My 20 year high school class reunion is coming up in August. My husband and I have decided to attend, so I’ve spent the last couple of weekends, blame Stacey and Clinton from TLC’s What Not to Wear (my husband does), looking for a dress to wear to the event.
It’s been difficult to find a dress. To start, I’m a larger than average girl. Not a lot larger, but large enough that I can’t fit into the dresses in the regular misses department at the stores. Therefore, my selection is pretty limited. Added to that, I was a wall-flower in high school, and I don’t want the dress that I buy to reflect that part of my past. I’m not that shy, scared girl anymore. I’m a wife and a mother. I own my own home. I have a career that I’m good at and enjoy. I’m a PTSD survivor. I want a dress that has people seeing the confident woman that I am now. I want them to see that I’m not shy and retiring, but willing to put myself forward the way I am now acknowledging my own faults.
I had bombed out at 12 different stores two weekends ago. I tried on approximately 80 dresses, but nothing hit all of the right notes. I’ve spent the last week grumbling about it to my co-workers. It was so frustrating to have one little thing wrong with so many dresses.
So, last weekend I dragged my husband to the local Macy’s store. We went through the entire store, and grabbed every single dress they had in my size (between 30 and 40 dresses total). I tried on sleeveless dresses, short sleeved dresses, and long sleeved dresses. I tried on casual sundresses, work type dresses, cocktail dresses, and even mistakenly tried on a prom dress. (We were just grabbing, not really looking at the dresses.) I tried on dresses that I would typically never consider. I’m pretty modest, so I don’t wear sequins, tight, or sleeveless clothes. However, given my insatiable desire to find the “right” dress, I ignored all of my own rules. So, I started trying all of these dresses on in the dressing room. I showed my husband each and every one of them. One of them had my husband’s jaw hitting the floor. It was like va-va-voom – totally sexy, slinky, sex-kitten dress, and I looked GOOD! Actually, I looked gorgeous. I’ve never seen myself like that. I’m not ugly, but I’ve never thought of myself as pretty. Anyhow, it just happens that this dress was on clearance for $40, so I decided to go ahead and buy it.
Monday morning rolls around, and I’m talking to a couple of co-workers about finding this great dress. I told them that my husband’s going to get a sitter, so we can go out for my birthday next month, and he’s even thinking about springing for a hotel room. In my mind it was a pretty innocuous, non-triggering conversation to be having, when Chantel says, “woohoo, baby number two making night”.
AARGH! I’m talking about a dress, not making baby number two. I’m not going to intentionally have any more children. My husband and I have decided that neither one of us in comfortable with the risk. My pregnancy and delivery were complicated. In fact they were more complicated than my hospital had ever seen. It’s not like they were just a little bit more complicated than usual, we’re talking almost off the charts complicated. The odds of having that many complications in a single delivery are higher than the odds of winning the lottery. For me, the risks of dying are very real. When your medical records record a conversation about placing mom in the ICU, she’s not making up stories, or exaggerating about nearly dying when giving birth. It’s rare, but moms do sometimes die. There’s no point in giving birth to another child when my odds of not being there to raise that child are so high.
Anyhow, I’m just frustrated. I know Chantel doesn’t know my birth story. I know she didn’t mean anything bad by saying this. She’s working under the typical assumption that most people have their children two to three years apart. It’s just that the casual way she said it kind of tripped me up a bit.
I’m so much better than I was. This experience has started fading into the background. It’s still there. I know I still filter every new experience through it, but it’s not like it was before. I guess I’m just a little naïve in thinking that as my daughter gets older things will stop triggering me. I keep thinking that it’s in the past, and yet I’m having a conversation about a sexy dress, and birth pops up. When are people going to stop talking about it? How old do I have to get before it stops being a common topic of conversation. It’s not that I can’t talk about my daughter’s birth. I do talk about it, but I don’t see the need to go into details with every Tom, Dick, or Harry that walks into my life.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Birth Rape Rears its Ugly Head Again
After two years of living with the consequences of my OB’s actions I really should know better than to Google Birth Rape. It seems like every 9 – 12 months something stirs up the discussion fires on this topic. This time, Café Mom seems to be the instigator. There’s poll, a forum, and a journal / blog post on the topic. Now, at least one L & D nurse is weighing in on the subject as well.
There seems to be some misconceptions about what women are referring to when they define their birth experience as a birth rape.
1. Just because someone, a nurse, midwife, or doctor, breaks your water doesn’t make it a birth rape. Just because birth is painful doesn’t make it a birth rape. Just because you have a cervical check doesn’t make it a birth rape. Most of the time, healthcare providers ask permission to do these things. If you consent, it’s NOT rape.
I had my water broken, but I consented. That procedure was not birth rape. I had an IV, but I consented. That procedure was not birth rape. I had several cervical / vaginal exams, but I consented. Those procedures were not birth rape. I was asked to lie on my side during the majority of my labor, but I consented. That was not birth rape. I had continuous fetal monitoring and EFM, but I consented. Neither of those were birth rape. I had a vacuum assisted delivery, but I consented. That was not birth rape. As long as you consent to the procedure whether it’s verbal or written it’s not rape. Just like when I consent to having sex with my husband it’s not rape.
