Where to live

If I asked myself, no matter where, what the cost, where would I live given any opportunity?

I would want to live in Sunnyside, on the far side of the neighbourhood, probably by Edinburg park, although it is somewhat shady.

Barring that, I would choose a great house in East Village, which is impossible since there are no houses there!

The type of house would be a lot like my mom's house, but with a way to view the living room from the kitchen.

In order of communities:

Sunnyside

Hillhurst

Bridgeland

Inglewood

What do you want?

Deciding what to do with my life...still. One kid, two kids, ...three kids, four. Five kids, six kids, seven kids, no MORE???

Taking some therapy right now to get rid of that whole postpartum mommy angst I had for awhile. Not sure if I really need help right now, it's a little late, but I've been happier in the last few days then ever before, and the only real change as of late was going. Hmmm...

I'm supposed to identify some behaviour triggers. For example, I have a serious addiction to Starbucks. No, that's not related to being a mommy, I've had this before Chuck! But it seems to have gotten worse since he came along, obviously because of the need for caffeine, but also because starbucks is a grown-up soother for me. It`s a great habit, I think its worse than cigarettes in terms of `quitting`. Obviously it`s not as bad for my health though. I think talking about my Starbucks addiction is a perfect way for me to avoid the huge, big, bad issues that are actually what I need to sort out, and may never be able to "sort out". They're too huge. What to do with life, where to live, where to work, how to love and be loved...it's easier to talk about coffee.

Anyways, today was a good, happy-seeming day. I woke up, had a good sleep, had a happy baby, had a regular routine going. I had one thing in my day to worry about and that was meeting with a yoga studio owner to deliberate working there at godawful hours. Well, that turned out to be a great adventure for me and the babe, getting there, getting home, getting up and down stairs with a stroller. We did good. However, on the way home, I was SO happy that I NEEDED a starbucks coffee. I considered the no-starbucks route, as I had already visited Starbucks that day! Maybe my brain thinks, "oh, you must be happy because of the caffeine, therefore, more caffeine=more happy! It seems like the ultimate in attachment. I don't want the happiness to fade, and will do anything to hold on, even if it's in the form of the talisman that is a coffee to me.
 But when I thought of the taste of starbucks, of the level of caffeine that is just enough to maintain my high but not give me a headache, I had to have one. the same thing happened two days ago on the way home from therapy!! Where I had been saying how I felt strong enough to avoid giving in. I was so happy to feel strong that I celebrated with a coffee! WTF! I felt too alive and sure of life, that I needed something to keep my high.

The other behaviour is yelling at my wonderful J. There`s been some obvious triggers lately.

One is after a long day. Another is when I need to pump milk. Another is after I have started cleaning the house but not quite finished. My vulnerabilities are often when I`m hungry, tired, or I`ve had a cranky baby in the near past. It`s really not related to J at all, it`s all what`s happening with me.

Now, the OCD. I`m trying to think of triggers, and it`s hard. When I`m going to bed, but not overly tired. when I`m thinking that I need a lot of sleep and I`m worried I might not get enough. When I`m driving in the car somewhere, especially on highways or freeways. When Justin gets close to my face with his beard and I imagine the scratchiness of it on my face. I know, it`s all rather vague.

Working on it, even if it's one small thing.

can't do it

I can't believe how much I go from "can't do this" to "can do this". Back at 6 weeks PP in banff..."can't do this." The bottles, the pumping,  the cramped space, the lack of my mitts and toque, no stroller (in the trunk with J), the exhaustion. I feel so helpless and like everyone will just tell me to deal with it, that's life with kids. And those without don't care. Last night I told J that I fantasize about running away, which wasn't all too true, it was momentary, but at the moment, it was true. Or just disappearing somehow.
I find it hard to like brownbear at all in those times and afterwards. His cuteness wears off so quickly like getting a gift and having to pretend how much you love it for months on end like it was all new. I just don't appreciate him, I barely tolerate him. I feel like such a failure for J, who just wanted to give me something I thought I wanted, and now he's carrying the burden of it by having to do more night feedings, fretting over me. Last night he was running from me to the baby, both of us crying. Jeezus. I know other parents go through this, but they have no advice. You can't run away.

birth story

When I became pregnant, I experienced extreme anxiety that I would become overdue, be induced, and end up having a c-section and a midwife could prevent the cycle of medicalization.  At five weeks pregnant I called around, even to midwives outside Calgary, but they were all booked. The advice was to tell them to write "desperate" on my file and to call every week. As weeks became months and I had a very poor GP to contend with, I finally decided to give up on the midwives idea. I was feeling as desperate as I told them I was, and the moment I chose to go with a group of female doctors at a group practise, I felt immediate relief and started to embrace my pregnancy.

