It was the most exciting day of my pregnancy. The day I had waited for since I found out I was pregnant. The day we would find out the sex of our baby.
The topic had been the main discussion in our household for weeks. We had names picked out for each sex. We had plans for what we would do if we were blessed with a boy, or a girl. And secretly we each had our hearts set on one or the other.
As the ultra sound tech slid her wand over my slimy belly, looking for the right body part, I leaned up on one arm. This is it I thought, this is when we find out. The ultrasound tech stopped, tapped a few keys on the her keyboard and before she could open her mouth I said, “IT’S A GRIL!” She turned to me surprised. “Most people can’t tell that quickly, but yes, you’re right, it’s a girl.” Really it wasn’t that hard to spot. If you look at the picture you can tell, it’s defiantly a girl. “Welcome to our family Madelynn Renee’ Whitely,” I thought as the ultrasound continued.
As Jesse and I walked home from the hospital it slowly began to sink in, we were going to be proud parents of a beautiful daughter. Jesse immediately began listing “girl” sports that she could play. Soccer, tennis, volleyball, swimming, maybe even softball. I smiled, this was going to fun.
But as I lay in bed that night, it suddenly didn’t seem so fun. A girl, I was going to have to raise a girl. I was a girl once, I know what it was like, and don’t want to do it again! Girls take so much energy, they are so needy and demand so much. How was I going to handle this? I thought little of the baby that would soon be joining our family, but the young woman I would eventually launch into the real world. How was I to teach her to be kind and compassionate, yet be able to speak up for herself? How could I tell her to love the person she sees in the mirror without becoming conceited? How can I tell her that her education is the most important asset she will ever acquire, when I don’t have one myself? How will I equip her with the right tools for eternity with out turning her away from the very God that created her? How can I let her know that she can do anything she wants to, but family comes first, and only she can find that balance? How will we make it through the teenage years when her brain is full boys and boobies and status? How will I let her know that it won’t last? That life does exist out of high school. I want her to be successful and strong, yet balanced with love and devotion. Are my wishes to high? Will I be able to teach her, to guide her, to love her into a capable adult? I must have drifted off to sleep, but when I woke in the morning the nagging worries still hung over my head. I tried to make since of them, to calm my fears and tell myself that it was all going to be ok. I thought of the things that I could do for her, the skills I could equip her with and came up with a rather short list. But there was one thing that topped my list. I could LOVE her. I can love my baby so she feels so secure and safe and that she belongs in our family. I can love my toddler so she feels adventuress and confidant. I can love my preschooler so she can feel free to explore and play. I can love my school aged girl so can know that she’s doing her best, what ever that may be. And I can love my high schooler. I can lover her and show her that she will always have a place in our home and in my heart.
I will make mistakes and there may be flaws in my daughter. But I will not be guilty of not giving my child enough love to last through the changes that life will bring each of us. And for now I must trust that Love is enough.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
This is Bed Rest, This is Life
The verdict was handed down like a life sentence. Bed rest for the duration of my pregnancy, I was 29 weeks pregnant. Eleven weeks to go. Eleven weeks of being house bound and tied to my couch. Eleven weeks of daytime TV and endless hours of Myspace.
It all started with a simple phone call to my doctor. I had spent the day working with my boss, but had been feeling severe low back pain and menstrual like cramping. At the doctors office just the day before I explained what I had been feeling. She said I needed to get off my feet when even I felt cramping or pain. Well, while with my boss, off my feet, the cramping and back pain continued. Not wanting to call my doctor in front of my boss and discuss the details of my pregnancy I waited till I got home at 7pm. By 7pm my doctor’s office was long closed, and as I left a message for her I felt embarrassed. This is probably nothing I thought. She’s going to tell me not to worry, and not to bother her at home. But when she called me back and I explained my symptoms she said, “I want you to go to Labor and Delivery.” “Now?!?!” I asked. “Yes, NOW!” She replied. Unfortunately, we couldn’t go “now.” We were stuck in the drive through at Taco Bell.
