Home

I've been thinking on the topic of "home" for the past few weeks in a way I've never done so before. From the moment we found out that Will was on his way, Marty and I have been talking about where to raise him and our other (future) children. We've talked about family, church, schools, communities, geography, politics, safety, you name it -- anything and everything that influences how you function inside and outside the four walls and a roof you call your home. The most obvious place to call home was, of course, Indianapolis; my family lives there and the only other option would be Mississippi, and Marty has stated vehemently more than once that he'll "never live in the swamp again." So, even before my first trimester was over, we fixed our trajectory on Indiana and never wavered. In fact, I felt true grief that circumstances wouldn't allow for me to deliver Will in Indiana, surrounded by family and friends and just...familiarity.

Well, to make a very long story very short, things have changed. Without going into great detail, my parents came down for an unexpected visit a few weeks ago, sat down in our living room, and gently suggested we perhaps not move back to Indiana. The reason why? Because in a couple of years, they won't be there. Neither will my sister Sarah and Garrett and their brood. Where will they be? It feels funny to say, but they're moving even further south than where we currently reside -- North Carolina! There are many, many, many reasons for this move, but the primary one is my nephew Ethan. North Carolina offers him the best chance for a mainstream education, the best therapy for his autism (they utilize something called the "TEACH method"), the best opportunity to learn and grow and achieve his full potential. He's simply not getting any kind of decent opportunity from Indiana's special education track, and the curriculum only promises to get worse, and downright awful by the time he's in 3rd grade. And because my parents are nearing retirement, and because they refuse to live without their grandchildren (by their own admission, so cute), they're seeking a big change and thus, the big move south.

Without missing a beat, without so much as a moment's worth of hesitation, we happily decided to make North Carolina our new destination as well. In fact, our compass spun so quickly I got a bit of whiplash -- and I suddenly had the clearest perspective I've ever had when it comes to "home." All this time, I've been keening like crazy to call myself a Hoosier again, and suddenly I realized, I don't even care about that so much, I just care about living near my family. But even that is secondary. In all of the conversations that ensued, I further realized that I just want to be with my Marty and our Will. I want us to have a family adventure all our own. In all the planning and plotting to provide Will the best growing-up situation and as a result, setting our sights on Indy, I never sat and actually had this thought -- and shame on me!!! Of course, I'd be lying if I said I don't want to be near my family -- I absolutely do and Marty shares that desire. So, in a couple of years, we'll pick up stakes and mosey on down the trail. But in the meantime...oh, in the meantime, we've decided to choose the best place for us to be right now.

And not only have we found a great place, I've also stumbled upon the greatest sense of contentment I've ever had. A scant 2 and half years ago, I was perhaps the most miserable person I knew. I was in a sham of a marriage, unable to have children, lonely at home and sad at work and depressed everywhere in between. I fixed a fake smile on my face for the world to see but cried constantly on the inside, knowing in my deepest soul that my life was nothing that I wanted it to be. And now here I am, those 2 and a half years later, married to the love of my life (just know that I type that with tears in my eyes, because this man is genuinely a prince among men), listening to my baby son coo in the other room, and looking at the pictures I'm about to show you. I'm just so happy, because I've found my true home, my family with Marty, and together we've found a physical home, those four walls and a roof that will shelter and protect and embrace us for this next chapter in our lives.

And so, without further ado, meet my loft in downtown Kingsport:

7-foot French doors that are our front windows (follow me, I'm going to slowly spin to the right around the great room)

The windows now closed so you can see the restored hardwood floors and the exposed brick wall


The area that will be our dining room


Kids, meet the kitchen of my dreams: stainless steel appliances, extra-tall espresso-stained cherry cabinets, custom concrete countertops, and the coolest pendant lights you'll ever hope to see hanging above your sink


Another view of the kitchen, and if you look up, you can see the exposed wooden beams/rafters


The view down the hallway (doors lead to master suite, Will's nursery, guest bathroom, and laundry closet)


The area that will be my office (excuse the presence of the leasing agent, who may be my newest friend; her name's Samantha, she's lived in Europe, she had a private Christian school upbringing [I kid you not], and she's already invited us into her loft [she lives here too] and she might just be the coolest chick ever)

Finally, the living area, with those majestic windows open again (we have 2 sets of 2).

So why did y'all go for a loft?, you might ask. Well, we tried to get a house. Tried several times to find a decent home to rent, but OH. MY. STARS. I've realized something. There are a lot of people in the world who don't live clean, sanitary lives. To put it simply, there are just a lot of GROSS people out there, and I'll be darned if I'm going to rent a house from someone whose basement smells like dirty animals. In our quest to find some new digs, I haunted Craig's List and we went on several jaunts to see places, and we (read, I) kept getting more and more frustrated. It wasn't just once that we drove away from a place with me in shock and/or tears! Then one night, we saw the ad for these brand-new lofts, converted from an old furniture warehouse. By the time we called, there was only ONE left. Marty went and toured that same day, and we signed our lease on Friday, the same day I got to see it for the first time. With absolutely no sense of propriety, I got to the great room and started jumping up and down in sheer joy. My greatest feeling isn't joy, however -- it's gratitude. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. Thank you, Lord, for bringing me home.

And thank goodness my blog is private, because I can share with y'all our new address (we move in December 1st):

The Conways

217 Broad Street, Loft 206

Kingsport, TN 37660

Now, one last and completely unrelated photo. This is Will with his beloved Dr. Terry, his pediatrician. I'm not kidding when I say that they love each other. I think the photo says it all.

Will at 3 months

(Yes I realize I'm a month behind. I am determined to catch up; I can't keep everything straight in my head!)

