Musing, remembering, and planning

Here we are, just past the 34 weeks mark. That means that in less than two weeks, this kid will be considered term. And by 38 weeks, I expect to be talking induction with the OB (assuming it doesn't happen at 37, etc.). We are in the home stretch.

Because of some stupidity in HR, I need to work to the end of 37 weeks or it will cost me extra $$$. I am displeased with that whole scenario, since I am a firm believer in the "if the baby is mature, then get it the heck out where it can't die for XYZ reason" philosophy. (blissfully ignoring all the ways a baby can die once it has been born... let's not talk about that, please).

I am surrounded by pregnant women and newborns in my circle of friends and acquaintances. I would guess that we are talking about 20-30 women who are pregnant or wrangling newborns. I know them from playgroup, which means the reason that we know each other is our kids. Which also means that the group spends a lot of time talking about pregnancy and childbirth.

It doesn't hurt the way it would have 3 years ago. Or even a year ago. I can quite contentedly sit by and listen to the naive things that they say. Like the classic I heard last week - "They wouldn't let me do a VBAC because they just like to cut". Ha, ha, ha, ha. Because a ripping uterus or placental abruption, etc. are things that we just shouldn't worry about. It is more important to give birth in a swimming pool with your husband chanting and feeding you granola.

However, I keep that opinion to myself. And in the process of keeping it to myself, and of doing this subsequent-subsequent pregnancy, I have learned something. I take a lot of pressure off of my brain when I think of a medicalized birth. If there are doctors and nurses and monitors and drugs involved, my brain thinks that things will be OK. It is good for me when I think things will be OK.

When I was expecting C, I wanted to deliver naturally in the hospital with no drugs, etc. I had my nice little typewritten birth plan all packed into my hospital bag. Next the the tennis balls in tube socks for pain relief. I would have hired a doula if there were such a thing in my town (there is now, btw). I was happy that the hospital had jet tubs that I could labour in. My biggest fear is that I might cave in and take drugs.

Then, when I showed up at the hospital in labour, 3 centimeters dilated and regular contractions, they told me my baby was already dead. For some reason, I stuck to the birth plan for a few hours - no drugs, tried the tub, etc. Really, that was quite silly. Then I took the drugs. I think this is when my perspective changed. Natural is bad. Babies can't trust my body to deliver them naturally. There has to be doctors and nurses and monitors and drugs. That's the only way to trust.

I think what scares me now is the idea that I could go into labour on my own. I don't like that idea. I want to have control over when this thing starts. I want drugs to start the process, I want someone to rupture my membranes for me, I want drugs to control the frequency and intensity of contractions, and I want my epidural. The only "natural" thing that I want is to deliver vaginally (because I have always recovered very quickly from vaginal delivery and I will have to chase a 3 year old...). But I have no fear of episiotomy - that's old hat, too.

Coming to realize that I don't trust my body and that I do trust medical interventions makes it a lot easier to sit through conversations about other people's views on this. I know why I don't trust my body. I know that I used to trust my body. I can see why other people might trust their bodies. I can even go so far as to understand why someone doesn't trust their doctor (um... maybe find one you can trust), even though I will always maintain that choosing to give birth without immediate access to an operating room is a poor choice. I can keep my mouth shut, and I don't feel like I am letting myself down.

2-4 more weeks. I hope time flies. God, I have a lot to do.

Good News

Baby is no longer breech. Stay that way.

A misnomer

I think they mis-named the illustrious "non-stress test". I find them quite stressful. We started them at 29 weeks, which is admittedly early to get a good trace, and I have been doing them weekly ever since. Today was week 33.

Last week almost resulted in a meltdown when it took almost 2 1/2 hours (plus 1/2 hour in the waiting room) to get the accelerations to show on the trace. The standard we are looking for is 5 accelerations that are 15 bpm above baseline. The baby was kicking like crazy, but no accelerations of more than 10 bpm. Cookies, orange juice, a walk, and a nurse moving the transducer around finally resulted in a total of 5 accelerations. By then, I was planning what I would need to pack when they hospitalized me and put me on bed rest for the next month or so (which they actually wouldn't do, but don't tell my anxiety-addled brain that...).

