I'm feeling discontent and nostalgic tonight. The Gremlin turns four two weeks from today and for whatever reason "the big 4" is giving me angina. Or it's my heart breaking a little. Either way it hurts and I don't like it. So I figured what better way to deal with it than to publicly discuss the last four years of my life on my blog? I think in theory that I just like the idea of getting it out there to an audience (as non-existant as it is) that doesn't know me, doesn't know the situation, can't prejudge it. Because it was quite the situation. So pop some popcorn, crack open a beer, put on your fluffy slippers, and let the skeletons do their thing....
On August 23rd, 2007 I had an appointment with a neupherologist. I don't know if I spelled that right. An ologist of the kind that deals with kidneys. I had some symptoms for the past three weeks that apparently meant I had kidney failure. Or liver cancer. Either way the options were pretty grim, I had just turned 21, didn't drink barely at all (no really), and was scared. Absolutely scared. So with my little brother in tow (he was freshly 18 at the time and I was suppose to take him driving after my appointment) I went to have an ultrasound done of my kidneys. Joy.
I was laying on the table, in the dimly lit room, cold jelly goo on my tummy, the ultrasound tech's hand with the thingy over my stomach trying to mind my own business when she said the one question I was definitely not prepared to hear: "How far along are you?"....Hi, what? In my kidney failure? Or my liver cancer? I'm not sure which you are referring to. I hyperventilated, I cried, I made that ultrasound tech very uncomfortable. She left the room I'm assuming to consult somebody on what to do with the basket case in her exam room. The verdict was to wipe away the goo and send me to my doctor's office down the street. So I walked out of the room, still crying, with my brother tailing about fifteen feet behind me, lest to be seen with the hysterical girl. We went to my doctor's office. I left him in the car. They ushered me right in. My doctor told me they weren't sure how "far along" I was. Oh and it was a baby, not a kidney failure or a liver cancer. Who knew? Not them apparently. I made her tell my mom. I couldn't form the words. Couldn't tell her. Everything was so up in the air. Holy sh*t, I'm 21. Holy sh*t, I'm going to have a baby. And it needs to be asap because I have HELLP syndrome and everything is off the charts and I need to get back to the hospital...And what the hell did my mother just say? She's excited? Oh yeah, I guess a baby is better than cancer. I got back in my car and said to my brother "Well, I guess I should tell you, you're going to be an uncle." Boy was he confused. Drove back to the hospital. My mother met me there. Asked if I knew who the father was. I know somewhere in the back of my mind I was insulted. But this was not the time to address that. We went in and they admitted me. We talked and somehow laughed about what I would name the baby. My sister showed up at some point. They put a monitor on my stomach. We heard the heartbeat. I really wish now that I had remembered to ask them for ultrasound pictures. For whatever reason it just slipped my mind...can't imagine why (total sarcasm). My dad showed up. Asked how long we had known about this. Four hours and counting, pops.
Around 3 a.m. I was taken by ambulance to a different hospital. One with a NICU that was prepared to deal with my "situation". The not knowing how far along the baby was, not knowing enough about HELLP syndrome, a lack of confidence in their "team". My apologies to my former doctor. I wasn't very amiable. But you see, I had been poked like a pin cushion, blood drawn, an attempted IV three times before they got it right, and oh yeah the fact that you missed something HUGE and had me convinced for three weeks that I was dying. Little bit of a lack of trust in you. At the big hospital I was asked a bunch of questions that I don't remember now. They put me on a med to prevent seizures that made me feel like I had the flu and was swimming in jello. Started pitocin at some point. Wooooo, that stuff kicks in quick! Contractions started. Got an epidural. The funny thing is, out this whole "adventure" that's what I remember the most. The freaking epidural. I mean they scare the pants off of you (tough task, you're wearing a johnnie) by telling you can't move to avoid being paralyzed. Then it felt like someone was hardcore jabbing me in the liver?kidney?spleen? with a red hot poker. That couldn't be right. But I survived the epidural. Sure, it only worked on one half of my body, but hell whose nitpicking? At least it worked a little, and a little is definitely better than nothing.
