I had to go to the doctor this morning for my postpartum checkup. Although I was stressed about leaving Ezra for the first time, a little break was really what I needed.
I had gotten into a weird funk. It hits me every now and then. I get tired of sitting at home with the boys with nothing to do other than clean, cook, change diapers, clean, change diapers, cook, change diapers and clean again. I feel like I lose who I am in all the activities that I "have" to do. I get upset with the boys too easily and I start to envy Ronnie because he gets to leave everyday to go to work, plus he gets his extracurricular time with the fire department while I have to stay home. I start my little pity party and start asking when I get to go do something alone, when do I get to just walk out the house to do something and not have to tow three littles or worry about who they'll be staying with.
So anyway, on the way home from the doctor's office, I heard the song "I Get To" by Jeff and Sheri Easter. As I listened to the words I realized that so many of the things I experience every day are things that I "get" to do. So what if I spend all day cooking, cleaning, and wiping bottoms because I am fortunate enough to "get" to be at home with my boys right now. I "get" to decide what meals to make for my family because we are lucky enough to afford that luxury. I "get" to clean a house that God has provided for us. I "get" to go to a wonderful church and I "get" to spend time worshipping with people I care about. I get to do so many things, but I have to remind myself of these things. The world may look at me and think that I have a pitiful life, but I "get" to have a very rich life that only gets better and better.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
It seems like yesterday when I gave Ronnie a positive pregnancy test on Christmas Eve. But it seems so long ago at the same time. So much has happened this year and we have been so blessed.
My pregnancy progressed without any issues until my second glucose tolerance test in late May. I took the test and after a week of not hearing anything and not wanting to jump the gun on the "no news is good news" policy like I did last time, I had Ronnie call the office for the results. The nurse told him that I had passed, but just barely. We were so happy! But that relief didn't last long. When I went in to see Dr. Richardson the next week he told me that I had failed and would have to come back in for the three hour test. Ugh. Since it was the end of the school year and things were getting hectic. And the fact that I really didn't want to spend three hours in a doctor's office, fast for hours, or get blood drawn four times in one morning, I asked the doctor if I could just skip the test. He looked at me like I was crazy. So I explained that I was probably going to fail anyways, so couldn't I just start monitoring my glucose levels and save me the troubles? Please. It only took him a few minutes to agree by claiming that a two week long monitor was more accurate than the three hour test anyway, but that I had to get going. No problem. I can't remember when they gave me the meds, but I was put on medicince because my fasting numbers were to high. Then they increased them, and then again. And again. By the time I had the baby I was on four times as much medicine as I was the time before. My body just could not tolerate the glucose.
As a result of the diabetes I had to go in for a growth scan at 35 weeks. At that point the baby was weighing right at 7 pounds. Then I had another growth scan at 38 weeks and he weighed approximately 8 pounds, 6 ounces. I had more ultrasounds than any of my other pregnancies since I had the regular one at 20 weeks and then one at 30 weeks to check the fibroids that were discovered at the previous one. By the time of my 38 week appointment the doctor had already scheduled my induction for 39 weeks, August 9.
Monday night, August 8, Ronnie's mom came over the stay the night so we wouldn't have to disturb Ethan and Elijah the next morning since we were scheduled to be at the hospital at 5.30 a.m. We went to bed late, anxious to meet our new little boy.
Tuesday morning we were up before bright and early. While I was in the shower Ronnie called the hospital and they were ready for us. They told us to be there at 6. We grabbed our bags and started to the hospital. Note: I almost had a heart attack when the car stalled in town. How on earth would we make it to the hospital? I wasn't walking! But the car started right back up and we were on our way.
At the the hospital we got put in our room and I changed and we waited on the nurses. They checked me in, asking all those personal questions. Then another nurse started the IV. Ronnie, who never eats breakfast, went to get something to eat, and a nurse started me on pitocin. Dr. Richardson stopped by to see me and I was only at a 1.5.
The morning was pretty uneventful for awhile. We talked, checked things online via my Nook, and watched tv. When the doctor checked me and I was a 3, so he attempted to break my water, but could only poke a hole. After a bit the contractions started getting a little more painful. When nurse Pam checked me I was at a 5. When she checked me, my water began to leak finally and at that point I really thought I could go without an epidural. The contractions were tolerable and Ronnie was helping me get through them by rubbing my back and being encouraging. He does have a good side. :)
As the time went on the contractions were getting a little less tolerable. I kept asking Ronnie if I should get an epidural. Like he would know. He told me that I was the one in labor and it was my decision. Finally I decided to get checked and if I was close I would go without one, but it not I was getting an epidural asap. I called Pam to check me and I was only at a 6-7. Ugh. Call for the epidural. Looking back, I really think I could have made it longer if I hadn't been stuck in bed. My back was killing me, but I think a lot of the pain came from the fact that the bed broke down right in the small of my back creating a weird angle and not much support.
It didn't take long for the anesthesiologist to get there and he was just plain awesome. He was so much nicer than the guy I had for the other two and was very concerned about my pain. He waited through each contraction and explained everything throughout the process. The epidural took without any problem and he left.
Then the fun began. Not. It was just me and Ronnie in the room and I told him I felt sick. I lay there for a little longer and felt even more sick. I called the desk and told them. A nurse brought me an alcohol pad to sniff and it helped ease the nausea a little. I thought it could try to doze off for a minute it may help, but it didn't. I told Ronnie I needed something because I was gonna throw up. He grabbed one of those little things that the hospital has for you to get sick in, but it really isn't worth a diddly. I started throwing up and it went all over me. Gross. But true. I was out of it. I felt worse than I have ever felt. Ronnie remained calm and started cleaning me up using the puppy pads that are supposed to be on the bed. While he was doing this he called the nurse and said that we needed them and "NOW." Have I mentioned that I just love him? I do. The nurses came in and started cleaning me up and injecting medicine in my IV. My blood pressure had plummeted and was at 70 something over 50 something and dropping. They were checking it continuously and I remember it was driving me crazy squeezing my arm. Finally my BP started back up and the second or third dose of drugs kicked in and I started feeling better. Pam looked at me and said I looked much better. She said that when she came in I had no color, that my lips had disappeared. I'm a pretty dark white girl and for me to have no color is a pretty big deal.
At that point all I wanted to do was sleep. All my energy had been zapped and I knew I wouldn't make it if I didn't get a little rest. I put a pillow over my head and fell asleep.
I woke up with a lot of pressure. I thought maybe I was ready to push. But then again, maybe not. I waited a couple of contractions and called Pam. I told her I needed to be checked. She said she was on her way. When she came in, Dr. Richardson came with her and he checked me. I was at a 10. At the next contraction he said he could feel the baby's head push down and that I could start pushing. Pam started breaking the bed apart. At this point Ronnie turned off the tv and came over. I told him to get the camera because it wasn't going to be long. At the next contraction the doctor told me to push, while he was slowly getting dressed. When I pushed he looked over and was suprised to see the baby's head. They stepped a little faster and at the next push they said it would probably only take one more. Sure enough, on the third contration, Ezra made his entrance into the world at 3.33 on August 9, 2011, weighing 8 pounds, 8 ounces and measuring 22 inches long.
It's been a month and a day and our love for him grows everyday. Life is a challenge with three little boys, but I wouldn't trade them for anything.