With so many obstacles coming towards me on a daily basis, I have learned that the role of wife, mother, and business owner is a cluttered mess most of the time. I read blogs about how to schedule, making time for this or that, but the truth is, a schedule is only an outline. I find myself flying by the seat of my pants only looking towards the next minute where something needs to be washed, picked up, cleaned up, edited, and on and on. If only I had listened to the women in my life before, I would have understood what they meant by, “the woman is the stronger gender”. You carry the weight of the entire family on your shoulders. When someone has a bad day, it moves in waves towards you, and you brace yourself for the impact.
In all of the chaos, there is a part of me saying, “slow down…enjoy…”. So, I do. I watch my little boy struggle to stand up and take steps. I see his bright blue eyes smiling from under those beautiful eyelashes. I hear his little voice trying to figure out how to say, “doggie”, or “eat”. It amazes me daily. He amazes me. Then, I remember the wash that needs to be changed out, or the dishes soaking, or the photos needing editing, or … or… or….
I cannot believe the way my life has caught me by surprise. Such wonder and selflessness. Not only do I have my business to concern over, but my husband is also a struggling entrepreneaur. Days on end, he will enter the house without a smile. I know the look too well, I’m afraid. However, I must finish cooking supper, clean up from supper, and begin the many hours of editing and marketing.
These days, I savor a minute of singularity as if it were the last drop of water on the planet. I thirst for it.
For all of you mothers out there who are feeling this same sense of duty, you are not alone. Do not isolate yourself by thinking you are the only person experiencing the difficulties of motherhood. The new normal we find ourselves in is not all bad. The love we shower on to our children only encourages their self-esteem. The selflessness they see in us we can only pray they will emulate in the future.
Mothers, we are the strong arms, strong backs, strong minds, strong hearts, strong loves of our family. I encourage all of you to take a moment today and breathe. Become present in the moment, and look your child in the eyes. After that, the new normal is all worth it.
A few years ago, my mother came for a visit. Whenever she comes, we always make a trip to the local Bible book store. She likes the Gaither music books. During this visit, she found a Bible she really liked. It was one of those cool designed thin lines. She really loved that Bible.
My mother and step-dad go to a little country church in South Carolina. If you have ever been in a country Baptist church, you have seen this one. They are a tight little community of believers who truly activate the idea of prayer. One Sunday, she and Charlie, her husband, went to Sunday school as they had many times before. One of the younger members commented on how much he liked her Bible. Mom said she sat there the entire time thinking about whether or not she should give him the Bible. Right before the end of class, mom felt a voice in her heart telling her to give him the Bible. So, after class, she walked up to him and said, “Here, Mike, take the Bible. I want to give it to you.” She said his eyes welled up with tears. “Really?” “Of course,” said she as she handed him the Bible. Mike didn’t have a melt down, but she said she could tell he was really touched by the gesture.
The next week at Sunday school, he asked her to write her name in the front of the Bible. She wrote, “To: Mike, From: Charlie and Patsy”. Then he began to tell her something she did not know. With tears welling up in his eyes again, he said, “Patsy, I don’t think you know this, but I can’t read, but I have decided to let my girls read to me from this Bible every night.” My mom told him it was a great idea and that most parents do not read the Bible with their children at all. They would be making a great memory together.
Every Sunday after that, as they were filing into church, he would catch mom’s eye and hold up his Bible. Mom told me this story, and I was touched to the point of tears.
Earlier this week, she told me of a man in their church who had been in a motorcycle accident, and she asked me to pray for him. He had 3 little girls at home. Tonight, she told me that he died. She also told me that this man was Mike. Mike. The same man who she gave the Bible to a few years ago.
My mother has always been someone who gives to those who are hurting, and this time is not unlike others, but much different at the same time. Mom and Charlie took food over to Mike’s mother. As soon as mom got there, Mike’s mother immediately began to talk about the Bible. She said, “If you had given him a million dollars, it wouldn’t have meant as much to him as that Bible did. He cherished it.” She went on to say, “I want you to know I now have that Bible, and I will cherish it the rest of my life”.
It made me wonder. While the printers were printing off the pages of that Bible, did they know how much it would mean to someone? While the binders were watching the Bible go down the line, or while the shipping department was handling the Bible and packing it up for delivery, did they know what new story of God’s love and gifts would be told through this Bible? I certainly didn’t know when we purchased the Bible. I don’t believe my mother knew it either. It just goes to show that the contents of what is written in the Bible isn’t bound by bonded leather. These truths live, breathe, and move without words. Does someone need to be an educated theologian to enjoy God’s blessings? Can someone who does not know how to read the written word be touched by God? Should we be more aware of God’s word that is written on our hearts?
No one knows but God the nature of Mike’s heart. But, I will say this, my mom certainly experienced something supernatural with one simple gesture towards this man. Legacies of Christ did not stop with His written word…these works continue through us. I hope we can all be authors of God’s word by listening to His still small voice and going ahead and doing the strange in order to become a part of something strangely amazing.
“When I finish this book, we are going on this diet” said my well-meaning husband. The book was by Dr. Asa Andrew. The diet: no wheat, no dairy. How long? 4 weeks. My first thought? “You have to be kidding me. What are we going to eat?”
