George Mary part III

After V left on Friday, we finished cooking up dinner and dh served plates. I had put a gorgeous shoulder roast from Gore's (yeah, plugging good local meat) into the crock pot earlier that day. By the time it finished cooking, it smelled like I expected it to, but the smell was nauseating me. No matter, I needed to eat a good healthy dinner, and roast beef and cabbage fit the bill. I chewed every bite to death before washing it down with water. It was the only way I could get the food down. For good measure I ate some dried cherries to help me sleep that night.

Friends K&R arrived with their kiddies to give our van a jump. Between the cold and having left lights on, it just wasn't starting, and the Prius stickers were expired. We were supposed to have taken the Prius in on the day we had the ultrasound. While here, K helped me talk things out, and gave me the back and shoulder massage of the century. It was lovely and so physically relaxing, but of course my mind and stomach were in knots. Then she started to massage my hands. Of course I kept trying to mentally relax, to no avail. Then it hit, sort of out of nowhere. I gagged. K looked at me alarmed and started to ask if she needed to get a bowl, but just dashed out to get it. I jumped up and high-tailed it to the bathroom, where my entire dinner came back up. Joy.

I had been having panic attacks since about 4 or 5 in the afternoon. They started out sporadic, and were increasing as the evening went on, almost like a labor. This would continue every day, starting about 3 or 4 in the afternoon, and increasing in frequency and intensity until about 9pm. I learned to start coaching myself through them like a doula coaching a mom through labor contractions.

"Won't have to do this one again."
"One panic attack closer to the last one."
"Just keep breathing, it will pass."

I kept telling myself that *this* was my Agony in the Garden.

I was a total wreck. After I threw up I thought I might try to use up the adrenaline in my system and tire myself out. Obviously the yoga I tried between V's departure and K's arrival did nothing to help my mental or physical state. So I took to climbing stairs. Up the stairs. Down the stairs. Up the stairs. Down the stairs. It didn't take long before I quit that. K kept me company while I finished packing my bag; I was in a total daze. I settled in the bed, and they left soon after. I took my Ambien at 10:15 and it did help me fall asleep. I slept until right before 3, and listened to music from 3-5, but fortunately was not having panic attacks. Hopefully they'd be behind me now. I got up and took my second Lexapro. It was time to get ready for the hospital and leave. There were no words for how sad and alone I felt as I showered and dressed, and worked hard to get a little food down into my stomach. These last few moments with my little one in his home, in my home. I was going to walk out the door pregnant and return home without my baby, maybe okay, maybe not okay.

We got to L&D and checked in pretty easily. I had left my purse at home, and was afraid they'd ask for photo ID, but they didn't. I was told that my nurse would be S.  She was familiar; I bet anything I had her for one of my previous births. I couldn't have been gifted a better nurse. It was awkward changing into my hospital gown, and the room was cold, but I donned my awesome red nightshirt that I got for Christmas over the gown, and all was well. KADB arrived and got settled in. No way was I doing this without her. We went through a million admitting questions, the phlebotomist came and did his job, and we waited for Doctor C.

There was a lot of down time for us. I made DH and KADB pull the sofa over to the bed instead of sitting halfway across the room.  I put on Pandora, onto the Steely Dan station I loved so much. We jokingly referred to it as the Michael McDonald station, and you only wish you could see me do my Michael McDonald impersonation. But in our usual fashion we sat...we cracked jokes...we laughed...and we sat some more. DH shared things he was reading. We discussed the flu. DH suffered through nasty coffee until he got a better cup later.

Dr. C was great. His bedside manner was quiet and gentle. I didn't have the impression I was just another of the herd, as can often happen with OB's and patients. He seemed moved when he saw the little box and the blanket that was awaiting George. The order was given for 200 whatevers--mg maybe?--of Cytotec. It was a "standard" dose. He gave the order for one dose to see how that would work. I think in our conversation he used the word "patience" about 4-5 times. Now this is an OB I can work with! We discussed my concerns and I felt very satisfied and in good hands. He left and the nurse took care of getting the Cytotec for me. I didn't think we'd be having this baby before 6pm.