2. Women who call it birth rape deserved what they got. After all if the baby has to come out, so whatever is done in that process is acceptable. If you go to the hospital as long as someone with an ID badge does it to you it’s okay.
Where I live, we have a Patient’s Bill of Rights. Competent patients have the right to decline any and all medical procedures. Competent patients have the right to be told what their diagnosis is, what the treatment options are, what are the risks associated with those options, and allowed to make their OWN decision. Therefore, the doctor, midwife, or nurse is not always right. They don’t have the power to force a woman to submit to procedures that she doesn’t want. They don’t have the right to coerce a woman into submitting to any procedures, and they don’t have the right to abuse their patients.
3. Women are just whining because they didn’t get the experience that they wanted to have.
What? There are a lot of things about my daughter’s birth that didn’t go the way that I wanted. I didn’t want to be induced. I wanted to go into labor on my own. However, complications prevented this from being possible. Did that traumatize me? NO! Did that result in a need for counseling? NO! It was simply a disappointment. Do I label any of those procedures that I didn’t want, but consented to, as birth rape? ABSOLUTELY NOT!
4. If it’s a rape, why don’t you report it, and have the perpetrators prosecuted?
I did report the actions of my doctor. I reported them to the State Medical Board, the hospital where he practices, and I sent him letter. However, the State Medical Board has the same attitude that a lot of women on this forum have- he’s the doctor, so he’s right. My report was denied because I didn’t have enough evidence to prove it. Doesn’t that sound like a typical rape case? It’s my word against yours. It doesn’t make what happened to be less truthful or less traumatizing. As to why I didn’t sue him, well like a lot of rape victims, I didn’t want to re-live it. I didn’t want to sit in the same room with him. I didn’t want to bare my emotions, and mental issues in front of a jury that doesn’t believe that birth rape happens.
5. You don’t develop mental issues from a bad birthing experience.
Actually, I did develop mental health issues as a result of his decision. I spent 18 months in counseling for PTSD. PTSD doesn’t go away. You learn to live with it, you learn to cope with it, but it doesn’t go away. I’ll have these scars for the rest of my life. They’ll gradually fade with time, but they will never go away. I live with nightmares, flashbacks, dissociation, and anxiety. I have panic attacks when I go to the doctor. I have had flashbacks during sex – what a mood killer. I’ve denied my husband sex because I’ve been terrified of having another child. My marriage was nearly destroyed because of the severity of my symptoms.
6. So what do I call my birth rape?
For me, birth rape refers to a specific procedure at a specific time that was performed without my consent.
My daughter was born at 11:32 pm. Approximately 15 minutes later my doctor asked the nurse to tell him when ½ hour had passed after the baby’s delivery. At that point in time, he knew that the placenta wasn’t detaching properly. Did he discuss this with me? No. He just kept biding his time waiting to see if it would change. Shortly thereafter, I notified the doctor that his ½ hour was up. Did he tell me then, that there was a problem with the placenta? No. He attempted cord traction to get the placenta to release. The umbilical cord tore off the placenta leaving the placenta attached to my uterus. Did he notify me then that there was a problem with the placenta, and offer me the opportunity to choose between treatment options of having him try to manually remove it or have it surgically removed? No. He just shoved his hand inside me, and tried to pull it out himself. Why wouldn’t I have seen this as a rape? He wasn’t saving my child. She was already born. He wasn’t saving me since at this point he didn’t see this situation being emergent. I was competent, and capable of consenting. He chose not to allow me to consent.
The pain of this procedure was extraordinary. It’s beyond the realm of anything I had ever experienced. It sent me into a place where I was incapable of providing consent for any additional procedures. Even though I didn’t consent to the D & C, even though I didn’t consent to the re-installation of my uterus, even though he spent almost an hour with his hand elbow deep in my hoo-ha trying to shove my uterus back into place, I’ve never considered those procedures to be birth rape. The situation had become emergent, I was mentally incapable of providing informed consent, and I was at the mercy of his skill, knowledge, and competency.
You see, Birth Rape is about power and consent. It’s not about sex. It has nothing to do with sex. In some ways, birth rape is worse. You’re in a place and surrounded by people who are supposed to keep you safe, but you’re not. You can’t advocate for yourself if they don’t tell you first what they’re going to do. You can’t fight for your rights when they deny them. My doctor wasn’t evil. He wasn’t trying to harm me. He got caught up in the complications, and all he saw was a problem. He forgot that I was a person, and only saw the complications.
Birth rape is real. Birth rape is evil, and eventually it will become prosecutable. Right now it’s impossible to get anyone to believe you.
There seems to be some misconceptions about what women are referring to when they define their birth experience as a birth rape.
1. Just because someone, a nurse, midwife, or doctor, breaks your water doesn’t make it a birth rape. Just because birth is painful doesn’t make it a birth rape. Just because you have a cervical check doesn’t make it a birth rape. Most of the time, healthcare providers ask permission to do these things. If you consent, it’s NOT rape.
