The Mami Diaries

High-pitched screeching

2011-01-26T03:37:00.000-08:00

One of my 18mo old twins is a screamer. When Maxwelle doesn't get her way or when her brother snatches something out of her hand, she lets out a high-pitched screech that is going to be responsible for my first gray hair.

I haven't figured out how to channel this passion in a positive direction. Right now, I just look at her and pray for patience and try to get past the drama. And this is how I know that God is who the Bible says He is.

He is patient.

He is longsuffering.

He is merciful.

He is love.

He showers me with love that I can't get away from no matter what I do or how I act (Romans 8:38).

I'm sure I've thrown a high-pitched screeching tantrum at Him before. Yet, what I experience from Him is not a roll of the eyes, frustration or a "Girl, you are gonna drive me crazy today!" He doesn't need a time out from me. Mercy (not giving me what I deserve). Grace (giving me what I don't deserve). Love. Patience. He's given me so much of it, so often that I'm sure I must have a little extra to pass on to my dear baby girl.

Love is patient and kind.

Love is not irritable

Love endures through every circumstance. (from 1 Corinthians 13, NLT)

Reverse logic

2011-01-24T18:43:00.000-08:00

I'm refusing to believe that Maxton is over naps. But really, he only naps about once or twice a week now. Today I wanted him to nap. His friend, Luis Enrique, was coming over to play at 4:45 (during his sister's music class). I told Maxton, if you don't take a nap, you can't play with Luis Enrique. So, from 2 p.m. I tried to get him to nap. He rested for a little while, but then his cousin came over, then he had to pee, then.... by 3:45, I'd given up on the nap.

Luis Enrique came over at 4:45 as planned and Maxton came in my room to announce, "Luis Enrique is here! I took my nap!"

"No Maxton, you didn't nap."

"Yes, I did. Luis Enrique is here to play!"

"Maxton, it's called GRACE, buddy."

Do I act like a toddler to God?

2011-01-22T18:09:00.000-08:00

I was hanging up clothes in the twins' room today and 3-year-old Maxton came in the room and announced, "Mommy! I put my clothes on ALL. BY. MYSELF." He was very proud of his accomplishment. And though I congratulated him, I couldn't help but chuckle that his shirt was on backwards and his pants were unzipped.

And I wondered if I amuse God sometimes...when I'm proud of what I've supposedly accomplished ALL. BY. MYSELF. All proud and completely oblivious that my fly is open.

Do I act like a toddler towards my Heavenly Father? I've thought about this a lot as things come up and I've been taking notes so I could restart this blog someday. So here it is, the relaunch of the Mami Diaries. I'll be sharing the spiritual lessons my kids are teaching me. I'd love to hear yours.

I'm officially a Diva

2011-01-22T16:59:00.000-08:00

WARNING: If frank talk about menstruation (and all its components) will gross you out, or if you know me personally and would not like to know me this intimately, please read a different post.)

I recently did what I said I would never do... I bought and used a Diva Cup (menstrual cup). I'd looked into this a few years ago and was grossed out and offended. I rolled my eyes at the women who said it was empowering to see the lifeblood that came out of them every month.

But then, now... years later, 3 babies later, I was ready. I was tired of the pads. The smell that pads produce. The irritatation, the disposal, the leakage. I couldn't ignore it any longer. After my period's 18-month hiatus (during and after pregnancy with the twins), I decided I was woman enough to try the Diva Cup. I convinced myself that I could conquer the awkwardness. Afterall, did it make any sense that my husband, midwife and OB were more familiar with my insides than I was?

I was never a tampon-girl. Tried it once and the idea of toxic-shock scared me too much. Plus, it was almost impossible to remove. But that's another story for another blog. I say that to say that insertion of foreign objects is new for me.

Okay, so it was time to try the Diva Cup. I waited until my period was showing signs of coming because I wanted to trouble-shoot before I actually needed the thing to work. It took several tries. At first it was impossible to turn, because it wasn't opening up completely (from the fold). I watched Youtube tutorials and read the directions 100 times. It really would have been helpful to have an x-ray mirror in the bathroom to be able to *see* where I was going and if it was in correctly.

I found out that the key is to know that you're going horizontally and you're not sticking anything UP. Visualizing that helped a ton. I read online that some women felt like the cup traveled up during the day, but I felt the opposite. I think, if anything, it moved down. I kept wondering if I inserted it far back enough....I'll try again next month.

The only thing that was annoying was the stem. I'm betting I will be one of those people that cuts it off because it truly is irritating and a constant reminder that you're on your period and have a silicone cup inserted in your vagina.

After my flow really started flowing, I was surprised to notice the difference! It was sooooooo much cleaner and fresher feeling than a pad. That's when I knew that I was going to be a Diva girl for the long haul. It's going to take a little getting used to dump the blood, wash the cup and reinsert...but honestly, it's not any grosser than the other methods of blood gathering that you're used to.

