My mind often wanders on the twice-weekly, 45 minute drives to and from the doctor's office. Usually I think about how great it will be when I have my own body back and don't have to spend all this time driving and waiting and being poked and prodded. Thursday, however, I had Christmas music playing on the radio, and even though I'm extra weepy these days, normally I can still hold it together even during Josh Groban's rendition of O Holy Night (siiiiiiiiiigh....). This day, though, Mary, Did You Know came on and I completely lost it.
Once I'd cleaned up the mascara running down my face, I began thinking about how angry and resentful I've been about this whole pregnancy - moving from horrible morning sickness, into the agonizing heat of summer and a rogue high blood pressure episode turned ER visit, unrelated stress throughout the fall, right back into the hospital at 29 weeks and into OB care where I never wanted nor intended to be...I've whined and bitched and moaned and whined some more. I haven't appreciated the things that I've gotten to experience that this baby's new mama hasn't. I get to feel her roll and tumble, I get to play with her by pushing on her feet and getting her to kick me back, I get to see her sweet little face on ultrasound every week and hear her heart beating. I get to feel the incredible work my body does every night practicing to push her out.
I didn't want any of this, I've had my babies and I had all of those experiences that helped me bond to them in utero. I wish that I could have given these things to her adoptive mom, because I don't deserve them and I don't appreciate them nearly enough. I have concentrated so much on the fact that I have to do "The Hard Part", that I have failed to give enough thought and appreciation to how hard her job is too. Instead of spending the last 8 months growing her new daughter and enjoying all that entails, she has been "laboring" on the phone with lawyers and doctors and social workers, cleaning and sorting and organizing for nerve-wracking home visits, fund-raising and worrying over the money required to cover all the legal costs of adopting even an already chosen baby, lovingly washing and putting away sweet little baby girl clothes, and preparing her children for what potentially may be nearly a month without their mother.
Everyone says I'm so strong, that they are in awe of what I'm doing for this baby. I know that this experience has certainly grown me exponentially as a person. Could I do what she is doing, though? I don't know. She has done everything she's had to do on a leap of faith - without the daily, tangible reminders of the prize at the end, without the rewarding milestones that keep an expectant mom motivated to keep going on. She's just gone on and done what needed doing, patiently waiting for her turn to do the fun stuff. Of course her husband has done the same as well, and is just as wonderful and sweet and patient, but it's different for a father because that's what he's used to doing during pregnancy, grin.
So, I still whine, and I still complain and I still look forward to the relief of climbing off this roller coaster, but I worry too that if things with my health go south too quickly, the new mama may miss the birth in addition to everything else she's had to miss, and that would be a loss for all involved.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Okay, now I'm angry
I'm not sure if it's because we're coming into the home stretch, or because Christmas is almost here, or simply because hugely pregnant women tend to be *slightly* oversensitive, hormonal wackjobs...but after trying really hard - well, most of the time, anyway - to be accepting of the ups and downs of this strange, crazy, yet blessed journey, I finally broke down today and got pissed.
Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be angry. I want to be perfectly happy to walk into that horrible maternity mill of an OB office and hop up gleefully onto the paper-covered shrine to the almighty yoni-exam. I want to be serene and embracing of the 20 minutes (which is really 30, by the time they remember me) spent each week strapped to the venerated CEFM, arguing with an 8 mth. old fetus who has the hiccups that she simply *must* keep her heartbeat under the transducer. I want to quiver with the thrill of being told by an OB who was probably born after I graduated from high school that "waiting" (i.e. the 2+ hours I spend in the office for a 20 minute NST and a 10 minute prenatal) is part of getting the good care I need. Oh how I long to experience joy and wonder in being told - not asked, told - when they will shove their grubby little gloved paws up my most private regions, soas to be able to write down in my chart whether my cervix is cooperating (it's allowed passage to 4 of my 5 babies so far, the last one being 10 lbs. and born with 7 minutes of pushing, I think we're good, thanks, unless you've never seen a really nice one, then I may consider making an exception for educational purposes...).
