Help

11:30 pm. 1:30 am. 3:30 am. 4:30 am. 5:30 am. 6:30 am. This is last night’s demand-for-feedings-please times. At least I had that two-hour stretch of sleep.

And though I complain (a lot about the whole lack of sleep thing), I really do have lots of help. Nicole’s mother stayed with us for a full week and pulled all-nighters (and all dayers) with me. My sister-in-law and friends come by to help. And we have a nanny starting on Friday. Actually, the nanny is my good friend Annie, who is a kindergarten teacher with the summer off. I was anti-nanny and help (surprise, surprise: To the bitter end I insist I can do it all myself) and I was especially anti having a nanny that I didn’t know. How could I leave my children with someone I just met? Not that I will be leaving the babies—maybe to run to the food store—but I really wanted someone who I was comfortable with, who I would enjoy driving around with and going places with and, most important, who I would feel safe with my babies. I just wouldn’t get that level of comfort from someone I found on craigsli*st. We toyed with getting a night nurse, but I vetoed that.

I am still not thrilled about accepting help. This is a life-long issue. I don’t like asking for help and I don’t like getting help. I just want to be able to do it all myself, and I find it frustrating that I can’t. I will love having Annie around, because that will be social and fun so it won’t seem like I am getting help. So it sorta eases me into this getting-help scenario, which might help me in the long run be more willing to accept help.

But there should be some sort of badge for being able to do it all yourself, at least some of the time. When I was alone with the babies on Monday and managed to survive (an they survived too) I really felt so proud of myself (and them). It was empowering. We went to the post office and one store. Maddie had a meltdown in the store and Avery saved hers for the long wait at the post office. And even during those tense moments, it was still a successful trip out of the apartment together.

But it is so much easier when there is a second set of hands/lap/shoulder around.

I am starting to get into more of a groove. One of these days I will catch up on everyone’s lives. I figured out a way to pump and read on the computer and type with one hand! Nature always finds a way!

Pictured above is us with Avery. My brother gave Maddie a Madeline book and Avery got some Avery paper products. Madeline was named after madeline cookies, which bears some significance in my relationship with Nicole (long story) and Avery, well, we just liked that name. No cute little story behind her name, which makes me sad, because she might get older and lament how Maddie has this whole story around her name and there is no story around hers. I feel guilty already! But Avery is such an Avery. She couldn’t have any other name.

Faustian Bargains

Thanks, everyone, for the advice/encouragement/tips/tricks/words of wisdom about breastfeeding. I am still struggling with it, but trying to be more relaxed about it because apparently my stress level can affect my milk production. So these babies won’t be 100 percent breast-feed. It is what it is. There really is no possible way for me to pump more than I already do. And they both are getting more breast milk than formula. The best I can hope for is to close in tighter on the formula-to-BM ratio. Smaller, achievable goals, one day at a time.

In other minor distressing updates, both babies are suffering from a little gas and constipation. They are both up all night straining and pained. And nothing is coming out (but gas). It is so hard to see them in pain—even something as trite as gas pain. Turns out the cure for constipation (according to some parents/websites/doctors) is to stick a thermometer in the baby’s, well, don’t make me spell to out. I had to have Nicole do this because it seems so wrong. It did the trick though, at least for Avery.

I know the formula is probably causing the gas and that makes me so upset. This is why I wanted 100 percent breast-feed babies. We switched to a sensitive formula with low iron but that doesn’t seem to do anything yet. They only get formula from 10 pm until the 7/8 am morning feeding. And my diet is pretty much gassy-food free. If anyone has any other good ideas, please let me know.

My energy levels fluctuate from higher than the highest caffeine high to tired beyond belief, Not run-of-the-mill tired, but that type of tired you get in say chemistry class when suddenly your head feels like 100 pounds and your mouth drops open and your eyelids feel stapled shut. I am averaging about four hours of sleep a day, which is not nearly enough. But once these babies sleep more at night I am sure we will too.

