The Business of Childbirth

Hunter Patrick McNamara made his grand entrance into the world on Friday, February 24 at the Birthing Center on base. He arrived one day before his due date. I finally stopped working the Tuesday before he was born. I was still panicked about leaving my job, but when I stepped outside my building that Tuesday evening the most beautiful sunset greeted me.  There is nothing in the world quite like an Italian sunset. I took it as a very good omen.

My first day at home on maternity leave was uneventful. I was tired and slept through most of it. The fun started on Thursday. I woke up with an unusual burst of energy. I remembered reading that late pregnancy hormones trigger a boost right before the onset of labor. I knew it would be soon, but I did not know how soon.

I was looking forward to the end of my pregnancy. I was very uncomfortable and the restrictive diet was annoying, but I was also apprehensive about labor even though I opted for the controversial epidural. I ran a few errands on Thursday feeling accomplished. This is where my memory gets blurry. I remember Ryan made hot wings for dinner, then a dream about throwing up said hot wings. I woke up gagging. When I sat up I felt my water break.

Here I can do a bit of myth busting for the uninitiated in the business of childbirth. Apparently as in most things, every woman is different. When my water broke it was not nearly as dramatic as I have seen it portrayed on tv. I expected a water ballon break on concrete from three-story window. My experience was nothing of the sort. It was more like my water began to seep out. Some leakage here..some leakage there. Once the surprise subsided, I noticed the relief.

I called the nurses at the clinic. They said I should take my time to come in because I was not having contractions. We arrived about an hour later. It was 0530 (Army time). After a few hours of nothing happening, the doctors induced me and warned me that I was in for a very long day. Almost as if on cue, my cervix began to dilate. What was supposed to be several hours of hard labor suddenly became two. It was the fastest two hours of my life. The nurses in the room were very excited. They were all telling me to get ready to push.

The moment I feared was upon me, and I was terrified. I told Ryan to call a close friend, and then another close friend who happens to be a Chaplain. Then I started to cry. I was never so afraid of anything in my entire life. I wanted another few weeks to prepare, maybe attend a few more birthing classes, read more about newborns, cribs, etc. The nurses rallied around me, providing assurances that I was ready and that I could do it. Then it was time to push.

Fortunately the epidural worked very well, and after about an hour of pushing, Hunter Patrick McNamara was born. This picture was taken a few days after. And yes, he is incredibly tasty.

My Ongoing Relationship with Work

There are things I absolutely love about my job. Most of all is the sense of purpose and the paycheck it provides. I am having a hard time giving up both, even temporarily. My due date is next Saturday. Most people are surprised to know I am still working,  especially considering the time spent in "lockup." At the end of each OB visit, the Silver Fox, asks, "Are you still working outside the home?" When he asked a few months ago I replied with great pride, "Yes, I work outside the home!" This is probably a good time to describe the typical military lifestyle.

Most American women living in Vicenza are associated with the military base. The majority of them are married to active duty soldiers. Because the Army provides for their basic needs such as housing and utilities, most of them choose not to work. Their age, the average age is 23, lack of work experience and inability to work off the military installation enforce their decision not to seek employment. All this to say most of the American women, even the ones who do not necessarily meet the aforementioned demographic do not work. In this respect I am a bit of an anomaly that I proudly own.

In a recent discussion with my father he summed it succinctly, "I spent too much money on your education to have you waste it." I agree. Then there are those few friends and colleagues who regale me with their tales of working right up to the day they gave birth. The first time I heard a woman say that it sounded crazy, but the more I heard it the more I felt I could join the club, and later felt I should join the club. With just a little over a week left in my pregnancy most people including the Silver Fox are surprised, dismayed even to know I am still working.

The thing is I drive to work and sit at my desk for most of the day. I do not lift or operate heavy machinery. My biggest challenge is walking down the hall to the bathroom, and I have succeeded in getting there every single time. The problem is that some days work can be stressful, and most importantly I am very tired all of the time.

I finally resolved to begin my maternity leave next week, but felt so apprehensive about doing so that convinced myself to come in on Tuesday to wrap things up. I love my job! I don't want to stop working! But I am having my baby soon and I need to get physically as well as emotionally ready. A colleague who had her baby in June asked how my husband feels about me still working. I replied that he is completely aware of who he married. He trusts my judgement to decide when  it is appropriate for me to stop working. He respects and possibly loves my fierce independence. He is not interested in curbing or impeding that. All that being said, next week will be my last week at work until after the baby is here. Yes, I am going back to work after the baby. It is good for the baby to have two working parents. Not only for the financial security, but also to build his own work ethic.