Yes indeed, the "me" that I wish I could be wants to be okay with all of this. Unfortunately, the me I really am has already had the experience of true mother/baby care in the hands of midwives...I have been through pregnancy the way it is meant to be - a joyous, empowering, character-building path, accompanied by - if one is very lucky - a loving and skilled midwife. It is thanks to this very care that I knew I needed medical help before something bad actually happened. Ironically, it is because of this care that I ended up in an impersonal system where no one notices if I just don't show up, no one remembers my specific situation (barring the CNM, who actually does seem to possess some level of compassion), and I am just a cog in the wheel if I make noise about protocol.
Nothing truly horrible happened today, but I suppose what did happen simply brought to my attention the fact that I am no longer in Kansas, and caused my grief to surface. I was already irate from all the waiting, the two of my children that I had with me were bouncing off the walls (as children will do after 2 hours in a very confined space, as *I* was doing after 2 hours in a confined space), but I needed to stay for my appointment because I had to discuss changing my medication dose with the doctor. She was the last of the three that I had yet to meet, and being that I could tolerate the other two, and actually like the CNM, I didn't anticipate too much of an issue.
Now, allow me to preface this next part by pointing out that I have been going to this office twice a week for the last 5 weeks. My chart is lengthy, the nurses all know me, my situation is fairly unique - there should be no reason that everyone is not aware of the circumstances of my pregnancy. I watch Dr. P in the hallway going over my chart for what seems a thorough length of time. She then enters the room and greets my children, ages 5 and 8, with an enthusiastic "So, are you all ready for a new baby brother or sister?"
Needless to say, this did not kick us off to a good start. I tried to cut her off as soon as I figured out what she was saying, but as my children stared blankly I could feel the anger rising inside me. I'm sure everyone would have their own personal way of explaining adoption to their other children. I have chosen to be very careful NOT to refer to this baby as their little sister. We have talked at length about the baby, how she got here, why she is here, and why she is going to go live with our friends instead of staying with us. It's not something I try to sweep under the rug, but I am cautious in my choice of words as I feel it's important to help them frame the situation appropriately in their minds.
Once I had picked my jaw up off the floor, we went on to discuss other issues. I discovered that my plans to avoid coming up positive on the (so I thought) upcoming GBS screen were moot, because they had already found GBS growing in my initial cultures. They expect me to comply with antibiotics, and I most likely will simply to avoid a fight, but as I was already in bitch-mode, I made sure to express my discontent with essentially being pressured to go along, when the fact is that an equal number of babies die from antibiotic-resistant infections as do from GBS infection (and while you're pumping me full of abx, why don't you shove your hands up my yoni a few more times, I'm sure that'll keep the bacteria away from the baby). But alas, I know what happens to babies in hospitals when moms refuse to "cooperate" (spinal tap, anyone?), and the last thing I want is for this precious little one to be further traumatized in the transition to her new family.
Now don't worry, if this hasn't been a stressful enough visit, it gets better. Oh yes - she pulls out the age card! I spoke about my concerns for my health - my blood pressure is continuing to rise (hence the increase in meds), and I do not feel particularly healthy. I feel "off", for lack of a better description. So she goes on to say that she agrees with my choice to switch from homebirth plans to a hospital birth, the blood pressure problems notwithstanding - especially because after age 35, you know, there are a lot more things that tend to go wrong. Apparently my expiry date has been reached and everything's gone sour...
I don't really blame her...she is simply parroting what was hammered into her brain during her residency. She's saying what she's supposed to say. What she doesn't realize is that the past decade of my life has been spent sorting out the bullshit from the truth in these kinds of claims, and I am well aware that the magical age of 35 was essentially chosen arbitrarily because in the general area of that age, risks of certain things *start* to go up, *gradually*. One does not turn 35 and become a dangerous exploding baby machine overnight. These things take some time.
In any event, I tried to make nice in the end and leave on a somewhat civil note. I pointed out that I had chosen this practice - one that is 40 miles from my house - because I had been assured by local homebirth midwives that I would be treated with respect there (hint, hint). She seemed to catch my drift...I hope, anyway.
