I've never really been an over achiever. I am a hard worker, but I was never the star athlete, student, or musician. It even took me time to get pregnant with my first child. I was certain I was infertile and would cry myself to sleep. My husband knew in his heart I was just fine and would eventually become a mother. He was right. During my first pregnancy, I was unusually comfortable for the most part. I was one of those annoying women you hear about. I “loved” being pregnant. My skin was perfect, my hair and nails had never been better. I gained the appropriate amount of weight, not too big not too small. Just right. I had no back pain, no morning sickness. It was awesome. When I went into labor, I was at work and my husband came to pick me up and off we went. I labored in a jacuzzi tub at the hospital. My nurse was determined (unbeknownst to me) to let me experience a natural labor because I had done so well and I was so little she didn't want me to experience complications. In her line of work she has seen so many deliveries. She knew if I were to get an epidural, I would not feel to push and end up possibly having trouble. She wanted me to do it on my own. My mom was with me the entire time. My husband needed to 'run home to get some things'. Never mind I had told him to have a bag ready! NO! He had to be stubborn and go home. Since the doctor told me I was progressing nicely, but not quickly, he would be safe to leave. So, here I am with my mother, sitting there. By this time I was hot from my hormones so I was just stripped down. I figured my mom gave birth to me. Remember, in my last blog. I was 'nothing special' and they see what I got everyday, so I wasn't even modest. When you are about to push something out your vajayjay, you don't really care if someone sees your boob. It just isn't' important. So there I was in between contractions I would relax. Chit chat here and there with my mom. I don't quite remember what we talked about but I'm sure it was something mundane just to pass the time. I remember I was starving. I didn't know that when you go into labor the doctor won't let you eat. Safety reasons, I presume. All I know is I was starving. With each contraction I would meditate and literally take my mind to a different place. I have always wanted to visit Hawaii, so in my mind I went there. During the labor of my first daughter, I went to Hawaii and ate pizza. In my mind. I was transported to a new place I had never been. I was transported to an inner power I never knew I possessed. All these years I had been wanting to get pregnant, have a child and be a mother. Little did I know having a child was a gift and along with the child came another gift. Empowerment. Birth is different for every single person. Almost like a snowflake, not one is alike. They me be similar and even textbook, but no birth is truly the same. The energy, the emotions, the experience in and of itself is one of the things that make the birth experience a miracle. Suddenly I found myself with this amazing power. A power to control my own thoughts, my own misery or pain. There was a brief moment when panic set in. I had labored in the jacuzzi tub all day and finally moved to the bed because I was 'ready to push'. I was ready? Well, there I was. READY. For a brief moment I remember holding on to the side rails of the bed. Panic set in for a brief moment and I cried out in fear. Almost giving up. The nurse knelt down, put her hand over mine and said in a football couch kind of tone, “You are going to be a mother, now stay in control, you can do this.” My husband barely made it back to the room before it was time for me to push. I had progressed sooner than the doctor anticipated. My dad had went to get coffee. As far as he was concerned it was going another hour or so before all the excitement would take place. As he walked into the room, I remember looking up at him. He was soon-to-be first time proud grandfather, bringing the coffee to his wife of 32 years just happy as a lark. UNTIL. He walks in and I scream. There I was legs up, ready to push. His eyes bugged out and he simply turned around and left, he was in as much shock as the rest of us. The doctor finally arrives. By this point I didn't care who caught the kid. I just wanted it over with. He coached me, gave me some pointers and said I was doing great. Yeah yeah, OK OK, standard coaching. He finally says to me, “OK, push as hard as you can, as HARD AS YOU CAN, NOW”. So, I did. Amelia was born. She was born with her eyes open and perfect. The doctor told me my pushes were “Olympic style” pushes. I was an Olympic pusher! Since most Olympians are overachievers, I equated this to being an overachiever. Therefore, I was finally an overachiever in something in life. Giving birth. After I had Amelia, I got up, walked around and took a shower that day. Little did I know I was one of the lucky ones.
