Monday, October 15, 2012

I hate being here.

I lay in bed, feeling myself sinking deep within the mattress. I've never been good at visualization, but I find myself being able to do it tonight. I can see roots growing from body, going deep into this mattress, never to be pulled away again. 

I recognize I'm going back into a depressive state. I've dealt with these moods an emotions since childhood. Sometimes now I wonder if maybe, just maybe, my psyche knew it was in for a hell of a ride one day so it might as well start being sad at 5 years old, give or take. 

I can't decide if the burning in my chest is heartburn or simply pain that must bubble up somewhere.   I try to convince myself to take deep breaths, relax my jaw...but it's not working. 

Today I dealt with comments relating to babies dying. Jokes, they are called. Innocent comments about how she didn't kills hers when she was pregnant. His joke about stabbing babies. How do I find these situations?  Were they always there and I just never noticed, never cared?  Is this now my hard lesson for never paying attention before?

I sat there looking. Wanting to let out a completely psychopathic laugh and say "I have a dead baby!  Mine is real!" and just freak everyone the fuck out with my laughing and candor. I'm a dead baby mom, we are all crazy, you know. We are over sensitive. Not mothers. And we hate the world, pregnant women, & children. That's how we roll. 

The only thing that's kept me from hitting someone while cussing them or allowed me to refrain from just throwing myself into the floor wailing is the knowledge of what's socially acceptable. But trust me, it's hard. 

I'm finding myself consumed by Joel as of late. Really ironic timing since I'd decided weeks ago that I need to let some of it go. Stop hating myself. Stop hating the situation. Stop being so pissed about it. It was time. 

But that was then. This is now. 

Now I'm on the verge of tears constantly.  I fear trying to tell someone if they ask because I know I'll become hysterical before I can even get his name out.  I find myself wanting to mention the situation constantly. 

"Thanks for the Starbucks. Too bad my dead baby never got the chance to grow up and have this bitter, overpriced yet somehow addictive coffee."

"I'm good, thank you for asking!  My baby is in an urn. It's bronze. And a cube. You can run my card as credit if you don't mind."

"I'd like 2 chicken nugget happy meals for boys with chocolate milk.  I'd be getting 3, but my 2nd son died. I'd also like a large fry. And awkward stares."

That's basically how my day would go if possible. 

I find myself angry at my newest baby because he was early and now shares Joel's birth month. He totally stole Joel's birthstone so even my dead baby jewelry people will just assume its related to my new May baby.  While I'm happy he's alive, I'm also incredibly angry. He was saved. So after finally coming to terms that maybe, just maybe, Joel died and it couldn't have been prevented, he's saved in time and is thriving. Why couldn't my other baby be saved so the entire path of my life didn't have to change?  

Hi, I'm your 1 in 4 of moms whose baby died. No, I didn't lose him. I know exactly where he's at. It's a bronze cube hidden in our bedroom on a corner shelf I ordered while breast feeding Blair in the hospital as a newborn.  

Maybe it's the baby aspect.  Maybe babies aren't real people? I sure don't hear a lot of jokes about killing 5 year olds.  Maybe I need to stop embracing the fact that my baby died & just go with kid. 

My kid died. Why the fuck was I handed this deal?  

Nope. Didn't make it any better. 

Stop. Sucking. People. 

<3 died.="died." div="div" i="i" joel.="joel." m="m" nbsp="nbsp" sorry="sorry" you="you">

Sunday, May 13, 2012

The Story of Reid

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

I have about two weeks of back story I kept meaning to write about (non-stress test, not moving, being admitted in the hospital, etc.), but then my baybee had to stop getting a certain flow from him cord & a doctor walked in talking about how I get a csection, to which I said, "I know, a repeat plus he's breech still..." but then he looked at me oddly and said, "oh no, I mean you'll need one now. Soon. We need to get your baby out. Today."

Cue my ugly, hysterical crying that only lets me hear bit and pieces of the discussion. Cord not flowing. Cutting off flow. Possible brain damage like a stroke could cause. Spraying lungs with something to help them stay open. No time for steroid shots. No time to do anything. Come with me, heres your paperwork, go to the hospital right now, we've got an OR open for you in about 90 minutes.

 All I took from it was your baby isn't dead, but he might be broken. And dead soon if we aren't careful.

My ugly crying ass was then walked to another hall where this doctors nurses were so they could give me paperwork and call the hospital. The bigger one I had to deliver with because it has the nicu.

NICU. Intensive care. For my baby.

