonfaced,
bloated,
can't tell if it's
morning sickness
or
the progesterone
making me slightly nauseous
but my boobs are sore
so that's a good thing,
right?
Waiting
for the other shoe to drop
the door to slam in my face
again.
But this time is different.
This time,
no matter what,
I'll be okay;
I'd be sad
and mourn the loss of possibilities
yet again,
but I'm in a better place
than the last miscarriage
and better than when we lost Jimmy,
so let what may be
be.