God Knows Our Every Desire

I am amazed at the love of God for each of his children, but I am particularly amazed today at His love for me. Amazed He cares enough about my heart to carefully orchestrate the perfect set of circumstances wherein I have a healthy baby and a healing birth; despite the fact that, once again, the baby came into the world via surgery. I hadn't known it was possible to have a healing birth via cesarean but I shouldn't be surprised. All things are possible with God.

Before we decided to have a third child, Husband and I prayed and prayed and prayed. We prayed for a normal birth. We prayed for a healthy baby. We prayed to know when the right time to have a baby would be and then we prayed some more. We both felt that a home birth would be the wisest course. So many people were very worried we'd made a bad choice. They were concerned for my safety and that of our baby. We understood their fears but chose not to let it affect our choices and I am so glad we trusted God to take care of us. Not only did He allow us a healthy baby, but He also allowed me the space and time I needed to heal from my previous experiences.

Emotional wounds don't scab over and heal in 10-14 days like skin. They stay raw-- sometimes for years. Even with the liberal application of therapy, an event or comment or something I read could re-open the slice in my heart. The Physician of my soul understands this and He understood how best to heal it.

My soul was in tatters after the birth of my first daughter. Words can't explain how I checked out from life for the first six months of hers. I have no pictures from that time in her life. My husband had a mighty work ahead of him helping me pick up the pieces and move on. Those six months were the reason it took me so long to talk him into having another child. He didn't want to lose me to that dark place again. He needed the assurance from God that this time would be better.

With Heavenly clearance at every turn, we made our plans. We found a midwife for my peace of mind, even though Husband felt from the start an unassisted birth would be fine. I sought intensive therapy to make sure a mental roadblock from Zsa Zsa's birth wouldn't derail this birth. All along I knew that the birth wouldn't go exactly according to plan, but I didn't know what that bit would be. I thought when the midwife fired me that might be it but when I felt that first little gush of blood, I knew we wouldn't have the baby at home.

I labored off and on for 30 hours. Sometimes I would bleed too much for me to be comfortable with and labor would slow down and so would the bleeding. We checked baby's heart tones often to make sure they were sounding great. The entire time I had a feeling of being watched over but also of expectation. Like the Lord was waiting for me to realize it was time to know I'd done all I could do to attempt delivery. To know in my heart that I'd done my part and now the safety of our baby was more important.

On the afternoon of the 3rd, I went to acupuncture to see if we couldn't get things moving along and over with. I was exhausted. Husband was tired. After my treatment, I stood up and gushed blood. That was when my heart sank and also when I felt peace with the idea of going to the hospital. I knew in the very depths of my soul God was watching and that everything would be OK. I felt as though my mission was over. On the drive home the bleeding seemed to stop, but once we were home, it started up again with a vengeance. I filled a Depends brand disposable undergarment every two contractions. Husband gave me another blessing and the bleeding stopped on our 20 minute drive to the hospital. The whole way there he was having such a hard time coming to grips with our God-approved plan being tossed out the window. I was holding out hope that upon arrival I'd be a complete and they'd let me deliver my baby vaginally but I felt such peace with any outcome the method of delivery was no longer important.

Checking in took forever. ER triage, on to registration, and then OB triage. Time started to drag and I began to feel faint.

Our triage nurse was an angel. I don’t remember exactly what happened or the order of things. I know I lost time because it seems like it wasn’t very long from when we checked in to when our baby was born, but in reality it was hours. They took some blood and did an ultrasound. I remember the contractions got significantly more painful. Because the baby was looking awesome on the monitors and the ultrasound came back clean, our nurse didn’t call the backup doc (Dr V), she waited for the on call doc (Dr A) to come in because she knew we didn’t like the backup doctor. This was yet another miracle. We hadn’t ever met Dr A but I talked to her on the phone before we went to the hospital. She seemed so calm and not the type to jump into the OR just because she liked surgery.  Dr V had made it abundantly clear she thought I was an idiot for even wanting a trial of labor and vaginal birth. She was the reason we’d decided not to go back to the doctor or to the hospital for this delivery. Being cared for by Dr A was just more proof God was in control of the situation. If we’d come in the previous day, Dr V would have been our doctor, regardless.