I had my water broken, but I consented. That procedure was not birth rape. I had an IV, but I consented. That procedure was not birth rape. I had several cervical / vaginal exams, but I consented. Those procedures were not birth rape. I was asked to lie on my side during the majority of my labor, but I consented. That was not birth rape. I had continuous fetal monitoring and EFM, but I consented. Neither of those were birth rape. I had a vacuum assisted delivery, but I consented. That was not birth rape. As long as you consent to the procedure whether it’s verbal or written it’s not rape. Just like when I consent to having sex with my husband it’s not rape.
2. Women who call it birth rape deserved what they got. After all if the baby has to come out, so whatever is done in that process is acceptable. If you go to the hospital as long as someone with an ID badge does it to you it’s okay.
Where I live, we have a Patient’s Bill of Rights. Competent patients have the right to decline any and all medical procedures. Competent patients have the right to be told what their diagnosis is, what the treatment options are, what are the risks associated with those options, and allowed to make their OWN decision. Therefore, the doctor, midwife, or nurse is not always right. They don’t have the power to force a woman to submit to procedures that she doesn’t want. They don’t have the right to coerce a woman into submitting to any procedures, and they don’t have the right to abuse their patients.
3. Women are just whining because they didn’t get the experience that they wanted to have.
What? There are a lot of things about my daughter’s birth that didn’t go the way that I wanted. I didn’t want to be induced. I wanted to go into labor on my own. However, complications prevented this from being possible. Did that traumatize me? NO! Did that result in a need for counseling? NO! It was simply a disappointment. Do I label any of those procedures that I didn’t want, but consented to, as birth rape? ABSOLUTELY NOT!
4. If it’s a rape, why don’t you report it, and have the perpetrators prosecuted?
I did report the actions of my doctor. I reported them to the State Medical Board, the hospital where he practices, and I sent him letter. However, the State Medical Board has the same attitude that a lot of women on this forum have- he’s the doctor, so he’s right. My report was denied because I didn’t have enough evidence to prove it. Doesn’t that sound like a typical rape case? It’s my word against yours. It doesn’t make what happened to be less truthful or less traumatizing. As to why I didn’t sue him, well like a lot of rape victims, I didn’t want to re-live it. I didn’t want to sit in the same room with him. I didn’t want to bare my emotions, and mental issues in front of a jury that doesn’t believe that birth rape happens.
5. You don’t develop mental issues from a bad birthing experience.
Actually, I did develop mental health issues as a result of his decision. I spent 18 months in counseling for PTSD. PTSD doesn’t go away. You learn to live with it, you learn to cope with it, but it doesn’t go away. I’ll have these scars for the rest of my life. They’ll gradually fade with time, but they will never go away. I live with nightmares, flashbacks, dissociation, and anxiety. I have panic attacks when I go to the doctor. I have had flashbacks during sex – what a mood killer. I’ve denied my husband sex because I’ve been terrified of having another child. My marriage was nearly destroyed because of the severity of my symptoms.
6. So what do I call my birth rape?
For me, birth rape refers to a specific procedure at a specific time that was performed without my consent.
My daughter was born at 11:32 pm. Approximately 15 minutes later my doctor asked the nurse to tell him when ½ hour had passed after the baby’s delivery. At that point in time, he knew that the placenta wasn’t detaching properly. Did he discuss this with me? No. He just kept biding his time waiting to see if it would change. Shortly thereafter, I notified the doctor that his ½ hour was up. Did he tell me then, that there was a problem with the placenta? No. He attempted cord traction to get the placenta to release. The umbilical cord tore off the placenta leaving the placenta attached to my uterus. Did he notify me then that there was a problem with the placenta, and offer me the opportunity to choose between treatment options of having him try to manually remove it or have it surgically removed? No. He just shoved his hand inside me, and tried to pull it out himself. Why wouldn’t I have seen this as a rape? He wasn’t saving my child. She was already born. He wasn’t saving me since at this point he didn’t see this situation being emergent. I was competent, and capable of consenting. He chose not to allow me to consent.
The pain of this procedure was extraordinary. It’s beyond the realm of anything I had ever experienced. It sent me into a place where I was incapable of providing consent for any additional procedures. Even though I didn’t consent to the D & C, even though I didn’t consent to the re-installation of my uterus, even though he spent almost an hour with his hand elbow deep in my hoo-ha trying to shove my uterus back into place, I’ve never considered those procedures to be birth rape. The situation had become emergent, I was mentally incapable of providing informed consent, and I was at the mercy of his skill, knowledge, and competency.
You see, Birth Rape is about power and consent. It’s not about sex. It has nothing to do with sex. In some ways, birth rape is worse. You’re in a place and surrounded by people who are supposed to keep you safe, but you’re not. You can’t advocate for yourself if they don’t tell you first what they’re going to do. You can’t fight for your rights when they deny them. My doctor wasn’t evil. He wasn’t trying to harm me. He got caught up in the complications, and all he saw was a problem. He forgot that I was a person, and only saw the complications.