The Best Made Plans

I had high hopes for this weekend. Especially today, Saturday. It has been a rough week, filled with highs and lows and lots in between. Because of my gestational diabetes diagnosis, and my advanced age..my doctor wants to see me twice a week for fetal monitoring until I give birth.  I am required to go to the clinic, climb into a bed, be hooked up to a machine that monitors the baby's heart for 40 minutes twice a week.

I balked at the idea that the Silver Fox, that's what I call my doctor, thought I had 40 spare minutes in my day, twice a week to lay around at the clinic. I had my second session on Friday and it was so nice to have a break in the middle of the morning to put my feet up and listen to my little guy's heart beat for 40 minutes.  This was another lesson in the changing priorities in my life.

I waddled back to work after; all the nurses thinking I was going home. I am not quite ready to stop working. I should be, but I'm not. My job is such a large part of my life and it is odd to think about not having the challenges and opportunities that come with it. I know I have new set of challenges waiting for me when the baby comes, but he is not here yet.

I have been feeling good this week. Tired and uncomfortable, but believing that it would be perfectly reasonable for me to to go the mall to look at Italian baby strollers that just happen to be on sale this month. Everything is on sale this month in Italy. Italians make so many beautiful things, and strollers are no exception. Along with my trip to the mall I added a matinee at the movie theater on post to my plans for the day. Last night before bed, I fantasized about the sense of accomplishment I would feel at the end of today.

When I woke up with vomit surging up my esophagus in the middle of the night I was confused. It felt like a nightmare, but clearly I was awake, and those nachos refused to stay put. I hate throwing up. Not just the heaving, but I worry about the damage the acid will due to my teeth and gums. Pregnant women have vulnerable teeth and gums. I brushed and rinsed with Listerine knowing my father would be proud.

I stumbled back to bed in a cold sweat. Ryan whispered that the nachos he made for me were probably not a good idea so late at night before drifting back to sleep. I slept until 2:30. I did not go to the mall or the movies. I started watching the tv show Girls instead. It is the new Sex and the City, except the girls are in their 20s instead of their 30s. At one point I turned to Ryan and said that we always go out with friends and rarely alone on dates. I was reciting lines from the show, "Are we even dating? Is this relationship going anywhere?!" He turned to look at me, chuckled and said umm ok, then went back building his model tank. We are way beyond dating, but those outbursts sure are fun!

These are my pajamas

Artist rendering of my hospital room...My room DID NOT look like this.

During my four days of confinement at San Bortolo I was the source of curiosity for the staff. It started off with Ryan and I getting separated. He dropped me off at the entrance and went to park the car. The Army has Patient Liaisons to assist Americans from the base. None of them were in the office when I arrived.

This is a good place to note that Italians do not have a sense of urgency about most things. Perhaps it has to do with their flair for the dramatic. They do not get excited in the moments you would expect. For example, an impatient pregnant woman in line at the OB section of the hospital (me) There was a woman in line in front of me. I was definitely breathing down her neck. She moved closer to the desk, and I was still there, breathing down her neck. Italians do that to me all the time. She whispered whatever her ailment was and walked away.

The intake lady wanted to know if she needed to wait for the Patient Liaison to interpret for me. I politely said no and handed her my ID card. That is when the contractions started to come back. The heavy breathing started and I gripped the plastic partition that separated us with my sweaty hands. She looked at me slightly concerned but, continued to ask me demographic questions. Then she told me to have a seat, but I could not stay seated for long. I was trying to walk off the pain and soon I was panting again. I remember seeing a few nervous faces staring at me. I looked down the hall hoping to see Ryan, but he was lost somewhere in the facility. All it took was one guttural  moan for the examination room doors to slide open. Suddenly, the Patient Liaison was in the room with Ryan and I was being admitted.

My first stop was the delivery floor. I think if I knew that then I would have freaked out, but I was oblivious to my surroundings. Although I do think I heard one woman give birth. The nurse started an IV and things began to calm down shortly after. Once I was stabilized they moved me to another floor and I changed into my pajamas. The nurses kept asking me if I would be more comfortable in my pajamas. I kept saying these are my pajamas. One nurse asked why my leggings had sparkles. Another referred to my snoogle as a snake. When I realized I would be there for more than one night I had Ryan bring in rugs for the bathroom and my bedside. That seemed to surprise the staff the most. Did I mention there was no tv? I was bored so I did a little decorating, well Ryan did the decorating.

Four Days in Lockup

This could go down as the worst Christmas ever, but I am pregnant with my first child. Being pregnant trumps everything else. How I ended up in an Italian hospital for four days goes back to a few weeks ago when I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. The diagnosis was a surprise and a disappointment. The irony is that before the pregnancy I ate whatever I wanted without much consequence. Now that I am pregnant I have to watch my carbohydrate and sugar intake. It has been stressful trying to get accustomed to the new diet. I have never dieted in my life!
After a visit to the dietitian, I decided I would make more of an effort to be active to help burn off the excess sugar in my system more effectively.