Two years later I learned I was pregnant again. I was happy and ready for another delightful pregnancy, After all, I was an Olympian birther. So, my usual doctor appointments come and go. Everything is normal. Nothing exciting same old same old. I was mostly irritated with my doctor at the time. He overbooked his appointments like nobodies business. He was aloof and I didn't care for him at all. I only went to him because I had insurance with him and had heard about 'how wonderful' he was. Hmph. When I did have my appointment it just so happened he always overbooked me with this woman who was pregnant and had the most annoying little kid. Her husband always came with her to the appointments. Apparently before every doctor visit they made a trip to the local convenient store to stock up on garbage. Mt Dew, Dr. Pepper, Dortios and twinkies was their typical menu. Every single visit. So, there I was crammed into a waiting room with others. Hot, tired and smelling their nasty Doritos and listening to their annoying kid and their annoying banter back and forth. I hated it. Finally, when they asked me when I wanted to schedule my next appointment, I whispered to the receptionist, “When is HER appointment, because I want my appointment on a different day”. She looked at me like the snob I was, and I didn't care. I was an Olympian pusher and I was NOT going to put up with these waiting room shenanigans. I'm sure they were a nice family, but I didn't want to find out. During my second pregnancy, it was pretty much the same. I did have severe heartburn which was horrible. I traveled with my new job and was able to do everything I normally do. I went on a trip to Georgia with a co-worker. We became fast friends, and so going on a business trip with her was always more fun the business. We were attending a conference for about five days and on the second day I noticed I had a bit of bleeding. I was always told when you are pregnant, as long as you are not bleeding bright red blood, you were fine. So as far as I was concerned, I was fine. However, being far from home I was a little nervous so I called my doctor. You know, the doctor who crowds his patients. The nurse told me after consulting with the doctor who overbooks his patients, I should go to the ER to be safe. So, I did. My co-worker was nice enough to take me to a strange hospital in a strange place. When we finally found the place we arrived to a jam packed sardine packed ER. We were the minority, and for the first time in my life, I knew what that felt like. So, we get there and since I wasn't 'far enough along' I would not be moved to the labor and delivery unit, instead I would sit and wait like everyone else. So I waited. We all know the same ER waiting room stories. I remember while waiting there was an emergency coming in, a police officer had been shot. I remember the paramedics wheeling him in as his buddies walked by his side. You could tell it was grim. It took my mind off of my troubles, but only for a minute or two. They finally put me into a room. Everyone knows it's the second waiting room. You know the kind where it is really boring. The clock usually has hands that tick really loud with some sort of brand name drug advertised on it. There is signs on the wall about not letting children play with the instruments for 'their own safety'. Tongue dispensers, cotton balls, soap. Magazines from 2002. Someone scratched their name out on the cover. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if they caught me snooping around in the cabinets when they came in. Has anyone ever died in this room? When you sit in the second waiting room of the ER for two or three hours, these are the things you think about. I had been there so long, I finally had to throw a fit and get cranky with the student doctor. I told him I'm sorry his doctor patient ratio was lacking, however I could be having a miscarriage and wouldn't even know it. So, within about fifteen minutes he sent me to have an ultrasound. I know this was to pacify me, make me someone else's problem. Fine with me. So, there I go in my wheelchair. I go into a big chilly room. I manage to get onto the bed and the technician was young with a large smile. She was probably ready to go home but she didn't show it. I know I was ready to go home. She put the cold jelly on her ultrasound tool and began the exam. It always amazes me, these technicians. Always a poker face. I always try to determine what they must be thinking. They always hold their cards so close to their chest and you never know. Did she squint, or wince? Did I just see her wince? That definitely was a wince. Oh my goodness, she grimaced. What does this all mean? Then she sneezed. Well, OK she had to sneeze. But still. You never know what is going on and they 'aren't allowed' to tell you. SO there I was, laying there with this jelly stuff, this nice lady with a big smile waiting. And waiting. I had an ultrasound before but I don't remember taking so long. Was it because I had to pee so bad? You know, how they make you drink a ton of water. Something about it helps with the view. Whatever that means. Waiting. Waiting. Is she wincing? Is she grimacing? What IS GOING ON? So then I begin to worry. Maybe it's something bad. Maybe my baby is in danger. All of these thoughts crossed my mind. Sad thoughts. Finally she looks at me and says, “Have you had your ultrasound in this pregnancy so far?”