The medicine was put into place at about 10:20 and I had to lie back for an hour so it could dissolve and "do it's thing." I think I stayed reclined for an hour and a half, and crocheted, listening to music. Between 11:30 and noon my body seemed to get a clue. I lost my mucous plug and started to feel mildly uncomfortable. By noon I told Nurse S that if I didn't know what was going on, I would think something was definitely wrong. There was just a mildly crampy tightness that didn't let up, but nothing that would cause me to complain. Much of the 4.5 hours of the birth are something of a blur. As I said, there was a lot of down time.

One thing we did do was settle on a name. DH wanted to avoid the finality of it, so he left it up to me. I chose the name George Mary for a boy, and Georgianna Marie for a girl. Our first baby who went to Heaven was named Fulton Mary. I was early and we didn't know if it was a boy or girl, so we chose Fulton for Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen and Mary to honor the Blessed Virgin Mary. I thought we should keep that "template" for a name. This time I wanted to honor Pope Francis, but we already have "Francis" in one of the children's names. His given name is Jorge, so playing off of that, I chose George and added Mary. Georgianna Marie is just the feminized version of his name. It wasn't until later that I remembered that Pope Francis' middle name is "Mario"--Mary. So he truly did carry the Pope's name. The name coincidences became more interesting when I looked at my hospital ID band and noticed that the OB's first name is--you guessed it--George. I thought I'd fall over the next day when DH told me that he saw the OB's middle name on his medical diploma: Francis. Some would see nothing but pure coincidence in this. That's okay. I see a reminder of the Hand of God over our whole situation. It was a comfort.

Somewhere in the 1:00 hour the incessant mild tightness began to turn into distinct mild cramps. Nurse S would ask me periodically to rate my pain. I know she wanted pain scale numbers. I never went about 1-2. When you've been through the births I've been through...there's just no comparison. It was much more effective to explain how I reacted to the pain than to give it a number.

"How would you rate your pain?" " I'm furrowing my brow."
"I'm pursing my lips."
"Now I'm pursing my lips and sort of contorting my face, but it's not really worse than the second day of my cycle."

It never got worse than this. Of all the horror stories of epidurals and pass-out worthy pain I had read about Cytotec inductions at 17-20 weeks, this was the worst of it for me.  I kept waiting for "it" to hit and "it" just never did.

Just past 2:20 my water broke. I was surprised it broke before the baby came; that is a rarity for me. I would continue to cramp quietly for another 20 minutes before all of a sudden a little baby appeared at 2:42 p.m.

There he was. I could barely see him; he was still attached to his little cord so I could barely move him. I saw his face but due to his compromised bodily integrity I had to handle him with extreme gentleness. I didn't want to snap the cord, so I just held him as best as I could and waited on the nurse to come in. All looked okay, and she called Dr. C. Next step was going to be waiting for the placenta to come. After several minutes the nurse just cut the cord so we could bring him up and I could get out of the funny position I was in. His arms were long. His fingers perfect. Precious toes. His skull was hardening in the front. Little eyes...nose...mouth... "Hi Sweetheart...Hi...I love you..."

He was so little. We took a peek and saw what appeared to be a tiny little penis forming, so that confirmed what I had long believed: the baby was indeed a boy. Baby George Mary. I had never felt so sorry and inadequate as when I looked down upon his little lifeless body. I could have done no better for him for months, and yet there was nothing I could do for him.

We set him on wet gauze to protect his skin and I put him in his blanket. Dr. C arrived and looked tenderly at little George. Then he came to see how I was doing and we worked on getting "stage 3" safely to completion. I still had a placenta to deliver. Wonder of wonders, not only did it come intact, but it didn't require a lot of coaxing, and I didn't lose much blood at all. They thought they would see more blood than that. Could I have done it at home? Probably? I still wouldn't risk it.

As usual the afterpains were worse than the actual labor, but the awesome heating pad was all I needed. This was a far cry from the pillow-biting, gnashing of teeth and wailing that usually go on after a full-term birth. No, I'm not exaggerating. I did the usual uterine mashing and everything stayed very much in control. Dr. C was pleased and said he wanted me to hang around about another four hours to keep an eye on things. I was good with that, being in no hurry to go home to the chaos.

At 3:00 I was settled and we then had the next several hours to spend with little George. Father B. from our parish came by the hospital to see me and bring us Holy Communion. Poor thing, he must have arrived just around placenta time, so he had to wait a few minutes to get into the room. He blessed little George, and administered Holy Communion to us. He also dispensed us from going to Mass the next day.

