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.