New Pictures of Tobiyah James

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Methodology

Attachment parenting. Baby Wise. Cry-it-out. Babywearing. Sometimes it's so hard knowing what's right, what's wrong, or simply what's right for us.


My husband's friend recently told him we needed to shut our baby in another room all night and let him cry himself to sleep where we can't hear him. Do it for a few nights, he advised, and he'll learn to fall asleep on his own. The thought of my baby crying alone in a dark room all night, possible kicking off his blankets and being cold, sitting in a soiled diaper, possibly lying in spit-up, or even worse, getting twisted in his blankets or pushing his face up against the side where he can't breathe... it's very disturbing.

I've read "Baby Wise", which advocates putting your child on a 2 1/2 to 3 hour schedule of sleeping, feeding, and wake-time (strictly in that order). I agree with the principle it promotes about not teaching your baby he is the center of his universe. I disagree with statements such as, "It is not necessary to check on your baby frequently (while he is crying)" or the assurance that your baby will not suffer feelings of abandonment. How do they know?? They suggest carrying your baby i a sling throughout the day or sleeping with them is methods of a primitive, ignorant society, and should not be followed in our advanced society.

I've read "The Happiest Baby on the Block", all about soothing a fussy baby. It's on just about the opposite pendulum from "Baby Wise", advocating keeping your baby close to you at all times, and cuddling and soothing them when they cry. The soothing methods really do work wonderfully for me, but they don't help me with what I really need: getting baby to sleep!

Relatives say, "I let my baby set the schedule and then I kept them to it." I like that idea. It makes sense, especially because my baby simply won't fall asleep during certain times of the day, or if he does, he wakes up again within a few minutes. However, Tobi doesn't seem to have any rhyme or rhythm to when he's sleepy, and it's different every day. The only thing I ca pretty much count on is that he will be fussy until at least 11 pm no matter what we do to get him to sleep. Sometimes he won't sleep until after midnight.

Knowing the best method is getting so frustrating. I'm not the type to get confused by too much advice, but in this rare instance, I don't have much instinct to tell me what's right. I know I'm not comfortable with letting him cry alone for long periods of time, which puts me in conflict with my husband. On the other hand, rocking him to sleep is often ineffective because he wakes up as soon as I put him down. Having him sleep in our bed at night would solve the crying problem, but our bed is small and it makes me nervous and unable to get a good sleep. Furthermore, I don't want him to get too in the habit of falling asleep in our bed at night.

The wisest counselors tell me, "You have to find out what's best for you." And in the process of figuring out what that is, I'm managing to provide a whole lot of inconsistency, which doesn't help me know what's best. Sigh....
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Baby Diaries 39: Moments

-It’s almost 3 in the morning. I’ve been up with Tobi since 12:30 doing the round of feeding and changing. Now he’s back in his bassinet protesting for all he’s worth. He doesn’t have to be able to speak words for me to understand him: “I DON’T want to go to sleep! I DON’T want to be swaddled! I want to be held and bounced and sung to for a few more hours! Let me OUT of this thing NOW!”My eyes are heavy, my head is pounding, and no matter what I say to myself, I feel like I’ve failed by not being able to nurse my kid back to sleep within a given time period. Yes, Momma, Babies do this, they cry and keep their parents up in the night! I know it’s wrong, but I feel mad at him. Why can’t he just go to sleep like a GOOD baby? Ha!

-It’s sometime past 3 and Tobi’s crying and successive restless grunting and whining have finally fallen into silence. I lie in bed wanting a snack but too tired to get it. I want to sleep, but now I start thinking. I think about what I would do if I found someone trying to harm my baby. I think about SIDS. Demons seem to whisper “What if’s” into my head. I have to stop myself or I will cry.

-It’s 8 in the morning and I’ve just finished feeding Tobi in a side-lying position in bed. The morning light is sneaking through the curtains and casting a gentle glow across his soft sleeping features. I want to go back to sleep, but I can’t take my eyes off him. I close them. I open them again. Yes, he’s still there, that amazing little face. He sleeps on his side facing me, his back arched and his head thrown back, his unsuspecting face just inches from mine. His beauty almost takes my breath away. I fall helplessly, hopelessly, tragically, deeply in love once more like the first time I saw him. Was I mad at him last night? You’ve got to be kidding me, who could be mad at such a little Saint?

-It’s noon and Tobi has been cluster feeding all morning: 10 minutes feeding, then looking around or fussing gently. This is his wake-up time, and I make the best of it, reading to him or talking to him. In my mind are a million things I need to do, but I stop and remind myself that nothing else in the world is as important as my job of raising this child. He pauses from nursing now, and I look down and find his round gray eyes fixed alertly on mine. There is nothing else in the world for either of us. What does he see when he looks at me? Is he learning me? “Hi,” I say, “I’m your momma….”

-One day I stop to gaze into the little face, as I do a hundred times a day. I lift him up close and gaze into his eyes. I reach down to kiss him, just as I hear a loud squirt from down under! He doesn’t twitch an eye. It’s all in a days work to Tobi!
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Baby Diaries 38: Poop!

9/19/09

It’s an overcast afternoon and I’m sitting in the warm comfort of my childhood home, gazing into the sleeping angel face in my lap. Tobiyah has gained probably 3 pounds now, and is covered with a comfy layer of chub. Where once there were wrinkles in the loose skin on his scrawny arms and legs, there are now fine creases between little rolls of chub. His skin is becoming ruddy, his lips and cheeks are rosy like a hearty little papoose. We’re still crossing our finger on what color his big gray eyes will be. My due date just passed, making Tobi one month old. There are so many special moments in the one month we’ve had together that I could never catch up on all of them. But I’ve learned how to hold a baby and type with both hands, which should open the world up to me a great deal!