Nurse S. came and chatted with me after a little while. She explained to me that George's cord was unusually thin at the umbilicus and at the placental insertion site, but that there was a bulge in the center of it. The implication was that the cord was too thin to function properly and the bulging area was probably of a more "normal" thickness. Well I knew that the formation of the cord was purely the baby's doing. There was nothing I could have done to prevent a cord issue. Looking at him, also, his left leg, up where the thigh and hip connect, was unusually swollen. There very well may have been something genetic going on there which resulted in his malformed leg and insufficient umbilical cord. I don't know. I just keep going back to how I had never done better with my prenatal care, diet, etc...and I lost him anyways. I'm such a fixer...and I couldn't fix it. I know my options...and there were no options here. We received the sweetest windfall from the Hands of God...and he blew out of my grasp. It was all wrong wrong wrong.

We hung out, and eventually I got George settled in his little box. DH brought me some salad and a grilled chicken and I ate it with little problem. The panic attacks started again after 3:00 but I only had a few. I was hoping those would settle out and that I wouldn't see them again. I was on the other side now, though, and my worries had ceased. Surely the panic attacks would, also. I called the funeral home and told them they could come by after 6 to get George. They arrived at 6:15 and we chatted.  They left around 6:30, taking little George with them. And then it hit. Hard. KADB held me on the left and DH on the right as I crumbled.

Nurse S. went off-shift at 7. She was so kind... She came and told me that she loved my birth plan, and that if she had had to go through the same experience, she would have made the exact same choices I did. It was hard telling her goodbye. We really did enjoy her presence throughout the day. As an extra little surprise, Dr. C popped in one more time to check on me. He had a birth down the hall, saw my name still on the door, and wanted to make sure all was well.

We left the hospital shortly before 9:30 and went home. It was good to see the kids. I climbed up into bed, and really don't remember anything else from that day. I went to bed feeling grateful for the houseful of kiddies I came home to, but also feeling awfully gutted. My baby was gone.

This isn't the end...just the end of this part. Yarn time. One more part to go. It is hard to write about this all, like a spectator looking in. I keep forgetting bits and pieces, and have to go back inserting them in the proper timeframe. You really deserve an award if you have made it this far.

George Mary part II

Thursday morning, I called the OB's office and made my appointment early. They insisted I see the Dr. who reviewed my case in the ER, and as I said previously, I had no experience with this OB, either personally or through a client or friend, so I was afraid I would end up with a doctor who might give me a hard time about my wishes. The appointment was set for 8:45 Friday morning. I decided to have a backup plan, and had my midwife contact the Tepeyac clinic, a Catholic practice which would likely be very amenable to allowing me to induce rather than go for a D&C. Tepeyac agreed to see me if I had a bad experience locally, so I was relieved about having a backup plan, but still in knots about the upcoming appointment.

KADB came and kidnapped me fairly early in the day and we worked on getting my ducks in a row. First we went to Hobby Lobby and chose George's box that he would be laid to rest in. I had already ripped the large blanket I had started knitting for him and started a much smaller crocheted blanket to wrap his little body in. I kept my eye out for a little statue to mark his grave until we can afford a headstone. They had some really freaky looking garden statues. Of course they had to have little pigs with wings...like angel pigs...to remind me of "Pigbert." At least we had something to laugh over. It sounds like a morbid trip, but really we could find humor in the moment. Having been through so much together, it's what we do. We both knew the humorless moments were going to be in plentiful supply.  

Then we made a short stop at Sweet Frog for some frozen yogurt, and proceeded on to Never Enough Yarn. I returned the extra two skeins of yarn I had bought for his blanket, and bought four balls of the most scrumptious colorway of Mini Mochi yarn (Grand Canyon, in case you are wondering). I had seen them the day I bought George's yarn, and thought I might like to make myself a little shawl as a remembrance of this time, and as something to keep me occupied and staring at colors that soothe me. The lovely lady who owns the yarn shop was quite shaken at my news, bless her, and told me to check back in with her soon. I love small shops where they know you. 

Our next stop was to meet the man at the cemetery who could tell me which plots would be available in which to bury my little baby. I chose one just two away from the plots in which KADB's little babies are buried. We went on to Sacred Heart to purchase the plot. While there, KADB texted me the contact information for the funeral home--the one phone call I was avoiding. I called them on our way back home from Sacred Heart and it was taken care of before I set foot back in my house. I do not remember too much about Thursday evening. I know I spent it agonizing about my upcoming appointment with Dr. C. 