I strapped on my support belt and started waking up earlier, doing the the grocery shopping, running around to office celebrations and of course looking for the perfect gift for Ryan, which I found. By Saturday I knew I was pushing myself, but I thought this is good stuff. I have my heart rate up, I feel energized and I am getting stuff done.

With Ryan's gift sorted it was time to find my Birthday/push prize. It took sometime to find parking at the mall and I ended up much farther away from the entrance than usual. The hike included a short flight of steep stairs. That is when I felt the first sign of trouble. It was a sharp pain in my lower back. I never felt anything like it. Sort of sharp, hot, pulling pain. I headed home.

We had dinner and were deeply entrenched in our nightly routine of watching TV and lamenting over all the shows we love that are currently on hiatus: Sons of Anarchy, The Americans, Mad Men, Homeland, Game of Thrones and Hannibal.  I felt a mild Braxton-Hicks contraction. Those have been common in the last few weeks, but over the course of the evening they increased in severity. Before long I was panting and moaning like a grizzly bear in heat.

The pain subsided a bit and I went to bed, but tossed all night. In the morning I called the Army clinic. They advised that if I could not talk through the contractions I should go to the Italian hospital. I was in pre-term labor, and the doctors administered medication to stop the contractions, as well as steroids to help develop the baby's lungs in case he insisted on making an early appearance.

They were able to stop the contractions with medication, but it took three days to run its course and then they wanted to monitor me off the medication. I was released last night with strict orders to rest, including NO SEX...

My experience in the Italian hospital deserves its own post, which will require reflection first. I can say for now that they were thorough, attentive and kind to me. The rest will have to wait.

Not the Baby Shower Type

If and when I can I avoid baby showers like the plague. In general I used to find most events that involve pregnant women and babies boring, icky or some combination of both. Over the years I got over myself and grew up, but the baby shower aversion clung to me like a bad cold. My friends began the baby shower chatter a few months ago. The idea made me very uncomfortable. There were a few baby showers at various offices that I could not avoid in my past. They were strange events with cakes made of diapers, and silly games that left the mother-to-be resembling Little Bo Peep.  The guest of honor always ended up with paper plates on her head and streamers wrapped around her body. Once I watched in disbelief as the the guests made dress out of the wrapping paper and made the soon-to-be mom wear it! I wanted no part of that. I finally confessed my fears to a friend, and she gave me a bit of sound advice. She reminded me that the process of preparing for and the raising of a child is a community effort. She said it was an important "rite of passage" to let my community shower me with their support. She added that I would need many of them in the months ahead.

Her words stimulated me and I realized I could have a baby shower on my terms. I discussed my fears with the friends I trusted the most. They assured me that my shower would be a tasteful event. Once assured of their promises we set a date: 23 November. The next important decision was the location. With holidays almost upon us it would be difficult to find the appropriate venue. My apartment was the obvious choice. The other details were easily the best part: the menu. We selected all of my favorite dishes. Some were purchased at the Commissary and others were homemade, but all were delicious.

The games were fun and mostly for the guests. Although at some point I did start tying ribbons around myself...The best part was support of my friends. It was just as my friend said. The women in my community rallied around to support me. It was beautiful and heartwarming. We had a few guys over to keep Ryan company. They stayed in the kitchen where  Ryan was frying up batches of his delicious hot wings. By the end of it I did feel like I had crossed another threshold. One that brought me closer to motherhood.

My history with pickles

I have had a thing for pickles since I was kid. My childhood best friend and I would plan our entire afternoon around finding the perfect pickle and taking it back to my house to eat it.

Somewhere along the line we decided my neighborhood had better pickles than hers. The truth is probably closer to we had more privacy to enjoy our pickled delights at my house.

She had an annoying older brother that messed up the vibe. We would go to the store select our pickles, then float back to my house in a thick fog of anticipation. I would sit on the couch and she would sit on the love seat. We would look at each other, then give each other a deep nod before tearing into the pickle. She was way ahead of the pickle game than I was. She started adding salt and pepper to hers. I followed suit, but she lost me when she she bit the head off and buried a peppermint inside of the pickle before devouring it. I have my limits.

Everyone knows the mythic status pickles have around pregnant women. I think the sour taste helps with the nausea. Cravings are just one of the amazing facets of pregnancy. I only began to crave pickles a few weeks ago.  Up until then I was fairly obsessed with grilled and boiled meat, preferably rib eye steak and turkey. Fried deli turkey is my favorite snack and recently I discovered if you wrap a pickle in fried deli turkey, you find new meaning in the word scrumptious.