. I hadn't. Worry. I told her my last pregnancy was an Olympic pregnancy and I was healthy and didn't need one until now and was planning on having when when I returned to my doctor who overbooks. She nodded. Still no grimace or wince. Still couldn't read her face. So she adjusts the monitor because she was nice and didn't wnt me to break my neck looking. “One more thing, I am going to print some photos for you. You have to promise not to let anyone else know because the film in this machine is about to run out and if anhyone knows I printed these, then everyone else will want pictures printed”. I nodded. As I was looking at the imagine I was trying to determine the sex of the baby. After all this is the main reason to get an ultrasound, no? It was for me, well and to make sure the baby is healthy, it goes without saying. I was looking at the image. A blob. Like all ultrasounds. I said, “Is it a boy, girl. WHICH!?”. She said, “No, look at it”. I asked myself “What is she trying to tell me?”. The nice lady smiled her huge smile, “There's two”. I looked at the screen. “Holy shit”. My response when I found out I was having twins was, “Holy shit”. Not, “Oh, what a beautiful miracle”. Or, “I have two little beings growing inside me”. She was caught off guard and chuckled. It was late for both of us so we were a little delirious. She printed out the pictures of my two little 'holy shits!' and helped me get cleaned off. They wheeled me out of the exam room. By this point my lovely friend had been waiting and waiting. She is not a night person and by this time I believe it was at least 11pm. She was exhausted. So, she came up to me relieved it was over. I handed her the ultrasound pictures. She was tired and groggy from the long day. All of the sudden she squealed. When she realized she was looking at two little babies on the picture, her eyes lit up. We both let out a howl and giggled. As she wheeled me back to the front lobby we laughed and everyone clapped and cheered for me. Yep, I am definitely an overachiever when it comes to birth. After all of the excitement I had learned from the ER doctor I needed to prop my feet and rest. Everything was fine I just needed to take it easy. So I went back to the hotel room and spent the next few days at the conference watching Days of Our Lives and giggling to myself about my amazing little package. My family was overjoyed and shocked and I couldn't wait to get back home.
A multiple pregnancy was exciting for various reasons. First of all it's twins! Everyone loves twins, talking about twins and the mystery of it all. Little did I know twins are considered high risk, therefore everything is much more serious and detailed. Had the doctor who overbooks payed a little more attention, he probably would have noticed from my labs and the heartbeat there were two. Never mind, all that mattered is I knew I was having twins. I immediately decided to switch doctors. This may be unusual during pregnancy, however I was not about to deal with my doctor who overbooks one more time, especially if it means I have to go visit his office more often now that I was high risk and all. So, I started going to the teaching hospital. I knew what I signed up for. Medical students were interested in my case because I was an Olympic birther, remember? After I returned home and the shock of having twins wore off (well, it never really wears off, but you know what I mean) I went about my business. Working doing my normal routine. I went in for a normal exam as always. When you get closer to your 'due date' it seems you spend almost everyday at the doctor. Peeing in a cup, drinking some orange pop to see if you have diabetes. Ultrasounds, finger sticks. I was a walking time bomb. I was lucky I remained healthy. The heartburn bothered me gain, but I was able to manage it with some safe medication. My husband and I decided we needed to upgrade our small sedan for a mini van—well not a 'mini-van' according to my husband. We would NOT own a mini-van. We would, however, find a vehicle to fit our new little family. So why not look at vehicles before my doctor visit? Seems