Nathaniel's Birth Story

I found this accounting while searching posts on LiveJournal today. Just felt like reposting my 2nd kid's birth story for posterity. :)

Sorry, Nate!

I was one week overdue when my doctor decided to induce labor. I had gestational diabetes, and as he was going out of town in a few days, he didn't want to leave me to a back-up doctor.

Jack and I went to the hospital at 12:00 midnight on 8/22/90. They were very busy, so we had to wait until 2:00 a.m. to get a room.

I changed into a gown and a nurse (Debbie) put the EFM (external fetal monitor) on me. After taking some info and goinf over my birth plan (we discussed how things had to be different due to the induction), she tried to start an IV for the Pitocin. On the fourth try, she made it. In actuality, she realized she had been successful the first 3 times, but she kept expecting blood to come out, and it didn't. The whole procedure was excruciatingly painful.

An internal exam showed me at 3 cm dilation.

From 2 am to 8 am, despite contractions off and on, which were painless, nothing appeared to be happening.

When the shift changed, our new nurse, Gloria, checked me and found I was almost 4 cm. She changed Pit bags, which I inadvertently pulled it out of connection 1/2 hour later. She came back and checked the Pitocin and discovered the problem. I had no contractions forororororororort he time it was off. She said that was probably good, and she was going to suggest I be unplugged and walk some to give the uterus a rest, but that was already done.

She hooked me back up and decided to break my water and attach an internal monitor.

Again, nothing much happened, so she was in at 10:30 and upped the Pitocin. Right away, contractions began that I had to breath through. Not really painful though (except for when she had to reattach the internal monitor and her hand was caught inside during one.)

I only had a few when I was up to 5 cm and decided an epidural. The anesthetis came in and gave it to me at 11:30 and I had no more pain. Dr. Milgram and nurse Lila came in and checked me.

Things progressed with another check at 1:00 showing me at 8 cm dilation. At 1:30 I felt pressure, and Lila came in to check before Dr. Milgram went to do a C-section. She felt I was fully dilated and went to get Dr. Milgram. He came in, checked, and said I could push now.

With Lila pushing on my abdomen (unwelcomed) and me semi-sitting, I pushed. Dr. Milgram did a late episitiotomy and at 1:45 pm Nathaniel Taylor Martin was born.

I recall looking down and seeing his head and then his body slide out. It was a wierd feeling.

The nursery people in attendance cleaned him up and brought him to me. We had 15 minutes or so to bond and I nursed him some.

Then he went to the nursery and I was taken to recovery. At about 5 pm I went to a regular room. I was starving, as I had missed all meals for 24 hours. Dinner was at 5:30 and they finally brought Nathaniel to me at 6:00. 

He was taken back at 7:00 to be circumcised, and as soon as I could walk, about 8:30 pm, we went home!

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Addendums after the fact, on 12/17/02

Dr. Milgram looked at Jack once and said "Hard to believe that's the same thing you kiss, isn't it?" (Referring to my bloody and gaping vagina)

When Dr. Milgram took off his gloves he accidently snapped me "there" with one. The nurse gasped and he said "What? She can't feel it anyway..."

(While you may think those horrid for a doctor to do, his humor was one thing that really made us like him. A lot.)

Going home, I didn't have the right sanitary napkins so we stopped at a store. Jack would not go in for me and buy those things. So, having just had my kid that day, I went shopping for supplies. The checkout lady asked when my baby was due. I said I'd just had him. Heh.

Menopause!

I've been in perimenopause for a few years now. That means my body has been winding down some, but not a whole lot. In fact, I'd learned about my status when I went to my doctor complaining of very heavy periods for the first time in "forever" - at least since I had kids. Yeah, I was soaking my pjs at night.

Anyways.

Right on time this month, my period started. They've been really regular since I had children (the youngest is now 18 and I'm 46), though prior they'd been very irregular.

Except ... light flow. Every. Day. Four days only.

IT'S ABOUT FRACKING TIME, BODY!!!!!!!

This indicates that The Change is coming upon me more now, and I am so dang glad, I could cuss all over this blog.

I want to be DONE with my periods forEVER.

Of course, the guys in my head will be very relieved and have loathed it from the start, naturally. (It's bad enough that this body lacks the proper sexual characteristics for them -  it has to bleed, too?)

Yeah, baby. Bring it on.

Hot flashes and all.

Acts of Love

Can I love someone whom I feel is a terrible person?


After reading this article and some of the featured responses, I posted on G+:

I believe ...

If you are [insert name of religion here because ALL religions have as a basic tenet 'love each other' - without excluding anyone], it is your responsibility to love everyone, including [gays, whites, blacks, oranges, soldiers, addicts, prostitutes, lawyers, haters, everyone.].


I admit the above is difficult for me in certain respects. I have a terribly hard time loving any haters, particularly those of the Westboro Baptist Church. However, though it's a stretch for me to feel anything but animosity toward them, I still must strive to accept and achieve the statement above. It's my responsibility to love everyone, including the haters.