Today's NST was similar, but we managed to keep Baby awake long enough to get 5 accelerations to happen. I kept guzzling juice, eating cookies, and poking my belly. When you phrase it like that, it almost sounds fun.... It's not.

How 'bout this? I do most of my NSTs in the room where they told me C was dead. I often have to walk past the room where we sat waiting for them to tell us what they were going to do (and where I imagined they would do a c-section, resuscitate him, and leave us with one of the "almost" stories). The same nurses who cared for me 5 years ago care for me now. And it doesn't freak me out. I remember, each and every time. But I don't freak out. Thank god for 5 years.

Changing the subject, I can't sleep much any more. Hard on the pubic bone. I also have been fighting a cold for nearly 3 weeks, meaning I can't breath. My best option is usually to doze, propped up with pillows on the couch. That means that I am awake for the day at 6 a.m. and require a nap immediately following supper. Don't even ask how work is going - concentration is impossible when all I can think about is "when can I sleep again????".

Only a few more weeks. I expect either induction or c-section before the end of April. I would prefer to deliver vaginally, but the baby is not head down. Last u/s was breech, but I am thinking transverse is more what's happening now. We'll see what the OB says tomorrow.

Hoping to go for some BPPs, but don't remember when we started those last time? What's your experience?

And that's an update.

Get a grip

I feel like I am clutching at sanity. Really all that has happened is that BB and my husband are sick, my mother came to visit (causing exhaustion for me and regression in behaviour and potty training in BB), I am behind at work, nothing is ready for the baby, and I can't sleep.

If I have Googled correctly, it seems I am experiencing symphysis pubis dysfunction. It has worsened in the last few days due to slipping a couple of times. Fun. I will mention to my OB next week and see if I can get a quick referral for physio (though at this point it seems somewhat futile, only 8-10 weeks to go...). I can barely walk in the morning. Getting out of bed is torture.

Baby is breech.

So I think what I need is sleep. However, I am not getting any. I have to pee or one of my men get up in the night with their colds or my pelvis is so painful that it wakes me.

My house is messy and needs a really good spring cleaning. And reorganizing (re: fitting in one more person).

Oh, and work has notified me of some unexpected financial burdens that will be coming our way. Good times.

Okay, off to think about my latest knitting project, which is terribly cute and coming together just perfectly.

I suppose you might not know me...

...because we haven't really met. I am sorry about that, I really am. You only see snippets of me here. I don't really do memes and I don't write about things that are not grief related. Really, my policy for myself is to keep the blog very uni-dimensional, so that the whole anonymity thing can be maintained.

But here is something about me, something that make give me up entirely to those consumed with knowing my identity:

A radio host just said that Schubert's Trout Quintet was "not written for five fish" and I keep repeating it in my head and laughing out loud.

God, that's funny.


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Recent OB report: Baby is measuring a bit big, good blood flow in the heart and cord, starting to do weekly NSTs (because, why not?), he won't let me go past 38 weeks. All very good things, to my ears. I am working very hard to ignore hiccups as much as possible. My mental health is quite good on days when I get enough sleep. My physical is equally good, having an excellent massage therapist who is keeping all aches and pains at bay.

Now to actually make room in our house for another body. I am cleaning and purging and organizing my tail off. If the universe isn't going to comply and arrange for a larger house at an affordable price in the perfect neighbourhood, then I had better get things ready in this house.

Hiccups

So the fetal hiccups have begun in earnest. Please don't make me explain why that is upsetting. I am sure I have blogged about it before, but am much too tired to look for the post. Here is my internal dialogue:

This is when they start. Sometimes hiccups are just hiccups. You have weeks to go before it is safe for baby to come. What are you going to do, start again with the charts and the timers? What if our great new OB thinks that I am a nut job for believing this whole hiccup hypothesis? What if I lose my mind over all of this and have to go on stress leave?

Yep. Fun times.