I made all sorts of Faustian bargain to get and stay pregnant. I swore to myself that if it (IVF) worked I would be the best mother in the universe, with tons of patience and an I-Can-Do-It Attitude. I would never complain. I would remember how badly I wanted this to happen whenever things felt difficult. I would have clean, happy babies and a clean, happy house. Ha.

And yet here I am, struggling, and it is hard to remember my bargain. I was with the babies alone today for most of the day. This was my first time. I think they sense when the baby-to-adult ration goes from 1:1 to 2:1 and they both kick into high-needs mode. Both need to be fed/changed/comforted/cuddled immediately and practice their newborn scream if it doesn’t happen. After almost no sleep last night, it has been a struggle today to keep up with them. I finally got them both calmed and they are asleep. That gave me an hour to eat for the first time (at 2:00 pm!) and load up the dishwasher and pump four ounces of milk and write this.

It is distressing to listen to a baby cry and realize you can’t do anything about it, unless you want to listen to the other baby cry. Mealtime is a very minor version of Sophie’s Choice. Who do I feed first? Who seems hungrier and fussier? Who will not cry for longer? It’s a guessing game, and the babies let me know if I made the wrong choice.

We are at a crossroads of sorts. Nicole can’t function on so little sleep and still go off to work every day. And I can’t function on so little sleep and be able to take care of the babies during the day. Nicole and I think we are going to start doing night shifts. I will go to bed from 8:00 pm until midnight and she will stay up with them and do their feedings. Then I will take over at midnight. That way, at least I will get 4 hours of solid sleep, plus cat naps from midnight on. And Nicole can get a solid 5 hours before she has to get up and get ready to go to work. When do babies start sleeping longer through the night?

Pictured above, the little angles sleeping like logs during the day. If only they could sleep like this at night.

The 24 Hour Kitchen

So this whole breastfeeding thing is 1,000 times harder than I thought it would be. Everyone talks about how great it is and how bonding it is, but few people mention just how difficult it is. Is just like the Secrets of C Sections. Is there some sort of unspoken motherhood pact to keep the hard parts on the down low?

Miss Avery breastfeeds just fine and takes a bottle great. She breastfeeds all day and at night, she switches to formula. Madeline bottle feeds on pumped breast milk by day and has formula for night feedings. Duirng the night, I pump to get enough milk for Madeline for the next day. No matter how much I pump (every two hours or so), I can only keep one feeding ahead for Miss Maddie. It is so frustrating. I had dreams of a freezer full of expressed milk. My ego is wrapped up in all of this too, which means I feel like a failure when I can’t get Maddie latched on or when Avery makes this horrified face when I try to (dare to) feed her a bottle at night (when the breast is oh so close). I feel like I am betraying both of them, like I am a failure.

I know my hormones are playing a part in this. But still. I had it in my head that I would breast feed for a year. I can adjust this if I have to, and that is fine. In the mean time, I am just going to keep on doing what I am doing and hoping my milk supply magically doubles or my energy levels allow me to pump more than every two hours. I am also trying every tip and trick that anyone has recommended.

What I need to do is eat and drink more. Today’s meals were yogurt, some carrots and French bread. Oh, and a granola bar. And that’s it. I know, that is awful and not enough. It is hard to find time to eat when there are two babies that need your constant attention. I’ve lost 40 pounds already. And that’s even with drinking a half gallon of chocolate milk a day. I really drank a half gallon in less than 24 hours.

Pictured above is Miss Maddie, during sponge bath time, and me with Miss Avery, who, as usual, has her little mouth open just in case a nip.ple comes close to it.

Transitions

Today I left the apartment for the second time alone. The first time was yesterday, when I went to get the sutures taken out of my hand. And today I went down to Union Square for a BabiesR*Us visit. That involved a subway ride, so it seemed much more serious than the doctor’s appointment. The world now moves at a faster pace than I am used to. Or maybe my pace has slowed down. But everything just seemed so loud and abrasive and high speed, moving at the speed of light. And I feel slower and calmer than all that. Not to mention sloppy: Picture me with dried breast milk (from pumping) on my skirt and food stains on my shirt from one-handed eating. Lovely image, isn’t it?

