As any preggie knows, unless she lives in a cave (and if she does, my problems will seem very petty to her), some people's reactions to pregnant women are very peculiar. These people feel obligated to make a comment, ask a question, share a horrific labor/delivery story (my personal favorite!) or touch your stomach every time they see you, even if they see you three times a day. Usually it's the same people, the same comments, the same questions - you get the drill. Often these comments are made, though in good nature and with best intentions in mind, without slightest regard to preggie's desires to discuss pregnancy and her state of mind (like being afraid, no petrified, no scared to death about any complications).
So after careful consideration I came up with the following T-shirt for myself. I never got to making one, but was close to pinning the sign with the following text on my huge (thank you for bringing it up, folks, like three hundred times a day!) stomach:
Due date is March,
I am huge,
Pregnancy is uncomfortable,
Sex is unknown,
Labor will hurt.
Please send further inquiries and comments in written form to the trash basket of your choice.
Thank you!
P.S. My being annoyed at this does not mean that I myself do not engage in similar behavior.
(January 20, 2009)
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Did pregnancy make me a socialist?
Preface: there are several posts in my drafts folder discussing my thoughts and feelings during pregnancy. Since I made a decision not to discuss my last pregnancy on my blog, I will be posting them now, when having a little one prevents me from writing much and on a regular basis. So some of the things are a bit outdated (in regards to my personal life), but I hope you will find them interesting nonetheless.
Women are often accused of not being objective because they tend to follow their heart and intuition over cool headed logic. There probably is some truth to that. The older I get, the more I lose sight of the big picture and concentrate on personal details of the situation. Whenever I hear about a child abduction, my heart skips a bit, because that child is someone's baby, terribly missed and desperately wanted back. Then I think about the abductor and it occurs to me that he too is somebody else's son. This might not be a good example, but what I am trying to say is that personal experiences such as having kids definitely softened my heart and swayed my views.
One of those personal experience was hyperemesis gravidarium (check out this site more info, if you wish), in layman's terms, severe morning sickness during my last pregnancy. Those who don't know what it entails should consider themselves lucky because it is much worse than it sounds, and not only for the one experiencing it, but also for those around her. My case was not particularly life threatening and probably fell in the mild category, but many women have it much worse and it is considered life threatening. Without going into lots of distasteful details, my mild case required taking medication for several months to suppress nausea, involved stretches of time when I could not stomach anything even while being medicated, and at one time living on half a toast and a bite of apple for four days and at another time celebrating eating five Cheerios, the first meal in three days. Drinking presented even a bigger problem, resulting in two visits to the ER for hydration.
But in many ways, besides medical, my case was truly a lucky one:
1. I had a doctor who understood the condition.
2. I had a manager who was understanding.
3. I had an employer who provides decent medical insurance and good prescription coverage.
4. My company also gives a generous amount of sick days.
5. I had an understanding husband and family nearby to help out.
6. The pregnancy and the baby were wanted and expected.
It makes me shudder to think that even one of those things would not be available to me during this very hard time. Yet the reality is that for many American women that would be the case. An appalling number of our compatriots has no medical insurance. Many times these people are blamed for their situation and called irresponsible, but I had crunched the numbers (I won't bore you with those, unless you ask me to) and wish that were the case.
And even when you do obtain insurance, the battle is not over. Not all procedures are covered by all insurance companies. In my case, the medication prescribed to me for nausea, Zofran, is often not covered or covered only partially. How much does it cost? $1,000 for 15-20 day supply, generic. (Somehow, it is only half of that in Canada. Interesting, isn't it?) I needed three refills. If my insurance didn't cover this medication, I would have to pay $4,000 our of pocket for the luxury of being able to function. Luxury that - with all my being responsible and insured - would be hard to afford.
Where am I going? I have given this topic a lot of thought, even before I got married and thought of having kids. Now my personal experience more or less cemented my belief that medical coverage should be universal. It is appalling that the country as rich as ours does not provide this to all its citizens. That people who are on the low are being kicked by their health insurance carriers, and that hardly promotes recovery. I would support any viable plan to bring decent coverage to every American. The problem is, though, I have yet to see that viable plan.
Would this belief earn me the lable of "socialist"? Does it make me one? Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn...
(originally from 11/2/08)
Women are often accused of not being objective because they tend to follow their heart and intuition over cool headed logic. There probably is some truth to that. The older I get, the more I lose sight of the big picture and concentrate on personal details of the situation. Whenever I hear about a child abduction, my heart skips a bit, because that child is someone's baby, terribly missed and desperately wanted back. Then I think about the abductor and it occurs to me that he too is somebody else's son. This might not be a good example, but what I am trying to say is that personal experiences such as having kids definitely softened my heart and swayed my views.