When Dr A arrived, she was so calm and patient. Her exam produced cups of blood (yes, cups). She listened to our concerns. She explained hers and we agreed to the surgery.  At the time I thought it was the anxiety of the inevitable surgery that caused my pain to increase so dramatically at this point but looking back, I think this is when the placenta really started to separate from the uterus. God had allowed me the space and time I needed to be mentally OK with another surgical birth, and now that I was in a safe place and the decision had been made, the situation devolved rather quickly.

We had enough time to visit with the nursery staff and the anesthesiologist before they took me back to surgery.

In surgery the anesthetist started the spinal. I was so thankful for it because I was really ready to be done with the pain. I was shaking so much at that point I had a very hard time holding still while the spinal was placed.

Husband and a good friend were then let into the room. I’m sure the surgery itself was the same as any cesarean except before Dr A had even gotten to the baby she said, “OK. I know what’s causing the bleeding. You have quite a few clots in here. Your placenta has started to abrupt.” Later on, she said a quarter of the placenta had separated from the uterus and I’d made the right choice to have the surgery.

As soon as Dr A pulled baby out, she held her up and Husband announced we had a GIRL! Oh, were we shocked! All this time I had known it was boy. I just KNEW.

Right away they brought her around and laid her on my chest, per our request. The nursery nurses aren’t used to that, and I could tell one of them in particular was a little put out that I’d made her job deviate from the norm.

Words cannot describe the joy of being the first to meet your own baby. Of course other people touched her on her way to me, but that doesn’t matter. I got to discover the little crinkly fold in her right ear. I got to discover that her eyebrows are different shapes and her hair and eyes are dark. I claimed her from her very first moments and it has made all the difference in our first week together.  

Her newborn assessment was done on my chest while Dr A finished making sure I wasn’t going to bleed to death and put me back together. Baby girl stayed with me on our ride to the recovery room. She stayed with me every minute of my six days in the hospital and every minute was beautiful.

I won’t be going to that dark place that swallowed me after my second surgical birth. There’s no need. I was respected as a person of worth and my daughter was treated as an individual with needs that were also to be respected.  I wish I could explain why that matters so much. Maybe it’s because of the heightened hormonal state that surrounds birth or maybe it’s something else all together. All I know is, being treated like a human being with feelings and a mind of my own was a very nice change.

I am so thankful to my Heavenly Father for creating a situation which resulted in a healthy baby. I am grateful to know He cares for me so much that not only are my physical needs met, but my emotional ones, as well. I am thankful that the right people were in the right place at the right time. And I am thankful for the prayers and fasting offered in my family’s behalf over the last few months. My heart is so full and my cup is certainly running over. 

For the story in pictures, go here. 

For the reason this birth meant so much and was so healing, see this post. 

NOTE: The placental abruption had absolutely nothing to do with the previous cesareans or the fact that I labored at home. It's just a random RARE complication of pregnancy. 

Where To Start

I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around the last 6 days.

In that amount of time, my only Grandpa died, I travelled to Utah for a funeral, came home again and resprained the ankle I paid oodles and gobs of money to have hacked open and repaired last year about this time.

All while dealing with some intense and personal issues. Too personal for the readers of IdahoBecky, withwhom I share practically everything? Yes. Even *I* am amazed by that.

In the near future I will publish a post on Grandpa, but I'm still mulling it over. I will say now that I was not prepared for his passing. Mostly because I did not want to face it. This was the inevitable end everyone saw coming, but I failed to brace for the storm. Oops. My bad. :/
The end result of my lack of preparedness is; this feels like loosing my dad all over again, except now I don't have that stopgap in the form a grandfather who loves me, knew my dad better than I did, and didn't mind standing in as surogate father when I needed one.
I'm feeling awefully alone, despite my husband in the kitchen making the kids, also in the kitchen, a pizza.
Really I need to just quit my moping and start counting the many blessings all around me.
I'm giving my self a week to finish boobing around, because I think that's how long it will take my ankle to heal. (haha, ankle...heal......anyway)
So this morning I did what I do every morning at 6:30 am, put on shoes and go for a brisk 3 mile walk/jog to warm up for an even more brisk 6 mile jog/run later in the day. But today, I didn't get very far because I'm a dork who recently has been experiencing balance issues. Basically, I tip over. And this morning, I tipped on the curb edge and rolled the ankle not a 1/8 of a mile from my front door. Oopsies.

