Sticking to the Point

Sunday Scribblings: Chronicles of a delivery

3.28.2001 - 5pm

36 weeks pregnant and on bedrest for a month, I show up for my weekly ultrasound and stress test. The baby is having decelerations and I'm given oxygen while I wait for the doctor.  As the ultrasound takes place, the doctor is able to see the umbilical cord wrapped around the baby's neck two times. He also determines that the baby's abdominal measurements are off. I'm having the baby that night.

7pm.

I'm admitted to St Luke's - Roosevelt hospital and a pitocin drip begins.

3.29.2001 - AM.

No baby. No dilation. I'm hungry but not allowed to eat (in case of an epidural) and I'm hooked up to another bag of Pitocin. We wait.

PM.

No baby. No dilation. In tears, I'm finally taken off the drip and given food. Ham on white never tasted so good.

3.30.2001 - 2am. 

Contractions are coming infrequently but with strength. I'm in pain. God what a wimp. Not willing to give me an epidural (only 2cm. dilated), instead I'm given a Demerol drip and told to get some rest. Hovering between sleep and hallucinations, I'm exhausted and still not dilated further than 2cm. by 6am.

7 am.

My own doctor comes on duty (hurray!) and suggests a c-section. Taking a shower and changing my gown, I wait for the anesthesiologist to arrive.

9 am.

Epidural given and waiting to take effect, M changes into scrubs so he can accompany me into the delivery room.

9:25 am.

Delivery room. Cold, gleaming metal. Everything white. The curtain in place, I begin to panic when the oxygen mask is placed over my face. I try to rip the mask off. More Demoral. Every few minutes one of the nurses calls out the time.

9:58 am.

Heavy pressure.

9:59 am.

Baby A is born. 5 pounds even, apgar 10.

10:05 am.

Feeling the tug as my abdomen is sewn back together, my doctor calls the resident over. Born with a unique anatomy, my doctor wants the intern (St. Luke's is a teaching hospital), to take a look. My plumbing is atypical for this anomaly.

10:40 am.

Recovery room. Baby A is brought to me to nurse and she latches on quite nicely. I'm given a Morphine drip and much of that first day is a blur.

3.31.2001 AM.

The nurses applaud me; I'm the first and only mama on the floor to get out of bed and walk around. Once I can pass gas, I'll be able to leave the hospital and the day is spent walking the floor, popping the scheduled Percocet and feeding the baby.

10 pm. 

No passing gas and my abdomen is very sore. M has gone home to shower and get some rest (we didn't have a private room). After he's gone, I call the nurse in pain, something is wrong. Rubbing my stomach the nurse tries to persuade me the pain is normal. Instead I demand a doctor.

10:20 pm.

Something is indeed wrong. I have a paralytic ileus, or bowel obstruction, and I need nasogastric intubation to empty my stomach contents. Calling M in a panic, I beg him to come back which he does in haste. Hysterical, I swallow the tube and in the process projectile vomit on myself, the nurse and doctor.

For three days I have my stomach pumped and watch as the nurses care for my baby. Too much trauma for my body, my milk never comes in. I'm so out of it, I don't even care.

4.2.2001 - 10 am.

Almost a week in the hospital and I'm finally able to go home. Baby A weighs a mere 4 pounds, 11 ounces and we marvel that they let us take her with us. What the fuck do we know about babies?

4.7.2001 10 am.

In the shower I notice my incision looking funky and oozing. Worried, I take a cab to the emergency room while M stays home with the baby. At the emergency room, it's determined that my incision has opened 3 inches. For the next 10 days, a visiting nurse comes to my apartment and packs the wound. I watch as a 4x4 gauze pad disappears into the hole in my body. This is the straw that breaks me; pre-eclampsia, bed rest, c-section complications and now this. Then and there, I decide that miss A will be our one and only. Knowing my own limitations, I could never readily agree to another c-section and my doctor assured me there would be no other way, all things considered.

Check out Sunday Scribblings for more chronicles.

Sunday Scribblings - Change

In my heart I'm a nomad and in reality, I have a hard time with change. Soon, I will be a convert to Judaism. Throughout this past year, I've met monthly with my rabbi, in a very personal and low-key version of conversion classes. I read most of the old testament and I read about Jewish traditions and holidays. Our conversations were intellectual and thoughtful. And I was grateful to have my rabbi last April when my mom passed away, her words a solace.

