Losing Javi

Last week, the unthinkable happened. Friends of ours lost their young son in a choking accident. He was 23 months old and was giggling with his sister when a carrot lodged in his throat. The obstruction couldn’t be removed in time and Javi’s short time with us came to an abrupt end. 

Javi’s celebration of life was yesterday at a church in the neighborhood. At the service, New Orleans style jazz musicians dictated our emotions with their songs. Some upbeat and celebratory, others reminding me of a Dixieland funeral procession. The pastor offered words of comfort. She said Javi’s spirit lives on in our memories of him. She reminded us that Javi was able to save three people’s lives through his organ donations. His heart beats on in the body of another child. Amazing Grace filled the church during communion, overwhelming us with sadness. Javi’s mom sobbed at the front of the church.

Sidewalks in front of the church decorated to honor Javi. 

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried over these past ten days. I keep referring back to Javi's GoFundMe page to read the story and look at photos again and again. Some days have been harder than others. One day, I cried publicly at work. The next, I tried to not think of Javi as much in an effort to be more productive. As a result, an odd thing happened. I missed the grief. In my grief, I was a better person. More appreciative. More patient. More present. Sure it was more painful, but grief is meant to be felt, not ignored. I expect it will fade with time, but I am in no hurry to give up this grief and the awareness that comes along with it. Awareness of the things that matter and the things that truly don’t. 

Last night, after we put the kids to bed, Chris asked me, “Why is this so hard? I didn’t know Javi well, but it’s so, so hard.” I’ve wondered the same over these last ten days as I’ve struggled with emotions. Here’s what I’ve come up with: 

It’s hard because he was a child. 

It’s hard because he must’ve been so scared. 

It’s hard because we have children. 

It’s hard because our family dynamic is the same as theirs – we also have three children. 

It’s hard because this is real life. Not someone else’s friends, but our friends. People we know. Who live in our neighborhood. Who have been to our house and who have played with our kids. 

It’s hard because they’re just like us. 

It’s hard because Javi and our boys resemble each other – brown eyes and hair, big cheeks, and super adorable. 

It’s hard because this shouldn’t have happened. 

How could it be anything but hard?

I cannot imagine the grief and sorrow Javi’s parents and sisters are enduring right now. It’s surprisingly difficult for me and I am an outsider. They are living it. Yesterday, I noticed how strong they were to welcome and receive friends and family at church. Everybody wants to offer support and comfort knowing full well there is no cheering up from this. There is only moving on. 

In honor of Javi, blue balloons and ribbons rose in tribute throughout community. I noticed them on the way home from swimming lessons yesterday and for the umpteenth time since Javi’s death, swelled with emotion. He touched so many people. Looking forward, I don’t think I’ll ever see a blue balloon and not think of sweet Javi. 

This Next New Year: 2016

This morning, I reflected on what might be realistic goals for this next new year: losing baby weight? keeping the house organized? running a distance race? having more fun? Violently interrupting my thoughts was my 3 year old puking all over the couch, much to the amusement of my 6 year old. It was a fitting metaphor for life right now: goals will be interrupted, kids come first, and sometimes you just have to laugh. 

Some of my goals are already in motion: raising 3 kind-hearted children, nursing my littlest through his first year, adjusting back into the work force. Each of these tasks is enormous, but perhaps overlooked because they are rooted in my values. Other goals will require more of a conscious effort, like drinking more water. Why is it so hard to drink enough water? I like water!

My biggest hope is to streamline life with three kids. No one told me three kids would be this hard.

Wait. Everyone did. 

Turns out everyone was right. Even with my easy peezy baby, it’s difficult to be a good parent to three kids. (Note: It’s easy to be a bad parent to three kids.) Though, despite all the chaos, exhaustion, and emotions, I feel content in a way that I never have before. I feel more joy than I ever have. The ridiculousness that comes up on a daily basis makes me so happy. “I farted the cheese” is never going to stop being funny. If the ridiculousness could have more order, we'd be in great shape. 

Ridiculousness

As I move into 2016 and consider goals, I see myself at the base of a very steep mountain. I’m not going to lie, it’s intimidating…in a pull-down-the-shades-and-pretend-no-one’s-home kind of way. But there’s nowhere to go but forward. No way to climb but up. My goal is to stay in it. 

As my friend Bruce likes to say, “Something will happen. It always does.”

Dear Daughter,

Dear Daughter, 

It’s the night before kindergarten. Technically, it’s the morning of kindergarten. 1:19 a.m. to be exact. You and I spent the day together. We dropped your brother off at daycare and went to the state fair in our long sleeves. It was a cool and glorious morning. Thankfully, I talked you out of the skirt you had on at home or you would have been chilly.

We had a blast going on rides and eating greasy foods. We rode the tilt-a-whirl together and it made Mommy very nauseous! Then you went on a bunch more rides by yourself. You’re such a big girl now! After the fair, we biked to the playground by Lake Harriet and played together on the rope ladders and slides. Then on the way home, we stopped at the Siri park and played even more! We ended our day with a quick fishing trip and you even caught a fish!

I cherished our time together today. The weather was gorgeous today and we made the most of it, spending almost all of it outside. I loved when you asked me to hold your things so that you could skip. At age five, you love skipping almost more than life.

Today was as much about me as it was about you. I needed the happy memories of spending this last day before kindergarten with you. Tomorrow is a big day and you’ll be a big girl. Kindergarten is the start of the rest of your life. From now on, it will be school, school, school until you leave us. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love school. Daddy has other feelings about it, but I love it and I know you’ll love it too. It’s just that I’m missing your little days. The days when we went to ECFE, went to music class, went to gym class, went to the Children’s Museum, stayed home and played, stayed home and watched movies, all the things we could do when you weren’t tied down to the rigidity of school. Your transition to kindergarten has been a big deal to me. I wasn’t expecting it, but it’s been emotional and I’ve cried about it more than a few times. You are my first baby and I’m a little hesitant to let you go. My girl is growing up. How can my baby girl be starting kindergarten? It seems like a minute ago, you were in the hospital bassinet.

Thank you for the gift of today’s memories: holding your hand while we walked, laughing together on rides, having deep and not-so-deep conversations, smiling at each other over and over again. It’s been a perfect day. You’re going to love kindergarten. I’m so excited for you. You will do great and I’m going to be happy for you. I can’t wait to hear all about your first day.

Love, 

Mom

Raising a Girl

I found out I was going to be the mother of a girl on the day of her birth in the summer of 2009.  Chris delivered the news to me while I lay on the operating table.  I was already queasy from being awake during surgery, but this news brought more uneasiness.  Girls are complicated, dramatic, and sensitive.  How on earth was I going to raise a daughter having not yet mastered the girly skills myself? 

As you can expect, I fell in love with my daughter immediately.  She was perfect and I was so excited to be her mom.  I loved cuddling her and dressing her in cute outfits.  We’d go for walks in the neighborhood and everyone would smile at us.  She was a happy girl and seemed to embrace life as a very young child. 

Now, at the age of four, I am still excited to be her mom.  She is brilliant, mischievous, curious, and beautiful.  Also at the age of four, her mental capacity is exploding.  What I wouldn’t give to see how her mind works!  She puzzles things out, like easy words.  She seems to understand death now, though she didn’t earlier this year when she attended her first funeral.  She is also becoming receptive to social influences.  She’s picking up a lot of behaviors from her peers, both good, bad, and ridiculous.  “G, why did you wear your winter coat and hat all day at Pre-K?”  “Because Jojo did.”  Sure.  That makes sense. 

