Category: The Life of Lara

The Governator has a heart

Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger has filed a legal motion to allow same-sex marriages to return in California.

And in news closer to home, Im now almost 25 weeks, baby is still going strong, Im still (relatively) sane, and I am expecting visitors this afternoon. I am going to enjoy my last week of freedom!

And yesterday was magical. Dad spent the afternoon at my place with Inigo, and we had a lovely time together. I dont get to see him much at the moment, but I was reminded yesterday just how gorgeous he is. I have some pictures, but they are still on the camera. I might be able to get Mark to transfer them for me on the weekend so I can print some pics to take to hospital with me.

We’re on the grid!

Almost a year ago, we were assessed for a green loan. Eventually, we got approval – about a week before the scheme was canceled. We just snuck in, and then signed up for solar panels. Month, and months later, the panels were installed. Now, about two weeks after the installation, today another electrician came to actually hook us up to the grid, so that the electricity we generate will start to offset what we are paying for it.

23 weeks, two social workers and a neonatologist

Thursday came and went in a bit of a blur, honestly. I managed not to blubber at anyone, though it was a difficult day. And then wordpress put out an update to their iPad app, and broke itself so that I can no longer blog from the iPad. And it’s taken me three days to get around to moving the laptop from the bedside table to the belly so I can update.

First I did the blood/urine/blood pressure thing, and by then I was in a state because little beastie wasn’t moving. Neither of us are morning people, but it makes me anxious on Thursday mornings. I had tried to find a heartbeat with the doppler that my lovely friend Kendi loaned me, but it decided to run out of batteries before detecting a heartbeat, so by 10am I was a wreck.

I saw my dr wandering around with another patient, she asked me how I was, and I told her how stressed I was. She said she would see me as soon as she could, and it wasn’t long before she called us in and found a little heartbeat. We then went back to the waiting room to wait for the Clinical Midwifery Consultant (head of the Perinatal Support Team), and the social workers.

They apologised that I had “slipped through the cracks”, apparently the womens health unit hasn’t had a social worker since April, but they had just had a new social worker start this week, and she would most likely be taking over my “case”.

They gave me a twee handpainted box with a tiny nylon nightie, a pair of lemon yellow acrylic booties (beautifully hand knitted, but the yarn is a crime against nature), and a little booklet from SIDS and Kids with space for ultrasound pictures. Apparently it’s a “memory box” in recognition of my dead baby. The horror. But I suppose some people dig that shit.

Then the new social worker (let’s call her “Heidi”) took us upstairs to meet the neonatologist. We were ushered into a tiny store room, and the doc talked to us about all the horrible things that could happen to our baby if he is born alive. Most of it wasn’t news, but there is a rare and nasty thing that can cause brain damage because this baby is sharing a womb with his dead sibling. It’s nasty, and it’s very rare, so we won’t entertain any thoughts about that just yet.

I was also able to ask questions, so I asked about their policies on breastmilk feeding, donor milk, etc. The dr assumed I was a lactation consultant, and I decided not to correct him, as he actually started to listen to me.

So now I suppose I am as prepared as I can be for what the next few months hold. We have seen the NICU, and the size of the tiny babies there (most not much bigger than my outstretched hand), and am pleased to see that the babies have stylin’ Hawaiian shirts as part of the laundry rotation.

My new social worker is going to meet with me every time I go in to the hospital from now on, and when I move in as a resident they will do everything they can to smooth the transition for me. Just over 2 weeks of relative freedom left.

Four things

Susan rang today, and (1) we are seeing the neonatologist on Thursday. We are also seeing (2) the social worker. I decided to do this, since if things go well, well need to hook in to some support services, so we might as well know who we are dealing with.

(3) I rang my friend Anna and had a long chat about shit that happens. I think this was a really useful conversation to have just now, I havent quite got my sense of humor back, but I can see it from here.

And (4), I decided to get positive, and I rang my pediatrician, and explained the situation to the lovely receptionist. Dr McVeagh rang me back this afternoon, and I am going to make an appointment to see her with this baby in mid December.

One more thing. After a very quiet morning, baby has been kicking up a storm all afternoon and evening 🙂

22 weeks, and a whinge

Yesterday we clocked over to 22 weeks.

On Thursday my doctor gave me three more pathology forms, for three more out patient anti natal visits, and said Id be going in to hospital after that, which puts the date around the 18th of October. We had asked to bring forward the meeting with the neonatologists by one week, just because I feel like I need time to digest the information before having to make any big decisions. Unfortunately, my dr told me that we wouldn’t be seeing he neonatologists for another 2 weeks, a week after we were initially told it would be, and two weeks after I had wanted it.

On Friday, I had a meltdown. Two things were bugging me. That my wishes were ignored completely about seeing the neonatologist early, and that my doctor didn’t seem to have the time to talk about it with me. And that made me cranky about something else. In the three weeks since I was told that one of my babies had died, nobody from the hospital had said anything to me about counseling, or even talking to someone about how I felt. Granted, I didn’t want it at the time, and I’m not sure I want it now, but if the same thing happened to one of my loved ones, I’d want to think that there was some service offered to them. The death of a baby at such a late gestation is a big thing to most mums, and I find it quite shocking that I was just sent home with no resources at all.

So I decided to call the perinatal support team, and just mention my concerns. I wasn’t about to kick up a stink, but if there is something I feel strongly about, its using my strength to make things easier for others.

I rang the pager number that was given to me by the team leader a few weeks ago, but she was on an RDO. The call was answered by a very lovely woman, but it wasn’t Susan, and I wasn’t in a fit state to explain my case from he beginning, so I tried to ring off and say that I would call back on Monday. But she wasn’t having that and was quite insistent that she could help me, so eventually I started to tell her my story.

And I lost it. I completely broke down on the phone to this stranger. And since I haven’t cried for a long, long time, I just couldn’t stop the tears from coming. Eventually I explained about the NICU visit, and she promised to arrange it for me, but I just had to get off the phone quickly, and I’ll deal with the other issue later.

Quite honestly, this situation is taking a toll. Each day seems harder than the one before, and every hospital visit seems like an unbearable force bearing down on me, its almost all I can do to put one foot in front of the other to get myself through the front door. Previously, I’ve been able to stumble through it all with a smile on my face, and to crack jokes, and see he lighter side (though how, I am not so sure).

And from now on, its only going to get harder. As this baby gets closer to viability, the stakes get higher every day. And now that we know we have a little boy, its hard not to think of names, to think of the future, to think about what a lovely big brother this baby is going to have. But still, that future is as tenuous as ever, and despite being 7 weeks into the journey, the end of the road seems further away than ever.