One of those personal experience was hyperemesis gravidarium (check out this site more info, if you wish), in layman's terms, severe morning sickness during my last pregnancy. Those who don't know what it entails should consider themselves lucky because it is much worse than it sounds, and not only for the one experiencing it, but also for those around her. My case was not particularly life threatening and probably fell in the mild category, but many women have it much worse and it is considered life threatening. Without going into lots of distasteful details, my mild case required taking medication for several months to suppress nausea, involved stretches of time when I could not stomach anything even while being medicated, and at one time living on half a toast and a bite of apple for four days and at another time celebrating eating five Cheerios, the first meal in three days. Drinking presented even a bigger problem, resulting in two visits to the ER for hydration.
But in many ways, besides medical, my case was truly a lucky one:
1. I had a doctor who understood the condition.
2. I had a manager who was understanding.
3. I had an employer who provides decent medical insurance and good prescription coverage.
4. My company also gives a generous amount of sick days.
5. I had an understanding husband and family nearby to help out.
6. The pregnancy and the baby were wanted and expected.
It makes me shudder to think that even one of those things would not be available to me during this very hard time. Yet the reality is that for many American women that would be the case. An appalling number of our compatriots has no medical insurance. Many times these people are blamed for their situation and called irresponsible, but I had crunched the numbers (I won't bore you with those, unless you ask me to) and wish that were the case.
And even when you do obtain insurance, the battle is not over. Not all procedures are covered by all insurance companies. In my case, the medication prescribed to me for nausea, Zofran, is often not covered or covered only partially. How much does it cost? $1,000 for 15-20 day supply, generic. (Somehow, it is only half of that in Canada. Interesting, isn't it?) I needed three refills. If my insurance didn't cover this medication, I would have to pay $4,000 our of pocket for the luxury of being able to function. Luxury that - with all my being responsible and insured - would be hard to afford.
Where am I going? I have given this topic a lot of thought, even before I got married and thought of having kids. Now my personal experience more or less cemented my belief that medical coverage should be universal. It is appalling that the country as rich as ours does not provide this to all its citizens. That people who are on the low are being kicked by their health insurance carriers, and that hardly promotes recovery. I would support any viable plan to bring decent coverage to every American. The problem is, though, I have yet to see that viable plan.
Would this belief earn me the lable of "socialist"? Does it make me one? Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn...
(originally from 11/2/08)
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Am I? or Am I not?
I've been feeling kind of cranky for the last couple of days. Moody, fatigued, cranky, crampy. And then I had a thought. Could I be pregnant?
While I am running to the pharmacy to buy the test, you can entertain yourself with this.
Ok, so this is my shameless attempt to make you read recycled material while I am too busy/cranky/fatigued to write something new. But it is funny, if you like my sense of humor. You might even enjoy it.
Oh yeah, and Happy Purim to all of you out there celebrating!
While I am running to the pharmacy to buy the test, you can entertain yourself with this.
Ok, so this is my shameless attempt to make you read recycled material while I am too busy/cranky/fatigued to write something new. But it is funny, if you like my sense of humor. You might even enjoy it.
Oh yeah, and Happy Purim to all of you out there celebrating!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
You would laugh too if it could never happen to you
Few days ago I paid a visit to my gyn. While waiting for him in the exam room and lacking other reading materials, I grabbed a pregnancy magazine. Well, here’s a bit of history. While expecting DS, I had a blog on one of those pregnancy sites. Several posts there were dedicated to pregnancy magazines, mainly about what kind of an idiot who thought that it was a good idea to print some of the stuff in a publication read primarily by - duh! - expectant mothers. So pregnancy magazines and I don’t have a good relationship, but still, I would rather read them than examine a chart with birth control options posted on the exam room door (not because I am against birth control, but because I have it memorized already. I don’t think it changed since I was pregnant with DD, who is now 4, and I spent many hours staring at that door in the past 5 years.)
So I opened this magazine, and the first thing I saw was a “fun fact.” Oh, nice, fun AND not written by Heidi Murkoff. Too good to be true? It was. This fun fact contained the following information: during pregnancy woman’s uterus stretches to over 1000 times its original size. Yippee! As in ouch!!!! Good for us, women, I guess. I instinctively cringed and crossed my legs. Who in their right mind (people in medical profession excluding) thinks that having your uterus stretch is “fun”? Have they ever been pregnant? Did someone, whose uterus will never stretch, aka “a man”, write this? What other fun facts does this fine magazine have up its sleeve? That when uterus shrinks back to its original (??) size, it is quite painful?That there is no cure for stretch marks, except plastic surgery? Or that about 30% of pregnant women will end up with a C-section?
Well, here’s another fun fact. Right after reading this, my eyes immediately returned to the aforementioned birth control options chart. Was this the writer’s intent?
So I opened this magazine, and the first thing I saw was a “fun fact.” Oh, nice, fun AND not written by Heidi Murkoff. Too good to be true? It was. This fun fact contained the following information: during pregnancy woman’s uterus stretches to over 1000 times its original size. Yippee! As in ouch!!!! Good for us, women, I guess. I instinctively cringed and crossed my legs. Who in their right mind (people in medical profession excluding) thinks that having your uterus stretch is “fun”? Have they ever been pregnant? Did someone, whose uterus will never stretch, aka “a man”, write this? What other fun facts does this fine magazine have up its sleeve? That when uterus shrinks back to its original (??) size, it is quite painful?That there is no cure for stretch marks, except plastic surgery? Or that about 30% of pregnant women will end up with a C-section?