My daughter is fast-approaching an age when it’s hard to be a girl.  I know.  I’ve lived it.  And it’s not pretty.  Right now, she’ll wrap herself in blankets and say she’s a princess.  She’ll beam because in her own eyes, she’s gorgeous.  Not too far from now, though, doubt will creep in.  Her confidence will wane as she spends even more time with her peers.  The thought of this causes me grief.  

I wish my daughter could keep the confidence of early youth always.  I hope she always knows that she’s smart and beautiful, caring and fun.  The best way I know to teach her confidence is to model it.  It’s not always genuine for me, but I’m sure trying. 

I would love to hear your ideas of how to teach or inspire confidence.   

Two Days til Chicago

In preparation for the marathon, I’ve been racking my brain trying to remember everything I can about running these ridiculous races.  Sure, I’ve done a few of these monsters before, but not recently.  I haven’t run any shorter races in quite a while, actually.  I opted not to run the Urban Wildland Half this summer because my heart wasn’t in it.  I didn’t have the fire back then that I do now.   But here we are, two days out, and this is what I know:

·         I will not sleep on Saturday night.  That’s a given.

·         Chris will be at my side from the expo on Saturday until he drops me off at the start corral on Sunday.  He will diffuse much of my crazy and he will smile the whole way through.   

·         My nerves are going to peak at about the time I leave the hotel on Sunday morning. 

·         Affirmations in the mirror go a long way, even if it’s in the porta-potty.  I now swear by this. 

·         My emotions, whatever they are, will explode in the minutes before the start.  They will then run the gamut over the following four hours. 

·         People make all the difference in the world.  They are life-lines in the game of running.  I’m thinking of Bruce and Victor waiting for me at the bus stop in Ashland, so we could all ride up to the start together.  I’m thinking of Mitch and his horn blaring at mile 17 of Twin Cities, pulling me in and pushing me onward.  I’m thinking of that woman who got me through a lot of early and middle miles at Whistlestop.  I never did get her name, but I owe her a lot.  I’m thinking of Taya and Alina who kept me company on a 15-miler when I missed the Club’s long run. I’m thinking of Susan, my pace buddy, who helped me get my speed back.  I’m thinking of Coach Red and his rambling emails of support.  He may be more invested in my success than I am.  I’m thinking of all the runners and supporters on Facebook who have provided me endless encouragement and entertainment.  I know some phenomenal people.  I bet I’ll meet even more in the next few days.

·         Conserving every bit of energy makes a difference over 26 miles.  Carrying gloves instead of wearing them spends too much.  Waving at spectators spends too much. 

·         At some point in the high teens, I will want to quit.  Something is going to hurt bad and maybe even make me hobble.  I will work through this. 

·         My mental state will break down more quickly than my physical state.  This amazes me at every race.  I always start out excited and ambitious, ready to take on the world.  Eventually, the tired takes over.  It renders me incapable of figuring out splits or any level of higher order thinking.  It turns me into a zombie.  Often, it makes me hate everything and everyone.  This is when it’s critical to have a positive mantra to repeat. 

·         It is possible to run one second faster per mile.  I will do this. 

·         I will cross the finish line and, if I left everything on the course, I will feel very sick.  At the same time, I will be distracted by my medal and my pride.  I will be grateful to be done. 

·         Chris will be waiting for me at the finish line, eager to take care of me. 

·         When the nausea fades, I will relish the marathon soreness I will feel.  It’s a soreness that’s earned and even appreciated.  It’s a badge of honor.

·         Sometime on Sunday evening, I will decide which race will be my Boston qualifier next year.      

Four Days til Chicago

I’m sitting in Kenosha with an entire day ahead of me.   In my regular life of Go! Go! Go!, it’s a bit unsettling to have this much time and nowhere to be.  Nothing to think about but marathon:  What will the weather be like?  What pace should I try?  Will the crowd be awe-inspiring or claustrophobic?  Is it possible to perform well in an enormous field?  How will I handle the hours of pre-race waiting in Grant Park?

I’ve been thinking about the race two different ways.  On one hand, it’s just a race.  I will run Chicago and I will finish it.  And much of it will be fun.  Getting to this point has been no small feat.  The training season has been packed full of emotion for me.  I can’t tell you how many Monday night runs this spring and summer were met with crippling guilt.  Or how many post-run highs were deflated by not seeing Baby before he went to sleep.  In the end, I know I made the right choices.  I have no regrets.  Still, this has been a new layer of training that I haven’t dealt with before.  And in light of that, a finish would be a big win. 

On the other hand, I feel like I have something to prove.  I managed to step away from the drama in the last several weeks and my training took off.  The peak of which was a steamy Monday night in mid-September.  Susan and I ran 5 miles at sub-marathon pace in 95 degree heat and 150 percent humidity.  We. Nailed. It.  I felt like a warrior after that.  Completely invincible.  I can do anything now.  I can run half mile repeats and continue to cross that line at the exact right second.  What a rush!

Admittedly, I’m chasing the ghost of my 32-year old self, a version of me that had 2 non-stop years of top-quality training behind her.  My 34-year old self has been training sporadically, sleeping a lot less, and juggling a lot more.  It’s not a fair fight by any means.  But I still have the same drive.  I still have the same ultimate goal.  And I know the difference a few seconds can make.

Bring it, Chicago.  I’ll be the underdog. 

The Still Point

I heard an interview of writer Emily Rapp on the radio back in March.  She was talking about her book, The Still Point of the Turning World.  You can read a review of it here.  The book was about her son, Ronan, who at nine months was diagnosed with Tay Sachs disease.  Tay Sachs is a fatal genetic disorder and its victims usually don’t live past the age of three.  As a mother of an eight-month old at the time, I was drawn to this story.  I immediately requested the book from the library and greedily dove in when I finally got my hands on it. 

Turns out I didn’t care much for the book.  I desperately wanted to hear about this mother’s personal accounts.  What did her son’s regression look like?  How did she care for her child while carrying such a heavy load of grief?  How did their world change?  She wrote about that minimally.  More often, she applied the situation to pieces of literature, like Shelley’s Frankenstein and other works by C.S. Lewis.  Even her title is taken from a T.S. Eliot poem.  The book reminded me of an advanced college essay.  I’m sure it was beautifully written for those who appreciate comparative literature.  I, however, am not a literary type.  I write stream-of-consciousness blogs and say things like “Turns out.”  So I struggled with the book, staring at it as it sat on my nightstand while overdue fines compounded. 

I gave up the battle and returned the book to the library unfinished.  Still, not a day goes by when I don’t think about that story.  Not for the book itself, but for the experience it represented.  The point that forced me to open my mind was how future-oriented parenting is.  Everything we do as parents is for the betterment of our children’s future.  Everything.  We water down their juice so they don’t go crazy in 15 minutes, or so they don’t get cavities, or so they don’t get fat.  We read to them every day to improve their academic achievement.  We limit their screen time so they don’t become zombies.  Ronan wasn’t ever going to go to school.  He would never learn to read.  Everything he did gave him instant gratification and nothing more.  He lived in the moment.  He played blocks not to improve his visual-spatial skills, but because it’s fun as hell to play blocks when you’re a baby. 

I think about this idea a lot.  The idea of now instead of years from now.  It’s really hard to get my head around parenting without considering the future.  When I watch cartoons with my daughter at bedtime instead of reading books to her, the guilt threatens.  But I’ve decided that it’s okay.  It’s how we live in the moment.  And it’s fun as hell to watch cartoons curled up in a blanket with my little girl.  