We talked politics on our way to the hospital. It just seemed right. I got it on monitors for the next hour while everything was prepped. I watched his heart have decels. All while thinking about if all of his had been done, would Joel be alive? I was pretty much in shock still being rolled back & prepped. People were nice and amusing, it wasn't as focused on scary as I thought it'd be. Once surgery started o was crying off & on. This sucked. I had a nice clear view of the room across the hall that was labelled "infant recitation room." At 3:34pm realized all the ruckus going on was my baby was being pulled into the world, while he reached up still in my womb & started grabbing at the doctors tools. It's like a horror movie really, we have it on video, this little hand reaching up out of the incision & attempting to pull in clamps. He's sassy.

Without a sound from him hes placed on a warmer & the nicu works on him. I officially lose my shit. He's moving and lets out a couple sad cat sounding cries. He's breathing on his own. Something we didn't expect for a 33 weeker. He's bundled & brought over to me to touch before taking his super special private nicu elevator up two floors. I don't have my full ugly cry at this point, but I am crying. And telling him I'm sorry he couldn't stay in there longer. And he's whisked away. A call back in about 10 minutes tells us he is 5lbs 1oz, which I impressive to everyone. Which also showed the cord problem was caught early because he had continued growing. Id later find out he was 18 & 1/8 inches long. And blonde. Like woah. And with that, I had my tubal that I'd just decided on like a week before this. All of my complications showed that my body needs to be sure it's done. A bit sad, but more relief to be honest. And once that's done I return to my room, sans baby. Again.

I'm moved to the ghetto recovery room (who decided to make labor rooms glorious but recovery rooms crappy?) & I'm alone. Adam goes to do something that needs done finally. I'm hit with serious pain that had me crying while writhing around on the bed. I ask for pain meds, but I'm finally told that none of my info has been put in the system yet so I can't have anything. It was about 30 minutes before they gave me a Percocet but by then I was so bad it didn't help so they agreed to give me an injection of morphine. A few hours later my perocet did nothing (again, took it late because silly me didn't ask & they don't offer), & I again hysterically cried in bed, writhing in pain, begging someone to help me, but this nurse said if the perocet didn't help, too bad because that's all she was going to give & walked out the door. I was up for the next 3 hours, crying & squirming trying to ease the pain. I eventually cried myself to sleep...only to be woken up 6 times in 2 hours randomly.

Of course, in between pain episodes, Adam tells me the nurse said that visiting hours end at 10, but if at any point in the night I feel up to coming up I can. And that finally happened at 1am. I finally got to see this wee thing that had given me so many issues the past 33 weeks. Seeing a tiny baby in a plastic box with wires & machines hurts. It physically hurts you. I did get to hold him but now you have the hurt of holding this tiny creature and never wanting to let him go, but having to avoid tugging those previously mentioned wires & cords. I can't hold me however I want, I can't just unwrap him & stare at his feet. I can't just nurse him. And when it's time to leave, you get to shut and lock him back in his plastic box. In case you can't tell, it sucks. Now the good news.
Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

According to NICU, he's much more like a 35 weeker. He's never needed any oxygen. The IV that was suppose to be in for the first 7 days was taken out on day 4. He's holding down about 40ml each feeding, including milk I pump. He's also able to nurse during tube feedings that I'm there for, something else that wasn't suppose to happen for at least a week. He's never required oxygen & hasn't had any apnea or Brady episodes (Brady's are NICU lingo , I'm hip). He lost about 6ozs, but as of today gained 2 of those back. There is no weight requirement for discharge, just being stable, eating, & passing a car seat test. He's stable, we just have to get him on oral feedings 100%.

 Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

That's Reid. And my boob. He'd just nursed for the very first time. OH HI THERE BAYBEE!

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

We have no estimated discharge. They've not said & I'm far too scared to ask. I think I'm going to ask Monday. Well, I hope they will just tell me something Monday. Rounds are about 10am, I'm hoping to be there for them. The doctors are very nice, so that's a plus. Nurses have also been good, minus the one weird moment where I asked for an update from him overnight & she looked at me like I had a penis growing out of my forehead. But you'll have that I suppose.

Soon I'll share a tour of the NICU with you peeps. I'm on maternity leave but without a baybee. And I can't be alone with my older boys because I can't do anything. So I have to fill my spare time with something.

Let's all ponder.
 Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

NICU Parents

Reid McCoy Culver Born May 7, 2012 at 3:34pm 5lbs 1oz, 18 & 1/8th inches long Blonde. Wtf? 33 weeks & 3 days Stable currently in NICU More to come soon.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Complication free? LOL for days.