Upon reaching the hospital, the feeling of embarrassment still hadn’t left. I kept thinking,
“They’re going to take one look at me and send me home.” But no, they admitted me, put
the little band on my wrist stating that I was property of the Loma Linda University Medical center and escorted me to a labor and delivery room.
Sitting in my hospital gown waiting for the nurse I got a good look around. I’ve never been in a labor and delivery room before so this was all new. Soon enough the nurse arrived and strapped two monitors on my stomach. One was for the baby’s heartbeat, the other was for contractions. As our baby’s heartbeat filled the room, bringing an almost peaceful tranquility with it’s rhythm, the nurse pulled out a needle. I looked at her, eyes questioning what she was doing next. “Don’t worry Sweetie, we’re just going to hook you up to an IV for a while to make sure you stay hydrated.” The words were barely across her lips when she plunged the needle into my arm. It was only after the needle had passed through skin, muscle and bone, that she bothered looking for vein. Twisting the needle this way and that, she dug in my arm for what seemed to be eternity before finally removing it and stating, “We’ll you’ve just got rolly viens. Lets try again.” By this time my whole arm from shoulder to fingertip was ablaze in pain. I clinched and unclenched my fist trying to make the pain stop. As she eyed my arm a second time I politely informed her that I don’t like needles or shots, or anything being stuck in my skin, and that I would feel a lot better it she “tried again” on another part my body. She left my side in search of smaller needle. Upon her return, the pain had subsided in my arm and I almost willing gave her my hand again. This time, with a smaller needle and the visible veins in my hand she slid the IV right in. Once the IV was secure, the monitors were hooked up and a bruise was already forming on my arm, she said all we needed to was wait.
Wait? Wait for what? For the baby to come? For the cramping to stop? For the IV bag to empty? For my phone battery to die so I couldn’t play Tetris? But unfortunately the nurse was gone and there was no one to ask these questions to. So I just prayed my phone battery wouldn’t die. It seemed like an eternity before the nurse came back. She reviewed the print out of one of the monitors, the one that was checking for contractions. She looked at me, “Well,” she said “you’ve been contracting every 4 minutes since we’ve hooked you up.” “I have?” I stated in disbelief. “Those cramps you were feeling have actually been contractions.” She continued. “WHAT?” I thought, contractions? Just the word strikes fear in every pregnant woman, and here I was having them every 4 minutes. I thought contractions were suppose to the most painful thing a woman experiences. I had envisioned them taking over my body and producing pain that I had never known before. But no, here I was lying in the hospital, contracting every 4 minutes, with out hardly batting and eye lash. I had had periods that felt worse than this. Suddenly though, I no longer felt embarrassed. I almost felt proud. I had trusted my instincts that something wasn’t right. I had followed through, even though I thought it was all going to be for nothing. Maybe, I thought, just maybe, my motherly instincts are beginning to kick in.
Treatment for preterm contractions is a drug called Trebudlien. The nurse told me it would feel like speed. I don’t know what speed feels like. But I do what it feels like to drink too much caffeine on an empty stomach. This supposed smooth muscle (the uterus is a smooth muscle) relaxer cursed through my body like the highest dose of caffeine I’d ever drunk. My heart was racing, my hands where shaking and the Tetris blocks became a blur.
When the nurse returned she took another look at the contraction monitor. She said I had only had two contractions since she’d given me my shot, the fFN (a test they run to see if you are indeed going to go into labor in the next two weeks) came back negative and I could go home. She handed me my discharge papers with a list of instructions. Somehow I got my hand to grip the pen and scribble something that was supposed to by my name. “Ok,” she said looking over my juvenile signature, “I want you stay hydrated and go to the bathroom when eve possible, even if it’s just 2cc’s, you need to keep you bladder empty.” Silly nurse, I thought. She hasn’t seen my bladder, it maxes out at 2cc’s.