easy enough? After our joy rides I got to my appointment. The doctor was not planning on checking me 'down there', however, the technician before had mentioned ot me that at my next appointment I should have my doctor check me 'down there'. So I asked her. Since I am nothing special, I wasn't too worried. She didn't want to (who could blame her, but it IS her job). I kind of had to beg her to check me 'down there'. I mean, who does this? So she did. Her gloves snapped back after she removed them and she clicked her tongue. “Yep, you are going to be admitted”. Saw wha? Yep, I was dilated to 5 and 90% effaced. In other words I could have the twins in minute. Bad news is they weren't quite ready. I was only about 27 weeks, so I need them to get their strength and let their lungs develop. They would give me this horrific stuff called magnesium sulfate. It is a name I'll never forget. In my last labor I had remained in such control. I was in early labor and was losing all of the control and was not happy about it. I was admitted to some make shift room until they could make room for me in labor and delivery. This time I was far enough along and wouldn't have to wait in the ER begging for treatment. I was a little nervous and on edge, but I new somehow everything would be fine. So there I was, the interesting specimen, waiting for students to come and go in my room. The nursing students were my favorite. They always came in with their crisp white uniforms nicely pressed, their extra white teeth smiling down on me as they wrapped the baby monitor around my fat belly. I usually had to hook it up for them, they were so new and unsure of themselves I think they were afraid they would hurt me. I had two itchy monitors hooked up to my belly and so I would hear two different fetal heart beats. I wouldn't realize until later, everything was in twos from here on out. The nice student nurses with the really white teeth would always check on me, and jot down a few notes. After a few days I was like the other patients so the novelty wore off. I wasn't as exciting because another more critical patient would come along. So I would get new nurses, trying to place the fetal monitors on my belly. Once again, I would do it for them to avoid the awkwardness of it all. The magnesium sulfate is used to slow or stop contractions. Basically it relaxes all the muscles in your entire body and it is horrible. I would see four people (the same person) at a time. I talked as if I had been doing keg stands. I remember literally panting like a dog for several days in a row after the medicine wore off. I am sure it was from the side effects of the medication, although I don't know if I could convince anyone else of this. During my stay at the hospital, I began to lose patience with everyone. From the medical student who looked like Ken convincing me I needed Tylonal so he could order the nurse to give it to me, to the Psych doctor who visited me because I was agitated. She brought her students in my room with her little book to diagnose me since I was expressing unhappiness and sadness. I explained to her I had been in the hospital for about 10 days now and my room was a hideous mauve color. Not only this, I had a horrible bed sore forming in my ass crack from sitting and sweating and well, just sitting there for 10 days straight! Every time I turned around a med student asked me if they could see 'it'. One student didn't even introduce herself. They had meetings outside my room about my ass crack and what needed to be done. Wow, maybe I am special. As I told the doctor I knew what I needed and I new what would cure my sadness, she sat close to the edge of her chair and I said, “Giving birth”. She was not amused. I yelled at her and her students to leave my room and never return. And so they did. I remember my favorite student doctor was this little skinny man with a very thick Indian accent. He had kind eyes. I didn't care he was a man, because since I'm nothing special I knew it was no big deal. I was in the hospital for twelve days when the doctor tells me I can go home. Say wha? Home? After all of this, you mean I am going home? So I did. But first we had to buy a car. Remember. After all of this we STILL had to get a vehicle to transport our new brood. So, the very next day my husband and I set out back to square one determined to find a vehicle suitable for our little family. We did and we went home and waited. Early in the morning I woke up, and I knew. IT WAS TIME. This was real. Unlike before, I had no pain whatsoever. All of those contractions, dilated to 5 and effaced to 90% I NEVER felt a thing, It is quite remarkable when you think of it all, but it is true. So, we got the “non mini-van”. (It was a van, but it was 'sporty' so in his mind it wasn't really a van). Any who, as