Overall, the biggest challenge for me was knowing there was a learning curve, needing the time to learn and practice and having 3 little ones that offer virtually NO PRIVACY when I'm in the restroom. When I was home alone with them, I would have to hurry in the bathroom and sometimes I would resort to a pad because I couldn't take the time to relax and concentrate and turn the cup, etc. while an 18-month-old screamed on the other side of the door.

If you have kids, you know the questions and how interested they are in every single thing you do (not to mention wanting to help or do it themselves): "Mommy, what's that?" "Mommy, why are you bleeding?" "Is that blood?"

With privacy, I'm sure I would have been able to master the DivaCup in one cycle. But I'll take it easy and have patience.

Though I think I love the Diva cup, don't think you'll catch me wearing that silly lapel pin that it comes with. Really, Divacup?

The twins are born and here's the full story...

2009-09-01T13:32:00.000-07:00

Seven weeks after giving birth, I am finally writing the twin’s birth story (as I breastfeed Maxine, btw).

I’d been having contractions for weeks, but they would go away and I would talk myself out of the fact that they were indeed conatractions…fairly uncomfortable ones. I would just lay down and take it easy. At 34 weeks, Dr. W made me start twice a week Non-Stress Tests where I had to go deal with a lady whose mood was volatile and sit for at least an hour so I they could track each baby’s heart and check the fluid in the sac. During these exams I was told that I was having pretty regular and strong contractions, but I couldn’t feel them.

(2 days before the birth)

I went to my NST on Monday, 7/13 and the nurse said the fluid was fine and that neither baby had descended into the birth canal. Baby A was still breach.

My appointment with the OB was immediately after. While sitting in the lobby, I asked the receptionist if I could have the name of the anesthesiologist on staff. I started telling her how Dr. W was insisting that I have an epidural in case of a c-section and I was insisting that in case of an emergency c-section, I could get a spinal. I didn’t want to any drugs if I was going to have a vaginal birth. Dr. W was insisting that I needed to get the epidural. A few minutes after talking to the receptionist, I noticed my OBs wife was in the back office. Oh great, I thought, she’d heard everything I'd said.

I weighed in at 196, figuring I’d reach the 200 mark before the birth. This was week 35.
The OB did a very uncomfortable and long pelvic exam, where he was trying to see how dilated I was. He was wiggling his finger and trying to see if he could see the wiggling in the ultrasound… True story.

Then he brought up my issues with the epidural, still insisting that one was necessary, but promising that before anything would happen, we could conference about it. I’m thinking his wife gave him a heads up from the conversation she’d overheard. I assured him that everything would be going so smoothly during my labor that there would be no need to even conference about it. He laughed, told me I was headstrong, patted my head and walked out of the room.
By the end of that exam, he said I was 1 centimeter dilated and not to go shopping in the next county.

“Stay close to home,” he said as I walked into the lobby.

We went to the mall to buy my “Courage” ring (my engagement and wedding rings had to be cut off the previous week because my fingers were so swollen) and I really could barely walk, but I put on the brave face and made it home okay. I don’t remember what I did that night, besides lie on my side…but I woke up to a POP and a gush of water around 1:45 a.m.

I woke Ben up and said, “Hey, my water just broke.” I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that it was time to rock and roll. I literally said, “It’s time to rock and roll.” Who says that? Ben got up, lookin’ worried, and said, “OK, what do you need me to do?”

My first instructions: “Pack the laptops.”

In the next few minutes, I found my to-pack list ( I was only partially packed), called Midwife and the OB. Ben went to wake up my sister who got up looking at me with fear and dread in her eyes. I told her and Ben to please relax. Everything was going to be fine. This was good.

When I spoke to Midwife, she asked, “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“Um, no…”

“That’s what I thought. Just hang out at home for a little while…”

I continued telling her the latest that I’d found out from my last visit (breech, location, dilation). She was concerned that because baby A hadn’t descended into the pelvis, I could have a serious situation with the cord coming out first. She advised against staying home to labor and said to go to the hospital and she’d meet me there.

We hadn’t intended to take 2 hours to make it to the hospital, but that’s how long it took to get out of the house. My sister the candle from my mother blessing and started snapping photos. I took one last look at Maxton sound asleep in his crib, knowing that his life was about to change dramatically.

I asked my sister to call my parents and I called my brother on the way to the hospital. He was very encouraging and “ra ra.” I tried to twitter, but the contractions were kicking my butt. I decided it was better to concentrate on the relaxation techniques and put the cell phone down.
Ben parked illegally. It was 4 a.m. and I wasn’t gonna climb up the stairs and walk a whole bunch.

The nurses at Glendale Adventist Medical Center had no sense of urgency. They seemed to lollygag as I was checking in, asking me questions as I was clearly doubled over in pain. It took me forever to change out of my clothes ‘cause the contractions were knocking me out. While I was in their bathroom changing, Ben went to park the car and get our stuff… (that’s when he got the return call from Dr. W). He forgot my camera in the car, most likely thinking that he’d have time to go get it later.