This month marked many “graduations” for you, Puppy. (Oh yeah, Mommy calls you “Puppy” all the time now.) First of all, at the beginning of the month, you were still sleeping in your cradle in Mommy and Daddy’s room – if you can call it “sleeping.” Because you weren’t, really. And neither were Mommy and Daddy! One day, after getting up with you every 2 hours in the night, your sleep-deprived mother got pretty desperate and decided to institute some changes. Namely, I put fresh linens on your crib (in your room) and opened the baby monitor box and figured out how to use it. I also decided it was time to put some rice cereal in your night-time bottle. That night, you had a “ricey bottle” and a warm bath, then we put you in a comfy sleeper and read you some stories, then we laid you in your crib and tucked you in. Mommy prayed over you like I always do and turned on your “light show” (you have a projector mobile), then with you sucking contentedly on your paci, we snuck out and listened for any complaints on the monitor. There were NO complaints and you slept about 4 hours at a stretch that night – not as much as we wanted but a vast improvement! You seem to love sleeping in your nursery and you sleep better when we follow the whole routine, including the bath. We don’t do a bath every night, however, because I’m pretty sure that’s not good on tender baby skin!

You also developed something of a routine this month, too. Your bedtime is between 10 and 11 p.m. (don’t get used to that, kiddo), and you usually wake up between 2 and 3 a.m. Mommy also learned this month to only turn on a soft light in your room and nurse you in the glider, keeping you as much asleep as possible, and avoiding changing your diaper unless necessary. You adapted to this very well, and there have been several night-time feedings in which you didn’t even crack an eyelid. This has helped me so much, because I can put you back down in your crib, you squirm for a few seconds until you find a comfortable position, and then you’re back out like a light! Now, there have been some nights when you wake up when I lay you in your crib, and you seem offended that I’m not rocking you anymore. Well, it was hard, but I’ve learned to let you soothe yourself to sleep. You never get all that upset, and it just kills your Mommy as she listens to you on the monitor, but in a few minutes you’re back to sleep and Mommy is back to sleep that much faster, too. Then you’re usually back awake between 6 and 7 a.m., and Daddy pulls morning baby duty and feeds you a bottle, changes your diaper, then hands you off to me around 7:30 when he has to leave for work. I usually put you in your swing and we both doze until I have to get up to begin my workday. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, you’ll sleep from around 8 a.m. to 10:30 or 11 a.m.! That always signals a good day for me, because I can get some rest and then get my day started while you sleep in the sunshine streaming through the living room windows. It’s very peaceful!

We also had to take you in for an unscheduled doctor’s visit this month (you weren’t supposed to go back until 4 months). You had a very uncomfortable-looking diaper rash that didn’t clear up with Desitin, and you woke up one Sunday morning with goop coming out of your right eye. The goop would appear every time you blinked, and boy, did it ever make you mad! That next day we took you in to see the on-call doctor, who gave us a medicated cream for your rash and told us you had an infected, clogged tear duct. She said it was very normal and told us to massage your tear ducts during/after bath time, but we’ve never had to do this because your infection cleared up almost immediately and you haven’t had any problems since. While we were at the doctor’s, they weighed you in at 14 pounds, 8 ounces (they didn’t measure your length, for some reason?). Everyone at the doctor’s office always remarks on how “healthy” you are – you have some fantastic chubby cheeks and thighs, Puppy!

Mommy finally had to pack away all your newborn and 0-3 months clothes. I couldn’t help but be a tiny bit sad about it; you were such a sweet little infant and your clothes were so precious. But that’s okay, Mommy is so glad you’re growing like you should! You also graduated into size 2-3 diapers.

This month you also seemed to become much more aware of your surroundings, and you take great interest in people who talk to you (close to your face). You really began to recognize your Mommy and Daddy and you practically squeal with happiness when you see that Daddy is home from work. You talk ALL the time, and Mommy and Daddy have a running joke about how we should have expected this, seeing as we’re both English majors (communication is our THING!) and we fell in love over the phone (talking, talking, talking!). You also love to look around and your face shows that you’re super-alert and just taking it all in. When people meet you for the first time, they either remark on your hair (it’s so long and naturally spiky on top, although lightening up a bit from coal black to a soft brown) or your eyes (Daddy calls them “gun-metal blue”), or both. You’re just a beautiful baby and although Daddy and I would think this anyway, it’s always nice to hear compliments from other people. We’re just so proud of you, Will-Baby!!!

Finally, Daddy wanted me to also mention how much you LOVE watching football! Actually, it's quite true -- I think you see the images of the men in their brightly colored uniforms running around and it really piques your interest. Either that, or you're just a football prodigy and you're already taking in the game -- now wouldn't THAT make your Daddy happy??? You always get decked out in team gear with Daddy during a Saints game. They're undefeated so far and Daddy insists that you're the good-luck charm enabling this to happen!

Will at 2 months

My William, you are growing so fast it is making your Mommy's head spin. It seems like it was just a few days ago that we met:

I promise, those are happy tears! (I'm not one of those girls who are pretty when they cry!)

Could I have another tube or wire in my hand, please? I don't think I had enough there.

Then we took you home and started our family adventure. I love this picture, even though it's blurry. Look at that pink, precious baby!