So what is the point of all this rambling...well, I guess it's that this unpleasant encounter jolted out of hibernation my anger at the whole situation. I want to stomp my feet and scream that this isn't fair. I hate it, I hate it....I hate going there and being in agreement with people that I have spent a decade fighting because of the way they manage normal pregnancy. Except, now I'm not having a normal pregnancy, so I can't fight against them for *me*. I hate feeling like shit and taking pills that make me feel even more like shit, to control something that's happening inside me, that I really can't control at all. I hate being less than the mother I want to be, and I hate being resentful of something that is going to give people I care deeply about a lot of joy.
It is a much more complex thing than I ever could have dreamed - not in the way that everyone seems to expect (still, the questions come, "do you really think you can give your baby away?"). The fact that this baby was meant for someone else's family is the *only* thing that has remained static in the last 8 months. Everything else? Changing all the time.
Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be angry. I want to be perfectly happy to walk into that horrible maternity mill of an OB office and hop up gleefully onto the paper-covered shrine to the almighty yoni-exam. I want to be serene and embracing of the 20 minutes (which is really 30, by the time they remember me) spent each week strapped to the venerated CEFM, arguing with an 8 mth. old fetus who has the hiccups that she simply *must* keep her heartbeat under the transducer. I want to quiver with the thrill of being told by an OB who was probably born after I graduated from high school that "waiting" (i.e. the 2+ hours I spend in the office for a 20 minute NST and a 10 minute prenatal) is part of getting the good care I need. Oh how I long to experience joy and wonder in being told - not asked, told - when they will shove their grubby little gloved paws up my most private regions, soas to be able to write down in my chart whether my cervix is cooperating (it's allowed passage to 4 of my 5 babies so far, the last one being 10 lbs. and born with 7 minutes of pushing, I think we're good, thanks, unless you've never seen a really nice one, then I may consider making an exception for educational purposes...).
Yes indeed, the "me" that I wish I could be wants to be okay with all of this. Unfortunately, the me I really am has already had the experience of true mother/baby care in the hands of midwives...I have been through pregnancy the way it is meant to be - a joyous, empowering, character-building path, accompanied by - if one is very lucky - a loving and skilled midwife. It is thanks to this very care that I knew I needed medical help before something bad actually happened. Ironically, it is because of this care that I ended up in an impersonal system where no one notices if I just don't show up, no one remembers my specific situation (barring the CNM, who actually does seem to possess some level of compassion), and I am just a cog in the wheel if I make noise about protocol.
Nothing truly horrible happened today, but I suppose what did happen simply brought to my attention the fact that I am no longer in Kansas, and caused my grief to surface. I was already irate from all the waiting, the two of my children that I had with me were bouncing off the walls (as children will do after 2 hours in a very confined space, as *I* was doing after 2 hours in a confined space), but I needed to stay for my appointment because I had to discuss changing my medication dose with the doctor. She was the last of the three that I had yet to meet, and being that I could tolerate the other two, and actually like the CNM, I didn't anticipate too much of an issue.
Now, allow me to preface this next part by pointing out that I have been going to this office twice a week for the last 5 weeks. My chart is lengthy, the nurses all know me, my situation is fairly unique - there should be no reason that everyone is not aware of the circumstances of my pregnancy. I watch Dr. P in the hallway going over my chart for what seems a thorough length of time. She then enters the room and greets my children, ages 5 and 8, with an enthusiastic "So, are you all ready for a new baby brother or sister?"
Needless to say, this did not kick us off to a good start. I tried to cut her off as soon as I figured out what she was saying, but as my children stared blankly I could feel the anger rising inside me. I'm sure everyone would have their own personal way of explaining adoption to their other children. I have chosen to be very careful NOT to refer to this baby as their little sister. We have talked at length about the baby, how she got here, why she is here, and why she is going to go live with our friends instead of staying with us. It's not something I try to sweep under the rug, but I am cautious in my choice of words as I feel it's important to help them frame the situation appropriately in their minds.
Once I had picked my jaw up off the floor, we went on to discuss other issues. I discovered that my plans to avoid coming up positive on the (so I thought) upcoming GBS screen were moot, because they had already found GBS growing in my initial cultures. They expect me to comply with antibiotics, and I most likely will simply to avoid a fight, but as I was already in bitch-mode, I made sure to express my discontent with essentially being pressured to go along, when the fact is that an equal number of babies die from antibiotic-resistant infections as do from GBS infection (and while you're pumping me full of abx, why don't you shove your hands up my yoni a few more times, I'm sure that'll keep the bacteria away from the baby). But alas, I know what happens to babies in hospitals when moms refuse to "cooperate" (spinal tap, anyone?), and the last thing I want is for this precious little one to be further traumatized in the transition to her new family.