By the time the nurse checked me, I was dilated 5-6 cm. “I guess I’m not going home, eh?” I told her. Ben could not believe I was cracking jokes.

All the joke cracking stopped when she started offering me and epidural.

“No, and don’t ask me again.”

When she finally talked to my doctor, she came back and told me that he ordered and epidural.

“Good for him, give it to him.”

I was so annoyed. Less than 24 hours before, the OB promised that we could discuss it. Now he was just giving phone orders to the nurse and expecting me to comply? Don’t think so. She kept insisting and I kept telling her to leave me alone and I didn’t want to hear the word epidural. I was not mincing words.

The labor was intense. I was up out of the bed, squatting through the contractions, breathing deeply. I was in my head. I was in the zone…. Interrupted by squabbles with the nurses. They were mad that I wouldn’t sit still for them to start the IV fluids. She wasn’t working fast enough to get the thing in my arm between contractions. Focus, nurse, focus.

At one point, I remember the nurse coming back telling me another scare tale from the doctor.

“Dr. W says if you don’t get an epidural, you’re going to have to have a c-section.” I was squatting on the side of the bed when she came with that one and I remember hitting the bed with my fists. “I knew this mess was going to happen. You tell Dr. W that he can come tell me that himself, but I’m NOT getting an epidural,” I said, almost screaming.

I’m pretty sure Ben was embarrassed and willing to give me an epidural himself. “Baby,…” he said. I stopped him in his tracks…knowing I could not deal if he’d decided to side with the nurses and ask me to stop acting a fool. I still don’t know what he was about to say at that moment. I should ask him…

They finally got the IV in, got me on the bed and started wheeling me out of the triage. They were all scrambling back and forth, saying, “take her to her room… no, take her to the OR… is she having a c-section?”

“NO, I’M NOT HAVING A C-SECTION. Try again.”

I was in the hallway by this time and I looked at Ben and saw a face of relief. I may have even seen a smile. Midwife had arrived. “What’s going on?”

“Midwife!” I raised my finger as if I were leading a revolutionary march in the streets. “These people are crazy. I am not having a c-section. I am not getting an epidural. HANDLE IT.” Midwife took one look at me and knew that I was in transition.
Apparently she helped them decide that I was going to be wheeled into my room ‘cause that’s where I ended up.

Midwife was awesome, helping me breathe, while advocating for me at the same time. They kept insisting on the epidural and Midwife kept telling them I didn’t need one.

Dr. W finally showed up and checked me and I was 9 cm.

He started telling me some scare story about breech baby risks and why I needed an epidural…I promptly stopped him and told him I wasn’t going to listen to scare tactics and horror stories. In a loud and stern voice he told me that I was getting an epidural or he was going to have to section me.

“You lied,” I told him.

“No, I didn’t lie,” he interrupted. I’d never heard him raise his voice like that…didn’t even think he had it in him.

But he had lied. He said we could talk about it, and from the beginning, all I got was orders for an epidural. Some conference. Some talk.

In all this chaos, I remember praying aloud, “Lord, give me your Spirit. Give me your Spirit.” I felt a sense of calm, a rush of calm, as if I was being assured that all would be fine.

But I was still soooooo mad. I was going through the contractions, breathing, staying strong, holding Midwife’s hand, peeping at Ben. Through the drama, I said, “I want to get out of here. Midwife, get me out of here. Let’s go to the birth center.” She looked at me as if to say, “Are you serious?” I was ready for anything. Ready for a parking lot birth, if necessary. I just wanted to get away from the dumb medical establishment.

Witnessing all this was the anesthesiologist who wanted to add his own twist to the fight by saying that he would not administer an epidural unless I consented. Well, that’s a deal, I though. I just won’t consent. So, now there are 3 people arguing in the room. They brought the consent forms and asked me to sign. I’m in serious labor..can’t hold a pen in my hand and concentrate on writing….plus, I don’t want to sign the thing anyway. I looked at Midwife and I can see the look on her face that is telling me that this is a fight that I can’t win. “Just do it?” I asked, saving her from having to say the words herself.

I cried. “Midwife, I can do this! Why won’t they let me do this! Midwife, I KNOW I can do this.” I cried some more. She held me close and affirmed me.

Is the choice between an epidural and a c-section really a choice?

At some point in all this and by some miracle, Ben and Midwife ended up being the only people in the room for a split second. Midwife sprung into action and told me that she wanted to do her own exam to see how dilated I was. I said okay. The nurse and the head nurse walked in just then and the head nurse lost her mind and started arguing with Midwife. Midwife argued back as she did the exam. The nurse stormed out of the room to go tattle tell to Dr. W. Midwife confirmed that I was completely dilated. I told her I felt like pushing.

They came in with the stuff to do the epidural and started arguing among themselves about the best position to put me in. Focus, people, focus. The anesthesiologist was still insisting that I consent (with a smile, I think). I told him that I was not consenting to an epidural, but I was declining a c-section. I was consenting to a vaginal birth…that’s what I was consenting to. He wanted to argue back with me and proceed to sucker punch a pregnant woman. Ben signed the form. I hunkered down while Midwife held me still and encouraged me in one breath and told the Dr. to hurry it up, in another.