we are leaving (he still never learned to pack a bag) he ran in the house to get trash bags to put over the seat in our new non mini-van car seats. For real? Well, whatever. So we drove Amelia to my neighbors house. This was for real because I could FEEL the contractions and my belly was tight. Same as the first pregnancy. We dropped Amelia off and left my neighborhood around 4 in the morning. It takes about 35 minutes to get to the hospital. On a good day. So, it was going to be interesting. Especially since I knew I was already effaced so far and dilated. On the way, I was breathing and trying to meditate. Hawaii, Hawaii, Pizza. Pizza. It was working. Kind of. So, I went with it. My husband had a panicked look on his face and had a good excuse to see how the non mini-van drove on the interstate. We go into town of the hospital and a police officer turned on his light and pulled us over. As we began to pull over in between contractions I would remind my husband not to open his door or they might shoot him. “Doooon't, ahahahah, open your door breath breath, or he may shoot you”. OK so he probably wouldn't have shot my husband, but hey, I was running on adrenaline here. Just go with it. So, the officer walks up to my husbands side of the car and I scream and breath and scream some more. My eyes got larger and larger and I made eye contact with the officer. He could tell it was real. Like, about-to-have-the-babies-in-the-car- real. My husband made sure to tell him I was “having twins”. Nice touch, honey. So he escorted us to the hospital. The entire time I'm in the van, breathing mediating and thinking about these god damn trash bags on the seats keeping me from getting a good comfortable grip on the seat. He pulled up to the hospital. Luckily my friend called ahead and warned them of my arrival. The you guy escorting me to my room was young and dumb. He was all chatty and AWAKE. Although I was in labor I was still groggy and a little uncomfortable. I was in labor with twins, after all. I am an Olympian dammit and I didn't need some young punk kid taking me to my room. He hit every corner with the bottom part of the wheelchair that sticks out too far and most people don't know how to operate. In the elevator he just chatted and chatted and chatted. I wanted to kill him. Finally made it to my room. Er, um well not a room. A surgical room. Say wha? “Since you are considered high risk, you must come to this room so you are prepared in case we need to operate”, the nurse said as she ripped back the curtain. I managed to change into a gown, don't remember how and get myself on the table. Don't now how. Oh yeah, by this time my husband made it back after parking his non mini-van and helped me on the table. My favorite student doctor, the one with the nice friendly eyes and Indian accent came in. Jackpot! My favorite doctor just so happened to be on shift during my labor! This will be perfect. So he checked me and he quietly said as if he was telling me a secret, “Push”. So I did. “Push, again now, a little harder, that's it”. Meghan was born. She was rushed into the next room. I could see several people in scrubs and hairnets and masks in the other room. It looked pretty official. All of these people are here for me? I looked at my favorite doctor and he could tell I wanted to push. “Wait, please”. He said calmly. I remember just sitting there. It was about five minutes. I just sat there waiting. Almost like when you are waiting for the elevator door to open. Don't have enough time to do anything else so you just stand there with a dumb look on your face. “Okay, push please, now”, he said very purposefully. So I did. Lauren was born. She also was taken to the next mysterious room. I looked over and there was a man just standing there. “Who is this guy?” I thought to myself. Later I learned he was the anesthesiologist, and I kind of stole his thunder seeing how I didn't need any of his services. Didn't have time for them. Something I forgot to mention. When I give birth, I get hysterical. Not crazy scary, but laughing hysterically. My endorphins and hormones are in overdrive and I cannot stop laughing. So there I was. I just had twins. They were born at 4:45 am. The head nurse just stood by my side and said, “I ain't ever seen nothing like this”. After about five hours, I got to see them and meet them for the first time. They were born right before shift change so we had to follow hospital protocol and wait until the rounds were completed. While I waited to finally meet them, I decided on their names and called my friends and family. By this time my parents had arrived and everyone was over joyed. I was up walking around meeting my twins. We took them home six days later-in our new non mini-van. I had finally been an overachiever at something in my life. Again.