Now at 2 months, my William, you:

• are 13 pounds, 5 ounces, and 23 1/4 inches long. That's between 75-90th percentile in weight (big boy!) and 50th percentile in height. You are a very healthy baby!
• are immunized against diptheria, tetanus & pertussis (DTAP), polio, and Hib (an influenza). You received Pentacel at your 8 weeks appointment, which is a combination vaccine -- only 1 shot! The doctors wanted to give you more immunizations, but your parents prefer to spread them out a bit, so we're going back in 2 weeks for the rest of your 2 months' vaccinations. The doctors weren't happy with Mommy and Daddy, but oh well. You're OUR child and we felt strongly against loading you up with too much vaccine, too early in your life. Anyway, you lived up to your name of Champion in taking that shot -- you made a complaint sound but you didn't even cry! Mommy was all prepared to nurse you for comfort but you didn't even need it. You felt better as soon as the nurse handed you back to Daddy, then you began looking around the room again with your usual curiosity! Daddy and I giggled in awe of our tough little dude.
• have quite the collection of nicknames. Mommy likes to call you Will-Baby, Doodle, Bubba, Bubby, and Little Dude. Daddy calls you Babies and Champ/Champy. We both call you Puppy and Punkin. Most of the time in conversation with other adults, though, we'll call you William or Will.
• are wearing some 3-6 months clothes, especially t-shirt onesies and sleepers. You are also wearing size 2 Pampers, although your parents are going to try to squeeze you into the remaining size 1's we have about the house, because we're frugal that way. Bad Mommy and Daddy.
• have the most startling blue-gray eyes:
• have a best friend. His name is "Paci." When we first brought you home, you were all about the Soothies, but once introduced to this particular pacifier, you won't take anything else now. In fact, you spit out every other type of pacifier as though they offend you! Mommy can't find a duplicate of Paci anywhere, so if Paci should be lost to us, Mommy and Daddy will be, quite simply, up a creek!!!
• have a pro for a Daddy. This is Mommy's new favorite picture (and yes, that's Paci in Daddy's mouth, being gripped by Paci's handle, of course):
• are a seasoned traveler. We took you to Lake Michigan at St. Joseph, where Nana and Pa-Pa always took Mommy and her sisters when they were growing up. This was a very special occasion for your Mommy, who used to walk along this beach and dream of one day having a little baby!
• have attended your first birthday party, your cousin Elijah's 3rd birthday (dinosaur-themed). You are fascinated by your cousins and fought sleep in order to keep watching them. You weren't too fond of the party hat that Mommy forced on you, though:
• have watched your first regular season NFL game with Daddy. This was a big deal for Daddy, who put you in your Saints jersey for the first time! (Don't tell Daddy, but I think you're secretly a bigger Colts fan.)
• have had your first non-milk food item -- pear juice! You've been going a long time in-between poopies (you'll hate me one day for telling other people this), so Dr. Terry recommended we give you some pear juice to encourage things along. You had 3 ounces of juice -- which you really liked -- and just a couple hours later, SUCCESS!
• are getting almost 5 hours of sleep at your longest stretch during the nights. I can't even tell you how pleased this makes Mommy!!! We're getting there, and pretty soon, you'll get 6-7 hours at a time and your parents will remember what it's like to get a full night's sleep.
• are "talking" all the time. You love to coo and gurgle at us, and when I get you out of your cradle in the mornings, you now break into a grin so wide you have to move your head to get out all that happiness. It absolutely melts your Mommy's heart that you're so happy to see me.

I love you, my Will-Baby!

Birth Story, Part 2 (a reluctant telling)

Me and my little dream come true

It's hard to believe a month has passed since Will came into our lives. I can hardly fathom how fast infants grow, and in some ways I want time to slow down, but in other ways, I want more distance between me and the day that Will was born. I keep putting off writing the rest of his birth story and sharing it here because in all honesty, it was the scariest, most pain-filled day of my life. The only shining point was the moment that Will was born and I heard him cry...at that moment I was on an operating table, limp with exhaustion, simply worn out from labor that had gone nowhere. When I heard him cry, my own tears fell -- tears of such unbelievable relief, because I knew I had delivered him safely into the world and he was no longer in danger inside of me. Any woman who has experienced pre-eclampsia or even the threat of pre-eclampsia knows what I'm talking about -- there is nothing quite like knowing that your body is slowly becoming a toxic environment for the child you so desperately love and want. In the days leading up to his birth, I felt truly betrayed by my body. I couldn't understand why my blood pressure, which had been textbook-perfect up to 38 weeks, was suddenly climbing quite steadily toward toxemia. And the betrayal I felt eclipsed the day my labor was induced. I'm going to give the short version of what happened, because I just don't like re-living it.