The diet not only excluded wheat and dairy, but we were not allowed to have refined sugars, table salt, and canola oil. We could only cook with butter. We could flavor our foods with sea salt, pepper, herbs, honey, and other unrefined products. We were allowed to have almonds, but peanuts were out. We also were to drink half of our body weight in ounces of water per day. Of course, soda was out.
Once Steve finished the book, we went on the diet. The first few days were really difficult. There was much planning involved for meals, and I had to learn a whole new way to cook. There was no more quick sandwiches for dinner, and no more could I just call Steve and have him pick up something on the way home. It was amazing how much thought had to be put into each and every thing we ate. Thankfully we could have dark chocolate over 70% cacao.
Not only did the preparation for the meals take getting use to, but the actual flavors were a shock to the system. Before the diet, Steve and I were pasta-aholics. I had to find something to replace for noodles, and I had seen on Dr. Oz how one woman replaced noodles with Spaghetti Squash. It was different but great.
We would eat organic scrambled eggs cooked in butter with no salt or pepper for breakfast, roast beef with honey mustard and veggies for lunch, almonds and chocolate for snacks, and whatever I could figure out for dinner.
As of today, it has been 2 days shy of 4 weeks. Steve got home from work and said, “It is time to cheat. We are going out to eat, and we are cheating in a big way.” Excited, I agreed and almost tripped over myself to get out the door.
We had to go to Costco and pick up our “good” foods with a few other things, and afterwards, we were going to a fried chicken tenders joint. It was once my favorite fast food place. I was so stoked about this eating experience. As we left Costco, I could smell the tenders cooking. We barely got the baby in the car before we were jumping in and racing over to the tender’s restaurant. We were like lions going to a feast. I was overwhelmed with complete and total ecstasy.
We walked in and placed our glutinous order and found a place to sit. I had packed Asher his dinner, so I started to feed him as soon as we had him settled in. The food came out, and I couldn’t wait! This was the thing I had dreamed of for the entire diet. Ah…fried food. My heart’s desire.
My first bite was a french fry. I had taken a french fry from a friend once while on the diet, and was quite disheartened. However, these were crinkle fries. These were my favorite. As I bit into the fry, I stumbled over my vision and fell flat on my face realizing it tasted bland. There really was no flavor. Then, I realized that in order to get flavor, I was going to have to pile on the table salt. “Ah,” I thought “maybe I should just cover it in sauce!” I did. Still, it was bland. The sauce had lost it’s luster.
As I stared down at my half eaten plate, it hit me. It is all a lie. A lie conceived by brilliant men and women to feed Americans junk and get rich in the process. I had blind folded myself to the truth all of my life. It was as if a veil had been lifted. I could see the wizard.
Four weeks ago, I would have had a good belly laugh at a blog such as this. As I downed my cheeseburger, I would have thought, “Yeah, but if you only had this burger, you would be changing your tune.” My taste buds have taught me so much about not buying into something just because it is popular and easy.
Steve and I discussed the matter in the car on the way home. I felt as though I would vomit, and he, after loosing 20 pounds, gained 2 inches in his waistline in one meal. We thought about how much money we were saving by not eating junk, and how much money it would cost us to get a quality meal if we were to go out to eat.
From one recovering junk food enthusiast, I challenge you to take on this diet we were on. I challenge you to learn a new way to eat. There is no room in our bodies for lies and much room in our bodies for truth. Don’t buy in to the lie. The truth tastes so much better!
Yesterday, I turned 37 years old. It was the birthday I have looked forward to my whole life. I never thought I would ever see this age. I almost didn’t. This is the story of my near death experience, and how it changed my life.
36 IS THE LAST OF THEM
My maternal grandmother died of heart attack when she was only 36. My mother told me this as a child, and I thought, at that time, she was very old to die at 36. Mom told me it was actually very young. Then, on my mother’s 37th birthday, she told me she was officially older than her mother when she died. For some reason, I carried this around with me my entire life. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I wouldn’t live to see 37.
When I found out I was pregnant, concern grew in my heart when I realized I would be 36 years old on the day Asher was to be born. I kept telling myself it would be ok. When all of the craziness began to happen with my pregnancy, I turned off that fear and concentrated on what I had to do: carry the baby and be a mommy. This was all that mattered.
THE WEEK AFTER GIVING BIRTH
Two days after returning home from giving birth to my son, I was admitted into the hospital with fluid around my heart and lungs, heart murmurs, and high blood pressure. I was there a week, but I had survived. Maybe getting to 37 wasn’t an impossibility.
Soon, a schedule developed for our family. None of us had much sleep, but, we were happy.
WHAT IS GOING ON?
I awoke at 6 a.m. with Asher on November 29th. He was one month old that day. I had to go to the bathroom before I got him to nurse, and as I was sitting there, a very large clot came out. It was about the size of a basketball player’s hand. Of course, I thought it was quite strange, but I didn’t worry.
The reason I didn’t worry was because the previous Wednesday, I had a similar experience. After the clot, a stream of blood began to pour out of me, then another clot, then it stopped. I thought it was strange, so I called the doctor. They told me to come down to the hospital, and after they checked my blood, they released me and said this sometimes happens after having a baby. My blood counts were fine.
