tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64380586927782124722024-03-05T09:59:58.304-08:00Kate's (619)Musings of a formerly reluctant Navy wife. (The Navy part, not the wife part.)Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.comBlogger310125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-55635294628818940902014-04-06T12:14:00.004-07:002014-04-06T12:14:54.589-07:00Farewell, our dear companion<div style="text-align: center;">
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<i><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Toivo. </span></b></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our one-eyed Finnish Spitz. Our beloved dog. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We said goodbye to you today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I was growing up we had a family dog - a Cocker Spaniel named Dusty. Dusty was with me during junior high, high school and college. That's a lot of time, and a lot of life, to share with a pet. When it came time to put Dusty to sleep I couldn't help but think of all of the things I had been through as a teenager and young adult, and how he had been there for all of it. All of the times I had spoken to him privately, sharing my thoughts, fears, dreams. Think of all the drama, all of the stuff that happens when you're 13 to 23 years old. Dusty was there for all of it. When he had to leave us, it broke my heart. My childhood was officially over. And when I went home that day, to grieve the loss of Dusty, Toivo was the one waiting there for me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I didn't want Toivo originally. I was living with a boyfriend at the time and one day he announced that he was bringing home the dog that his grandparents had gotten as a puppy the previous year. (They didn't want the dog anymore because the dog would periodically take off, taking the bike path along the highway all the way into town.) I was indignant, almost hostile. Dusty was nearing the end of his life. I knew that we were putting him down soon. I didn't want another dog. I had a dog at my parent's house that was using that part of my heart. I wasn't about to replace him prematurely with some prone-to-running-away farm dog.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My former boyfriend brought Toivo home anyway. I looked at the ragged looking dog and told him pointedly, "You are <b><i>not</i></b> my dog." Though I really didn't want anything to do with him, I also wasn't going to abide the mess that he was. Within the first three days of Toivo living with us I had him neutered and thoroughly de-ticked. Honestly, I had no idea so many ticks could live on a dog. I spent a couple of days sweeping up <i>piles </i>of dead ticks. [shudder] I was hesitant to like Toivo, and I think he knew it as he kept his distance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Shortly after Toivo's arrival, the time came to put Dusty down. I came home from the vet, eyes red and swollen. I sat down on the couch and started to cry again. Elbows on knees, head in my hands. Tears flowing from guilt and sadness. Toivo was sitting quietly on the other side of the room looking at me. After a few seconds he stood up, crossed the room, jumped up onto the couch next to me, laid down and put his head in my lap. I cried harder. I put my hand on his head. "Ok," I told him, "You <b><i>are </i></b>my dog."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. . . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Toivo struggled with epilepsy as long as I had him. The last couple of years were challenging as his seizures got more frequent, but our vet found a good combination of medications to control them. In the last two years I had almost forgotten Toivo had seizures, they were so infrequent. But there is one thing that medication simply cannot cure: aging. This last year Toivo started to decline, as old dogs tend to do. His hearing started to fade and at the end it was practically gone. His eyesight (in his one working eye) wasn't as good as it used to be. His endurance when we were out for a walk declined. And in this last month his hind legs started to fail him. He would try to get up from his dog bed and his back legs would give out. He'd try to get up on the tile floor in the kitchen and couldn't. He'd stumble when he'd walk and have a terrible time trying to negotiate the four stairs in the back yard. He fell a few times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I talked to our vet who prescribed one medication. When that didn't help, she prescribed another. That one didn't help either. We talked on the phone a couple of weeks ago. She said she could take x-rays and MRIs and take my money chasing a definitive cause, but that at the end of the day it wouldn't matter. Whatever the diagnostic tests revealed the course of treatment would have been the same. One of the two types of medications should have brought him relief if there was relief to be had. To put it simply: there was nothing we could do to fix him this time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. . . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If there was anything Toivo had too much of, it was wanderlust. (The running away from the farm should have put me on alert.) He ran away at least a half dozen times during his life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A couple times he took off at the cabin. Once in the winter. I had to chase him through the woods in knee-deep snow, where he'd stay just far enough ahead of me to taunt me. I lost sight of him at one point and only found him because I heard his bark a few properties over as he met up with another dog. Another time he got loose at the cabin it was a rainy, dreary day. That time my brother-in-law found him by chance. Toivo's tether (we had learned to tie him up but he had escaped) had gotten wrapped around a log in the woods. But he had sat there quietly, giving no indication of his whereabouts while we scoured through the trees. I can't believe that Paul found him to this day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On numerous occasions when we were in Hawaii he'd sneak out of the yard when we weren't watching. Or he'd sneak off while we let him watch us play bocce in the big grassy area beyond our fence. He'd disappear through the holey chain link fence into the unkempt Naval property to the rear of our house. We'd run around calling his name and just when we would be ready to give up for awhile, we'd find him. Usually nose-deep in a hole, chasing after something that liked to burrow.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He escaped through an unlatched gate three times here in California. I've chronicled those adventures in my blog already. Those were the scariest, as he was losing his hearing and sight and we live very close to a highway. The first time he got out his bark saved him (again). The second time? Thank you microchip and animal control. The third time? Dumb luck. The absolute dumbest of luck. We had no business finding him that last time. But once again, Fate decided that Toivo belonged with us and we found our way back to each other.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That last adventure seemed to end Toivo's desire to stray. He seemed content these last 12 months to stay home. There were a couple of times the gate got left open, but he didn't take off. Maybe he didn't even realize the gate was open. Maybe he did, but he knew he was getting to old for that crap. Maybe he finally decided that whatever was out there in the great, wide world wasn't what he wanted anymore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If Dusty was the dog of my youth, Toivo was the dog of my transition into adulthood. He was there for my first adult relationship. He was there for the breakup. (I got "custody" of him the breakup. Best thing ever.) He was there as I struggled with finding myself in the aftermath. He was there when I found my strength and confidence. He was there when I met my future husband. He was there as I changed jobs. As I finished law school. As I passed the Bar. As I moved from place to place. We lived in St. Paul in an apartment, in Minneapolis with Grandpa, and Oklahoma, Hawaii and California with Zac. He had been on long road trips to and from Oklahoma, from Oklahoma to Nebraska, and the great road trip of 2008 that had us drive from MN to NE to Seattle, WA via Yellowstone National Park. He had flown from Seattle to Hawaii to San Diego. Toivo was there when Grandpa had his heart attack, when I got married, when I left my friends and family to move to Hawaii. He was there when I struggled with infertility and then when I had a baby. He saw me through all of it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A number of years ago Toivo snagged one of his toenails on Grandpa Clare's carpet. It was nearly ripped off. It looked like it could be nothing but incredibly painful, but the only thing that had alerted me to Toivo's condition was his limp. No whimper, no sound to indicate discomfort. I took him to the vet to have it taken care of. When we got to the vet he laid down on the floor to wait patiently for our turn. A little girl, maybe five years old, came up and started petting Toivo's head. Though Toivo was one of the most mild-mannered dogs I had ever met, you never know what animals will do when they are injured or hurt. "Honey," I told her, "I don't think you should pet him. He hurt his paw and sometimes doggies act funny when they're hurt." The little girl continued to pet him and then gave Toivo a big hug around the neck. "He won't hurt me," she said. Toivo looked up at me with (what I projected to be) a look of kindly resignation. No, he wasn't going to hurt her. Toivo never ceased to amaze me with his patience when around children.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When the vet saw Toivo's toenail she was astounded that he wasn't more agitated, more distressed. She said that he clearly must be in pain, but he wasn't displaying it the way most dogs would.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's with that experience in mind that I've watched Toivo deteriorate these last weeks. Was he in pain? I couldn't tell. He didn't whimper when you pet him, but he fell regularly when he tried to stand. He must have had a few bruises under all the fur. He still had his appetite, but his bones were becoming more and more evident as he lost his muscle mass. He still had his personality, but he was a little more tired than usual. But even though his body was failing his personality was still there, clear as day. He was still Tovio. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We had hoped that we would get a definite sign of when we needed to put Toivo to sleep. We never got it. I picked Saturday because Zac would be able to be there with me. Friday night I sat on the floor next to Toivo, laying in his bed, and said all the things I wanted to say. Zac comforted me and I finally pulled myself away to go to bed. After all, I had to get up in three hours to feed our son. I got myself ready for bed and noticed that Zac hadn't come to the bedroom. I went to the living room and there he was, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Toivo like I had been. Tears rolling down his face. It suddenly dawned on me that as much as this story started out as a story about girl and her dog, it had become a story about the three of us more than seven years ago. This was Zac's dog too. I had been so wrapped up in my own grief that I hadn't taken the time to consider Zac's loss. Zac hadn't had a pet since he was a young boy back in Nebraska. But about seven and half years ago he gained a dog because the dog was part of a package deal: If Zac wanted me, he was going to get Toivo too. And so the three of us became a family. Zac's affection for Toivo was always evident, even though Toivo sometimes drove him crazy. Zac was the one who always brushed the dogs. He would tell you it's because he couldn't stand their shedding in the house. But I could always hear Zac talking to Toivo, laughing. And every brushing ended with a hearty belly scratch and a Milkbone treat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I sat down next to Zac. We sat there, crying, scratching Toivo behind the ears. Saying goodbye.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. . . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've had guilt over these last 10 weeks of Toivo's life. More often than not when he came over to get pet, I had an armful of baby and no hand to spare. He'd bark that needed to go outside, but I'd be in the middle of nursing the baby and couldn't get up. I felt like I was neglecting him. Perhaps the only good thing about knowing when your pet is going to pass is it allows you plan your last days together. Toivo got a few pieces of steak with each meal this week. He got copious amounts of carrots, asparagus and broccoli, his favorites. He always had a rawhide to chew on if he wanted it. He got a lot of affection. Even the weather played nice, giving Toivo a week full of the chilly evenings that enjoyed so much. He'd lay outside by the back door, curled up, dozing until we would call him in for bed. It was a good last week.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The words were few as we said our final goodbye to him. As he drifted away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You're a good boy, Toivo. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You're a good boy.</span><br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-39459877781273823862014-03-04T11:01:00.002-08:002014-03-04T11:01:23.658-08:00Settling in to a new normal<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While I didn't have those overwhelming maternal feelings right off the bat, it didn't take long for me to fall totally and utterly in love with Archer. I would find myself staring at him, completely enchanted with his tiny features and sleepy demeanor. As he was born early Sunday morning, the hospital told us we were welcome to stay until sometime on Tuesday. Zac and I talked about it. All things considered, I felt good and Archer was healthy. Staying in the hospital for another 24 hours wasn't going to speed up my healing or Archer's development, so we decided to leave a day early. If I was going to be sleep deprived, I wanted to be sleep deprived at home where I could actually sleep when I had the time. Simply, Zac and I were more relaxed at home. It was quieter and we could move at our own pace. Besides, we figured it was time to jump in to the deep end of the pool. Time to figure out this parenting thing. The hospital isn't real life - home is.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first four weeks of Archer's life were a blur. I know I've talked about living life two to three hours at a time, but it's hard to convey how disorienting that is. You can't think of anything that is supposed to happen later that day, or tomorrow, or next week. You're just moving from one feeding to the next, with naps where you can get them. I had trouble breastfeeding for the first three weeks (a future blog post) and during that time most of my life was consumed with pumping breast milk, prepping and feeding a bottle to Archer, burping him, changing his diaper and then washing the bottle and pumping equipment. (My hands have never been so dry in my life, as they are in hot soapy water every two hours and I constantly forget to put hand lotion on.) Zac would help by giving Archer his bottle, burping him and changing his diaper, but even working together the whole process could take 30-45 minutes. And as soon as we would finish we would look at the clock and realize that we would have to start all over again in about 180 minutes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Zac was able to take leave to be home with me for 10 days following Archer's birth. Knowing what I know now, I am so incredibly thankful that Zac was at a command where he was able to be there for the birth and for the first few days of Archer's life. I cannot imagine how other military wives have a baby (especially their first baby) while their husband is deployed. I know that often times they have family available to support them, but it seems like there is something important about going through that initial struggle together. Being sleep deprived together, being clueless together, trying to figure out the different cries together, supporting one another. One person comforting and tending to the baby while the other person simply relaxes for a few minutes. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that I love my husband even more than I did five weeks ago. The way he has been there for me, for our son, and the way that he and I have worked together as a team has made our marriage even stronger than it was.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While Zac was able to be there for the first 10 days, he had to leave us on day 11. Zac was required to attend a school a couple of hours north of our house for two and a half weeks. Zac was distressed and sad about leaving us, but my parents had arrived a couple days before so at least he didn't feel the guilt of leaving us alone. As Zac was getting ready to leave he admitted that he was sad that he was going to miss out on the next few weeks, knowing that Archer was going to change even in that short period of time. He also didn't like leaving me while I was still having trouble with breastfeeding, knowing that I was feeling disappointed, guilty and sad about the struggles. (Again - another post.) I promised him that Archer and I would be fine. We were, thanks in no small part to my folks. My parents were wonderful, as I knew they would be. They were patient and understanding and helped in all sorts of way, big and small. My Dad had to go back to MN after a few days, but my Mom was able to stay for a week and a half. It meant a lot that my parents were able to come out and support me, Zac and Archer. I am so fortunate to have parents that have the time and means to fly half-way across the country to help. I love that my parents are helpful, but not hovering. They supply advice and wisdom when asked, or they dispense it at judicious, pertinent times without coming off as preachy or patronizing. They understand that Zac and I need to find <i>our </i>own way, figure out how <i>our </i>family is going to work. Their presence was a huge help.