I spent the day on massive amounts of medicine that were supposed to tell my body to deliver Will -- only my body didn't quite get the message. I had contractions -- very painful contractions, in fact -- but contractions that accomplished nothing. My body didn't dilate and Will didn't descend. After 14 hours of labor, I was only at 4 centimeters. After 14 hours, after going through 2 epidurals (the first failed and the second one wasn't administered for 2 hours after the failure of the first), periods of vomiting, and body-shaking, teeth-chattering pain, I was running a fever, Will's heartbeat was decelerating with each contraction, and suddenly I was wearing an oxygen mask -- after all that, I knew I was done. Dr. Pickler came into my room and I knew she had come to talk realities with me. I was ready to beg for a C-section but I soon realized that begging was unnecessary -- she was in full support of doing one and I barely listened to the benefit-risk-ratio speech that she gave. I said "Let's do it" and quite literally 5 minutes later I was watching Marty don scrubs and I was being prepped for surgery. Ten minutes later I was in a freezing-cold operating room, nodding my head to the anesthesiologist that I couldn't feel my legs or belly. Fifteen minutes later, right before she hung the curtain, I locked eyes with Dr. Pickler and she winked at me. Funny, but that wink communicated so much -- it said, "I've done this a zillion times and I'm going to take care of you." Then the curtain was hung, Marty sat down behind me, and I felt the first sensation of the C-section being performed. I felt pressure, then lots of pressure, then tugging and pulling, then I heard Dr. Pickler say, "Well hello, cutie-pie," and I heard my son take his first breath and let it out in a precious little cry. He was taken immediately to a warmer and I looked back at Marty and said, "I'm fine, please go to Will." Marty got up and then my nurse, Teresa, who had been such a help to me all night, ducked under the curtain and crouched down to squeeze my shoulder and she had watery eyes when she said simply, "Congratulations." A few minutes later, Marty came around the curtain and perched my little boy on my shoulder, and as I laid eyes on him for the first time, I was shocked at how beautiful his little face was. Of course I expected to love my baby no matter what his appearance at birth, but it's true that C-section babies are really more adorable because they don't get squished! More than that, I saw his stunning blue eyes blinking at me, and I kissed his unbelievably soft cheek, and I couldn't believe he was mine. I had tears streaming down my face and all I could think to say was, "I love you my little William." All too soon Marty had to give him to the nurses because my surgery was finishing. I was rolled to one side so my epidural could be removed, and I remember thinking, don't take that away so soon! Because of a previous "chemical reaction" to morphine I was not put on the morphine drip post-surgery, but rather given an IV injection of a different painkiller. The last thing I remember in the operating room was my teeth starting to chatter again...then I woke up back in my room, in the worst, most terrible pain I've ever experienced in my life. Understand that I've had my appendix taken out and I've had a softball-sized cyst removed from my right ovary -- abdominal surgery wasn't exactly new to me. But I'd never felt anything like this and I couldn't understand why I wasn't being given painkillers. I was in such a fog but I knew that the only person with me was Teresa, and I looked over and saw that she was injecting something more into my IV. Because my teeth were chattering so badly, I struggled to tell her, "I'm in terrible pain." She nodded her head and told me she was administering painkillers every 5 minutes, and she had just given me all she was legally allowed to. Then Marty came into the room and quickly saw that I was in a bad way. Teresa explained to him that I'd already been given all the medicine she could give me and she was going to have to leave for a minute to get permission to administer a different medicine. I don't remember much after that. Marty says I looked at him and said "Help me" and then passed out from the pain. He says I came to and then passed out once more before Teresa was back to give me something else. Whatever she gave me finally worked because I felt the pain level go down just a notch and the relief was tremendous. We still don't know why, but the initial painkiller I was administered following surgery just didn't work, and as Teresa said, I came down from the epidural and suddenly "felt everything." Anyway, I must have dozed for awhile because the next thing I remember is a nurse wheeling Will's bassinet into my room and my family being there, speaking quietly in the soft light. The nurse put William into my arms and I started rocking him gently and touching his face. I felt like we both had just survived a tremendous ordeal and I felt badly that he had experienced any stress from the whole thing. Then I remember smiling to myself and thinking that parental guilt starts right away!

And there you have it -- Will's birth story. I hope it doesn't scare anyone away from having kids because it goes without saying that getting William was worth all of it. You hear horror stories about births and I reluctantly find myself in possession of my own such horror story. But, like Marty has said to me since, anything worth having is often something we have to struggle to get, and getting Will here was a mighty struggle. So will I face this struggle again and have more kids? To answer that, I first want to point out that I shared a happy picture above to show that a month later, the struggle is beginning to fade from memory -- well, at least the sharper edges of it. And secondly, here's a final anecdote from the story...I remember at last getting the green light for the second epidural and sitting up in my bed to curve my back over and be administered some blessed relief -- I trembled through another contraction before I felt the bee-sting of the needle, and then I looked at Marty and said, "You know, after all this, I still want more kids." Marty smiled and said, "Honey, you're more of a man than I am." The doctor (a man) behind me joined in and said, "It's so true -- if it were up to men to have children there would be no people." It's one of the few things I like remembering about that day -- I know I was a real trooper. I felt the strength of my maternal instincts and the power of womanhood in the hardest thing we're called upon to do. I've heard that some women who have C-sections feel like their surgery was somehow a cop-out; trust me, I am NOT one of these women. Because trust me, enduring a C-section is no picnic! And for me, for this birth, it was the obvious, clear, correct choice. And now that I've had one, I'll always have the option to give birth this way again. That's a decision we'll make later on when we get there, but I like to imagine that the next time I give birth, it will be something that happens in a scheduled way, with lots of drugs (that work), and in a manner that I'm now accustomed to -- so that might answer that! I think I'm entitled to an easier birth next time, don't you think? :)

All's Will That Ends Will: Birth Story, Part 1

As I was preparing to leave the hospital last Thursday, my mom was blow-drying my hair for me and I was musing over the events of the previous 4 days, when this version of the famous Shakespearean phrase popped into my head. Maybe it was the drugs still pumping through my system or maybe it was my fallback sense of humor about scary things that prompted it, but when I had this thought I burst out into giggles and could barely get out through the hysterical laughing, "All's Will that ends Will, Mom!"

And how true it is. Prepare yourself; I'm including lots of details (icky ones also) and it's a pretty long story. Hey -- it was a pretty LONG day!

There's some forestory to the actual story, but I haven't the mental energy to go into all that, for right now, at least. So I'll start with Monday morning, July 6, at 4 AM. The alarm went off, signaling the end of a very fitful night of sleep on my part. We were scheduled to be at the hospital at 6 AM for an induction, following a couple weeks of slowly worsening pre-preeclampsia symptoms (yes, apparently, there is such a thing -- as my doctor put it, "you're on the path"). Dr. Pickler wanted to avoid having me toxic-sick as I went into labor, so the induction was the appropriate choice, and even after all that ended up happening on Monday, I stand by that choice! Anyway, I heard my parents and sister Katie stirring downstairs while Marty started coffee and I jumped in the shower, hands shaking with excited, nervous energy. I couldn't believe the day had actually, finally arrived. Nine months really does begin to feel like ninety months near the end! Despite how early we got up, we ended up running late and I was throwing things into my suitcase when my Kate called me (she was up nursing her own sweet babe at that hour) to wish me well and to give me her love. It was my first favorite memory of the day, and even though I had to rush off the phone, it put such warmth in my heart that I'll never, ever forget it. Thank you, my Kate. Then we hauled all our necessities downstairs -- it looked like I was going on a vacation instead of checking into the hospital! -- and it was time for a quick swallow of my Mama's blueberry muffins and some picture-taking and then we were out the door and on our way. We arrived about 20 minutes late, but I figured since they couldn't start without me, it probably wouldn't be too big of a deal.

