More Than Just the Pieces

Life as a mother and wife can become very tedious when your day becomes a list of repetitive requirements.  It becomes hard to even count days because they start to blur into the next, always the same and when I become buried in in these lists I feel that I am no longer me.  Instead, I am a compilation of all the things that need to be done.  Yet, words, beautiful words give voice to my thoughts and emotions making me more than just the pieces. (Hence the title of this blog).

Tears

Tears express nothing I wish to convey
They are just an overflow of excess emotion.
Weakness in the fact that I was unable to contain them
Anger in the fact that I let them give way.
Truth in the fact, that they are what they are,
Tears.
Tears of what?
Sometimes I don't even know.
Pain, sorrow, happiness, fear,
Or all of these thus stated?
Infuriated by the fact that I know not...
And yet, they come to plague my eyes and call the unwanted attention of strangers.
Curse my tears

The beginning of yet another story

             She felt as though she couldn’t even hear her own thoughts over the loud rattle and hum of the blasting air conditioner.  It made the lone, stark foyer seem even more empty and ominous. She sat waiting, always waiting it seemed.  She pulled her jacket up around her shoulders and thought how utterly ridiculous it was to have the air conditioner going in winter.  She looked around the foyer for what seemed to be the hundredth time, trying to notice anything new she might have overlooked her first few looks around.  She realized how desperate she was to entertain herself when she realized she had found a catsup stain on the rough material of a chair that looked mysteriously like Abraham Lincoln.  Either she was desperate or going crazy. Then again didn’t other people see Lincoln in the most bizarre places?  After all there were people who actually made money on finding potatoes that are shaped like Lincoln or toast that showed his profile.  Maybe she should take a picture and sell it on e-bay.

                She checked her watch again, 7:15.  She was beginning to doubt as to whether or not she was in the right place.  She knew she was a little early, but shouldn’t some people be here by now?  She was quickly beginning to regret not eating dinner as her stomach growled also reminding her she had had a very early lunch.  She decided that if no one was here in fifteen more minutes she would leave and get herself some Chipotle.  A big beef and bean burrito sounded good and she started contemplating if it were worth waiting here any longer.

                It was in these trivial wonderings that she allowed herself, in hopes of passing the time.  It was because of these wondering she did not hear the footsteps headed in her direction.  Or maybe it was the loud rattling of the air conditioner.  Either way, she was oblivious to the footsteps that would soon remedy her loneliness.

                “Hello.”

                Jessica jumped in surprise at the deep voice that had interrupted her thoughts.  She turned and looked at the newcomer.  She blushed as she realized he has noticed her staring off dumbly into space. 

“Hello.” She replied trying to stop the flow of blood from rushing to her cheeks.

“Is this where the reading is?”

“I sure hope so; otherwise I have been sitting here for nothing” she answered as she smoothed away the wrinkles in her shirt that had developed from her casual lounging.

The newcomer extended his hand, “Bret”

“Jessica” she replied as she extended to shake his hand.

A Labor of Pain

      To fully appreciate my labor, you need a little back story.  Six years ago I was in a serious car accident and broke my back (I shattered my L1 vertebra) which resulted in multiple surgeries that left me with four pounds of titanium in my spine consisting of four rods a mesh cage and multiple screws.  By all accounts I shouldn’t be alive, and I definitely shouldn’t be walking, but miraculously somehow I managed to survive and thrive after a year of rehabilitation.  Two years later I was married.  After a year of failed attempts at pregnancy I went to the doctor to see what was wrong.  It was at this time that I was diagnosed with PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome).  I was informed that due to cysts on my ovaries I was no ovulating.  The major symptoms included rapid weight gain, depression, and infertility.  I began meeting with a fertility specialist and was put on a plethora of prescriptions to allow for a greater possibility of conception.  Another couple of years passed without any success.  The fertility specialist we were seeing said there weren’t lot of options left when my body wasn’t ovulating.  She told me it was highly likely I would never get pregnant.  I had lost hope and resigned my thoughts to the fact I would never have kids.  Two months later I had a positive pregnancy test.

                My husband deployed to Afghanistan when I was nineteen weeks pregnant we both hoped that he would be able to return for the birth.  At seven months I went into the hospital with contractions.  They administered three shots to get the contractions to stop and sentenced me to bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy.  I took a five week course at the hospital to be fully prepared for my labor, birth and new child.  At thirty nine weeks I meet with the anesthesiologist on duty to see if it would be possible to have an epidural if needed despite all the hardware inside of me.  He looked over my x-rays and said although it would be more difficult, it looked possible.  My husband got home for his R&R and two days later my water began to leak.  At every doctor’s appointment I had always been told that if my water broke to go directly to labor and delivery so I wouldn’t become infected.  Seeing as my pregnancy was high risk from the bed rest and the back issues I complied and was admitted around 8:30 P.M.  Once they tested to make sure I was in fact leaking water, they hooked me up to and IV to administer fluid and Pitocin, which I was talked into because my water had broken I was not progressing in my dilation.  The contractions quickly began and it was most comfortable to lie on my side.  However, I remembered from my earlier hospital visit that the machine had a hard time reading my contractions on my side so I asked if this would be okay.  I was re-assured that I should lie whichever way was comfortable.  From then on I was checked on every fifteen minutes and each time they increased the dose of Pitocin.  Unfortunately, the baby’s heart rate dropped so in order to keep it elevated my husband had to roughly rub my belly while I was contracting.  Contractions hurt enough without the added pressure.  I felt as if he were trying to break the skin for the baby to crawl out of my belly that way.  It got to the point where I was have one contraction on top of another with no time in-between to relax and gather my strength.  After several hours of this I was spent, my back was killing me due to back labor and I needed the time to take a breath.  I asked for an epidural.  I was now dilated to a six and it was only then that they realized how intense the contractions had been, saying it wasn’t reading them properly because I had been lying on my side!  They had to give me a shot to stop the contractions so they could attempt an epidural.