Well, here’s another fun fact. Right after reading this, my eyes immediately returned to the aforementioned birth control options chart. Was this the writer’s intent?
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Mother's wish
Since I have come across a post about giving up seats on a public bus, I decided to post this story. I have done my fare share of whining about rudeness of people on NY subway and how getting a seat while pregnant is not as easy as it should be on my old blog, dedicated mostly to my second pregnancy. However, I never shared this story, and I think it beats all of my previous posts on this topic.
I was blessed with severe morning sickness during one of my pregnancies and on a few occasions had to go to the labor and delivery ER for hydration. During one of those visits, I became quite ill and barely noticed anything around me. When we got to the ER, after a quick glance in my direction,the woman in the registration office waved us to go straight in, asking SubHub to come back at an opportune time and properly register. So we came in and immediately realized that that day was a very busy one for the ER staff. All six seats in the waiting area were taken, and there were several other preggies and their relatives walking around and expecting to be called in. I was lucky enough to get a seat as one woman was taken into the examination room as soon as I walked in, and SubHub left to take care of paper work. Next to me sat a woman in her fifties (I labeled her "mother") with a pregnant "daughter". Neither of them seemed particularly distressed, physically or emotionally, and were chatting away, waiting for their husbands.
A few minutes later a severely pregnant woman came in. There was no seat for her, so she had nothing left to do but to walk around the waiting area. I was a bit peeved that it didn't occur to my neighbor to give up her seat to that patient. But then I thought that I didn't have the full picture, and the middle aged woman might have a bad back or something else preventing her from getting up. At some point an ER nurse came and asked everybody who was not a patient or a "required" help to go wait in another waiting area, right outside of the ER and across from the registration office since space IN the ER was limited and people were blocking the way for gurneys and equipment. Not only the mother didn't leave, she was shortly joined by her husband and son-in-law. They discussed for about 10-15 minutes about who was doing what, and at the end it was decided that the older couple would leave and come back later. I threw a quick glance at a severe preggie who by now was just leaning against the wall right across from me and my neighbors and looking to be in quite a bit of discomfort. I thought to myself, oh great, now she will get a seat.
Not so fast. As the "mother" got up, the "daughter's" hubby promptly occupied her seat and proceeded talking to his wife as if nothing happened. If I weren't borderline fainting, I would have gotten up myself or given the "daughters" husband a piece of my mind. 1) The preggie was standing right across from him 2) I knew that he noticed her 3) For Goodness sake, this was a labor and delivery ER/Admissions, every pregnant woman there was by default either in distress or in labor and WAS TO BE GIVEN PRIORITY IN SEATING. THAT ENTIRE HOSPITAL WING WAS BUILT FOR PREGNANT WOMEN, and those seats weren't for twenty-something year old healthy jerks. Soon afterwards, SubHub came back and I even asked him to intervene and he agreed to. But then both I and the severe preggie were called in, so that was the end of this story.
It happened some time ago, but remembering this episode inevitably makes my blood boil. What is wrong with people? One of my most sincerest wishes and prayers is that I raise my children well enough so that nothing like this would be ever said about them.
I was blessed with severe morning sickness during one of my pregnancies and on a few occasions had to go to the labor and delivery ER for hydration. During one of those visits, I became quite ill and barely noticed anything around me. When we got to the ER, after a quick glance in my direction,the woman in the registration office waved us to go straight in, asking SubHub to come back at an opportune time and properly register. So we came in and immediately realized that that day was a very busy one for the ER staff. All six seats in the waiting area were taken, and there were several other preggies and their relatives walking around and expecting to be called in. I was lucky enough to get a seat as one woman was taken into the examination room as soon as I walked in, and SubHub left to take care of paper work. Next to me sat a woman in her fifties (I labeled her "mother") with a pregnant "daughter". Neither of them seemed particularly distressed, physically or emotionally, and were chatting away, waiting for their husbands.
A few minutes later a severely pregnant woman came in. There was no seat for her, so she had nothing left to do but to walk around the waiting area. I was a bit peeved that it didn't occur to my neighbor to give up her seat to that patient. But then I thought that I didn't have the full picture, and the middle aged woman might have a bad back or something else preventing her from getting up. At some point an ER nurse came and asked everybody who was not a patient or a "required" help to go wait in another waiting area, right outside of the ER and across from the registration office since space IN the ER was limited and people were blocking the way for gurneys and equipment. Not only the mother didn't leave, she was shortly joined by her husband and son-in-law. They discussed for about 10-15 minutes about who was doing what, and at the end it was decided that the older couple would leave and come back later. I threw a quick glance at a severe preggie who by now was just leaning against the wall right across from me and my neighbors and looking to be in quite a bit of discomfort. I thought to myself, oh great, now she will get a seat.