In my third trimester my grandma died on the day we were to move out of our beloved, yet unheated, apartment into a condo. The stress got me ill and I spent 2 weeks with bronchitis. Then Christmas brought an excruciating dislocation of a rib. To make matters worse, I started fainting and overheating on my walks to work, so I would lie down under my desk on a daily basis to avoid fainting.

This was leading me down a road of pessimism. As I listened in my natural birthing classes to the problems with epidurals, hospital births and not holding the baby immediately after birth, I started to feel an impending sense of doom that I could not prevent a horrible birth.

At this point, an old gardener friend of mine came back into my life, sharing her nurturing and caring nature with me up to the birth. On a whim, I asked if she was interested in attending the birth, with no real intention of following through.

On the baby's due date, I very reluctantly allowed my GPs to rim my cervix. My fear of going overdue and fighting with them over inductions weakened my resolve into allowing this painful procedure. I lost the mucous plug and there was a bloody show, but nothing felt right.

Three days later I was enjoying a balmy day and I ate an uncharacteristically greasy lunch. I walked for hours around the downtown. That night, the meal caused a lot of intestinal upset, so I took a bath to help relax my body. While in the bath, unlike myself, I started to talk out loud to my baby, asking him to come soon to avoid being induced and potentially having the birth go wrong. I teared up as I asked him to come out so I could hold him and count each finger and toe. That moment I felt my water break.

In denial, I waited about a half hour before I felt it again before telling Justin. He sprang to action and against my feelings, urged us to go to the hospital because he was concerned from the bloody show arriving days before as well.

We got to the hospital around 9pm. The hospital was experiencing high volumes and immediately hooked me up to machines and cast us into a closet of a room. Meconium was in my waters, and the concerns that the baby was experiencing distress as a result was enough to warrant a planned induction as soon as possible. However, as minutes turned into hours I confronted nurses with questions and skepticism about the need for the monitors which were upsetting my stomach since it did not seem like the baby was in any distress at all. When I finally told the nurse I was leaving, and she said I couldn’t, I realized things were going to be rough. Out of desperation, the nurse paged a doctor who explained that I needed to stay to “basically avoid lawsuits” should anything happen, but she agreed it was better for me to rest at home since I was getting worked up and not resting. We packed up and left, getting home around 3am.

I checked the phone when we got home and saw that my mom had called very late at night from my dad’s cell phone. I knew that my dad’s mother was on her death bed, and I assumed the very worst.

At 6:30am a call from the hospital told us to be there in half an hour. I was so thankful for the few hours at home, but disappointed that my labour had not started on its own. The thought of a painful induction made me so nervous that adrenaline was giving me the jitters, and plenty of upset stomach issues. I was very dehydrated from diarrhea and wanted to just eat oranges.

We arrived and got a beautiful and calm room with a gorgeous view of the winter wonderland outside. I was so excited. I even got Justin to call my old friend to come to the birth, and I asked her to bring nothing but oranges. Strange enough, she had had a similar request from her friend the night before and had gone out in -40 weather to get a huge bag of organic oranges.

The induction was started and I was hooked up to IV and monitors. The baby’s heartrate was well above where it should have been. Most c-sections are done because the baby’s heartrate drops, especially during long labours and during the final stages, so I thought I had nothing to worry about. If anything, I figured the baby was distressed by all the intestinal woes I had suffered in the night.

The IV delivered the induction hormones to me, and I started having contractions. The sun came out, and I was ecstatic. I loved the rush of relief and endorphins after each contraction. I had to keep reminding Justin to help me since we were so casual and chatting with the nurse that he would forget to give me back pressure. I mainly laboured on a birthing ball with my elbows and head on the bed. We continued this way with about 3 minutes between contractions.  I then got a phone call to the room.