Me at 39 weeks, 2 days, on the morning of the induction

The first hour was all administrative stuff. We got assigned our room and then I signed form after form after form, most of which I was too distracted to read properly. I hope I didn't sign away anything valuable...! We also had a quick meeting with the anesthesiologist, and I assured her I'd definitely be wanting her services at some point that day. Then our nurses came on duty at 7 AM and we met the two Rachels. Rachel #1 was a nurse around my age and was mentoring Rachel #2 (fresh out of school, it seemed) through all the procedures, so Rachel #1 really took her time and did things carefully, which I very much appreciated. They were both such sweet girls that I forgave Rachel #1 for a well-placed but painfully done IV -- it made my toes curl, it hurt so bad! At that point I thought, Becky, you can't be a wimp today! Buck up girl!

Then I got changed into my gown and around 8:00, the Rachels hooked me up to a big, fat bag of Pitocin, assuring me since they had to start me on a slow drip, I probably wouldn't feel the effects anytime soon. Then I just sat in bed and chatted with my family until Dr. Pickler arrived around 8:30 to get the show on the road. She checked me and said I was "an almost 2" centimeters, and that she'd like to break my water. I'd decided beforehand that I wanted an epidural before my water was broken, because I knew from the experiences of others that without that bag of water in place, contractions feel about 100 times more intense! I shared this concern with Dr. Pickler and she told me that while she understood my fear, that if I didn't have my water broken, "I could sit on a bag of Pitocin for 2 days with little or no progress" and it was simply too early to get the epidural. Well, I was there to have a baby, dangit, so I didn't want to entertain any notions of little or no progress (oh the irony of THAT...read on). So, I said, "Let's do it, Dr. Pickler." Thus began attempt #1 to break my water. And let me tell you, I used every focusing/breathing technique IN THE BOOK to get through it. Apparently, my cervix was really high and even after much effort, Dr. Pickler -- "a seasoned water-breaker from way back" -- was unable to break my water. That was frustrating, especially since it hurt like the dickens to get through it and gained me nothing! Dr. Pickler then had to leave to do office hours, but told me she'd be back at lunch to try again and that I could happily dilate on my Pitocin drip until she returned. I promised her I'd do my best.

I can't remember when -- around 10:30 AM? -- I started feeling the contractions. The Rachels had slowly upped my Pitocin drip until I was really taking in quite a bit by mid-morning. By this time, also, I'd been assigned a new nurse who'd be with me throughout the day, until the shift ended at 7 PM. This angel's name was Shannon and I don't think I could have asked for a better nurse: she was kind, attentive, sweet, and funny, and took me SERIOUSLY on every point. She was with me during the failed water-breaking attempt #1 and didn't let me get discouraged about it. Anyway, around 11 AM, I told Shannon that I was beginning to get interested in a painkiller of some kind. Now, I was using all my breathing techniques, plus using all my courage and energy to get through the contractions, but it must be said I was on a monster-drip of Pitocin and the stuff ain't kind. Relentless is more like it! So Shannon checked me and said I was pretty much dilated to 3 (I guess they round up?) and I could have an injection of Staidol (I have no idea how this is spelled) to take off the edge until I was more inclined to get the epidural, which for some reason I was still rejecting at this point, thinking it was just too early. She also told me I could have a Staidol injection once an hour, every hour, and that it wouldn't interfere at all with my epidural if I suddenly decided I wanted that, too. Essentially, she didn't have to twist my arm and I felt better as soon as the stuff went into my IV. I felt much more comfortable and even started to doze for awhile. I stayed this way, taking Staidol injections and dozing, until around 1 PM, when Dr. Pickler came back. Right away we started water-breaking attempt #2, and it did not go well. Dr. Pickler had to try 3 different "instruments" (I can't even go there trying to describe the medieval torture devices they keep on hand for poor laboring mothers) and I lost count on how many times she tried. At one point, she sat back, put her hand on my knee, and said "God's trying to tell me something but I don't know what that is." I just looked at her and said, "He's telling you to keep trying because I'm on board here! I want to DO this! Keep going!" Dr. Pickler just looked at me with a half-smile and said something about my determination, and I said something back like, you better believe it!!! I told her, just do what you have to do, don't worry about me, and let's get it done. So, she tried again and I could tell she was not being as considerate of my pain threshold this time, which I oddly appreciated, but like I said, I wanted her to get it done. And with that, it was done -- I felt the gush of water and Shannon, Dr. Pickler, Marty, and I all clapped and celebrated. My first success of the day! Shannon then got me comfortable and settled and Dr. Pickler left, telling me to try not to have the baby before she could get back after 5 PM. We all smiled, especially me, genuinely thinking this was an outlier possibility, at least.

The first 5-10 minutes post-water-breaking, I thought, Hey, this isn't too bad. Then about 15 minutes into it, I started to really feel the contractions, even though I'd just had a Staidol injection at 1 PM and was something like a half-hour away from my next injection. Then in the next 10-15 minutes, I really started to feel some pain. I got out of bed and worked with Marty using the techniques we learned in childbirth class to sway and breathe and meditate through the contractions. This honestly helped a bit, but not a whole lot. Shannon came in and asked how I was feeling, and I told her "not good." She then showed me on the monitor that as soon as my water broke, my body had taken over and gone into its own labor pattern, and I was having contractions on top of contractions -- natural ones on top of Pitocin/chemically-induced ones. She said, no wonder you're in pain! Then Shannon said the magical "e" word and before I could think twice about it, I was signing a release form to receive the epidural. The anesthesiologist reappeared and honestly, I was so uncomfortable by this point that I didn't really hesitate nor have the energy to be scared of the epidural administration process. Shannon let Marty stay with me and he held me close while Shannon watched my contractions and the anesthesiologist gave me directions. I curved my back outward and prepared myself for the "bee sting" and was pleasantly surprised to discover that I barely felt it (maybe it was all those wretched contractions that overwhelmed any other sensation?). The doctor assured me I'd done a great job, taped down the catheter in my back, and watched my blood pressure for a few minutes while the epidural took effect. I felt my legs slowly going numb, though I could still move them somewhat. Soon, I was really feeling good and felt sleepy, too, and the doctor was satisfied that all was well and I'd be comfortable until the pushing stage.

