Spencer's Birth Story: Part II

In case you haven't read part one, it's here.

Ahhh.  Sweet, sweet relief.  That was the thought and the momentary sensation that was running through my head, and entire body after I had been drugged up with that epidural I was so certain I was not going to be receiving.  The pain went from, I'm going to jump off a cliff to end it, to ok, that was not pleasant.

I was relaxed, a little more calm and now it was time to hurry up and wait.  I was still laboring of course, but now that I was drugged up, I was confined to my bed.  I think Chris was relieved about this.  Relieved that I was no longer retching in pain and agony and relieved that he could grab a seat on the extendo chair and try to rest a little.  

My room had finally cleared of everyone who teamed up to make the pain stop.  Chris was settled on his chair, all 6 feet 2 inches of him were sprawled and trying to rest.  I was in my bed, never to get up again, and it was quiet.  I tried to rest myself, but even being comfortably numb, there was still some discomfort.  It was about one in the morning at this point.  The hours passed and although I had drugs, somewhere along the line it wasn't enough.  I remember there was this one spot on my right hip that simply ached the entire rest of the time.  It wasn't a dull ache either, it felt like my bone was being squeezed by the Grim Reaper himself.  It was intense, and during a contraction it went from a 9 to a 20.  My right arm became sore because the only thing I could do to somewhat alleviate the pain was to rub it.  

Between 1:00 am and 6:00 am, it is kind of a blur or still being in pain and at times simply forgetting I was there to have a baby in the first place.  Because the epidural did not take everything away.  I was still feeling these enormous contractions with an apex of awareness.  Except, at times it was so painful, I didn't think of them as contractions, I just knew it hurt and I wanted it to stop.    

I remember thinking at one point how far I was from that quiet, natural birth I had imagined.  The room was quiet and dark, Chris was sleeping and I was hurting.  I remember being slightly frightened because I had lost control of the situation.  I was beginning to recognize this feeling.  The night I had the triplets, I felt the same way.  

I said a sincere prayer.  I prayed for the baby and I prayed for myself.  I wanted us both to come out the other end of this healthy and well and that I could feel a little peace.  I didn't know what else to pray for.  I was inarticulate and in pain.  I wanted to get control again.

Peace did enter the room.  Nothing changed.  That dang spot in my hip was still on fire and the contractions and labor didn't stop or get easier.  But the peace did come.  I had a little more strength to get me through the next phase of this birth.  Shortly after this, I felt like I wanted to push.  I told my nurse this.  I told Chris this.  But my doctor wasn't there.  What felt like days, but was only about an hour, here comes my doctor (FINALLY! Aren't you just sitting in the lounge waiting for me to be ready?  What do you mean you have other patients?!?) and he tells me to go ahead and start pushing.

This is where it gets silly.  I really wanted to push a certain way.  I had practiced this certain form of pushing and even though I was drugged up and not having a natural birth, I at least wanted to push the way I had been practicing all this time.  The biggest difference was in the breaths.  My way was pushing while breathing down through the contraction. The nurses and doc wanted me to push while holding my breath and trying not to pass out.  So here I was, in pain, drugged up and still trying to hold onto a scrap of my original plan.

It was an awkward combination of the staff trying to continue to respect my requests mixed with their impatience that I just wasn't doing it right.  I tried my way for a while.  The baby didn't budge.  I tried their way for a while.  The baby didn't budge.  It was an exhausting exercise in futility.  I was fully dilated, pushing like a world class...something, and the baby wanted nothing to do with moving anywhere.  After going back and forth between different methods of pushing, the props started coming out.

The first one reminded me of a gymnastic bar.  "Well, we were just over at the Huntsman Center watching some gymnastics and thought we might bring this over to try and help you have a baby!"    Mind you this is after I had been pushing for hours.  The nurse (bless her heart, I was not an easy patient) suggested I simply put my legs up on the bar, then grab that same bar with my hands and push away!

I did laugh.  At least my sense of humor was still working at this point.  I told her I had ZERO strength and holding a bar was a laughable proposition, but I would try anyway.  Legs up.  Arms...almost...if you could just push my back a little...almost got it...just a little more...there.  Arms up.  Getting into this position was even more exhausting than pushing through a contraction.  So, no actual pushing happened.  The moment I grasped the bar, I immediately fell back down.  (This is a level of fatigue I have never experienced.)  I apologized.  I mean it seemed like it took at least two people to bring that dang thing in here and I didn't even use it.  Now what?