 My mom had assumed that I was in the hospital when I wasn’t home the night before. She found me somehow and through tears said that my other Grandma had passed away with family around her at 1:30am that day. I was so emotional, and wanted to be with my dad more than anything. I couldn’t help but keep apologizing to them that I wasn’t with them. This was the third passing during my pregnancy, the first being my Uncle Charlie, then both grandmas. Yet, this news also made me realize that my baby would be born on that day, that it would not be a long labour. I knew this more than anything else. From that moment on, my fears of a c-section absolved themselves and I was at peace.

Meanwhile, I kept eating oranges between each contraction as a sort of “reward” for myself. However, the doctors were worried about thebaby’s heightened heart rate, so they doubled the induction hormones. Almost immediately after the nurse said to stop eating oranges, I vomited them up. I apologized to my friend for wasting them. There was a lot of laughing and crying between contractions.

Then, almost suddenly, I began to have leg pains in between each contraction that I can only describe as contractions in my legs between each regular contraction. This pain was not unfamiliar to me, having had this type of pain my whole life during PMS but never to this degree. The nurse advised me in to many different positions, but I was very limited because of the IV and monitors. She gave me laughing gas, which I kept insisting wasn’t “on” because of the lack of relief. At this point I was screaming between each contraction as though someone was cutting my legs off. The nurse asked me what other pain relief I would like, but I was in too much pain to think and could only say, firmly “I am not familiar with those drugs.” Truly, I had not familiarized myself with any pain relief other than epidurals because I had honestly not intended on even considering them. So I asked for the epidural.

I still remember feeling so brave sitting through the epidural insertion. I cannot imagine any other pain greater than sitting completely still through the pain I was in so that the epidural could be inserted properly. It still makes me proud to think of getting through that.

Within 10 minutes, I experienced profound relief from the leg pain. A doctor came in who had examined me just before the epidural, and I could only laugh hysterically “meeting” her again, without screaming “my legs!!” I was only dilated 2-3 cms and had only been in labour for 4 hours.

The baby’s heartrate had been climbing the whole time, and at this point, a specialist was brought in to try and put a bolus back in that could help the baby. This specialist was very good, she, like all other female doctors I had seen, explained each step to me, and had both me and the baby’s intersts at heart. They told me this would be the only way to have a vaginal birth at that point. If the heartate didn’t come down, we would have no choice. I was so calm that I agreed to wathever they needed from me.

After 25 minutes, the specialist apologized and told me a c-section was needed immediately. She said they normally did everything possible to prevent a c-section, and I truly believe this.

I was taken into OR and Justin was told he would be able to watch from a window. When I was in the OR, I was put on a board and my arms were strapped out to my sides like the letter “T”. They then turned this board so it was on a 45 degree angle to the left. They said the baby was in extreme distress. I kept trying to explain that I was sure if I could actually be on my side rather than on my back, it would improve. They couldn’t do that. The anathesiologist came to make sure I was frozen from the earlier epidural, but I was not. In fact, they started to rub the liquid prep onto my belly, and I kept saying “I can feel that!” The doctor took one look at the baby’s heartrate and the last thing I heard her say was “tell the husband” before the nurse put one hand on my throat and the other one over my mouth holding a gas mask to it.

I came to in Recovery and opened my eyes wide. I didn’t hesitate before saying hello and asking where the baby was. My friend was there, and her eyes looked very worried. I asked where Justin was. She said he was with “Charlie”. I started to cry. The nurse came up and said what my pain was from 1 to 10. I said 8. She told me it needed to come down before I could see my baby. I cried some more. Maybe 5 minutes later she asked me again, and desperate, I said 4. She wheeled me into the NICU. Justin was there and I saw my baby. I tried to be calm, but it was the hardest moment, seeing my perfect baby alone in an incubator. Justin’s voice was trembling. I found out that they had shut the curtain so Justin couldn’t see anything, and when it was opened, they were calling Code Blue on the baby. With no one there, only my friend, she hugged him and told him it would be okay. It still hurts that I couldn’t be there for Justin, and yet I knew it hurt him to be away from me.

It turned out that because of the emergency gas, the baby would be very sluggish and that was the reason for the Code Blue.