This was different
Back to the 29th. After the clot came out, I was ok. No blood, no big deal. I went in, picked up Asher, and we cuddled and rocked for about two hours. (Yes, I know…I spoil him with love)
When the blood started flowing, it was soaking my pants immediately. I jumped up and went into the bedroom where my husband was sleeping.
“Steve, you have to take the baby, I am bleeding everywhere!”
He took Asher, and I headed for the bathroom. I was covered in blood as if I had been stabbed, and it was pouring out of me. POURING. There was nothing I could do to make it stop. In the moment, I was concerned, but was unsure of what to do.
I told my husband to come quick, and when he saw me in the bathroom, he said, “We are going to the emergency room NOW”. He grabbed the phone to call our neighbor to come and watch Asher, and I was trying to figure out how I was going to clothe myself with all of this blood. I had my nursing tank and sweatshirt on, but I could not figure out what to do with the bottom half of me.
It Happened FAST
Only maybe 5 minutes had elapsed since I felt the first of the blood in the rocking chair and when I got up from the toilet. Steve had gotten me a towel to put between my legs. After I stood, while Steve was on the phone with the neighbor, I told him to tell her to send someone over NOW. The weakness hit like a brick in the face. I walked to the door in the bathroom, turned, and fell to the floor. Looking to Steve for help, I told him to call 911. I was dying and doing it quickly. Crawling across the floor, I fell into a seated position against the bed.
ON THE FLOOR
We all want to be remembered as stating something fabulous when we die. Unfortunately, this is not how it happened for me. All I could do was to tell Steve over and over again how much I loved him.
In the meantime, my neighbor had arrived. When she saw me on the floor, she froze. This woman is superwoman. She is fantastic at everything she attempts. But, at that moment, I saw pure fear. The baby was screaming. I figure he probably knew something was wrong. Amber just stood there. I said, “Amber, can you please get the baby.” You know, she may have been wondering how to get over to the basinet, because I was in the middle of the floor. She stepped over me, and Steve had to show her the toilet. She said, “Oh God”. Then, she pulled herself together and got the baby.
“I want you to know I love you, Steve.” I repeated frequently.
A couple of times he had to leave the room to help Amber find things for the baby. I was left alone. VERY alone. I prayed quiet prayers. For the first time in my life, I was praying as if God was there in front of me. This prayer was a conversation. Could I hear God’s voice audibly? No, but I could feel His voice, and I knew what He was saying. Words of comfort and calm. So I was. Calm.
I was still hemorrhaging quite a bit. Steve laid on the floor with me until we heard the ambulance. We have 3 dogs who love to announce the coming of any blaring cop car, ambulance, fire truck, etc. Annoying generally, but I told Steve, “I have never been so happy to hear those dogs howl.” He laughed nervously.
Paramedic Saviors
The paramedic came into the room and stood over me. “Some women have strange periods after they give birth,” said she. “Uh, no, this isn’t a period…look at the toilet” Steve said. She stuck her head around the corner, and turned back to Steve and said, “Go tell them to bring the stretcher now!”. She stood beside me, and I leaned over on her leg and told her, “Please help me…please help me…please help me”.
The whole time I was on the floor, I fought to stay aware. There were so many times I almost passed out, but I fought and fought and fought. I wanted to have some control of the situation. Yeah, right.
The guys came into the room with the stretcher. They picked me up and put me on, and then they lifted my legs. Ah…that was so much better.
As they were wheeling me out of the room, I was telling Amber where the bottles were (that we never used because I was nursing) and where the formula was they gave us from the hospital. For the first time, I was ok with the fact Asher was going to have to take formula. Up until this point, he had only breast milk: even through all of the previous drama. This was different. I knew I wouldn’t see him for a while, and he had to eat. The paramedic told me to concentrate on myself because that baby would be fine. He needed his mother.
IV’s Hurt
In the ambulance, they tried to start another IV. I had lost so much blood already that finding a vein was difficult. They cut off my sweatshirt. Very sad for me, because that was my daddy’s adidas sweat shirt from the early 80’s. I loved that sweat shirt, but I didn’t have the strength to take it off.
The first IV didn’t work, and it hurt like hell. It was the size of a drill bit, or at least it felt that way. The woman paramedic found a vein the first try. (Women rock) My blood pressure was something like 70 over 50. Once they had me stable, we got going.
The Ride in the Ambulance
The drive to the hospital was interesting. We were flying, sirens were blaring, and I knew we were running all kinds of red lights. You have to go over Chapman Mountain to get to the hospital from here, and as we were going over it, I looked up into the sky. It was a cold November day, and there were big puffy clouds covering up only some of the bright blue sky. I wondered how it would feel to die. What actually happened?
I was frightened.
The calm feeling from earlier was gone. As the tires rolled along, I knew I was closer and closer to death. I was not ready. I had a new baby, a husband who is great, but who would be in a terribly difficult situation with me gone, a mother who loved me, a sister who would be devastated, and my daddy who would miss his little girl. As the clouds passed by, I could feel the ambulance take the exit towards the hospital.
