A year ago today we were told that our first baby's heart had stopped beating. Ten days or so earlier we had been told that this was the likely outcome of that pregnancy, but I don't think it made hearing the news any easier. And the passage of a year and reaching 39.5 weeks in this pregnancy did less to ease the sadness than I had imagined. I spent much of the morning crying, not sure which tears were in grief over last year and the rice krispie and which tears were in fear for today and Lou.
Today was not a repeat of a year ago. The news was largely neutral. The arrhythmia persists, but only some of the time. And the NST was reactive, though Lou chose to snooze through most of the first 30 minutes, so I had to be strapped in for almost an hour in a position that is far from my favorite. We go back Friday for another round. And the doc is spending the time between now and then contemplating the next steps, specifically, whether to induce this weekend, as she is on call on Sunday. Sunday, of course, is our due date, and is a year to the day after the D&E. The doctor is weighing two factors: while any there is some sense that Lou's arrhythmia might be easier to evaluate on the outside, s/he is clearly not ready to come out yet, or at least s/he thinks s/he is not yet ready given the complete and total lack of progress taking place with my cervix. For now, the waiting continues.
Showing posts with label trepidation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trepidation. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
39 week appointment: Echoes of September Past
I heard it too. The irregular heartbeat. buh-buh-buh-----buh-buh-buh---- I know it's not supposed to skip like that. She had me hop off the table and get dressed.
"We have three pieces of news. None great. All unrelated. One: You're retaining a lot of fluid. Two: While the baby's head is on your cervix, it's very high. This makes a c-section highly likely, though it makes a prolapsed cord unlikely. Three: The heartbeat is irregular."
She kept talking. I waited until she was done. I tried not to cry. But it didn't work. I cried anyway. I reminded her that those same words had been spoken to us last year, at a different stage with a different pregnancy, and it didn't end well. She said it's usually nothing -- 90% of the time it's nothing, never heard again. She had me get back on the table. We heard it again. She got a cool, damp paper towel to wipe my face and made an appointment for an immediate ultrasound. I called P. Off we went.
The ultrasound showed very chubby cheeks, a very active baby, and "occasional to frequent arrhythmia." The baby was too big and too squished for them to get a good view of the heart. But they saw nothing to cause concern. 99% of the time they see this, it's nothing and goes away before birth or shortly after. So now we wait. No more work. Call if there's any change in movement, even if it seems insignificant. NST tomorrow. Waiting. September is for waiting.
"We have three pieces of news. None great. All unrelated. One: You're retaining a lot of fluid. Two: While the baby's head is on your cervix, it's very high. This makes a c-section highly likely, though it makes a prolapsed cord unlikely. Three: The heartbeat is irregular."
She kept talking. I waited until she was done. I tried not to cry. But it didn't work. I cried anyway. I reminded her that those same words had been spoken to us last year, at a different stage with a different pregnancy, and it didn't end well. She said it's usually nothing -- 90% of the time it's nothing, never heard again. She had me get back on the table. We heard it again. She got a cool, damp paper towel to wipe my face and made an appointment for an immediate ultrasound. I called P. Off we went.
The ultrasound showed very chubby cheeks, a very active baby, and "occasional to frequent arrhythmia." The baby was too big and too squished for them to get a good view of the heart. But they saw nothing to cause concern. 99% of the time they see this, it's nothing and goes away before birth or shortly after. So now we wait. No more work. Call if there's any change in movement, even if it seems insignificant. NST tomorrow. Waiting. September is for waiting.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Confrontation
Even though the near-fainting continues (I only got through 30 minutes of church on Sunday -- ought to make ushering this week fun -- and had to get out of the car and walk before I actually got to work this morning), I feel like I need to talk about something else.
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The other night I dreamt that I finally confronted my mother about her drinking and its consequences regarding her relationship with her grandchildren. I woke up with an odd sense of calm and relief. And then I remembered that it was just a dream.
It's not just that I don't feel comfortable leaving young children alone with her. I don't even feel comfortable with the idea of her holding them -- she has been known to misestimate the distance between herself and the floor and just let go of a wine glass, shattering it. Wine glasses are fungible and replaceable, unlike, say, children. In attempting to pet him, she has poked my dog in the eye, more than once. And, as the day goes on, she has trouble standing or walking (or speaking in complete sentences, or following the conversation taking place around her). I don't want to put vulnerable people at risk, and I don't want them exposed to her behavior, and I certainly don't want them growing up with the same warped belief I had, that all grandmas (mommies in my case) are like that.
But I am also fully incapable of dealing with this issue. As much as I hate the person she often is, I do love my mother. That love used to be tied to various fond memories from my childhood, a vague recollection of the person she once was. At this point, as those memories have faded and/or been replaced with worse ones from adolescence and adulthood, that love has become untethered, existing primarily as something more akin to a requisite (but fully ingrained) filial affection. The type of love that stems from a feeling of "supposed to." But regardless of its source, it keeps me from dealing with these issues, in part out of a fear of hurting her while gaining nothing, and in part out of a fear of losing her affection, an affection that often feels as unanchored as my own, and far more fleeting as well.
I have managed to avoid the ultimate confrontation with my mother for 16+ years. I wish I could avoid it forever. But I know P harbors the same fears that I do regarding my mother and our future children, and we're going to have to deal with this issue at some point, and that point is starting to seem a lot closer to now. It's weird, because I can actually envision the conversation -- and can envision it going well. It's probably a conversation I should have had with her a long time ago, one that would have improved our relationship substantially by this point.