Remember, self, that fetal hiccups ARE normal. Even multiple episodes of hiccups CAN be normal.

Perhaps this is where the anxiety starts to ramp up. It was bound to happen. I was far too zen.

Obsession

Well, in my previous pregnancy, my obsessions varied. Mostly they were related to all things baby. I shopped obsessively, I read blogs, I did insanely detailed hourly kick-counts, I read everything I could about prevention of stillbirth, etc. etc. etc.

This time, the obsession is houses. As in, a new house for us. I have struggled with this problem for quite a long time: our house is small and old and it would be expensive to renovate, but we like our neighbourhood. Also, we are in a sellers market.

So, these days, you will find me haunting the MLS website. And obsessing about whether or not we will find ourselves a new house that ticks all the boxes. Though it will be possible to stay in our house for quite some time, even with a new baby in the mix, I think it is the right financial choice for our family to invest in something more suitable.

My other obsession is food. More to the point, cooking. I went through a cake obsession during birthday week (for obvious reasons), now have moved on to breads. I tried a risotto, but didn't have the right ingredients. BB wouldn't eat it. I threw out the leftovers.

Are you obsessing about anything these days??

"They"

"They" say it takes five years. You know, they might be right? Sometimes "they" know what they are talking about.

Five years. Holy crap.

We made it through. It was okay. We had our family day and ate cake in C's honour. We made our annual trip to the cemetery and didn't have to deal with sub-Arctic weather. It was almost a good day.

I should have posted on his actual birthday, but I was too damn tired. His birthday is smack in the middle of a week that begins with my birthday, is centered around his brother's birthday, and ends with his grandmother's birthday. It's a lot. I was tired.

I miss him. I am overwhelmed by the unfairness of his birthday celebration. I am almost angry when I think of our family photo of the day: sitting in a snow bank next to a granite memorial. I still ask "why". I don't ask so often anymore, but I still ask. Why him? Why me?

He was so beautiful.

Thoughts

Though I have miles to go before actually panicking, I am paying attention to movement again, having daily/hourly swings between "Is this too much movement?" and "Why isn't there movement?" I don't expect much mental improvement on that front.

Our Christmas was good. Our annual trip to the cemetery was hard. It is always so bloody cold out there in these winter months, especially on Christmas and C's birthday. It is inevitable. We can never stay long, and I always feel guilty. I also narrowly avoided falling totally apart, which I don't feel at liberty to do on BB's Christmas morning. In so many ways, parenting C has become something that is increasingly impossible.

I cannot comprehend that C's fifth birthday is approaching. It makes my mind reel.

So much of my day is consumed by the tasks of running our household and other mundane concerns. I just don't really know how C fits into all of that anymore. I think of him every day, but in passing. There is part of me that misses that old familiar ache of dwelling on the loss of him.

Half Way

We marked the beginning of week 20 yesterday, on the first official day of winter, the shortest day of the year. I don't know why that pleases me so much, but it does. Maybe a little magical thinking... as daylight increases, it brings us ever closer to the beauty that awaits us in the spring.

Winter is a time that means pregnancy to me. To know that this pregnancy should end when trees are budding and grass is green is almost confusing to me. A time of joy, instead of pain or fear. I am not sorry to have this new set of expectations.

As time draws us steadily nearer to C's fifth birthday, I can almost taste how much these years have changed me. I am not the person I was, nor am I the person I have been. I am different again. And I think it is good.

Obstetric Report

Doesn't that sound official?

We had our first visit with our OB this week. It was great. He's from South Africa, so has a great accent and quirky sense of humour. He has this really white complexion and wild, curly black hair, so is kind of cartoonish in appearance. He made jokes and knew our history. I felt completely comfortable.

What was very new for us was the fact that this OB has an ultrasound machine he uses for each prenatal visit. Maybe you are from a larger city where this sort of thing is normal, so I'll tell you that it is NOT normal for our small city. In fact, our population is so small that we have had difficulty at times keeping OBs in town. When BB was born, there was only one OB in town, who was only on call every other week! We opted to deliver in a near-by larger city, just for that reason.