Prop number two.  I call this one, The Prison Escape.  I was handed the end of a knotted sheet, (similar to what one might use to toss out the window when trying to escape from prison) and the nurse had the other end.  "We're just going to have a tug-of-war,"  she said with a smile.  The idea being I would use the physics of this motion to push and move this baby out.

Am I on on candid camera?  I had to laugh again.  The idea that I had the strength to grasp the sheet, let alone push and pull and escape from a minimum security prison all at the same time was just too much.  Chris even sensed my ludicrous meter going off and gave me a secret grin.  I agreed to try, because really, it was around 11 am at this point, something had to work.  It was a similar attempt as the gymnastics bar.  I geared my brain up to do it, but my body just limped out  and I fell back before I even began.  Still exhausted.  Still in pain.  Still really, really pregnant.

Next time.... we're going to prep you for the OR, but just a precaution...  

This baby really liked his living quarters. 

But really, it IS your thing

"Mommy!  You're hoooome!"  My 3 year-old little girl ran to greet me, she was hugging me at the knees and telling me about a book dad had found under the couch for her as I took my coat off.

"Where you go mom?"  She asks before I could tell her I was glad she found her missing book.  Three year-olds don't always give you a chance to respond to all their news.  I wait a beat to see if she really wanted to know or was ready to move on.  

"Where you go mommy?"

"I went to a meeting sweetheart." 

"What's your for meeting?" (Translation: what was the meeting for?)

"Well,"  I thought for a moment.  I love her curiosity and the way I can hold her attention sometimes while she waits for answers she sincerely wants.  I kneel down and give her a light squeeze. 

"What's your for meeting mommy?"  She asks again, still holding her found book in her chubby fingers.

"Hmm, well, it was about you." I know she will love this answer.  Her eyes light up and she runs away happily, knowing that I was gone for two hours having an important meeting about her.  (Three year-old narcissism is perfectly healthy.)

Of course the meeting I went to wasn't exactly about my little girl.  But it was.  It was about her, and her three brothers and even my handsome, babysitting husband who bravely battled 2 1/2 hours alone with all four kids so I could go to something that was important to me.  

I went to an event put on by a Utah group called Real Women Run.  The event was billed inviting  women to attend who were interested in holding public office or supporting a campaign or serving on a public board or commission.  I heard from past female lawmakers and women who have helped shape the public policy in Utah.

I came home with a lot of information and great ideas.  Women are a marginalized group.  We are over 1/2 the country, 1/2 the state of Utah, and yet, as elected representatives, women are vastly underrepresented. 

20/100.  For the 100 senators in Washington, 20 of them are women.

77/435.  Congresswomen: 77. Congressmen: 358.  

Women are not involved in politics and policy.  We need to be.  Before you stop reading and tell me that "politics isn't your thing," I want to leave you with a few numbers.

47 - Only 3 states besides ours have worse wage disparity between men and women.  Women earn less than men in Utah (and across the country) and 46 other states do a better job than we do in closing this earning gap.

50 - Every other state in the union spends more money per pupil on public education.  Every. Other. State.  We also have one of the largest student to teacher ratio in the country, yet we spend the least on our students.  Our teachers have the biggest classes and the least amount of money per classroom.  

50 - Utah is also dead last in the percentage of women who start, then graduate from college with a 4 year degree.

43 - Seven states have a worse percentage of women in the state legislature.

These numbers make me very uncomfortable.  As women, we are also mothers and wives and employees and business owners.  These unpleasant statistics affect all of us.  The type of problems that need solving require thoughtful men AND women.  We need a bigger voice.  To say that "politics isn't your thing" means letting someone else decide what kind of education your children will receive, how much (less) you'll get paid to do the same job as your male counterpart and how the state will spend your tax money.  (Schools?  Roads?  Parks? Giant ski gondolas?)   

Being "into politics" doesn't just have to be something that consumes your Facebook page every four years.  Being "into politics" means educating yourself on what is happening in your communities and knowing who you sent to the big building on the hill to draft bills that will become your laws.  

