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Cankles.

July 11, 2009 by sara

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This was my first full week of fellowship and apart from the dark circles under my eyes from getting up at 6am every day, I now have cankles. Can you see? The left one’s actually bigger. And I have pitting edema.

My legs don’t look like mine anymore.

Most likely it’s all the sitting. I have lecture from 8:30 am to Noon, and then sit at my cubicle and do my homework and work on research projects. Truthfully it’s a good life. No more night call. No more post-call.

But the sitting kind of sucks. Beyond the cankles I also have a lot of reflux, though that may have to do with my new proximity to Agua Verde and Puerco en chile verde. I’ve been on a mexican kick. All that spicy food angers the reflux gods.

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We had another midwife appointment today and her head is down. “Engaged,” as they say. A bit scary. Is she getting ready to go somewhere? We’re not ready!

Or at least I’m not ready. Cobe seems very sure of himself, with the fence done and the pool heater installed. Each birthing class gives him more confidence.

“I’m going to cut the cord,” he said proudly at the last one. He didn’t even flinch when we watched the birth movies, the baby coming out gray and wrinkly like some dried up shrunken head.

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Instead, I flinch. Can I really do this? It looks hard—long, tiring, and painful. I’m tired. My ankles are swollen. My hips hurt. I keep burping up spicy food.

Last week I went a bit crazy, trying to figure out my health insurance with this new fellowship. After bothering 5 people, nearly breaking down into tears, and taking the bus to UW, I finally found the right person to get everything moving. When I picked up my paperwork from the woman in the pediatrics office, she said, “Oh you’re the famous Sara Dow!”

I gave her a quizzical look.

“Noreen called us this morning saying, ‘She’s 7 months pregnant! She could deliver any day!’”

I was a bit sheepish.

“Pregnancy makes you crazy,” I said, grabbing the paperwork.

Posted in journal, medicine, pregnancy | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments »

Pain.

June 19, 2009 by sara

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I never thought I was a screamer, but maybe I was wrong.

Last night as I hobbled around the urgent care for the 2nd week in a row, I decided to do something about my damn foot. Felt like I was walking on a thorn, like that lion in the children’s books.

At 11pm I sat down on the gurney and watched while my friend Kyung filled a needle with bupivicaine and lidocaine. But when she stabbed at the wound I screamed, stopping her in her tracks. It was like she’d stuck a knife in my foot.

After 20 minutes with some local anesthetic in a cottonball, Tim (the PA) tried again, this time with a smaller needle, but it was still unbearable. I gripped the table and screamed like a little kid. He changed tactics, using a freezing spray while he injected, but I grimaced and cried the whole time.  The only thing that kept me from kicking him was his mantra of “breathe, breathe.”

Then my pager went off, calling me to a delivery. I bandaged up my foot and hobbled over to the labor and delivery unit. The first thing I saw when I walked in the room was the birthing tub. The mom was splayed out on the bed, her breasts like giant pancakes while her husband stood over her with a towel wrapped around his waist.

And she was screaming. Full voiced screaming, “GOODNESS GOODNESS GOODNESS!!!”

I always thought I would be like this determined vietnamese woman I saw give birth.  She grabbed on to the blanket they had slung above her and pushed fiercely, never making a sound. She was like a mountain climber, her face compressed into a knot, her limbs pure sinew. When her baby came out, it was like she’d summited Everest.

But listening to this woman as she screamed out in pain was too reminiscent of my screaming only minutes before.

If labor is anything like someone stabbing you in the foot, I’m in trouble.

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Third trimester.

June 18, 2009 by sara

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Top 10 things about the third trimester

10. Only 2 more months of swollen ankles.

9.People sometimes give their seat up to me on the bus.

8. Great excuse to not have to scoop rotten leaves out of the bottom of the pool.

7. Moms in the urgent care get this teary eyed look when they see I’m pregnant and suddenly are happy with whatever advice I have to give.

6. People tell me I look great every day.

5. She kicks a lot. It’s like carrying around a little friend.Who kicks me.

4.People can actually tell I’m pregnant rather than just thinking I’m fat.

3. I can wear elastic waist pants everyday and not feel guilty about it.

2. My boobs are really big.

1. No one asks, “are you sure you’re old enough to be a doctor?”

Top 10 reasons I’m not so crazy about the third trimester.

10. Two more months of swollen ankles.

9. People DON’T always give their seat up to me on the bus.

8. I wake up at 1am everynight. And 4am. And 6am.

7. I have to pee so much I should just drink water in the bathroom.

6. Happy hour really isn’t the same.

5. Rib pain. I didn’t know you could have rib pain.

4. Reflux that is so bad I feel like an 80 year old man.

3. Having to sleep with 4 pillows and still waking up with back pain.

2. People who give me unsolicited advice about everything from breastfeeding to toilet training.

1. Having my husband say I look like I swallowed a bowling ball. But in an attractive way, right?

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

I knew it had to happen. The honeymoon is over. I feel pregnant now. People still tell me I look great, that I’m glowing, but I never quite know what to say.