Every night I awake to grunts and little whimpers as Tobi feels hunger pangs or the discomfort of a dirty diaper in his sleep. We curl up together in the rocker or, more frequently nowadays, in bed, his warm little body snuggled next to me. It usually takes an hour and a half to feed and change him and get him back to sleep. I’m still trying to figure out just how to do it right. He often falls asleep in the first 15 minutes while nursing. Then I change his diaper, which wakes him up enough to keep nursing—and to fill his diaper again. Sometimes this cycle gets ridiculous: I had to change him 4 times in an hour once! His doctor tells me he should be pooping less frequently as his little digestive tract matures, but I have yet to see it!

Now, you have to understand, he might be a tiny bundle of angelic innocence—but this child can POOP, let me tell you! He’s not producing large deliveries yet, but they are LOUD, and they STINK. Sorry, I’m sure not everyone wants to hear about baby poop, but since it is one of his most defining character traits, you’ll just have to bear with me. Tobi’s eruptions are quite entertaining, as a matter of fact. His juicy little rumbles are no respecters of time, place, or person. He delivered one during the closing prayer of church a couple weeks ago. Sometimes I wish I had a t-shirt with the words “That wasn’t me!” printed on it! The cutest thing is how blissfully ignorant he is about it all!
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What's On the Easle

Here is the beginning of my post. And here is the rest of it. Read more! Read more!

Before I knew Your name

By Chris Rodriguez on "Butterfly Kisses and Bedtime Prayers"



Angels fly above you
They know that I love you so,
I watch you dreaming now, I wonder if you know:

Before I knew your name
Before I saw your eyes, your chin and your nose,
Before I counted your fingers and toes
I asked heaven for someone wonderful as you
And every prayer and wish came true,
I dreamed of you before I knew your name.

I am thankful for you
You know I adore you so
I watch you dreaming now
I wonder if you know

Before I knew your name
Before I saw your eyes, your chin and your nose,
Before I counted your fingers and toes
I asked heaven for someone wonderful as you
And every prayer and wish came true,
I dreamed of you before I knew your name.
I dreamed of you before I knew your name.


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Photos of Tobiyah James

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Baby Diaries 37: In the Nursery

The doctor delivered the placenta and then put a couple stitches in a small tear. It hurt. The after-contractions hurt, too, but I had my baby in my arms.

They took him briefly to clean him up and give him a vitamin K shot. I had planned on refusing that until it became apparent I would have a preterm infant. With the increased chance of bleeding, I agreed to the shot. I watched them from across the room, the pink squalling infant, his daddy hovering over him trying to console him.

Then they put him back on my belly all bundled up, and I unwrapped him again so we could be skin-to-skin. Gently I guided him to the nipple, and to my delight, he latched on and started nursing vigorously. Then everyone left us, Mother, Father, and child, to have a little get-acquainted time. It was dark, quiet, and peaceful as we huddled together, Jose and I gazing into the tiny crinkled face trying to see who he looked like. We couldn’t tell much, but Jose thought he had my chin.

They came to transfer us back to the antepartum room, and I was forced to hand my new baby over to a nursery nurse for his bath and bloodwork. I tried to protest, but in vain. Jose and I stood by the nursery window until I couldn’t stand anymore, and he got me a wheelchair. There were two other babies in various stages of being warmed, bathed, and pricked. Three overweight, middle-aged nurses went about their work as they had so many nights with so many infants.

Our newborn was placed irreverently in a warmer, where he lay exposed, arms and legs flailing with fear as he screamed for assurance. I watched, helpless and angry, through a window so thick I couldn’t hear his voice. I could just see his little red face and wide open mouth and the backs of the nurses as they bathed the other babies and filled out their paperwork. To them he was just another infant doing what infants do—cry. To me he was my newborn son, whom I’d barely had a chance to know, and he was all alone in a glaring new world with no one answering his cries. My heart broke. I was horrified and upset with myself for not having the courage to butt in there and tell the nurses to give me my son back.

We watched for an hour as they bathed him and then proudly held him up to show another waiting father, thinking he belonged to him. I was unnerved that even I wasn’t sure I recognized him after our short time together. It’s a good thing they had put armbands on us as soon as he came out!

They kept him in the warmer after taking the other babies to their parents. Charmain came by to take my vitals, and after hearing my complaints, she went into the nursery and got permission for us to come in. Our baby was sleeping. Finally, FINALLY, they decided he was warm enough to go with us. They wouldn’t let us carry him in the hall, so we pushed him in a bassinet until we got to our room, and then I held him, and nursed him again, and praised God for such an amazing, perfect little bundle.

How many times had I imagined myself standing over a NICU bed watching my baby take feedings through a nasogastric tube, or medicines through an IV. How many times I had prayed for peace. As I watched my healthy baby nursing and breathing, I was glad for the choices I had made. The hospital stay had been well worth it. I could not thank God enough. Read more! Read more!

Baby Diaries 36: Welcome Home

The doctor kept asking me if I felt the urge to push. I did feel some pressure, but I didn’t feel the overwhelming, unavoidable urge that I was expecting. “When it’s time to push, you won’t be able to stop yourself from pushing,” I’d heard.