Now don't worry, if this hasn't been a stressful enough visit, it gets better. Oh yes - she pulls out the age card! I spoke about my concerns for my health - my blood pressure is continuing to rise (hence the increase in meds), and I do not feel particularly healthy. I feel "off", for lack of a better description. So she goes on to say that she agrees with my choice to switch from homebirth plans to a hospital birth, the blood pressure problems notwithstanding - especially because after age 35, you know, there are a lot more things that tend to go wrong. Apparently my expiry date has been reached and everything's gone sour...
I don't really blame her...she is simply parroting what was hammered into her brain during her residency. She's saying what she's supposed to say. What she doesn't realize is that the past decade of my life has been spent sorting out the bullshit from the truth in these kinds of claims, and I am well aware that the magical age of 35 was essentially chosen arbitrarily because in the general area of that age, risks of certain things *start* to go up, *gradually*. One does not turn 35 and become a dangerous exploding baby machine overnight. These things take some time.
In any event, I tried to make nice in the end and leave on a somewhat civil note. I pointed out that I had chosen this practice - one that is 40 miles from my house - because I had been assured by local homebirth midwives that I would be treated with respect there (hint, hint). She seemed to catch my drift...I hope, anyway.
So what is the point of all this rambling...well, I guess it's that this unpleasant encounter jolted out of hibernation my anger at the whole situation. I want to stomp my feet and scream that this isn't fair. I hate it, I hate it....I hate going there and being in agreement with people that I have spent a decade fighting because of the way they manage normal pregnancy. Except, now I'm not having a normal pregnancy, so I can't fight against them for *me*. I hate feeling like shit and taking pills that make me feel even more like shit, to control something that's happening inside me, that I really can't control at all. I hate being less than the mother I want to be, and I hate being resentful of something that is going to give people I care deeply about a lot of joy.
It is a much more complex thing than I ever could have dreamed - not in the way that everyone seems to expect (still, the questions come, "do you really think you can give your baby away?"). The fact that this baby was meant for someone else's family is the *only* thing that has remained static in the last 8 months. Everything else? Changing all the time.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Rambling thoughts
Not much to report on the health front - the baby is doing well, my blood pressure is still under control on the 200mg of Labetalol, though I think I feel almost as yucky from the side effects of the med as I did from the high BP. The symptoms of a BP of 160/100 are not dissimilar from those of 110/65. Except the cost of keeping it low is the added condition of constant exhaustion (yeah, uh, the way it keeps your BP within reason is by blocking the effects of adrenaline...sort of inhibits the rest of your functionality at the same time!).
So, as I catch some semblance of a breather from worrying about the health aspects for now, my mind has been turning to deeper, less tangible concerns. It has seemed all along that many people expect, with the passing of time, that I will feel more attached to the baby and heightened emotions about letting her go. This has not happened. I feel a bond with her, but not as a mother, rather, as an intimate facilitator of the delivery of her soul into her earthly family. I know her, that is certain...I know her as a miracle...a timely gift to a hurting family...a challenge to my physical and mental strength and fortitude...a soul destined to be brought into existence, for reasons some of which have been given already and some which have yet to be revealed.
There is no question but that she belongs in this world. The circumstances of her conception as well as the occurrences over the past couple years in the lives of myself and those around me leave no room for doubt on that count. Of late, however, I've found myself praying that she will understand why she did not belong to me. Will she be angry that I didn't keep her? Will she entertain notions of rejection? Or will she have an understanding, forgiving spirit and know, even if only intuitively at first, that I did what I knew had to be done at the time?
I've known all along that I want a relationship with her, but for the first time I am feeling fear that she will harbor anger - or at the least, go through an angry phase at some point in her life. I've spent so much time and energy dealing with the people and issues that the pregnancy has brought up in my life in the here and now, that I've scarcely devoted any conscious thought to concerns about how she herself will perceive having been given up by her birthmother.