Last you heard from me I was carrying around vagina gel.

I didn't like that very much, but you know who liked it even less? My vagina. Poor thing had a rare allergic reaction to it and...well..swelling ensued. It was a sad moment and the lady who took my phone call at the OB office said it was the first time she'd ever heard of such a thing and that I was officially the most interesting call she'd taken.

Look on the bright side I suppose.

So now I'm giving myself weekly shots. In the butt. It's glorious, it really is.

I'd moved past that trauma. My vagina forgave me. But apperently the ghost of Wildford Brimley was pissed about all these years I've laughed at him (I know he's not dead, work with me here), because I didn't have a good time at the doctor this week for my lovely 'beetus test.

Mind you, I look like a walking diabeetus case, I know this. But I've always basked in my fat girl glory when I've passed, with amazingly flying colors, my glucose test. I took it Tuesday. I was told it'd be at least Thursday before I got results, maybe Friday.

I had a missed call at work on Wednesday and listened to the message. First & foremost, the lady identified herself as from the local high risk office...the same office I saw when I was pregnant with Joel & who should still be fearful that I'll show up & burn the building down at some point. I was instantly pissed that I'd missed this call because I wanted to yell at this person for calling me. But it was entire message that really pissed me off.

"Hi, Mrs. Culver, I'm BLAHBLAH from Baby Death Perinatal Center & I was calling to set up a time for you to come in and be seen by one of our doctors so that you will be allowed to attend our diabeetus program for you diabeetus. Thank you."


First of all, she really did call it "diabeetus." Second, wha?

This, my friends, is how I found out I had caught the gestational diabeetus. I call my doctors office, who can't tell me why on earth no one from that office would have called me. I had to see a different doctor that usual, so my results went to him & his nurse should have called me...but didn't. Then there are several other problems with this. First of all, I didn't just have bad results. I apparently went for the gold of diabeetus because my fasting number was almost twice what it's suppose to be. And then I almost hit 300 after the glucose was ingested. I never knew I was that sweet.

So now I get the honor of poking myself. And trying to figure out what the hell I'm suppose to do. See, that other office has a diabeetus class & all that good stuff. I'm actually willing to go to that, however they REFUSE to let me sign up for anything unless I agree to be examined & also seen from time to time by the doctor my life. So my doctor had to find another nutrition place willing to take me without being seen by Dr. Death, which took a couple days.

So far I'm flunking diabeetus. My fasting numbers are the devil & are constantly shocking to the office when I call. They hover around 150-ish. I even tried testing before bed, just because I was curious if I started out high, but they are always average before bed. Things that have gotten the OK also shoot them up. I had chicken. That's it. Chicken. Plain. And just over an hour later I was about to pass out at work & when I checked my sugars (I sound like an old person), it was 216.

I joked after I found out about the 'beetus that I'd just live on strawberries. Turns out, that might be true because they are the only thing I seem to like that doesn't shoot my numbers up out of the normal range. My target is 140 or less an hour after a meal. There have only been a couple times I've hit that. It's depressing when I feel like this will be the time it'll be good because I've been so good about what I've ate or drank, then I get this awful number. Then I want ice cream to comfort myself, which I can't have.

I fully expect to be medicated by next weekend. Doctors office wants me to chart it all for a week (yay, iphone apps!), & go from there. They are hoping that once I get in the swing of changing that I eat & such that it'll get more stable. But, if not, I'm going to be on who knows what. Not my idea of a good time. And all of my inernetting has taught me that no matter what, if I don't get that fasting number corrected I'll be on meds for that at least. I'm really excited about this whole thing.

Fuck you, Wilford Brimley.


Reid says hi though.


All 2lbs, 13ozs of him. And his THREE INCH LONG FEET. Apparently my 'bettus went straight to his feet.

C-section is set for 7:45am on 6/15/12. But I have a feeling it'll be a week before that, if not two, depending on how this 'beetus thing works out.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Cervix of steel.

Every pregnancy I've had, I've had a cervix of steel. I went almost 42 weeks with Jules & never dilated one single bit. In fact, I've never naturally dilated. I've always had medications to do it for me. With Blair, that didn't even happen since he was cut out of me.

Today was my 20 (really 19) week scan. Baybee was fine. What we could see of him, since he wasn't very into the idea of being peeked at.