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mom left on a Sunday and I had until Friday afternoon until Zac got home to try being a single-mother. Zac is going to be deploying at some point later this year, so I figured it was as good a time as any to practice. After all, hopefully by the fall we will have some sort of routine and Archer will be eight or nine months old and I will be getting larger chunks of sleep. If I could be a single parent while getting two hours of sleep at a time, I should be able to handle it down the road when I'm getting six, maybe even seven. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Overall the time alone with Archer was a success. Luckily I didn't have anywhere to be that week. No appointments, meetings or other obligations. It allowed me to be flexible with napping, feeding, dressing and bathing. (For both Archer and me.) The evenings were a little tough as Archer would have a bit of a "witching hour" sometime between 6:00 and 8:00pm. He'd be fussier than the rest of the day, refusing to be consoled unless he was being held and I was moving. He was fed, dry and not over- or under-dressed. He was just unhappy. If I held him and paced around the house, he was crabby, but not crying. If I tried to set him down he'd start to scream. There was one night that I had to walk and bounce and walk and bounce and walk and bounce for 90 minutes before he finally fell asleep. That was a rough experience, and it reinforced to me how lucky I was to have Zac around to help out most of the time. Sometimes you simply need to tag someone else in, like you're professional wrestlers. <i>Ok, I've gotten my butt kicked long enough - it's your turn.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Archer and I survived the few days together. Dare I say, we even thrived. Each day I was able to get us out of the house for a brief time, whether it was to run to the post office or pick up some items at Target. Despite our small victories, I was delighted when Zac got home from school on Friday. I was able to show Zac that I successfully took care of myself and the baby in his absence, which gave him a sense of relief knowing that he hadn't abandoned us to suffer, alone. Of course, Zac was happy to be home with me and his son. I don't think Zac put Archer down for the first 48 hours. It was nice to have my parenting partner back and the three of us spent that weekend simply hanging around the house, spending time together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That weekend there was one moment where the three of us were laying on the floor, talking and playing, and I was able to mentally take a picture of how happy we were. Our life is so good. Even when we're sleep deprived, even when we don't get to have the same flexibility of schedule that we used to have, even when there are times apart, our life is beyond good. We're a happy little family, us three. So very happy.</span></div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-45998600160432225262014-02-27T11:36:00.000-08:002014-02-27T11:36:53.496-08:00Month 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-3252421481214246602014-02-24T19:35:00.004-08:002014-02-24T19:35:46.488-08:00Let the adventures in parenthood begin<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At some point this blog became 95% about my journey through infertility. I didn't intend for that to happen but it was the subject that motivated me the most to write. Now that Archer has arrived, it seems likely that much of my blog will now be reflecting on my new adventures through parenthood. Certainly the first four weeks of Archer's life have been all consuming of my time and emotional capital. I haven't had any time to write a blog entry because my life is currently being lived in 30-180 minute increments. Living on a 24-hour clock, never getting more than two hours of sleep at a time, makes the days run together. I can't quite tell if I feel like I've been a mother forever, or if I feel like it's flown by. And, truthfully, I still have moments where I look at Archer and think, "I wonder when his parents are coming to pick him up."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, how did we get here? What's our birth story? (That's what most people want to know.) Archer was due on January 17th. At my appointment on the 16th, the OB (not my usual doctor, who was on a week's vacation) announced that he thought I should get scheduled to be induced the following Saturday. That caused me all sorts of stress that subsequent week as I prayed to go in to labor naturally. I watched each day pass on the calendar with increasing dread. I know plenty of women who have been induced, but I wanted to avoid it if I could. On Thursday I called my OB (back from vacation) and expressed my concerns and anxiety about the Saturday appointment. My OB explained that I was still in the window of having a normal, term pregnancy and that if I wasn't ready to be induced on Saturday, then I shouldn't be induced. (I need to reiterate how much I adore my OB - he is exactly the type of doctor that I wish everyone could have. If we were to have a second child I would need to have him as my OB again because I don't think anyone else could measure up.) He suggested I keep the Saturday appointment at Labor and Delivery (L&D) as more of a "check-up" just to see where I was at.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Saturday morning Zac and I packed the car as if we were going to the hospital to have a baby, just in case. On the way in to L&D I told Zac that I needed to pee. <i><u>Now.</u></i> I barely made it into a nearby bathroom and almost peed all over myself. The urge to pee wasn't new - I was 41 weeks pregnant, after all. I just figured it was only inevitable that at some point I'd wet my pants. While I was a bit mortified and exasperated, I didn't think much of it. At the appointment the doctor examined me and announced that I hadn't dilated any more than the last two appointments. (Still sitting at 1cm.) He suggested that we go home and wait until Monday or Tuesday to come back in to see where I was at, but needed to check a couple more things before he let us leave. He pulled out the ultrasound machine and looked around my belly to check on amniotic fluid. His brow furrowed as he searched and searched. He looked up at us and said, "You really have no amniotic fluid left. You haven't experienced or noticed any leaking?" Zac looked at me and said, "Are you sure that wasn't your water breaking in the bathroom?" Turns out, it was. I don't know what I expected my water breaking to be like, but I was expecting something more than the sudden urge to pee. (And it certainly wasn't like anything I've ever seen on "General Hospital" where the breaking of the waters usually is accompanied by a natural disaster, vehicular collision or at a remote cabin in the woods with no medical personnel.) The doctor, who had a moment earlier said that we might be going home, shrugged and said, "Well, looks like, 'Welcome to Labor and Delivery'."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our appointment was at 9:00am on Saturday. Archer arrived at 5:23am the following morning. I can't complain about the 20 hours that it took for him to arrive. I was able to be up and walking around for most of Saturday. My biggest goal was to stay out of that darn hospital bed as long as possible. Even when the evening rolled around and I had to be tethered to some monitors at all times, the 10-foot cords allowed me the ability to stand near my bed, pace a little, do a few squats and sway. Zac and I used these early evening hours to finally decide on a name for our baby. (Nothing like the pressure of the last minute to force you to make a decision.) They continued to gently increase my Pitocin each hour or so and the contractions settled into a nice, steady increase in frequency and intensity. Finally as we got closer to midnight, Zac fell asleep on the fold out chair in the room. I dozed a little, but finally around 12:30am I decided it was time for an epidural. I had made it to six centimeters and the pain, while not unbearable, was tough to get through. I had heard that the intensity level of contractions doesn't increase much after about the five centimeter mark, but that the increased frequency is what made the perception of pain feel overwhelming. I decided I didn't need to be a hero. I was tired. I hadn't slept well the night before our appointment - the anxiety of the potential inducement had kept me tossing and turning. Now it was approaching 1:00am and I knew we still had a ways to go. I wanted some rest, to put myself in the best position possible to do the hard work that was coming.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When the epidural team came in, Zac was a bit startled. Granted, that was mostly because he had been asleep and suddenly an additional three to five people were coming in and out of the room. He helped me breathe through the contractions so I could be as still as possible for the insertion of the epidural. The procedure was successful and, as my lower half numbed, Zac and I went back to "sleep" as we waited until I hit the magic 10 centimeters. The epidural guys did a great job. I was numb, but could still feel when I was having a contraction and still had some control over my muscles. Basically the pain was gone, but I had enough sensation to have an idea of what was going on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A little after 4:00am the nurse visited to check on my progress. She announced, "Oh my, you're ready to go." That surprised me. I assumed that the epidural would slow my progress down, but I had continued to dilate about a centimeter an hour while I had slept. I was equally pleased to know that the end of this part of the process was almost done but I couldn't help but be a little nervous at how the pushing was going to go. I had heard horror stories of women pushing forever, only to end up exhausted and needing a C-section. I also knew there were still plenty of opportunities for complications. Hemorrhaging, the cord around the baby's neck, etc. But I was ready. I spent almost my entire pregnancy working out to keep my body strong. I had experienced a charmed pregnancy and first part of the labor process. I was cautiously optimistic that perhaps my good fortune would continue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My conversation with the examining nurse had roused Zac from his slumber (bless his heart, that man can sleep like the dead anywhere at anytime) and I could tell that he was nervous when he realized that it was time to have a baby. The nurse called for the doctor and while we waited she showed Zac how he was going to help me push by holding my legs. The nurse explained how she wanted me to breathe and push. It sounded simple enough. <i>Big inhale, push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, quick exhale, quick inhale, push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, quick inhale, quick exhale, push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, big exhale. Wait for another contraction.</i> The nurse cautioned Zac and I that the pushing part sometimes takes quite awhile. She said that it wasn't uncommon to need to push for an hour or so. Somehow in the back of my head I thought, "An hour, eh? Doubt it."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We practiced pushing twice. That is, the nurse and Zac each grabbed a leg and I pushed with all my might. After the second push the nurse said, surprised and a little alarmed, "Um, okay. <u>Stop</u> pushing. The baby is right there and we need the doctor to get in here." Quickly the doctor and a host of supporting personnel flooded the room. The doctor got set up and everyone took their ready positions. The nurse and Zac grabbed my legs and the doctor gave me the okay to resume pushing. <i>One push cycle.</i> A few breaths. <i>Another push cycle.</i> A few breaths. "One more should do it," the doctor assured me. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Big inhale</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Push, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. . . .</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Baby.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Baby crying.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A boy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our boy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Archer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I looked at Zac and he looked at me. Our son was here. We said nothing. I think we were too stunned to speak.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They placed our baby on my belly and wiped him down as he cried. There was no worrisome pause, waiting for the baby to cry. He came out, loudly announcing his arrival. He looked amazing. Pink. Healthy. Strong. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After a few minutes of staring at him, they took Archer over to the warming crib next to me and started all of the assessments and procedures that needed to happen. Zac went with the baby, taking photos and helping the nurse as needed. I lay there, overwhelmed. I had expected to feel a flood of maternal love upon seeing our baby. I expected to feel something primal, something instinctual that would link me to this new little life that was equal parts me and my husband. But I didn't. I felt . . . scared. I was scared that we wouldn't know what to do. I was scared that we had made the wrong decision by pursing fertility treatments. Maybe we weren't supposed to be parents. Maybe we wouldn't enjoy being parents and end up resenting our son. I was overwhelmed with the knowledge that my life as I had known it was over. I instantly felt ashamed that I felt that way. What was wrong with me? Why didn't I hear the call of maternal love and connection to my son immediately? Wasn't I supposed to be ecstatic and crying tears of joy? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When they brought Archer back I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was staring up at me, with giant, dark eyes. He seemed incredibly calm for someone who had just been squeezed through a birth canal. If I hadn't immediately feel a maternal tug inside of me upon his birth, I certainly felt sympathy for the little guy at that moment. All three of us, Zac, Archer and me, we were all dazed and confused. We were all new at this. New dad. New mom. New person. New family. None of us knew how this family thing was going to work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"But I promise you this, little guy," I thought to myself, "your dad and I will try our best. So I guess we've got that."</span><br />
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-42595350953993887152014-01-29T17:44:00.001-08:002014-01-29T17:44:08.053-08:00Hello world<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmTAdt10nLTx5HUrtKYlPEiCxYtdXcM5QMb_5HutujNXd4_KkWI6VivEs3AYJpi7Z6yuNR7m1SVCkv0KyWTELg3zh9dxQdGmqkEbrKOXgkdfb94a4z0DpCSG-75IHno1fWwwie2TtgJi5t/s1600/IMG_1687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmTAdt10nLTx5HUrtKYlPEiCxYtdXcM5QMb_5HutujNXd4_KkWI6VivEs3AYJpi7Z6yuNR7m1SVCkv0KyWTELg3zh9dxQdGmqkEbrKOXgkdfb94a4z0DpCSG-75IHno1fWwwie2TtgJi5t/s1600/IMG_1687.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Boy, oh boy. Look what the stork delivered on Sunday, the 26th.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Archer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stories to come, once we're in a routine and more rested.</span></div>