The doctor encouraged me to push. The first few times I tried, it didn’t feel right. The nurse had taken the birthing bed apart by this time, removing the leg portion and splitting the rest into two levels, so that I could squat on one level holding onto the bar and lean back against the other level. I had stated in my birth plan that I wanted to deliver in a squatting position, if I felt like it. It didn’t make any sense to me to be resting on my tailbone while trying to push a baby through that opening….

With that first squatting contraction, I felt the baby’s head move down inside of me. That’s when Tenille got on the phone to the doctor. “She felt the head move!” I heard her say. Dr. Lanouette came in a few minutes. This doctor who had been so resistant to my unconventional birth plan, actually knelt on the floor in front of the bed so I could squat.

My legs were tired and shaky, and after a few squatting contractions, I tried a hands-and-knees position. My pushing didn’t feel effective at all in that position, so I went back to squatting. The doctor checked me and encouraged me to reach down and touch my baby’s head. It all felt soft and squishy, and then I pushed a little harder and realized there was bone under that soft squishy. There was a moment of joy. I had touched my baby for the first time!

My legs thoroughly fatigued, I lay back on the bed somewhat sideways and put my feet up on the bar. I asked for a mirror, and a nurse brought one and set it where I could watch what was happening. With a push, I saw a sliver of dark hair appear, and then recede. My contractions were spaced out to about 7 minutes apart again, giving me plenty of rest in between. Now I was impatient, and wished for them to come more frequently.

I rested. I was exhausted, and the pushing effort took a great deal out of me. As I had requested, the lights were very dim. Only the doctor and nurse were there, and a pediatric nurse waited around the curtain. I had expected a whole team to be hover around me with beeping machines. The only annoyance was the monitor leads on my belly that had to be adjusted between each contraction because they weren’t picking up the heart rate well.

Another contraction came, and in my weariness, that widening sliver of dark hair spurred me to push with all my strength. I watched it widen and then closed my eyes and put all my strength into pushing, breathing, and pushing again. “Okay,” I heard the doctor say calmly, “Now I want you to push slowly. Just give me little pushes.”

I gave little grunting pushes, feeling the “ring of fire” I’d been told to expect. It felt like my skin would break, but it didn’t matter. I was on a mission now, determined however slowly, to get that head out. The burning increased, then there was a gentle easing of the pressure followed by a gush as my baby’s head came out. THE HARDEST PART WAS OVER! I knew it was all downhill now!

The doctor was tilting the head, the little body was slipping through, and she was saying, “Reach down and grab your baby!”

She didn’t have to tell me twice. I reached down with both ands and grasped the slippery little body and put it right on my belly. It was already crying a healthy, squeaky little cry that said, “My lungs are healthy!”

In the dim light I saw tiny, perfect little arms and legs and a scrunched up face, a little gray and covered with white film and a little blood. I lifted up the leg. “Look, Jose, you got your boy!”

I was sure I would cry in the moment, after crying through all the home birth videos on Youtube, and the birth scenes in all the instructional videos, and even birth stories of my friends. But when that little body came out and landed on my belly, I was laughing, whooping with sheer delight and unstoppable pleasure! Not only was my baby in my arms, but that long painful ordeal was over! I had done it! I couldn’t believe it!

In a father’s words:

“I found myself engaged like I was a nurse, I was her coach and wanted to help her make this experience real, rational, and joyous, while in her state of changing pain and frustration. Finally the moment came when the baby's head was beginning to show, a lump formed in my throat, she had to give all she had and if I could I would have taken her place. A few pushes with a few breaks in between - first the head would crown, then disappear. Another push and the head was out a bit more, but not quite enough, the desperation showed on Adel face and tears. One final push and there came out this little human made up of the two of us. No words can express what flooded my soul. Like a wave of emotions slamming against the inside of my eyes I held back the tears only because I didn't want the distraction of not being able to see clearly this little part of me that was getting immensely huge in my heart. I blacked out everything around me as Adel reached down to take the baby, the doctor passing it... then an interrupted check on the gende,r which to my great surprise revealed my greatest dream that I'd shyly made known, a boy. My Boy! Welcome home.”
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Baby Diaries 35: The Darkest Moment

Within an hour or so contractions were coming 7-8 minutes apart again, and now I was getting excited. After a day and a half of labor, I was just getting those feelings most moms get when they feel the first contractions—“This baby is coming!” I looked around the room thinking before long there would be another human there who’d never yet seen the world.

The pit wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected. Some contractions came and went and I barely felt them. I think my body was getting used to the pain.

At 7 Dr. Lanouette came on (I know, one of these days I’ll get her name right!). My dreaded arch-enemy Dr. Lanouette. It looked like she would be the one to catch my baby. Thank God I’d already been praying for His will, and I was at peace. With the change of shift, Big Nurse Lola went home and Tenille took her place. Tenille was a nurse who’d taken care of me a couple times on the other floor, and I liked her. She knew what I wanted and was supportive. Apparently she had been hoping to be the one to deliver me.

Dr. L came in, asked how I was doing, and when I said, “Fine, things are moving along,” she asked, “Do we KNOW things are moving along?” Apparently she wasn’t impressed that my cervix hadn’t been checked yet. I was kinda’ hoping to get all the way through without that exam!

“The other doc just said to let him know when I feel a certain amount of pressure, and then I’d get checked,” I told her.

“No, it has to be before then!” she retorted. Great.

The nurse explained gently that since the doctor was on call, she needed to know if she could go home, of if the baby was coming soon. I guess that made sense. I’d wanted to avoid the exam, but if not, at least put it off long enough to avoid that disappointment I’d heard so many women go through after hours of labor when the doctors said, “You’re only 2 centimeters.”