I go see my doctor after. I tell him all of my non-pregnancy related problems. Then, still smiling, he tells me there was one thing he noticed that had nothing to do with the baybee. I thought this was going to be minor & not important.

"Your cervix is shorter than it should be...blah blah blah, I'm talking but you're not listening because you've just heard your baby is fine but your body might kill your baby. And I'm smiling while hoping you don't start hysterically crying like I see you're wanting to right now."

Some of that I made up, but the point is my cervix of steel is shortening, which means I'm at risk for miscarriage & preterm labor in general.

WTF cervix? Seriously?!

I smile & nod in response, while he explained what this meant, which I already knew. And more than anything, I knew this could result in a very bad ending. But things will be peachy, so says the doc, who then gives me 2 weeks worth of Crinone 8%, which is a fancy name vagina gel, & tells me to come back in 2 weeks to see if it's helped "and go from there."


I stand there awaiting my samples and making my next appointment still with this perky, wide eyed look on my face. If anyone said, well, anything, I was likely to cut someone. Part of me hoped the annoying nurse would pop up & demand my urine again, as I wanted to yell at her anyway. That would have just been a two birds with one stone deal.

I mean, it's nice for my cervix to catch up with the rest of me & be incompetent, but come on.

So I get my purse full of vagina gel...

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

...and go to Logans. Because when you find out you're going to need vagina gel until 36 weeks (oh did I forget to mention that I'm going to use it till then if we don't need to do anything more drastic?), you need some rolls.

I'm not sure how one really says Crinone...but I like to imagine it as "Cry None." You know, use this right & you cry none because you won't kill your baybee. As I sit at Logan's I ponder what I've done that could have made my cervix angry. I'm scared to even cough now, thinking it'll just shoot open. When people came to the table & asked how we were, I wanted to explain what I had in my purse and ask if they knew anything about vagina gel. That'd be a real help at that point. I jokingly offered to leave a box as a tip. I would have seriously considered it, but this shit isn't covered by my insurance so I've got to be greedy with it. Funny enough, the lower dosage is so if I have to continue this stuff I'll have to use what my insurance pays for & use it TWICE a day to make up for the half sized dose. Oh yeah, it just got better didn't it?

I tried for the rest of the night to convince myself things were alright. Then the baybee started dancing in my belly to Billy Joel's "Moving Out." And I could see him packing up his placenta & wanting out. Following that was "Life Goes On."

Not funny, fate. Not funny at all.

I'm convinced I'm going to end up with my cervix stitched up. Not that I want to do anything I don't have to do, I hope it's a false alarm somehow, but I'd really like the best chance possible of not going through another life altering experience. I've had this bad feeling my entire pregnancy, & honestly expected crappy news all this time. I just never thought it would be something I could truly blame my body for. On top of this, I'm now on blood pressure meds to try to help my constant headaches. Because I didn't take enough pills before anyway. And now I've got vagina gel.

And no, I have no idea why I like the phrase vagina gel. I think it sounds silly & makes it feel less serious.

Everyone is telling me, "It's fine, things will be OK!" but the last time I heard that my baby died. So as much as I joke about this situation, it really sucks. Like alot. All jokes aside, I don't think I could survive anything else happening. I'm not even sure I'd want to.

I've tried learning as much as possible in a few short hours. I've learned that this sucks. Don't google. Ever. Of course, the insert wasn't very helpful either. Like I saw this...

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

And I freaked out because I've never had a papsdjfhdshjdrkjwre smear! It took me 10 minutes to realize that was a pap smear. Doh.

And these people apparently want me to make this a romantic scene with my vagina gel.

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

I guess I'm suppose to seduce myself slightly before?

I do have a baby though. Here he is all like 'don't fuckin' stare, bitches."

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

Such a foul mouth he has.

Blair's first picture with his little brother...

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

And then there was Jules...

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

We actually tried to show him different things in the pictures, but he was too busy watching The Pink Panther to care. Only when he heard, "and that's his penis" did Jules actually look over & ask where the penis was. Then he loudly announced, "Oh yes, there it is" & went right back to The Pink Panther.

Here Reid is kicking. Hopefully not my precious snowflake of a cervix...

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

And I worry he needs an exorcist to visit him in the womb...

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

Baybee look mad!

Uploaded from the Photobucket iPhone App

Baybee look like a baybee.

Hope he doesn't mind vagina gel.

And me? I love that I now get to play both fields this pregnancy. I have to keep him in so he won't die, but I also have to get him out before he dies. It's a balancing act with high stakes. If I could, I'd be drinking heavily right now.


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