MENU OF SUFFERING
When we arrived, the hospital nurse outside of the ambulance began to spout off all of the tragedies of the day as if they were a restaurant menu. “Yeah, we have had a busy morning! A stroke, a heart attack…” and she rattled off several other life threatening situations. All I could think was how I was not alone this day in my fear.
They rolled me into the ER. About 10 nurses surrounded me and moved me to the ER bed. The stretcher was covered in blood. Though the ride to the hospital was mostly quiet except for the paramedic asking me if I was still with her, I did mention to her that I was still bleeding a lot. I knew it was going to be bad, even with the towel, but I didn’t know it would be that bad.
All Hands on Deck
The nursing staff cut off my nursing tank while an RN started another IV. Two IV’s going on full blast with fluids. My blood pressure was 55 over 30. There was one nurse to my right who was such a sweetheart. I looked at her name tag and said, “Hi Jackie”. I don’t know if her name was Jackie, but it was something that started with a “J”. She looked at me with this confused look. I said, “I read your name tag.” She smiled and said, “I didn’t think I recognized you”. Another nurse, Josh, said, “I know…it’s confusing when they do that.” They laughed. A moment to laugh at was exactly what I needed.
Once they had me set up, Jackie and Josh began to clean me up. Jackie removed the towel. She asked if I wanted it as she held it up. There was no hope for that poor towel, so I said, “No”. The ER doctor came in and told me my doctor was on his way. After the ER doctor left, I looked over at Jackie and said, “I am really scared”. I could tell she was, too. She was touched by this and was fighting back tears. She said, “It’s going to be ok, dear.”
RELIEF AT THE SIGHT OF YOUR FACE
The gynecologist came into the room, and I was really doing poorly. I felt relieved seeing his face.
Steve had arrived. He had to stay behind to get everything ready for our neighbor who was watching Asher. The gynecologist told me all the things they were to do, and the ER doctor kept reminding him there was a lot of blood. She instructed him to look. He lifted the sheet and said, “Oh, that is a lot of blood. Is she ready? Let’s go”.
Jogging Through The Halls
They wheeled me through the hospital with a slight jog. My poor husband had packed me a bag and had the breast pump bag with him, too. The bags were falling off his shoulders, and they were going so fast, he could barely catch up. He would catch up, tell me I would be ok, he loved me, and fall back again. If it had not been such a dramatic situation, I would have laughed out loud.
As the doctor was calling down for blood, running down the hall, and telling me we would be there soon, I suddenly started having labor pain type of pains. It was severely painful. “It hurts, it hurts,” I cried tearless cries. I couldn’t move I was so weak. The tram worker had the tram held for us, and we got on the train to get to the women’s center OR. My husband said my fingernails had turned purple, and I was whiter than the sheet. My body was dying.
I Love You
I said, “I love you” for the last time to my husband as I was wheeled into OR. The anesthesiologist introduced himself, and I said, “I know you. You were there for my c-section. I’m so glad it’s you.” The little operating table they had hoisted me onto was so narrow. I kept telling the OR nurse I was going to fall. They finally got the arm straps in place, placed the mask on my face, and I was out.
OPERATION AND ICU
The events that unfolded while I was out I didn’t learn about until later. I was in surgery for an hour and a half, I had received 4 units of blood, my blood pressure was dangerously low, they had to bring in another doctor for consultation, and they had taken my uterus.
When I woke up, I was in ICU. They wouldn’t let anyone back to see me for 2 hours. My dad had arrived, and my sister and mother were on their way. Mom had to fly to get to me. Several of our friends were there with Steve. The doctor came in and said the surgery went well, and though he had tried, he could not save my uterus. I was so stoned on medication, it wasn’t for another day or so that I realized the gravity of what had happened.
Good Nurses
The ICU nurse was an angel. She helped me when I became sick from all of the anesthesia, and she helped me find my morphine pump button when I was in agony but barely able to move. Thank you to all nurses. You are saints.
Great Family
Steve came back as soon as my blood pressure stabilized a bit, and I could see the stress all over his face. I asked about Asher, and he said the baby was fine. He told me about my family, and that my dad was there. I asked him to please let my dad come back.
The nurse let Steve and Dad come in at the same time. I told my Dad I wanted some of his homemade vegetable soup so bad. He smiled and cried.
Mom and my sister Allison got there and came back. I was so cold! The nurse put a hot air blower under the sheet. After about 2 minutes, in my drunken stupor, I told mom, “My goodies are hot, my goodies are hot!” I have never used that term before, nor had I ever heard it. Crazy. Mom and Allison giggled, and I smiled. Ah…laughter was a nice change.
Caring Doctors
My gynecologist, the one I loved and who had delivered Asher, had seen early Monday morning that I was in ICU. He came in and apologized for not being there. Crazy, huh? I told him it was ok because he had to be with his family. I told him they had to remove my uterus. Of course he knew this. He said it was ok because it was either that or die. I said they made a good choice.