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-52996924506161618402014-01-18T20:57:00.002-08:002014-01-18T20:58:29.785-08:00Fortune Cookie Madness<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Admission: I have gone out for Chinese food two times in the last three days. (Of course that's only if you count Panda Express as Chinese Food.) This was the fortune I received on Thursday:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I laughed out loud when I read this one and promptly emailed this photo to Zac. (Which resulted in Zac laughing as well.) My labors? Yeah, I've been trying to get those to start for a week now. But it was nice to know that when they did happen I'd bear sweet fruit, which I read to mean a healthy baby.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today (Saturday) is one day past my due date. I've been growing impatient for the aforementioned "labors" to kick in. Impatient, frustrated and antsy. So when I got this fortune this evening, all I could do was laugh again:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Seriously? Is this some sort of coordinated fortune cookie joke? </span></div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-10504514722723027252014-01-13T09:26:00.001-08:002014-01-13T09:26:32.913-08:00Waiting, waiting<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm less than a week away from my due date. I had an appointment last week with my OB to see where things stood. He was happy that things were moving along and he didn't think we would make it to my due date. Looking at the statement now, I wish he hadn't said that. I've spent the last four or five days hoping that labor would kick into a higher gear but it hasn't happened. As a result, I'm kind of at a loss as to what I should do with myself. I've already put myself on maternity leave from my job. If I would have known I had almost another full week of work availability, I would have kept on earning a paycheck. However, I didn't want to be half-way through an assignment only to have the baby and then stress out about finishing before the end of the month. So without employment to consume my time, I've been using the last few days to "nest" which hasn't really been compelled by some sort of instinctual motivation but instead by simple boredom. </span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today I made scones for breakfast because at least that killed some time. The house is prepared. The baby's room is ready. The Christmas decorations are back in storage. (Save a few "winter" decorations that I like to have out that remind me of the time of year.) The laundry is washed, folded and put away. The bathrooms are clean. The kitchen is tidied and mopped. And I don't need to vacuum <i>again</i>. In the evenings I've been working on a cross-stitch piece that has been an on-and-off project for a couple of years. I finally cleaned, starched and blocked some crocheted snowflakes that have been sitting around. I sewed some liners for the baskets underneath the diaper changing table. I rearranged things in the guest room, knowing that we will have a parade of company starting in a few weeks. I went through my clothes (and had Zac do the same) to purge things to be donated or simply thrown away. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm actually at the point where I could attempt to organize or do something with the boxes of photographs I have stacked in the closet, but there really isn't any level of boredom in this mortal realm that could motivate me to tackle that undesirable project. Maybe I'll just keep on working on the cross-stitch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As each day passes and I get more and more impatient. Last night a friend asked me if I was nervous about the process of having the baby. No, not nervous. Sure, I've had absurd anxiety dreams the last few nights (e.g. baby is born and for some reason Zac and I forget to feed the baby for 24 hours) but during the day I don't really think about the labor and delivery. In this case perhaps ignorance is bliss. You don't know what you don't know. I have no reason to fear labor and delivery because I have no idea what it's like. And even if this was my second or third child, each delivery has the potential to be an entirely different experience. I simply want to come through the process with a healthy baby and a healthy me. How we get there isn't really important to me. I'm just ready to get there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wonder what else I can bake/cook this morning . . .</span></div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-63513547183541087042014-01-03T08:34:00.004-08:002014-01-03T08:34:51.479-08:00It's a new year<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Back when I was in K-12, my parents, sister and I regularly went to our cabin to celebrate the New Year. Some years our aunt, uncle and cousins came with. Some years we asked a friend from school to come with instead. Every year there was some junk food and snacks, card games, cold weather, and some <span style="font-size: xx-small;">possibly illegal</span> sparklers and/or fireworks. The cabin was heated by a old Ben Franklin wood burning stove and often in the evenings we would sit around it for awhile, being cozy and warm. I remember being at the cabin for New Year's Eve, 1989, and saying aloud, "1990 doesn't even <i>sound </i>like a year." It was strange to my ear, "The 1990s." This is probably because my entire conscious life had been in the 1980s. The recognition of the changing of a decade was new to me. There have been a few decades that have passed since 1989 - heck, we even moved into a new century - but I feel like this New Year will be a bigger change than most that have come before. My due date is in about two weeks. Babies tend to show up when they're good and ready, but in the end there is no way we're completing first month of 2014 without becoming parents. It is hard to wrap my mind around.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I put together our Christmas Cards this year I spent time going through our photos and our calendar, reminding myself of what all we did these past 12 months. Of course, just like the last three years, the wall calendar in the kitchen reflected the voluminous medical appointments associated with our journey towards parenthood. We had done an IUI in January 2013. It wasn't successful. We spent the first part of the year trying to figure out when we were going to stop trying, how many more IUIs we were willing to attempt. I started acupuncture around that time, my Hail Mary, my "at least I tried just about everything." In April, Megan and Paul came to visit. Right after they left, we tried another IUI. This one seemed to work. We waited, not trying to spend too much time wondering if we'd make it past the six-week mark. Well, we're past the 36-week mark at this point.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On one hand I feel like I've been pregnant <i>forever</i>. I remember those first weeks and months:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first few ultrasounds, and steeling myself for potentially bad news each time but trying to be hopeful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Going camping, laying in a tent in the woods, wondering when (if?) the morning sickness would kick in. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of my girlfriends figuring it out early on when I waived off a glass of wine, and my inability (or desire) to lie to her. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Zac coming home and telling me that he had told his boss about the pregnancy in order to make sure he was available as possible for doctor's appointments. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Attending a family wedding over Memorial Day weekend, wondering if we'd be able to keep our secret - not wanting to distract from the focus of the wedding and not wanting to tell our families just yet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first few months were spent slowly disseminating the information about the pregnancy to maybe one or two people at a time, depending on the circumstance. Finally we were able to tell our families, and announce it on Facebook. The flood of love and support was overwhelming and I settled into being pregnant. Weeks pass. Months. A full three-quarters of a year. And now here we are, really any day from bringing this baby into the world. A lot of life happens in nine (really 10) months - Zac and I went places and did things all while my body changed and the baby grew. At this point I feel I have forgotten what is like to NOT be pregnant.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On the other hand, how can it be that it's already time to have the baby? It went so quickly. All of those events that happened on the calendar are still fresh in my mind. Why does time seem to elapse more rapidly with each year? That seems to be my adult life in a nutshell - I blink and months go by. I can only imagine that will continue once the baby arrives, when every day brings something new and amazing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wish everyone a happy and healthy 2014. May you know prosperity and peace in your lives and, most importantly, joy. I wish you all the most joy that your hearts can hold and then some.</span><br />
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-75859963639524102102013-12-17T16:16:00.000-08:002013-12-17T16:16:28.861-08:00Class is in session<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Approximately 35 weeks along</i> . . .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Two weekends ago was all baby, all the time. We started out on Friday taking a tour of the Labor & Delivery (L&D) unit at Navy Medical Center San Diego (NMCSD). It was an opportunity to see the facilities and meet some of the staff that may be around when it comes time to deliver. NMCSD seems like a nice enough place and the staff seems to genuinely enjoy their jobs. As someone who has never been admitted to a hospital, or really even spent much time in a hospital visiting others, I was surprised at how impersonal it seemed. Yes, they tried to decorate L&D to make it more relaxing and "homey" but it still felt . . . sterile. In more ways than one. I understand that it's the nature of hospitals, but the antiseptic smell that permeates everything doesn't make me feel "healthy" or "natural". There's really nothing soothing, relaxing or healing about chemical smells, fluorescent lighting and the constant sound of electronic monitors going off. At least the actual birthing rooms have lighting that's less harsh. I can certainly see the appeal of a home birth or those high-end birthing centers after visiting NMCSD. Yes, having all of that technology and specialists around in case something goes wrong is great but it certainly seems to come at a cost. Cost of what, I can't quite articulate. I'm sure I'll have other things on my mind when the time comes to deliver and the subsequent 24 hours, but I can understand why moms would want to leave the hospital as soon as possible after having a baby.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On Saturday and Sunday Zac and I attended a birthing class at a different San Diego hospital. I discovered much too late into this pregnancy that many birthing classes are anywhere from six to twelve weeks long. Truthfully, I'm glad we went with the two-day class. I've talked to other friends who have taken the longer classes and frankly the additional hours of class work are mainly devoted to practicing breathing and relaxation. While that's what some people want, neither Zac nor I would have enjoyed that many sessions of the same thing over and over. Our two-day class hit the major topics: stages of labor, breathing, pain relief and epidurals, Cesarean sections, breastfeeding, postpartum care, plus a few others. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There were 10 other couples in the class, all of us first-time parents. It was a friendly group where everyone seemed to have a pretty good sense of humor about the absurdity of what we were all about to go through. Unfortunately there was one woman in the class who was the quintessential Negative Nancy. Apparently every single one of her girlfriends had <i>nightmarish </i>delivery experiences. <i>Everything </i>that could go wrong with late-term pregnancy and delivery had happened to the women in her life. She seemed to relish sharing each and every horror story about evil doctors, bitchy nurses, rare complications and gruesome happenings to moms and babies. Luckily most of the people in the class didn't pay her fear-mongering much heed. By the end of the two days, most of us simply rolled our eyes each time she started in on one of her stories. I felt bad for the nurse who taught the class - she did the best that she could to contain Nancy's negativity. On the one hand the nurse had to acknowledge that yes, sometimes there are complications and, yes, sometimes you don't always get along with the staff on hand, but she adeptly countered that most of the time things go smoothly and that you can always request to have another doctor or nurse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was certainly a worthwhile two days. I was moved to tears on at least three separate occasions, all of which were caused by video clips we watched in the class. At the beginning of the first day we watched a clip from Bill Cosby's epic 1983 comedy routine "Bill Cosby, Himself." He spent a good 10 minutes or so describing the experience that he and his wife had for the delivery of their first-born. I was almost afraid I was going to go in to labor simply from laughing too hard. Everyone in the class was roaring. Bill Cosby really is a comedy genius, and I would seriously consider watching his routines while I work through labor. (Although I'm not sure how my laughing would interfere or aid my breathing.) The other two times I got a little misty was at the end of two hospital-produced video clips relating to child birth. In one of them the father spoke of his feelings about being there for the process and meeting his child for the first time. He talked about how proud he was of his wife and how quickly he fell in love with his child. In the other video, the new moms talked about the experience of childbirth and how, regardless of how they had their child (c-section, natural, epidural) they felt an amazing sense of accomplishment and joy. It was hard not to have my hormonally super-charged emotions get the best of me and so a few happy tears rolled down my cheeks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At this point I'm awaiting my 36-week appointment to see where I'm at. I believe at this point I start going in every week to check on things. I suppose Zac and I are as ready as we can be. There's a place for the baby to sleep, I've got a pair of breasts and there's some formula in the cabinet if breastfeeding doesn't work out. There are diapers and drawers full of clothing awaiting the wee one. We also have running water and soap. That seems to cover the main requirements of feeding, clothing, diapering and cleaning the child, so whether Baby arrives in one week, three weeks or five, we're set up to welcome a baby into our home. There is only so much classes can do for new parents - most of what we will learn will be on our own, through trial and error. But I am optimistic that we will try our best, and that's a good place to start from.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So for now we spend most of our evenings enjoying the quiet and relishing sleeping in on the weekends, luxuries that will soon be a thing of the past. A sense of calm has descended on the house. Most of it is probably attributable to the Christmas tree which twinkles happily in the living room. It's hard not be relaxed and happy when bathed in the glow of Christmas lights. Zac's work schedule is slowing down for the holiday season and we're now able to spend more time together, which is the best gift of all - especially this year. Baby will be here before we know it.</span><br />
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-71193605061409943542013-12-13T08:20:00.003-08:002013-12-13T08:20:25.201-08:00Fa la la la la, la la la la'Tis the season to be busy. At least the volunteering piece of the pie is light these last 10 weeks of the year, meaning that there is some available time/energy for holiday and baby-related stuff. We hosted Thanksgiving at our house a couple of weeks ago. Two families came over and the house was filled with friends, laughter and delicious food. It was a surprisingly relaxing evening, despite having hosting duties. I have converted to the idea of cooking and carving the turkey well before the company arrives. Instead of frantically trying to find counter space to carve the bird while greeting people and making small talk, Zac and I were able to sit back and have apple cider for the couple of hours before people arrived and go straight to eating when the guests came through the door with their side dishes. It alleviated a lot of stress. <br />
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Last week we had Zac's command's Holiday Party. I was about two deep breaths away from a complete, tear-soaked pregnancy meltdown before we left. Up until the last two weeks or so, I haven't felt that foretold hormonal chaos that some women experience. But starting sometime early last week I found myself more easily moved to sad, sentimental or angry tears. This, despite my rational brain telling me to chill out and that I'm overreacting. It's a bizarre feeling, not being quite in control of my emotions. I have found that in order to cope, and save Zac some grief, I really have to focus on what is truly making me upset and breathe deeply. For example, the other day I had Christmas music on. I love, love, LOVE Christmas music. As I was listening to the songs I haven't heard since this time last year, I realized that <i>next</i> Christmas (2014) Zac will be deployed and Baby and I will be celebrating Christmas without him. That started me thinking about setting up the tree alone and buying a "Baby's First Xmas" ornament without Zac. And then I started thinking about taking pictures of Baby in some sort of cute holiday outfit and sending them to Zac while he's half-way around the world and quickly I deteriorated into the throws of Karen-Carpenter-Merry-Christmas-Darling fueled tears.<br />