I was blessed to have a lovely phone conversation that evening with a midwife friend who went through something very similar. I won't divulge her experience but I will say that she set me greatly at ease about using Cytotec to induce my labor. Between her experience and KADB's experience, I thought I might be able to manage okay. My hangup was that because my hormone levels were high, I knew we'd be starting from 0 to get my cervix to the point where I could birth this baby. My body had no clue it was about to have a baby. None of my labors began at this point; I was always much further along, so I was envisioning having to go through this process for many, many hours with a medication well-known for uterine hyper stimulation. Again, the time I spent googling induced miscarriages did me no favors. 

I spent the evening airing out my fears to KADB. She asked what my biggest ones were. They were hemorrhage and infection, especially an infection that developed after the miscarriage was complete. I was afraid of retaining the placenta and needing a D&C that might result in me taking antibiotics, which would wipe out all of my amazing gut flora in the beginning of flu season--yeah, anxiety much? And I was afraid of passing out from the pain of an overstimulated uterus on Cytotec. I wanted to welcome my baby in peace, not be wigged out from pain, or lightheaded from blood loss, or be rushed off to surgery having had no time to spend with him. Late that evening I worked out my birth plan. How bizarre it was to write out in my birth plan, "I wish to be induced at the hospital with Cytotec..." 

I went to bed that night and woke up at 3:00 a.m. I tried for an hour to go to sleep, to no avail. I should have known what was up right then, but I didn't pick up on it. I just got up at 4, and went downstairs to make the elderberry syrup I had been wanting to make but didn't get the chance to start.  I set up my laptop with The Bob Newhart Show and got to work on my double batch. Enter the first panic attack. There I was at the counter, my heart beating out of my chest, thinking about the upcoming appointment and having to fight for my wishes, dreading what was to come, and bang bang bang my heart just would. not. stop. I kept working. I should have known. I didn't. I knew all would be fine after the appointment. It would settle because I would have an answer. 

Syrup was made. I had panic attacks all morning up until we went to the office, in -11 degree wind chill weather, to see Dr. C. I got inside the office, and they were very kind to me. I wasn't sure what to expect; the office staff at my previous OB's office had much to be desired in manners. I went back with almost no wait, and spoke with a sweet nurse who was able to make me much more relaxed than I had been. In the downtime, I worked on little Pigbert's blanket. We still had no name. Finally I got into Dr. C's office. 

He was soft-spoken. I thanked him for agreeing to accept me as his patient. We sat down, he looked at my information, and said that protocol for a 14 week baby is a D&C. I reminded him that I was 17 weeks pregnant, without a doubt. He said protocol is determined by the size of the baby, and doctors don't usually induce 14 week babies. Standard of care is a D&C. I suggested to him that people don't usually bury their 14 week babies with funerals. He agreed. I told him that if I wanted to go an easier route, I would sign up for the D&C, but that I could never be at peace if I didn't try to deliver this baby intact. I told him we needed to honor his little life, his body, as much as we possibly could. He asked if I was going to drive my care against the "standard of care" and against his recommendation and I said, "Yes." He wasn't cruel. He was being a doctor, doing what he needed to do to make sure I understood what protocol normally was before I waived it and went with my gut. I asked him why a D&C was preferred and I never got any answer besides that it is the standard with small babies. That wasn't good enough. He mentioned perhaps sending me home with the Cytotec so I could deliver at home. I told him that with the high chance of placenta retention and hemorrhage, it wasn't a risk I was willing to take. I desperately didn't want my children seeing me carted out on a stretcher by EMS when they're already grieving the loss of their baby brother. It was induction in the hospital with Cytotec or I was walking, but I didn't say that. I really thought I was going to have to use my backup plan. 