In our most recent meeting, we discussed the necessary requirements for my mikvah. I'll write three essays describing various aspects of my life and religion: how was I raised, how am I living and going to live as a Jew and finally, how will we raise our child.  These essays will be presented to the rabbis who will witness my conversion, the Beth Din. I asked whether people are turned away (I watched Sex and the City after all) and assured me that since she's recommending me, I shouldn't worry. The ones that don't convert, those people are the ones that can't turn from Jesus or the Christmas tree.  Personally, I think Jesus and the Christmas tree are two very seperate issues and certainly weren't connected with any of my family traditions. Christmas, the tree, Santa Claus.....it was all just the fun and spirit of the holidays that we celebrated.

However my rabbi doesn't agree and so, this year, no tree. Just like Charlotte, the holidays this year, are bittersweet. I've felt wistful when I've peeked into my box of holiday decorations, knowing that this year, that box will remain packed with the memory of our Christmas past.

More change here.

Sunday Scribbling - in the last hour(s) of a weekend

Have you missed me? I've been a busy girl. Jen asked to see the new dress I bought for Friday night. Cute right?

I met M at Milk Gallery for a silent auction of photos chosen by the famous fashion photographers who'd donated their work. Many of the photos were of Kate Moss, the guest of honor.  2 glasses of champagne later, we head downtown to Strip House for dinner. Lemon drops and red wine, I order seared ahi tuna but really, I drank my dinner and still woke up feeling great (all things considered).

A burlesque show fund raiser for my roller derby league Saturday night.

A trip back into the city this morning and then, practice tonight where a ref recruit will join. Every last hour of this weekend has required something from me;  my normal mama life entices.

more sunday scribblings here.

Sunday Scribblings: Morning

Most mornings, my girl is an early riser. This particular morning, M was out of town on business and we were awake just as the day began to break. I don't remember how we ended up on our back deck, but we spied a group of deer making their way across the golf course behind our house. They stopped and caught our eye, sensing our shared presence that morning, as the sun came up.

There are some mornings my daughter invites me into her bed, the coziest bed in the house. Immediately she turns towards me, snugging her feet between my thighs. Sometimes drifting back to warm and sleepy, often sharing her night's dreams.

Before a kid, mornings were always about alone time. Nowadays, mornings are shared responsibility. M takes A downstairs for something to drink and breakfast. He'll make me a tea and on the most difficult of mornings, when I need it most, he'll bring my cup upstairs. He always gets the sweetness just right and often, my cup of tea will be timed so that my arrival downstairs (even if I've slept in), has my tea hot, a perfect cuppa.

Sunday Scribblings: Bedtime Stories

When we had a child, I looked forward to the bedtime story ritual, a favorite time for me when I was a kid. My dad had an active imagination and would make up the most fabulous stories involving a little mouse named Mario and other fancies where we'd be the main character.

As a wee one, our girl had no interest in stories read to her. Instead, she'd be the master of the pages, turning them and reading to herself (even before she had words). Books were always taken to bed and we'd often hear her sweet babbling voice, as she read to her stuffed friends; content to amuse herself while we pretended we were sleeping in. Once A had command over language, she still preferred her own version of a story and didn't require our help. Apparently convincing, more often than not we'd find A on the floor at the library, surrounded by friends and strangers alike, reading her version of a story while the other kiddies sat quietly listening.

Nowadays, A likes a story before bed and it's a simple request. One or two books are enough, she doesn't require book after book to be read to her and it's fine by me. I can't wait for the day that she's able to read books on her own. Not because I mind reading to her, quite the contrary. I know that familiar twinkle in her eyes, even if she's not able to read the words before her, my girl loves a good book. And I know a whole universe will open wide for her when she's able to lose herself in a good story and I look forward to the day that we'll sit side-by-side on the sofa, reading our books on a Sunday afternoon.

Sunday Scribblings: skin

I wear my skin adorned. 3 holes in each ear, 1 in my nostril and 9 tattoos. As I face the world each day, I add wedding rings and other rings, earrings, bracelets, a watch. Without my accoutrements, I feel myself captured in skin that five and half years later, still feels foreign. Unable to reconcile this skin, with the skin I'd always known. Instead of admiration, I find admonishment; criticism and cynacism cloud the glass. I stare. Perhaps the need to adorn, the need to sparkle and glitter on the outside, is my inner self craving a way to shine.