A Different Kind of Training

It’s time to start training again.  After a year plagued with pregnancy, broken bones, and relocation, it is time to get back to it.  I haven’t trained . . . I mean really trained . . . in about 18 months and Chicago Marathon is looming a mere 4 months down the road.  Sure I’ve been running.  Occasionally.  But right now, I need to train.  Consistently.  Maintaining consistency is the hardest part of running these days. 

For the past couple of months, my runs have been placeholders.  I show up at club and go for a run, but don’t always do the workout.  I’m trying to keep up the routine of running, even if I’m not doing all the work.  On Thursday mornings, the alarm goes off at 4 a.m. so I can get a run in before Chris leaves for work.  I both love and hate these early morning runs.  4 a.m. frigging sucks.  But after peeling myself out of bed, it’s not so bad.  5 minutes into the run, I’m in a good place.  Getting back home at 7 a.m. with 8 miles under my belt is pure elation.  It makes for a very good day. 

What I learned in my placeholder runs is that everything needs to be planned if running is going to fit into my life.  I've found 3 very specific times in my week that work for running:  Monday night with the club, Thursdays crazy early, and Saturday morning with the club again for longer miles.  I have reasons that conflict with every other time you might suggest.  Go ahead.  Test me.  When I say everything has to be planned, I am not kidding.  On Mondays, I bring my running clothes to work, I bring an extra snack to fuel up before club, I bring an extra set of bottles with my breast pump because yes, I am still a nursing mother.  If I drop the ball on Monday morning, there goes my Monday night run and I’m out of luck until Thursday.  Same holds true if I stay up late on Wednesday nights.  4 a.m. comes awfully quick. 

It’s been about two weeks since I’ve been out on a run.  I’ve been tied up with packing and moving.  (On a side note, if you can avoid moving when you have small children, I recommend it. We can’t keep up with Daughter’s pace of unpacking and Son puts everything he can reach into his mouth!  Bad combination.)  Up until that point, I was doing a fairly good job juggling work, kids, and running.  The monkey wrench of moving tripped me up, though.  Something had to fall and it wasn’t going to be my awesome job or my loving family.  Now that we’re a little settled in our new digs, I’m ready to start fresh again.  Chicago Marathon is coming up and I’m eager to take on this challenge.  However, training will look very different this time around than it did for my previous 3 marathons.  Training is more than running.  Every decision I can make to improve my performance at Chicago will be weighed carefully.  Little things qualify for training, like how much water I drink.  Choosing to skip dessert – that’s training.  Getting to bed a decent hour, getting the dishes washed and keeping the house clean to make life easier on the rest of my family when I’m out running, being present when I’m with my kids to alleviate the inevitable guilt I feel while I’m away.  This is all training.  It’s a new kind of training.  I haven’t perfected it yet.  It’s pretty damn hard, really.  But it’s still the beginning.  I want all these things in my life and I’m ready to try.  What else is there to do? 

I didn’t run a single step today.  But I did fill up my water bottle 6 times.  I got a 3 minute ab workout in before work.  I skipped dessert.  I did the dishes.  I got a good amount of walking in.  I gave Daughter a bath and had great conversations with her.  I crawled around with Son on the floor and giggled with him.  Add it all up and it was a very good day of training.  

Battles Won & Lost

When I taught summer camps at Como Zoo in 2003, I befriended one of the interns.  Rachel and I became fast friends and were a good match in our young single days.  We did all kinds of girly things together:  movies, shopping, dinners out.  I’d say our most successful outing was a Bruce Springsteen concert.  He was performing a one man show at the Northrup Auditorium.  To this day, it’s still the best show I’ve ever seen . . . by leaps and bounds.   

Rachel dated Ross for the whole time we have been friends.  They married in 2004 and danced their first dance to The Luckiest by Ben Folds.   It was a beautiful celebration.  As they started their new life together, they met the challenges of making ends meet.  Rachel was in graduate school and worked as much as she could.  Ross worked second shift and got home in the wee hours of the morning.  The time they had to spend together was extremely limited.  Even so, they made it work and they were very happy in their relationship.  The little time they could spend together was treasured.

Rachel and Ross

In January 2011, at the age of 35, Ross was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia.   It was right at the time that this happy couple was planning to start a family.  As cancer does, it ebbed and flowed.  It got bad and then it got a lot better.   Cancer is such a trickster.  It gives the false hope of overcoming the disease and then it strikes back even worse.  It’s a horror story that you can never escape once you’re afflicted.   Even in remission, it changes the way you live and it always makes you wonder if, how, and when it’s going to attack next. 

Ross was in remission for a while.   He suffered bone loss from his treatments that would be a permanent hardship in his life, but the disease itself was gone.  Or so we thought.  Last fall, things got bad again and the recommended course of action was a bone marrow transplant.  Thankfully a match was found and Ross received the transplant in January.  As of today, he’s been in the hospital for over two months in preparation for the transplant and then recovering from it.  During that time, Rachel had medical issues of her own that required surgical attention.  The stress in their life was compounding.  You can imagine getting by on one income and accumulating infinite medical bills.  To add to that, Rachel recently started a new job and has not yet worked there long enough to be eligible for FMLA time off.   Not only was her husband critically ill, but she had to keep working to maintain the medical benefits. 

Hanging out at the hospital

Then last week happened.  Last week, Ross was admitted to the ICU because his kidneys were failing and he wasn’t breathing well.  He was put on a ventilator and started dialysis, all while trying to replenish his white blood cell count.  It got really bad and Rachel thought she might lose Ross.  We all thought she might.  Here is a post she shared with close friends: 

Day 3 ICU: Ross will have dialysis again today. His weight was 240lbs (normally 185lbs) He was able to get his weight down to 230 with dialysis. The extra weight off will make breathing a little better and hopefully help lungs overall too. He is using 65% oxygen which is better than the 100% he was using on Monday. He had a feeding tube put in yesterday so he can get better nutrition. He is on an anti-viral for a virus that is still in his bone marrow. There are 5 different teams of doctors working on him, and overall the gist is that the Primary is the BMT- his cells need to work on growing (which is hard- his white blood cells are not getting higher, they are getting lower) and beating this disease, and helping his body function and the Secondary is his lungs and kidneys. He has a extremely rough, tough, ugly road ahead of him. These past few and next few days will ultimately determine his survival, which is scary as hell. He cannot talk due to the intubation, and only opens his eyes for a few seconds a couple times a day. (he is on pain meds to help sedate him) This is something no one can prepare you for. I am fearful of losing my beloved at any second, yet am creating ITunes lists to play for him in the room, praying, watching Hulu tv, sleeping in a chair in his room every night and staying by his side. Please pray and support us! Sincerely, Rachel

Ross fighting as hard as ever

As of today, Ross is improving.  He had several days of uncertainty followed by a boom in his white blood cell growth.  His tube was removed and Ross continues to recover and even communicate with his wife and family. 

My way of supporting them is sharing their story with you.  You can read about Ross and Rachel’s journey at their caring bridge site:  http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/rossproctor/journal/2/createdAt/asc

If you’re inclined to help them out, here is a donation page:

http://www.giveforward.com/teamrossletskickcancer

I can say now that I’m confident in Ross’s survival.  He has a long, long journey of recovery ahead of him, but Rachel and Ross are fighters.  They will do everything possible to get back to a normal life. 

