Not too much going on today. They’re having a shower for me here at work, which is nice but a little silly. I hate work related showers/birthdays whatever. I don’t think that the people I work with should feel obligated to treat me like family or to particularly care if we have enough diapers or onesies.

Still, I have to admit that because they throw showers for everyone here, I would have been a teensy bit hurt if they hadn’t thrown me one. I would have been a little sore even while admitting that I was being completely hypocritical.

Since I’m actually friends with two people total in my office, it’ll be interesting to see who’s there and what everyone brings. I’d actually be okay if it was just J and M and me and a gigantic cake.

Tomorrow we go in at 9:30am for a non-stress test, 10:15am for an endo appointment, and 10:30am for the doctors appointment. Hopefully we’ll be able to pick the baby’s birth day. Cross your fingers for the 9th of September! 9/9/04. It’s a good day.

Will report in tomorrow.

Update: STUFF!!

Okay, I have a lot more friends at work than I thought I did, independent of the pressies. I just haven’t seen them for a long time. I walked in and my brain said “oh yeah! I like you! I forgot you were out there, but I like you!”. We also got so many cute clothes and stuff. I’m crazy grateful. We got sleep sacks and pacifier holders and socks and outfits and the cutest onesies.

One of my favorites is something called a Boo Boo Bunnie. It is a plastic water-filled cube that you put in the freezer with a plush bunny around it. When your toddler gets boo boos you pull out the bunny and VOILA! all better. I love it.

J got me an outfit for a one-year-old that is amazing. It’s a pair of white surf shorts with a schnazzy polo shirt and matching deck shoes. I can just see Speck tooling around in that outfit. M got me two bright, plush, warm, gorgeous onesies with the Very Hungry Caterpillar on them, and a snuggle blanket that you put in the baby carrier.

Highly useful, wonderful gifts. Yay!

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My first version of this story was awash with humor. It was very funny. Unfortunately, after I was done I found that the experience was still haunting me and that the funny version wasn’t helping to sort through what I was feeling. Here is the not-as-funny draft. Less enjoyable to read, perhaps, but necessary.

What an External Cephalic Version is supposed to be

I spoke to my doctors extensively before we scheduled the version last Friday. I also spoke to my doula and a few other folks and here’s what I was assured would happen:

We’d call the hospital that morning to make sure they had room for us. We’d go in and I’d get into a gown and get hooked up to an IV just in case. They would monitor the boy for about an hour to make sure he wasn’t showing signs of distress. Then the doctor would arrive, they’d give me something to relax my uterus, and the doctor would try to lift Speck gently out of my pelvis and push him around in either a front flip or a back flip. They would try it twice and either Speck would flip or not. No pain, just pressure. Then they would monitor Speck’s progress and either let us go home or take him out then and there.

There were possible side effects such as this inducing labor or a placental abruption or waters breaking. All are considered relatively unlikely and things should have been fine. The whole procedure should have taken all of two hours.

In fact, when we arrived at the hospital they had just finished a perfect version on a happy mom. The baby had flipped and mom and dad had been in the hospital for about two hours.

That’s how it should have gone.

Specifically, Our External Cephalic Version: or Typical Us

On Friday the 27th Andy and I were told to come in for our version at about 11am; so at 11am we arrive at the hospital to find that many other people suddenly decided to have babies. That was fair enough, so we waited in the lobby for an hour or so until a bed opened up.

After the bed opened, we were led back and I got into a very skimpy hospital gown. They hooked Speck up to the monitors and the very nice nurse, Casey, left us hanging out with the TV. Speck’s numbers were great. The kid has excellent heart rhythm and always generally impresses everyone with his spectacular movement.

After about an hour, Casey came in and checked the monitor and announced that we’d get going. The doctor came in with a resident and the doc was indeed a Most Excellent Doctor. Very straightforward and factually-minded, but he’d hold on to my foot while he talked to me and looked me right in the eye in the way that reassured me that he was actually listening to and talking to me, not just lecturing. He also remembered me personally calling a few weeks before with contractions when he had been on call. I really liked him a lot.