So to see an OB, with an ultrasound machine... well, it was my version of Nirvana. It was such a treat to have him show us everything as he went along, explaining everything - what he was looking for, what the implications were, how he thought it all looked "perfect". No dealing with a sullen tech, who gets irritated if you ask questions ("I can't answer that - only the radiologist can interpret the ultrasound!"). No waiting a week for the results to be faxed to my doctor and having to go in for an appointment to see her, inevitably waiting the extra hour she is running behind. It was bliss-tastic.

BB is really into the whole idea of us having a baby. I can't help but feel I am setting him up for the worst by letting him be excited, but I am forcing that sensation away each time I think of it. I want a normal pregnancy, the kind normal people have. The kind where older brothers can kiss bellies and sing songs to the baby and the Mommy just enjoys the early bonding without worrying about the worst. And I am almost there.

Whew

Despite the ongoing cervical ache thing (still goes away when I sit or lay down. I am now speculating it may have something to do with how much is in my bowel at any given time... ewwww... ), all goes well.

I am now officially convinced that these are kicks and not intestinal gas. Keep on kicking, baby. 25 more weeks.

(P.S. Thank goodness I proofread this post. The original draft wasn't even intelligible).

I should know about counting chickens

I was all set to write this post about how zen/fatalistic this all is for me right now. Then I had cervical pain yesterday. After I did a bunch of crazy arguing in my head, I decided I would regret not seeing my doctor.

I went in and she didn't really think it could be pain in my cervix. Maybe it was contractions. Maybe it was something else entirely. Now, I like my doctor. I like that she fit me in on her lunch hour. I think she is a nice lady. But I do know where my cervix is and I do know what it feels like when it hurts. I have given birth vaginally twice and I get the same type of pain every period. I will admit that I didn't know where my cervix was and what it felt like until after I had two babies and spent months of my life checking for fertility signs, including cervical position. But I sure as heck do know now.

So, what did I want from her anyway? Really, what I wanted was for her to check my cervix and tell me that it is still nice and long. Which she did.

I think she thought I wanted something more. Some guarantee that if they gave me Medication X and did Procedure Y that it would stop an impending disaster. I had no such desire. I know as well as anyone could that when things go to shit, there is not much anyone can do to stop it.

The ache in my cervix is positional. If I lay down, it almost instantly disappears. So this is my self-diagnoses, with no confirmation from either my doctor or even Google. I have a retroverted uterus; it tips towards my back. I think that when the uterus gets big and starts floating around in my abdomen, my reproductive tract reacts to the strain. You may remember the BH ctx that started in week 16 with BB. This time is is a cervical ache.

Anyway, I am not panicked. So maybe I am zen. But I really don't believe in complication free pregnancies, either, so maybe it just doesn't surprise me.

So I am supposed to take it easy. Lay down if I need to. Really easy to do when working and caring for a two year old... :)

By the way...

...I am 14 weeks pregnant.

Excuse me for a moment

Mostly I look and act normal. I work part time and do Mommy stuff the other part of my time. I pack my kid into his snowsuit, load him in the car, and do Mommy of Toddler activities.

EVERYONE I KNOW IS PREGNANT.

I am actually mostly okay with that. I mean, it sucks when there are 15 women in a room and the only topic of conversation is pregnancy. Because I can't contribute half of my experience without freaking out the dead-baby-neophytes in the room (what??? babies can die for no reason??? I can't believe it). So mostly I keep my mouth shut.

But there are certain things that really, really bother me. I wish that I was the belligerent type, storming through life cutting a swath with my opinion, but I am not. So I hear these things and I keep my opinion to myself. I try not to think of them and hope that people still like me, despite my silence on most-things-pregnancy.

RANT #1: I don't think home birth is safe. I won't ever think that home birth is safe. I don't care what statistics you wave at me, I don't care how natural it is, I don't care for how many centuries women did it, I DON'T THINK IT IS SAFE!!!!