I cried.

Almost instantaneously, it was over. My legs and feet started to tingle. My contractions were gone. One minute I’d been in active labor, the next minute it was over, but I was still pregnant. I’m tearing up just writing it.

You see, I was working it. I was flowing with my labor. I was in the zone. I was ready to do the thing and bring my girls into the world with the power that God was giving me. Throughout the labor I kept repeating, “I can do this! My body works. My body works.” But in an instant all that was over. I was transported out of that other world where my mind and body where one, to the sterile, inhuman, one-size-fits all world of modern medicine. In this world it didn’t matter that my body worked, they preferred the medicine to work. I felt powerless. My body still worked, but it was handcuffed—not allowed to work. I was angry. Visibly angry and on the verge of tears. If I’d had enough feeling in my legs, I would have kicked the doctor in his face. (just being honest.)

"I miss my contractions," I told Midwife.

As I was wheeled into the OR, I prayed, surrendering to God for whatever was going to happen next, while I was drugged and at the mercy of these people that I didn’t know, like or trust. The reason I was in the OR is that they claimed I needed to labor there (all twins are delivered there) just in case there needed to be an emergency c-section. I was laying on my bed for a while, crying to Ben while they figured out how to put the dumb stirrups on the operating table. My labor, which had been progressing at break-neck speed, was slowed to basically nothing…so the nursing staff could lollygag some more, trying to figure out what they were doing at their own pace. It was very disorganized, as if it was everyone’s first day. Hadn’t they done this before? The main nurse chick that would have probably coached me through the contractions had Midwife not been there, was on my very last nerve. She was barking out orders about her other patients asking other staff to relay messages to other staff, etc. I wanted to tell her to shut up and just be present in my room (if it wasn’t too much trouble…), but I didn’t have any fight left in me. I just wanted my babies and I wanted to go home to cry.

Ben didn’t have a chance to go get the camera in the car. He had plenty of time, but we were afraid he wouldn’t be let back in the sterile OR area. I really woulda been pissed then. Heck, I wasn’t doing anything, at that point, I really coulda taken some great photos.

The rest of the time, Midwife would tell me when my contractions were coming, when they had arrived, how intense they were and when and how long I should push. I just followed instructions and stayed quiet, not being able to feel a thing, but trying not to be so zoned out in my anger that I would miss my girls coming into the world.

A few minutes after 6 a.m., Baby A came out, butt first. I love my girl for mooning the doctor on my behalf. The only thing I could see was feet. Dr. W kept giving instructions and maneuvering, narrating where the baby was and what direction she was facing. I learned later that he used forceps (I read my chart). When she came out, she was totally quiet and a little limp. Midwife said, “she’s fine, she’s fine.” I could look at her and tell she was fine… she wasn’t blue. They bagged her and she immediately started crying. Ben left my side and wentto check out his girl.

*Maxton receives news that Baby A has arrived.

I heard the doctor order Pitocin. I objected. They gave it to me anyway.

Twelve minutes later, Baby B arrived after a similar pushing effort and forceps. She wasn’t even out all the way and was already wailing.

After the birth, before Midwife left my room, we had a short debriefing where she told me that I was at no time in any danger (the scare tactics were just that, scare tactics) and they could have handled my birth at the birth center, had I reached 37 weeks. She’d been tempted to get me out of there when I suggested it, but I had progressed too far and would have had the babies on the freeway.

PROCESSING IT ALL
I wish I had a way to convey how angry I was this entire time. I was annoyed that Ben said “thank you,” to the doctor and that Midwife told him he did a “masterful job.” I was annoyed that I had to spend an hour in the recovery room even though I hadn’t had surgery. I was annoyed that the nurse in the recovery room told me that I’d had a spinal and not an epidural (does anyone in that hospital know what’s going on?) and insisted that I sit up.

I was annoyed that the nurses again seemed to lollygag through their procedures instead of handing me my babies and letting me breastfeed them. I prayed that my anger wouldn’t turn into post-partum depression. I prayed that my anger wouldn’t be misinterpreted as ungratefulness for 2 healthy, beautiful baby girls delivered vaginally and able to go home with me 2 days after birth.

I know how blessed I was/am. I’ve been on the other end of having to leave a baby in the hospital NICU. I didn’t want to overdramatize the situation. I was well aware that many women endure much worse than an epidural.

But it didn’t change the fact that I was angry and I needed to be in that anger. I did not want to brush it aside because it wasn’t pretty. I knew I would have to deal and not ignore it or it would have the power to haunt me forever. I needed God to minister to me and deal with my anger. For days after going home, even several weeks after, I would cry in the shower. Replaying the whole event and feeling empty, like I was unable to complete a task, like something was missing. I felt violated and like I was rendered powerless and because of it, I was unable to give something priceless and irreplaceable to my girls. I knew it wasn’t my fault and my complete anger was directed at Dr. W. I cried, I cried, I cried. I planted my head in Ben’s chest, he held my head and I cried.