Sadly, that was not to be. To be continued...

a scare (long story and not for the weak of stomach)

Yesterday was a very bad day.

It all started on Saturday night into Sunday morning, when I woke myself up...whimpering! I had a blood vessel in the back of my head, on the right side, that was just throbbing. I have a history of migraines and I know exactly what they feel like, and this was simply not a migraine. I took Tylenol and went back to sleep, hoping to wake up feeling better. Well, I woke up feeling worse and took a Butalbital, which is the headache medicine I was given in second trimester when I had chronic tension headaches. After some food and coffee and then a long nap, I woke up feeling even worse. At this point I paged the doctor on-call at my OB/GYN's office, and sadly, got Dr. Pickler, our least favorite. I've sort of made peace with her, attributing her business-like attitude to strict professionalism, which is certainly respectable and a desirable trait in a doctor. However, sometimes you really just want to be listened to and cared about, professionalism be darned! Let's just say she didn't listen to me, didn't ask me any questions, acted extremely annoyed to be on the phone, and then told me to either go to the ER or keep taking Tylenol and call the office in the morning. What kind of options are those? To me, it was either "go bother someone else or bother me tomorrow." Ugh. Fortunately, after more sleep, I woke up feeling a wee bit better, even though I had an empty-head kind of feeling.

Then Sunday night into Monday morning, I had the same experience: woke myself up whimpering in pain. This time, not only was the blood vessel pounding and throbbing, but I'd also lost the hearing in my right ear! So as soon as the doctor's office opened on Monday, I called and pleaded with the front office staff to let me speak to a nurse ASAP, because I was having scary head pains and aches and I really needed help. Thank God the girl I spoke with was feeling sympathetic, because I had a nurse call me back within 10 minutes. I told the nurse what was going on, and she said, "let's not mess with appointments, just come on in." So I called Marty who raced home and picked me up, and we were in the office being seen by Dr. Hinton (our favorite) within the hour. I told Dr. Hinton the whole story and he started out by looking in my right ear, but he couldn't see anything because of too much gunk (sorry to be gross!). Then he touched my head and asked, "have you been running a fever?" And I had to confess that I didn't know, that I hadn't even thought to check. "Well you're burning up!" he told me, and had the nurse come in and take my temp, which was 100.1 degrees. Not too bad, but not good in a pregnant woman, for sure. Then Dr. Hinton started moving my head in different directions, and when he pushed my head back toward my spine, I had pain shoot down my spinal column, which he noticed when I flinched. He moved my head around again and then pushed back, and the pain was worse the second time. Dr. Hinton kind of made a face and left the room for a minute. When he came back in, he sat down on the stool and said, "Well, I'm sending you to the emergency room. I have a very real concern that you may have viral meningitis." I looked over and saw all the color leave Marty's face. Of course, this set off a rush of questions, but Dr. Hinton could only answer so many because he was going to hand me over to another, different set of experts.