Women are leaders.  We are leaders in our homes.  We are leaders in our churches.  We are leaders in our communities and workplaces.  We need to make sure our voice is heard.  The seemingly boring legislation and political jargon that happens between lawmakers directly affects you and your families.

The apathy about our public officials and discourse has to end.  Get involved.  Care.  Vote.  Run for office on the municipal, county, state or federal level, whatever your political persuasion or ideals.  Get elected to your school board or city council. Also, the worst anecdote I heard tonight was this:

Candidate: So, who have you decided to vote for?

Utah Woman (more than one, according to the candidate): Well, my husband hasn't told me who we are voting for yet.

Ladies!!

You have your own mind.  Use it.  We've had plenty of healthy debate and votes for different political ideas in this house.  Democracy is a beautiful thing.  

What we debate and engage in now, will shape the future for the next generation.  And I believe we need more women at the table.

Here are a few links to put you on the train of getting involved:

Real Women Run website

How to find your elected state representative

For Utah residents - who represents you (scroll to bottom left)

RWR has another event in March for women interested in running or supporting a candidate.  It's like a boot camp and training day for getting involved.  Saturday, March 16th from 8:30am - 4:00pm.  You can register on their website.

The Utah League of Women Voters is also holding a training and orientation for anyone interested in how state legislation works.  Monday, January 28th, noon, in the capitol and later that night at the Salt Lake City Main Library.  A new session is about to start, keep up on what kind of law making is going down.  More information on their website here.

Look at all those resources I gave you!  Don't you feel informed and full or power?  Full of potential?  Now go help make the world a better place for those you love.  Then come home and tell them you were in a meeting about them.

Your voice matters and your voice counts.  Use it.      

    

Spencer's Birth Story: Part I

I've thought about and tried to write this in my head about a hundred times.  Writer's block is a real thing folks.  Even if it means you are being blocked by other (seemingly) pressing things going on in your life.  Blocked by a baby and 3 wildly entertaining and needy toddlers is the most recent thing that comes to mind.

So I'm just going to start telling the story of how my 4th baby was born.  I'm just going to put it out there.  I may not even proofread or speel check. I'm not even going to blog about my three wildly entertaining and needy toddlers turning three.  Their birthday is always something to write about and celebrate. However, if I go one more blog post without talking about child #4, he might begin to feel like a footnote.  Which he's not.

So, without further ado or spilling of my subconscious mind, the story of when Spencer as born...

"So what did you decide?"

My doctor asks me this on a Wednesday afternoon.  I'm 39 weeks pregnant and it's the first appointment that Chris has come with me.

I look at my handsome partner and he smiles, we both know we're going to have a baby that day.  At least that's what we thought.  After all, my body had actually labored before with the triplets, so the second time around is speedy and quick, right?  Baby comes out like it's got somewhere to be? Plus, with ALL my hypnobirthing training I had done over the past 4 months, surely this would be the most beautiful and most perfect birth in the history of all births.   That's what we had anticipated.  At least I had.  I never would have predicted that nearly 24 hours later I would be in a surgical room, with a team prepped in masks and gloves hovering around me.

"Yes."  I answer confidently.  "We want to have this baby today."

A week prior, my doctor had given me the option of induction.  The baby was measuring big and had even earned the term macrosomia.  

{neonatal macrosomia (n) : a baby that is measuring large for its gestational age.}

And he was big.  I had a handful of doctors and nurses after they saw him ask me if I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. (I wasn't.)

So the baby was measuring big, and I had stressed with my doctor that I did NOT want a c-section this time around.  I wanted as close to natural as I could get within the confines of being comfortably safe in one of the best hospitals in the state.  In my laser focus of not wanting a c-section, I focused on the macro-thingy and worried the baby would be too big and not come the way I planned and all that planning and hoping about channeling mother nature herself in the birthing room would be a pipe dream.  So focused on NOT having a c-section that I didn't look too deeply into the effects of pitocin and what exactly an induction meant for me.    

I think part of the reason I have been so reluctant to share the entire birth story is because I feel responsible for how things turned out.  I naively thought I would be given something to "get me started" then my body would just do it's thing and I'd pop that little critter right out!  

Also, my older kids have been on a routine and schedule since the day all three of them were home from the hospital.  We live and die by a routine around here.  So the lure and temptation of being able to plan when the help was going to be with them was too much.  Too much I tell you!