I begged God to show me the lesson in this mess. I wanted to understand why it went down like this. Was it my pride that was hurt? Was this about God dealing with my pride? The pride I would have had for delivering twins without medication? I didn’t think so, but I was willing to deal with that in order to get through my anger. I didn’t feel like I had something to prove, nevertheless this was important to me. I had prepared for this moment, trained my brain, trusted my body, trusted that God had created me for the moment. And I’d been forced to fail.
In all my tears and replaying of the events, I started to understand things from Dr. W’s perspective a little. I realized that it wasn’t about me (and I think I knew that at the time, but it fueled my anger). It was about him, Dr. W, and his inability to do a breech twin delivery without interfering with the birth process and dis-empowering the woman. He couldn’t have done it with me moaning and talking and moving around and experiencing labor. He needed me still. He needed this to happen on his terms, in his time, with him in control, but not because something was wrong with me, but because he didn’t trust himself to be able to do it any other way.
I don’t cry about this anymore. It is what it is. I don’t dismiss it by justifying the whole ordeal as a means to an end. Dr. W would like me to be content that everything went well and we all got what we wanted, but I disagree. I don’t believe things would have gone awry had I been allowed to give birth. I know that I would have still had 2 healthy girls in the end.

Slowly, every day, I have a little more peace about the situation. I’m not angry like I was. When he would come visit me in my hospital room, I would give him the cold shoulder. I vowed I never wanted to see him again. But last week, I went back to him for my 6 week appointment and I managed to be decent and cordial. I didn’t bring up anything regarding the birth. Honestly, the only reason I went back to him was because I couldn’t afford another out-of-pocket visit with Midwife.

I don’t know if this will be my final birthing experience. All I know is, I’m tired of the fight.

Here are my two beautiful girls, Maxwelle and Maxine.

Maxwelle Magdalen (baby A)

born: 6:07 a.m.

5 lbs. 6 oz.

19 3/4 inches

Maxine Malie (baby B)

born: 6:19 a.m.

5 lbs. 4 oz.

19 inches

my workshop for nurses

2009-07-10T09:16:00.000-07:00

I'm not a nurse, but in the last 2 years I've had to deal with so many of them (as a patient) that I think they could learn a lot from a patient's perspective. My workshop for nurses in the field and nurses-in-training would be an overview of these lessons:

If you hate your job, your co-workers, your hospital, the doctors and the patients annoy you, please, please find another line of work. Or at the very least, keep your attitude in check and out of your patient's room. Don't argue with other nurses in the presence of the patient or bring your disgruntled-ness into a patient's room. Believe it or not, your mood does affect the patient's experience, it affects the way you do your job, the way you interpret data, the way you communicate with the other staff about the patient and his/her needs. Get a grip. It matters.

Don't assume that every patient believes like you do. Don't assume that every woman wants an epidural. Don't assume that every woman is comfortable with a c-section. Instead of saying..."are you going to try to attempt a vaginal delivery," how about asking, what are your plans for delivery? I make it a point to answer the former question with, "No, I'm not going to "try to attempt," I'm going to do it!" Sure would be nice to get encouragement instead of doubt, from the very people who are trained to help you.

Use encouraging words and an encouraging tone. Skip the horror stories of what happened to other patients. Skip the scare tactics to garner compliance. A positive and supportive attitude goes a loooong way in garnering trust and mutual respect. Just 'cause you have on scrubs doesn't mean I automatically trust you and am going to cooperate.

Nursing is supposed to be a calling. Try to remember you're there for the patient and you're not just there "doing your job." This should be more than just a paycheck. What you're doing is providing a service, a ministry, it's more than a job. The minute you start thinking otherwise, then please take some deep breaths, go to a spa, take your vacation. You're doing more harm than good by spilling your bad vibes on your patients.

Remember than practicing medicine is more than just a clinical thing. Your patients have moods, feelings, anxieties that affect their physical well-being and stress level. Talk to your patients. Don't rely primarily on machines and gadgets to evaluate the situations.

And one note for dealing with pregnant women. It's not really useful (for the woman) if you say things like, "Are you sure you've felt the baby move recently?" or some other question based on the fact that your equipment is not working... I know it's all a ploy to make the woman fearful and at the mercy of the medical establishment, but c'mon. The next question inevitably is, "hmmmm, why is your blood pressure so high." Can you put yourself in the pregnant woman's shoes for 10 minutes?

One of the worst things that happened during the drama of our first pregnancy was overhearing a doctor and a resident's conversation:
Doctor: "She needs an ultrasound every day."
Resident: "I don't really remember how to do them."
Doctor: "Okay, honestly, you just need to make sure that the baby is alive."

Then, during the same ordeal, there was a team of residents in my room, discussing my "case" in front of me as if I were invisible.