This photo was taken by J, trying his best to take a photo for me, knowing I would want one. At the same time, no one was there telling him what was going on. After these few photos of the team "working" on brownbear, there were no more photos until we were all together. It's obvious J was distressed, and seeing him when I came to told me everything. He holds all his emotions in his big brown eyes, and what they told me made me sob.

High as a kite, both of us putting on a happy face, feigning that the end result was worth it. 

I was wheeled soon into PostPartum. However, I was alone, without the baby. I was very confused. Throughout the entire labour, I only asked that I would be able to hold the baby as soon as possible, but here I was, in a different room, still having not held him.

I was told to rest, Justin was sent home, and I waited, but I didn’t know what for. I started to call everyone to tell them the news, but the more I talked, the more hysterical I was becoming. I kept touching my belly then realizing that the baby wasn’t there. Eventually the nurse was worried enough that she wheeled me back to the NICU around midnight. I still didn’t know if I could hold him, so it became more painful to me watching someone else taking care of him. I didn’ tknow what was going on.

Justin returned in the morning and took me to the NICU. I finally held him, but I wanted to hold him against me, skin-to-skin. This was killing me. They then fed him for the first time when we left. They fed him formula. Then I broke out in cole sores and cancer sores from a reaction to the gas. By day Three I was having a nervous breakdown. I feel it must have been the same feeling when a mother loses her child. I was banned from the NICU because of my cole sores.

Gruesome, but reality. The gas and stress of separation from brownbear caused the worst outbreak of cancer and cole sores I've ever seen. If I hadn't accidentally ran into the GP who treated me through pregnancy in the middle of the night, I never would have got meds. The GP who saw me said to "get something from home" for them. And they were out of the normal antivirals for a case like this at the hospital. Then the nurse forgot to give me a dose at one point. 

Justin trying to give me moments, but I was too embarassed so I would hide. I was wearing a mask when I held Charlie to stop the spread off the sores. i felt like a monster, inside and out. Yet I tried everything to start breastfeeding. I saw 25 nurses and LC's who all tried to "help" me breastfeed. One was even a 20something male nurse wearing cologne and making us page him at 2 in the morning. Can anyone blame me for hating breastfeeding propaganda? Is it possible for anyone out there to actually consider that maybe, if I didn't have this pressure on my shoulders to keep breastfeeding, I may have actually recovered from the surgery, and maybe I would have remembered my baby and not dropped into the most miserable place I've ever been in my life for 2 solids weeks?? No? Didn't think so La Leche League. Breast is definitely best.

One week later, actually getting better (yes, this was an improvement!).

The "football" hold was recommended over and over to me to avoid putting the weight of brownbear right on the incision site. But I could never do this alone. J had to be there every time to help me. I felt so helpless at every turn. It's funny how every single thing I ate for 9 months was scrutinized and watched, but when I was taking narcotics and antibiotics and antivirals around the clock, no one mentioned that I should avoid breastfeeding. I stayed on the meds one entire week longer than is "normal" without a thought about the effects on brownbear. Apparently breastfeeding is more important than giving your child opiates. I'll never know the effects that had on him. Sniff. Nor the week of antibiotics regardless of every single test coming back negative. With the link between antibiotic use and autism growing stronger, I can't tell you the tears I have shed worrying about that week of questioning doctors yet feeling helpless to yank the IV out and run home with my baby.

Eventually we were reunited and I established breast-feeding with a lot of help. I then got thrush on my nipples and Charlie in his mouth. This stopped us from nursing but I continued pumping to feed him breastmilk. I feel a lot of failure from the birth, as though something was robbed from me, that I missed meeting my newborn baby, and he was a different baby by the time I truly got to hold him. For that, I will always greive. However, I had a big, healthy baby who adjusted great to all the needles and monitors. He is so independent and easy-going, I know he would want me to “just relax, mom”. It was an incredibly hard journey that I cannot present in a positive light. I know so few women go through a story like mine, which makes me feel so happy when a woman has a great birth story. Writing this wasn’t meant to scare others, but to share and show that we got through this, eventually.

welcome?

It's been so long...not in time, but what I've gone through seems like lifetimes ago.