    

I wish I could say the same for my uncle.  As I type, my uncle is losing his battle with cancer back in Kenosha.   Last Friday, the nurses gave him a day or two to live.  He received his last rights from the priest and has had friends and neighbors stopping in to say goodbye.  He’s holding on longer than we all expected, but he won’t make it long enough to see another spring.  Like so many before him, he is going through the last dance of cancer. 

I thought of my uncle on my run last weekend.  I came upon the Mississippi River and I wondered if he was alive still.  There is bound to be some lag between when it happens and when I find out about it since I’m not there.  Crossing the river felt momentous and I thought maybe he had crossed over as well.  But that wasn’t the case.   I keep expecting that I will just know when it happens . . . that the air will shift or an image of him will flare through my conscience. 

The night before my Aunt Silvanna died, a woman that was identical to her in shape, voice, and mannerisms visited my work.  The resemblance was unbelievable.  I talked to her for a long time – mostly because she reminded me of the healthy version of Silvanna.  The Silvanna of my youth.    

While I keep waiting to feel Uncle’s passing, I don’t want him to go.  I already miss him.  I hope he finds peace in his last few hours.  With everything I have, I wish him peace.   

Bob's Grandview

There’s this bar in Kenosha on 39^th Avenue.  It’s a real dive bar that is classic Kenosha and it’s one of my favorite places in town.  The physical bar takes up 90% of the establishment.  They serve Old Style in a can for dirt cheap.  It makes me very happy. 

I love this bar because it’s where my cousins get together whenever we’re all in town.  It doesn’t happen too often, but for family weddings and that sort of thing, we pack the place.  It’s good fun to spend time with my cousins.  It reminds me of my youth and I laugh more with them then I do in any other group of people. 

We were introduced to the bar by my uncle.  Back when I was little, Grandma & Grandpa’s was the gathering place for my 12 aunts and uncles, my 15 cousins, and my immediate family.  Uncle used to leave Grandma & Grandpa’s house a little early on Friday nights so he could go out to the bar.  I couldn’t imagine what kind of place he would be going to when I was a grade-schooler.  Bars were a mystery back then.  And drinking was something my extended family rarely did. 

Since he has a son who is exactly my age, Uncle experienced first-hand most of my major youth events:  CCD classes, first communion, birthday parties, working at church festivals, 9^th grade dance, high school football, graduation, and tons more.  When I came of age, he welcomed me into the splendor of Bob’s Grandview.  I didn’t have the know-it-all to appreciate its dive-y-ness as a 21 year old college student.  But now I take comfort in its coziness and familiarity.  It feels a bit like home. 

I want to thank my uncle for introducing me to the finer things:  Good company.  Cheap beer.  The voicing of opinions.  He won’t be joining me on my next trip to Bob’s.  But his legacy will live on in my heart.   Always.  

Single Track

Trail running really puts me out of my comfort zone.  I don’t have a lot of experience with it and I have a high fear of falling.  When I run, I have a tendency to keep my feet really low, close to the pavement.  Trail running requires more lifting of the foot.  It’s something I have to think about constantly when I’m on the trails because it doesn’t come naturally. And I get distracted VERY easily.  So, I trip a lot.  Despite that, I was motivated to check out trails this weekend. 

My motivation comes from my new job at a nature center in Elm Creek Park Reserve.  I want to feel more closely connected to the park so I wanted to get out and explore some of the trails further away from the nature center.  With the help of another runner, I managed to convince my Minneapolis running club to check out Elm Creek, some 35 driving minutes northwest of our usual meeting spot.  The other runner put together a plan to run the entire course on a single track trail.  There were many loop options, so we had the option of running 3 miles or up to 11 miles without repeating any of the route.  For those of you who don’t know, single track pretty much means single file.  The course was actually a mountain bike course.  Lots of ups and downs and turns and variety.  No two steps were alike.  It’s as mentally challenging as it is physically. 

I found myself in a similar mindset to Monday night’s run . . . the one where I was concerned about running alone in the dark so I ran about as fast as I could to keep up with the group.  With single track, we all run in a line.  If I didn’t go fast enough, there would be a pile up.  Once again, I had to run faster than physically comfortable to be mentally comfortable in the group.  I tried to keep myself in the front half of our group of 15.  I didn’t want to feel like I was falling behind.  I was pushing hard and I could definitely feel it.   This might sound strange, but I’m not used to my legs being tired when I run.  On the trails, they’re stepping sideways, hopping over rocks and roots, ducking under branches, and Oh the hills!  Trail running is truly a different sport from road running. 

While I was running I kept having the frantic mindset of, “I can’t keep up!  I can’t keep up!  I’m going to fall!”  But at some point, I decided to conquer the mental game.  I changed my thinking to, “I can do this.  I AM doing this.  So what if I fall.”  On I trucked.  Turning right.  Turning left.  Ducking down.  Stepping over.    Swinging around tree trunks.  Over and over.  I eventually made it to the 8 mile turn around and felt a huge sense of relief.  What a workout!  I expected many of us would be heading back at this point, but it was only me and my friend Matt.  Things got a lot quieter as a pack of two.  We had a peaceful run back to the trailhead through the prairie and forest.  When I caught sight of the parking lot, I thought, “Already?”  Trail miles have the tendency to sneak by faster than you would realize.  At that moment, I wished I had pushed myself a little further outside of my comfort zone to finish the 11 mile loop.  It wasn’t until I stepped off of the trail that I realized I still had a lot more in me.  Those kinds of moments are both welcome and frustrating.  Welcome because I’m getting stronger.  That’s a glorious feeling in itself.  Frustrating because I missed out on a harder workout, especially because opportunities for me to run are unpredictable.  Now I know for next time.  I’ve got more in me than I think. 

I was grateful for the run.  Grateful to run with Coach Mitch again after his injury.  (I hadn’t seen him much lately.)  Grateful to be part of the pack again.  Grateful that the other runner had experience on these trails and had planned everything out.  Grateful to have Matt run with me back to the trailhead.  But mostly, grateful for pushing myself out of my comfort zone and gaining the confidence that comes whenever I do that.  

And I didn’t even fall.  

The Hardest Decisions

My parents came into town last week.  Their plan is to stay with us through Sunday and we are so grateful for the help.  It means we can do things like sleep through the 2 a.m. feeding while my mom takes care of it.  It means we don’t have to be up at the crack of dawn with Daughter because my dad is an early riser. 

When I realized the advantage of having extra adults around, I immediately thought of running.  In the last several weeks, my running has been sparse.  I’ve been trying to nail down my family’s work-daycare-commuting-bedtime routine before trying to fit running back into my life.  (I can’t help but think about how ridiculous it seems that we would have a routine.  We are soooooo far away from that.)  Unless there are extra adults in my household, running is rarely an option.   

I took a few minutes on Sunday to plan a week of workouts since we had the help this week:  Leave work a little early on Monday so I can run with the club; go to body pump Tuesday morning while Daughter is at preschool (didn’t have to bring the baby with me); enjoy Halloween on Wednesday with my family; run in the afternoon on Thursday; and then catch up with the club again on Saturday morning.  It seemed easy enough and completely realistic.

And then came Monday, a whirlwind day at work.  The kind of day that offers a 5 minute lunch and 5 minutes to pump.  I didn’t leave work as early as I was hoping and raced home as best as I could in rush hour traffic.  (The drive home is almost an hour.)  I really wanted to run and I was anxious to meet the club.  My motivation was high. 