Anybody know if they do ankle transplants?

A Letter To A Bastard

NOTE: Toward the end it does get a tad graphic. 

Dr (Name has been removed to protect the not-so-innocent),
I've waited a long time to write this letter. Two years, in fact. At first, I waited until the rush of postpartum hormones had subsided, to make sure I wouldn't be unduly influenced. Then I waited, hoping time and counseling for post traumatic stress would render this letter unnecessary.

But now, on the eve of my daughter's second birthday, I understand you need to know what I have to say, so you can avoid harming other patients in the future.

Two years ago, word on the street was, you were the best provider for TOLAC on the east side. I visited four other offices before deciding my sources were right. I knew that you and I hadn't clicked on a personal level, but that was OK with me, as long as I got my VBAC.
When I presented to the hospital with epigastric pain the day before Thanksgiving, I expected a gallbladder ultrasound and some IV fluids. What I got was a cesarean. Not a medically indicated cesarean, not a voluntary repeat cesarean. A cesarean consented to under duress. A cesarean based on a lie.
It's taken me two years of heavy research and a bio-ethics class to more fully understand what took place that day.
When you came by the hospital to see me the first time that day, you asked if I were ready for my c-section. I said no. We ran blood work. I spent the entire day in a bed doing nothing. The tests came back normal, but you said my pain was probably due to my liver going into failure.  I couldn't believe normal blood work could indicate liver failure, so I asked for, and was refused (according to you, by three different doctors)  a GI consult, you said that you'd consulted with a perinatologist and he'd recommended a section as safest for both me and the baby.  Even though both mine and the baby's vitals had been within the range of normal for nearly the entire visit. (episodes of pain excepted when I did exhibit elevated BP readings but the baby's tracings were normal the entire stay). I did not, at any point during this visit, see or speak with another provider.

When you came back to talk with me that evening, the pain had mostly subsided. It was at this point that you again recommended a repeat cesarean. I asked if my husband and I could think about it over night, since there didn't appear to be any immediate danger. This is the good part. You told me, "If you leave, it will be AMA. Against medical advice, and your insurance company won't pay for anything we've done here today." That verbatim quote is seared into my memory because it was the pivotal statement you made that sent me down the road of a repeat cesarean instead of the VBAC I desperately wanted. It was also a lie. I have no idea if you really believed your statement to be true or if you knew The Hubs and I could never have afforded all those tests and continuous monitoring without insurance. What I do know, now, is that in addition to being completely false, this statement constitutes legal coercion. I did sign the consent form for the surgery, but not willingly. I signed it, because you made it clear signing was my only option.
I knew a second cesarean greatly reduced my chances of a future vaginal birth. You brought that little nugget of knowledge to crystal clear point in the operating room when I asked you to stitch my uterus on two levels, to increase the chance of VBA2C. You said, "not with me, you won't". But that was something I'd already decided.
And then you proceeded to mock me as I lay naked, numb and very cognitively aware on the operating table. With my guts on my chest and your hands in my abdomen, you derided my request and my choices, making perfectly clear your dislike for me as a person and my desire for vaginal delivery; a birth that science has repeatedly shown is safer for both mother and child.

The question I have is this: Was your Thanksgiving meal really so important that you risked my life, my future birthing opportunities and my child? Two years later, do you even remember that day? Because I do. I am fighting an internal battle to be happy it's my daughter's birthday when all I really want to do is curl up and cry because every time you touched me, every incision, every tug, every stitch-- constitutes battery when performed without consent. Dr. Name has been removed. I did not consent.

I hope in future you will treat all your patients, even the one's you don't like, with the respect and regard they deserve. Keep beneficence and non maleficence first in your mind, not a turkey dinner.

note: that's not me. When splayed on a table, I'm MUCH more attractive.