Not so fast. As the "mother" got up, the "daughter's" hubby promptly occupied her seat and proceeded talking to his wife as if nothing happened. If I weren't borderline fainting, I would have gotten up myself or given the "daughters" husband a piece of my mind. 1) The preggie was standing right across from him 2) I knew that he noticed her 3) For Goodness sake, this was a labor and delivery ER/Admissions, every pregnant woman there was by default either in distress or in labor and WAS TO BE GIVEN PRIORITY IN SEATING. THAT ENTIRE HOSPITAL WING WAS BUILT FOR PREGNANT WOMEN, and those seats weren't for twenty-something year old healthy jerks. Soon afterwards, SubHub came back and I even asked him to intervene and he agreed to. But then both I and the severe preggie were called in, so that was the end of this story.
It happened some time ago, but remembering this episode inevitably makes my blood boil. What is wrong with people? One of my most sincerest wishes and prayers is that I raise my children well enough so that nothing like this would be ever said about them.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
It was two years ago today...well, almost
Ok, so I got sucked into another contest. I can't help myself, I am an addict... This one is from Michelle at My Semblance of Sanity who is now collecting the birth/adoption stories. The best story will get a prize... Since I already wrote this one on my pregnancy blog and only had to tweak it a bit, i.e. no thinking required, I decided to participate. My apologies to those who already read it...
This is the birth story of my DS, and it happened almost two years ago... Time flies..
Since my daughter was born 2 weeks early, I was ready to go into labor at approximately the same time, but at 38 weeks along, I was still working. I told my boss about four different times that "a day after tomorrow would be my last one because I can't take the commute any more" only to push it off by a few more days. Then I finally decided that my due date would be the last day at work. Everybody told me that I was crazy (well, no argument there), but what was I to do? My maternity leave was 10 weeks, so every day taken off before baby's birth meant that I would spend one day less with him after he was born. And I would rather spend as much time with him as I could afterwards. Plus, any housework was much more physically demanding than anything I did at work. My biggest fear was that I would go into labor on a subway, but what were the chances of that happening? I finally cleared my desk on my due date. I had ob/gyn appointment that night, and the doctor said that I was 2 cm dilated. He also jokingly added, "It's my turn to be on-call in the hospital, so I might see you tonight." Yeah, right.
I came home that night hoping for a couple of days of quality time with DD. Around 9 p.m. I got a call from Gevalia Coffee. They were desperate to get us back as customers, and the sales guy was describing me the beauty of the coffeemaker we would get if we signed back on. I actually wanted that coffemaker, and their coffee would probably come in handy after the baby's arrival to battle exhaustion. Nevertheless, I had to cut him off, and he asked when would be a good time to call back. I said, "I don't know, probably a couple of days or a week because my water just broke." I don't think he believed me, but I bet he never heard that excuse to hang up on him. I called my mom and asked her to come. (Being a strep-B positive, I had to go to the hospital immediately.) When we arrived, the first thing I asked my doctor was, "Couldn't you have said that you might "see me tonight" about two weeks ago?"
When I was about 6 months along, my OB's office signed up for the cord blood donation program. Since I wasn't planning to bank it, I decided to donate. The only thing was - you had to remember to bring in the kit b/c they could not collect the cord and the placenta without it. In addition, they have only a minute or so to collect it, so the kit has to be ready; otherwise, no donation. So I brought the kit. Hubby dropped me off in the admissions and then came back later with a couple of bags, but without a kit. He said he would get it once I was admitted into the labor room. I didn't think much of it since I wasn't yet in labor. By the time I got admitted into my own room and induced with a dose of pitocin strong enough to floor a horse, it was about 12. DH went to get the kit, but turned out the parking lot was closed from 12am to 6 am and NOBODY had the keys!!! Isn't that weird that the parking lot of a hospital would be closed, EVER??? Don't people get sick at all times of day and night? I really wanted to donate, but the doctor wasn't very reassuring and said he didn't know whether I would or wouldn't be done by 6.
This time around I decided I would tough it out and not get an epidural. Right after DD was born, DH was kind enough to show me what exactly they had inserted in my back. I don't think I was ever that mad at him in my life. After that I was more scared of that needle than of any pain and thought I would never get an epidural again, unless my life depended on it. That notion lasted until I got the first contraction, and DH quickly went looking for the anesthesiologist. When they came, I got even more scared. The guy refused to turn on the light; he said he was more comfortable with the lights off and moonlight was more than sufficient for what he had to do (ok, ok, there was a teeny lamp in the back of the room and some light was getting through the closed door from the hallway - so much more ressuaring than the moonlight, right?). Then the head of the department came to supervise the procedure, but instead turned his back to me and bent over to check on the equipment - and WOW. The entire thing was just surreal - I was sandwiched between Dracula and his boss' butt crack (and no, his boss was not young and gorgeous, not that I judge beauty by that body part anyway). All the while, Dracula was inserting something very long and scary into my spine and neither I nor his boss were quite sure that he could properly see what he was doing (no, the guy didn't turn the lights on even for his boss). I was whimpering and moaning during the entire procedure, not because I was in pain, but out of fear. It was over soon, though, and afterward - bliss and no pain.