After about 12 hours in ICU, they took me to a room. The next few days were absolutely the worst of my entire life. I missed my son because he was not allowed to visit me in the hospital. Plus, I wanted to get pregnant again. I wanted to birth another child. I cried more in those few days than all of the tears of my life put together. Another hard choice I had to make was whether or not to continue nursing. I chose to quit, and it broke my heart. This decision was so hard I can barely even think back about it without crying. This was going to be my only naturally born child, and I did not have the strength to care for him.
They had to give me another 2 units of blood as well. This made 6 units of blood total. That is a lot of blood.
THE AFTERMATH
I had intense pain from 2 operations in the same place in the same month, and my hormones were a disaster. But, I was alive. The doctor told me 15 more minutes, and I would have died. Somehow, I already knew it.
They released me from the hospital 4 days later. I cried and cried. How was I suppose to care for my child? I could barely walk! I couldn’t even hold him without having significant pain. Thankfully, my mother stayed with me for the week, and my dad came back for the next week.
It has been a slow recovery. I still have some pain in the area of my incision, and I still struggle with weakness from time to time.
Keeping it together
The mental recovery was the most difficult. I cried for 2 weeks, and my husband just could not stand it. The traumatic event exhausted his mind and heart. He was almost to his breaking point.
I called my daddy and told him I couldn’t stop crying. He said something to me that changed my future coping capabilities. He said,
“Autumn, you have to gain control of yourself. You cannot and should not live your life this way. You have a beautiful baby, a wonderful husband, and it is time for you to take charge of these emotions. I know you are hurting, but you have to learn how to live again.”
I knew he was right. So, anytime after that when I just needed a good cry, I would go off by myself, let it all out, regain composure, and then get back to my family. A mild anti-depressant helped out as well. I weaned myself off of those after 3 months. The time had come to stand on my two feet and be the mom and wife I knew I could be.
I AM 37 YEARS OLD
Now, my son is 10 months old, and I am 37. I know at some point I will die.
Here is what I have learned about death by almost doing it:
I am more prepared for what that feels like.
I know that though you may want control of the situation, the only thing you can do is fight.
Sometimes living after almost being dead is harder.
I am stronger than I have ever been.
I know that any day can be the last one.
So, I live my life unconcerned about what others think, but I walk hard and quickly towards happiness. I live as though I could die at any moment and appreciate every breath.
Happy Birthday to me. 🙂
Our Family 3 weeks after the HysterectomyAn important birthday.
The first time I held Asher in my arms, I was stoned out of my mind on all kinds of meds. I would love to say all of these wonderful things about the moment, a romantic of swelling emotions, but I remember it as if it were a dream. He was so little. I had no idea what I was doing. The family was gathered around, and I handed the baby to his daddy for some loving. Then we all took pictures. It was a whirlwind. It wasn’t until later, when it was just he and I, that I was able to really concentrate on what had just happened. This time, there was a swelling of emotions, the wow factor, the awesome feeling of overwhelmed wonder. I was officially a mother. I didn’t know if I would be a good mommy. I didn’t know if I would be a good wife. For the first time, I felt singled out for a responsibility I did not know if I could handle.
The nurse came in and showed me how to nurse. Asher latched on like a seasoned pro. Thank God, because I certainly didn’t know what I was doing. It wasn’t until the second day that I really started to feel like a mommy. I got into a groove with the baby. I had to get out of bed and walk on the second day, too. The c-section was my first major surgery, so I did not know what I would feel. I ground my toes into the cold tile floor and tried to crawl myself across the floors with only my toes and without picking up my legs. The nurse said, “pick up your legs, dear”. I did and found it was not nearly as bad as I had thought.
The time in the hospital was great. The nurses brought me food. They took the baby to the nursery so I could sleep. It was great. When the day came for us to go home, I was excited. No problem! Steve, my husband, brought the car seat up to the room, and he and the nurse fixed it up with Asher in it so he would be safe for the ride. I got into the wheelchair, and she handed me the baby. We rolled down to the car, and put the baby in his car seat. I got into the back seat with the baby, and all of a sudden, he began to breathe funny and threw up. I yelled, “Steve! Steve! Help!”. I fiddled with the seatbelt and finally got him out of the car seat. His belt had been pulled too tightly, and it made him throw up. This moment, more than any other, turned on a switch in my brain: I turned into a mommy. I knew for a fact that I was a good mommy. I cried all the way home.
The first night we were all home, I had Asher in the basinet beside the bed. He spit up again and began to choke. I freaked out. I cried and cried. Then, I got calm again, and he did it again. I didn’t sleep for 2 months from that moment. I would only sleep when Steve was awake with Asher.
Strangely enough, after that moment, I was stingy with who held the baby. I did not like going into crowded places. I did not like anyone holding the baby for any length of time. It was weird. Only my family was “allowed” extended holding time for Asher. The whole 2 days I was home, I pretty much cried. I called the doctor, and they prescribed some meds for me to help out. I did not take them, though. I was convinced I could handle it.
On the Tuesday after the Sunday we brought Asher home, I started to feel really bad. I laid down on the couch for a nap, and when I woke up, I couldn’t breathe. It felt like I had a wall on my chest. Steve became concerned and called my doctor. They told me to go to the emergency room. They thought I may have had a blood clot in my lung. We waited on my mom to get home from shopping to take care of the baby, and when she arrived, we left. I did NOT want to leave the baby. I was sick about it.