Dr. L. checked me and announced in happy surprise, “Oh, you’re 7 centimeters!”

I was so pleased. Only 3 more to go!

The next few hours passed more quickly than I would have expected as the contractions got stronger. The only really annoying part was that the nurse had to frequently readjust the monitors to make sure they were picking up the baby’s heart rate instead of mine. I tried to reposition them myself, but as things intensified, I ignored them. Afterall, the baby was showing every sign of tolerating labor just fine.

Sometime after 11:00 my legs were shaking so bad I had to give in and get into bed. If I’d had the strength to stand to the end, I think it would have been much more tolerable. I never expected myself to be one of those women screaming and clawing at the side-rails. But I did. I knew I was in transition because of that inescapable and profound sense that I could not do this. It wasn’t because it hurt so bad. I knew it wasn’t like I could give up. It was more like a feeling of total helplessness one might get if their leg was caught under a moving bulldozer that was going to roll over them and there was no more they could do to save themselves.

It was the darkest moment before dawn. I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t even isolate the pain. I couldn’t tell what I was feeling, except that my whole body would stiffen involuntarily, my chest would tighten like it was being squeezed by a python, and I would gasp and scream and try desperately to gasp again. Soothing voices from the darkness kept reminding me to breathe. I clutched desperately at the side-rails and at the warm hands extended to comfort me. A cold cloth was pressed against my face. The faces around me were a dark blur.

The birthing classes and books had taught me to expect this phase, but I didn’t know it would last so long! Mom and Jose kept telling me I was almost there. But I did not believe them. I thought it would go on forever, and I was overwhelmed with despair. My body squeezed again, and I wretched into a waiting basin.
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Baby Diaries XXXIV: A Labor of Love

My contractions went from 8-15 minutes apart to 7 minutes apart and then 4-5 minutes apart during the long, quiet hours of Tuesday night. Mom was here, and our friend Lexie. My nurse by then knew, but she was being great about giving us time and space and not doing a lot of monitoring and moving us to the labor ward, as was protocol. I hadn’t expected a short delivery, and was handling the contractions okay, so we just took it one at a time through the night.

Unfortunately, I was nauseas and couldn’t keep anything down. I hadn’t eaten anything solid since Tuesday morning, and was throwing up any liquids that I tried to keep down. I’d asked on my birth plan not to be given an IV until medically necessary, but I was getting concerned about dehydration. When I asked, they still didn’t give me anything, and unfortunately, I didn’t push it. I was just so grateful to be given peace.

The Bradley Birthing method went out the window as soon as I realized that contractions were much more painful lying down. I sat on the birth ball for awhile, and in a yoga squat on the floor. I stood and rocked through contractions, and stood in a warm shower letting the hot water flow over my lower back. So I was up on my feet or sitting the whole night. Jose, Mom, and Lexie occasional massaged my feet or combed my hair to help relax me.

Early in the morning the nurse had set up the room so I could deliver there. Apparently the doctor was willing to do that instead of moving me to the labor and delivery (L&D) ward. I was beginning to be grateful that it was Dr. Lanovette on call. I expected her to be a horrible doctor, but obviously she was being very flexible for me.

Two things happened in the morning that I wasn’t pleased about: first, my contractions slowed back down to 7 minutes apart, and second, Dr. Hedriana gave orders for me to move to L&D. He was the doc I had liked the best, and the reason I was shooting to give birth on the 16th. But he didn’t want to deliver me in the post-partum unit.

So my favorite nurse Priscilla had to put me in a wheelchair and hand me over to the care of a large hairy woman named Dolores, who had cared for me once before. She wasn’t an awful person, but was committed to doing everything by the book, which included putting me on the monitor right away. They started me on a glucose IV solution, which was good, and I hoped it would give me the energy to speed up my contractions again. They also started me on antibiotics, which was okay with me, since I knew it would give the baby a little protection and I hoped he/she would not need antibiotics after delivery.

My contractions did not pick up. By afternoon they were coming as far apart as ½ hour to 45 minutes. Dr. Hedriana was willing to let me go as long as I wanted, and let me tell him when I was ready to be examined for dilation. He just reminded me to Pitocin was available if I decided to go ahead and try to speed things up. I had been totally opposed to it as long as everything was going fine, but I wanted to know how my blood test was, if there was any signs of infection. When he looked it up, he said my white cell count was definitely up, which could be a sign of infection. I talked with my support team and we prayed together, and I decided to go with the Pitocin rather than leave the baby at risk of an infection. I worried, too that, not having nourishment or liquids for so long, I would be too week by the time things picked up again. So I slept a little and then started the Pitocin in the evening.

I was afraid of Pitocin. Pitocin is a synthetic version of the hormone oxytocin, which is released naturally from the pituitary gland. Oxytocin is released naturally during sexual arousal, nipple stimulation (baby nursing), and in response to a fetus that is ready to be born. Oxytocin is also a “feel good” hormone that assists in combating pain and facilitating maternal-newborn bonding. While Pitocin stimulates uterine contractions, it doesn’t have any of the other perks, and it can cause contractions that are much more intense, painful, and closer together. Every woman I knew who ever had “pit” said it made labor almost unbearable. Few women dare pit without an epidural. Dr. H. assured me the dose would be carefully titrated so as not to get out of control, but I geared myself up for a difficult time, anyway.

It must have been around 5 p.m. when the nurse hung the Pitocin bag to drip into the already complicated set of tubes flowing into my very sore wrist. I guess my veins must very tender, because every IV I’ve had has gotten puffy and really sore within a day. It still seemed strange to find myself looking at my wrist between contractions, and going, “Owe!”