He took us through the breakdown again. Medicine, attempt to turn, try a second time, have c-section in an emergency, otherwise monitor baby and let us go. He’d just had a great version and he wanted to be two-for-two. As he was talking, Casey was trying to get an IV started in my wrist. It was obnoxious and painful, but I didn’t pay attention because MED was saying important things.

So Most Excellent Doctor left us with Newbie Resident. As Newbie Resident was going through the consent forms and my medical history, just for practice, I looked over at my throbbing left wrist and noticed that someone had apparently cut it open and inserted a sausage under it.

Ha ha, no not really. Casey had just poked back out of the vein and the saline was dripping right into my tissues. Luckily, I’ve had cats and have seen this kind of thing when they get a fluid pack under the skin, so I didn’t freak. I told the resident that there was something wrong with the IV, and while he spluttered and stared unbelieving at my sausage wrist I asked him to turn off the saline and get the nurse.

So it was time for a new IV. They called in a second nurse. There was an emergency so it took about 30 minutes for her to get to me. She gave me a numbing agent and tried again on the same wrist, different vein. She got the needle in and said “That’s going to blow up, I can tell” and sure enough just a couple of seconds after the IV got turned back on my wrist started to swell on the other side.

So they decided to call the IV nurse. The IV nurse was wonderful, but she had to come from elsewhere in the hospital, so it took her a good 40 minutes to mosey on over. But she got me hooked up in my right wrist. I was told sternly by the non-IV nurses to let them know that I’ve got difficult veins if I need to come back for anything. This is news to me. After plenty of surgeries and countless blood draws, you’d think I’d heard that I had difficult veins before, but whatever.

We sat for about another 15 minutes and Casey, MED and NR came back in. MED smiled at me kindly and talked to me about the medicine they use to relax the uterus. He was sweet and funny and friendly and as far as I could tell, totally off his nut. He said that they’d be giving me a med that was a cousin to Albuterol. Apparently Albuterol actually is considered a muscle relaxant. Which sounds just fucking cracked to me. It’s a relaxant? In spite of the fact that it makes you jittery and gives you a fantastic adrenaline rush? That kind of thing seems counterintuitive to me, but what the hell, I’m not the doctor. Whatever works, doc.

Then the nice people had me lie flat on my back, which is the most annoying position to a heavily pregnant woman. They injected me with the “relaxant” that immediately made me feel flushed and jittery and like either punching everyone or running far, far away.

The Most Excellent Doctor then reminded me to let him know if what he was doing hurt. Pressure was okay; pain was not.

Then, as far as I can tell, these perfectly lovely people tried to rip my baby out and beat me to death with him.

I lay there on the table shaking and juddering and MED put his hands into my pelvis through my skin and grabbed the baby’s butt. Then he had the resident dig into the skin under my diaphragm and actually reach around the baby’s head. I wish I could describe the kind of pain involved in lifting that kid out and moving him. Speck is laying on his right side (if I’m on my back) and is curved around so that his back is curving down my left side. MED and NR both gave a series of mighty heaves and tried to shove the boy down and to the right.

I started having trouble breathing right away and was shaking. After a second or two I started to moan and hold my breath. I didn’t want to be wimpy, right? Casey was being a rock and trying to remind me to relax and breathe, but every muscle in my body was wildly tense. I couldn’t unclench them all. It was the most unnatural and painful thing I’ve ever felt. The only comparison I have is when they put industrial solvent into my bladder for my IC. The pain was excruciating.

I got through the first attempt. The doctor was so hoping that he was effective, so they got the ultrasound on and checked, and Speck had moved a total of about two degrees forward. Apparently, he felt some guy’s hand on his ass and another guy grabbing his head and just hung on to my ribs for dear life.