So we walked out of the office and to the car, and I called my mom and I think I nearly scared her to death. I could tell she was extremely upset when I got off the phone with her, even though she was trying to hide it. So we showed up in the ER, only to have them send us to the Women's Center because of my obvious late-term pregnancy. We got to the Women's Center, only to have them tell us that we needed to go to the ER. By this time I was already losing patience -- my nerves were already fraying because of course, my head is still pounding at this point! -- so I told the Women's Center admin person that the hospital needed to figure out who would see me, and then someone needed to take me to that person because I wasn't going to keep walking around with a pounding headache and suspected meningitis. Sorry -- I needed to indulge in a bit of a diva moment! (I could tell my hubby thought this was pretty hilarious.) So I got wheeled back to the ER and was shown to a room about an hour later (and you all know how slow time progresses in a hospital, so it felt like 3 hours). After filling out paperwork and waiting another hour in my ER room, a nurse practitioner finally came in and asked me a million questions and told us she'd be working with an attending physician (who we never saw) on my case. She went ahead with the suspected diagnosis of viral meningitis and started all the testing. One of the first things she decided to do was have one of the nurses irrigate my ears, so she could get a good look at my inner ears. While one nurse, Tony, started on this, the other nurse, Rob, got started on my IV and bloodwork. Tony was quiet as he went about his business, but Rob was very talkative and very interested in my case. He offered all the insight he could give, then got my IV line going with absolutely no problems and no bleeding. I was duly impressed! Meanwhile, Tony got my left ear irrigated and my inner ear looked fine, so he moved on to my right ear. Here's where we're not exactly sure what happened: a) either Tony gave up because he encountered a mass in my ear canal, or b) Tony decided to finish later because it was time to take me to radiology for a CT scan of my brain. Anyway, off we went to radiology, and we met another great guy who was the CT technician. He had me sign a waiver form about how much radiation my unborn child would be exposed to (talk about guilty feelings as a parent, oh my GOSH), and then he got me settled on the table and piled lead blankets on top of my belly. At first this was okay, but as they scooted me back into the machine and I knew I'd have to lie still for 5 minutes, suddenly it dawned on me that I couldn't take a deep breath. Then just as suddenly, my little William started flipping out and trying to turn himself in any number of ways, and I realized he could feel all that weight on him and it was making him uncomfortable, too. At this point, I could barely breathe and I felt so bad for the 2 of us and I knew I was on the verge of tears, I started singing "Jesus Loves Me" in my head and praying, praying, praying that these horrible 5 minutes would pass immediately. Finally when I couldn't take it anymore, I cried out to the room in general, "I can't breathe!" The tech said, "oh we're done, I'm coming!" and rushed into the room and got the lead blankets off me and helped me sit up, and he realized that I was sweating and crying and breathing fast, so he got me a cold wet washcloth and got me wheeled back out to my husband as quickly as he could. I grabbed Marty's hand and said, "Look, this is just a headache. These people need to figure this out right now and stop torturing me and stop stressing out my baby!!!" My poor Marty, all he could do was comfort me and assure me that they'd figure it out as soon as they could. They wheeled me back to my ER room, and within a half-hour, my bloodwork and CT scan had all come back with negative/normal results. All along the plan had been to ultimately do a spinal tap on me, which is the definitive method for determining meningitis. However, Rob was the one who gave us the test results and right away he recommended against pursuing the spinal tap, since all my other tests were within normal parameters. Fine by me, I said, but what's causing the headache? Rob started to conjecture a bit and theorized that a hormonal shift in my body, due to labor being somewhat imminent for me, could be causing a very bad hormonal headache. Well, I wasn't buying, and I could tell Marty didn't believe it, either. Heck, I could tell Rob didn't quite believe it. So Rob left to get the nurse practitioner to come in and chat, and Marty got up to go update my mom. While he was on the phone with my mom, she asked him if anyone had ever finished irrigating my right ear. Marty said he wasn't sure, but he'd make sure it happened. Marty came back in and said to Rob, "did her right ear ever get looked at?" And Rob looked at it and could tell it wasn't fully irrigated yet, so he set about finishing the irrigation process (which hurts like the dickens, by the way, since they shoot a huge needle of cold water and hydrogen peroxide right into your ear canal). Finally Rob said he could see a mass plugging the canal, and finally he got it pulled out, and when he did so, I got immediately dizzy and nauseated and disoriented. Then he quick-looked at my ear and said with triumph, "There's your problem, baby-doll, that's the worst-looking inner ear infection I've ever seen!" This is apparently what happened...at some point on Saturday, my infected eardrum perforated and burst, and bled into some surrounding ear wax, causing a build-up of dried blood/fluid that plugged up my ear canal. Because of this mass, I didn't experience the normal dizziness/disorientation that occurs with an inner ear infection, because my tympanic membrane was being held nicely in place. However, this caused a massive headache, a fever, feelings of pressure in my neck, and of course, the loss of hearing in my right ear! Unfortunately for me, this so closely mimicked meningitis that it became the concern and the target of investigation. Unfortunate, in that it caused hours and hours of panic and fear and worry that I might have bacterial meningitis, which is beyond scary in all its implications; that I might have viral meningitis and be looking at an emergency C-section; or that I had something else equally scary and equally threatening to our unborn baby.

So...you can imagine the relief we felt when we got a very simple explanation for a mysterious headache. After a course of pregnancy-safe antibiotics for the infection and some ramped-up Tylenol for pain, I shall be good as gold and quite healthy when I go to deliver a baby in about 3-4 weeks. What a huge, huge relief!!!

Morals of the story:

1. You know your own body. If you have a gut feeling that something isn't right, keep demanding diagnostic procedures and tests until something is found. Several people tried to convince me that my headache was just a "different-feeling migraine." Um, what about that fever then? I knew, KNEW, this wasn't true. I knew something was off, something was different, something wasn't right. Keep the medical staff attending you on their toes until they find something! Believe your instincts!
2. Don't let a doctor blow you off. Go to a different doctor, even in the same practice. Don't worry about ruffling feathers.
3. Stay as calm as you can, even in the face of truly frightening scenarios. Pray, pray, pray. Jesus is near!

Autism Awareness Month

Even though April is in its waning days, and a million things have prevented me from writing this post, I need to share my thoughts on Autism Awareness Month.

This precious boy is my nephew, Ethan Lee. He's been my Buddy from nearly the moment of his birth. I remember holding him for the first time (all 11 pounds of him!) and feeling a mutual comfort pass between us; he was content to be held in my arms and I was only too happy to finally have a baby in the family to play with! As the first grandchild in my family, this boy achieved a special status just by being born. Then during his first night of life, when he was diagnosed with double pneumonia and whisked away to NICU, he became that much more special to us. As he recovered, we realized what a fighter we had on our hands! Then during his second year of life, when his mama and daddy began to realize Ethan had communication issues and we finally got the diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder, he achieved a whole new echelon of special in our hearts, because we knew that our Ethan was in for the fight of his life.

Getting a special hug on my wedding day

I can't even put into words how much I love this boy. My sister Katie (his "Aunt Modey") and I often comment to each other how privileged we feel to be included in this little man's inner circle of trust and love. You see, kids with autism sometimes have challenges expressing and accepting affection. Not our Ethan! Yes, he is very wary of strangers (which is always a good thing), and it takes quite a while for "outsiders" to earn their place in his world. My Marty has made careful attempts to reach out to Ethan, not wanting to overstep his boundaries and wanting Ethan to feel comfortable accepting him as an uncle when he felt like it, and not before. Just a couple months ago, Marty finally "got the nod," so to speak. He was standing in my sister's kitchen, getting a refill of ice water from the fridge, when he felt a little hand on his waist. He looked down to see Ethan just touching him for a brief moment, and Marty says he knew he was "in." What a great moment! As for me, I've always been the recipient of special hugs and kisses. Sometimes, Ethan will be watching one of his beloved Thomas videos (there's nothing this kid likes more than Thomas!) and he'll pat the sofa cushion next to him and beckon to me. I'll sit down next to him and my Buddy snuggles right up into my body and puts his hand rather possessively on my leg. This never fails to make me smile, and more often than not, I'll even shed a couple of tears. I've even been known to lift my 60+-pound nephew in my arms and carry him around (not while I've been pregnant, I promise!) because I still feel that feeling of mutual comfort pass between us.