                The anesthesiologist on call was made aware of my situation and unlike her colleague she didn’t believe the epidural would be possible, but I let her know I was willing to try if she was.  Within a minute or two my entire right leg was numb…and nothing else.  They kept telling me it would eventually kick in, give it time, but after four or five contractions we were all very aware that the epidural had been a failure.  The nurses asked me to labor on my back, but I refused because the only way I could deal with the pain was on my side.  They let me know that if I was on my side they would have to put a monitor up inside my uterus to measure my contractions that way.  So with no medication and a dead right leg they started to insert wires up inside of me.  It felt like exactly what it was: someone shoving computer cords up my vagina into my sensitive contracting uterus with an occasional, “sorry hun, usually if we do this they can’t feel anything because of an epidural.”

            After the nurses realized all the difficulty the Pitocin gave me they let me body advance slowly and naturally.  After several more hours I told my husband I was ready for a C-section.  I had wanted to avoid this at all costs, but I had now dilated to and eight with absolutely no medication, on Pitocin, having severe back labor with a broken back.  The nurses tried to tell me that I was at an eight and I could make it to ten, but I knew my bodies braking point and I was there.  The nurses let me know they would call the doctor and it shouldn’t be long because he lived just down the street.  Over an hour later the doctor finally showed up and examined me.  At that time I was at a nine, so he refused to do the C-section because he argued I would be dilated to a ten and ready to push before they had me prepped for the procedure. He also let me know he was reluctant to do a C-section because he would have to put me under since I couldn’t have an epidural and that was an added risk he didn’t want to take.  There was nothing else I could do but try and do all I could to focus on my contractions.

            After about another hour a nurse came in to check on me and gave me the news I had finally dilated to a ten.  She held one leg up and my husband held the other, urging me to push.  I didn’t feel like my body was ready to push yet and let the nurse know.  After monitoring my contractions she fetched the doctor.  The doctor upon examining me decided we would have to do an emergency C-section because my contractions were too far apart and he was concerned to put me back on Pitocin with the way the baby’s heart rate kept dropping.  If I wasn’t so tired I would have been enraged; had he just listened to me I could have saved myself several hours of needless pain.  It was at this point that they let me know they would have to put a catheter in and that it would hurt since I wasn’t numb down there.  However, it wasn’t even that simple.  The baby had already entered the birth canal and was pressing down so much it took two nurses and five tries before they finally succeeded in their task.  It was now nine something in the morning I had been pretty much contracting NON-stop all night with several additional pains added on and I was exhausted, angry, sore, and devastated.  I worried for my unborn child hopping that everything would be okay. As I waited to be taken to the operating room I had to try and keep my body from pushing him further down, wanting only to get him out as soon as possible for his own safety as well as for my peace.  I felt if my body had to endure anything else it would fall apart and I didn’t know how to keep myself together.  As they began to put me under I remember thinking I was done I had hit the proverbial wall and then darkness…

            I guess it took me an hour to come to.  My husband had been able to follow our child to be weighed and washed while I returned slowly to reality.  My head was still spinning and groggy and when my sweet little boy was placed in my arms it took a moment to realize that he was my child.  That this little boy was the baby I had fought so hard for.  I had succeeded. 

            I had ten staples holding my incision together, and it took several weeks to recover.  Several people would ask me about my labor and at the time all I could offer them was, “it was rough” because I was so traumatized at how difficult the whole process had been.  I would get emotional just thinking on it because I felt neglected by those who were meant to care for me and used ill by those who should have made things easier for me rather than easier for them.  It was only later that I learned I could have stayed at home until I had progressed further; there was no reason to put me on Pitocin right away; the nurses and staff should have been aware of the magnitude of my contractions as well as my continual discomfort; the anesthesiologist could have tried the epidural again; the nurses and doctors should have given me a C-section when I first asked for it.  I think I would have had a harder time getting over all of this if it were not for the miracle that is my son.  It  took us three and a half years to get pregnant and even now as I look back on it, I would still do it all again because I would rather have my little man than not.

writting anything to get the flow going

She walked the crowded street looking down as her foot passed the cracks that separated one tile of sidewalk from the next.  She saw the legs of those passing by her and she couldn’t help but wonder how disconnected everything looked.  A sea of legs clothed in cotton, silk, stockings, and even bare legs swirling around her in a sort of dance.  She noticed her own legs, clothed in tight dark denim and wondered if her legs stuck out among all the others.  She figured they didn’t seeing as she was rarely noticed or acknowledged, which she loathed, but yet loved due to the comfort of hiding in the shadows of others.  She loathed the loneliness of it though and although the thought of it sometimes scared her, she dreamed of being able to stand as the attention of a crowd, as someone to be noticed and maybe even admired.  This dream was just that though: a dream.  Even now people practically barreled into her as if she was only an afterthought as they maneuver around her to continue on their path.  She felt so constrained in her skin because she felt like she had so much potential, but felt desperate that she would always remain as she was: plain and forgettable.

Purpose

Welcome, if you are reading this you have stumbled across a small tangle of my mind...or really just my first post to a blog I am creating to help express emotions, stories, talents, etc. Feel free to follow me, but I really have no point in creating this other than self-fulfillment. (or an additional way to allow people to stalk me other than Facebook).  I plan on posting anything that suits my fancy and hopefully I can make a few friends on the way.