MED patted me kindly and said that he didn’t think it would work, but he wanted to give me time to re-group before they tried again.

The second time he and NR dug in the pain was so over the top I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to give them a chance to get it to work, but then a second later the sound of MED’s voice telling me to let them know about real pain entered my head and I started imagining a placental abruption or a damaged cord and just started yelling for them to stop. They went a tad longer than I wish they had, but a few seconds after that they did stop.

Throughout all this, Andy was forced to sit off to the side in a chair. They don’t want dads freaking out and getting in the way, so they are relegated to the sidelines. I could hear him trying to reach me with his voice.

I lay on the bed after they let go and just sobbed and shook and shook and sobbed. I felt like the world’s biggest fucking wimp, but it hurt so much. A surprisingly large amount. I think I went into shock.

MED patted my leg and said that I had to come in on Wednesday so that we could schedule a section. He smiled kindly and tried to make it okay, and he really was a Most Excellent Doctor. I think he tried his best, but nobody expected it to hurt that much, and nobody expected the kid to be as settled in to sitting in my pelvis as he is.

We joke that we could almost hear the baby chortling to himself. Speck one; Doctors nil.

Shortly after they got me sitting up they put Speck back on the monitor. He was absolutely fine. As far as he could tell someone tried to shove him, but he won. He was just fine. I was bruised and exhausted. My gimp wrist hurt like hell, and after putting up with an awful lot of pain, we were going to have to section anyhow.

Then sweet Casey left and the nurses changed shifts. Andy and I were basically ignored for two hours until he went out and made a stink and they remembered we were there. We were finally released at 5pm and got to drive home through rush-hour traffic for an hour and a half.

I had my first meal of the day at 6:30pm. It was a Burrito Suizo with tons of sour cream, and it was excellent.

All in all, our painless two-hour visit turned into an excruciating six-hour nightmare of a day. Though in the end Speck is a healthy baby boy and I suppose that’s what matters. We will go in this Wednesday for a checkup and if he’s still head-up (which we expect he will be, stubborn little bugger) we’re going to schedule a c-section; hopefully for the 9th of September.

I had a fairly quiet weekend and I have one spot down and to the left of my belly and one up and to the right where I still feel very deeply bruised. Other than that, everyone has survived.

I keep waffling between being glad everyone is okay, hence the humorous version, and feeling deeply disturbed that my body handled it so badly. It wasn’t supposed to hurt; not like that. It was supposed to maybe be a little pinchy or ow-worthy, but not scream-inducing.

I’m actually feeling okay about the c-section because I don’t know if my body could handle pushing. In all honesty this whole experience was supposed to be warm and fuzzy and fulfilling, and I don’t know that my body just isn’t up for it. I have had surgery and at least I know I can survive that. What if I was to push and I were to push my bladder right out of remission? How would we survive? I don’t know.

At any rate, everyone is healthy. That’s a lot.

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Yesterday I went to the doctor and had basically the same visit as last week. Baby is doing well, plenty of fluid, excellent movement (more on that in a minute**) and still firmly ass-down in a head-down world. He comes by it honestly. As Andy would say, he’s clever like a mule; much like his mama.

We scheduled a version for tomorrow. Several things eased my mind about the procedure in general. First, my doula is very granola-crunchy and has been to three versions and didn’t think any of them were a big deal. She’s fairly anti-interference, so her feeling calm about it helped me to feel calm. The woman is great, really. Based on this experience I’m thinking of hiring my own airline attendant the next time I fly just so I can watch him or her react.

The second reason is that the doctors answered all my questions really well. Yes, they will check and make sure that the cord isn’t encircling the baby’s neck before they move him. They have about a 50% success rate. They’ll watch him a long time before they do it and after they do it. They won’t force him around if he doesn’t want to go. It’s an uncomfortable procedure but livable. They’ll have an anesthesiologist around and an empty room; any sign of trouble and they’ll whip him out of there.