In a few hours I drifted off to sleep. DH brought the donation kit at 6 a.m. Around 7 o'clock my OB's shift was over and he bid us farewell (he works in a group, so they are on-call only for twelve hours at a time). I was relieved in a way that he didn't have to be the one delivering the baby because he looked so tired. I ordered myself to sleep and then, around 9 o'clock, another doctor from the group came in and told me that I was ready to go. Unlike the last time, I didn't panick, at least not as much. The nurse asked me why I looked so surprised, after all I came here to have a baby. I told her, "I wanted the baby, I never said that I wanted to push." DH was nowhere to be found - he went out for coffee, but then suddenly reappered seconds before I started pushing. I was too busy to get mad. And then after about half an hour of pushing, I heard the doctor say, "It's a boy, it's a BIG boy!" He was surprised that I was told the baby would be average b/c the baby looked like a ten-pounder. Turned out he was only - lol - 9lbs 14oz! In the process of recording the data, they got the last name of my pediatrician wrong - instead of Vernov, they wrote down Vermin. It was a shame because she really is a nice lady and an awesome doctor.
One of my first phone calls was to my boss, and I told her that I would be late for work that day (it was only 9.30am). Poor woman was so exasperated with me, she said, "Wasn't yesterday your last day? Are you sure you want to do this?" Hehe...can't miss a chance to make a joke... Not to be outdone, she sent out the following email, which I only read a few weeks after delivery, "SubWife had a 10 pound baby boy, so she will be available to answer any work-related questions this afternoon. Feel free to call her on her cell phone." FYI, no one did, and if they did, she would probably bite their head off...
This is the birth story of my DS, and it happened almost two years ago... Time flies..
Since my daughter was born 2 weeks early, I was ready to go into labor at approximately the same time, but at 38 weeks along, I was still working. I told my boss about four different times that "a day after tomorrow would be my last one because I can't take the commute any more" only to push it off by a few more days. Then I finally decided that my due date would be the last day at work. Everybody told me that I was crazy (well, no argument there), but what was I to do? My maternity leave was 10 weeks, so every day taken off before baby's birth meant that I would spend one day less with him after he was born. And I would rather spend as much time with him as I could afterwards. Plus, any housework was much more physically demanding than anything I did at work. My biggest fear was that I would go into labor on a subway, but what were the chances of that happening? I finally cleared my desk on my due date. I had ob/gyn appointment that night, and the doctor said that I was 2 cm dilated. He also jokingly added, "It's my turn to be on-call in the hospital, so I might see you tonight." Yeah, right.
I came home that night hoping for a couple of days of quality time with DD. Around 9 p.m. I got a call from Gevalia Coffee. They were desperate to get us back as customers, and the sales guy was describing me the beauty of the coffeemaker we would get if we signed back on. I actually wanted that coffemaker, and their coffee would probably come in handy after the baby's arrival to battle exhaustion. Nevertheless, I had to cut him off, and he asked when would be a good time to call back. I said, "I don't know, probably a couple of days or a week because my water just broke." I don't think he believed me, but I bet he never heard that excuse to hang up on him. I called my mom and asked her to come. (Being a strep-B positive, I had to go to the hospital immediately.) When we arrived, the first thing I asked my doctor was, "Couldn't you have said that you might "see me tonight" about two weeks ago?"
When I was about 6 months along, my OB's office signed up for the cord blood donation program. Since I wasn't planning to bank it, I decided to donate. The only thing was - you had to remember to bring in the kit b/c they could not collect the cord and the placenta without it. In addition, they have only a minute or so to collect it, so the kit has to be ready; otherwise, no donation. So I brought the kit. Hubby dropped me off in the admissions and then came back later with a couple of bags, but without a kit. He said he would get it once I was admitted into the labor room. I didn't think much of it since I wasn't yet in labor. By the time I got admitted into my own room and induced with a dose of pitocin strong enough to floor a horse, it was about 12. DH went to get the kit, but turned out the parking lot was closed from 12am to 6 am and NOBODY had the keys!!! Isn't that weird that the parking lot of a hospital would be closed, EVER??? Don't people get sick at all times of day and night? I really wanted to donate, but the doctor wasn't very reassuring and said he didn't know whether I would or wouldn't be done by 6.