What's just another case to you is real life to your patients.
If you don't remember anything else, remember that.

a dose of epidural is not an ounce of prevention

2009-07-07T13:03:00.000-07:00

My new motto is, "There's nothing wrong, until there's something wrong."
My OB would like me to believe that an epidural is the way to prepare for an emergency situation like an emergency c-section (ignoring that that very epidural could throw things off course and lead to an emergency c-section).
Funny how all of this so-called "prevention" is planned for the day of delivery, but in the 8 months that I've been pregnant, I've never been asked:

how are you feeling?
are you taking your vitamins?
are you stressed out?
how's your diet?
are you resting?

So, now, is when we're going to try to prepare and avoid complications? Interesting. Glad I have a midwife who is concerned about me getting to term in good health so I can avoid preventable complications. Dealing with "the medical establishment" stresses me out to no end.

hospital drama, part 1

2009-07-07T06:18:00.000-07:00

I hope to never have to write a part 2 or 3 or 4 or 5 to this blog post, but somehow I don't think that's possible.

Yesterday, I went to my routine OB appointment and he asked me to start the Non-stress Tests TWICE a week (in addition to seeing him weekly). I went ahead and did the first one right after I left his office.

I had to go do it in the triage area of labor and delivery and get strapped down with 2 fetal monitors, a contraction monitor, etc. I got a great nurse, thank God, that didn't freak out that I was having contractions (which I couldn't feel). Then the ultrasound lady, which didn't seem so confident about what she was doing, said the fluid around the babies was borderline low. I coulda kicked myself for not making an extra effort to hydrate....but then again, I didn't know I would be doing this procedure.

So after the doctor saw all my info, he wanted me to wait around 'cause he wanted to see me. I was like "No!!!! I'm going home. Tell him to call me. I am not in labor." The nurse went back and forth with my doctor. He finally told her if she would examine me and confirm that my cervix was not dilating, that I could go home. She did. I wasn't. I went home.

The nurse I had, Jennifer, was great. She talked to me about the chances of my delivering without an epidural (next to none). She asked me about my first experience at that hospital giving birth to Maxton and I told her that I had some really horrible nurses that I had to ask to leave my room. She went to do some investigating and find out who the nurses were and hopefully not have them again. I'm hoping she'll be around for my delivery.

Anyway, she told me some other things that I didn't know. She explained that with twins, I will end up delivering in an operating room just for everyone to be prepared for an emergency c-section. She told me the devastating news that even if I come it dilated 10 centimeters, they'll still insist on an epidural (as a precaution).

Last night, I went to bed asking God, "So, how are you gonna work this out?"

34 weeks

2009-07-06T12:07:00.001-07:00

Originally uploaded by Malie

Me in an extra large maternity shirt---it's still pulling and stretching. Not going shopping for maternity clothes any more though.

everybody's 2 cents

2009-06-23T01:43:00.000-07:00

So, which is it, people? Am I huge or tiny?
Whenever I go out, to church especially, someone comments on the size of my belly. They either think it's ginormous or they think it's tiny. No in-betweens.
Ben says they're comparing it to their current belly or their previous pregnancy belly. The fact is, at 31 weeks, I was measuring as if I was 38 wks.
Tomorrow we find out how much the babies' weigh ...and where they're tracking compared to singletons. I always like that information, although I dread ultrasounds.

the month of june

2009-06-17T22:28:00.000-07:00

All month I've felt a sense of urgency to get everything done that I want to do -- shopping, playgroups, hosting dinners, visits to the park, photo shoot -- because I feel like after July 1, I could give birth anytime and enter into newborn fog and breastfeeding prison. I already know how demanding breastfeeding is and I can't imagine how challenging it will be to breastfeed twins!

So, before the month ends, I need to finish up the girls' closet, get the carpet professionally cleaned and rearrange the bedroom. My sister arrives on June 28, and as much as I was hoping to sight see with her until labor day, I realize how that will probably not be possible. I tire out so easily these days! Whew!

We were at Children's Place the other day and the worker cleared off a table to allow me to sit (I was about to try to sit in Maxton's stroller!). Then at Ross, I had to go to the car while Maxton and Ben paid because I couldn't stand in line. Standing still is harder than walking around because I feel like my legs are giving out and get lightheaded. Oh the joys of twin pregnancy! At least I'm still walking.

This is what I'm hoping and praying for

2009-05-23T00:26:00.000-07:00

Every pregnancy brings its share of uncertainty. No one really has any idea how it will all turn out, but here's what I'm hoping and praying for:

a drug-free vaginal delivery
healthy, full-term babies
to come home from the hospital with both babies (max. 2 days after delivery)

I'm a simple girl.

the conundrum of complaining

2009-05-14T01:03:00.000-07:00

I have aches and pains. Headaches. Thirst. Lightheadedness. Loss of memory. No stamina. Fatigue. Moodiness. Trouble sleeping. Stretch marks.