Birth rape is real. Birth rape is evil, and eventually it will become prosecutable. Right now it’s impossible to get anyone to believe you.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Sometimes Surviving is Enough
While we were on vacation last week, I listened to a song on the ipod – Alive off Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell 3 album. I don’t listen to it often, but it’s my favorite song off of that album. The album was released when I was pregnant. Every time Alive was playing, Peanut would dance in my belly. I don’t know why, but she really seemed to either love it or hate it. It’s an interesting song. It celebrates surviving.
My counselor asked me once if I was proud / gave myself credit for anything going well with Peanut’s birth. I’ve struggled with giving myself credit for anything that happened during Peanut’s delivery. As far as I’m concerned the whole experience was a failure. I failed, the doctor failed, the anesthesiologist failed, the nursing staff failed, and my support people failed. There’s nothing but failure from my point of view. However, when I listen to this song it makes me start to wonder if it isn’t enough to just survive.
The doctor’s didn’t kill me off that night.
I didn’t give up, and let myself die that night.
My husband didn’t walk away from our marriage after that night.
I'm a runaway train on a broken track
I'm a ticker on a bomb that you can't turn back
This time, that's right
I got away with it all and I'm still alive
Let the end of the world come tumbling down
I'll be the last man standing on the ground
As long as I got blood rush through my veins
I'm still alive
Holly Knight, Jon Bon Jovi, James Michael, Andreas Carlsson, Richard Samborra, Desmond Child, and Andrea Ramanda
I’m not quite ready to rejoice in my survival, but sometimes survival is reason enough to be proud.
My counselor asked me once if I was proud / gave myself credit for anything going well with Peanut’s birth. I’ve struggled with giving myself credit for anything that happened during Peanut’s delivery. As far as I’m concerned the whole experience was a failure. I failed, the doctor failed, the anesthesiologist failed, the nursing staff failed, and my support people failed. There’s nothing but failure from my point of view. However, when I listen to this song it makes me start to wonder if it isn’t enough to just survive.
The doctor’s didn’t kill me off that night.
I didn’t give up, and let myself die that night.
My husband didn’t walk away from our marriage after that night.
I'm a runaway train on a broken track
I'm a ticker on a bomb that you can't turn back
This time, that's right
I got away with it all and I'm still alive
Let the end of the world come tumbling down
I'll be the last man standing on the ground
As long as I got blood rush through my veins
I'm still alive
Holly Knight, Jon Bon Jovi, James Michael, Andreas Carlsson, Richard Samborra, Desmond Child, and Andrea Ramanda
I’m not quite ready to rejoice in my survival, but sometimes survival is reason enough to be proud.
Monday, April 6, 2009
ER - The Final Episode
I bet you're thinking you stumbled across the wrong blog. I don't usually write about frivolous things like the latest TV show. However, it's pertinent in this case to my healing.
I remember watching the first episode of ER. I was hooked. I loved the interplay of Dr. Greene, Dr. Ross, Dr. Benton, and Dr. Carter. So many things in my life have changed since that day, but that has been one of the constants - Thursday night at 9 pm. I haven't watched consistently in a long time, but I decided to watch last night's episode.
It started off okay. They got to the twin labor and delivery, and I was okay. (I can finally watch re-enactments of the happy deliveries without freaking out.) I watched them deliver the second baby, and I was still okay. The first gush of blood came out of mom, and I started to get a little tense, but I was okay. The second gush came, and I'm starting to think maybe I should switch to something else, and then... gush number 3, uterine inversion, mom starts losing consciousness, call for blood, start IV's... I jump off the sofa, grab my daughter, and run for the stairs. I rush to get her put to bed, and run back downstairs to change channels before the commercial is over. I'm shaking, edgy, panicking, and trying desperately to calm myself. I was up half the night crying.
Right after Peanut was born, I kept asking my husband and best friend questions about my birth. I have no visual memories after the attempted manual removal of the placenta. I have some memories of sounds, but no pictures. My nightmares were terrifying to me because I didn't have the pictures, so I kept looking for them to give them to me. I'd ask, What did they do? What did it look like? Anything to get a description of what had gone on. I've accepted this lack of visual information. I've gotten used to the missing time frame. Having that visual experience last night totally has me freaked out.
I'm achy, hollow, anxious, edgy, and exhausted. I want to hide in a small dark place, and forget what I saw. I want to forget the fear, the anger, the panic. It was like they wrote MY story into the script. The baby was in the warmer, Dad standing to one side watching, and it all falls apart.
I haven't been this bad in a long time.
I HATE feeling like this. I HATE being this new person. What did I do to deserve this?
I wrote this on Friday morning. I'm glad to say that by noon, I was feeling better. Still edgy, but not jumping out of my own skin edgy. By the time I got home, the stranglehold was gone. I could think about other things, talk about other things, be myself.