Until I walked in the door and picked up my baby boy.  How could I turn around and leave him again when I’d been gone all day?  And for something as selfish as running.  I was immediately overwhelmed with emotions.  Sad about not spending the day with him.  Conflicted about being a working mom.  But most of all, frustrated that I can’t fit all the things I want into my life.  So damn frustrated. 

I went upstairs to pump, but while I was up there, I decided that it would be ridiculous to run.  My family needs me.  My baby will only be little for a short while.  Chris got home and I talked it through with him.  I told him I can’t win, but I should err on the side of my family.  I will be upset no matter what I choose.  I imagined the tears streaking down my face while I was out running because I wasn’t home with my family.  At the same time I imagined being crabby and miserable because I missed a run yet again. 

In the end, I decided to run, since I had planned on it.  As much as I didn’t want to, I was going to follow through with my plan.  In that moment, I hated myself for it.  It’s the age old dilemma of parents.  Where do you draw the line between doing what’s best for yourself vs. doing what’s best for your kids?  If you have an answer, I’d love to hear it. 

So off to running club I went.  I got there a few minutes late and ended up following some of my old pace group, a group I haven’t run with in ages because I’m a lot slower than them these days.  What’s not-so-fun about running club this time of year is that it’s dark.  I very soon realized that if I couldn’t keep up with them, I’d be running alone in the dark.  So I hauled ass.  I ran with Bruce for a while and listened to him talking with another runner.  I, however, was unable to speak.  I was sucking wind the whole time.  My entire warm-up was a crazy fast pick-up.  But I did it.  I stuck with the group.   When we got to the Tyrol hill loops, I took off ahead of the group while they were getting situated.  I figured they would be passing me very shortly, so my plan was to prolong that.  What ended up happening was unexpected.  I ended up running alone in the dark AHEAD of my group.  I can’t explain why they didn’t catch me.  I suspect they were all running extra slow for my benefit, but they denied this.  I ended up running all three loops alone and I loved it.  I was running.  I wasn’t getting passed.  I felt great.  Euphoric, even.  I can easily say it was my best run of the year because the improvement was tangible.   I’m running faster than I did a couple weeks ago.  It was awesome. 

I was still flying high on endorphins when I got home.  When I walked through the door, though, I fell all the way down from that high.  It was 7:30 and Baby was already in bed for the night.  In the entire day, I spent less than an hour with him.  My heart broke immediately.  How could I be so selfish?  How is this ever going to work?

I still don’t know how to make it work.  I’ll get my workouts in when I can here or there, but there will be no routine to speak of for a long while.  Not while sleep is so unpredictable for all of us.  I never even got to tell Chris about my awesome run or how I kept up with my old pace group.  When he reads it here, it’ll be the first time he hears about it.  Life is still pretty hectic for us.  We’re doing okay, but a lot of the time, I feel like we’re just barely getting by. 

And the one take-away thought I’m keeping with me from Monday’s experience:  Working moms can’t have it all.  We just can’t.  Something has to give at all times, whether it’s the quality of our work or the quality of time spent with our family.  And that doesn’t even include time for ourselves.  Time for running.  Time for having a date with our husbands.  Or even time to tell partners about our days.  

It's Okay

I have a new mantra:

“It’s okay.” 

I tell this to myself this at least a hundred times a day and it calms me down.  At least for a second.

When I forget to restock the diaper bag and the only thing Baby has after his blowout is a clean diaper and some of Daughter’s socks to wear as pants . . .

It’s okay.

When I try to get to bed immediately after Daughter’s bedtime so I can get 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep before Baby wakes up, but then remember that Baby is out of clean bibs and laundry can’t wait, and the sink is still full of dishes and Daughter needs a nice family photo to bring to school tomorrow and Crap!  I haven’t pumped yet and there are no clean bottles . . .

It’s okay.

When it’s the first day back at work at a facility I’ve never worked at before and I miss Baby like crazy and it’s the same day my mom is having surgery . . .

It’s okay.

When I can’t get out for the walk around the lake that I was really hoping to get in since it was such a nice day out . . .

It’s okay.

When I keep running out of time to eat because all of the sudden I’ve become a soccer mom . . .

It’s okay. 

When the weight doesn’t come off as fast as I was hoping, but at least it’s coming off . . .

It’s okay. 

When the guilt weighs me down as I race out the door to get to running club, leaving Chris alone with the kids at their neediest time of day . . .

It’s okay. 

When I realize just how much time and work it will take to run well again . . .

It’s okay. 

When I can’t find the time to get rid of the dead plants that have been sitting on the counter for 2 months, or to pick up the mound of clothes that have accumulated on my desk chair, or to send in the registration form for the MNA conference, or to order birth announcements, or reply to that email . . .

It’s okay. 

When I do find a block of free time and just stare at the TV instead of crossing anything off my to-do list . . .

It’s okay. 

When I wake up exhausted at 4 in the morning and realize I won’t get a chance to rest until after Daughter’s bedtime . . .

It’s okay. 

When I realize I’m just barely getting by, but also happier than I’ve ever been in my life . . .

It’s okay.

Goals

I need a goal. 

While I was walking around the lake today, I considered how my goals have changed over the past 6 months.  Actually, I considered what a friend told me back when I was still running.  It was something along the lines of:  You’re priorities will change after you have a second kid.  Running is not going to be important anymore.

My goal going into pregnancy was to run throughout, maybe even up to my due date.  I wanted to run the 5k at Urban Wildland that would be 2 weeks before my due date.  Then came the complication and I had to amend.  No more running.  My new goal was to walk as much as possible.  So I did.  Walking lasted about 6 weeks before I was put on bed rest.  On bedrest, there was no exercise allowed at all.  My goal evolved into: see how little you can move in a day.  And, Let’s see how long we can keep this baby in.  When it became apparent that the baby would be a preemie, my goal was for him to be as big as possible.  I willed him to be a big baby because I didn’t want him to have complications.  He ended up big at birth, coming in at 5 -9 at 34 weeks.  But he also had complications.  When he was in the incubator the day he was born, my goal was for him to get stronger and rely less on the forced oxygen.  My goal was for him to NOT have to be transferred to the other hospital.  The opposite happened.  Once at Children’s, I hoped he wouldn’t need a ventilator.  He did.  I spent the following days with the goal of him getting it taken out.  I think you get the idea. 

My goals used to be about me.  Then they shifted to be about my son.  Now that he’s healthy and getting older (5 weeks!), I can start to think about my goals again.  Where should I start?

There’s always Boston.  In the old days, it was only 27 seconds away.  Although, that was a different me.  And it seems too far away right now to be useful.  Sure I’ll keep it in the back of my mind for someday.  But for today, it’s abstract and intangible. 

As for half marathons and marathons, I really have no idea.  I’m sure I’ll run them again, but I’m not sure which ones.  Who knows what my goals will be when I do?  Coach says I shouldn’t compare my current self to my pre-pregnancy self.  I’ll try to keep an open mind. 

The only race I’m confident about is the Kenosha Turkey Day run.  There’s a 2 mile and a 10k option.  I figure I should at least be able to run 2 miles by Thanksgiving.  I’m really hoping, though, that I can make a light run of the 10k.  Finishing the 10k would be nice.  It seems like a reasonable goal, no?

My biggest goal right now is to get this postpartum body back into running shape.  There are still a few puzzles to figure out, like “Can I run when my bra size is this outrageous?” and “How do I fit a long run in between feedings?”  I have been able to keep up my lake walks every day, a feat I’m proud of.  I’m even getting a sore knee and I find it endearing.  The scale has been creeping down.  I’m getting there . . . very slowly.