We got to the hospital, and they immediately took me back to a room. I had a CAT scan, and they discovered I had excess fluid around my heart and lungs. They admitted me into the hospital. Meanwhile, Asher was at home giving my mother fits. While I was being tended to in the ER, Steve was making the long trip home to carry the milk I had pumped for his bottle. Once I was admitted to a room, Asher came to the hospital to stay with me. He was better after that, and, I must say, so was I. I still could not sleep well. My poor mom and Steve were so tired from all of the drama, too.
I stayed in the hospital until Thursday. Still I was not well. I couldn’t lie down without feeling a huge weight on my chest and severe pains in my head. For several days, I had to sit up. It was miserable. The same day I was released, I was readmitted with a heart murmur, high blood pressure, and continued fluid issues.
The second trip to the hospital was horrible. I had so many IV’s in such a short period of time that my veins were shot. I told the nurses this. The nurse attending to me swore she was the best on the floor for giving IV’s. I knew this because I told her to put her pride to the side and find the best nurse for giving IV’s. Of course, she blew the vain in my hand. (By the way, that hurts like hell) I was in tears. My little baby was not with me, I was in pain that would not go away, and that darn nurse would not stop being full of herself long enough to see she was incapable of doing the job right. Finally, she went and got another nurse who found a vain in one try.
While we were waiting to get a “real” room, I finally had to go to the bathroom. Not a “number 1”, but the other one. For those of you reading this who have ever had surgery, you understand this moment. It is a scary scary place to be. They had yet to get a rolling cart for my IV machine, and I was stuck on the bed. My husband and I searched and searched for a call button, but we couldn’t find one. So, he pushed this little button on the wall that said, “Code Blue”. We then decided to take matters in our own hands. He gathered up the IV machine (which had to weigh at least 30 pounds) and we headed off to the bathroom. The door to the room and the door to the bathroom were very close to one another, and while on our trip, we looked out the door to the room to see about 5 nurses running down the hall. “Are you ok? Is everything ok?” “Well, yeah, but I have to go NOW” I said. “Why did you push Code Blue”, asked the nurse. “There wasn’t another button to push” said my blushing husband. Too funny!
So, in the bathroom, my husband stood with the IV machine while I struggled to rid myself of the demons. He was exhausted from holding that IV machine, and I had no hands with which to tend to the situation. One was battered from the IV gone bad, and the other one was suited up with heart monitors. It was a precarious situation to say the least. About that time, a nurse entered the room. The door to the hallway and the door to the bathroom were wide open. The whole situation, with all the capabilities of engaging most of the 5 senses, was there for anyone to view. Modesty…goodbye.
Well, with all of those crazy things behind me, I was taken to a “real” room: a labor room with one of those uncomfortable beds. I could barely sit without being in incredible pain. I could barely stand from lack of strength, and between the bed, the length of my IV cord, the rocking chair was unreachable. I could only move in about a one foot square for about 10 minutes. My husband had gone to get the baby and my mom, the nurses were gone, and I was all alone. For a second I thought I might just die right there in that one foot square. “But,” I thought, “if I do fall out, that means they will have to put in another IV. I better die, because they are NOT putting in another IV”. Then I looked at my badly bruised arms and decided to fight.
Asher again came to stay with mommy in the hospital. Because I was so hyper sensitive about his survival, I forced myself to stay awake most of the time. This led to other issues. I would be in the middle of conversations and just pass out. More than once I awoke to people’s faces close to mine saying, “Autumn, are you ok? Wake up Autumn!”. It was weird. Most of it was weird.
I stayed in the hospital, in that uncomfortable labor room bed, until Sunday. I was still pretty sick, but I had a cabinet full of medicine to help me out. My dad had come to relieve my mother, and he did most of the cooking for us the following week. I weaned myself off of the pain pills, and, for the moment, I felt as though I was getting better.
When I went in for my check up the following Wednesday, I complained of being tired a lot. He began to spout off this list of medical conditions that lasted for about a minute and followed up by saying, “You had all of this. You are going to feel bad for a while.” I thought he was talking about some old person. He was talking about me? Yep. He certainly was.
I had 2 long weeks of bliss with my sweet little boy and my precious husband before the worst disaster came about. I still had trouble sleeping, but I was becoming more comfortable with the idea that he would indeed be ok.
The next segment will be very difficult to write about. Up until this time, my mortality was only an idea. Afterwards, I knew what death looked like, and I was not ready to take that ride.
Me and Asher in the hospital the 3rd time in one week
At 36 weeks pregnant, I started having contractions.
As I was preparing for bed, I felt these weird pains. I told my husband we had to go to the hospital. After further inspection by the nurse, I was only dilated one centimeter. (Ten centimeters is where you have to be to deliver.) The “inspection” was very painful. Surprise! I used my breathing techniques from singing and yoga more than ever. Little did I know…this was the easy part.
On October 28th, I went in for my weekly ob/gyn checkup. I had been going in weekly since week 29. Now, at 38 weeks, I was hoping I had dilated more.
Nope.