So I decided to go ahead with the induction.  And I can't even type the phrase "against my better judgement" after that.  Because I really did think I was doing the right thing.  It felt right.

So we were shown to a room in the delivery unit and the nurse began my check in process.  I had brought along my birth plan and told her I wanted to go over it with her.  I look back and wonder what she was thinking, right before I was to be induced, when I told her I wanted NO talk of pain, or pain scales or asking me if I was in pain etc, etc.  Because, after all, this was part of my master plan.

So around 5:30, I gowned up and was given the drip.  This was it.  I would surely have a baby that night.  I was dilated to a two and 75% effaced.  I made a big deal about wanting the "big" delivery room that was shown to me on a tour a few weeks back.  It was unavailable when they checked me in, but on one of my hallway strolls, I noticed it was clean and ready for a new momma, so the nurse was nice to let me switch rooms.

I decided to walk and walk and walk during the first few hours to help things along.  I wish the unit was bigger because at around 9pm or so, I think I just looked crazy.  There's that insane woman who is hooked up to a pitocin drip and thinks she's going to have a pain-free birth. Is what I now imagine the entire staff was thinking every time I walked by the front desk with my rolling IV stand.

Around 8pm the anesthesiologist came in to see when I wanted my epidural.  He wanted to go over the side effects and risks at that moment so we wouldn't have to waste time later when I needed it.  I assured him I would not need an epidural and hence, no explanation of side effects or the like.  I told him I had been planning this drug-free birth and I felt fine so far and was completely confident I would never need to see him again.

He smiled, told me that was great, but wanted to do it anyway.  I sent him away with a smile.  NO talking about pain, and he was the representative of pain.  He was of course professional, told me he would be there until midnight and to call if I changed my mind.  I told him I would (which I definitely wasn't) and thanked him for coming by.

Three hours later, I was checked and to my surprise and disappointment, I was only at a 4.  Do you know how much walking I did?  Remember I had that flipping drug pumping through my veins?  My doc wanted to break my water, he felt like the baby needed some encouragement.  It had been too long.  Ok, how bad could that be?  I felt like I was doing an ACE job with my hypnobirthing training, because every contraction up to that point was manageable.  I successfully breathed through every one and they were strong and regular, regular, regular.  I felt like I was laboring how I envisioned.

Then my doctor broke my water.

Something happened that I don't know how to adequately put into words, but I'll try.

Before my water broke I was a whole, competent, strong, laboring woman.

After my water broke, my contractions went from manageable (after all, I was a competent, strong, laboring woman) to I think it would've been better if I was born a man.

With my hypnobirthing training, I was taught how to breath through each contraction.  The breath starts with a big belly breath as you visualize the breath traveling from the top of your head all the way down through your toes.

The very next contraction I had after my water broke, I started to inhale for that big belly breath.  I coughed and sputtered.  I couldn't even take breath in, the pain (THE PAIN!  I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO TALK OR THINK ABOUT PAIN, BUT IT WAS PAAAAAAAAAAAIN!)  was so intense.

All I could do is double over and wait for the contraction to end.  The breathing, the visualization, my happy place, all went out the window.  I was a little shocked and tried to recover for the next one.  Ok, I told myself, that was bad, but I guess I wasn't ready.  Focus Kara, here comes the next one.  You got this...

Two minutes later it hit again.  Another contraction.

And I was ready and focused.  And I ended up on the floor, doubled over with pain, gasping at what was happening to my body.

The nurse was there, as was my husband (he was looking alarmed) and she asked what I wanted to do.  (Bless her heart, she remember my blasted birth plan and request to not talk about pain.)

I said I wanted to see what the next one felt like and wait it out.  I couldn't throw months of planning out the window!  Between these immense surges of absolute agony, I would gear up and prep myself to breath and visualize--I can do this.  

I think I went through five or six of these.   I automatically doubled over and squeaked incoherent syllable every single time. Chris kindly suggested it would be ok to take something.  He told me there was no shame in abandoning my plan and calling the anesthesiologist.  (He would have the best secret eye roll ever, huh?)

I was beginning to be absolutely terrified for the next contraction instead of welcoming and embracing it as I had prepared to do.  I mean I was mortified that I would need many more of these to get this baby here.  I physically couldn't do it.  A girl has her limits.  So, 15 minutes before he told me he would be leaving the hospital, they called the man, whom I told I wouldn't need his services, thank you very much.