Every single decision in life has the potential to completely alter one's path. We don't always notice the little ones, though they can be just as life-changing as the big ones. There are those, however, that eclipse us, if only for a time; situations which we know will leave us changed forever, no matter which direction we choose. It is always a gamble - which choice will leave the least amount of destruction, the mildest pain in its wake? Which one represents "The Right Thing"? I guess as with most of life, we do the best we can with what we know at the time, and hope and pray the rest works itself out satisfactorily.
One thing is certain, though both she and I may go through periods of struggle with various aspects of this complex process, in the end, the most important thing for her to know is that every single thing I have done has been because I love her and want her to have the happiest life I can possibly give her. In that regard, I think we've got a pretty good start going.
So, as I catch some semblance of a breather from worrying about the health aspects for now, my mind has been turning to deeper, less tangible concerns. It has seemed all along that many people expect, with the passing of time, that I will feel more attached to the baby and heightened emotions about letting her go. This has not happened. I feel a bond with her, but not as a mother, rather, as an intimate facilitator of the delivery of her soul into her earthly family. I know her, that is certain...I know her as a miracle...a timely gift to a hurting family...a challenge to my physical and mental strength and fortitude...a soul destined to be brought into existence, for reasons some of which have been given already and some which have yet to be revealed.
There is no question but that she belongs in this world. The circumstances of her conception as well as the occurrences over the past couple years in the lives of myself and those around me leave no room for doubt on that count. Of late, however, I've found myself praying that she will understand why she did not belong to me. Will she be angry that I didn't keep her? Will she entertain notions of rejection? Or will she have an understanding, forgiving spirit and know, even if only intuitively at first, that I did what I knew had to be done at the time?
I've known all along that I want a relationship with her, but for the first time I am feeling fear that she will harbor anger - or at the least, go through an angry phase at some point in her life. I've spent so much time and energy dealing with the people and issues that the pregnancy has brought up in my life in the here and now, that I've scarcely devoted any conscious thought to concerns about how she herself will perceive having been given up by her birthmother.
Every single decision in life has the potential to completely alter one's path. We don't always notice the little ones, though they can be just as life-changing as the big ones. There are those, however, that eclipse us, if only for a time; situations which we know will leave us changed forever, no matter which direction we choose. It is always a gamble - which choice will leave the least amount of destruction, the mildest pain in its wake? Which one represents "The Right Thing"? I guess as with most of life, we do the best we can with what we know at the time, and hope and pray the rest works itself out satisfactorily.
One thing is certain, though both she and I may go through periods of struggle with various aspects of this complex process, in the end, the most important thing for her to know is that every single thing I have done has been because I love her and want her to have the happiest life I can possibly give her. In that regard, I think we've got a pretty good start going.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
So this is how it's gonna be
After some scary BP readings in the night, I held out til my appointment this morning, and my dear, sweet wonderful midwife drove me there. I saw a CNM who was okay...I wouldn't call her the warmest medpro I've ever met. She was pretty respectful, though I could sense the occasional urge to roll her eyes. I held my ground as best I could under the circumstances, she went along with my choice of BP meds - Labetalol - and we basically came to an understanding about how this will all work. I am officially transferred into care at this office for pregnancy hypertension, hopefully not the beginnings of pre-eclampsia but it's impossible to tell that right now. I will now be going in for checks twice weekly, with one of those visits including ultrasound each week for a BPP (biophysical profile - essentially an assessment of how she is growing, how well the placenta is functioning, etc.).
I'm devastated....crushed....worried....I know this is the best choice for now. The risks to the baby and myself with the dangerous levels my BP was rising to make the switch to the medical model of care a necessary evil. But it hurts...I cherish my pregnancies spent in peace, the lovely chatty prenatals with the midwife, the low-key anticipation of labor knowing that I will not have to leave my safe, comfy nest for the cold germy hospital. This birth was to take place at the midwife's house, surrounded and supported by good friends, where we would have total freedom for the birth to happen however it was destined to, the new mother would not have to fight off hospital staff and go into protective mama bear mode before she even gets to know her new daughter...it seems cruel that this should be the pregnancy that becomes problematic.