I don't have a shortage of things to complain about. These twins have hijacked my body. But when I think about it realistically, what's the point of complaining? I would be complaining just to hear myself whine...but I wouldn't be complaining because I want something done about it. I wouldn't be venting my displeasure because I want change.

The truth is, I wouldn't have it any other way. If this is what it takes to grow 2 healthy babies and carry them to term, then sign me up.

What's the alternative to dealing with the discomfort of carrying twins?
Do I wish I had never been given the gift of two babies? No.
Would I rather lose one to be more comfortable physically? Absolutely not.
Would I rather not be pregnant? Nope.
Would I rather have the babies prematurely? Absolutely not.

So, therefore, I'm right where I need to be. Right in the middle of my blessing. So what if it comes with a little discomfort? It's temporary and it'll all be worth it in the end. I'm positive about that.

No complaints here.

flashbacks: letter to OB

2009-04-29T11:57:00.000-07:00

We took Maxton in for his physical today and ran into the doctor who was all set to be my OB when I was pregnant with Maxton. (BTW, I had to find an OB that would accept my high-risk case at about 28 wks. My son's heart condition prevented me from being able to deliver at the birth center.)

After our initial appointment, I left his office in tears and we switched doctors. Later, I felt compelled to write him a letter, which I never sent, but I'm sharing with you below.

I'm not disclosing his name, for two reasons: 1) If I never sent the letter directly to him, it's not fair that he could accidentally find it online (simply by googling his name) ; 2) I'm convinced that, because of the state of obstetrics in this country, it really could have been written to just about any OB out there. This is the standard of care.

****
Summer, 2007

Dr. G, MD
Glendale, CA 91204

Dear Dr. G,

As you are now aware, I have transferred my obstetric care to another
physician. It is important for me to share with you the reasons for my
decision.

From our first meeting, it was clear that you practice defensive
obstetrics and have a standard protocol that
doesn't deviate with each of your patient's individual situation.

In addition, you stated to me that I wouldn't be able to handle the
pain of labor and would need an epidural (especially because you
planned on using Pitocin as a routine procedure—never once taking into
consideration my needs or wants as a patient). In telling women that
they cannot handle labor on their own (at your first meeting with
them, no less), you are doing a great disservice. You have no right to
instill fear and doubt in your patients, when your job is to provide
information, concern, respect and support. I find it hard to accept
that a doctor whose patients are exclusively women has little faith
and belief that their bodies are able to handle birth. It is not right
for you to make this assumption for every pregnant woman who walks in
your office. Frankly, it's disrespectful and you're misusing your
authority in their lives for your own convenience.

At our last meeting, you stated that whether or not I tested positive
for Group B Strep, you were going to put me on an antibiotic. This,
again, was an example of how you choose intervention, whether
warranted or not, to deal with your cases.

I am an informed and well-read patient and was able to see the red
flags during our visits very clearly. After our first visit, I left
your office in tears, terrified that I would be under your care on my
delivery date. The stress of the situation was overwhelming. My
husband and I realized then that no amount of cost savings (because
you're in our HMO) was worth the anxiety and stress of dealing with an
OB whose philosophy of care was so opposite from ours.

Because you run such a busy practice (and for medical-legal reasons,
I'm sure), it's probably more convenient for you to choose
intervention rather than deal with each case individually, but I hope
in the future you will be able to balance this point of view with the
needs of your patients.

Dr. G, I wish you only the best and sincerely pray that you'll
take my concerns into consideration as you deal with the women who are
trusting you during the most important phase of their lives.

By the way, I genuinely thank you and your staff handling my HMO
referrals so expeditiously.

Sincerely,
Delina Pryce McPhaull

his name is really not that complicated

2009-04-28T11:30:00.001-07:00

We named our son Maxton. Unusual, uncommon, but not hard to pronounce, remember or spell.
People manage to do all of the above. Here are the variations we've heard in the last 20 months:

Maxten
Maximus
Maxim
Max (a nickname the church members have adopted that Ben and I haven't)
Maxston
Braxton

I don't know how much simpler we coulda made his name. Just wait 'til the twins come...they're really gonna get confused...

co-sleeping limits

2009-04-21T00:38:00.000-07:00

Of all the parenting philosophies that I've explored, Attachment Parenting best fits with my views, values and beliefs. Part of AP includes co-sleeping. People are a little startled when they find out that Maxton sleeps in our bedroom and until a few weeks ago, in our bed. I don't see what the big deal is, for centuries families have shared living quarters... I think it's a purely American notion, driven by marketers and commercialism, who have created a "norm" that babies should sleep by themselves in their own private rooms. Maybe I'd feel differently if we had bedrooms to spare, but right now the 2nd bedroom is where the guest bed, books and computer sleep.

Being the 5.5 month pregnant girl that I am, sleeping with Maxton in our bed was getting kinda tricky. I felt like I was guarding my belly from kicks all night. Maxton likes to sleep perpendicular to Ben and me (and most of the time snuggled so close to me that I'm squished in a corner of the bed). Furthermore, the bigger I got, the harder it became to reposition him, not to mention, reposition myself. It was time to train 18-month-old Maxton to sleep in his crib (right next to our bed) and sleep in there all night.