Please read about my healing birth here.

It's Personal

We're going to get personal. Since hardly nobody reads my blog anyway, and those of you who do just LOVE ME and understand me (as much as you can, because let's face it, I'm complicated) I'm going to spend the next few blogs doing what The Therapist calls, "processing". Relax. It will be (mostly) painless for you and completely pain free if you just SKIP the post, altogether. :)


I'm a tiny bit baby hungry. But since I'd still rather die than have another cesarean, I've got some issues to work out. And I need to wean The Baby and loose 50 million (eh hem) 30 more pounds. I feel guilty saying this since I know at least 4 people who would take a baby in a heart beat, gut-slicing surgery and all. Not me. It SUCKED. Twice. If I'm completely honest, and The Therapist says I should be, I'd also rather the baby died than have another gut surgery. (I may have mentioned this post would be painful. Suck it up, Soldier.)


So all that is why I called The Therapist in the first place. That and the PTSD from the cesareans. She's AMAZING by the way. If I could figure out how to make her name twinkle on this blog, I totally would. 


Any way, I THOUGHT I was all done processing and ready to move into my year of pregnancy-free and nursing-free bliss during which I could sleep 12 7 hours every night when Sunday Dinner happened.


I cried. In front of The Hubs' Family. I was mortified. Completely and utterly MORTIFIED. I wanted to leave, but it was our last Family Dinner for a while, and The Boy was having a great time. Here's what happened.


We mentioned we'd like to sell The Hubs car, since he's working from home and we don't need it any more. In the course of normal conversation I mentioned we'd save the money no longer going to car insurance for the future purchase of a larger vehicle. Which propagated the question of why we needed a larger car. So I stated we couldn't get three car seats in the back of ours. Because we have SUPER small kids, The Boy and The Baby are likely to be in car seats until they are 20. No lie. 
One of the brothers-in-law IMMEDIATELY jumped to the conclusion I'm pregnant. To which I replied, "No! Just fat." And nearly burst into tears. Not because they thought I was pregnant and am, indeed, just fat, but because The Hubs' Family are baby machines. They pop out a kid the way I order pizza: no second thoughts, no big deal. It's a HUGE deal for me to commit to being sliced stem-to-stern, having my guts dug out of my body and laid on my chest while the baby is sliced out of my womb and then having everything shoved back in again all while I'm AWAKE. Seriously. Our society makes it out to be no big deal but it is a HUGE deal. Trust me. And then there's the 6 weeks wherein you can't pick up your other children, stand up straight, sit up without rolling onto your side first, cough without pain meds on board, poop, twist or lift anything over 7 pounds, which in my case also means THE BABY. The three months after THAT you can't walk fast or have COUPLE time without pain. It's not just a big deal, it's a freaking HUGE deal. So I cried. And ran away. And that kind of made it worse. Because then the family thought I was sad because I thought they thought I was fat. And I don't even care about that right now. So NOT the biggest thing on plate. (forgive me, it was too good an opportunity to pass up.)


I think that's enough processing for one day. I'll leave you with a cute Boy Story.
He saw some Bird turd on my windshield and said, "No bird! No poop ona car! Poop in the POTTY!" I couldn't have said it better, Bird. But you aren't allowed to use my potty. It's usually occupied. By a three-year-old. 

An Ankle Anecdote

I've been neglecting the blog of late and here's why.

I realize that ankle surgery does not, in any way, inhibit my ability to type. What it DID do was make it impossible to exercise, which in turn threw me into a funk. I'm still there a little bit, but at least I can see the hope/light at the end of the tunnel that is getting the cast removed! Only two weeks and two days to go.

These pictures are from when I went in to get my cast changed. The old one was cracking and gross. You can't really tell from the pictures, but my leg hair is a good inch long (hey, it had been a month since a razor had been anywhere near it). I was NOT expecting the scar to be so huge. I was also not expecting to still have bruising and swelling. It's been a difficult time, BUT it's almost over! I hope the scar fades to nothingness, because my legs really are my best feature. :)
And I can not WAIT to run without pain. Look out famous runner people (I don't know any famous running people, insert their names here) I'm right behind you!