I sometimes forget how far I've come. It came in such small, baby steps that you miss where things began to change. Despite my being triggered, I'm grateful to realize that this experience doesn't control me the way it did in the past. Within 36 hours most of the intrusive thoughts were gone. I didn't have another nightmare, and the flashback was only in the immediate time frame of being triggered.
My husband wants to delete the recording from the DVR, but I won't let him. I know I have to watch the entire thing. I won't watch it today, and probably not tomorrow, but in the future I need to see it. In order for me to be free, I have to face it.
This was my story. It may have a few tweaks, but it's the story I live with everyday.
I remember watching the first episode of ER. I was hooked. I loved the interplay of Dr. Greene, Dr. Ross, Dr. Benton, and Dr. Carter. So many things in my life have changed since that day, but that has been one of the constants - Thursday night at 9 pm. I haven't watched consistently in a long time, but I decided to watch last night's episode.
It started off okay. They got to the twin labor and delivery, and I was okay. (I can finally watch re-enactments of the happy deliveries without freaking out.) I watched them deliver the second baby, and I was still okay. The first gush of blood came out of mom, and I started to get a little tense, but I was okay. The second gush came, and I'm starting to think maybe I should switch to something else, and then... gush number 3, uterine inversion, mom starts losing consciousness, call for blood, start IV's... I jump off the sofa, grab my daughter, and run for the stairs. I rush to get her put to bed, and run back downstairs to change channels before the commercial is over. I'm shaking, edgy, panicking, and trying desperately to calm myself. I was up half the night crying.
Right after Peanut was born, I kept asking my husband and best friend questions about my birth. I have no visual memories after the attempted manual removal of the placenta. I have some memories of sounds, but no pictures. My nightmares were terrifying to me because I didn't have the pictures, so I kept looking for them to give them to me. I'd ask, What did they do? What did it look like? Anything to get a description of what had gone on. I've accepted this lack of visual information. I've gotten used to the missing time frame. Having that visual experience last night totally has me freaked out.
I'm achy, hollow, anxious, edgy, and exhausted. I want to hide in a small dark place, and forget what I saw. I want to forget the fear, the anger, the panic. It was like they wrote MY story into the script. The baby was in the warmer, Dad standing to one side watching, and it all falls apart.
I haven't been this bad in a long time.
I HATE feeling like this. I HATE being this new person. What did I do to deserve this?
I wrote this on Friday morning. I'm glad to say that by noon, I was feeling better. Still edgy, but not jumping out of my own skin edgy. By the time I got home, the stranglehold was gone. I could think about other things, talk about other things, be myself.
I sometimes forget how far I've come. It came in such small, baby steps that you miss where things began to change. Despite my being triggered, I'm grateful to realize that this experience doesn't control me the way it did in the past. Within 36 hours most of the intrusive thoughts were gone. I didn't have another nightmare, and the flashback was only in the immediate time frame of being triggered.
My husband wants to delete the recording from the DVR, but I won't let him. I know I have to watch the entire thing. I won't watch it today, and probably not tomorrow, but in the future I need to see it. In order for me to be free, I have to face it.
This was my story. It may have a few tweaks, but it's the story I live with everyday.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
De-Briefing Tool (Part 1 Question 2)
What happened in the events leading up to the birth?
My pregnancy was never easy. It was unplanned. My husband didn't want to be a father. He sucked it up, and accepted it, but he was never supportive, excited, or happy about it. It was stressful knowing his feelings on the subject, but I just kept plodding along.
At 13 weeks, I had a scare. I had some spotting over the weekend. About the time I thought I should go get it checked out, it stopped. I went to the doctor right away on Monday morning. He did an ultrasound, figured that some blood got trapped behind the placenta, and put me back on the routine prenatal visit schedule.
At 19 weeks, I had my "big" ultrasound. They diagnosed me with partial placenta previa. Since it was still early, I knew there was a possibility that the placenta would move, but I started researching c-sections. I put off my childbirth classes until I could find out if it had moved. It seemed silly to spend all of that money only to end up with a c-section.
At 27 weeks, I went in for my partial placenta previa follow-up ultrasound and the one hour gestational diabetes screening. That night, the doctor called me at home. I had failed the one hour test, and had to schedule the three hour test. I failed that one too, so off to the dietitian I went. No candy, no cake, no ice cream, for Pete's sake I'm pregnant, but I can't eat anything but vegetables and meat. No more eating cereal for my bedtime snack. No more drinking OJ. Nothing. It sucked. The good news was that the placenta had moved, so I'm back to looking at a vaginal delivery. This is also the time when the doctor first mentioned that he "didn't think I'd make it to 40 weeks". What a crock, of course I was going to 40 weeks. I had been 3 weeks late, and I expected that peanut would be 2 weeks late as well.