We had prayed together. I was ready. Even though I expected a hell of an experience on the pit, I had already been through so much, it didn’t seem like it could be so much worse. At least I could be sure this baby would come in a few hours, at least….
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Baby Diaries XXXIII: Open, Cervix!

The other night getting out of the shower, I whacked my ankle hard on something. For a second I scrunched up my face and tried to keep from yelping. Then I thought, Lady, you’re about to go into labor, this isn’t pain! I dropped my shoulders and tried to ignore it.

I’ve had signs of impending labor since Saturday evening, when I started to pass a bloody discharge. That night contractions started getting painful, though not frequent. When I couldn’t sleep through them anymore, I got up and ate some yogurt. Twenty minutes later I had one contraction that was so intense it made me nauseas. I heaved, but by then the yogurt was all used up.

I took a warm shower that helped make me feel better, and then Jose and I watched the movie “Spirit”, one of our favorites since our dating days. By then it was about 7 a.m. and I was able to sleep fitfully until 9:00. In the morning the contractions tapered off to about 1 to 3 per hour and stayed that way all day.

I was glad. I didn’t want to go too fast, because my mom was down in San Diego seeing my brother off to Afghanistan. I needed her with me, but sure didn’t want her to have to leave Andy at such an important time. She had been ready to catch a flight, but as things weren’t progressing, she was able to take her time and drive Andy’s truck back up.

I slept better that night, though all my dreams were colored by a stabbing, crampy pain in my lower abdomen and pubic bone. I finally sat up around four a.m. and drank a little milk. Just then my phone rang. When I answered it, it was Andy. He had just landed in Germany and was just checking in.

In the morning they put me on the monitor as usual, and I watched it closely, not wanting them to see more than 6 contractions in the hour I was on it. I found by slightly lifting the probe off my belly during a contractions, I could make it look roughly like I was moving around rather than having a contraction. Only three contractions registered during that time. By the end of the hour, I wanted to take hedge trimmers to the wires that kept me from getting up and moving around. It was SO uncomfortable to lie down during contractions!

Priscilla was so kind and didn’t make me stay on the monitor, though she said some nurses might have, just because I was preterm.

We went for a little walk after the doctor came in, and contractions were about 8 minutes apart. The rest of the day they have been 8-15 minutes apart, and painful. When I feel that crushing, stretching sensation way down low, accompanied by menstrual like crampiness and sometimes nausea, I keep saying to myself “Open, cervix! Open cervix!”
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Hospital Days: Photos

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Baby Diaries XXXII: Hospital Days

It’s about 8:30 a.m. and the nurse is just setting my breakfast tray gently on the bedside table. I peek to see who it is.... It’s Priscilla, the nurse who most often cares for me and who I’ve come to appreciate so much for her support and encouragement. She’s the petite lady with big blond hair and cheeks generously blushed pink. If it was one of the less familiar nurses, I might pretend to be asleep and be left alone just a little while longer. Really, the nurses have all been alright, ranging from a little distant and militant to very warm and caring, but none have been downright difficult.

I’ve been blessed to have one of two nurses most days, and they’re very kind about leaving me alone until I wake up. Besides Priscilla, there is Amy, a tall woman of Chinese descent who grew up in the Philippines. She’s also very kind and supportive. Charmaine is frequently on at night. She’s a small Filipina lady in her early 30s who always takes time to sit and talk with me before I go to sleep. She spent 10 weeks on this ward herself for preterm labor with her twin daughters 7 years ago.

I’ve had Suzan a few times, though she usually works in Labor and Delivery. She’s a brusk African-American woman from this south, probably in her 50s. She’s not unkind, but a little more dictatorial than the others. She once told me I shouldn’t eat too much ice because it would deplete my iron. When she leans over me to attach me to the monitors, I smell cigaret smoke. I hope when I’m in labor my nurse is not a smoker.

When Patricia sees that I’m awake, she says, “You’re just like an angel when you’re sleeping!” or, “You still have that pregnancy glow, even when you first wake up!” That’s a nice thing to wake up to. She pulls out the blood pressure cuff from the monitor stand on one side of my bed and hooks me up. Then she pops a thermometer in my mouth. The cuff is slow and sometimes puffs up a little more and a little more after it thinks it’s reached full capacity. My hand turns red and the veins stand out and I feel like it’s going to pop. I keep thinking they should have put the cuff on me when they started my IV so it wouldn’t have been so hard to get a vein!

By now Priscilla knows my preferences, and she offers to fill my mug with hot water for my morning tea. Then she goes off, and Jose, if he’s there, pulls the rocker up beside my bed and we read some chapters from Acts. Often I can feel Baby T rolling around during this time, doing some morning workouts.

A little later, Priscilla hooks me up to the monitor. This consists of two heavy round leads about the size of hockey pucks that are strapped against my belly with soft elastic belts. Wires connect them to the monitor, which prints out a strip of paper showing the baby’s heart rate and the tone of my uterus. The baby’s heart rate is usually between 130 and 170, with more variations when it is awake or active, and a more steady line when it’s sleeping. The line that shows uterus activity rises in a little hump when I’m have a contraction. When I’m having Braxton Hicks, it usually rises just a few millimeters, but lately I’ve been having bigger ones that rise up to a hill about 1 inch high. Those are rare, and I don’t know what they mean. As long as they aren’t coming frequently in a regular pattern, I guess they don’t mean much. What is good about these bigger ones, though, is they show the nurse and doctor that baby is responding to them just fine, so there is no umbilical cord compression going on.