I had been at 3 centimeters for 2 weeks. My doctor said he wanted me to check in at the hospital at 11:00 p.m. that night. A moment I will never forget. I was so frightened and excited. Then, my husband said, “Should we wait a little longer?” I am certain he could feel the deep glare I was sending him for even considering keeping me in this state for another second. It had been a long 9 weeks of pain and boredom. It was time to get this kid out! The doctor, thankfully, saw my agony and said we were inducing the next day. I love that man.
My sister and mom came to my house, but my daddy was sick and didn’t want to expose the baby to his cold. I appreciated this, but I missed him terribly. Steve and I checked into the hospital that night while my family rested at our house. Another unexpected pain occurred that night: the IV. If they had pushed a large drill bit into my arm it would have felt about the same. It was an engulfing type of pain. I have had numerous IV’s in my life, but this one took them all. I asked the nurse, “I bet a lot of women give you hell about this IV”. She told me that the IV caused her more grief than labor. I can understand. I fought my way through the pain with my handy-dandy breathing technique, and then I thanked God when it was over.
I was to “rest” for the night. They would induce in the morning. Labor beds are MOST uncomfortable. I may have slept for a total of an hour. With my hefty sized belly, back sleeping was out of the picture, and side sleeping was almost impossible. So, I just sat up and waited.
GET THE BOAT!
The morning was slow to arrive. The nurse entered the room at 7:30 a.m. and said they were administering the drug to induce labor. By now, I have forgotten the names of all of the drugs, but at the time, I could have passed pharmacy school. You learn these things when you are pregnant.
The little screen to my right showed the amount and strength of the contractions. At first there were little hills. I felt nothing. Then, taller hills began to cross the screen. I felt little twinges. The doctor came in not long after the nurse and said he was breaking my water. I was scared to death! “Will it hurt?” What in the heck was I thinking? Of course it was going to hurt…I was having a baby and it all hurts! He took this crochet type needle and popped the balloon in my belly. With all of that amniotic fluid, I told him he may want to wear a life jacket. (See THIS BLOG for more explaination.) I was not far off the mark. It felt so gross. It didn’t hurt, but all I wanted to do was go and take a shower.
Once my water was officially broken, the pain really started intensifying. “Do you want something for the pain?” asked the nurse. “Uh huh” is what I said, but my mind was saying, “PLEASE PLEASE!!” My mom, sister, and nephew had arrived by now. Those pain meds hit my system, and the party began. I was having the time of my life. We laughed and laughed. My sister was cracking all kinds of jokes. It was hilarious. My mother-in-law came in to visit, so I straightened up while she was there, but after she left, the party resumed. Was I in pain? Well, yes, but who cared? Life’s a party, right?
Wrong.
There are some pains a little pain pill cannot cover up. About 2:30 is when those pains started coming. “Damn! This hurts!” I grunted. My husband said, “Are you ready for your epidural?” “No. I want to wait a bit longer.” Before I had gotten the word “longer” out, the mother of all contractions hit like a monster truck. “Squeeze my big toe! Steve! Squeeze my big toe!”
I have no idea why I wanted him to squeeze my big toe, but it somehow helped. He was squeezing the tar out of my toe. I’m surprised it didn’t bruise. I breathed and breathed for what seemed like an eternity. Then the pain subsided. This pain was a strange pain I had never felt before. It isn’t something you can describe. It is a full body pain with the epicenter being your lower belly. It isn’t like a punch in the gut or like a stab. It throbs, stabs, punches, and takes over your conscientiousness to the point the true inner soul of your being is as shiny like a new dime. Though it hurt like hell, it somehow felt natural. Quite strange. Those little hills on the screen had begun to develop in to mountains. The tips of the mountains were off the screen at this point. Then, Steve asked, “Are you ready for your epidural?” “I don’t know” I said in a weak whinny voice. My mother, God bless her, said, “Autumn, you need to go ahead and get it.” “Ok, mama” I said, but I really wanted to say, “Mommy, it hurts! Make it stop!”
SHIVERS UP MY SPINE
I was never so happy to see a doctor than when the anesthesiologist entered the room. This was another scary moment. I had just experienced the most awful wonderful pain of my life, and I was scared of a little needle. He put me in the position for the epidural: sitting on the edge of the bed with my spine curved toward him. Steve was sitting in a chair directly in front of me. My mom and sister were behind him. It was simultaneous. “I have a lot of water coming out! I have a lot of water coming out!” I was so concerned that my husband was being covered in amniotic fluid that I didn’t even feel the epidural. It was over. Poor Steve.
“Do I have time to go home and change?” said my sweet husband who stood there drenched from the waist down in my son’s watery life fluid. “NO!” said I in nervous anxiety. “You can’t miss it!” “It’s ok, Autumn. Asher will wait until Steve gets back” mom said. Thank God we had someone with a level head in the room. Steve headed home for a shower and costume change while I laid there waiting with my mom and sister. The pain was gone. Checking on the dilation status stopped hurting. I was sweet. This having a baby business is a piece of cake!
Wrong again.