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After going through two tissues, and some deep breaths, I got a hold of myself. I'm crying about <i><u>next year's</u></i> Christmas? Seriously? I have this Christmas with Zac, and he'll be here for the first nine months or so of Baby's life, a luxury in military families. He will be here for the initial heavy lifting, learning to be a parent alongside of me and bonding with his child. Yes, he'll miss Baby's first Christmas. But Baby won't remember Baby's first Christmas. Hell, the three of us could celebrate Christmas in the late spring when Zac gets back and kiddo would be none-the-wiser. If I spend the next few weeks feeling sad about Xmas 2014, I'm going to lose out on the joy and the fun of Xmas 2013. I settled myself down and by the time Eartha Kitt purred "Santa Baby" on the radio, I had regained my emotional footing.<br />
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Getting back to the Holiday Party's (almost) melt-down, I had been looking forward to the Party for the last month. Usually people get fairly dressed up - think semi-formal or cocktail attire. Girls in sequined, shimmery party dresses and guys in slacks and vests. Everyone all dolled up, enjoying a glass of wine and dinner and the camaraderie of their fellow sailors and spouses. I bought a cute, semi-formal maternity dress back in September for the Khaki Ball and had intentions of wearing it again to the Holiday party. As it was a knee-length dress and strapless, I knew that I'd be chilly wearing it as it was going to be in the high 40s at the time of the party. (And I never know what temperature the room at an event will be.) The day before the Party I went out to the mall to purchase a black shrug or bolero to wear over my dress. (Bolero - a short, little jacket - designed to cover the shoulders and upper back.) I have seen these many, many times in different stores and figured I'd find one easily.<br />
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I spent three hours at the mall and found nothing. Not a one. I was incredibly frustrated. 75% of the non-pregnant time I <i>hate </i>shopping and lately I hate shopping even more knowing that if I find a cute deal on a sweater I can't even try it on to see if it "fits". So not finding the item I wanted to purchase pissed me off. I walked out of the mall, thinking that I would be able to find something at home to make the dress work, somehow.<br />
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I got dressed that night and as I put on the dress I realized that despite it being a maternity dress I am larger than I was in September. In particular I noticed that it was tighter across the chest. On the one hand, woo hoo! Boobs! On the other hand, I felt bloated and chubby and my puffiness was flowing over the dress especially near my armpits. I couldn't wear the dress without something covering up my shoulders, I was simply too self conscious. I had to find something else to wear. My sister had lent me a black maternity dress that I could have worn, but it didn't fit quite right. And with that dress I still faced the issue of trying to find something to cover up my shoulders. <br />
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This meant that I wasn't going to be wearing a dress to the Party. I had been feeling so awkward in my body lately that I was looking forward to dressing up and feeling cute, maybe even attractive. The disappointment of having to wear pants weighed on me. I had a pair of black, dressy maternity corduroys I could wear with my heels, but I didn't have any sort of fun, sparkly, shiny holiday top to go with them. I ended up wearing a plain red top, clinging to the idea that maybe because it was red it was festive, but all I wanted to do was cry. I didn't look like I was going to a Holiday Party. I looked like I was going to work, to a staff meeting. For me, the Holiday Party had gone from semi-formal to work-casual, and I was miserable. Zac assured me that I looked lovely and that I would fit in at the Party. I appreciated his support, but I knew what was coming.<br />
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Sure enough, we walked in to the event and every last woman was wearing a dress. Sparkles, sequins, shimmer, bright colors, gold, silver, LBDs (little black dresses) everywhere. My eyes welled up with tears. All I had wanted that night was to look attractive again - to not look like a pregnant female mammal, but a woman. I had been forlorn in the car on the drive to the event, and now my disappointment had flipped over to a seriously negative, acrid attitude and unfortunately Zac was caught in the crossfire. After wallowing in self pity for the first 15 minutes of the Party, Zac wisely(?) turned to me and said with exasperation, "If you're going to be in this foul of a mood, we should just go home." It was what I needed to realize that I was really acting like a pill. Fortuitously at that moment I ran into one of my good friends, who is about four months pregnant. She and I paired off while Zac went off to find some friends that weren't pouty. After she gushed about how cute I was, I admitted to being on the verge of tears and was sad that I couldn't wear a dress that night. She laughed a knowing laugh (she has a two-year old) and told me she understood. She, too, had narrowly avoided totally losing it while getting ready for the party as well. Over something silly and relatively insignificant. I sighed, took a couple of deep breaths and decided that not being able to wear a dress wasn't the end of the world. Yes, I still felt like an asexual being in the large scheme of things - but as far as my attire for the evening, it wasn't that bad. It might have been work-casual, but at least it was nice work-casual.<br />
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And truthfully, when I took a hard look at it and why I was truly angry, most of my frustration could be traced to the fact that I waited until the day before (and day of) the Holiday Party to figure out what I was going to wear. If had tried on the dress a week earlier I would have known it wasn't going to work. Had I hit the mall earlier I would have had a better chance of finding something to modify the dress or to buy something else to wear. It was my lack of foresight and planning that caused me to have limited choices of apparel that night. I took a second to myself to compose myself and found Zac. I apologize for my snarky, negative attitude of the last few hours and admitted that I was angry at myself for not planning ahead and I was uncomfortable because I didn't feel like his attractive, sexy wife anymore. He kissed me, told me he loved me and that I was beautiful. I believed him, and we proceeded to have a great evening.<br />
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So I guess in pursuit of "Tis the season to be jolly," "Don we now our gay apparel" can include pants and a plain red shirt. But if I've ever pregnant again during the Yuletide, I am getting something with sequins.<br />
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-32637193408193475892013-11-17T13:36:00.000-08:002013-11-17T13:36:21.385-08:00Bidden or not bidden, parenting judgment is present<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">31-ish weeks . . .</span></i><br />
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*sigh* Why is it when we don't follow our gut instincts, so often things turn out poorly? I'm not talking about large-scale, life-altering decisions. I'm talking about following the instructions of a magazine recipe that say that greasing a Bundt pan with non-stick spray will work. I knew it wouldn't work. I knew the cake would stick. I always grease (and flour) my Bundt pans by hand but this morning I was lazy. I didn't want to take the couple of extra minutes to make sure every nook and cranny of the baking pan was appropriately coated. The instructions assured me that non-stick spray would work, so against my better judgment, and my internal baker's voice screaming, "NO! IT'S A TRAP", I tried using their suggested shortcut. And guess what? The cake stuck. Not a lot of it, but unfortunately the elegantly angular top of the cake. I'll probably just slice off the top part to make it level and then either frost it or coat it with some powdered sugar -it's not a total loss. I'm just kicking myself for letting myself be wooed by promises that I knew were lies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, that's that the extent of the drama and excitement around here. I'm starting to resemble a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, but all is well. Another normal OB appointment is in the books and I officially have a "Stork Parking Pass" for the hospital. I feel sort of silly having it. I'm perfectly capable of walking comfortably from the hospital's usual parking structure to the OB office, but I'm sure in a month or so I'll be happy to be able to park mere yards from it. I also started filling out my patient admission packet of paperwork for when delivery comes along. It also includes some paperwork that is to be filled out after the baby arrives: Date of birth, Name, etc. I looked at those empty boxes on the form for a long while. Holy crap, we're going to have a baby. <i>And</i> we're going to have to <i>name</i> it. Oy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As much as I'm looking forward to meeting our baby in mid January, I'm staring to freak out a little bit about how radically life is going to change in about eight weeks. Things have been so normal around here - I work, Zac works, I volunteer, we eat three meals a day at their scheduled times. We clean the house on Sundays, socialize with friends on the weekends. I work out twice a week in the evenings. We're in bed by 10:30 and up each morning after at least seven hours of (basically) uninterrupted sleep. Errands take little to no effort, grocery shopping is a piece of cake. All of this will get turned on its head in less than two months. I <u>like</u> our normal and I find myself trying desperately to cling to, and appreciate, the routine we have right now. We went out to dinner the other night and at one point in the meal I paused and said to Zac, "This eating out? This is going to be damn near impossible soon." Zac nodded in acknowledgement. I <u>like</u> eating my food when it's hot. I <u>enjoy</u> eating my food at the same time as my husband. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course this is the part of the tirade where current parents cut me off to say things like, "Oh, but when that baby smiles at you, all the sacrifices are worth it," or, "But, the love and amazement you feel as a parent is the most awesome feeling you will ever experience." Ok. That may be true. But apparently you forgot about how last week you were complaining that you hadn't eaten a hot meal in two months because family "meal" time is really "two parents focused on a loosing battle of trying to get more food into the child than on the floor" time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think I'm also a little cranky at the amount of judgment that Zac and I have been experiencing lately as impending parents. Everybody has an opinion and everyone wants to share it, whether bidden or not. The same way many people seem to think my pregnancy is open for public commentary and inquiry, parenting questions and advice have been flowing from strangers, acquaintances, friends and family. Luckily family and friends have, for the most part, been respectful and tactful with their input. But the same way I got irritated with, "It [pregnancy] will happen when you just relax and don't think about it!", I'm getting really tired of some of the following:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-What do you mean you're not decorating the nursery for the baby? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, the baby has a cradle for now and will have a larger crib in a few months when it is warranted. It seems that a quiet, clean room at the appropriate temperature with a place to sleep is really all the baby needs. No, we don't have cute decorations or a theme for the room. Well, actually the theme is "Things that were hanging on the wall before we found out we got pregnant and are staying up because I don't think my child will feel unloved if there aren't hand-painted murals on the walls with matching curtains and bedding." If decorating your baby's room is an expression of love towards your child, that's awesome. Then decorate the room and express your love! You will probably find peace and happiness when you go in to that room which your child will undoubtedly pick up on. Us? We love our little house and we don't need that particular room to be the place of calm and serenity - we've got that in every room. And yes, the baby's room is our office. Our infant will share a room with the printer, a desk and crafting supplies. The horror! Put Child Protective Services on speed dial, folks. When our child is able to focus his/her eyes for the first time skeins of yarn might be the first thing he/she sees!</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-You're going to try <i>cloth</i> diapers? Ugh, I <i>can't imagine</i> carrying around a dirty diaper with me when I'm out and about.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, we're going to give it a try. 1.) Because it worked for babies for thousands of years, 2.) In the long run it's cheaper, and, 3.) Because I <i>can</i> imagine a world where landfills are chock full of disposable diapers. I know that cloth diapering takes a certain amount of additional time and logistical planning, but it's a challenge that I'm looking forward to (hopefully) mastering. If disposables are the choice you made for your family, that's great. I understand the convenience and practicality of them, and I'm not saying that I'll never use one. As a matter of fact, I can pretty much guarantee that we will use a disposable here and there. But when you tell me you use disposables I don't lecture you on your choice or purr, "Well that's an . . . <i>interesting</i> choice." </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-How are you going to know what kind of clothes to buy the baby if you don't know if it's a boy or a girl? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This one always wants me to beat my head against a brick wall. I honestly don't think that we will disrupt our child's sense of gender or self if we put the baby in white or gray or yellow onesies for the first few weeks of life. Yes, there are lots of adorable little "boy" and little "girl" outfits out there in the world. They don't need to be purchased before the baby arrives in order for them to work their gender-assigning magic. Boys <i>can</i> wear pink, girls <i>can</i> wear blue. The planet doesn't stop spinning if that happens. God forbid if a little boy has an outfit with a flower on it or a little girl has a football on hers. While I'm in a tizzy about gender roles, Zac and I went to go see Alton Brown's (of Food Network fame) traveling "Edible Inevitable" tour a couple of weeks ago. It was a stage show consisting of food science, cooking, music, humor and belching sock puppets. One of the things that Alton Brown drew attention to is how much he loved playing with an Easy Bake Oven when he was a kid, even though they were "supposed" to be for girls. This young boy who liked to play with a "girl's" toy grew up to be a successful video/tv producer, food science geek, husband, father and (shock!) straight. And yet in 2013, <a href="http://www.hasbro.com/easy-bake/en_US/" target="_blank">THIS</a> is what you see when you go to Hasbro's website for the product. God help me if I have a daughter and she sees stuff like this. And God help me equally if I have a boy who sees it. It's not a message I want either one internalize and adopt as a worldview. </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are plenty of other regularly dispensed comments out there, including ones about how I'm "crazy" if I don't go straight for the epidural, I'm a weird hippie because I'm trying to learn how to use a <a href="http://www.mobywrap.com/mw/Home.htm" target="_blank">Moby wrap</a>, and I'll be regretting <u>every</u> <u>day</u> of my mothering life for picking a convertible car seat instead of an infant car seat with the detachable base. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Back in Hawaii, I heard one of the military chaplains say, "Different isn't necessarily wrong; sometimes it's just different." That has always stuck with me. Sometimes different is, indeed, wrong. Causing injury or harm to self or others is wrong. But most often, "different" achieves the same goal, just not in a way that <u>you</u> prefer or makes <u>you</u> comfortable. Maybe it's not the car seat you picked for your kids, but will our child be safe in it? If yes, then what's the issue? Does the diaper keep bodily waste from going everywhere? If yes, then why does it matter if we choose cloth diapers over disposables? Zac and I will figure this parenting thing out, I promise you. There will be missteps and changes of course, but we will figure out what works for us and our child as we go along. You got find your path at some point, please give us the same courtesy.</span>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-86223703712117733862013-10-28T10:03:00.002-07:002013-10-28T10:03:49.127-07:00Moving right along<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">27 weeks or so . . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My latest OB appointment happened earlier this week. My doctor was pleased with how things were
going. I should have gained 60% of my
pregnancy weight by now – Lo, I had gained 60% of my pregnancy weight. I should have a <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/fundal-height/AN01628" target="_blank">fundal height</a> of X centimeters
– By golly, I had a fundal height of X
centimeters. Baby’s heart rate should be
in a certain range – Woo hoo! Baby’s
heart rate was squarely within that range.