So there I am. In my room. With my sad excuse of an epidural. Squeezing a little stuffed brown bear with a pink hoodie that my mom got out of a happy meal (oh sure, have a happy meal, who me? No, I'm fine with my ice chips. Mmmmm ice chips.) against the railing of my bed with each contraction. And who the hell dares to whisper in my room?!?!?!?! Are you freaking kidding????!!!! STOP WHISPERING. Let me tell you, I was a very VERY polite patient. I did NOT want to be that hellain all the nurses talk about when they leave the room. The one always calling them, never happy. I was polite as I could be. But my god! The whispering!!! That just are away at me. My moms (I have two, they are married, that's another story entirely) and my sister swore they were discussing my baby shower. In reality they were watching my blood pressure rise higher and higher and higher. I mean it got up there. That's part of the whole HELLP syndrome thing. Blood pressure shoots through the roof, they start throwing around the phrase "stroking out", they put you on the loopy meds to prevent seizure, your blood count gets all wacky. That's when they told me a c-section was NOT, let's repeat, NOT an option. The nurse came in something about my water breaking soon. Turned to walk out of the room. Oh nurse? You mean like that? Oh no, your water couldn't possibly have broken....oh my yes like that. Annnnnnnnnnd the ball is really rolling now. Told you so, Nurse.
At about 4:05 p.m. on August 24th, 2007 IT WAS TIME. I knew it, I felt it, this kid was coming and there was no stopping him. If only someone could have convinced the nurse of this. Because she was on the phone all cutesy "Hey we're having a birthday party in room (whatever the hell my room number was at this point) want to join?" to what seemed like everyone and their mother. And I was like "Listen lady, that's adorable and all but this kid is coming now so if it's cool with you, let's get a move on!!!!!". I think my mom could tell by the look on my face that I was not playing around. And apparently from the look on my mother's face and the look on mine, the nurse finally got the memo. Just in time to put down that fun blue mat with the pocket. Similar to a newborn slip and slide. Maybe seven minutes of pushing later....Welcome to the world little man! That's right, it is a boy. And lucky enough for me I had a boy's name picked out already. I had picked it out a good year or more earlier. My father's best friend, had been his best friend for well over twenty some odd years, had named one of his son's after my father. My father wanted to do the same, but somehow my brother ended up with a name nowhere near resembling his friend's. Sadly, my father's friend passed away suddenly after returning home from visiting his oldest son. He'd had a tough year. Flipped the concrete truck he drove to avoid hitting a young driver head on. He ended up in a pond, couldn't get out of the truck, was pulled free by a passerby. Fell at work. Then this. My father was heartbroken in his sullen "I'm fine" kind of way. So my son was proudly named after his grandfather's best friend. And his middle name? After my brother. A fact which to this day makes his face turn all kinds of red. My last name, of course.
He was adorable. He was a fighter. He was kicking and flailing like it was going out of style. I would have too if I had been living all squished up with no amniotic fluid to float around in! (Hence my puffiness and maladies that resembled liver cancer or kidney failure.) He was 5 lbs. 10 oz. probably about eight months all ten fingers, all ten toes. A little yellow around the edges, but a little time chilling under the lights and he was good to go. I loved him. I loved him like he was going out of style. And so did everyone else. My mom was off to shop to her little heart's content. My father was buzzing him around in his little baby basket ("Dad....Dad what are you doing?" My dad was buzzing him around all over the place, waving his hand over the top of the basinet like there were some infrared laser I wasn't seeing. "There's a draft. I'm trying to find a place without a draft". Cutest damn thing EVER.).
So there I was. Two months (all right, almost three) past my twenty first birthday. I had just had my first child. With twenty four hours notice. I had HELLP syndrome. Couldn't get out of bed. I had brought a life into this world. A beautiful, sweet, miracle of a little boy and I loved him, I loved him more fiercely than I had anything in my entire life. And I was scared, so incredibly scared. This wonderful little guy was my responsibility. Every move I made would have an effect on his life. Every decision. Here I was dealing with all these conflicting emotions surrounded by happy couples. Couples starting out their families, others adding to their already established families....Holy hell, I had a kid and no one, not a single person, knew or believed I had been pregnant! Yes, it was just like that stupid tv show.....
(I ran out of steam so I'll continue airing out my skeletons on another night. I'll let you digest that first part. If anyone reads this. And if not, well, it was good for me to get it out there anyway. Gremlin Gem of the day: Little man crammed his legs into a pillowcase which I happened to notice when I looked up to check on him at a particularly eery quiet moment. He was half asleep but he picked his legs up and said "Look, mumma, it's like a mermaid." I smiled and said "You're so silly." To which he replied, "No, mumma, I said MER-MAID." Like I clearly just hadn't heard him right. Silly me.)
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