As for Ethan's fight with autism? Still ongoing, of course, but he keeps making new strides. Even though he struggles, it's such a huge joy to see him jump new hurdles. I remember when he wrote his name for the first time, how we cried and cried. And even though they're somewhat limited, we have actual conversations now. A million praises go to my hard-working sister, who pursues every therapy and every curriculum and every learning tool she can get her hands on. Sarah is such an inspiration to me, and I've learned so much about the passionate love of a mother from her experiences fighting for the best of everything for Ethan. Right now, she and my brother-in-law are working to save money for a special dog who's trained to help kids with autism. There will be a couple types of fundraisers later this summer toward this effort, and I'll be sure to post about those here.

So why "autism awareness"? Before Ethan Lee came along, I had no idea of the struggles that autistic kids face. I had no idea how the parents of these kids have to challenge school boards for proper education, how they have to transport these kids from therapy session to doctor's appointment to kindergarten to home, sometimes in a single day (and how some of these parents have 3 other kids!). I never knew the emotional rollercoaster you take when you love a kid with autism. How you would do anything to fix it, but how there's very little you can do but love and cuddle and play with and comfort. And pray...and help in any way you can. If you know a family with an autistic kid, just know that the parents and grandparents and yes, even the aunts and uncles, face all kinds of challenges in nurturing and raising their very special gift. If nothing else, be aware enough to say a prayer for these families, but mostly for the kids who have to fight their disorder every day.

I'm sending you lots of special hugs today, my sweet Buddy! Auntie B loves you!!!

Viral infection, Day 9

When I went to see my doctor (OB/GYN; because apparently PCPs don't want to treat you if you're pregnant, who knew?) last week about the worst cold ever, he ran a strep test (which was negative) and looked down my throat, in my ears, etc. He pronounced me sick with a virus and recommended TheraFlu, sleep, and fluids. He also told me I'd "probably feel miserable for 7-10 days." Well, Dr. Hinton, here I am on Day 9, and I'm still sniffly, sneezy, and stuffed up, not to mention the fact that I haven't been able to hear out of my left ear for 2 solid days. And "miserable" doesn't really come close. All I did all weekend, besides completely wear myself out with a 2-hour trip to WalMart, was sleep. Or lie on the couch in a semi-comatose state. Because I have no energy to do anything else! Meanwhile, my laundry is piling up and my to-do list has begun mocking me. I have exactly 2 weeks until I start an extremely busy week/weekend in Indiana, with a 3-day business trip, immediately followed by my baby shower on May 9th. I have to be up to snuff to focus on my work and all the meetings I'll be in, and of course I want to feel good so I can enjoy seeing so many loved ones at my baby shower!

I've heard that "every pregnancy has its cold" but this cold is threatening to stick around for the duration, or at least it seems so. I actually felt better on Friday but I should have known it was just the eye of the storm, teasing me with a brief reprieve.

Anyway, here I sit, on Day 9, having exhausted 3 boxes of Kleenex and living in fear that my son will be born addicted to Tylenol. I'm getting ready to go make another pot of decaf Earl Grey tea and hope I can concentrate on my work for this afternoon.

I'm getting desperate to feel better! Does anyone have any pregnancy-safe suggestions for kicking a cold to the curb, once and for all?

22 weeks' doctor's visit

the arm's-length approach to picture-taking; Mama and Daddy in the waiting room.

Last Friday, Marty and I went to my 22 weeks' appointment with my OB/GYN (as it turns out, 1 of the 3 in the practice). This was our first appointment with Dr. Carrillo (Cah-ree-oh), who I loved nearly immediately and then REALLY loved when she shared that during her own pregnancy, even as a doctor, she had questions and wondered if certain things were normal. She reassured me that doubting and worrying is a state of mind shared by all expecting mothers! That was nice to hear, that what I've been experiencing of late is common. I told her about the insomnia resulting from anxiety, and after asking several questions and reviewing my chart again, she told me I'm doing "marvelously" and if I could just sweat it out for another couple weeks to reach the point of viability, then I'd feel a whole lot better. She said, "Make it to 24 weeks, and we'll be able to do all kinds of things to make sure your baby survives." Then I asked her, "Okay, how do I get through the next 2 weeks???" She just smiled and said, "Try distracting yourself in any way you can." Fortunately, I just happened to have a girls' weekend planned in Charleston starting the very next day (more on that to come!), so the timing appears to have been pretty darn good to be told to go distract myself for a bit!

All in all, it was a great doctor's visit. Will's heartbeat was in the high 140's and low 150's, and Dr. Carrillo said that was perfect. The most amazing finding was that I've gained only EIGHT pounds!!! I'm nearly in third trimester and I'm hoping that my weight gain will continue to be minimal (although my sister Sarah tells me that with her boys, she didn't gain much until third trimester and then she really packed it on at the end! Well, this is one circumstance where I DON'T want to follow in her footsteps...) And honestly, I feel like I look larger than an 8-pound weight gain, so the numbers feel kinda arbitrary anyway. I just want to continue to be semi-comfortable and semi-mobile, along with semi-recognizable, and I'll call it good. My blood pressure continues to be completely normal, although they did find something wonky with my thyroid levels, but since I've had thyroid issues nearly all my life, it will only take a wee adjustment in my meds to fix this. So -- a great report! And only 9 days to go until official viability, then I'll breathe a big sigh of relief and buckle my seatbelt for the remaining ride, hopefully until week 40 (or 39...can you hear Mama, William?). :)

Daddy took pictures of "his babies."

Waiting for Dr. Carrillo.