At this point in my pregnancy I get an “A” for average, which is
comforting. At this appointment I also got
a couple of shots and had to take a glucose test to check for gestational
diabetes. I really wasn't looking
forward to the glucose test, as simply the thought of sugar water makes me gag. Much to my happy surprise the sugar water was
orange flavored and resembled something more like Gatorade than straight
sugar-water. I’m not a fan of sports
drinks, but at least it was palatable. I
had to chug 10oz or so quickly and then wait for an hour to have my blood
drawn. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I spent the hour pouring my new copy of the DoD’s publication
“Pregnancy and Childbirth”, more commonly known as “The Purple Book.” (If you’re interested in looking at the 230+
page publication in PDF, you can find it </span><a href="http://www.med.navy.mil/sites/nhbeaufort/Documents/PurpleBookPregnancyChildbirth.pdf" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" target="_blank">here</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.)
I have to admit – for a government publication it wasn't nearly as dry
as I had expected. It was a little
myopic in that the authors wrote from the premise that babies are only born to
heterosexual married couples, but at least it did a decent job of covering the
physical and emotional aspects of pregnancy and childbirth. Now that the DoD has repealed “Don’t ask,
don’t tell,” maybe the book will be revised to include families that aren't
married and/or (sarcastic gasp!) homosexual.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I've been moving through this pregnancy, I've continued to take a boot camp-style exercise class two times a week. I try to get a couple of yoga classes in there too, but lately it seems like I always have scheduling conflicts with the yoga classes that I like to attend. I like the boot camp classes because I enjoy the variety of exercises and I work out best when I have someone else design the workout and tell me what to do. Despite years of going to a gym, paying for a trainer and even having friends that are certified personal trainers, I am that person who goes to a gym and stands there staring at the Bosu balls and free weights, jump ropes and medicine balls, clueless and directionless. (I don't do machines.) These boot camp classes are a lot of fun - the people that show up are friendly, the instructors are motivating without being too tough, and it's never the same workout twice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Working out with extra weight on my frame, coupled with a change in my center of balance, has made working out increasingly tough, but I continue to do it because it makes me feel good. If I go even three or four days without working out I feel sluggish and out-of-sorts. At this point in my pregnancy the instructor has me modify more than half of the exercises we do, but I'm still huffing and puffing and sweating by the end of the hour. Of course, I'm the only person who attends the class that is currently gaining weight instead of losing it. That's an odd feeling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The other people in the class (mostly women) are really supportive of my pregnancy, which is appreciated. Often times I feel like I'm "getting off easy" with my modifications while they're busting their butts doing the real deal. I've gotten lots of compliments on being so committed to be being a healthy mom. I've had some women tell me how impressed they are by my hard work. One lady even called me a "badass", which I wear in my head as a badge of honor. Last week in class the instructor praised one of the ladies in the class for doing one last squat at the end of the circuit. The lady laughed and said, "Well, I have to keep up with preggo over here." Many of the ladies in the class are moms as well, and all of them have agreed that exercising now will put me in a better place for labor and deliver in January. They urge me to keep moving and working on my strength, whatever form that may take as the weeks go on, in order to help myself and the baby down the road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I plan on continuing to work out as long as I'm able. I have noticed in the last couple of weeks that I really do need to dial some of my range of motion on exercises. My body is producing a lot of hormones, including one aptly named Relaxin, that causes my ligaments to stretch. I find that my hips, in particular, are subject to a sensation of slight pulling and stretching lately. According to my trainer, if I modify my squat and lunge depth I will still benefit from exercising without potentially injuring myself. I've pulled muscles from working out before - the idea of pulling a muscle (or ligament) while pregnant and 20lbs+ heavier doesn't sound appealing at all.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So here's to staying healthy and active as I move into the last 12 weeks of this part of the journey . . .</span></div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-61093184449915010072013-10-22T17:23:00.004-07:002013-10-22T17:23:25.676-07:00Showered with love<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Zac and I spent about a week in Minnesota at the beginning of October. It was a great time of year to visit. Yes, there was some rain and some cool temperatures, but it's to be expected as the state moves fully into autumn. The leaves were changing color at such a rate that even in the space of six days I could see a noticeable difference. We've spent the last six autumns in either Hawaii or San Diego, and both Zac and I miss fall. I miss the changing weather and the changing menus and ingredients. It's hard to want to put on a crock pot of beef stew while baking home-made dinner rolls when it's 85 and sunny. (Apparently while we were in MN the weather in San Diego shifted and it feels like SoCal may have turned the corner into fall as well.) I'm looking forward to the next six months of mostly lovely San Diego weather. At least living in San Diego I won't have to worry about trying to get to the hospital in a possible blizzard come January.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My sister and mom threw me a baby shower while I was home. It was an amazing afternoon. One of my biggest regrets I have each time I go home is not being able to see as many people as I want to. The shower was a perfect opportunity/excuse to get 20+ women whom I love and admire into the same place at the same time. Did I get as much time talking to individual people as I wanted? No. But at least I got to give everyone an enthusiastic, prolonged hug .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We went around the room at the beginning of the shower so people could introduce themselves and how they know me. It blew my mind the wide cross-section of women that were in attendance. They included:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*My mom</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*My sister</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*My grandmother</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*My aunt</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Cousins</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*My mother-in-law</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*High school friends of my parents, who have known me since birth</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Members of my church who, again, have known me since I came into the world</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*One of my parent's neighbors whose children I used to babysit</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*One the aforementioned children (who is now in her early 20s - yeesh)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Children of my parent's high school friends that I've grown up with</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*One of my mom's co-workers (of 25+ years)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*My brother-in-law's mother</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Law school friends</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Former co-workers</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Friends from high school</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some people knew me as an infant. Some have only known me as an adult. But all of them were there to share in the joy and excitement of me becoming a mother, and that meant everything to me. It sounds cliche, but while the gifts were lovely and generous, I simply wanted to spend the afternoon with them. There were stories, jokes, a couple of emotional tears (mostly mine) and lots of laughter When it was done I was equally energized and exhausted. The shower was my reminder that when the time comes, and I'm finding my way as a mother to our new baby, that I have a strong support network behind me who I can draw on for advice and understanding. I couldn't have asked for a better way to spend an afternoon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And did I mention that there were <i><u>four</u></i> different kinds of bars laid out for dessert? It's not a Minnesota party without a pan, or four, of bars.</span></div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-78459217647605322612013-10-13T19:46:00.000-07:002013-10-13T19:55:24.707-07:00Halfway<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Week 20-ish, a few weeks ago</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's hot in San Diego. Too hot. We're in the middle of a late-summer heat wave that is taking its toll on my desire to do anything but watch the US Open tennis tournament from the air conditioned confines of my living room. (I <i><u>do</u></i> work while watching tennis, so it's not totally wasted time.) The weather gods must have a copy of our calendar, and a sense of humor, since they waited until the day my parents arrived to unleash their blast furnace of horror. I suppose I shouldn't gripe about the weather when it's gorgeous here 87.5% of the time, but I'm still not happy that the meteorologist on the local tv station said we've got another six or seven days of this on top the week that we've already had.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We've cleared the last couple of hurdles that I was concerned about for the pregnancy. We had our genetic counseling appointment, which revealed that I am at no greater risk of having a child with certain conditions that the general population. Yay, average-ness! The accompanying ultrasound was equally uneventful, as the doctor saw the things that he wanted to see. Spine looked good, the baby was measuring correctly for that point in the pregnancy, etc. It was strange watching Baby move around so much inside my tummy and not feeling a thing. How could Baby be in there doing somersaults and I not sense any sort of movement? Zac was delighted throughout the ultrasound. I think it was the first time that the image actually looked like a "baby" to him and the flurry of fetal activity was reassuring that things are going well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had <i>another </i>ultrasound a couple of weeks later. This would be the ultrasound that a normal woman who conceived her baby in a normal way would have normally at this time in her pregnancy. I am abnormal (I'm <i>spectacular!</i>) in terms of my age and I certainly didn't conceive this kiddo in the normal way, so I've had more than my share of ultrasounds. But each ultrasound was for a different purpose so once again I found myself at the hospital. Only this time I had consumed 32oz. of liquid one hour before the procedure to aid in . . . something. A bit uncomfortable, but not as bad as I had thought it was going to be. My parents were in town for this appointment, so they came along to get a look at the new grandchild I am incubating. Once again Baby was measuring as Baby should. The organs looked like they were coming along well. Kid was still moving all around, but with a little less real estate than a couple weeks prior. It was fun being able to share that appointment with my parents. They were able to be with my sister throughout her pregnancies and spend lots of time with her two boys. I want them to have as much time with this grandchild as possible, even if that's while the kiddo is in utero. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've officially started wearing maternity pants. That makes me feel mildly ridiculous. I keep catching glimpses of my changing body in the mirror and thinking, "Isn't it nice that my reflection is pregnant?" I still feel disconnected from the goings on. Maybe when I start feeling something from within that I can clearly identify as baby-generated. Right now it still feels like I'm watching tv at the ultrasound appointments and the belly is just a Hollywood prosthetic designed to make my character look pregnant. I wasn't sure how Zac would feel or react to my changing shape, but happily he seems more than charmed. He rubs my belly and smiles while we watch tv. He giggles when I'm drying off after a shower and studying myself in the mirror. He randomly reaches out and pats the bump while we're running errands. You think you love someone, then they do things that make you love them more. It's a delight to go through this with him, and I can't wait to be parents together. </span><br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-32342177279759351642013-10-10T19:09:00.002-07:002013-10-10T19:09:37.390-07:00Forecast called for showers<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We just recently returned from Minnesota for some family visitation and a baby shower. I remember putting together my sister's baby shower for her first-born. The late fall/early winter of 2007/2008 was a chaotic time in our extended family. There were birthdays, births, serious illnesses, baptisms, weddings and deaths. It was a whirlwind of emotions but I distinctly remember the excitement of planning Megan's shower. I had decided to construct a tiered cake out of out disposable diapers, adorned with flowers and ribbons. I was living with my Grandpa at the time, and I set up shop at the dining room table to put it together. It took a certain amount of engineering and creativity, plus trial and error, to get it the way I wanted it. M</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">y Grandpa looked on with bemusement as I made various attempts at constructing it, de-constructing it, re-constructing it and finally decorating it. Even he had a to crack a smile when it was completed. Yes, it was mildly ridiculous, but it was also an expression of joy held together with tape, pins and a lot of love.</span><br />
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I've gotten over a lot of the guilt and sadness of leaving home, but not when it comes to my sister. It still pains me that I am not within driving distance to be more present in her life. There is something about physical proximity that makes it easier to spend time together. The telephone and Skype are great, but that requires scheduling. Living in the same city means dinners at our parent's house, running to the mall together, helping out with the kids. It's much more spontaneous and if you don't see each other today, odds are you are going to see each other the next day or the day after that. All of those little things, those day-to-day things, you know about. It too easy to let time slip away when you're separated by thousands of miles. Suddenly it's been two weeks since you've touched base and the phone calls reveal all sorts of things that you have missed in each other lives. </span><br />
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I've always felt that it's harder to stay than it is to go. When you stay somewhere and someone leaves, there's a vacancy in all those places that they used to be. When Zac leaves on his trainings and deployments, I believe that I miss him more than he misses me. Why? Because I'm used to running in to him in the kitchen, I'm used to jockeying for position while brushing our teeth at the sink, I'm used to curling up together as we fall asleep. When he's gone, I am fully aware of his absence and all the parts of my day-to-day life that he isn't there for. But out there - at his trainings and on his deployments - I was never part of that reality. I am not "missing" from that experience. He's training, he's working, he's focused on a mission that doesn't include me. So while he certainly misses me, it's a different type of loss for him than it is for me.</span><br />
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That's similar to how I feel about my relationship with my sister. She is used to Minneapolis with me there, being no more than 10-15 minutes away, crossing paths at our parent's house, going to events together, hanging out at her house, spending time together in all of the places that we shared for the first 27 years of her life. And then I left. It's the same world she has always lived in, except I'm not in it. On the flip side, Megan never lived in Oklahoma or Hawaii or California with me. She hasn't been a first-hand part of the journey I've had as a military spouse. Up until now I know that's been tough for her, and for me, but not being together for my first pregnancy has hit her harder than any other aspect of our separation. I can feel how excited she is for me, and how desperately she wishes she could share this particular journey with me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wouldn't trade my life with Zac for anything, but it's hard feeling like you've left your sister - your best friend since her birth. I know growing up that we thought we'd always live near each other and have kids that were the same age. We would raise our kids to have the same amazing relationship that we enjoyed with our cousins. I didn't stay in Minneapolis. I didn't have kids at the same time as her. And in all likelihood her kids will be more comfortable with my cousins' children (whom they see regularly and who are the same age) than mine. That wounds me. </span><br />