The Segway

Sunday scribbling's prompt this week was Google magic. Google a subject you're interested in and then share. Here's what I found out:

I first learned about the Segway watching GOB.  Designed and constructed by Dean Kamen, the Segway is the 'world's first self-balancing human transporter'; an upright vehicle with two wheels. How does it stay upright you might wonder? Computers and motors in the base keep the vehicle upright at all times, the vehicle is designed to mirror human walking. Riders lean forward to move forward, back for backwards. In the newer models, the rider can now lean to the left or right to turn; the model GOB rode turned by twisting the handgrip on the left handlebar.

The Segway was first demonstrated to the public in December 2001. The date was a full year ahead of schedule due to the media leak and subsequent hype following its debut. During the months following, three limited edition models were auctioned off on Amazon for $100k a piece to raise money for Dean Kamen's education effort FIRST. By 2003 Amazon was regulating sales, Amazon being the official seller of the vehicle and later that year, two other companies signed on as licensed dealers.

The Segway is designed to be used on sidewalks and other pedestrian areas including bicycle lanes. The Segway's footprint is not much larger in size or width, than a human being. Though the creators of the Segway believe it's ideal for dense, urban areas some Americans believe that those locations are not fit for vehicles like the Segway, instead relying upon public transportation and automobiles. The Segway is ideal for those that need a quick and easy way to travel between home and office and it's already being used in major theme parks by both employees and visitors. Several organizations have run test pilots on Segway use including: police departments, post offices and warehouse/storage companies. Most of Segway technology is concentrated in its base with the handle being only useful for the human rider. However, once stripped of its handle, the Segway becomes a universal robotic platform, still capable of balancing whatever is installed and moving around as easily as with a human. The Segway robotic platform is widely used by robotic developers in universities and private companies.

The Segway has electric motors powered by batteries charged from household current. It balances with the help of dual computers with proprietary software, two tilt sensors, and five gyroscopes. The Segway is built to stay balanced in one place.

The name "Segway" is a homophone of 'segue', meaning a smooth transition. President Bush gave the Segway as a gift to the Japanese Prime Minister in 2005 and Shaquille O'Neal was rumored to own or have owned a Segway, shown when his home was featured on MTV's Cribs.

Sunday Scribblings: Fortune Cookie

I'm superstitious. As a child I played the weegee board and would stare into the dark bathroom mirror chanting, 'i believe in bloody mary'. We were hoping to invoke the image of Mary Queen of Scots, in Southern California.

In my 20's I would consult a book aptly called the evil oracle, hoping to find the name of my true love and when he'd be calling. I saved countless fortunes from Chinese take-out, using the numbers on the back to play the lottery (no, they've never been winners), certain that the tiny typed words were destined to land in my hands. I yearned to throw I Ching  and I would sit in front of any hippie on Haight Street who had her tarot cards displayed for readings.

Nowadays, I'm not as susceptible to whim. I'm not jaded, just a little embarrassed to admit that as a believer, I have a respect for leaving the prophesizing to others; I'll let my life unfold rather than trying to predict, trying to control. And when I pass this guy

I quicken my pace, because I know he's watching and waiting.

Read about other's fortunes here.

Sunday Scribblings: The Monster

There's a monster inside of my head who changes shape and form. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man, my monster is always that voice, looking to prove all of the negativity I've heard or thought about myself, existing inside.

When I was in my teens and early twenties my monster had control. I listened and made self-destructive choices, always hearing that crackling cackle in the distance saying 'see?'

Now that I'm older, my monster surfaces when I'm tired or stressed. When I'm feeling defenseless I allow that voice to direct and lead me astray, using hurtful words that don't have meaning to me and yet wither those within my monsterous grip.

Most days my monster's cries go unheard because I choose happiness over misery. And I suspect my monster is happier too. Painfully regretful, I believe my monster craves respite from the blackness that gives its ugliness power and because of that, he/she/it craves a doterage in peace.

More sunday scribblings here.

Sunday Scribblings: Who else can I still be?

I'm trying out being checked out Tuesday evening, in consideration as a referee for the women's roller derby league here in my neck of the woods. Ever since volunteering, I've been dying to get in on the action. While I'd love to be a roller girl (and I think a good one), I can't afford to break an arm or a hand; my guns are my livelihood so the next best thing, is being the whistle blower.

A bonus for being a derby girl is naming your alter-ego and here is where I need your help. Here are a few of my (and others) ideas, so tell me what you like or don't like, and if you have any other name ideas, please do share.

The short list:

Sicily Spacek

Hilary Spank

Shins and Needles

Penalty Pitstop

More sunday scribblings here.