Because of all of the GD issues, I started seeing the doctor weekly instead of bi-weekly. We finally got to week 33, and he told me that I could skip week 34's visit. Woohoo! I went to my family baby shower, and after I got home I noticed that I was really swollen. My legs were the size of watermelons. My husband hounded me to call the doctor, so Monday morning, I give him a call. I left a voicemail for the nurse, and not an hour later, she calls back. COME IN NOW! I'm thinking, it's just some swelling. Everybody swells up at the end of their pregnancy, what's the big freaking deal? But, as a dutiful, if resentful, patient, I trot my 34 week belly into the clinic. I walk in, and got on the scale. I gained weight. Finally, 34 weeks had gone by without me gaining any weight. I'm thinking I'm finally acting like a pregnant woman. I sit in the chair, they take my blood pressure, and it's high - too high. All of the sudden, he's telling me to go immediately to the hospital for an NST - what the heck is that? I drive up to the hospital parking lot, and call my husband in tears. I don't know what's wrong. I'm at the hospital. They're going to do some tests. I'm scared out of my mind. He tells me he's coming, and I head up to Labor and Delivery. I get to the desk. No one from the clinic has called, I'm trying to remember what the doctor said to have done. They get me into a room, hook me up to the monitors, and I just sit there alone, staring at the TV, crying, and hitting the joystick thing-a-ma-jig when peanut kicks. My husband calls, he's at the hospital, but can't find me. They didn't "admit" me as a patient, so the reception desk is useless. He finally makes it up to the floor, and into the room where I am. The doctor comes in, and says no more work, stay home, keep my feet up, no anything. Great - NOT. He says they'll induce, but they want me to make it to 37 weeks. He's kind of vague, and my husband hates him on sight. I'm frustrated because this wasn't part of my plan, but I'm a good girl, and head home.
My husband arranges for my in-laws to take the dogs for the remainder of my pregnancy. They're German short-hair pointers, so extremely energetic. There's no way for me to stay off my feet if they're at home.
I hang out at the house, watching Dr. Phil and Oprah. I'm bouncing off the walls with boredom. I feel like I have nothing to talk about. My husband keeps asking me for answers on when the baby is coming, but I don't know, and the doctor is vague. I only get out of the house twice a week. Once for the doctor appointment, and once for the NST.
A couple of weeks go by, and finally we get my induction date. My best friend comes to the house to help me with my "birth plan". What birth plan? This isn't the spontaneous experience that I wanted. I'm going to be hooked up to every monitor imaginable, there are no more choices to be made. I tell her that all I want is to walk out of the hospital as a healthy mom with a healthy baby. Whatever we have to do we'll do.
My pregnancy was never easy. It was unplanned. My husband didn't want to be a father. He sucked it up, and accepted it, but he was never supportive, excited, or happy about it. It was stressful knowing his feelings on the subject, but I just kept plodding along.
At 13 weeks, I had a scare. I had some spotting over the weekend. About the time I thought I should go get it checked out, it stopped. I went to the doctor right away on Monday morning. He did an ultrasound, figured that some blood got trapped behind the placenta, and put me back on the routine prenatal visit schedule.
At 19 weeks, I had my "big" ultrasound. They diagnosed me with partial placenta previa. Since it was still early, I knew there was a possibility that the placenta would move, but I started researching c-sections. I put off my childbirth classes until I could find out if it had moved. It seemed silly to spend all of that money only to end up with a c-section.
At 27 weeks, I went in for my partial placenta previa follow-up ultrasound and the one hour gestational diabetes screening. That night, the doctor called me at home. I had failed the one hour test, and had to schedule the three hour test. I failed that one too, so off to the dietitian I went. No candy, no cake, no ice cream, for Pete's sake I'm pregnant, but I can't eat anything but vegetables and meat. No more eating cereal for my bedtime snack. No more drinking OJ. Nothing. It sucked. The good news was that the placenta had moved, so I'm back to looking at a vaginal delivery. This is also the time when the doctor first mentioned that he "didn't think I'd make it to 40 weeks". What a crock, of course I was going to 40 weeks. I had been 3 weeks late, and I expected that peanut would be 2 weeks late as well.
Because of all of the GD issues, I started seeing the doctor weekly instead of bi-weekly. We finally got to week 33, and he told me that I could skip week 34's visit. Woohoo! I went to my family baby shower, and after I got home I noticed that I was really swollen. My legs were the size of watermelons. My husband hounded me to call the doctor, so Monday morning, I give him a call. I left a voicemail for the nurse, and not an hour later, she calls back. COME IN NOW! I'm thinking, it's just some swelling. Everybody swells up at the end of their pregnancy, what's the big freaking deal? But, as a dutiful, if resentful, patient, I trot my 34 week belly into the clinic. I walk in, and got on the scale. I gained weight. Finally, 34 weeks had gone by without me gaining any weight. I'm thinking I'm finally acting like a pregnant woman. I sit in the chair, they take my blood pressure, and it's high - too high. All of the sudden, he's telling me to go immediately to the hospital for an NST - what the heck is that? I drive up to the hospital parking lot, and call my husband in tears. I don't know what's wrong. I'm at the hospital. They're going to do some tests. I'm scared out of my mind. He tells me he's coming, and I head up to Labor and Delivery. I get to the desk. No one from the clinic has called, I'm trying to remember what the doctor said to have done. They get me into a room, hook me up to the monitors, and I just sit there alone, staring at the TV, crying, and hitting the joystick thing-a-ma-jig when peanut kicks. My husband calls, he's at the hospital, but can't find me. They didn't "admit" me as a patient, so the reception desk is useless. He finally makes it up to the floor, and into the room where I am. The doctor comes in, and says no more work, stay home, keep my feet up, no anything. Great - NOT. He says they'll induce, but they want me to make it to 37 weeks. He's kind of vague, and my husband hates him on sight. I'm frustrated because this wasn't part of my plan, but I'm a good girl, and head home.