Dr. C then did something very awesome. He didn't say, "Well we don't see eye to eye here. You probably should find another doctor." He picked up the phone and called Labor & Delivery at the hospital. He spoke to Nurse K, who happens to live around the corner from me and recognized my name in the conversation. He asked if the hospital had a lower gestational limit regarding inductions and if a 14 week pregnancy (shudder) could be induced at the hospital. I could hear her through the phone essentially saying that standard of care is generally the D&C, but she didn't see any reason why we couldn't induce there. He hung up with her and gave us what we were asking for, and asked if I wanted to go in that afternoon or the next day. I was floored. I was just so grateful. There were no words to express my gratitude to Dr. C for making that phone call. I had originally tried to get another OB, one of the ones I was familiar with, but they made me see Dr. C. Now I know it was Providence. I would get further confirmation of that in the hospital. 

I told him that I'd go in the next morning, so I could get my ducks lined up in a row with childcare, etc. It would give me a little time to mentally prepare to say goodbye to the sweet child who had been under my heart for the previous 15 weeks (remember that a gestation is calculated from conception with two additional weeks added, so though I was 17 weeks pregnant, he had been there for 15).  Dr. C said to be there at 7 a.m. The last thing I did was to ask Dr. C for a prescription of Lexapro. By this time, having had a morning full of panic attacks, I knew something was wrong and that I needed a little seratonin boost so my nerves wouldn't spazz out like they did in 2010 when I was consumed with panic, anxiety and insomnia so badly I ended up on Seroquel to balance me out. He gave me the Lexapro. I already knew I'd be using Ambien to help me sleep that night. I wasn't risking insomnia the night before my induction. So we went home extremely relieved to be able to stay local and to have a good plan, even if I was still nervous as heck. 

I don't remember what I planned to do that day. I think I was going to try to get some housework done, but I was wiped out and spent much of that day in bed. My dear friend V came over and cleaned for me, cooked for me, and just sat with me and talked. It was wonderful. At some point I sent Kermit off to get the Lexapro because something clued me in that I needed to start it *now*.  It was a good thing I did. 

Time for more yarn and distractions now.... 

George Mary part I

I started piecing things together over the week between Christmas and New Year's...

"Hey look! I can still button my jeans!"

"You know, I just don't feel as anemic anymore...and I am taking 50mg less iron daily than I was."

"I don't know where these headaches are coming from."

"My appetite sure seems to have leveled off from a couple weeks ago."

"I don't think I'm feeling him poke as much as I used to..."

Add to that my reluctance (that I couldn't explain) to seek out maternity clothes, or to schedule the 20 week anatomy scan ultrasound. 

Something just wasn't adding up. But what the hey, I had a doppler! It had been nearly 2 weeks since we last heard that beautiful little heart thumping away. I knew the baby would be easier to locate with the doppler than he had been before and yet again I'd find that heartbeat after a while, get teary eyed and feel stupid for doubting that everything was okay. I couldn't listen that Saturday night. The two littles were sleeping in my room and my husband was dozing. I wasn't going to let my silly doubts wake them up.

Sunday morning, I whipped it out as soon as they were all up and out of the room. I looked for a long time. I heard the placenta whooshing away, and my heartbeat, sometimes beating so fast I had to make sure it was me and not the baby. Lying flat. Elevating hips. Hang legs off the bed. Turn to left. Turn to right. I turned and twisted...things I had to do in the past to find little "Pigbert." He had always been difficult to locate, but this time it was different. I heard no movement. Even when I never got heartbeats in the past, I always got movement noises. I put the doppler away. Pigbert was getting bigger. He was going to have periods of rest and periods of activity. He was just resting, probably behind the placenta, and so I didn't hear his heartbeat or movement. I always listened in the evening, and he was generally busy moving around then. I'd try that night.

So I did. There was my placenta. There was my heartbeat. Nothing else. Okay. Baby is still playing hard to get at almost 17 weeks. He's tiny and well...I had all these fat layers to go through. I'll listen tomorrow.

Monday evening. Tried again for one last obnoxiously long time to hear something, anything, that wasn't my terrified heart and a tornadic sounding placenta. Nothing. The lack of heartbeat didn't scare me. The lack of movement said more than I wanted to know. I texted the midwife, asking if she could stop by with her doppler when she was in the area again. She graciously said she'd be by first thing in the morning. 

Tuesday morning. Kelly arrives and we chatted a minute. Then she prayed with me, a very beautiful prayer from her heart, not that we would hear a heartbeat, but that the Father's Will would be accomplished in me and that we could accept whatever that will included. Then we listened. We heard no different than I heard in the two previous days. I either had the most chilled out baby ever hiding behind a loud placenta, or I was carrying a dead baby. We really knew which one it was, though. All of the pieces just fell into place. I curled up on the couch and cried. I didn't want to bury a baby. Kelly made some calls for me and scheduled the ultrasound for that afternoon and we headed out an hour away to Centreville, amazed we were getting a same-day appointment on New Years Eve.

