True Mommyhood Stories: March 2009

The following is a March 20, 2008 pregnancy post from my Myspace blog. Today happens to be its one year anniversary. It still makes me shutter when I read it because in my mind at the time, I was knocking on deaths door.

I can even smell the bubbles and shampoo I was using from the bathtub scene. When I realized Sydney's lungs hadn't matured enough for delivery I convinced myself that I had been sentenced to a terminal parental life sentence of capital punishment and that the end of my life might be near. I started planning my invitation only funeral in my mind. My family came to visit during Easter. I could see the sorrow in their eyes when they saw me struggling just to breathe. They, too could see me fading fast. I imagined at that time my Bitch Sister was planning a eulogy speech.

Today as I am writing this, Sydney is fast asleep on my lap with her head positioned just under my chin. She loves to be held and snuggled. Right before she wanted me to cuddle with her, she pulled herself up to my chair and stood alone on her own for a few seconds for the first time. She was proud and so was I. We were both grinning from ear to ear. I can't begin to describe what a wonderful blessing she has brought to my life. She is patient, sweet, happy, and an unusually tolerant little girl. She gets her great qualities from her father. Please Internet, don't tell Moneybags I said that.

It was one week ago exactly that I saw her face. I don’t know her name, but I am her mother. I was at an OB appointment to get yet another sonogram.

As Kathy, the US tech was peeking inside my ginormously swollen belly she said, you’ve got poly and its an excessive amount. I had "poly" when I was pregnant with Remi. I knew exactly what it meant. I had enough amniotic fluid for 93 babies. I knew it. I looked like a weird carnival exhibit. I felt like I should be charging for people to see the lady who was pregnant enough for sextuplets. And yet, there was only one.

The good news, according to Kathy, was that we should be able to see some clear shots of the baby’s face. The bad news, according to me, I might smother to death while she gets the glamour shots. I was able to see the baby in 3D. She didn’t look happy.

After the sonogram, Dr. B came in to go over the results. She took pity upon me right away. After all, if you could have seen me, I did look rather pitiful. I was sitting in an awkward lean back position. It was the only way to get oxygen. Her words exactly were these, "oh my goodness, you look miserable." Misery, perfect! That was it, I was in misery. From that moment on I decided to devote my life to feeling completely sorry for myself.

It was then decided by my OB team to schedule an amnio-reduction and fetal lung maturity test as soon as possible. In other words, drain the excessive fluid and test it to make sure the baby’s lungs were mature enough for delivery. YES!!!!! A light at the end of the tunnel, finally. I was to go home and wait for a phone call from the scheduler. So I did.

I carried three phones around with me the rest of that day in case one of them wasn’t working. It rang 75 zillion times. No phone call from THE SCHEDULER. Why? Did she forget me and my emergency situation? Didn’t she read "as soon as possible" on the order? Didn’t she see me at the carnival while I was on exhibit? My amniotic fluid situation was excessive, even for 93 babies. I was so pitiful, remember?

It was Friday afternoon and still no phone call from the phantom scheduler. I decided to call her. I was connected to the phantom scheduler’s voice mail. I spoke clearly spelling my first and last name and gave my date of birth. I left 37 numbers where I could be reached.

By six pm I realized most likely phantom scheduler had left for the weekend. I put all the phones away, dropped my head, and headed for my happy place.

AAHHH yes, my happy place. My happy place had become the bath tub. Since I was so pitiful I allowed myself bubbles too. I got in, sat down, then surrounded myself with bath pillows. As I leaned back, in an attempt to make myself comfortable, I realized I could no longer be in the lean back position. I became light headed and short of breath. So I sat up swiftly in order not to die. I put my head down on the side of the tub and started crying uncontrollably. I had reached a peak in my self pity saga. If only the phantom scheduler could see me now. After 15 minutes of girly sobbing I stopped. It occurred to me that my final option was to have a mother daughter talk with my baby without a name.

I started with some apologies to her. I am sorry you don’t have a name, I told her. I am sorry you are afraid to come out. I would be too if Remi were my older sister. I am sorry you are swimming in an ocean, not a toddler pool.

The conversation then led to some negotiating. Eventually, we settled on a compromise. She decided to stop peeing so much if I would stop eating chocolate.

Monday finally came! I thought for sure I would hear from the phantom scheduler first thing. Nope, at 430 on Tuesday afternoon the phone rang. It wasn’t the phantom scheduler. It was a real scheduler. She kept profusely apologizing for the phantom scheduler. She said there must have been a miscommunication. Whatever. Cut to the chase woman, when can I get reduced? The earliest they can do it is at 800 on Thursday. I had waited this long in misery, what was one more day?

On Wednesday, at about 5pm, I started having contractions. At about nine, I decided to drive myself to the hospital. I drove around for a while because I had started crying again. I apologized to my baby without a name again for not having a name for her. I dried the crocodile tears and went inside.

My nurse, whom I will call Bean Pole, had to be the nicest person on the planet. Compassion. That's what Bean Pole had. She felt sorry for me. Just what I wanted. She even used lidocaine to numb the area before she started the iv. Bean Pole was different, she was classy. After the morphine shot, my baby without a name, warmed up to her. She said to me, momma, I figured it out. What this world needs is few more Bean Poles and morphine. I agreed with her just before I fell into my morphine coma.

I was awakened by a member of my OB team. It was Dr. B. My contractions were stopping but, he wanted me to stay the night for blood work and iv fluids. Whatever. We didn’t care. We wanted to stay forever. We had the most wonderful nurse in the world. My baby without a name and I were in our new happy place.

At 630 am, Dr. B came in to discharge me so that I could make it to the amnio-reduction appointment. I was to hear back from the office about the lung maturity and induction. I hoped the phantom scheduler was not in charge of results and inductions.

I made it to the other hospital 30 minutes early only to learn they knew nothing about my appointment. WHAT????!!!!!! I looked around for cameras. I thought I was on some lame hidden camera tv show. I just looked at the receptionist and didn’t say a word. My look said it all. She knew I would have to be carried away in hand cuffs If she turned me away. She excused herself for about 10 minutes then came back and said she was sorry for the mix up but I wasn’t on the schedule. I gave her the number for my OB team and sat down.

I was called to the back by the us tech. He said they would go ahead and do the amniocentesis but not the reduction. NO! I told him. After everything I had been through I was not leaving without at least half of this fluid removed. He excused himself. Eventually he "found" a doctor to do both procedures.

I was led to a room and prepped by the us tech. A 12 year old girl came in and introduced herself as Dr. M. She explained the entire procedure. As this all got underway, she held up this enormous needle. She said she could stick me once with the enormous needle or three times to numb the place first with a smaller needle. I chose the latter. Where was Bean Pole?

After about 15 minutes it was over. I was l liter lighter. I felt like I was 4 months pregnant again. Life was great again. I was then sent home to await the results.

By 2 pm I couldn’t take the agony of the wait any longer. I called the OB team and left a voice mail. I wanted to be induced and all we needed was the results of this one test. At 4pm the phone rang. It was a member of my OB team, Dr. N. He sounded jovial, then, very unexpectedly he gave me my results. Baby without a name’s lungs haven’t matured. WHAT? NO! WHY?

Back to my previous happy place for a nervous breakdown. I really needed Bean Pole right then.

The good news is I feel better medically speaking. I can breath again, although, I have been told the amnio-reduction is temporary. The extra fluid will return by Sunday. BLAH!