Sleep is hard, with negotiating the pillow between the knees and the one that I hug and then the infernal rearrangement when I roll to the other side. And I wake up with hip pain from sleeping so firmly on my side, this new 22# weight pushing me into the bed. If I wear flipflops my back aches, and I if I try to stand in a position that doesn’t hurt my back then my ribs ache. If I eat spicy pork my reflux acts up so much that I have to pop tums like they are candy. All my old clothes are out of commission now so I am relegated to the little pregnancy wardrobe I have amassed which strangely is mostly black.  And in the past few weeks I’ve developed this odd infection in my foot from jumping down onto a screw while trying to paint the ceiling in the baby’s room. I almost had one of my colleagues in the urgent care dig it out, but instead have resorted to soaking in epsom salts. Then today…today my husband told me I look like I swallowed a bowling ball.

But luckily he is still attracted to me. Truth.

In reality, the spring weather has become almost summery, with days and days of 75 degree blue skies. We finished cleaning out the pool and filled it and the water is such a glimmery blue I feel like we live in the riviera. Cobe finished the fence with these oiled hardwood slats that look cool and modern. And today Cobe’s cousins came over to swim and the whole backyard rang with childhood joy and splashing sounds.

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It’s good to live in Seattle in June.

In the midst of it all Stella has been such a muffin, napping with me when I’m post call and then running around like a toddler at the dog park, excited just to see other dogs. It will be hard to leave her home alone when I start the fellowship in two weeks.

Did I tell you? Two weeks. It’s crazy. My nonstop daytime free hours are going to end. I am in denial. On the plus side I only have two more nights of call. Tonight as I cut into a packet of cheese and mysteriously sent the knife skidding into a tupperware of olives that crashed on the floor, Cobe was like “you know soon you won’t have the postcall excuse.”

Damn. I need that excuse.

p.s. 30 weeks, in case you lost count

Posted in clothing, house, journal, pregnancy | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments »

Rockin it.

June 3, 2009 by sara

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It’s hot here. East coast hot. Like 90 degrees. And still the pool is a mire of leaves and twigs. Cobe has forbidden me from participating in the acid wash process (the likely not-so-environmentally-friendly way that pools get washed) so yesterday I went off to Lake Washington to go swimming with Kyung.

And yes, I wore a bikini.

Aside from a few looks from the mexican men, it was fine. No one even blinked. And my belly got a nice dose of sun. I must have jumped in like 5 times it felt so good.

Well, you know, good for June. If it wasn’t sunny out I would’ve had to do a lot of dolphin dives to keep warm. It’s still a bit fridgid.

Came home wearing my flip-flops, my hair a tangled mess. The best I’ve felt in weeks.

Posted in journal, pregnancy | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment »

Porpoise.

May 29, 2009 by sara

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The weather’s turned beautiful here, sunny and 70 degrees. But even then I have my rough days. It feels harder to bounce back from these 15 hour shifts, even with the viral season slowing down.

Today on my post-call day I should have been triumphant, a beautiful day to laze around. Instead I just felt bad. Weepy, grumpy, big-bloated-porpoise kind of bad. I took a bath. I drank some coffee. I went to the park with stella. It’s mostly better. The tears are still there though, just brimming.

Tomorrow I will feel fine again, and think I’m silly for all this emotion. But for today I just feel bad.

On the good side, I finished painting the baby room, a mix of cream and “pumpkin toast.” I left the ceiling lemon yellow, which seemed to work. It looked much happier and brighter than I expected.

Thankfully.

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It felt warm in there, like a good place to cocoon. But I still couldn’t unpack things. Then yesterday I bought a rug from ikea, a primary colored stripey wool thing, and suddenly it felt right. I could go in there and sit on the floor and sort through the boxes of hand-me downs, carefully hanging up each little blouse.

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So amazing to think we will soon have a little one who will fit all of that.

Posted in clothing, nesting, pregnancy, Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a Comment »

Movement made visible.

May 15, 2009 by sara

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Almost 26 weeks!

But I still have a lot of the anxiety.

You know. When did I last feel her move? Was the bath too warm? Did that sip of coffee throw her off? Did I walk too fast?

And then, flutter flutter kick—my arm nearly bounces off my stomach. She moves VISIBLY these days. I can’t imagine how weird it must be for someone else, seeing my stomach move of its own accord.

Or maybe I can, since there are youtube videos. Some are pretty dramatic. Like aliens trying to break out.

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Oh and I’ve gained 17 pounds since prepregnancy. It’s like walking around with a lead vest. I feel fine. Except when I try to climb three flights of stairs and am out of breath for half an hour.

And my legs swell a little. And I have weird pains in the middle of the night that necessitate getting up to drink orange juice.

But otherwise I feel fine.

I went to prenatal yoga the other day and we went around the room saying how many weeks we were and how we were feeling. “24 weeks, feeling fine.” “32 weeks, my back aches.”

And then we arrived at the very pregnant woman: “I’m due in 10 days and I’m not gonna lie, I feel like crap.”

Damn.

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Viability.