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Sometimes Megan thinks she needs me more than she really does. She's stronger than she thinks she is, and while I know that her current road is challenging (PA school, two kids, working, trying to find time to spend with her husband) it is one that she will not only handle, but excel at navigating. One of the silver linings of separation is that has forced us, both of us, to grow. We know how to be sisters in the same city, we're learning how to be sisters with many states in between us, and hopefully someday we'll be living closer to each other once again. </span><br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-72346810910493576982013-09-23T16:47:00.002-07:002013-09-23T16:47:45.101-07:00Feeling normal-ish<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>17-ish weeks . . .</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm about 17 weeks along now, and I haven't had any morning sickness yet. My OB says that I'm probably in the clear as far as that goes, but he cautioned me that sometimes his patients that don't experience negative side effects during the first trimester get "<i><b>pregnant</b></i>" in the third trimester. [His emphasis.] I'll cross that bridge when/if I get to it. Right now I feel . . . normal. Well, normal-ish. I'm tired more than usual, but I'm a girl who has always loved her naps and sleeping 8 hours a night, so I'm not really sleeping any more than I did before. I still have a relatively normal appetite. There are occasionally days where I'm feel like I'm not that hungry and have to remind myself to eat lunch or supper, only to discover after one bite that I'm famished and devour the whole meal. The other day I ate an entire half-pound hamburger, plus some of the fries. Zac looked on with bemused horror.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My body is starting to change, some. I'm starting to show, if you know what I looked like before. If you were just meeting me for the first time you'd probably think I just like Dairy Queen too much. (For the record, yes, I do like Dairy Queen too much.) I've had to start wearing jeans that are one size larger and I've basically sworn off close-fitting tops for a while. Once I look "pregnant" I think I'll be more comfortable wearing things that accentuate my belly. Right now I just feel obnoxiously bloated and chubby. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I took the first couple of months of the pregnancy off from strenuous exercise. I went on walks and attended some yoga classes, but I kept it pretty low-key until we got to 12 weeks and my OB said that things looked good. I've started back up with the strength training and a little more intense yoga classes in the last few weeks and I do feel better, more like me, since I'm exercising again. My yoga instructors and trainer know that I'm pregnant and modify my workouts accordingly. It is a strange feeling, though - I exercise, eat right, get plenty of sleep and instead of losing weight I'm gaining it. As I exercise I am finding that my balance (which wasn't stellar to begin with) isn't as good as it used to be. I'm assuming this will get increasingly worse as I start to look like a small planetoid.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our next appointment is in a week, when we meet with a genetic counselor. My OB offered to refer me strictly based on my age. He said that he had no other concerns about my family history to warrant a referral, but that if I wanted it he would sign off on it. Zac and I want to know. We understand that there is no 100% certainty with any of these tests, and we also know that many conditions are not screened for, but if there is something wrong, serious or relatively benign, we want to know. Certainly the future of this pregnancy is dependent on what we learn. (Since it has been in the news lately, I've been thinking how maddening it would be if Zac and I were stationed in Texas and learned that the baby wouldn't make it to term, or die within a few hours of birth at that genetic counseling appointment. If we wanted to choose to end the pregnancy we would be very close to not being able to due to Texas' 20 week rule. The thought of the state telling me what my husband and I can and can't do for our family is absurd and insulting.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once we get past the genetic counseling appointment I feel like I will be able celebrate this pregnancy a little bit more. I haven't mentioned the pregnancy on social media yet, and I'm pleased that the people that I have shared the news with have shown great restraint in not mentioning it on those platforms either. There are people I simply haven't told, just to limit the number of people I have to un-tell in case things don't turn out well. I've even postponed posting these first few blog entries that address being pregnant, waiting for that time that I feel comfortable that most of the hurdles have been cleared. I am cautiously optimistic that that time will be soon.</span><br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-55791393115105450112013-09-05T20:27:00.000-07:002013-09-05T20:28:19.320-07:00Getting my Qi right<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The second un-published post (8 weeks along) . . .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I find that when people find out you're newly pregnant they always ask two questions: 1.) When are you due/How far along are you?, and 2.) How is the morning sickness? The neat thing about question number two is that people get to ask that question <i>each</i> and <i>every</i> time they see you, even if it was only a day or two ago. Over and over and <i>over </i>again. The upside is that it gives me plenty of opportunities to find something wooden and knock on it, "No, nothing yet." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No, no morning sickness yet. And for that, I am thankful. One of my girlfriends had experienced debilitating morning sickness. She had to take time off of work, take medication to keep anything down and actually turned a pale green color for a few weeks. It wasn't a pleasant experience. Most of the pregnancies I've heard of have included some morning sickness, but one of my girlfriends told me that she hadn't experienced and morning sickness with her daughter. I am not presumptuous enough to think I'm going to get through the first trimester without tossing my cookies or being overwhelmingly nauseous at least once, but I am grateful that I have made it to eight weeks with nothing but an acute sense of smell.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maybe the settled stomach is the result of acupuncture, which I started immediately after our last failed IUI and have continued through my pregnancy. Maybe the entire pregnancy is the result of it. After all, it is the only thing I did differently for this cycle. My acupuncturist told me that my belly was too cool to carry a baby and I had some Qi (pronounced <i>chee</i>) blockages in my abdomen that needed to be addressed. So we worked on getting my Qi and my blood flowing. Occasionally I'd put a heating pad on my belly for a hour or so - a few times a week. I found it interesting that one of my girlfriends, who is Japanese, had given me the same advice, without telling her what my acupuncturist had said. When I told her I had trouble conceiving she immediately guessed it was because my belly was too cool. She told me to put a heating pad on my belly as well. I figured if I was hearing it from two different sources, it could hurt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was hopeful that the acupuncture would help with fertility, but I was surprised to find how good I felt overall. Most notably, I began to sleep really well at night. I have always been a light sleeper. I was too hot, I was too cold, I wasn't tired when I turned out the light, little things woke me up and then I couldn't fall back asleep. When I started acupuncture, those things either went away entirely or were seriously curbed. Since I was sleeping better, I felt more energetic during the day. I used to crash around the 2-4pm time frame each day, sometimes falling asleep while I worked on my laptop. No more. I felt great in the afternoons and used that time of day to work out which, in turn, made me feel even better. I also found that after a few acupuncture treatments that my abdomen was free of the tightness and discomfort that I noticed while I was doing yoga.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was one of my fertility doctors, Dr. W, that recommend acupuncture to me in the first place. A middle-aged, white, male, American military doctor - not someone that I would usually think would be supporting of alternative or Eastern treatments. There are two fertility doctors at the clinic, and usually I worked with Dr. L. I would occasionally have appointments with Dr. W, but not very often. The lead-up to an IUI is a delicately timed process, requiring regular blood tests and ultrasounds to figure out when the right time to perform the IUI occurs. By virtue of timing I had my last appointment going over blood results before the IUI with Dr. W. It was a Friday morning in the clinic and it was really quiet. It was the day that residents go to some sort of weekly training, and because Dr. L had the day off they had scheduled very few patients. This gave me lots of time to chat with Dr. W.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As he went over my blood work at looked at the ultrasound of my follicles, he asked me all sorts of questions about our journey through infertility. He asked if I had tried any alternative treatments, including acupuncture. I told him no, but that a friend of mine had sought it out when she was struggling with infertility and now they had a healthy baby girl. To my surprise he told me that he was a licensed acupuncturist. He had come to acupuncture in a strange way. Within the last decade more and more of his infertility patients were coming to him saying that they wanted to try acupuncture. Some of them were already using it. He was worried that his patients were exposing themselves to risks, plus he was concerned about how much money it can costs for regular, consistent treatments. (Which are not covered in most cases for military family members.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It turns out that the U.S. Military has an acupuncture licensing program available for its doctors. The military has found that acupuncture helps wounded warriors with everything from phantom limb pain to PTSD. Dr. W signed up for the training as a skeptic. His goal was to obtain the information he needed to discredit the practice and bring this back to his patients. He said he sat smugly in the room, secure in his knowledge of Western science and medicine and how it was superior to the myths and mysticism of alternative remedies. As he told me about this, he laughed at himself. "After a week," he said, "I was a convert." He said the class opened his eyes to his ignorance and narrow-mindedness. He began offering acupuncture treatments to his infertility patients to supplement some of their regular appointments. If he had performed an IUI on a patient, he would offer them a relaxation treatment to help their anxiety and help with implantation. (You have to lay there for 30 minutes after the procedure, so why not?) He also found that the acupuncture helped his patients that were in their first trimester that were suffering from severe morning sickness. A acupuncture treatment often meant they had 2-4 days of relief without drugs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I know you aren't having your IUI until tomorrow," he said, "but if you want to see what acupuncture is like, I can give you a relaxation treatment right now. Then you can decide if it's something that you want to pursue." Dr. W explained the process, how it works, and showed me the needles that he uses. I was interested. Why not? What could it hurt? I felt like I was coming to the end of my fertility journey, so I figured I had might as well try something else. Dr. W placed a few needles in my body and I could feel the strange, dull, ache in the insertion points that he had described. It was so . . . weird. Not painful or uncomfortable but odd. It's rather hard to explain. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had the IUI the next day. It didn't work. I sent an email to my friend who had used acupuncture for infertility and asked for suggestions on how to find someone reliable. I spent some time online, made some phone calls, and finally settled on a clinic not too far from our home. Before my initial appointment, I filled out a six page questionnaire with all sorts of unusual questions. Questions about my tongue's appearance, my stool, my sleeping patterns. Do my fingers and toes get cold easily? How often do I get heartburn? All sorts of questions that I've never had a doctor ask me. I brought the answers to my first appointment and went over them with the acupuncturist. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She studied my answers solemnly and had me lie down on the exam table. She took my pulse at in three different locations on both my left and right wrists. She pressed around in my abdomen, silently making notes in her head. For the first time I became acutely aware of a tightness in the lower left quadrant of my abdomen. It's always been there, but not anything I ever thought about except when I'm doing yoga and it sometimes pulls. But after taking the questionnaire I found myself being very aware of my body, and paying attention to things I hadn't thought about in the past.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After examining me, the acupuncturist told me (in her delightful French accent) that my belly was too cool to carry a baby. She described it as having three burners (like on a stove) in your tummy. You want all three of them to be on a simmer-like low-heat setting for babies - not too hot, not too cold. She also wasn't happy with the tightness in my abdomen. She said we could work on getting my blood and my Qi flowing and that it could help with the fertility. I figured what could it hurt? All of our Western medicine attempts hadn't worked yet. We were getting to the end of wanting to keep trying. Maybe this would be the thing that would work. Or not. But at least it would be trying something different. (In addition to our usual Western medical assistance.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I went every week for three weeks. Then every other week, then down to every third or fourth week. I felt great. My energy levels were up, the tightness in my abdomen went away. I no longer had nights where I woke up from sleep because I was too hot or too cold. I could sleep a solid 7-8 hours, feeling rested in the morning. Even if the acupuncture didn't help with fertility, it certainly helped with everything else. I crossed my fingers as we went in for our next IUI cycle. <i>Maybe this East-meets-West thing will work</i>. I continued with the acupuncture after the IUI treatment, figuring that I should keep those burners on low to keep my belly baby-incubating-friendly. After a few weeks and the positive pregnancy I test, I told my acupuncturist that it appears our team effort had paid of. She was delighted when I told her and we both laughed with excitement. I've continued with acupuncture every three weeks or so, and I wonder if it's one of the reasons I've had a relatively easy first part of my pregnancy with no morning sickness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Regardless of it whether it worked or it's all in my head, the fact is that I'm pregnant and feeling good. And that's all that really matters.</span><br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-31423179378434930172013-08-23T10:23:00.001-07:002013-09-05T20:28:55.681-07:00Cautiously optimistic<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now that we are where we are, I feel like I can go back and post some of the entries I typed up while we were in the wait-and-see period. Here's the first one (6 weeks along):</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We had been here before. Almost a year ago. In the exam room, waiting for our first ultra sound. The stick I peed on said the IUI was successful. The bloodwork had said the IUI was successful. Our first successful fertility treatment in almost three years. We walked into that six-week ultrasound not knowing what to expect. What to see. What to feel. I laid there on the table with Zac sitting next to me, idling chit-chatting, waiting for the doctor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A resident, whom we had never met, breezed in the room, cheery, smiling. She introduced herself as she pulled on a pair of gloves and told us excitedly, "We should be able to hear a heartbeat today!" Zac and I exchanged looks. We hadn't expected that. We hadn't known what to expect, honestly, but certainly not that. I had purposefully stayed away from reading pregnancy guides or researching things on the internet. I had let the first few weeks after the IUI to move along in a normal manner, not wanting to over-think the idea of being pregnant. I figured I would wait until the first ultrasound to get some sort of confirmation that I should perhaps learn a little more about being with child.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The doctor prepped the machine and started the exam. Within seconds her face fell. The smile vanished and was replaced by a look of concern and disappointment. Zac instinctively reached out for my hand, which made me catch my breath. We knew. Even though we had no idea what that first ultrasound was supposed to show, we knew she wasn't seeing it. The doctor moved the probe around some, trying different angles. She said nothing and after a moment gave us a resigned look of sadness. "There's no heartbeat," she said. "I am going to go get your doctor."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The resident and the medical assistant left the room. Zac and I didn't say anything at first. Finally I mumbled something about not realizing that we would have been able to hear a heartbeat at this appointment. Zac said that he, too, was surprised that we should have been able to hear that. "Well, I guess it didn't work," I said with a sigh. I didn't know how to feel. We had zero expectations walking through the door, we had our expectations raised by the announcement that should hear a heartbeat, and now in a manner of seconds they had come crashing down around us. It was the shortest, most devastating roller-coaster of emotions I have ever had.