I have to be on the monitor for one hour each morning, and often I eat my breakfast and we watch Miami Animal police together. I usually get some fake tasting scrambled eggs or cheese omelet with muffins and cereal and a banana on the side. Lately I’ve been getting more practiced in calling in my order, though, and this morning I had a REAL omelet with cheese and mushrooms, and a whole-wheat English muffin. I’m trying to be good and not eat the pastries they send. It’s so ironic to me that they automatically put a patient on stool softeners and then feed them all kinds of starchy white foods!

The doctor often drops in about midmorning. If it’s Doctor Hedriana, the Filipino man, he sits down and chats. He’s the friendliest. Dr. Haessler is an older man who is straightforward, abrupt, and quite supportive of my decision to carry this baby to 36 weeks rather than being induced at 34. Dr. McLean is the lady doctor who threatened to put me on heparin if I didn’t use the SCD hoes. Thank goodness she’s not around to see me not use them! She’s a stiff lady with stiff, short, curly hair. She asks me questions and feels my calves, listens to my lungs, and leaves. Dr. Lanowitch is pretty much the same. She is the least supportive of my preferences, but has a slightly friendlier bedside manner than Dr. M.

Every day I get out of the hospital gown into civilian clothes to remind myself I’m still not a real invalid. Usually Jose wheels me out to the elevator. If you think people are accommodating to pregnant women, try a pregnant woman in a wheelchair! And on the days Jose is not here, and I wheel myself out, people are even more sympathetic. They open doors and let us get in the elevator ahead of them. They’re so polite about getting out of our way in the hall. I want to tell all of them, “I don’t belong in this chair! I’m not an invalid!” But I keep my mouth shut until we get outside, where, as soon as I’m out of site, I get out of the chair like a woman healed miraculously!

I have my little walking circuit. We go out to the right of the hospital, around to the staff parking garage. We walk up the three levels and then back down. When I’m by myself I’m always a little tempted to ride back down the gently sloping levels, but then I wonder what they would think if they had to treat me for a wheelchair accident. Especially if I wrecked into someone’s car!

Next I go back around, past the emergency entrance, past the main entrance, past the valet parking, past the construction to the visitors garage. Then around the outpatient services building, past the little café, and back past the valet, main entrance, and emergency. There’s a nice little place with picnic benches and shade next to the cafeteria entrance where we like to sit and read. Unfortunately, there is some loud humming machinery nearby. However, the redeeming factor is that this area is mostly used by staff, and I don’t have to deal with cigaret smoke.

The lunch tray is usually there on my bedside table when I get back, but I’m rarely hungry yet. It really is nice not to have to cook or worry about grocery shopping or washing dishes. But hospital food is less and less appealing to me. I often eat out of boredom more than interest. I confess I can’t down the cooked veggies they send me. I make myself eat the raw ones and the salads, but the cooked ones are just so brutalized….

Afternoons are the hardest, because we have to find things to pass the time. The hospitals entertainment system has cable, a limited collection of movies, games, music, and a limited internet connection that’s not really possible to use. Thankfully, Jose figured a way to connect his own cable to the system and get internet to our laptops. Since we’re not big TV watchers, we’re fine without the entertainment system set up most of the day. It has been truly a life-saver being able to access my e-mail and facebook, being able to update my blog and be in touch with friends. I know it’s a luxury, but I think I would have gone crazy without it!

Another luxury is the little refrigerator they brought me the first week I was here. Mom and another friend brought me all kinds of healthy munchies, and I often stash the fruit, yogurt, and soymilk they send me. Not that I have a whole lot of need for extra snacking, but it is kind of nice when the afternoons get long.

Actually, it would appear that we have practically moved in here. I might have to hire a moving truck when I’m discharged. In addition to the snacks and electronics (which includes Jose’s speaker system), I have a small library, my duffel bag, and smaller bags for other supplies, all my shower and toiletry supplies, teas, supplements, lotions, flowers, cards, and of course the goodies from my Aunt. I’ve even put pictures on the walls! “I just love coming into your room,” Priscilla said once, remarking on what a peaceful atmosphere was here.

I’ve been blessed with plenty of visitors, including church members, relatives, colleagues from the conference, and friends from here and there. I’ve had lots of phone calls ranging from the regular calls from my mom and friends to people I’ve never even met before. Another pastor’s wife called me the other night. She’s on bedrest at home to prevent premature labor at 29 weeks. I felt bad to hear she hadn’t had visitors.

In the evenings Jose and I sometimes watch a movie together. Later on the nurse puts me back on the monitor for another hour. Then I take a hot shower and put on a fresh hospital gown. Mom asked me if I’d rather have my own PJs, but I actually don’t mind the huge gowns that come fresh every day. I don’t have to worry about washing them! It is a little unnerving to be so exposed in some areas, but that’s why I only wear them at night!

I’ve come to realize that if I have milk just before going to bed, I sleep like a baby. I never was a big milk drinker. I like the taste, but the substance itself and what goes into it is kind of gross if I think about it too much. I hate to admit there’s anything special about milk that I can’t get from its soy counterpart, but it’s true. That good sleep is priceless! Especially after the weeks of frustrating wakeful nights and restless legs. I’m thankful for the milk!

Jose turns on the dimmer lights over my bed and we have a prayer together before turning in. Then he makes up his bed on the pullout couch, turns out the lights, and we sleep. At least until I have to get up to use the bathroom….
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Baby Diaries XXXI: Care Package

If there’s one thing that lifts a woman’s spirits, it’s getting out in a new dress she feels great in. And if there is someone to gush over the dress, it’s that much more gratifying. That certainly wasn’t the experience I was expecting to have yesterday morning when I sat alone in my room.