They also discussed what would happen if for some reason the version didn’t take. Basically then we’d schedule a c-section. The doctor said that 95% of babies can be delivered breech healthily, but get a large enough sampling and that remaining 5% is somebody’s baby getting hurt. Which is fine with us because we’d read the same thing and want him sectioned if he’s breech.

Then I spent the rest of the day disgruntled and miserable and Andy and I had a fight (or what counts as a fight around our house) on the way to childbirth classes. So we ditched and went on a date and talked and had a good time. Then I had a long talk with my mom about what it would be like when she came after the baby was born and squared some things away.

I’m finding it tricky to be someone’s daughter and someone’s mother all at the same time. It’s better today, though.

**Speck is such a little boofhead already. For six days this past week there was little movement. Just enough that every time I would think to myself “That’s it. We’re going to the hospital”, he would bump me enough that we wouldn’t go. But he was very very quiet.

Yesterday you could practically hear him crowing “Now’s Speck’s time to shine!” and he was doing baby jazz-hands and squirming enthusiastically for all the doctors. Enough so that we got complimented on his gorgeous and healthy movement. Don’t thank me, it’s all this little spazzmonkey here.

In Stuff News:

Andy went out today and looked at portable dishwashers. We have to get one. Dishes is the worst chore ever. He is waiting to take me before he decides what to get. He did spend $400 on a camcorder, though. What, we’re going to let junior’s first experience with boogers and priceless times like that go unrecorded?? I don’t think so.
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P.S. - what the hell kind of spellcheck doesn’t recogonize the word “boogers” I ask you?

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Today is a typical don’t-want-to-be-at-work-cranky day. Tomorrow is when the real excitement happens.

We have a few doctor’s appointments tomorrow. One appointment is to do a non-stress test, which is important to me. Speck seems awfully quiet lately. Just when I start to really worry he gives a mighty worm-squirm, so I’ve been staving off panic, but he’s feeling awfully big. Anyway, NSTs are good.

Then we have a ultrasound that is purportedly for checking amniotic fluid levels, but it’s actually to see if the boy is still breech. If he is we’ll have to consider whether or not to do an external cephalic version.

I should have an opinion about this procedure. I really should. After all, as a good mother, I should be interested in minimizing invasive measures and pushing out this little guy with all the heart and gusto of a sort of den animal. Theoretically I’m supposed to fear cesarean section and shun anything that might even remotely increase the chances that anything will happen to this little guy.

However, between you and me and the lamppost, I don’t know that cesarean sections wouldn’t be better all around. I’m nervous about the pushing stage, for a thousand different reasons. I have keloids, and so an episiotomy would be a bad idea. Somehow huge, disfiguring, caterpillar-like scars are less worrying on my stomach than they are on my perenium. With my IC, I don’t know that pushing isn’t going to seriously fuck up my already fucked-up pelvic floor. And to cap it all off I have alarming hemorrhoids already from my IBS.

So rather than trying to decide now which would be the better route, I’m sticking my head in the sand and going to let the kid decide. Head’s up? C-Section wins! Butt’s up? We go to the pushing round.

It’s a ridiculous thing to do, but given that one hole or another chances are he’ll be a-okay. I’m trying to be zen.

If we go for the version there are several possible outcomes. One of which is emergency c-section and another of which is induction. Both of those ideas are very exciting to me. I’m very very done being pregnant.

The only recurring worry I have is that doing a version will wrap the cord around his neck. So I’m not doing it unless they’ll keep an eye on his cord specifically through a level II.

I’ll be back tomorrow and let you know how it goes. Or be off birthing a baby. Whichever.

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Essentially everything is still the same. I’m large, unweildy, and miserable. Other than that I’m just fine. I’d like kudos for still being at work at almost four o’clock this afternoon, but I have a sneeking suspicion I don’t deserve them. I married the guy I married (and would do it again in a hot second) and live the life I live. If we can’t afford to go unpaid for three months, we have a house to raise the kid in and enough money to keep us in nappies and formula for a long, long time. Hell, Speck already has a sizable college fund.