My husband arranges for my in-laws to take the dogs for the remainder of my pregnancy. They're German short-hair pointers, so extremely energetic. There's no way for me to stay off my feet if they're at home.
I hang out at the house, watching Dr. Phil and Oprah. I'm bouncing off the walls with boredom. I feel like I have nothing to talk about. My husband keeps asking me for answers on when the baby is coming, but I don't know, and the doctor is vague. I only get out of the house twice a week. Once for the doctor appointment, and once for the NST.
A couple of weeks go by, and finally we get my induction date. My best friend comes to the house to help me with my "birth plan". What birth plan? This isn't the spontaneous experience that I wanted. I'm going to be hooked up to every monitor imaginable, there are no more choices to be made. I tell her that all I want is to walk out of the hospital as a healthy mom with a healthy baby. Whatever we have to do we'll do.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Memory of Pain linked to Childbirth Experience
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,508961,00.html
I saw this article the other day. I found it interesting that women who have rotten birth experiences tend to remember their pain at the same or a worse intensity than women with positive birth experiences. It only takes me moments to remember the pain I experienced. It definitely hasn't diminished with time.
I saw this article the other day. I found it interesting that women who have rotten birth experiences tend to remember their pain at the same or a worse intensity than women with positive birth experiences. It only takes me moments to remember the pain I experienced. It definitely hasn't diminished with time.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
De-briefing tool (Part 1 Question 1)
I found a link to a blog that defines some questions for de-briefing from your child's birth. I thought that they were pretty good, so I thought I'd answer them on here.
Part 1: How was your birth?
1. What was your birth like for you?
Well, my pregnancy wasn't easy. I felt isolated before I ever got to the delivery room. When I took my childbirth education class, I was the only person who hadn't gained any weight. I was the only person who had gestational diabetes. I was the only one who had been forced to consider a c-section. I knew then that my pregnancy was far from normal. The last four weeks leading up to my delivery were frustrating. I hated being stuck at home. I hated not working. I hated having my dogs shipped off to the in-laws because they were too much work for me to take care of them. I hated being trapped. I hated not being able to eat. I hated being pregnant. I hated knowing that I wasn't going to have the birth I wanted. Don't get me wrong, I was resigned to the complications. I acknowledged, and still acknowledge, that they were real. I was willing to do whatever it took to have a healthy baby, but it doesn't make it any easier to handle the emotions of watching your dreams fade before your eyes.
For me labor wasn't that bad. Since I had resigned myself to the induction, the tubes, the wires, the monitors, etc. I didn't find it to be very traumatizing. It went the way I was expecting it to happen. I was trapped in bed, but I knew that. I had lots of tubes, but I knew that too. There were monitors everywhere, but after having NST's for the four prior weeks I knew about those too. Truthfully, I really didn't find it very painful. That may piss some people off, but to me it wasn't that bad. I was frustrated that information didn't seem to be flowing smoothly between the nurses at the hospital and the doctor at the clinic. I was also frustrated about justifying, arguing, whatever you want to call it with the anesthesiologist over the epidural. However, neither of those things contributed to my PTSD. I was irritated that the nurse didn't believe me when I told her the epidural wasn't working. It's not like I wanted her to do anything about it other than mention it to the doctor. I remember the contractions piling one on top of the other. It seemed like there was no break from them, but I just concentrated on the fluorescent light fixture, and breathed through them. I remember one of the nurses offering to dim the lights, and I was pretty emphatic about wanting them left on. Other than the bathroom, the only thing I could see while lying on my right side was the light fixture. I needed the focal point to center my breathing to ride over the pain of the contractions. I remember feeling like it was time to push. It seems weird that everyone believed me when I said that, but no one believed that the epidural wasn't working. I pushed, and pushed, and Mel asked me if I wanted help. I told her yes, and she told the nurse the next time she came in. It seemed to take forever for the doctor to show up with his handy dandy vacuum. I remember him asking if I was okay with that, and I answered yes. I remember tearing and the feeling of relief when my daughter slid out. I remember being exhausted and collapsing on the bed. There were several frustrations and some irritations, but overall it was about what I had expected. Not what I wanted, but what I resigned myself to when I realized that the complications had derailed my plans.