On the other hand, I'm almost not surprised. Nearly everything about this whole bizarre experience has been unexpected; I suppose I should just adjust my mindset that things will go as they go, and as much as I like to believe I do things "right", and as much as I desire control over the process, sometimes it just doesn't matter and sh** happens anyway.
There is so much in my mind right now. I'm angry, but I don't know at whom or what. I'm scared, and confused, and yet I have complete clarity too - in the wise words of my midwife, it is what it is.
I despise uncertainty, unpredictability...maybe that is my biggest lesson here. We'll see...I'm sure more ramblings will be forthcoming as time goes on...
I'm devastated....crushed....worried....I know this is the best choice for now. The risks to the baby and myself with the dangerous levels my BP was rising to make the switch to the medical model of care a necessary evil. But it hurts...I cherish my pregnancies spent in peace, the lovely chatty prenatals with the midwife, the low-key anticipation of labor knowing that I will not have to leave my safe, comfy nest for the cold germy hospital. This birth was to take place at the midwife's house, surrounded and supported by good friends, where we would have total freedom for the birth to happen however it was destined to, the new mother would not have to fight off hospital staff and go into protective mama bear mode before she even gets to know her new daughter...it seems cruel that this should be the pregnancy that becomes problematic.
On the other hand, I'm almost not surprised. Nearly everything about this whole bizarre experience has been unexpected; I suppose I should just adjust my mindset that things will go as they go, and as much as I like to believe I do things "right", and as much as I desire control over the process, sometimes it just doesn't matter and sh** happens anyway.
There is so much in my mind right now. I'm angry, but I don't know at whom or what. I'm scared, and confused, and yet I have complete clarity too - in the wise words of my midwife, it is what it is.
I despise uncertainty, unpredictability...maybe that is my biggest lesson here. We'll see...I'm sure more ramblings will be forthcoming as time goes on...
Monday, October 29, 2007
Not much of an update
The new doctor's office gave me an appointment at 1:30 today, but then called to say they were having some kind of heating problem and had to reschedule all their afternoon appointments. Tomorrow at 10:00am instead...I'm tired...we'll see what tomorrow brings...
A fish out of water
I had fully intended to post again before now. Unfortunately, Thursday night my blood pressure spiked and I landed in the hospital on magnesium sulfate (note to self: if ever on a visit to hell, take devil to task for invention of mag sulf).
I had my youngest 2 babies at home. Birth research has been my life for the past decade. Going to the hospital was not an enjoyable experience, either for many of the staff, or for me. It is where I needed to be at that time, because when problems arise, that's when medical care comes in handy, however it was very disheartening to witness again and again the illogical things that supposedly "educated" medical professionals do and say.
It was also frightening, as I constantly had to be on guard. I had to make considerable efforts in the middle of the night to convince the nurse that something was very wrong - they had the mag sulf too high, I reacted to it, and my BP plummeted, nearly causing me to lose consciousness. They would not believe me at first; I guess when they realized I couldn't articulate a sentence clearly enough for them to interpret, and my legs produced no reflexes, gee, maybe something really is wrong. They turned the mag down and magically I started to get better. If I'd been able to sleep at all, they might never have known anything was wrong and who knows what would have happened.
I was released on Friday night, by a pompous ass of an OB who treated me, well, shall we say, less than respectfully (because I came in as a midwifery client planning a homebirth with a CPM). He sent me home - on the eve of a weekend - with no BP meds and no care plan other than "bedrest" until I can get to the doctor this week, knowing that I have children here at home and bedrest would be a joke. I have had to struggle to keep my BP under control while I wait to make a doctor's appt. tomorrow. I am angry, and complaints will be filed. If I'd been in traditional OB care - i.e. monthly visits - I probably never would have known I was in trouble at that point. It was the close monitoring by my midwife and myself, the every day contact that I have with an excellent care provider, that allowed me to realize I needed to seek out help when I did. He had no right to treat me the way he did.
Vent over.
Now the real adventure begins - figuring out how to navigate a high risk pregnancy while meeting my other responsibilities. If the doctor can fit me in tomorrow, I will find out if I can get on meds, and hopefully have some level of functionality. With 2.5 mths. left to go, this is going to be a long haul, juggling my life as it is, protecting my own health, and getting this little girl safely into her new parents' arms. We're all concerned, and my mind is racing and overwhelmed. Will update tomorrow after I call the doctor's office...