Just when I thought I had it made, it was time for the pushing to begin. It was 5:00 p.m. Asher was not dropping, so there was a lot of pushing to be done. The nurse said, “You are going to have this baby. You are going to push that baby out! No c-sections for you! We have a lot of work to do”. “We?” No, dear heart, “I” had a lot of work to do. You just sit there and count and say push.
RHYTHM
Steve had gotten back in plenty of time. They mounted my legs on these crazy contraptions where my knees almost touched my shoulders. The pushing began. “Push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10” This was the count. Pretty simple, right? Not for Steve. Everyone was counting this way except Steve. His count was, “PUSH, 1, 2, 3, …” I had 3 people counting the right way, and one counting the wrong way. The clutter of sound surrounding me was annoying. Not only could I not feel where to push (a down side to an epidural), but I had this crazy noise confusing the whole process. It went on this way for about 30 minutes before I had enough. “Steve, you are not allowed to count anymore. Allison,” (my sister) “you are in command of my leg and counting!” My mother had one leg, my sister had the other one, and Steve was in the optimal spot for viewing the whole process. My mother, in an attempt to help me, had developed this patting sequence on my inner thigh. I didn’t tell her then, and she is probably only learning this now, but it drove me crazy. I let her do it. At least it helped me feel where to push. Steve took over my leg for a moment, and Allison got into position to see the event unfold. “I see his head, Autumn! He has a head full of hair!” She started crying. Only 4 months earlier, I saw my nephew the same way. This is something for two sisters to share. I will alway treasure it.
SERIOUSLY?!
After pushing for 2 hours, the world became fuzzy. The ceiling had begun growing these strange bugs that no blinking could remove. I was exhausted, but I was willing to push as long as it took. The whole time I had been asking if the baby’s heartbeat was ok. “Is Asher ok?” I asked when the crowd had silenced and become concerned. “His heartbeat is up.” said the nurse. “Is he ok? Is he ok?”
In walked my doctor. The nurses had been discussing some “lip” in my cervix, and they were saying something about the head turning.
In hindsight, I should have known something bad was about to happen when the doctor rolled up his sleeves. The epidural wasn’t nearly has helpful as it had been. I don’t know if my body was adapting or what, but the pain was returning. Of course, the worse was coming at this very moment. The doctor shoved his hand up to his elbow in me. My butt came off that table and I moaned, “please stop, please stop”. He then pushed the baby back up into me and said, “PUSH”. I did as I was told though a foot in his chin was quite tempting. The love I felt for the man the day before vanished. “We are going to have to take him” said my doctor.
NO MORE FUN AND GAMES
According to the doctor, my pelvis is kind of like a cork screw. I wouldn’t be able to deliver him vaginally. I didn’t care. I was worried. I just wanted them to get the baby out and get him stable. I was also concerned I would die.
I trusted my doctor completely. He is a friend of ours. Actually, he was off that night, and his wife was out of town. He was responsible for his children. I have no idea what he did, but he stayed with me. God bless him. Good man.
As I was being prepped for a c-section, which took about 2 seconds, I began to say my goodbyes. I was in tears. My mom and sister were so calm, but I am sure they were freaking out. My husband had gone to get suited up for the delivery room, and up until the moment I was carted behind the door, I was telling my mom and sister how much I loved them and how scared I was. Looking back, I should have had more composure. Oh well. Composure is not my gift.
The anesthesiologist introduced himself, and again, I was in love. They pumped something into me that was wonderful. The pain was gone. I was in la la land. Wonderful invention…Maybe my favorite besides the toilet.
SUPERMAN
Can I explain the moment I heard my baby’s first cry? No. I cannot. I was instantly in love. I was so overwhelmed with joy, I just cried and laughed. “Is he ok? Is he ok?” “He is beautiful! He has a head full of hair!” said the nurse.
Steve had gone over to the table where they were checking him out. He had stopped crying, and I kept asking the same question. Steve said, “Autumn, he is fine. He is beautiful!” Then, the nurse brought him over to me to see. The first thing I said was, “He looks like an Eskimo!”. Yeah…and he did. All I wanted to do was hold him and kiss him and look at his fingers and toes and nose and ears and belly. I cried and cried and laughed and laughed. Unbelievable.
Asher had to go into the NICU for a couple of hours because his heart rate and breathing were too high, but he was a healthy little fella. He was born at 7:30 p.m. on October 29, 2009. He weighed 7 pounds, 14 ounces, and was 21 inches long. Yes. 12 hours of labor. Longest day of my life.
I still had work to be done. As my doctor was sewing me up, I asked him to please give me a tummy tuck. He laughed, but denied my request. My mom had taken Steve’s place in the OR, and she thought the whole process was too funny. I was telling the anesthesiologist how much I loved him, I was telling the doctor only God knows what, and the belly was pretty much gone. It was over.
Wrong.
After an hour in recovery, I was wheeled into NICU to see my little fella. He was screaming his head off. Once he heard my voice, he stopped crying and looked over at me. He knew me. The most wonderful feeling in this world is looking into your newborn’s eyes. More love than you can imagine. I knew right then I would die for this baby. No question.
Little did I know, the drama had only just begun. Though Asher was just fine, I was not. The events that unfolded after the delivery were horrible, and to this day, cause PTSD symptoms. But, we will leave that story for next time.