May 1, 2009 by sara

24 weeks. It’s coming. The limit of viability, the first time my baby can survive on her own.

I want to go hide in the woods. I don’t want a 24 weeker. She’s happy in there, turning cartwheels, punching my stomach.

I spent months during my pediatric residency up all night with 24 weekers. Checking sugars, adjusting ventilators, inserting endotracheal tubes. I examined their fragile bodies and watched as they got sick again and again.

I can picture her now, because of that. I imagine her little body, her see-through skin. But the 24 weekers I knew never kicked, never did cartwheels. They laid in those boxes, eyes shut tight as food dripped into their stomachs from a small tube.

I saw the pain those parents went through, sitting next to a plastic box day in and day out. They decorated them with photos and handsewn quilts, but it wasn’t the same. 24 weekers aren’t meant to be touched, aren’t even meant to be in this world. They are little aliens, their heads too big for their fragile bodies. Many of them can’t be held because their oxygen drops too dangerously just from the stress of being moved.

Besides, “survive” is a generous term. At 24 weeks only 50% survive, and of those 50% have problems. Somewhere along the line we decided those odds were good enough. But are they? Are they worth the risk of creating a child with lung disease or brain damage? Are they worth the pain of watching your child suffer?

It’s not a choice I want to make.

So I drink my water. I take my vitamins. I make myself a plastic box. But better.

Posted in journal, medicine, pregnancy | Tagged , , | 1 Comment »

Pescadita.

April 25, 2009 by sara

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We still don’t have a name. But they say every baby should have a pregnancy name and hers is fish. Little fish. Pescadita. She likes to flip.

At work I’ll lose track of time, when did I last feel her move? And then…a little flip. Like my stomach turning over.

Flip, flip, flip. All day long.

Fish.

“What is she doing in there?” Cobe wonders, hand on my belly and little kid grin. “You should be sleeping little girl!”

She moves a lot these days, which is good, being 23 weeks and all. I just hope this isn’t what she’ll be like as a toddler. Turning cartwheels all day.

Meanwhile the sun is coming out for longer and longer periods, I can leave the door open and listen to the windchimes, sitting on the couch in a tanktop. Cobe has almost finished cleaning out the baby’s room and we are down to bare floor…a major feat. I also managed to finish the bookshelves for the front room.

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It makes me strangely giddy to have all the books I love in one spot. I keep going in there to check. It’s like now I have a home.

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The urgent care has slowed down too, the viral season tailing off. I have these mellow shifts, where I see a few patients while browsing the internet for daycare and nanny referral services. Such a change from March.

Off to DC, baltimore and burlington next week, my first big trip as a visibly pregnant woman. Or maybe just someone who swallowed a cantaloupe.

Posted in house, journal, nesting, pregnancy | Tagged , | 1 Comment »

Cocoon.

April 13, 2009 by sara

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I haven’t been able to read the pregnancy books. I picked up one in the airport in my 3rd month and it said, “a drop of alcohol at the wrong time in pregnancy can forever damage the baby.”It also said to avoid processed sugar.

I dropped that thing like a hot potato.

Instead, I’ve been reading about newborns and toddlers, which is fine. But it’s not what I need.

Then a few weeks ago I was in Philly and stumbled on this book, “Letters to a young mother.” The author is a poet who takes her pregnant student under her wing and writes her these beautifully touching letters. They made me cry. In her letters she talks about the very thing that had been plaguing me—how it changes you to be a mother. As a writer she found herself bouncing back and forth between her pre-mother-self and her mother-self, caught somewhere in between. She’d run off to a writer’s conference, excited to be able to talk like an adult, drink wine and be free, but then miss her daughter so terribly she’d almost leave. It’s like she became two people and then one of them split off and became this independent being and she was never the same.

It is somehow comforting. It helps to be prepared for the change rather than to fear it. Like a metamorphosis. I am a cocoon.

Of course I finished it in a few days, and now am hungry for more. I stumbled on this book “Literary mama” and am slowly working through it. It’s many different voices, a hodgepodge of stories and poems that loosely fit around the theme of motherhood. I particularly like the story where the author writes about having a boy and how different he is from her daughter. She makes a table, “Instance of eating dirt—Riley: None, Ben: uncountable.”

They have a website too, http://www.literarymama.com

I still can’t quite believe I’m going to be a mother. But she’s kicking away in there. Cobe even felt it this afternoon. His eyes got very wide, “she’s trying to get out!”

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Fish.

April 12, 2009 by sara

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She moved.

I’ve been wanting to feel something so bad, and then there it was. Like a flicker.

Friday at work she was moving nearly constantly. At one point I put a hand on my belly and felt a kick, but mostly it’s a gauzy sensation of movement, like a fish in my belly. When I got home Saturday morning I told Cobe and he excitedly put a hand down to feel. But there was nothing. She’s not strong enough for anybody else yet.

Just me.

It’s strange because now I think about her more. Is she sleeping? Dreaming? Cobe wonders if she has thoughts. Or maybe she just senses things—light, dark, sound. Like some primordial creature.

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