You know what I think we should be doing, if hospital births aren't passing muster? I think we should be uniting with local women in our communities and approaching hospitals en masse and demanding changes. We should educate our health professionals as to the needs of the modern woman. We should burn diapers or IV bags (what would the bra equivalent be in this case???).

No, instead we take our ball and go home. Or in this case, pretend that we are super-invincible women, doing Mother Nature's She-ra thing, and that if we have our baby in an inflatable pool at home with our midwife that nothing can go wrong. The midwife has a Doppler, after all. And we are only a 1/2 hour from the hospital if something happens. Making sure that we focus on the low numbers of fetal and maternal deaths in recent history (ignoring, of course, that most of the births are happening in health care facilities).

What's so empowering about birthing in your house, away from the possibility of intervention to save your life or the life of your child? Why aren't we rallying to replicate that experience in a health care setting? Seriously, I don't think this is black and white and you have to choose home birth OR being drugged, C-sectioned and shown a bottle-fed baby in 3 days after you wake up. If you want to give birth with a midwife in an inflatable pool, with all your family watching, you should be able to do that in a health care facility with an OR down the hall and an OB on call. Why aren't we fighting for that option? What is the matter with us? Why do so many women prefer taking the risk of birthing at home?

RANT #2: I have no real understanding why the current practice is to allow women to carry their babies 10-14 days post due-date. Sure, I understand the floating, ball-park nature of due dates, but they aren't as much of an estimate as they once were. If a women is unsure of dates, she is normally sent for a (very accurate) early ultrasound. That should set a pretty firm date, shouldn't it? We have fairly reasonable methods to verify lung maturity when we reach the due date.

Now I know that induction has a bad reputation for being painful, etc. and I know it doesn't always work, and I know that using drugs can backfire. And I am not suggesting every woman have a C-sec on her due date. But 10-14 days seems like an awfully long time. Why not 5-7 days? And is it really about induction being more expensive than natural labour (more drugs, longer hospital stay for mom, etc.)? I don't have enough information, and I don't know anything for sure. All I can say is that EVERYONE I KNOW IS PREGNANT and all of them are going post-dates. And it scares the living crap out of me, every single time. Let's just check the stillbirth stats and see how what percentage of stillbirths happen post-dates.

I just want to say that the induction I had at 37 weeks with BB was gentle, it worked really well, and it was an appropriate way to handle the complications we were facing at the time (history, polyhydramnios, cord concerns). So it is hard for me to see through my experience and understand why anything else would ever be done.

I guess I am not really looking for answers to these questions. I have heard most of the answers before. I just don't like the answers I have heard.

I just don't want more babies to die.

Walking

Tomorrow is our Walk to Remember. Due to Canadian Thanksgiving and conflicting commitments from most members in our support group, the date is early. I am not doing anything special this year, just attending.

In the past I have sang, spoke, read poetry. Is it okay that I am not doing any of that this year? I know the answer is "yes". I know it's okay. But it feels wrong.

I am not in the place any more where I grasp at anything that is remotely connected to C. It saddens me, but it is what they call healing. I have done as much as I can to integrate him (and the loss of him) into my life. Tomorrow I will walk in his memory for the fifth time.

Every day, BB grows and changes. His existence is a continual evolution. I worry about being a good parent, about making good choices for him. I am constantly reacting to those every day things that define our life.

My relationship with C. never changes. It does not grow and mature. He cannot reach out to me as his mother, I cannot hold him close as my son. In so many ways, he can only be an idea, a concept. He was and he mattered, but I didn't know him. Not in the way I know BB. I know that is the real tragedy, but I can't change it. And I have lived with it long enough to know that it isn't going to change.

I think of C. at some point in every day. Not in that gut-wrenching absence-of-presence sort of way, but when I see two brothers play together or when someone speaks of their kids. I know, intellectually, that I have another son. But I don't know what life was like with that son. In some ways, I just don't know what I am missing and I never will.

I don't accept my son's death, not in some "it was meant to be" sort of way. But I have integrated it into my life. I had a son who died. I son I barely knew. I never heard his voice, he never reached out to me, I never fed him, he never slept on my chest. Those personal, physical, tangible pieces of evidence to label him "my son" left with him. We never get that relationship.