But the only way it goes well is if we have it alone. My stepmother can't be there. Even though I can only imagine that my mother's drinking has as profound an effect on her as it does on me, she perceives everything as an attack and first goes on the defensive, then switches to attack mode, making it about me and the ingrate I am. And I can't handle it. I become a mess. But I've only seen my mother alone once in the past 16+ years. Once. Because I insisted. Just because I missed having a mom. A mom with whom I could have a relationship, like other people.
And in the end, the whole subject just fills me with dread.
****************************************
The other night I dreamt that I finally confronted my mother about her drinking and its consequences regarding her relationship with her grandchildren. I woke up with an odd sense of calm and relief. And then I remembered that it was just a dream.
It's not just that I don't feel comfortable leaving young children alone with her. I don't even feel comfortable with the idea of her holding them -- she has been known to misestimate the distance between herself and the floor and just let go of a wine glass, shattering it. Wine glasses are fungible and replaceable, unlike, say, children. In attempting to pet him, she has poked my dog in the eye, more than once. And, as the day goes on, she has trouble standing or walking (or speaking in complete sentences, or following the conversation taking place around her). I don't want to put vulnerable people at risk, and I don't want them exposed to her behavior, and I certainly don't want them growing up with the same warped belief I had, that all grandmas (mommies in my case) are like that.
But I am also fully incapable of dealing with this issue. As much as I hate the person she often is, I do love my mother. That love used to be tied to various fond memories from my childhood, a vague recollection of the person she once was. At this point, as those memories have faded and/or been replaced with worse ones from adolescence and adulthood, that love has become untethered, existing primarily as something more akin to a requisite (but fully ingrained) filial affection. The type of love that stems from a feeling of "supposed to." But regardless of its source, it keeps me from dealing with these issues, in part out of a fear of hurting her while gaining nothing, and in part out of a fear of losing her affection, an affection that often feels as unanchored as my own, and far more fleeting as well.
I have managed to avoid the ultimate confrontation with my mother for 16+ years. I wish I could avoid it forever. But I know P harbors the same fears that I do regarding my mother and our future children, and we're going to have to deal with this issue at some point, and that point is starting to seem a lot closer to now. It's weird, because I can actually envision the conversation -- and can envision it going well. It's probably a conversation I should have had with her a long time ago, one that would have improved our relationship substantially by this point.
But the only way it goes well is if we have it alone. My stepmother can't be there. Even though I can only imagine that my mother's drinking has as profound an effect on her as it does on me, she perceives everything as an attack and first goes on the defensive, then switches to attack mode, making it about me and the ingrate I am. And I can't handle it. I become a mess. But I've only seen my mother alone once in the past 16+ years. Once. Because I insisted. Just because I missed having a mom. A mom with whom I could have a relationship, like other people.
And in the end, the whole subject just fills me with dread.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
16w0d
I never really thought I'd get to sixteen weeks. In my mind/heart/whatever, pregnancy ended sooner than that. I still haven't really figured out how to tell people and am secretly hoping that someone else will do it so I don't have to. Oddly, it's working so far. Word has been spreading at work, and I've been getting cryptic emails lately from people asking if I have any news. I usually just respond with a date. Again, it's working so far.
I had to go shopping this weekend to buy some clothes that fit, or at least fit better. I was down to four bottoms that fit without one of those belly band things, and three more that worked with it (always very professional to walk around a law firm with your pants undone), and I was scared people would start to notice that I was rotating the same outfits week after week. I almost had a panic attack standing outside the store -- complete with rapid heart rate, shortness of breath, light-headedness, sense of world fading to black. If P and a friend of mine hadn't been with me, I am pretty sure I would have run away. It was way too much for me, and I found the whole experience horribly unpleasant from start to finish.
I feel an odd ambivalence about having people know, which ties in to the clothes issue. If no one knows, and something goes wrong, I will find a way to get through it. What horrifies me is the idea of something going wrong and having to tell anyone else. I feel like people want to know about one another's issues as much for themselves as for the other (or at least that is the case in my family), and I have no interest in comforting anyone else if something goes wrong in my life, which I know will be expected, even if the person doesn't recognize they are in fact expecting as much. So I have been taking advantage of the fact that I, generally, don't really look any different, hiding in looser sweaters and wearing my regular pants/skirts, in the hopes that if no one knows and something goes wrong I can go about my business, crying in my office with the door closed, and shutting them all out.
I had to go shopping this weekend to buy some clothes that fit, or at least fit better. I was down to four bottoms that fit without one of those belly band things, and three more that worked with it (always very professional to walk around a law firm with your pants undone), and I was scared people would start to notice that I was rotating the same outfits week after week. I almost had a panic attack standing outside the store -- complete with rapid heart rate, shortness of breath, light-headedness, sense of world fading to black. If P and a friend of mine hadn't been with me, I am pretty sure I would have run away. It was way too much for me, and I found the whole experience horribly unpleasant from start to finish.
I feel an odd ambivalence about having people know, which ties in to the clothes issue. If no one knows, and something goes wrong, I will find a way to get through it. What horrifies me is the idea of something going wrong and having to tell anyone else. I feel like people want to know about one another's issues as much for themselves as for the other (or at least that is the case in my family), and I have no interest in comforting anyone else if something goes wrong in my life, which I know will be expected, even if the person doesn't recognize they are in fact expecting as much. So I have been taking advantage of the fact that I, generally, don't really look any different, hiding in looser sweaters and wearing my regular pants/skirts, in the hopes that if no one knows and something goes wrong I can go about my business, crying in my office with the door closed, and shutting them all out.
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