So I’m miserable at work. At least I have insurance and Wednesdays to go to the doctor. I hate sounding like an ingrate.

This, of course, does not keep me from pissing and moaning and having pity party after pity party.

Contractions had stopped this weekend, but I’ve had two at work today. Apparently work=contractions. Could it be STRESS? COULD IT?? I suppose it could. I would like a cookie for not stabbing the guy in the face that I caught messing with my computer while I was off fixing a problem with his print job. I was very tempted to walk into his office and start rifling through his drawers. Asswipe.

Over at the ol’ Naked Ovary (see link on right) there is a discussion going on about what blogs are and how they work. Basically someone hurt someone else’s feelings by posting something in a blog. It sounds like it’s all worked out, which is great.

Me, I’m debating whether or not I should be commenting at those blogs listed on the right. They all dealt with infertility. Despite my worst fears, I just didn’t. I freaked out pre-attempt, but once the attempt was made and took successfully, that was pretty much it.

I have extensive experience with chronic illnesses, but none with not being able to conceive or carry a child.

The only thing I can say in my defense is that I started reading Chez Miscarriage and A Little Pregnant long before I was pregnant myself, and considered IVF and adoption as very likely part of my baby future. When I found out I was pregnant I felt awfully guilty for not having gone through what these amazing women have gone through and survived. I still read them, because they are written with such grace and honesty.

I can’t apologize for writing and complaining about my easy pregnancy in my own blog, because I need to do it. I’ve never had to deal with the stuff I’m dealing with now. But I’d never say that in any way complaining about morning sickness or endless contracting is in the same universe as those other blogs.

As Chandler would say “Oh, my wallet’s too small for my fifties and these diamond shoes are too tight.”

Still, I’m going to keep reading and posting responses, because I don’t have to have gone through infertility to understand, mentally, what happenend and I don’t have to have been there to offer sympathies, hopes and prayers. I hope they are welcome, and if they aren’t I figure they can’t hurt.

In the meantime, I’m tired and hugely pregnant and miserable. And nobody will change this $100 bill!.

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Okay, I’ve done some thinking and this is the thing:

What I feel like is when I was a kid waiting in line for the high dive on a busy day. The first seven and a half months were like milling around at the bottom with some smarties or a lick-a-stick and jawing with your friends. The line is moving, but you haven’t left the cement, and you’re cheering the people that are going ahead of you, but carefully not thinking about you having to jump.

The eighth month was like going up the ladder. You start kind of paying attention. Not jawing so much. There’s less stuff to take your mind off the high dive all the way up there. You start glancing up and getting nervous, but there’s still a long way to go.

The past two weeks has felt like it feels when there are two people ahead of you. One is nervously looking off the edge. The other one is waiting to step on to the platform. The only thing you see is this huge stretch of board that leads off into the air. You’re committed, there’s no going back. You can’t turn around and go back down in front of all your friends like some baby. Not possible. You can see that jump coming clearly enough that it’s more frightening than exciting.

At that point I just want to shove everyone out of the way and walk to the end and jump. Get it over with. It’s going to be fun. I know I’m going to want to get right back in line. I know that everything will be okay. But when it comes to walking to the edge and looking waaayyy down and that moment of total butterflies where you halfway consider being a wuss and going back down the ladder, I like to be in control of that moment.

Unfortunately there are people ahead of me and the person on the board now is taking their sweet time and taking endless false starts. I keep thinking “Okay! This is it!” and then having to settle back while they keep working up the courage to go.

I’m okay about going off the high dive. I’m not so good at hanging onto the ladder and looking out at nothing and having time to seriously contemplate that loooong drop.