Next week, I’m expecting to be cleared for running by my OB.   It doesn’t necessarily mean that I should go out and run right away.  But it will give me more confidence that I am actually healing.  Running a mile will be my first goal.  Running a lake will be my second.  Running 2 lakes will make me feel like I’m a runner again.  That’s really all I want to be:  a runner.  

Four Weeks Postpartum

Baby Boy is four weeks old today.  I can’t believe it.  It seems like those 2 weeks in the hospital shouldn’t count, but that’s not how time works.  The newborn days are so very precious to me.  I love these first few weeks of a baby’s life . . . when he’s all helpless and floppy.  And so dang cute!!  It’s the short time before he will grow into his baby face, a face that will resemble his kid face and his grown-up face.  I love his smell and his involuntary actions:  his startle reflex and the way he roots around for something to suck on, even if it’s just my nose. 

Of the past four weeks, only one was scary.  Only part of one, in truth.  (Someday I’ll post about our experiences in the hospital, but not today.)  The rest of the time has been getting by.  Regular life with a newborn.  Feedings every 2-4 hours.  12-15 diaper changes a day.  And lots and lots of cuddles.  He’s a fantastic baby.  He nurses well, which the nurses told me is unusual for a preemie.  He sleeps about 23.5 hours out of the day.  And he only cries if something is wrong.  There’s none of this colic business that I was warned about with early babies.

Big Sister has been wonderful with him.  She loves her little brother and is very gentle with him.  We can’t always get her to wash her hands before she strokes his hair and holds his hand, but she does most of the time.  She’s not jealous yet, but I’m still waiting for that.

My recovery these last four weeks has been rather slow.  I haven’t had a break from the achy abdominal incision since I had surgery.  While the center of the scar feels fine, both ends are still giving me quite a bit of trouble in the sub-dermal layers.  Part of that may have to do with my early discharge from the hospital.  I needed to be close to my baby and wasn’t about to wait around at Methodist while he was in intensive care at Children’s.  As a result, I didn’t spend as much time in bed recovering at the hospital as I would have under normal circumstances.  Another part of it may also have to do with the surgeon’s method.  He decided to use the incision from my previous C section and expand it by several inches on each end.  This was his approach to getting around my errant placenta and doing his best to avoid “taking the uterus.”  (Side note:  It was fascinating to watch him plot out the surgery by using ultrasound.  Also disturbing at the same time.)  (Question:  why does it hurt on the edges of my incision while my whole lower abdomen is numb?)  In any case, I’m in more pain than I was expecting to be in four weeks post-op.  It makes me think that my running days are still a long ways away.     

Although it’s been slow, I’m better than I was two weeks ago.  I’m able to walk around the lake without too much trouble.  Today, I didn’t have the shooting pain in my middle that I had last time I walked Harriet.  I took that as a good sign.  My goal is to walk a lake (or walk an hour) every day.  I skipped yesterday, though, because I was hurting too much.  I’m on the fence about how to pursue exercise in my current state.  Should I wait until it doesn’t hurt at all?  That could take weeks!  Or should I keep going as long as the pain doesn’t get a lot worse.   If you know me at all, you know I’m going to lean toward the latter.  I’ve been sedentary for too long.  Plus, I think recovery will go a little better if I’m using my muscles as opposed to babying them. 

The walks have been great for my mental well-being.  I can’t say that I’ve been in a bad place, by any means, but it’s a bonus to finally be able to get some exercise.  With Daughter, I had postpartum depression and I’ve been waiting for that to settle in again.  It hasn’t yet.  But then, life is a lot different now than it was 3 years ago.  There were so many unknowns the last time around.  It was terrifying.  Plus, I didn’t have the ECFE Moms and I didn’t have my running club back then.  This time around, I feel a greater sense of purpose and a much greater sense of belonging.  I’m a lot happier and more confident, despite the annoying constant ache in my belly.

Clothes are a challenge.  I’m not quite maternity and not quite regular yet.  Don’t even get me started on bras.  (I’m a different size every day!)  But today was the first day, I saw myself as normal again.  A few sizes bigger than usual, but normal.  I finally feel like I’m on my way back.  A few dozen more lake walks and I might even fit into my running clothes again.  

Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

Just when I thought things were looking up -  reaching 34 weeks and starting to breathe easier about Baby - the doctor put my fear level back at its rightful place today, somewhere up near the ceiling.  Upstairs. 

34 weeks and counting

We’ve had a couple of dates we’ve been debating about for the planned C-section: July 26^th and July 30^th.  Since we were seeing someone new today (my regular doctor is on vacation), we decided to ask New Doctor her opinion.  Our intentions were to keep baby in as long as possible.  It seems like the logical thing to do.  Less critical, but also worth considering, is the fact that Chris takes the Bar Exam on July 24^th and 25^th. 

New Doctor got us to think otherwise, with very few words.  She said that as pregnancy continues, the risk for baby goes down and the risk for mama goes up.  She said the longer we wait, the more likely the chance that they would have to “take the uterus.”  Now there’s a phrase that will grab your attention.  In fact, it hasn’t left my attention since we left the clinic. 

According to New Doc, the longer my pregnancy goes, the more likely I’d head into the hospital during another bleeding episode, either from placental detachment, or the onset of labor, or some other reason (the odds are really not in my favor).  And if I go into the hospital again while I’m bleeding, chances are it would be bad, meaning significant blood loss.  If the bleeding doesn’t slow down in a reasonable amount of time, they could take my uterus at the same time they would take my baby. 

I didn’t realize it until this afternoon, but I’m pretty fond of my womb.  I sure would like to keep it.  You might be wondering if we are planning on having more kids.  The honest answer is possibly.  Maybe even probably.  We were going to see how we could handle two before making any final decisions.  I could easily see myself having a third, though.  I absolutely love babies and I love being a mom.  Having the choice taken away would be traumatic, to say the least. 

So now we’re planning on July 26^th for delivery and we’re hoping with all of our might that we make it that far without hemorrhaging.  17  more days. 

Into the Fire

911

So it happened again.  After dinner last Thursday night, I sat down on one of my many trips to the bathroom.  After a minute, I could still hear trickling, but I was pretty sure my bladder muscles were done doing their work.  I stood up to check out what was happening and was immediately terrified.  The entire bowl was full of blood.  And blood was still trickling out of me. 

Instant panic.  I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t leave the toilet because I was leaking.  Was it just blood or was there amniotic fluid mixed in?  It reminded me a lot of when my water broke with Daughter:  a constant trickle.  I knew that if I was leaking fluid, I’d be having a baby real soon.  I got Chris’ attention and then proceeded to lose my cool.  I sobbed in the bathroom for a couple minutes, but then caught sight of Daughter still sitting at the kitchen table.  Like a smack in the face, this snapped me out of it.  I grabbed a maxi pad and got myself somewhat dressed.  Again, Chris and I fumbled with “Do we drive to ER or do we call 911?”  I couldn’t make a decision.  Chris made it for me and was on the phone with 911 dispatch by the time I came out of the bathroom.  I laid myself down on the kitchen floor to help combat gravity, not knowing at the time that I would be completely horizontal for the next 16 hours. 

                                                           

In the few minutes before the paramedics arrived, I tried my best to make Daughter comfortable.  That sweet girl brought a pillow from the couch and together, she and I laid on the kitchen floor and cuddled.  It was exactly what I needed.  Probably what we both needed.  I was worried about how she would process what was happening and what was about to happen. Thankfully, she’s a bright, well-adjusted girl.  She handled it well. 