This time around I decided I would tough it out and not get an epidural. Right after DD was born, DH was kind enough to show me what exactly they had inserted in my back. I don't think I was ever that mad at him in my life. After that I was more scared of that needle than of any pain and thought I would never get an epidural again, unless my life depended on it. That notion lasted until I got the first contraction, and DH quickly went looking for the anesthesiologist. When they came, I got even more scared. The guy refused to turn on the light; he said he was more comfortable with the lights off and moonlight was more than sufficient for what he had to do (ok, ok, there was a teeny lamp in the back of the room and some light was getting through the closed door from the hallway - so much more ressuaring than the moonlight, right?). Then the head of the department came to supervise the procedure, but instead turned his back to me and bent over to check on the equipment - and WOW. The entire thing was just surreal - I was sandwiched between Dracula and his boss' butt crack (and no, his boss was not young and gorgeous, not that I judge beauty by that body part anyway). All the while, Dracula was inserting something very long and scary into my spine and neither I nor his boss were quite sure that he could properly see what he was doing (no, the guy didn't turn the lights on even for his boss). I was whimpering and moaning during the entire procedure, not because I was in pain, but out of fear. It was over soon, though, and afterward - bliss and no pain.
In a few hours I drifted off to sleep. DH brought the donation kit at 6 a.m. Around 7 o'clock my OB's shift was over and he bid us farewell (he works in a group, so they are on-call only for twelve hours at a time). I was relieved in a way that he didn't have to be the one delivering the baby because he looked so tired. I ordered myself to sleep and then, around 9 o'clock, another doctor from the group came in and told me that I was ready to go. Unlike the last time, I didn't panick, at least not as much. The nurse asked me why I looked so surprised, after all I came here to have a baby. I told her, "I wanted the baby, I never said that I wanted to push." DH was nowhere to be found - he went out for coffee, but then suddenly reappered seconds before I started pushing. I was too busy to get mad. And then after about half an hour of pushing, I heard the doctor say, "It's a boy, it's a BIG boy!" He was surprised that I was told the baby would be average b/c the baby looked like a ten-pounder. Turned out he was only - lol - 9lbs 14oz! In the process of recording the data, they got the last name of my pediatrician wrong - instead of Vernov, they wrote down Vermin. It was a shame because she really is a nice lady and an awesome doctor.
One of my first phone calls was to my boss, and I told her that I would be late for work that day (it was only 9.30am). Poor woman was so exasperated with me, she said, "Wasn't yesterday your last day? Are you sure you want to do this?" Hehe...can't miss a chance to make a joke... Not to be outdone, she sent out the following email, which I only read a few weeks after delivery, "SubWife had a 10 pound baby boy, so she will be available to answer any work-related questions this afternoon. Feel free to call her on her cell phone." FYI, no one did, and if they did, she would probably bite their head off...
Friday, February 1, 2008
Kindness of strangers
I have to say that although I find Americans nice and generous, New Yorkers are completely different story. I have experienced complete indifference many, many times while pregnant, when no one on a subway would give up their seat. Later on I found that people of New York have even less sympathy for a woman with a stroller, and a woman with a double stroller trying to get in or out of the store is more likely to elicit impatient grunts than help.
All of my negative views on New Yorkers changed today. Almost... I had to run several errands and took the kids with me. They behaved exceptionally well; their stroller, however, was giving me some trouble with the narrow doorways. For those of you who never had to open the door while trying to roll the stroller inside, the best strategy is to open or hold the door by leaning on it with you back and wheel the kids in backwards. There's a chance of bumping into someone while doing it because they still haven't figured out how to place an extra pair of eyes on the back of your head, but frankly choices in this situation are very limited. Unless someone offers to hold the door for you, which doesn't happen often.
Today's trip didn't promise to be very different. When I wheeled the kids into the liquor store, I got a few funny looks from passerbys. They read, "She should be reported to social services" or "I wish my parent would let me drink when I was three", but no offers of help. When inside, to my amazement, some customer actually cleared out a few boxes in a relatively secluded area to allow me to park the stroller. That NEVER happened before, NEVER. Then when I was leaving, someone else actually held the door for me. I got lucky, twice in one day! Maybe it had something to do with being in a liquor store. My faith in New Yorkers was slowly restoring.
Then we went to the bank (no help), then - to the bakery (also no help) where both kids got cupcakes for their good behavior and patience. And then we went to a candy/dry fruit store. That was the last and the most challenging stop because a) the store has two steps in front of it and the door has to be pulled, which created and extra inconvenience; b) we had to rush because hubby was waiting in a car, and c) I BROUGHT TWO SUGAR OBSESSSED TODDLERS TO A CANDY STORE. Surprisingly kids didn't create a scene. I quickly made my selections, paid, and started working out the exit strategy. I was leaning on the door with my back trying to figure out how to wheel down the stroller from the two steps when I felt someone holding the door for me.
OMG!!!! I couldn't believe it, third time this day. I make this errand trip about once a month, and I never was so lucky! While I was having these thoughts simultaneously trying to bring down the stroller and thanking that kind stranger, this great man grabbed my stroller and helped me carry it down the steps. I was so grateful and overwhelmed with his kindness to a total stranger! When the stroller was safely down, I no longer had to walk backwards and was finally able face that wonderful man - and a stranger he was not. It was my hubby who lost any hope of us ever getting out of the candy store. Truth be told he actually did come to help me.