As the nurse removed my IV and unhooked the monitors from my stomach I heard our baby’s heartbeat fade away. I smiled. Even through all of this we still had a healthy baby. Her strong little heartbeat had kept right on beating like nothing was the matter. I felt lucky to have been able to listen to it for so long. It was just one more thing, connecting me to life inside.
As you can guess the Trubudline, the hydration and constant bladder empting did little to relieve the contractions. After another uneventful trip to Labor and Delivery, my doctor decided that bed rest was best.
So now my days are filled with daytime TV. Just lat week Lakiska asked Maury to have paternity tests done on 5 different guys. She couldn’t quite remember which one might be her baby’s daddy. Unfortunately for Lakiska, they all came back negative. She must have lost count somewhere. Myspace is a good waste of time too. I have found out so many interesting things about people I don’t even know. But along with all the mind numbing things I do to make my days go by, I am blessed. I am blessed because I can talk on the phone at my leisure. No one else is needing my attention. I can take my time going through Madelynn’s clothes and finalizing her nursery. I can cuddle with my husband at night and hear about his day, without having to worry about being tired in the morning. I can make lists and organize things that have been put off for far to long. These last few weeks have been just for me and grateful.
Though I feel the least like myself since the beginning of my pregnancy, I do feel ready. I’m ready for the baby to come and bless our lives. I’m ready to offer my body for the betterment of hers. I’m ready to take on the tasks of juggling my different roles as Wife, Mother, Friend and Daughter. I am thankful for these last 11 weeks I have had to breath deeply and think slowly.
It all started with a simple phone call to my doctor. I had spent the day working with my boss, but had been feeling severe low back pain and menstrual like cramping. At the doctors office just the day before I explained what I had been feeling. She said I needed to get off my feet when even I felt cramping or pain. Well, while with my boss, off my feet, the cramping and back pain continued. Not wanting to call my doctor in front of my boss and discuss the details of my pregnancy I waited till I got home at 7pm. By 7pm my doctor’s office was long closed, and as I left a message for her I felt embarrassed. This is probably nothing I thought. She’s going to tell me not to worry, and not to bother her at home. But when she called me back and I explained my symptoms she said, “I want you to go to Labor and Delivery.” “Now?!?!” I asked. “Yes, NOW!” She replied. Unfortunately, we couldn’t go “now.” We were stuck in the drive through at Taco Bell.
Upon reaching the hospital, the feeling of embarrassment still hadn’t left. I kept thinking,
“They’re going to take one look at me and send me home.” But no, they admitted me, put
the little band on my wrist stating that I was property of the Loma Linda University Medical center and escorted me to a labor and delivery room.
Sitting in my hospital gown waiting for the nurse I got a good look around. I’ve never been in a labor and delivery room before so this was all new. Soon enough the nurse arrived and strapped two monitors on my stomach. One was for the baby’s heartbeat, the other was for contractions. As our baby’s heartbeat filled the room, bringing an almost peaceful tranquility with it’s rhythm, the nurse pulled out a needle. I looked at her, eyes questioning what she was doing next. “Don’t worry Sweetie, we’re just going to hook you up to an IV for a while to make sure you stay hydrated.” The words were barely across her lips when she plunged the needle into my arm. It was only after the needle had passed through skin, muscle and bone, that she bothered looking for vein. Twisting the needle this way and that, she dug in my arm for what seemed to be eternity before finally removing it and stating, “We’ll you’ve just got rolly viens. Lets try again.” By this time my whole arm from shoulder to fingertip was ablaze in pain. I clinched and unclenched my fist trying to make the pain stop. As she eyed my arm a second time I politely informed her that I don’t like needles or shots, or anything being stuck in my skin, and that I would feel a lot better it she “tried again” on another part my body. She left my side in search of smaller needle. Upon her return, the pain had subsided in my arm and I almost willing gave her my hand again. This time, with a smaller needle and the visible veins in my hand she slid the IV right in. Once the IV was secure, the monitors were hooked up and a bruise was already forming on my arm, she said all we needed to was wait.