I had my youngest 2 babies at home. Birth research has been my life for the past decade. Going to the hospital was not an enjoyable experience, either for many of the staff, or for me. It is where I needed to be at that time, because when problems arise, that's when medical care comes in handy, however it was very disheartening to witness again and again the illogical things that supposedly "educated" medical professionals do and say.
It was also frightening, as I constantly had to be on guard. I had to make considerable efforts in the middle of the night to convince the nurse that something was very wrong - they had the mag sulf too high, I reacted to it, and my BP plummeted, nearly causing me to lose consciousness. They would not believe me at first; I guess when they realized I couldn't articulate a sentence clearly enough for them to interpret, and my legs produced no reflexes, gee, maybe something really is wrong. They turned the mag down and magically I started to get better. If I'd been able to sleep at all, they might never have known anything was wrong and who knows what would have happened.
I was released on Friday night, by a pompous ass of an OB who treated me, well, shall we say, less than respectfully (because I came in as a midwifery client planning a homebirth with a CPM). He sent me home - on the eve of a weekend - with no BP meds and no care plan other than "bedrest" until I can get to the doctor this week, knowing that I have children here at home and bedrest would be a joke. I have had to struggle to keep my BP under control while I wait to make a doctor's appt. tomorrow. I am angry, and complaints will be filed. If I'd been in traditional OB care - i.e. monthly visits - I probably never would have known I was in trouble at that point. It was the close monitoring by my midwife and myself, the every day contact that I have with an excellent care provider, that allowed me to realize I needed to seek out help when I did. He had no right to treat me the way he did.
Vent over.
Now the real adventure begins - figuring out how to navigate a high risk pregnancy while meeting my other responsibilities. If the doctor can fit me in tomorrow, I will find out if I can get on meds, and hopefully have some level of functionality. With 2.5 mths. left to go, this is going to be a long haul, juggling my life as it is, protecting my own health, and getting this little girl safely into her new parents' arms. We're all concerned, and my mind is racing and overwhelmed. Will update tomorrow after I call the doctor's office...
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
The story
I've thought all along that I should keep a journal of sorts regarding this pregnancy and process, both for my own future reminiscence, as well as for the baby's adoptive family, whom also happen to be dear friends of mine.
So, due to the fact that I've procrastinated on doing this for so long, future postings will contain updates and random ramblings on my thoughts and feelings, but this first entry will be an explanation of what has already transpired.
I was married for 14 years, a devout Catholic for most of that time. I have 5 children from my marriage, ages 3-12. It became necessary to end the marriage nearly 2 years ago. I became involved in a short-lived relationship this past spring, and ended up very unexpectedly pregnant. I used to despise it when people used the term "unexpectedly" - to my way of thinking, if you are intimate, well, it follows that you could expect to at least potentially run the risk of ending up in the family way! Alas, despite 12 years of successful Natural Family Planning experience under my belt (hardyharhar), and the biological father having been diagnosed infertile, a miracle happened.
Unfortunately, although children are always a gift, now being a struggling, single, homeschooling mom, having just begun college myself, panic set in at the notion of adding a newborn to the mix. I survived a tumultuous month before deciding that ultimately, this baby must have been intended for my friends. They have 2 children, and as Catholics themselves, had dreamed of a large family. Tragically, in December of 2005, they lost their third baby, a sweet boy, to stillbirth. Due to the circumstances of the birth, they are unable to have any more biological children. Having been there with them, holding their hands, attending the funeral, I knew how much this pained them and how eager they were to get to that day, someday, when they would be able to arrange to adopt. So when I found myself in utter panic, yet not wanting to do something I'd regret, it was obvious to me that if I were to bring something good out my mistake, it would have to be by blessing someone else with this gift.
I was very nervous about asking them if they wanted to adopt this baby. Many of the other wonderful friends upon whom I'd leaned during those initial panicked weeks advised me to be cautious in approaching the couple, and not to expect an immediately boisterous reaction. Of course, I had absolutely no idea *what* to expect. I'm not exactly a seasoned pro at this sort of thing. It was difficult, and a bit nerve-wracking on both our parts, but once they had a couple days to consider it, they jumped in with both feet and have never expressed second thoughts or doubts. As for the biodad, there is little to say, as he has declined to be involved in any way.