At the end of the article, the author suggests:

My request today is simple. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Find somebody, anybody, that’s different than you. Somebody that has made you feel ill-will or even [gulp...] hateful. Somebody whose life decisions have made you uncomfortable. Somebody who practices a different religion than you do. Somebody who has been lost to addiction. Somebody with a criminal past. Somebody who dresses “below” you. Somebody with disabilities. Somebody who lives an alternative lifestyle. Somebody without a home.

Somebody that you, until now, would always avoid, always look down on, and always be disgusted by.

Reach your arm out and put it around them.

And then, tell them they’re all right. Tell them they have a friend. Tell them you lovethem.

If you or I wanna make a change in this world, that’s where we’re gonna be able to do it. That’s where we’ll start.

Every. Single. Time.

But here's the thing.


I don't want to love everyone. I'm not ready to love everyone.


I wonder - could it be enough to act lovingly?


What if, when faced with someone whose hatred boils over and disgusts me, and who is speaking to me, I do pretty much nothing. I withhold reaction. I do not condemn, I do not try to convert or "fix". I just smile sadly (because how horrible it is to be so hateful) and let it go. 


Oh yes, if they were actively bullying someone else in my presence, I would feel obliged to speak up to them; however, perhaps I could do that lovingly as well. Whatever words I used, I would try to separate the bully from the bullied, and attend to the victim. That would be acting with love, wouldn't it?


I admit, there are people who, when I think of them even now, cause my lip to curl in disdain involuntarily. I'm not at a place where I could look at them, speak to them, and do what the article's author suggests.

But maybe someone else can. Maybe it's enough that I keep an open heart for those who don't set me off quite so much.

Almost as an aside, because of my spotty memory, a few years ago I found myself wondering if I'd ever bullied one of my classmates who was not a small person. So, I asked him. He told me that I was the only one in school who never made fun of him at all.

I say that not to toot my own horn. I've certainly done things I'm not happy about to people, but this gave me hope that maybe I've been a pretty tolerant and kind person through my life. Maybe I've brought some love to some people, in spite of what I've been through.

So that's all I can do, I suppose. Continue to speak out against others talking/bringing others down, strive to do no harm, myself, and lead by example.

My request, then, is for readers to smile at one more person tomorrow whom you might normally not smile at. That's an act of love, and it might be enough to start.

Baby got a new pair of shoes!

There's this humongous shoe store in Asheville (Discount Shoes 1266 Brevard Road, Asheville, NC 28806) that has a giant selection of shoe brands and styles and sizes. It's where my sister bought for me a pair of Alegria clogs (http://www.zappos.com/alegria-seville-brown-nappa) which are some of the best shoes I've ever worn.

See, usually I'm a WalMart shoe shopper. If it's comfortable "enough" and I like the look, I'll get them. But I'm not a shoesie. I have a pair of brown boots, a pair of running shoes, two pair of slipons (one black, one tan, got the tan ones at Goodwill), a few pair of sandals, all from WalMart but one slipon pair. From Goodwill I've also bought a pair of Dansko clogs (regularly about $120, $3.50 at Goodwill) that are okay, and a pair of blue suede clogs of unknown brand. Basically, the less expensive they are, the more inclined I am to buy them.

This became a problem, however, when I began a job where I'm on my feet 8 hours a day. Even with padding to stand on (thankfully) my feet and legs were stuck with firey nails by the end of the day. Since my good Coleman hiking boots (that I had for almost 20 years) were cast aside after being (cat) sprayed on, I had nothing but my sneakers that came close to useable.

So, as a gift, my sister took me shoe shopping.

We first went to a couple of local shops, which had good quality shoes. While some of the styles were good, we quickly recognized a problem.

I needed extra-wide shoes.

I have wide toes, and narrow heels. This presents difficulty finding shoes with a back that fit, because if they fit in the toes, they slip up and down on my heels. This causes blisters and is very annoying, as well.

Thus, we ended up at Discount Shoes with my sister and her daughter, myself and my daughter, and our mother/grammy dozing in the van outside.

It was more than an hour later that we were down to one pair of possible shoes that annoyed me still, because of the heel issue. We'd tried clogs, lace-ups (didn't really want those), and others. Any brand. We weren't stuck on any brand, we just went by what we'd researched to have the best reviews and the best comfort.

We ended up finally at the Alegria section, for the 2nd time. My sister found this pair, the Seville, and it was *almost* okay. Almost, because my toes were still a bit scrunched. With my fibromyalgia and peripheral neuropathy, that wasn't okay.

But, this time (unlike our first slog through), a salesperson was there. "Oh, I can put in wider inserts." Huh? Really? No way!