Jose had left the night before to get a couple days work done at home. I’ve been so fortunate to have him here with me most of the time, but being alone I have found it really hard to keep myself upbeat. Sitting in my room that morning I had double fortified myself against the little shadow that I knew was threatening.

Then a short lady with frizzy gray hair put her head through the door and asked uncertainly, “Uh-del?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

She looked doubtfully at a brown package in her hand. Finally she gave it to me and left. It was from my aunt. Inside were some darling baby shirts and booties, a book, tea, a blankie, and a couple of cute dresses. I had fun trying the dresses on, then the nurse came in and had to gush over them. Then she brought in her friend the dietitian, whom I had met earlier in the morning, and both the women gushed over the dresses and the other goodies.

After they left, I wheeled myself down to the nurse’s station to let Nurse P. know that I was going to go out for a little while. “Oh there she is!” said a nurse I didn’t recognize, “She was just telling us how cute you are!” Nurse P. poked her head out of the room and blushed.

“There’s no one with you?” Said the first nurse again, “Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I laughed from my silly wheelchair, “I don’t belong here!”

The nurses laughed and one said, “Neither do we! We should all wheel ourselves to the Bahamas!”

Later in the day I had a visit from my friends Nick and Becca, with their little 7-week old boy. We visited and snacked. Then Nick ordered pizza, which was delivered right to my room!

It turned out to be a fun day, and I didn’t even have time to do any of the boring things I needed to do!
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Baby Diaries XXX: Dr. Lanowitch

“I just live in fear of Dr. Lanowitch,” confessed Nurse P. in her sweet childlike voice. Nurse P. is a petite lady with a fluffy blond ponytail and pink cheeks. She has been my nurse most of the time, and has been so sweet and supportive. Now she was trying to give me a little heads-up about the next doctor who would be on shift.

Typically, the hospital staff are very careful what they say about each other. Even when I can see they don’t feel peachy about someone, they’re quick to say that person is very good at what they do. However, I could tell my raised eyebrows, tactful warnings, and even a few snickers, that Dr. Lanowitch had a reputation that might mean trouble for my natural birthing wishes. I was warned that she might give me a hard time about not having done the glucose screen (for gestational diabetes), but as everyone knew, at this point it wouldn’t make any difference anyway.

I was still lounging in bed Tuesday morning with a 40-something woman with shoulder-length blond hair and a business-like manner brushed into my room. She started asking the usual questions and then got around to telling me she was Dr. Lanowitch. She felt my belly and calves and was gone as quickly and painlessly as she had come. I was delighted she hadn’t given me a bad time about the glucose scan.

A few minutes later Nurse P. came in. She cut short my rejoicing with a warning that she thought the Doctor might come back in. “Is she looking at my chart now?” I asked, wondering if she was just noticing the missing glucose scan.

“She’s looking at your birthing plan,” said Nurse P. Dr. Lanowitch was apparently not very happy with my low-tech birth wishes. I closed my eyes and tried not to feel anxious after Nurse P left. The last thing I wanted was to have to fight with a doctor over what I wanted. I’d been careful to talk with Dr. H about most of the things I wanted, and had gone over it with the nurse, and they didn’t think it was so unreasonable, so I steeled myself to be sweet and firm if the doctor came back. I imagined her saying, “I can’t promise you this, this, or this…” and I would sweetly say, “Then you and I can both pray you don’t end up with that responsibility!”

The doctor didn’t return, and Jose and I went out for a while. Later when we had returned, the nurse came in again. She said Dr. Lanowitch, after griping a little about my plan, had called one of her colleagues about another patient. When she told the other doctor she was inducing a 34-weaker, the doctor questioned her on it. Apparently he thought she was inducing me, and he knew I didn’t want it. I was really gratified to know they would stand up for me if I needed it.

The nurse went on to say Dr. Lanowitch went on her rounds and came back an hour later. “You must have been praying or something,” she said, “because she just said, ‘Well, it’s her pregnancy and her baby.” Nurse P. said she had never seen Dr. Lanowitch do a turnaround like that!

“I did say a prayer about that this morning!” I told her.

She was so touched by that she started wiping away tears. In the next staff meeting, when my case came up, she testified to everyone about how faith was involved in my case. I don’t know what she said exactly, but she told me later everyone was “in agreement” about it.

Sometimes I feel like I’m wasting so much time being here when I’m not sick and don’t really think I’m even in that much danger. But visiting with Nurse P. makes me wonder if this hospitalization isn’t so much about me and the baby afterall….

(*Names may be pseudonyms, or they may just be slightly altered for significance)
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Baby Diaries XXIX: 34 Weeks

When Doctor H. came to see me Friday morning he carried congratulations on my making it to the earmarked 34 weeks. He has been very good to me, easygoing about my desire to keep things as medically uncomplicated as possible, and willing to let me go longer than the 34 weeks. We chatted briefly and he asked what I would like to do if I went to 36 weeks without going into labor spontaneously. Without pushing for an answer, he said we didn’t have to set any deadlines, and even asked if I’d be interested in being transferred back to a closer hospital at that point. I hadn’t thought that was an option, but having become established here, it seems like a good idea to go ahead and deliver here.

When the doctor and nurse were leaving, I told the nurse, “We’d like to go for a walk, could we get a wheelchair?” I didn’t really mean a walk, I just meant get out, but Doctor H. laughed as he left the room, saying over his shoulder, “Just as long as you wheel yourself off the unit, you can do whatever you like!”