So while my faith in the citizens of this city didn't improve greatly, I can at least count on one New Yorker to come to my rescue!
All of my negative views on New Yorkers changed today. Almost... I had to run several errands and took the kids with me. They behaved exceptionally well; their stroller, however, was giving me some trouble with the narrow doorways. For those of you who never had to open the door while trying to roll the stroller inside, the best strategy is to open or hold the door by leaning on it with you back and wheel the kids in backwards. There's a chance of bumping into someone while doing it because they still haven't figured out how to place an extra pair of eyes on the back of your head, but frankly choices in this situation are very limited. Unless someone offers to hold the door for you, which doesn't happen often.
Today's trip didn't promise to be very different. When I wheeled the kids into the liquor store, I got a few funny looks from passerbys. They read, "She should be reported to social services" or "I wish my parent would let me drink when I was three", but no offers of help. When inside, to my amazement, some customer actually cleared out a few boxes in a relatively secluded area to allow me to park the stroller. That NEVER happened before, NEVER. Then when I was leaving, someone else actually held the door for me. I got lucky, twice in one day! Maybe it had something to do with being in a liquor store. My faith in New Yorkers was slowly restoring.
Then we went to the bank (no help), then - to the bakery (also no help) where both kids got cupcakes for their good behavior and patience. And then we went to a candy/dry fruit store. That was the last and the most challenging stop because a) the store has two steps in front of it and the door has to be pulled, which created and extra inconvenience; b) we had to rush because hubby was waiting in a car, and c) I BROUGHT TWO SUGAR OBSESSSED TODDLERS TO A CANDY STORE. Surprisingly kids didn't create a scene. I quickly made my selections, paid, and started working out the exit strategy. I was leaning on the door with my back trying to figure out how to wheel down the stroller from the two steps when I felt someone holding the door for me.
OMG!!!! I couldn't believe it, third time this day. I make this errand trip about once a month, and I never was so lucky! While I was having these thoughts simultaneously trying to bring down the stroller and thanking that kind stranger, this great man grabbed my stroller and helped me carry it down the steps. I was so grateful and overwhelmed with his kindness to a total stranger! When the stroller was safely down, I no longer had to walk backwards and was finally able face that wonderful man - and a stranger he was not. It was my hubby who lost any hope of us ever getting out of the candy store. Truth be told he actually did come to help me.
So while my faith in the citizens of this city didn't improve greatly, I can at least count on one New Yorker to come to my rescue!
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Never say never or my Bridget Jones moment
During the last two weeks I had: two and a half episodes of vertigo, three gross pills to stop it, and about four hundred suggestions, insinuations, or simply direct questions about my possible pregnancy. Some people were friends, some were concerned colleagues and some simply couldn't imagine an Orthodox woman in her child-bearing years not pregnant. Incidentally the last group was the most obnoxious and was the least entitled to know the answer. (Up until very recently I thought that only Orthodox, Mormon and celebrities are subjected to this kind of belly scrutiny; apparently Dawn from Because I Said So, who is somewhat of a celebrity, but definitely not Orthodox or Mormon, had experienced the same avalanche of pregnancy questions after posting about her vertigo episode.) And it matters not that I have been diagnosed with Meniere's Disease and made this fact public precisely to avoid these situations. Young? Married? Orthodox? Lightheaded and nauseous? You MUST be pregnant! Don't even try denying it because you can't fool the all-knowing ME!
At first I ignored the insinuations and pretended I didn't understand what people were hinting. Then I got annoyed, and towards the middle of the week every glance in my direction was met with the evil glare and a hysterical shriek, "No, I am NOT!" (Turns out some people were looking not for the signs of life, but at my unzipped fly, which I only discovered at the end of the day, probably because people were afraid to approach me. Oh well...) And then towards Wednesday night the suspicion crept into my mind. What if I actually am? After all I AM young and married. And nauseous. And light-headed. And recently had a UTI, gained three pounds, became moody, had a bad headache .... the lists went on and on and on. So I decided to be sure and take an early pregnancy test (EPT).
The minute that decision was made, I felt the call of nature. How convenient, I thought. So I ran to the bathroom, gave my toilet one longing look, turned my basket with hygiene products upside down, but couldn't find the test. Hmm, I was sure I had one and it was there. Then I ran to the medicine cabinet - not there either. I urgently had to use the bathroom, but couldn't find the darn test. I thought of doing the logical thing - taking the test in a couple of hours - but the voice in my head that sounded like Homer Simpson (don't ask, I don't know why, but ever since I OD'ed on donuts, my inner voice sounds like Homer) spit out a line from the EPT instructions, "Need concentrated urine, need concentrated urine." So with that mantra, I was running around like a maniac, stopping in awkward poses to prevent an accident and simultaneously trying to find the test that I was sure had to be somewhere in the house. When my inner voice changed to that of Agent Mulder and told me to keep looking because, "The test is out there", I realized that urine probably got to my brain and I myself was getting kind of "out there". At that point I gave up the search and breathed the sigh of relief. And then I got to the toilet - just kidding...