Indeed, the insert for the Alegria clog comes out *entirely* and she put a new one in. One that made the shoe just that little bit wider that made the shoe perfect. Or as near-perfect as wearing shoes can be. The part over the top of my foot is snug enough that I don't have to curl my toes to keep the shoes on, the toes are wide enough that my foot lays flat, there is arch support, and a strap that can go behind the heel or over the top of the shoe.

When my sister offered me my old shoes back so we could put the new ones in the box to pay for them I said, "Do we have to?"

Of course we didn't! I love the feeling of stuffing my old shoes in the box new shoes were in, and wearing my new shoes out of the store. It's a pleasure I hadn't had since, wow, I can't remember the last time. It happened a lot as a child, when the family had money and I was spoiled, and I got good shoes every time, and often. But as an adult? Not so much.

I wonder if I ever gave my kids that pleasure?

Anyway, with the good shoes there is no break-in period. My legs and feet are very happy with the new, good shoes. Although the fibro and diabetic problems are still evident, they are not exacerbated by my shoes.

Maybe someday I'll save up some money and get another pair of these, in a different color. Or maybe do some shopping around to get a different style.

So here's the bottom line, readers: save your money and get yourself a good pair of shoes. Your feet will thank you!

Depression is not the only cause of exhaustion.

During my time unemployed and my deep depression, I was exhausted. Tremendous fatigue. Some days it was all I could do to care for my temporarily out-of-commission mother, forget about caring for myself. Other days, I had a little more energy, at least physically.

Now that I am employed again, I realize something that should not have surprised me. I still have fibromyalgia. A lifted mood does not necessarily give me more energy, less pain, or a sharper mind.

I worry about my job. About being on my feet for 8 hours a day, even finding great shoes. My body has to remain upright, I have to use my arms and my mind, and can't take a nap in the middle of the day.

Where is the line? Does everyone have to deal with this at work? When waitresses get home, and their feet hurt, does their whole body hurt as well? When they lay down at night does every position hurt as if they were laying on rows of golfballs against bruises?

I'm not trying to be melodramatic, but that's part of my problem. What is melodrama and exaggeration, and what is valid? How brave should I be? Is this going to be the rest of my life; waking up in pain, gritting my teeth and medicating through my day so I'm a "responsible" person, then barely able to fix dinner and going to sleep in pain? Waking through the night from pain?

What is the alternative? Working less, being able to go to the pool for stretching and exercise, taking a 3-hour nap during the early afternoon, managing pain through eating, exercise, natural methods, and medications. Waking each day knowing that I will be able to accomplish something. The problem there is that I"d be dependent on money from elsewhere to survive, even if working some.

There really is no answer for me.

Triggers

Things during the day that cause me to have a memory, image, physical negative response or flashback from the abuse I suffered during my life:

Getting dressed (must be like armor)
Accidentally touching my chest myself
Taking a shower
Cleaning the litter box
Washing clothes
Messy kitchen
Food, particularly comfort foods, and candy
TV shows (including news) that bring up missing or abused or killed children, spousal abuse, and custody battles.
Sports on TV, particularly football and golf.
The woods
The creek
Summer
Coke
Talking on the telephone, or just the telephone ringing
Being at the airport/on an airplane
School busses
Greyhound-type buses
Weight-loss shows
Diets
Children
Brushing my teeth
Washing my hair


Do you see some activities of daily living, here? This means that every day the residual effects from the abuse I suffered interferes with my daily life. First thing I have to do in the morning when I wake up is steel myself to deal with the inevitable triggers.

These are not all of the things that trigger me. I don't want to get into too many more, because it's a struggle just to write this.

And guess where I live? Surrounded by woods, with a creek. I really hate summer.

Drugs and me ...

The other night I took an oxycodone. I rarely take narcotics, for a few reasons. When I woke up in the morning, though, I remembered why I wished I took them more often. I had almost no pain or stiffness at waking. Of course, the pain returned later in the morning, as did the stiffness, but I'd been moving by then so it wasn't as bad as it can get first thing upon waking.

I don't get addicted to anything, I'm fortunate with that, so fear of addiction isn't one of the reasons I don't take narcotics. Hydrocodone and lesser meds don't work for my pain very much, but oxycodone does.

Thing is, there are a few things that come along with narcotics that irritate me. I understand the reasons for them, but it's annoying and up until now, not worth bothering with.

One is that you have to have a really good argument for your doctor to prescribe them.

Two, you instantly get labeled a drug-seeker by the doctor, the nurses, the pharmacy, etc.

Three, there are no refills, so you have to beg each month to get more.

However, I'm considering it now. It'd be good to be able to take one at night at bedtime so that I can get to sleep. Pain keeps me awake, even with sleep meds. Less pain allows me to get to sleep. Sleep is very much in need at this time.

Tomorrow, though, I have an appointment for psychiatric services. Perhaps they will change my meds. Lyrica is a possibility, but that's also a narcotic and a pain in the ass to get.

We shall see.