So I did. Jose wheeled me out and then we had a nice walk around the hospital. It felt good to be on my feet and moving again. Felt good to use muscles and lungs for what they were intended. I could feel the tightening in my uterus as one Braxton Hick’s contraction followed another, but they did not get stronger. Just toning exercises, which also felt good. “Is this too much walking?” Jose worried.

“Nah,” I said. “This is an easy walk for now, but by the end of the week I’m going to be running up and down stairs!”

Later in the afternoon a tech brought a sonogram machine into the room and smeared warmed gel onto my rounded belly. She moved the probe around and measured the baby’s femur, abdomen, and head. She measured the water around the baby. She determined the baby was around 5 pounds 13 ounces, a huge growth spurt since the last estimation of 4 pounds 2 ounces. Since estimation of birthweight by ultrasound can be quite faulty, I’m not sure I believe it, but at least the baby has shown some growth! Afterall, I haven’t done much but lie around and pig out all week!

In the evening I dressed up a little and went with my friend Ellen to the cafeteria for something to drink. Then we walked around. I was pushing the wheelchair and we were walking through the parking garage with a car stopped and a lady in scrubs said, “Is that a hospital wheelchair?”

“Yup!” I said, “It’s mine!”

“She’s pregnant!” said Ellen, and the lady drove away sheepishly.

It was my first night alone, Jose having returned to Willows to conduct church the following morning. I had a peaceful time playing music online, and actually had another very good night’s sleep.
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Baby Diaries XXVIII: Prayers

All through my pregnancy my prayer has been that God would protect our baby, give it health, give my body health to provide my baby with the best environment, and prepare us to be parents.

Since being hospitalized, my prayer has grown. I have prayed, first of all, that if it’s God’s will, He would heal the tear in my membranes and let me go home. If not, I’ve prayed He will guard our baby from infection, and help us to have the most uncomplicated birthing experience.

It occurred to me the other night I needed to add another prayer. I haven’t let myself think very much about the “what ifs”. What if the baby is seriously injured or has complications? It is so easy for me to assume everything will be fine and dandy in the long run, but what if…? There is a reality infection could set in, or there could be developmental delays as a result of prematurity. A slight chance, mind you, for which I remain very optimistic, but what if…?

So the prayer I add is that whatever comes, I will trust that it is not out of God’s control, and He’ll give us the strength to make it through.

The other night I lay in bed trying to relax and sleep without much success. I’ve managed to stay upbeat and positive, but I recognized a tenseness and anxiety that didn’t feel healthy. I realized that I have worked so hard to learn and plan each step so perfectly. Now, even though I know things are going to be different, I’ve stressed about how things might go and how I can stay on top. I had to acknowledge to myself the fear of losing control, the fear of other people making decisions for me that I’m not pleased with, the fear of being forced to let them.

I had to face the fact that I can’t control this. Even if I gave birth at home, I couldn’t control it. The reality is, now there is a whole team of professionals who will be managing me, and even if I go down fighting, I can’t be in control. The only way to really be at peace is to relinquish that control before the fact. I have to trust that God cares for and knows what is best for our little baby better than I or the doctors know. I have to pray and believe He will take control, and I have to let go.

So that is my new prayer. God, help me to loosen my fearful, viselike grip on what I perceive to be control. I have done my best to be prepared and do what is best for my baby. That is all I can do. Help me not to be anxious or defensive in light of the fact that I cannot control events. Help me to let go and have complete peace in you as the master Perinatologist, Neonatiologist, Surgeon, and Father. Help me not to forget that you influence the hearts and hands of my care providers. Give me rest in You, acknowledging that I am Yours and this child is Yours and always will be. Amen.
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Baby Artwork

Karate Kid

From the Other Side

Shara

Trampoline



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Baby Diaries XXVII: Daddy Dreams

At what point does a man become a father? Is it the moment when, unbeknown to man or woman, a microscopic tadpole unites itself with a microscopic egg? Is it when two lines show up on a stick after mom pees on it? Or is it when a squirming, slimy, screaming infant is placed in his uncertain arms for the first time? In some cultures it is when the baby first recognizes and smiles at him.

Maybe it’s when he starts to dream about his new baby. Jose has a history of meaningful dreams, in which it seems that God has communicated His care and guidance. Two nights before I was admitted, Jose dreamed he saw me in a hospital gown, and he woke up feeling sad. He didn’t tell me until just last night. Naturally, I wanted to know if he’d had any better dreams since then!

The first night here at Mercy, stretched out on the couch put here for men like him, he did have another dream. He was lying on the bed with his baby in front of him, having a tender moment together. He was in love. He put his cheek against his baby’s. “I’m starting to get excited,” he told me. “It’s getting to be more real to me.”

This morning when he took the dry erase pen and said, “What’s today, the second?” I remembered the significance of the day. Nineteen years ago today I lost my own Dad. I also realized my dad was the same age as my husband is now. I never realized how young he was!

I’m deeply touched by the fact that in a little while I’ll have a new Dad in my life. Not for me, but for my child. I hardly like to say in a little while. After all, he is a dad now, though his baby is still inside. Neither of us really grew up being fathered, so it is awesome that a new father is being born. I can’t help but wonder what it was like for my own Dad to become such, to watch his wife’s belly growing, to look into the face of his first child, to watch his passel grow. I wonder what kind of dreams he had about his own babies. I’ll never know just what it’s like to be a dad, but I sure am happy for the one who will be fathering my baby.
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