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There was a knock at the door and my doctor, the resident and the medical assistant returned to the room. He gave me a sad smile and patted my knee. He also examined me, to confirm what the resident had learned. "I'm sorry," he said, "but it looks like the pregnancy wasn't viable. You made it about five and a half weeks." "Ok," I said automatically, "So now what?" The doctor said we could discuss the next steps in his office. As they somberly excused themselves from the room so I could get dressed, I sat up and Zac stood next to me. We were silent for a moment. Finally I looked at him. "Are you okay" I asked him. For the first time I noticed the redness of his face, the welling in is eyes. "I'm fine," he answered. "What about you?" I paused, and the tears came and fell down my face as I smiled at him. "I'm about as fine as you are." He squeezed my hand. We would be fine, but for now we were sad. So very sad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- - - - -</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So we had been here before. The six week appointment. The appointment that we now knew held the potential of a heartbeat. I was anxious. Zac was anxious. We forced ourselves to talk about anything other than pregnancy as we sat in the waiting room for our appointment. Finally our name was called. Our medical assistant was excited for us, peppering me with questions. "How have you been feeling? Any morning sickness yet?" I gave her a half-hearted smile and short answers. "I feel almost normal and no, I haven't had any morning sickness." I must have made it clear that I wasn't interested in talking more about my condition because she replied with an surprised, "Oh," and left it as that the remainder of the walk to the exam room. Yes, I'm pregnant, I thought to myself, but I've been here before. It doesn't always work out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another resident we had never seen came in to the room. Same routine - introduction while putting on gloves and prepping the ultrasound machine. Medical assistant at the ready. Zac by my side.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I knew what I was seeing before anyone needed to explain it to me. A flickering. A rapid flickering on a tiny jelly bean in my abdomen. A heartbeat. I said nothing, but I knew that at least we had cleared one more hurdle. The resident smiled, "There's a heartbeat!" He turned on the audio and let us hear the pulsating heart of the embryo. He continued the exam, printing out photos and explaining some of the things we saw on the screen. Zac and I murmured appropriate, "Cool" or "Oh" as he explained what we were looking at, but our excitement was subdued, which I think confused the resident a bit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My doctor joined the exam and happily confirmed that everything looked good. "So now what?" I asked. "So it looks like you're having a baby!" the resident proclaimed, trying to pry some positive energy out of Zac and me. "I'll be excited in nine months when we have a healthy, live birth," I told him wryly. My doctor shook his head and smiled. Knowing my personality from our history of treatments, and the miscarriage, he knew that I wasn't going to be jumping for joy at the pronouncement that I was pregnant. He knew I was cautious, maybe overly so, and at the very least pragmatic. The risk of spontaneous abortion continues through the first trimester. My age meant that we still needed to do genetic testing. There were possibilities that we still weren't going to have a baby. But my doctor smiled at me broadly and patted my knee. "I'm giving you medical permission to be cautiously optimistic." That did it. I had to smile and chuckle. "Alright," I told him, "since it's doctor's orders."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So there we were, walking out of the hospital almost a year after the miscarriage, but this time with a printout of a picture of a tiny jelly bean. We had more hurdles to clear, but the first one was over. In two weeks we would have another one. The eight-week ultrasound. If everything looked good I "graduated" from the infertility clinic to the regular obstetrics clinic. Then there would be a ten-week ultrasound. And genetic testing. And then, based on those results, decisions. So many hurdles yet to clear. But, on doctor's orders, I was trying to be cautiously optimistic. After all, doctor's orders, right?</span><br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-70091313750083914592013-08-12T13:41:00.000-07:002013-08-12T13:41:23.979-07:00Then there's this . . . <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HgGcOcWpgGLqP1vHYjEhQPfPp4cPfZTcUjSlvdnkiSRq1ImWprp1lWzSmDslK2C6auVxtUy0-IO4RopJa8t0OHW-y64J0vK3kDoSRn1ZlqGQLOzbO7HeXU2xDqIpwyGeDUWWgk8rNdVl/s1600/KOTSCHWAR_KATHERINE_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HgGcOcWpgGLqP1vHYjEhQPfPp4cPfZTcUjSlvdnkiSRq1ImWprp1lWzSmDslK2C6auVxtUy0-IO4RopJa8t0OHW-y64J0vK3kDoSRn1ZlqGQLOzbO7HeXU2xDqIpwyGeDUWWgk8rNdVl/s320/KOTSCHWAR_KATHERINE_6.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have been blogging, but haven't posted some of my entries because I was waiting for the right time. I guess today can be the right time. After 3.5 years of infertility treatments, we're 17.5 along and looking good. Yay!</span></div>
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-44393085453335297032013-08-01T08:27:00.000-07:002013-08-01T08:27:23.158-07:00Recuperating from volunteering<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was going to jump right in to talking about this month's COMPASS session when I thought, "Maybe I should link to some prior entries about COMPASS." I did a search of my blog and I was surprised to find that I only had a couple of <a href="http://kate-mpls.blogspot.com/2010/03/compass-class-in-review.html" target="_blank">entries</a> that <a href="http://kate-mpls.blogspot.com/2012/11/for-working-less-than-full-time-my-days.html" target="_blank">mentioned</a> it in any <a href="http://kate-mpls.blogspot.com/2011/10/t-minus-two-weeks.html" target="_blank">sort</a> of detail. In a nutshell, COMPASS is a three-day Navy 101 course for spouses. It is taught by mentor spouses who have been married to their sailor for at least three years, have gone through the course, and been trained to be a mentor. Spouses can attend the course at most major Navy installations across the globe. We have COMPASS teams in places including Norfolk, San Diego, Seattle, Kings Bay (GA), Rota, Italy and Yokosuka, Japan. I started volunteering with COMPASS in Hawaii, which is where I went through the course. I had not been married to my sailor long enough to be a mentor at first, so I simply attended the sessions until I reached the three year mark. I would bring food to feed the participants and sit in the back with the mentors that weren't presenting at that given time. I became part of the team before I officially became a mentor and some of my best times in Hawaii were COMPASS-related.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once I got settled into our life here in San Diego, I sought out the San Diego COMPASS team. It was a tough adjustment at first. I felt out of place. I had dropped into a well-oiled machine that had it's own established systems, patterns, personalities and traditions. Perhaps I came off as stand-offish, but I didn't feel warmly welcomed by the team. After sitting through my first San Diego COMPASS session I told Zac that I wasn't sure that I wanted to go back. It was so different than Hawaii. I didn't see how my personality was going to fit in with the San Diego team. I decided to give it another shot, but it really wasn't until the third session that I felt a thaw between myself and some of the team members. Knowing what I know now, a number of the mentors held a "wait and see" attitude with me. They had mentors come to the San Diego team from other locations before, or had trained team mentors of their own, only to have many of them discontinue volunteering after only a session or two. They were waiting to see if I was serious about being there. I also was finally growing comfortable with the strong personalities on the team, and felt like my voice was being heard. Starting with that third session, COMPASS began to be fun again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It wasn't too long after I felt like part of the San Diego team that our Team Leader asked me if I would like to take over for her. I was shocked and flattered. I had thought that it would be an exciting challenge to be a Team Leader at some point, but I hadn't thought that the opportunity would pop up so soon. She said that she liked my attention to detail and my commitment to the program. She also knew that I had more time on my hands than some of the other mentors. I agreed and over the next few months she showed me how to do the administrative portion of being a Team Leader. It really is more of a administrative role than anything. The Leader's main job are to be the contact person between "Big COMPASS" (i.e. the over-arching program) and the local team while keeping the local team organized and humming along.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was interested in becoming Team Leader for a couple of reasons. First, I believe in the program and want to see it reach as many spouses as possible. It was incredibly beneficial for me and I like being to able to advocate its importance. Second, it is opportunity to get out of the house and make friends and connections with other spouses. Third, it helps out my resume. COMPASS really does help make up for some of the workplace skills that my current work-from-home job lacks. I telecommute with minimal contact to the mothership back in MN - a few emails back and forth and an occasional phone call. But it is disingenuous to say I work as part of a "team". My supervisor can attest to my attention to detail, my ability to abide by deadlines, and the high quality of my work product. But I can't advance up the ladder, showing growth and ambition. I can't take on additional responsibilities. I can't be in charge of other people. I can't show off my public speaking or my organizational skills. Volunteering as an ombudsman and with COMPASS has allowed me to put concrete examples of some of those skills on my resume, and being a Team Leader will give me the opportunity to demonstrate some of the leadership and interpersonal skills. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So this month was the first month that I was the Team Leader. This was also the first month since I've been involved with the San Diego where the session almost fell completely apart. I like to think it was just a coincidence. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I knew it was going to be an interesting session early on. At our planning meeting (held three weeks before the session) I learned that almost half of the mentors were going to be unavailable because of summer vacations. No big deal, as we had enough mentors to teach the topics that we cover over the three days. We usually have our mentors only teach one topic each session in order to spread out the time and energy needed to prepare that segment. We had barely enough mentors, but enough. A little more than a week before the session one of the mentors who was signed up to present a topic had a death in the family. She was going to be gone for the funeral. <i> Totally understandable. Safe travels and my best to you and your family.</i> The next day I got an email that another mentor scheduled to present was offered a job (after months of job hunting) and started on Monday, the same day she was supposed to present. <i>Congratulations on the new job!</i> Oh dear. That left two gaping holes in our presentation schedule.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wasn't currently assigned to teach any of the topics. The Team Leader is usually in charge of conducting the introductory part of the class and the wrap-up/graduation at the end. In past sessions the Team Leader didn't present any other topics. Since one of the now presenter-less topics was one that I've taught a number of times I decided to teach it (since it wouldn't require too much prep work on top of the other session prep work I had going). One of the other mentors decided that she'd help out and pick up a second topic to teacher, which was fantastic because she is an excellent presenter. Who hoo! We had found mentors for each of the topics. Phew! Once we got past that minor crises, I thought that we were in the clear. But no, not quite. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Since the beginning of time we have held our sessions at the same location. The advantage of this location is that it has multiple rooms to conduct the session, meaning we can have a classroom and a childcare room. (Plus a room for the kids to eat in so they don't get the childcare room messy.) Plus there is a kitchen that we can use to store our food. We can only reserve the space a couple of months in advance and we have never had an issue reserving it in the past. The out-going Team Leader had put in the appropriate request to reserve the spaces in plenty of time and we were told that our reservation had been approved and the space was ours, as usual. (Again, we have reserved the same rooms for the third Monday-Wednesday of every other month for a number of years.) This location also is where we store all of our supplies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">About four days before the session was due to begin, I got a phone call from the out-going Leader. The panic in her voice was only thinly veiled. The location had called to let her know that there had been a mix-up with the reservations and while we could have our usual spot on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday had been promised to another group. Ooooooooh-kay. She said she was going to call some mentors to see if their churches might let us use their buildings, and I said I'd call some of the Navy resources in the neighborhood like the housing community centers. I wasn't successful, but luckily one of the mentor's church offered it's building for our use. (We have used this church in the past for our rare evening sessions because our usual location is only available during the day.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Monday's class at our regular location went pretty well. After class on Monday, with a skeleton mentor crew, we packed up all of our supplies, drove a couple of miles down the street, unloaded the cars and set up shop. And by "supplies" I hope you don't think I mean a few notepads and some pens. By supplies I mean four of those large, purple Rubbermaid bins plus an assortment of other boxes and bags. And they're heavy. We provide three-ring binders to our class participants that have our class materials in them. They are the study, hard-cover type and contain about two inches worth of paper in them. We had 20 of those binders to bring. Plus each participant gets a graduation bag full of publications and other goodies which also weigh a couple pounds each. It just all adds up. We also had lugged along all the food from the original location. By the time Monday's class was done I was beat. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tuesday morning, I was a little nervous. We had reminded the class participants multiple times that Tuesday's session was going to be in a different location. I was anxious that one or two might forget. To my delight all of the participants arrived, with their children in tow. 21 children in total. Many, many children between the ages of 6 months and six years. So many children. With so much mid-morning energy. New problem: none of our babysitters had arrived and class was supposed to start. 21 children running around with no one dedicated to watch them. The mentors and I frantically tried texting and calling our babysitters and got no answer. One of the mentors drove to the the usual location to see if they forgot, one of the mentors started the class, one mentor stayed in the classroom to help her with the class and the other two remaining mentors (one of which was me) headed to the nursery to watch the kids. We had just finished making name tags for the kids when the babysitters arrived, about 20 minutes after class had started. One of them had gotten lost, the other had attempted to help her with directions, whatever. I didn't care. They were there and that's all that mattered. So the other mentor and I scooted back into the classroom and helped out as we were needed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">[Fun side note: the mentor that had gone to the regular location came back and reported that there was no one using the facility. No one. Not a soul. The rooms we were denied because they had been reserved by another group? Empty.]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once we got through Tuesday I was feeling cautiously optimistic. Only one more day. We could make it through one more day. The only thing that made me a little nervous was that I had a doctor's appointment Wednesday morning at 8:30. I had told the team that I was going to be a few minutes late and one of the mentors had volunteered to kick off the class for me. That night I tossed and turned, plagued by a dream that my doctors announced at my appointment that I was going to be there for at least three hours. I told my doctors that I couldn't stay that long. "I have to get to COMPASS," I kept insisting. In my dream the doctors ended up locking me in the exam room until the appointment was done. I had no reception on my cell phone and couldn't text or call the other mentors to let them know I was being held captive, and that someone was going to have to teach my section because I wasn't going to make it. I finally arrived to the COMPASS session in my dream, where I was given the cold shoulder from my fellow mentors because I hadn't been courteous enough to call them to let them know I was going to be late. The COMPASS session had fallen apart and everyone was upset. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've been having really vivid dreams lately. It's mildly aggravating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyhow, I woke up Wednesday morning, got to my appointment 20 minutes early, asked the receptionist how long the appointment would take, asked the nurse how long the appointment would take, and then asked the doctor again when he arrived. They all assured me I'd be there for about 45 minutes. They were true to their word and I made to COMPASS in plenty of time to teach my last section. We wrapped up the last day of the session and thanked everyone for attending. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">[Another funny side note: the chaplain came to give his presentation and he asked us why we weren't in our usual location - one of the Navy's chapels. We explained that someone else had reserved the spaces for Tuesday and Wednesday. He scowled and said that there was no one at the chapel. Yup. Just another day of empty classrooms. Let's just say he wasn't pleased with the schedulers. He said if we had an issue with this again we needed to call him directly.]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After all of the participants had left, the mentors sat down and had a wrap-up meeting. We talked about what went right, what went wrong, and ideas for the future. There were only six of us (instead of the usual 10+), but we had pulled it off, and quite successfully based on the overwhelming positive feedback that we got from the class evaluations we received. We packed up the supplies, but away the folding tables and chairs, cleaned the church's kitchen, drove back to our usual location, unloaded the supplies and headed our separate ways.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was exhausted, but I was thrilled. If we can overcome a mid-stream change of location, mentors dropping out of the schedule at the last minute (due to completely legitimate reasons) and lost babysitters, I think we'll be able to take on just about any challenge that comes up. I'm excited to see how being the Team Leader feels with a full mentor roster for our September session. And you had better believe that I will be triple-checking that our reservations for our regular location will be honored. Oh, and did I mention that Zac and I went to the Food Bank to bag 8,000+lbs of pears later that night? I was in bed by 9:35 that night.</span><br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-10292612887557471532013-06-25T10:03:00.004-07:002013-06-25T10:03:52.444-07:00A first in mispellings<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My married last name is hard for people to pronounce and spell. Apparently there are too many consonants clustered together in the middle and it confuses people. This is similar to, but different from, my maiden name which consisted of too many vowels (or sometimes vowels). I have spent my entire life using an automatic "first name, spelled, last name, spelled" convention when asked my name for registrations or appointments. With my married name I have even developed two ways of spelling it - one for civilians and one using the military's phonetic alphabet depending on who my audience is. Civilians seem to be more comfortable with "T as in Tom" whereas military folks prefer "T as in Tango". My aim is to get my name spelled right, so I'll accommodate whomever is on the other side of the desk or telephone. Despite my attempts at getting my name spelled correctly, it still sometimes happens that the email or snail mail is addressed with an incorrectly spelled surname. There are usually three or four different ways people misspell my last name, but yesterday I encountered a first.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I called a dentist's office to make an appointment and as I was a new patient, I needed to give my information to the receptionist. First name, spelled, last name, spelled. She read them both back to me and I agreed that she had them spelled correctly. At the end of the phone call she said I would be receiving a confirmation email shortly. About 10 minutes later an email from that office appeared in my inbox. I opened it and began to laugh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">[Since I don't want to use my real last name here, I'm going to use a fake one to ease the telling of the story.]</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My last name is Schwartz. S-C-H-W-A-R-T-Z.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The name on the email was S-C-H-U-U-A-R-T-Z. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Read the spellings out loud. How could she have made that mistake? I was baffled for a second until I realized what had happened. On the second spelling, consider referring to the middle of the word as a "double u". Of all of the letters in my name that I usually clarify when spelling it out </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(S, C, T, Z)</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, W isn't one of them. And, of course, when the receptionist read my last name back to me she used the same language I had, "S as in Sam, C as in Charlie, H, double-u, etc." I didn't (and couldn't) hear that she had typed out two separate Us instead of one single W. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I laughed for a good five minutes. Later in the evening I showed Zac the email and asked him if he had ever had his last name misspelled in this way. He had not. He laughed as well. But looking at it now, I can't understand how she would have that I thought I meant two Us in a row. If someone's last name is Little, I can't imagine they spell it out, L-I-double T-L-E. That seems clunky and odd. I'll just chalk this one up as a bizarre misspelling. But it's a funny one.</span></div>
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-28096494363728094402013-06-24T12:14:00.004-07:002013-06-24T12:14:27.971-07:00Sorry for the silence<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I promise I've got some decent blog posts in me that will be popping up in the next few weeks. I keep meaning to sit down and take some time to catch people up on our goings on, but it seems like blogging keeps getting pushed to the back burner. You have my word that I'll make it up to you. Maybe I'll even be able to produce more than two entries per month going forward. [gasp!] It's sort of my mid-year's resolution.</span>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-39523675424337993782013-05-30T17:14:00.000-07:002013-05-30T17:14:36.704-07:00Questioning my feelings<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I have been going through the last three-plus years, I have stayed away from books about infertility. I haven't browsed or joined any chat rooms devoted to the subject. I haven't joined a support group or made any other major attempt at reaching out to anyone else going through this. I have asked a trio of friends who have gone through infertility a couple of specific questions about their process, but they were usually technical in nature and once the questions were answered they respected my need to discontinue the conversation. As a result, I have really no frame of reference of what other women have gone through when they have faced infertility and I sometimes wonder if what I'm feeling is normal. Not enough that I care to ask anyone, but I still wonder.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of the things that has been eating at me lately is how to determine what emotions are "real" and which emotions are simply highly evolved coping mechanisms, developed over years of unsuccessful treatments. I was going to say I'm not sure which of my feelings are "genuine" but I believe that all of my emotions are genuine. I just don't know if I'm protecting myself or if I've really changed how I feel. Here is a concrete example to illustrate my ramblings . . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At this point in my life, I am no longer certain whether I want to have to children, or if I simply want to prove to myself (and others) that I'm not broken. It's like when a child begs and pleads for a toy insistently and when the parent finally relents the child realizes that they really have no interest in the toy. They <i>thought </i>they wanted it, and having it withheld from them increased it's allure and desirability, but in the end they didn't really want the toy. In truth, they just didn't like being told no. In some ways that's how I feel about having a baby now. I'm not certain that I really want one, or if I simply don't like being told no.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There was a time in my life where I was certain that I wanted children. I looked forward to the challenges, victories and defeats of child rearing. But over the last six months or so, maybe even year, I feel like a tide is turning. I've been reading lots of articles about the challenges of work-life balance for parents, but mothers in particular and I think about how much I'm looking forward to developing my career when Zac retires. A couple of weeks ago, as I read up on how much it costs to raise a child, I could feel myself dreading cutting back on contributing to my retirement account in order to fund diapers and college funds. I was getting ready for bed the other night and sadly recognized that if I had a child, my sleep patterns would not be my own, possibly for a long, long time. I was on a terribly turbulent flight last week and I thought to myself, "This would utterly suck if I had a kid in tow." (The feeling was reinforced when I was running down an airport hallway trying to make the third leg of a flight, exhausted from hours of traveling and weighted down by a heavy backpack.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was surrounded by kids last week at Zac's cousin's wedding. Almost a dozen kids belonging to Zac's various cousins - infants up to 10 years old. And while I enjoyed the kids, at no point did I have any sort of yearning to have one. I felt no sense of loss. No feeling of missing something. Instead I was grateful that Zac and I were able to stay later into the evening, free from a responsibility of getting kids back to the hotel to get to bed at a somewhat normal time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I find myself more and more happy that I don't have a child, and dreading the idea of having one. However, I can not for the life of me figure out if 1). It's because I really, truly, no longer want to have children, or 2.) I've developed such a strong defense mechanism against the disappointment that I've convinced myself that I feel this way. Am I continuing with fertility treatments because I am that petulant child that hates to be told no? Or do I really still want to have kids? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't have the luxury of time to take a break for a couple of years to reexamine what I truly want. I'll be 36 soon, and perhaps the one and only thing that I am certain of is that I do not want to be 40 and having a child. If we get pregnant, I am sure I'll come around to the idea of being a mother. I just hope that's what I want.</span></div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-5770383166743755882013-05-13T20:37:00.000-07:002013-05-13T20:44:34.357-07:00Proud that MN is my home<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I have moved around to different parts of the United States, I am frequently reminded of how much I miss Minnesota and how proud I am to have been raised there. Today was another one of those days where I burst with Minnesota pride.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For those that don't know, Minnesota's Senate passed a bill today that will legalize gay marriage. Our House passed it last week. Now it is on to Gov. Dayton's office where he says he will sign it into law, maybe as early as Thursday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have friends who are gay. Dear, dear friends whom I love with all of my heart. Some of them have been in committed relationships twice as long as I have been with my husband. Some of them have children. And now they will have the opportunity to enjoy the legal protections that Zac and I share. They will be able to celebrate in front of their families and friends and have an officiant say, "By the power invested in me by the State of Minnesota" and know that our state does, indeed, recognize them - their relationship, their family, their commitment, their <b><u><i>love</i></u></b>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of my friends, who has been in a committed relationship with her partner for more than a decade, posted this exchange she had with her eight-year-old son the other day:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Son: "What's the American dream mom?"<br />Mom: "Well, it means different things to different people but usually to have a home and a good job and be happy."<br />Son: "Seriously, it should be to have a great family like ours. Not to have money or anything. That way you can be rich with love."</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That sums it up pretty well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Congratulations, Minnesota. I am so proud of you. </span></div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6438058692778212472.post-33799953281489286922013-05-01T21:36:00.000-07:002013-05-01T21:36:38.686-07:00Location matters<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once upon a time I worked at Barnes & Noble. I was assigned to Department 3 and Juvie (a.k.a. the kids' section). Our "departments" were arbitrary divisions of the books and merchandise that roughly matched the layout of the carpet and shelving fixtures in the store. I became most familiar with the books that were housed in Department 3 and Juvie, as that is where I'd spend most of my hours helping customers, shelving and organizing. [I loved that job. *sigh*]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Juvie area of responsibility didn't only include books for children. It also included books for adult customers on pregnancy, baby names, parenting and education. The fertility books, however, were kept in Department 3, about 60 feet away in the middle of the Health section surrounded by books on other afflictions and diseases like asthma, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">heart disease, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">AIDS, diabetes, etc. The miscarriage books were kept there too. The label on the shelf even read "Infertility/Miscarriage".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On a number of occasions I would find a female customer standing in the pregnancy aisle, with a sad, defeated look on her face. I would approach her and ask brightly, in my best customer-service voice, "May I help you find something?" even though based on her body language and expression I had a good guess what her answer would be. Usually there was a pause, they would look at the carpet, they would look up, almost embarrassed and ask quietly, "Where are the books on miscarriage?" Sometimes the answer was, "I can't find any books here on infertility." I would give them an empathetic nod (though knowing what I know now, it should have been sympathetic) and lead them back to the Health section. I can understand why their first inclination was to look in the pregnancy section for books on fertility and miscarriage. After all, you can't have a pregnancy (or a miscarriage) without being fertile first. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I would leave them to browse the titles and continue with my workday I would briefly think about how difficult those few minutes must have been for those customers. Standing in front of all of those pregnancy and parenting books with happy babies and children and bright colors plastered all over the covers. Searching for answers to their own struggle while being bombarded by hundreds of books that reminded them of what they were striving for or had lost. Part of me didn't like the idea of putting the fertility/miscarriage books in with the other disease topics. I don't think that heart disease and diabetes carry the same complicated mix of grief, shame and anger that infertility and miscarriage do. To catalog them the same way seems cruel. But it was still a better choice than to locate those books with pregnancy and parenting. That would have been cruelest of all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I thought about those customers, and the location of those books, the other day while I was visiting the fertility clinic. About four months ago the fertility clinic moved and it is now located in the large Naval hospital here in San Diego. It is on the same floor and in the same wing as the Fetal Assessment Unit (FAU), the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) and Labor and Delivery (L&D). More specifically, the infertility clinic now shares the same space as the FAU. It's an odd choice for cohabitation - pregnant women and others who hope to be. The waiting room usually contains women who are visibly pregnant, often times with their doting spouse, and a handful of us infertile women, alone. I don't blame our spouses for not coming with us - after all, there isn't much for them to do or see and our appointments only last 10-15 minutes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The cohabitation of infertility and FAU doesn't bother me, though I often wonder if the pregnant patients are as aware of us as we are of them. I don't begrudge or resent the presence of the women who are expecting, but then again I've come to a certain peace with my infertility. I have to imagine, however, that that isn't the case for all of the infertile women who come through that office. I know that there are infertility patients that are in the throws of despair and depression, grief and confusion, hurt and bitterness. To be sitting there, facing all of those happy soon-to-be mommies, must be incredibly hard for them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My guess is the hospital didn't think much of the emotional impact of locating the infertility clinic with the FAU. Instead, I wager the powers-that-be wanted to have all of the sonogram and ultrasound machines in one area in the interest of convenience and efficiency. It's too bad. I think the infertility clinic should have been put in Department 3.</span><br />
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08839009881093456132noreply@blogger.com0