Pregnancy...not so bad. How could I complain? This is much worse. I'm happy, I love my boy, just the thought of him makes me giggle and cry at the same time. When he was in the car today screaming as I paid for parking outside the Dr's office, I was so happy I have a little baby, even if he was crying and I was exhausted! It was nice outside, but I owe more of it to love.

On the other hand, the diapers? Omg, I can't wait for that to slow down, but the thought of the next stage, the bigger poops, scares the crap outta me too. I try to stay in the moment, let the moments change instead.

How was I so naive about bf'ing?? Why didn't I take classes on this? I assumed it would be easy, or a skill that required practise, not theory. But had I thought it might divide me from my mom, my friends, my own ideas, I would have looked into it earlier. Why didn't I find a family doc sooner too? Why, why why? I wasn't ready I guess. But now it's here.

He's crying, having a tough time soothing himself in his bassinet when he realizes he's not in a swing or our arms. My nerves are frayed all day from trying to respond to him, pick him up, put him back down. I can't sleep like that, or it's only 4 minutes of sleep and then wham! Back awake!

baby blues before baby is here

Last night I freaked on J to the extreme...it started with a blame game of 'you don't take me anywhere' then went to everything from his exercise plans to...everything basically. It was bad, real bad. I asked him to stay out of the bedroom so I could have space alone to sleep, I was too upset to calm down with him in the room. But of course he eventually came in to talk but then slept on the couch, guess he thought i was still mad. So around my pee break, this time 5:00am, I called out for him to come in, and he did. We cuddled and whispered, and all seemed well. Although we're both still hurt today, he feels awful, and so do I. I push away the only person who is actually helping me. Which makes me feel more lonely of course!

The weather isn't helping. We do have a bit of sun, but it's mainly overcast and hovering in the mid -20's. I have the option of going to a mall to walk around, but that seems so lonely. I tried it last week and it was exhausting, which is good in a way, but it doesn't hold ground against having spring come and being able to walk each day and grab a jo by myself. That wouldn't exhaust me, it would be good work. But in -25 C, I'm not walking anywhere.

Today I am getting my hair cut. This should perk me up as I'm feeling like the ugliest woman on earth. It makes sense since my whole body looks ridiculous, and the drab clothes don't do it any help. When I calm down and think that the baby could come anytime, it seems ridiculous to complain about this wait, but in my mind, I know the baby is going to bide his time and wait until the very end, so it makes 14-21 days feel like the longest period of my life, and rightly so. I'm sitting at home doing nothing! Even being sick seems better as I can sleep longer (well, maybe not, I'm probably exagerating that). I just want out of this, and my mind can't help me. In yoga they say to give it up, but I don't know where to go after giving up. Where would I send myself? I can't do 12 hours of yoga a day. Even a hobby, like knitting, would be silly as sitting on the couch doing ANYthing (even blogging) is annoying, as I don't want to sit here. I'm a horrible buddha.

I can't wait for the weather to warm up again. I need it, more than anything. Please god.

One month left!

As I ran across 11th Avenue jaywalking to Sunterra this morning on my break, I realized I was almost full term, and still running to meet Justin for coffee. Of course, this came after an excruciating walk to work 2 hours earlier where I thought I might vomit or faint, holding Justin's hand as though it were my lifeline. But still, I'm not doing so badly!

Linda came over last night to consult about a painting for us. That's so exciting, both seeing her and talking about putting our beautiful photo of Waskesiu into a living painting by a friend. It will be hard to put up in the living room rather than our boy's room, but I'm sure it will be beautiful so I'll want to see it!

With one month left, that means I have only 13 shifts at the library left until June oh my! Which also means I need to use my time effectively (writing blog on break is okay though?). I'm really starting to appreciate that pregnancy is just year one of having kids, that it will be no harder or easier after this, just a different type of work. So I've been trying, with improved weather and moods lately, to just go with it, not to worry. I've really started to let go of Childless Me. Seeing photos of a former friend in Cuba didn't spur jealousy, but made me thankful I have this coming change, or that I've changed. I didn't pity her, I was happy she could enjoy her life, but that was never my life to begin with before this. So I start to see the divides clearly, rather than our commonalities, and then yearning for those commonalities that I miss, like the bikini body, the career, the travels. Instead I don't miss them and I see how this fork in the road is exactly what I've wanted all along, even though I'm complaining about it so much. I had to come this way, for it was the more difficult path and 'that has made all the difference'.