There's nothing to be done about it. It doesn't make me weep. It is the tragedy of my life, yet I am finished with most of my crying. I am not putting him away, never will, but the shroud of continual grief is gone.

I miss my son. I never had my son. My son is a memory of a beautiful dream from another lifetime.

Tomorrow I will walk in memory for my son.

Still here

...just busy. And less preoccupied with online life and more involved in reality. That's a good thing.

Hope you are easing into autumn where you are...

Thankful

I just heard that my cousin is pregnant. I love my cousin. And I am truly, genuinely, totally, and entirely happy for her. I don't remember the last time I felt like that about a "normal" woman's pregnancy. Apparently my cousin miscarried once (she hasn't ever mentioned the miscarriage, it just got through the family grapevine), but she has always maintained she didn't want children. I just knew that she did. I am so pleased that she is part of the way there.

I am so grateful to be happy. Mostly I feel fucked up and jealous about other babies and pregnancies. I hate to hear of them. I don't want to be jealous; I just am.

Please let this baby arrive, the epitome of perfection, safely in January.

And thank God and the passing of time that I can feel happy about a baby.

A boy

I wonder if C would have loved trucks and trains and cars and diggers this much. I think so. I think there is something in a boy that allows them to make machine noises and causes deep fascination with all things mechanical. Never have I seen such interest in a lawn mower.

We just returned from our holiday. Watching BB play alone nearly ripped my heart out. It took all my energy to concentrate on other things. Maybe I wasn't that fun to be around, sometimes. I wonder if I will always have to feel this way?

Like AF

Well, I should make an appearance at least once a month, shouldn't I? I am transitioning away from much online stuff. That's okay, but I miss it. Mostly, I think about yarn and dirt. Knitting and gardening. And sticky fingers.

He talks to me now. In little half sentences that only someone trained in the art of code-breaking could possibly decipher. He remembers things from a week or a month ago and brings them up, totally out of context. I feel like superwoman when I figure our what the hell he is talking about.

He loves me passionately. He wants to be independent and he wants me to do everything for him. He has figured out how to make his body as stiff as a rod or as limp as a noodle, depending on the variety of tantrum he is aiming for. The tantrums are rare; his temperament is mild. He loves his father and wants to fix things with him.

He loves trucks and playing the harmonica.

When he helps me push the shopping cart, he has started hanging off of it like a monkey bar and whizzing along with his feet a few inches off the ground. His laugh is the most perfect sound in the world.

His hair is as blond as his parents' when they were children. He looks exactly like me and exactly like his father. The eyes are bluer than endless prairie sky. His kisses are wet and many.

He likes to go visit Brother. It is an incentive to get him in the car. "Get in and we'll go visit Brother." On Mother's Day we flew kites, got to watch a train lumber by and saw a crop duster fly by. I imagine that is the reason why.

When his friends come to play, he runs around in a circle and screams with joy, like a dog chasing his tail. He doesn't know what to do with all that love and excitement. He wants his friends to come to his house so he can host them, but then he is almost more content to sit and watch them play. His personality is so like mine and so like his father's.

I have decided that I no longer scream at him in anger. It was as easy as that. I have to resist all natural urges to scream when he isn't listening; that was how I was raised, after all. I just tell myself that I am zen, I am patience personified. Life moves more slowly and more quietly now. It's good. I am done with screaming. Our house has been quiet for two weeks. I have no fears of returning to that habit. I quit while the quitting was easy.

I am so full of my little boy these days that I don't know how C. fits anymore. It all still hurts, but I have to consciously turn my thoughts to him. I worry that I don't mourn him as a person, but more as a loss of my idealism, my youth, my dreams. He flits around the edges like a ghostly idea, never firming up and taking shape. He was a hope unfulfilled. What's a person to do with that? So intangible.

I continue to deeply desire another child. My husband does not. I pray that some satisfactory resolution will present itself to us in a way that respects both of our needs.

And that's June.