The people at Fairfax Radiology were wonderful and efficient. I was into my ultrasound right on-time and the woman was very kind to us. I told her that I knew she couldn't answer my questions but that if she'd let me see, I'd be able to tell if there was a heartbeat or not. She flat out told me that she'd let me know if she saw one, and she didn't have the wand on my belly for two seconds when she confirmed the lack of heartbeat. We weren't expecting good news, but it ripped our hearts out to look at our little lifeless baby, just floating there, still. The tech snapped a bunch of pictures to see if maybe the radiologist could see a reason for the baby's death, but he could not. I was in such disbelief that I completely forgot to ask for a picture. We went home and broke the news to the children. It wasn't pretty.

Now I needed to come up with a plan. Having been through this multiple times with my best friend, I knew what I wanted for this baby. I wanted him born intact, and to be given a proper burial, so as to honor his little life as best as I could. The question was, would I find someone willing to accommodate my plans? There were others... wait for it to happen naturally, or induce? Home or hospital? I did the thing that most people do in this situation, that they probably should never do. I googled. This was the worst thing I could have done, and what set the stage for a return to insomnia and panic attacks. 

Waiting...going septic? Almost died? Okay...induction... Cytotec? What do you mean Cytotec? The medication I heavily caution my clients about that even carries the warning not to be used on pregnant women? Women asking for epidurals...passing out from pain... hemorrhage... going in for D&C post-birth because of retained placentas... The stories were endless, and none of them good. NONE of them. I never wanted to be knocked out so badly and to have gotten it over with with a D&C. It sure seemed like an easy way out, but one that would have never given me peace. 

Wednesday was New Year's Day. Nobody was open, so I had no appointment this day and couldn't schedule one until Thursday. I cried my way through Mass, and after Mass that morning. My best friend passed on the pregnancy loss shawl that had been passed on to her. I think I'm the fourth woman to wear this shawl. When I saw the bag with the shawl, I just melted into a puddle. We went home and things really started to go awry from there.

My husband wanted to take the children to see The Hobbit, which I was all for. He went and got the tickets while I made myself some soup. I felt horrendous but really wanted the soup. They left for the movie, and I ate my lunch with the little boys. I didn't feel so well. I felt very dizzy. It was difficult getting up and down the stairs. I thought a nap would do me good, so I put on a movie for the boys and snuggled with Gil on the couch to take a nap. I slept fine, but I probably should have refrained from sleeping with the hot water bottle behind me. I think I messed up my temperature regulation, so when I got up and my temperature started rising, all I could think was "Here we go...sepsis..." I called a midwife who suggested I might want to get checked out, to rule out infection and to get on the doctor's radar sooner than I might have been able to do otherwise. I agreed, so after they got back from the movies, off we went to the ER, meeting my KADB (Kick-Ass Doula Bestie) there. Countless times I had been to the ER with her, and now our roles were reversed. 

In short, my foggy-headedness and fever eventually cleared up. KADB made sure I was able to get some chuckles in by "illustrating" the pain scale faces on the dry-erase board, among other things. I had no infection. This was a relief. My hormonal levels were so darn good they made me go through a repeat ultrasound to confirm the baby was indeed not alive. This was NOT a relief, but they would not contact the OB without the ultrasound. The OB did not come to see me, which I was not happy about, but he did say to call his office and he would take me on as a patient. I knew a couple of the doctors in that practice were good, but this one I had no experience with and I was terribly nervous. Well, okay, everything had me terribly nervous. Really, all I thought about was everything that could possibly go wrong until I was safely on the other side of birthing this little baby, who still needed a better name than "Pigbert." We returned home that night to some sleeping kiddies and some still awake, and I went right to bed, trying to distract myself with yarn and The Bob Newhart Show, which I think my poor husband was quite fed up with by this time. Although I was distracting myself, I was not taking care to keep my nerves in check, and this would come home to roost very soon. This would be the last normal night of sleep I got.

Stay tuned for Part II. This is about as much as I can recall right now without having to play with yarn for a bit and distract myself with something funny.