Reasons to be Grateful

1. It's a beautiful, balmy day outside, with the bright sky and sun shining brighter than we've seen in months now.
2. I don't have any problems with my hips from being pregnant.
3. I can breathe through my nose almost constantly (the stuffiness DID go away)
4. I have a loving, adorable husband who loves me
5. I have a permanent place to live in the midst of the most beautiful part of my city
6. I have a job with a great boss and coworkers who care about me
7. I will jog again, and swim, and do yoga, no matter how hopeless it seems now
8. I can go to the mountains and get away on any weekend because of my life (have the time, a car, a partner)
9. I have parents who are financially set for life, who would do anything for me
10. When I feel good, I feel like myself, which leads me to believe happiness is my true character. When I'm miserable, I feel disconnected from my spirit and body, letting me know it isn't in my true character to suffer.

Nostalgic today

Last night I dreamt that instead of having my dear Charlie baby, I had quintuplets instead. When I went to work, Kathryn kept asking if I was okay, seeing I was visibly shaken, and I didn't know what to say. No one would believe me, and all 5 babies were boys, and I was totally overwhelmed. I woke up unable to sleep, which isn't new these days, and then I annoyed Justin until he couldn't sleep. But then I was very teary and emotional that he was annoyed by me, when he took the day off yesterday for chlorine in his nose from swimming, when I have legitimate baby-related insomnia and would like a little back rub or somein somein.

Anyways, this morning is shaping up to a morning of strange nostalgia, like spring memories, memories of reffing basketball, of vacation time...all sorts of fluffy good things. I'm hoping it's my mommy brain finally kicking in to give me good vibes.

I should record the last books I've read, since it's my number one hobby these days. I read Hunger Games, wasn't too impressed. The Book of Negroes was fantastic and enthralling, and then Lullabies for Little Children, which I read quickly, but I'm not sure if that was due to it's virtue or my own need for extreme distraction right now. It was a good read about Montreal at least (oh, now I'm all warm and fuzzy for montreal too!).

The whole swimming thing went really well considering I had so many objections to the idea of it. I can still swim quite well, and would have got a good workout if it wasn't for Justin's stop-starts and the busy lane. But overall I'm glad i took it easy and yes, I looked adorable, or grotesque, in my bikini.

We are taking photos this Sunday which is exciting, and the forecast is for like 10C, so I can't complain.

new lifestyle, new me???

I keep wishing for the body I used to have, the lifestyle I used to have...and I continually reassure myself that these changes are temporary. That delivering this baby will result in a reduction of crazy hormones (eventually, that might take another month), an increased immune system, and the freedom physically to move around, twist, sleep, etc.

What I haven't considered is that the person I used to be will forever be changed by these hormones and this body. I worry today that I might never want to wake up on a Saturday at 7am to go for a jog, or I might not want coffee again, that I might be too tired to join activities or see friends. It's hard for me not to dwell on the past, so I'm tightly holding on to it right now, thinking that nothing could be worse than not being able to have those things I just mentioned. It seems I should remind myself that at each point in my life, when things got "better", I had to let go of the things I thought I so thoroughly enjoyed. Some of those things now seem ridiculous, like drinking all night, working at the gym, old friendships... If I hadn't given up my addiction to the gym, with its rituals of post-gym lattes and brownies, writing in my journal, reflecting on life, etc, I never would have found yoga, a new body, a new lifestyle and all theh things I feel I'm giving up now.

Truly I have to realize that things are changing, and new loves will enter. Maybe I will become a 'walker' who loves to go walking with baby and will miss that someday. But meanwhile, I'm truly grieving those things I lost so quickly. There's this stagnant area right now where I've lost them, and nothing has replaced them. Between reading and crossword puzzles, I have a lot of time to mourn! On a positive note, painting ceramics with Bre last weekend was the best time I've had in so long that I felt old urges of addiction rising up, to capture that moment and never let go, or recreate it over and over. So there's hope that I can be happy, I just have to remember it won't come from a particular activity, drink, body size...it will come from happiness, from just loving the moment. This seems very impratical, but I can't sort out the specifics on what I mean right now.