Next day during my lunch break, I went to the pharmacy and bought a new test. Every time I shop for EPT, I amuse myself while waiting in line to pay with the recollection of the chapter in The Bridget Jones Diary about Bridget's experience with EPT. Of course the heroine never reads the instructions and thinks that one line on the test means she is with a child until somebody tells her that it is actually two lines, not one. After a few seconds, my mind always wonders off to different topics such as how Bridget managed to take her first EPT while well in her thirties, or why she wouldn't read instructions, and how such a thing would never happen to me because I waste oodles of time on reading and rereading the stupid labels and instructions to everything. At that point it is usually time to pay.
I was very tempted to do the test right away, but forced myself to wait until most people left the office. So I went to the bathroom, and while trying to open the wrapper, I dropped the test on the floor. When I bent down in the stall to pick it up, I realized that the woman in the next stall happened to be the one who was surer than anyone else that I was preggers. Sheesh, can't a girl catch a break from Murphy and his law?
So finally, the deed was done and I was awaiting results. Very, very quickly two lines appeared on the stick. TWO LINES!!!!! OMG, I actually was pregnant! All those people were right! I already imagined holding the baby, I could almost smell his downy hair (it kind of smelled like Lysol, but then again I was in the bathroom), got all mellow with a stupid smile plastered on my face - 3 seconds is a long time for daydreaming. And then I snapped out of it and remembered that this particular test requires a line and a plus sign for a positive result, two lines = negative. And then I remembered something else: I went through the same "two lines" vs "plus sign" thing the last time I took a pregnancy test. Hello, Bridget!
At first I ignored the insinuations and pretended I didn't understand what people were hinting. Then I got annoyed, and towards the middle of the week every glance in my direction was met with the evil glare and a hysterical shriek, "No, I am NOT!" (Turns out some people were looking not for the signs of life, but at my unzipped fly, which I only discovered at the end of the day, probably because people were afraid to approach me. Oh well...) And then towards Wednesday night the suspicion crept into my mind. What if I actually am? After all I AM young and married. And nauseous. And light-headed. And recently had a UTI, gained three pounds, became moody, had a bad headache .... the lists went on and on and on. So I decided to be sure and take an early pregnancy test (EPT).
The minute that decision was made, I felt the call of nature. How convenient, I thought. So I ran to the bathroom, gave my toilet one longing look, turned my basket with hygiene products upside down, but couldn't find the test. Hmm, I was sure I had one and it was there. Then I ran to the medicine cabinet - not there either. I urgently had to use the bathroom, but couldn't find the darn test. I thought of doing the logical thing - taking the test in a couple of hours - but the voice in my head that sounded like Homer Simpson (don't ask, I don't know why, but ever since I OD'ed on donuts, my inner voice sounds like Homer) spit out a line from the EPT instructions, "Need concentrated urine, need concentrated urine." So with that mantra, I was running around like a maniac, stopping in awkward poses to prevent an accident and simultaneously trying to find the test that I was sure had to be somewhere in the house. When my inner voice changed to that of Agent Mulder and told me to keep looking because, "The test is out there", I realized that urine probably got to my brain and I myself was getting kind of "out there". At that point I gave up the search and breathed the sigh of relief. And then I got to the toilet - just kidding...
Next day during my lunch break, I went to the pharmacy and bought a new test. Every time I shop for EPT, I amuse myself while waiting in line to pay with the recollection of the chapter in The Bridget Jones Diary about Bridget's experience with EPT. Of course the heroine never reads the instructions and thinks that one line on the test means she is with a child until somebody tells her that it is actually two lines, not one. After a few seconds, my mind always wonders off to different topics such as how Bridget managed to take her first EPT while well in her thirties, or why she wouldn't read instructions, and how such a thing would never happen to me because I waste oodles of time on reading and rereading the stupid labels and instructions to everything. At that point it is usually time to pay.
I was very tempted to do the test right away, but forced myself to wait until most people left the office. So I went to the bathroom, and while trying to open the wrapper, I dropped the test on the floor. When I bent down in the stall to pick it up, I realized that the woman in the next stall happened to be the one who was surer than anyone else that I was preggers. Sheesh, can't a girl catch a break from Murphy and his law?
So finally, the deed was done and I was awaiting results. Very, very quickly two lines appeared on the stick. TWO LINES!!!!! OMG, I actually was pregnant! All those people were right! I already imagined holding the baby, I could almost smell his downy hair (it kind of smelled like Lysol, but then again I was in the bathroom), got all mellow with a stupid smile plastered on my face - 3 seconds is a long time for daydreaming. And then I snapped out of it and remembered that this particular test requires a line and a plus sign for a positive result, two lines = negative. And then I remembered something else: I went through the same "two lines" vs "plus sign" thing the last time I took a pregnancy test. Hello, Bridget!
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