The baby is due in January and I expect it to be a very emotional experience, yet positive in so many ways. A lot of people ask me if I'm sure I can give the baby up, yet, that's not even an issue because with the surrounding circumstances, the timing, the way in which this all has come into being, there is no doubt in my mind that this baby was really never mine, beyond my egg being used to create her. She is their child - it's a delightfully natural state of perception among all involved. I strongly believe that God took my error, turned it into this wee baby girl, and said okay, what are you going to do with this? How are you going to handle things? I hope that I'm doing what He would want. I am doing what's best for my children and myself, and something I hope will bring much joy to her adoptive parents after so much sorrow has visited them. They are gentle, kind people and I could not have hoped for a sweeter family for her.
That's not to say that I don't worry about other issues - the impact on my kids, the impact on the baby's future and how she perceives these events, whether she will one day understand why I made this decision. I hope and pray that she will see it as we do - that there is no limit to the number of people who can love a child, and she is very lucky - and loved - indeed.
So, due to the fact that I've procrastinated on doing this for so long, future postings will contain updates and random ramblings on my thoughts and feelings, but this first entry will be an explanation of what has already transpired.
I was married for 14 years, a devout Catholic for most of that time. I have 5 children from my marriage, ages 3-12. It became necessary to end the marriage nearly 2 years ago. I became involved in a short-lived relationship this past spring, and ended up very unexpectedly pregnant. I used to despise it when people used the term "unexpectedly" - to my way of thinking, if you are intimate, well, it follows that you could expect to at least potentially run the risk of ending up in the family way! Alas, despite 12 years of successful Natural Family Planning experience under my belt (hardyharhar), and the biological father having been diagnosed infertile, a miracle happened.
Unfortunately, although children are always a gift, now being a struggling, single, homeschooling mom, having just begun college myself, panic set in at the notion of adding a newborn to the mix. I survived a tumultuous month before deciding that ultimately, this baby must have been intended for my friends. They have 2 children, and as Catholics themselves, had dreamed of a large family. Tragically, in December of 2005, they lost their third baby, a sweet boy, to stillbirth. Due to the circumstances of the birth, they are unable to have any more biological children. Having been there with them, holding their hands, attending the funeral, I knew how much this pained them and how eager they were to get to that day, someday, when they would be able to arrange to adopt. So when I found myself in utter panic, yet not wanting to do something I'd regret, it was obvious to me that if I were to bring something good out my mistake, it would have to be by blessing someone else with this gift.
I was very nervous about asking them if they wanted to adopt this baby. Many of the other wonderful friends upon whom I'd leaned during those initial panicked weeks advised me to be cautious in approaching the couple, and not to expect an immediately boisterous reaction. Of course, I had absolutely no idea *what* to expect. I'm not exactly a seasoned pro at this sort of thing. It was difficult, and a bit nerve-wracking on both our parts, but once they had a couple days to consider it, they jumped in with both feet and have never expressed second thoughts or doubts. As for the biodad, there is little to say, as he has declined to be involved in any way.
The baby is due in January and I expect it to be a very emotional experience, yet positive in so many ways. A lot of people ask me if I'm sure I can give the baby up, yet, that's not even an issue because with the surrounding circumstances, the timing, the way in which this all has come into being, there is no doubt in my mind that this baby was really never mine, beyond my egg being used to create her. She is their child - it's a delightfully natural state of perception among all involved. I strongly believe that God took my error, turned it into this wee baby girl, and said okay, what are you going to do with this? How are you going to handle things? I hope that I'm doing what He would want. I am doing what's best for my children and myself, and something I hope will bring much joy to her adoptive parents after so much sorrow has visited them. They are gentle, kind people and I could not have hoped for a sweeter family for her.
That's not to say that I don't worry about other issues - the impact on my kids, the impact on the baby's future and how she perceives these events, whether she will one day understand why I made this decision. I hope and pray that she will see it as we do - that there is no limit to the number of people who can love a child, and she is very lucky - and loved - indeed.
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