Within minutes, my house was full of half a dozen rescue workers.  I found out later that several of them were firemen, but  I never saw the fire truck.  A couple of them started asking me questions in overly calm voices.  They couldn’t get the regular wheeled stretcher into the house, so they carried me out in an old school stretcher.  They called it the canvas and poles.  Once down both sets of front steps, they set the canvas onto the gurney and wheeled me to the ambulance.  I could see Daughter and my mom watching from the porch as I was taken away.  I desperately wanted to kiss my girl and say goodbye to her, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.  So I just watched her until she was out of view. 

In the ambulance, Chris sat on the bench next to me.  They started an IV.  Then we were on our way with lights and sirens.  The whole shebang.  I heard the paramedic tell the hospital that I was experiencing a possible miscarriage.   Thankfully, I knew better or I would have believed him. 

The whole way there, I thought about Daughter and my unborn son and hoped they were both okay. 

At the hospital, I got wheeled around quite a bit before we got to the right place.  The whole gurney was brought into a tiny triage room and I was put on the monitors right away.  Like last week, my uterus showed signs of irritability, but no signs of full-blown contractions.  I wasn’t in labor. 

Within 15 minutes, I was admitted and brought to a room.  Within 30 minutes, I had an IV in each arm, an automatic blood pressure cuff on my left bicep, and the perinatal doctor pressing on my belly with an ultrasound wand.  He asked how much blood I lost, which was impossible to answer.  How do you measure how much of the red toilet bowl was blood vs. water?  He seemed mad that I couldn’t give him a straight answer.  It was at this point that my blood pressure tanked.  It dropped to something absurd, like 45 over 30.  I never got the official number because I was in a haze, very, very close to passing out.  I got extremely hot and nauseous.  The doc ordered an oxygen mask on my face.  I turned to my side and stared at Chris while he kept talking to me.  About every ten seconds, he asked if I was okay.  I nodded when I could.  I felt awful. 

Slowly, I pulled out of that slump.  The doc explained to Chris, since I was not terribly alert, that my fluid level looked good, meaning I hadn’t broken my water.  He also explained that it’s pretty near impossible for me to be leaking fluid because of the placenta blocking the way.  Physically, the fluid has nowhere to go.  The doc also showed Chris a blood clot the size of a baseball and said I would be passing that in the next couple days.  He thought this was causing the uterine irritability. 

After the doc left, two nurses got to work on me.  When labs came in to take some vials of blood, the nurses realized I didn’t have an ID band on yet, so they rushed off to get that.  Sometime later, I noticed I was still wearing my civilian shirt and thankfully, it didn’t have any blood on it yet.  The nurse helped me take it off and feed it through the IV lines.  Then, she got me into a hospital gown.  Since they really didn’t want me to get up at all, I was lucky enough to get a catheter.   They also put me on magnesium sulfate via the IV to quiet the uterus and help baby’s nervous system.  Being on that is a lot like being stoned.  That’s how I stayed for the next 14 hours:  on my side, IV in both arms, catheter, blood pressure taken every 15 minutes, still leaking blood.  And the nurses said, “Try to get some rest.”  With all of that, I probably could have if I didn’t have the leaking.  As it was, I didn’t sleep at all. 

A new perinatal doc came to see me at 8:15 on Friday morning.  He told me lots of wonderful news.  The bleeding had stopped.  I could eat breakfast, since they were no longer expecting to deliver me right away.  Until that point, I was not allowed to eat or drink.  He also said I didn’t need my catheter anymore.  I was genuinely excited about that.  (It’s the little things.) He told me to get comfortable because I would be here at the hospital for a week or more.  He explained that they like to see at least 5 days of no bleeding before they will send mamas home.  He also explained that if I had a third episode of bleeding, I would be admitted to the hospital for the duration of my pregnancy.  He said, “Three strikes and you’re in.” 

On Saturday, I got moved down a floor since I was no longer a critical case.  And that’s where I’ve been since.  I haven’t really minded being in the hospital and that’s mostly because of fear of having an early preemie with lots of medical complications.  It’s easier to relax here than I expect it will be at home.  There aren’t things to clean or jobs to do here.  There’s just bed.  My menu and my 3 delivered meals.  TV.  Books.  Company.    I’m not bored yet, if you can believe it. 

On Sunday morning, Chris and I got woken up by lab coming to take more blood.  I asked her what it was for, expecting her to say hemoglobin since it was pretty low when I got admitted, but she explained it was to have a sample of my blood on hand in case I need a transfusion.  They need a fresh sample every 72 hours.  I still don’t understand this.  I’m pretty sure my blood type isn’t going to change at all, let alone every 72 hours.  But they say it’s the antibodies or some other factors in the blood that change. 

The view from my hospital room.  

They monitor baby twice a day and he’s been getting gold stars every time.  He’s very active and his accels are great.  They look for variation in his heartbeat to show he’s getting enough oxygen to move around and karate chop me from the inside.  For those of you who are runners, they like to see baby doing fartleks.  Since the blood loss is coming from the placenta, there is concern that baby is not getting enough oxygen, but thankfully that’s not what’s going on in our case.  The nurse practitioner assured me the blood loss is completely my own.  None of it is coming from baby.  Then she reminded me of how much extra blood volume pregnant women have.  150 – 200%

As of today, I am IV free.  In fact, I have nothing taped to my body right now . . . for the first time since last Thursday.  We had an ultrasound this morning and Baby looks stellar.  He’s really doing well.   There’s still no additional bleeding, but still no talk of being sent home.  That’s okay.  I feel safer here. 

The only hard part of hospital bedrest is missing Daughter and losing my ability to take care of her.  This is excruciating.  She comes to see me every day, but she’s an active little girl and I have to be careful around her.  She keeps asking me if I’m okay.  I tell her I am.  Then she asks why I’m in the hospital if I’m okay.  It’s difficult for her to understand. It’s been over a week since I last read her bedtime stories or tucked her in.  Like I mentioned before, she’s handling it well, but she needs her parents. 

Chris has been with me every night in the hospital.  Sometimes he goes home to take Daughter to the park or tuck her in, but he’s been sleeping here next to me on the pull out chair.  I’m continually struck by how much he cares about me.  He’s a good, good man.  Yesterday I told him, “I’ve never felt as loved by you as when you push me around in the wheelchair.”  And it’s true.  Being completely vulnerable is making me appreciate the people that surround me.  Especially Chris. 

There’s a good chance that I’ll be having another episode like this one again in the near future.  In fact, the doctor told me there’s a 50% chance of it.  For now, things are quiet and that’s good.  Every day that Baby Boy stays in is a celebration.  As of now, I am 31 weeks 2 days.  We’re looking forward to 32 weeks for a little bit of a safety net.  

Gratitude

The last few days, I have been thinking about how grateful I am to know the people that I know.  How different would my experience in maternity ER have been if I didn’t know the doctor on staff that day?  Instead of talking about all things serious, we talked about our neighborhood (she lives close by), we talked about our kids who take the same gym classes, we talked about qualifying for Boston and running in general.  In other words, it was relaxing to chat with her.  At the very least, it was distracting. 

I found big source of relief from texting with another friend while I was waiting in triage – a naturalist friend who happens to be the guy that introduced me to running club.  When the doctors told us we might be transferred to another hospital better equipped to deal with early preemies, I immediately thought of his wife, a pediatric doctor.  I wasn’t sure which hospital she worked at, so I asked him and explained our situation.  He replied with all kinds of helpful and encouraging information and gave me his wife’s contact information.  She was more than willing to answer our medical questions and even offered to watch Daughter that day, since she wasn’t at work.   Their generosity and support was comforting and raised my spirits.