This is why we stopped co-sleeping.

For the transition, we made a huge deal about how cool it was going to be for the big boy to sleep in his own bed. I even put my old baby pillowcase on a brand new Sleep Number pillow for him. We did our nighttime routine (pjs, brush teeth, sing, read, pray, kisses, close door, lights out) and I put him in the crib and talked to him about how big boys get to sleep in their own special beds and he was going to be fine and Mami would be right here. There was a little crying.... I hugged him lots. But he went to sleep like a champ. He still reaches for me and likes to hold my finger sometimes... he plays with my knuckles until he falls back to sleep. For the first few weeks he was waking up around 5 a.m. and we'd bring him in our bed so he could sleep longer. Lately, he's been in his crib all night. The transition wasn't half as traumatic as I expected! He even sleeps in the crib for naps!

I don't regret co-sleeping (in the same bed) one bit. I know the security that he had his first year and a half (of having mommy and daddy right there) is the reason he's able to handle the transition.

my inspiration

2009-04-19T13:06:00.001-07:00

I'm tired of reading all the mainstream stuff about premature labor and c-sections for twins. Every now and then I have to watch this video and remind myself that I CAN go to full term and birth naturally, without drugs.

the latest anti-breastfeeding article

2009-04-15T09:00:00.000-07:00

This article, written by Hanna Rosin, appeared recently in Atlantic Monthly: The Case Against Breastfeeding. Her basic premise is that there's too much pressure for women to breastfeed and there are no real health benefits. Here are thoughts:

you were resentful of your husband's freedom, while you felt tied down because you were breastfeeding. that's your real issue. deal.
breastmilk IS liquid vaccine
who sponsored those studies that said breastmilk and formula were close to equal? and how on God's green earth could that even be possible? I've never heard of formula that adapts to a child's needs.
maybe breastfeeding is a lot about bonding, being forced to be tied down when your selfish self would find something else to do besides hold and know your child. how could you ever measure that in a study?
I can't stand feminists.

hands off my belly

2009-04-12T21:25:00.000-07:00

How do you stop someone, in a kind way, from touching your belly?! What makes people think it's okay to touch a woman's pregnant belly? I know it's tempting 'cause I've caught myself reaching out to touch someone else's belly...

But, really, people, it really feels violating for someone at church, at the store, wherever to reach out and touch your body part like that. I know you're trying to caress the baby in some telepathic virtual way, but that's not what you're doing. You are touching my belly. Would you like me to touch your belly?

breastfeeding is demanding

2009-04-07T23:03:00.000-07:00

One of the things that no one ever told me before I had a baby was that breastfeeding would be one of the most demanding things I had ever done, no...THE most demanding thing I had ever done or would ever do. It totally changes your life, the way you approach leaving the house, the way you look, your schedule, your wardrobe, how and when you sleep and for how long... After the first month I told my friend, Caroline, that I TOTALLY understand why women find any and every excuse/reason to justify why they stop breastfeeding. Realizing how hard it was for me, a SAHM who was bound and determined to BF, I KNEW most women weren't breastfeeding as much as they would lead you to believe (only 17% of women breastfeed exclusively for the first 6 months).

No one told me that:

I wouldn't wear a dress again for a long long time, unless it was low-cut (which I don't do...)
It hurts for several weeks even if the baby is latched on correctly.
My nipples would sometimes bleed and I would see blood streaks in my son's poop!
I would have porn star boobs when I was too full.
I would feed him every 2 hours for the first 8 months (and everything had to be scheduled with that in mind).
La Leche league would never return my calls with questions.
The only way to get any real sleep at night would be to BF in the bed, laying down, half-sleep, most of the night.
I would leak so much it would soak the bed.
I couldn't eat certain foods because it would aggravate his reflux.
Pumping only works if you have an extra 12 hours built in to your day.
Women will lie about how long they breastfed and whether or not they gave their babies formula.
My son would refuse a bottle (of pumped breastmilk) at 4 months so pumping would be useless.

I'm still a believer that it was one of the most important things I could have done for my son and and I would begin the 16-month journey again in a heartbeat. I can see the difference in health between a breasftfed baby and one who wasn't. There's a price to pay either way; granted, no child is doomed for life because the mother couldn't breastfeed.

I have no idea how I'll manage breastfeeding twins... but I'm going to steel up and do the hard thing even when it's demanding and inconvenient. I think determination in your mind is 80% of the battle and having support is 10% and just doing the thing is the rest...

What unexpected challenges did you face with breastfeeding?

Why this blog?

2009-04-06T01:24:00.000-07:00

I'm starting this blog because I have so many Mami (mommy)-related things I want to write about and I didn't want to hijack my personal blog with them. I'm pretty happy with the design, so now I'm ready to write... but I've forgotten what I wanted to say...