The real problems started after my daughter was born. I remember thinking, wow, I'm a mom. I knew it was going to happen, but there's something kind of odd about having them place a new baby in your arms. I was relieved, anxious to spend time with her, and introduce myself. However, I was completely repulsed by all of the goo and blood covering her body. At that point, I really wanted them to clean her up. I started feeling woozy. Just a little bit off. I was about to ask a question about the way I was feeling when the nurse asked if I wanted to hold the baby. I said no. I knew something wasn't quite right, and I was afraid to hold her at that time. Mel brought her over to me, and I reached out my hand. PAIN! It shot through my whole body. I've never experienced anything like it. Everything went black. The pain consumed me. It was in me, around me, smothering me. I couldn't scream. I was trapped by it. I clawed at the sheets. I tried dragging myself away from it, but I lost the battle. The pain was inescapable. I heard snippets of conversations. We're going to need to go to surgery... Where the hell are they... What's taking so long... It's about time you got here... The sides of the bed snap up. I'm moving fast down the hallway. The lights were beaming down on my eyelids, they're moving me to a hard surface, they're poking me, and then nothing.
Some one's talking to me. I can't focus. I just go back to sleep. I hear people talking again. She won't be able to breastfeed. I can't stop shaking. They're piling blankets on top of me. What happened?
Part 1: How was your birth?
1. What was your birth like for you?
Well, my pregnancy wasn't easy. I felt isolated before I ever got to the delivery room. When I took my childbirth education class, I was the only person who hadn't gained any weight. I was the only person who had gestational diabetes. I was the only one who had been forced to consider a c-section. I knew then that my pregnancy was far from normal. The last four weeks leading up to my delivery were frustrating. I hated being stuck at home. I hated not working. I hated having my dogs shipped off to the in-laws because they were too much work for me to take care of them. I hated being trapped. I hated not being able to eat. I hated being pregnant. I hated knowing that I wasn't going to have the birth I wanted. Don't get me wrong, I was resigned to the complications. I acknowledged, and still acknowledge, that they were real. I was willing to do whatever it took to have a healthy baby, but it doesn't make it any easier to handle the emotions of watching your dreams fade before your eyes.
For me labor wasn't that bad. Since I had resigned myself to the induction, the tubes, the wires, the monitors, etc. I didn't find it to be very traumatizing. It went the way I was expecting it to happen. I was trapped in bed, but I knew that. I had lots of tubes, but I knew that too. There were monitors everywhere, but after having NST's for the four prior weeks I knew about those too. Truthfully, I really didn't find it very painful. That may piss some people off, but to me it wasn't that bad. I was frustrated that information didn't seem to be flowing smoothly between the nurses at the hospital and the doctor at the clinic. I was also frustrated about justifying, arguing, whatever you want to call it with the anesthesiologist over the epidural. However, neither of those things contributed to my PTSD. I was irritated that the nurse didn't believe me when I told her the epidural wasn't working. It's not like I wanted her to do anything about it other than mention it to the doctor. I remember the contractions piling one on top of the other. It seemed like there was no break from them, but I just concentrated on the fluorescent light fixture, and breathed through them. I remember one of the nurses offering to dim the lights, and I was pretty emphatic about wanting them left on. Other than the bathroom, the only thing I could see while lying on my right side was the light fixture. I needed the focal point to center my breathing to ride over the pain of the contractions. I remember feeling like it was time to push. It seems weird that everyone believed me when I said that, but no one believed that the epidural wasn't working. I pushed, and pushed, and Mel asked me if I wanted help. I told her yes, and she told the nurse the next time she came in. It seemed to take forever for the doctor to show up with his handy dandy vacuum. I remember him asking if I was okay with that, and I answered yes. I remember tearing and the feeling of relief when my daughter slid out. I remember being exhausted and collapsing on the bed. There were several frustrations and some irritations, but overall it was about what I had expected. Not what I wanted, but what I resigned myself to when I realized that the complications had derailed my plans.
The real problems started after my daughter was born. I remember thinking, wow, I'm a mom. I knew it was going to happen, but there's something kind of odd about having them place a new baby in your arms. I was relieved, anxious to spend time with her, and introduce myself. However, I was completely repulsed by all of the goo and blood covering her body. At that point, I really wanted them to clean her up. I started feeling woozy. Just a little bit off. I was about to ask a question about the way I was feeling when the nurse asked if I wanted to hold the baby. I said no. I knew something wasn't quite right, and I was afraid to hold her at that time. Mel brought her over to me, and I reached out my hand. PAIN! It shot through my whole body. I've never experienced anything like it. Everything went black. The pain consumed me. It was in me, around me, smothering me. I couldn't scream. I was trapped by it. I clawed at the sheets. I tried dragging myself away from it, but I lost the battle. The pain was inescapable. I heard snippets of conversations. We're going to need to go to surgery... Where the hell are they... What's taking so long... It's about time you got here... The sides of the bed snap up. I'm moving fast down the hallway. The lights were beaming down on my eyelids, they're moving me to a hard surface, they're poking me, and then nothing.
Some one's talking to me. I can't focus. I just go back to sleep. I hear people talking again. She won't be able to breastfeed. I can't stop shaking. They're piling blankets on top of me. What happened?
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