I’m just hanging onto the ladder being cranky knowing there’s no going back, but no way to make these assholes in front of me hurry up. Limbo. I hate limbo.

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Bitch, moan, gripe. Have I covered everything? No? Well I don’t feel like posting. I forgot one of my best friend’s birthdays. There are family troubles and someone in my family is behaving like a baby and I think they should knock it the hell off. Getupgrrl got unbelievable news that makes me want to shoot stuff. I’m excited and nervous for another friend of mine who is starting down the baby road.

Mostly, it’s Friday, and as I do on Fridays, I just feel like crap.

I had intended to write an intelligent and witty post today. I had it all planned out. Instead I’m trolling the net, whining about everything.

I just feel awful. Blerg.

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Well I’m at work today, which should tell you how everything went.

We went in yesterday and had the non-stress test. Speck is not only doing well, he’s advanced. We were done in about five minutes and the nurse kept crowing over what a perfect chart he gave her. Cheeky little flirty monkey.

We had a doctor’s visit, luckily not with Dr. Ass, but with the one doctor we hadn’t met yet. Dr. Handsome for sure. And he was incredibly soft spoken and good looking and kind. I explained everything I’d been going through and he and I went through together and tried to find something that would justify putting me on bedrest and couldn’t find one thing.

Then he looked soulfully into my pathetically sobbing eyes and told me that he absolutely believed me. That he had no doubt that I was exhausted and miserable and needed to be resting. The problem was that my blood pressure is excellent. The baby is doing so well it’s shocking. I’m mobile and alert. My IC isn’t acting up, my GD is well within limits; hell, I’m not even swelling.

He told me to do the best I could and to try and be off of work if I can. So Andy and I went over the paperwork, and I really can’t. We’re already needing to take a month unpaid at the other end to get us to three months, and taking any time on this end without a doctor’s note would have to be unpaid. That’s fine if Speck is going to show up in a week, but undoable if he’s going to hang in there until 40 weeks or more.

We’re already tight because I’ve been taking Wednesdays unpaid for the past month and a half.

Then I had an ultrasound to check how the baby was doing because I’m measuring small, and Speck is still breech. He’s in the 36 percentile and they estimate 5lbs 11oz. I’m grudgingly very glad he’s in there and still has time to do some growing.

We came out of the ultrasound and the nurse told Dr. Handsome that Speck was breach and he casually tossed a pretzle into his mouth, gave me a smile that I’m sure meant that he wished I was HIS wife, and said “Why would you want to go and do a thing like that?” *twinkle* *twinkle*

So we’re going to spend the next week trying to decide if we want to do an external version next Wednesday. And I completely overlooked the fact that our baby is fantastic, and I’m fantastic, and went home and sobbed myself into a nap just knowing that I’d have to come in today.

And I’m in today. And trying not to hate it. And failing.

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I’m cranky, so I’m not going to post much. It’s been a busy set of days. I feel awful, continue to contract periodically, and I’m exhausted, but this baby isn’t out yet and I’m still at work.

I have a very involved and vicious rant about the fuckers at my Peri’s office who won’t write me a note for bed rest, but I don’t have the energy for it right now. I’ve been avoiding this place because I don’t really have the energy to post anything.

I go in tomorrow for a non-stress test and a doctor’s appointment, at which time I plan on asking them exactly why they are treating my 36 week old 6 pounder like he’s a strapping 40 week 9 pound man-child.

I don’t expect to get decent answers. I’ve discovered the world isn’t made up that way. And I’ve also discovered that you don’t want to be the one having a normal pregnancy at your perinatologist’s office. I’m permanantly in their heads as “fine N dandy”, no matter how totally shit I feel.

Meh. Meh.

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I just spoke to my doula and as I was talking with her things started ramping up. I’ve been ordered home to the couch, which is just where I was thinking I aughtta be.

I’ll keep you guys posted. Keep your limbs crossed for a happy healthy Speck!

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