Another nice surprise was a high school friend who works at the hospital.  She came to chat with me during her downtime after noticing I was on the patient list.  I hadn’t seen her since I was in the hospital in labor with Daughter three years ago, but she was easy to talk to.  We talked about our kids a lot and a little about Kenosha.  It was really nice. 

Since my last post, I have been overwhelmed with the kindness of the people in my world.  We have gotten numerous offers to babysit Daughter.  Neighbors reminded us that they are around waiting for us to call on them, willing to do whatever needs doing.  A gal from running club offered to come and clean my house.  Friends offered to bring us meals.  Beyond all the physical help, I have had all kinds of moral support.  Phone calls, emails, text messages, and visits.    The reassurance and companionship has been just what I needed. 

I got a chance to chat with my good friend Laura yesterday.  Laura used to live here in Minnesota, but moved back to upstate New York five years ago.  She’s one of those people I don’t talk to very often, but when we do get back in touch, it’s as if no time has passed.  We were on the phone for about two hours.  By the time we hung up, I felt invigorated.  She has a way of pointing out all the good in my life in a way that I never would have considered.  She’s a treasure. 

I want to say thanks to all of you for the love, support, and most of all, friendship.  I’m so very appreciative of circles of friends that I’ve made over the years.  I’m feeling incredibly lucky tonight.   

Too Soon

I’m terribly glad to be well-informed about my complete placenta previa.  Had I not been aware, I would have thought the bleeding I had in the shower yesterday was a miscarriage.  Don’t get me wrong, it was still shocking and scary as hell, but it was also expected. 

It was 7:15 and Daughter needed to be dropped off at school.  Chris and I had a few moments of panic.  Do we take her to school and then go to the hospital?  Do we just take her with us to the hospital?  Does Chris drop me at the hospital and then take her to school?  Should we call 911?  We were confused and unable to think clearly.  All we knew was that we needed to get to the emergency room as quickly as possible.  Eventually, we found our reasonable thinking skills and dropped Daughter at Chris’ sister a few blocks away.  They were able to take her to school, no problem.  Huge Relief! 

Off we went to the ER.  My darling husband may have (safely) ran a few red lights on the way, making sure there was no opposing traffic before scooting across the intersections.  I did a great job of keeping cool on the way to the hospital, even when I could feel the gushes of blood, but when we walked through the hospital doors, I couldn’t keep it together anymore.  I lost my ability to speak and the tears started flowing.  We got into ER and here’s what not to do:  Go into Admitting when you’re pregnant and terrified-looking.  They wondered what the hell we were doing there and immediately sent me up to maternity.  Chris plopped me into a wheelchair and steered me upstairs.  Triage took me in and turned me into a patient within minutes.  The nurse told me to lie down flat.  Gravity was the enemy at that point.  She hooked me up to the standard 2 monitors:  one for baby and one for my uterus.  She also started a rapid fire IV to hydrate me.  Baby was hard to keep track of because he’s only 29 weeks and still has quite a bit of space to move around.  He also doesn’t like to sit still, so the nurse had to keep adjusting the monitor and eventually gave up with the logic that if he’s moving this much, he’s okay. 

 A lot of things happened very quickly.  Turns out if you’re bleeding and have complete placenta previa, you are deemed a priority.  They took 4 or 5 vials of blood to determine if my placenta was still attached to the uterine wall.  I don’t quite understand the science behind this, but I took their word for it.  Because of the previa, I couldn’t be examined normally, so I got examined via a speculum.  Oh.  My.  God!  Was that uncomfortable.  I get queasy just thinking about it.  The cervix was still closed, meaning no dilation, meaning I wasn’t in labor.  That’s the best news we could have gotten. 

They wanted two sets of eyes examining me to be sure I wasn’t in labor.  The first doctor talked to me while we waited for the second.  When the second doctor walked in, she was someone that I knew! Unbelievable!  She is a woman who used to run with my running club and she also has kids that go to the same classes as my daughter.  What a huge relief to actually know the doctor on staff that day.  She’s going to be my doctor from here on out, too, since I can no longer be a midwife patient.  I am absolutely thrilled about that.  An OB doctor that’s a marathon runner who I know is about as good as I could have hoped for.  It’s fantastic!

The two doctors started preparing Chris and I for what may come.  They said that if it looked like I was in labor or if I was losing too much blood they would transfer me to a different hospital for delivery – one that is more specially equipped to deal with 29 week-old babies.  My hospital has the resources to treat babies that are 32 weeks or older.  They would take the baby if I lost too much blood because the blood is coming from the placenta.  Too much blood loss from that organ means Baby is not getting his share of oxygen and essential nutrients.  I couldn’t get my head around delivering a 29 week old baby.  I still can’t.  Regardless, they gave me a series of steroid shots to help develop Baby’s lungs, should he come early. 

Thankfully, everything resolved nicely.  The bleeding stopped and my uterus stopped showing signs of irritability after it was adequately hydrated.  My runner-doctor-friend decided to keep me for 24 hour observation, so I spent the night in the hospital.  

Since nothing was really happening, Chris left to pick Daughter up from school.  They came to visit for a while.  She was scared of me when she first walked in with her dad, clinging closely to him and hiding her eyes from me.  She came around pretty quickly, though.  I offered her ice cream and that was the magic formula.  We sat together on my hospital bed and ate ice cream and watched Bolt.  I think it was a good first experience for her to see me laid up like that, since she’s destined to see it again in the near future.  She also thought my “dress” was beautiful.  It warmed my heart that she found good in the situation. 

Me & Daughter in the hospital last night, eating ice cream and watching cartoons

They released me at noon today.  I am now on modified bedrest and I’m still trying to figure out what that means.  I’m reluctant to do much of anything besides sitting or laying down.  There’s a pile of dishes that I’m staring at in the sink, but I’m not ready to cave.  I’m too scared of having another episode.  I’m only allowed to do desk work at work, which as a naturalist, is a very small percentage of my day.  That will take some getting used to.  No more hiking.  No more hauling.  No more raptor care.  I’ll have to be creative in finding ways to be useful to my work team.  I’ll miss my walks around Lake Harriet and Lake of the Isles, but I can still go and sit by the bandshell and soak in the summer.  I might even be able to talk Chris into pushing me around the lake in a wheelchair. 

We called our moms to come for back up and they will make their way north tomorrow.  I'm concerned about Chris getting enough time to study for the Bar Exam and I hope that he actually gets to take it.  I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to care for Daughter with my restrictions.  I can’t pick her up until after Baby comes.  That's why having grandmas around will be extremely helpful.  

I have an inkling that I’ll be back in the hospital sooner rather than later.  I’m no longer annoyed with the prospect of bedrest because I’m much more fearful of delivering a baby 11 weeks premature.  He’d miss out on a quarter of his development in my womb.  I’m trying to prepare myself for that and in the meantime, I’m willing him to grow fast and stay put.  Right now, if things remain stable, we’re looking at C section delivery at 36-37 weeks, somewhere between July 26-31.  I will be immensely grateful for every week that goes by with him still on the inside. 

I got another strong dose of fear as I was being discharged.  The nurse told me to call 911 immediately if I have any more significant bleeding.  Because of that, I don’t want to leave the couch.  Here’s hoping the next several weeks are uneventful and extremely boring.