He came, and with a hint of annoyance, told me he had to go over the side effects and possible complications of having an epidural.  I nodded, assented, agreed, whatever I needed to do to make the pain stop.

Between contractions, I was able to joke with him about our conversation earlier.  He then gave me a staggering statistic.  I'm sure it was just something he pulled from the air as a generalization, not an actual statistic, but still.  He told me he wasn't surprised he was back in my room because 99% of women that are induced with pitocin end up needing an epidural.  He had seen very few women be able to labor on pitocin without pain medication.

Are you *bleeping* kidding me?  What?  How did I not know this?  Do you know how much stinking reading and research and classes I participated in?  How did this not come up?  How did I not know this or overlook it or NOT know this was the case?  I'm sure a large percentage of you are reading this, shaking your head and thinking, duh!  What did you expect?  But this is my story.  It's all truth.

As I felt the cold medication enter my back, I felt relieved, and stupid and comforted and disappointed.  It was a weird moment.  But here we were.  The only thing that had gone as planned was my initial refusal of pain medication and the room I requested.

But since these contractions felt so strong, surely the baby would be here soon.   Right?  Right?!



Next time....

You do remember you're here to have a baby, right?  Or, here, go ahead and grab this gymnastics bar we found and give us a few pushes.  

And To All a Good Night

Twas a few days before Christmas and all through the house, the children were all noisy and mom wished they were a little more quiet, like a mouse.

The stockings were tucked in the closet with care, because if they were hung by the chimney, the kids wouldn't leave them there.

Mom was all nestled and snug in her bed, until she realized she was day dreaming and was changing 4 stinky diapers instead.

And there in the play room, there's always some chatter, happy laughs and tears too, mom always asking, "what's the matter?"

But even with the chaos, and the commotion, we pause to take time and remember Christ and his mission.

A tiny baby was born in a stable long ago, and we celebrate each year the love that we know.  

He brought with him peace, a new way to live; treat each other with kindness and of yourself always give.

So on Christmas we give gifts and sing Silent Night.  We are like the Wisemen who followed the Light.   

Merry Christmas friends, wishing you the best this time of year.

Dear Children

Over the years, I've often been asked, "why do you write?"  

I write because sometimes my mind becomes a cluttered, jumbled mess of emotions, thoughts and expressions that find a home in the form of sentences and complete paragraphs.  I write to quiet a crying heart and bring her peace.  I write because there is healing in expression.

I write because sometimes saying the words with your tongue is too loud for the quiet, solemn moments in which you find yourself.  

With that said, I wrote a letter today.

Dear Children,

My heart is still broken and a little dark from the tragedy that befell you Friday.  I often have to stop my mind from thinking about the details and have not watched the news one time since I read the brief article about what transpired.  It's too much for my mother heart.

The pain your parents must be experiencing from your all too soon departure is something I cannot begin to imagine, and if I try, my mind and heart becomes heavy once more and I have to remind myself to breathe.  Circumstances do not allow me to speak to them or personally share in their mourning.  Because I am mourning.

I don't imagine there will ever be an appropriate time to share my own thoughts and feelings with each of your heartbroken parents, but I would like to share the change that has taken place in me over the last few days.

I write this letter with my own darling baby sitting next to me, cooing and bubbling.  I have four babies actually.  Three of them aren't really babies anymore, but I bet more than one of you were still called baby by your mom or dad once in a while.

When I read how quickly and how many of you left this earth, my own little ones were having their afternoon nap.  The house was still and I was alone. I was relieved, because I could not weep quietly over what happened.  Losing you of course, seemed so senseless, evil and wrong.  But I also wept for those you left behind.  Those left behind don't get a chance to sit on Jesus' lap, (as I'm sure you have) so he can wipe tears and soothe the pain.  Those left behind still have to wait to see that benevolent face that greeted you.  I wept for you.  And I wept for them.

While still staring blankly at the news story, one of my toddlers woke up suddenly from his nap.  He had a bad dream.  I tip toed out of the room with him in my arms, while his brother and sister slept.  He was still in that foggy place between sleep and awake as I sat on the couch and kissed his soft, red hair.   We were both quiet and he never noticed that my tears continued to fall, quietly this time.