Wait? Wait for what? For the baby to come? For the cramping to stop? For the IV bag to empty? For my phone battery to die so I couldn’t play Tetris? But unfortunately the nurse was gone and there was no one to ask these questions to. So I just prayed my phone battery wouldn’t die. It seemed like an eternity before the nurse came back. She reviewed the print out of one of the monitors, the one that was checking for contractions. She looked at me, “Well,” she said “you’ve been contracting every 4 minutes since we’ve hooked you up.” “I have?” I stated in disbelief. “Those cramps you were feeling have actually been contractions.” She continued. “WHAT?” I thought, contractions? Just the word strikes fear in every pregnant woman, and here I was having them every 4 minutes. I thought contractions were suppose to the most painful thing a woman experiences. I had envisioned them taking over my body and producing pain that I had never known before. But no, here I was lying in the hospital, contracting every 4 minutes, with out hardly batting and eye lash. I had had periods that felt worse than this. Suddenly though, I no longer felt embarrassed. I almost felt proud. I had trusted my instincts that something wasn’t right. I had followed through, even though I thought it was all going to be for nothing. Maybe, I thought, just maybe, my motherly instincts are beginning to kick in.
Treatment for preterm contractions is a drug called Trebudlien. The nurse told me it would feel like speed. I don’t know what speed feels like. But I do what it feels like to drink too much caffeine on an empty stomach. This supposed smooth muscle (the uterus is a smooth muscle) relaxer cursed through my body like the highest dose of caffeine I’d ever drunk. My heart was racing, my hands where shaking and the Tetris blocks became a blur.
When the nurse returned she took another look at the contraction monitor. She said I had only had two contractions since she’d given me my shot, the fFN (a test they run to see if you are indeed going to go into labor in the next two weeks) came back negative and I could go home. She handed me my discharge papers with a list of instructions. Somehow I got my hand to grip the pen and scribble something that was supposed to by my name. “Ok,” she said looking over my juvenile signature, “I want you stay hydrated and go to the bathroom when eve possible, even if it’s just 2cc’s, you need to keep you bladder empty.” Silly nurse, I thought. She hasn’t seen my bladder, it maxes out at 2cc’s.
As the nurse removed my IV and unhooked the monitors from my stomach I heard our baby’s heartbeat fade away. I smiled. Even through all of this we still had a healthy baby. Her strong little heartbeat had kept right on beating like nothing was the matter. I felt lucky to have been able to listen to it for so long. It was just one more thing, connecting me to life inside.
As you can guess the Trubudline, the hydration and constant bladder empting did little to relieve the contractions. After another uneventful trip to Labor and Delivery, my doctor decided that bed rest was best.
So now my days are filled with daytime TV. Just lat week Lakiska asked Maury to have paternity tests done on 5 different guys. She couldn’t quite remember which one might be her baby’s daddy. Unfortunately for Lakiska, they all came back negative. She must have lost count somewhere. Myspace is a good waste of time too. I have found out so many interesting things about people I don’t even know. But along with all the mind numbing things I do to make my days go by, I am blessed. I am blessed because I can talk on the phone at my leisure. No one else is needing my attention. I can take my time going through Madelynn’s clothes and finalizing her nursery. I can cuddle with my husband at night and hear about his day, without having to worry about being tired in the morning. I can make lists and organize things that have been put off for far to long. These last few weeks have been just for me and grateful.
Though I feel the least like myself since the beginning of my pregnancy, I do feel ready. I’m ready for the baby to come and bless our lives. I’m ready to offer my body for the betterment of hers. I’m ready to take on the tasks of juggling my different roles as Wife, Mother, Friend and Daughter. I am thankful for these last 11 weeks I have had to breath deeply and think slowly.
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