When he was ready, he asked me to read a book with him.  I wiped my tears, gave him a big hug and told him I would love to.  We read a few of his favorite books about tractors, trucks and a things found on a farm.  The dishes, laundry, and regular messes of our day sat all around us.  Things I would usually try and get done while more than 2 kids were napping.  But I didn't care.  It was a tender moment that I wanted to last forever.

It will in no way begin to heal their still bleeding hearts from missing you, but maybe one day your parents will know the resolve that took place in my very bones to show my children how much I love them.  Hugs, kisses, kind words, story time, block playing, puzzles, more patience during tantrums, mac and cheese for dinner once in a while and a happy, grateful mom will hopefully be a few ways they notice how much they are cherished in this home.  How special they are.  How much I love them.

And maybe one day, if it's ever appropriate, your parents will know the strength I gathered to determine to be more caring, more loving and more Christlike to everyone around me.  Those I don't agree with as well as those I do.  Those who aren't kind and those who are.  Love One Another -- not just a nice thing to say, but something I do with a fervent conviction.

Lessons I don't have to tell you of course.  Jesus wants us to be more like you because children already know and practice these lessons of love and tolerance.  I need to take better notes from my own children on these matters.

My personal thoughts and resolutions are insignificant in comparison to those that knew you best.  But I wanted to share my heart.  It has been broken more than once before this tragedy for various reasons, but each time it does, I look to the Light.  The Christ who held you in his arms the day you left here.

The One who makes all things calm.  All things bright.

Merry Christmas little ones.

Love, Kara

Our Tree

I wrote this post last year about Christmas and the trap one might fall into when comparing your own celebrations, traditions and decorations to everything else out there.  I called it the Martha Stewart Syndrome, or MSS.

I'm happy to report that this year, I have not yet let MSS into my life.  Do I still want that giant, flocked, 8ft tree with matching blue glass ornaments and silver bells someday?  Of course.  But this isn't our season for such things.  I have three toddlers and a baby.  This is our season for finding magic is paper chains and foam figured nativity sets found at the craft store.

And of course, every Christmas season is about the Savior.  I'm trying to teach my little ones that.  It's their first year of really getting what Santa Clause is all about.  And instead of trying to fight the whole Jesus/Santa debate, I think they go rather nicely hand in hand.  Forgive me if any reader finds this blasphemous, but a kind man who gives gifts to children out the kindness of his heart definitely has some Christian qualities about him.  So we are going to focus on the kindness of the season and how we should also be kind, like Jesus. (And Santa, I guess.)

So, in honor of my Christmas with toddlers, I'll share with you one of our activities.

We have this beautiful, real tree in our home this year.  It's large and lovely and my heart was so happy when we strapped it to the roof of our car.

We got out about 1/8 of the ornaments I have in boxes.  It's just too tempting for little hands to not touch all the little hanging wonders.  And by the time they finally learn to REALLY leave the ornaments on the tree, we could have some causalities.  So, we are making a few of our own decorations.

The paper chain!  I had plans to do this one and imagined cutting out strips of construction paper. Because last time I made a paper chain, in my 3rd grade class, I'm pretty sure this was our method.  But I found this great thing called Lickety Strips.  So much easier.

The boys worked on it for about 4 minutes, and Sunny was focused for a good 20.  It's been on ongoing project.  The paper came in pre-cut strips and you simply lick the back in order for it to stick together.  Easy peasy!  Perfect for my little elves.

We'll add a little something each week, and on Christmas Eve, we'll add the star.  Did you know in Germany, the parents decorate the entire tree Christmas Eve and it's a lovely, beautiful surprise for their little leiblings.

What are your favorite toddler friendly Christmas activities?

Oh, Hello

What do you do when you haven't visited your blog in six weeks?

Photo DUMP!  How else would I catch you up on all that we've been doing?

Halloween, two feet of snow, walks with daddy, baby smiles, wondering what the heck is going on with hair on a day to day basis, saying goodbye to my missionary brother, grateful hearts, lots of family time, love, tantrums and naps.  Plus some other stuff.  Our lives are just as crazy, chaotic and wonderful as you would imagine a house full of 3 toddlers and a 4 month old would be.

There!  Now you know everything.  On to December and everything that comes with it. Cheers all.