I guess I am going through some transitions. Everything/everyone just seems so different.

The pain from the C section is all gone and has now been replaced with some intense shoulder and tricep pain. Apparently, according to my doctor, this is common when women begin breastfeeding, especially twins. My posture isn’t helping matters: To see what I mean just look at the picture from my last post of me holding Maddie. I’m like a vulture. Shoulders scrunched up, all tense. The pain is awful. Once again, I have a hard time picking up and holding and feeding the babies. But I do it anyway, which is making everything worse. My doctor gave me some exercises to do and some codeine, which really helps to minimize the pain for a while. I hate taking all these medicines, but what good am I if I can’t move without pain?

Nicole goes back to work on Monday and I am not quite ready for that. I like having her around all the time. I’ve said this before, but I just am not the type that needs a lot of space away from her. That might be unhealthy for some, but it works for us. I forget that we have these new roles to step into: Nicole the Provider and me the Homemaker. I guess we practiced these roles during the pregnancy, since I wasn’t working, and even, to a lesser extent, during our entire relationship. But that all seemed so trail run. Now it’s the real deal, complete with two extra little lives to take care of. Another transition.

These babies must be going through a growth spurt because they want to eat all the time Every time I turn around, they have their little fists shoved in their mouths or they are rooting around. They still think that nighttime is daytime, and get up every hour and a half or so. But during the day, they can nap for 4 hours straight, if we let them. We just ordered a sleep book so hopefully we will get this sleeping behavior in check some time soon.

Pictured above are A&M. Forgive my proud parent moment, but aren’t they so cute? The funny thing is, you’d think that they would have some sort of special twin bond, but these two are going through a stage where they don’t exactly seem enamored with each other’s presence. Avery tries to BF off of any of Maddie’s parts and Maddie, in turns, kicks, punches and pushes Miss Avery away. It’s cute to watch now, but we hope they outgrow this stage.

Birth: The Final Installment

Both babies are on their little mat in the sun “napping” so I have a few minutes to wrap this tale up. Maybe.

So Nicole returns to the hospital in record time, which made me feel a lot better. Suddenly, the nurse who was sorta ignoring me was all over me, touching my knee, answering my questions and showing a good deal more concern than she did or me before. (I asked her for ice chips about three times and she never brought them. And I was her only patient at the time.) Then more doctors started coming in. They added up my symptoms and came up with a big fat We have No Idea what is going on. One doctor came in to report my blood work results. She said that all of my tests looked fine except one. That “bad” test showed that my platelet levels were low. And that my kidneys were only functioning at 75 percent. What? And that there was still a lot of blood I my urine. My blood pressure was rising high and my heart rate was still low. And an alarm kept going off because I wasn’t breathing enough.

At this point it is around 9:00 am and I still had not seem the babies. We asked them to be brought to us and we were informed that they can only come into recovery to feed. The doctors said I was not going to get out of recovery any time soon, which really unnerved me. I said that the babies hadn’t been fed since 2 in the morning so bring them now. I was so tired (I had now been up for more than 24 hours) and weak from the surgery that I barely remember it. But I do remember being VERY emotional and hormonal.

I meet with kidney specialists, my ob, other obs, urologists and residents. I was wheeled down to have a kidney sonogram performed by a woman with absolutely no sympathy for the fact that I just had surgery, so jerking my body around to get a better angle hurt a lot. The radiologist told me that my left kidney was dilated, but other than that all looked ok.

So the doctors were no closer to figuring out what is wrong with me. Kidney failure was bantered about, toxemia (a type of pre eclampsia) and something about a piece of my kidney dying off. To this day they still don’t know what was/is wrong. But my blood levels stabilized and my urine slowly become less bloody, so that was a good thing.

I had a full on break down sometime in the late afternoon while still in recovery. I had been there for over 12 hours and asked for the babies to come. They said yes, but a half hour went by and no babies. Then 45 minutes. We asked again and we were told they were too busy to bring us our babies. At that point I lost it. I just started crying and shaking and not making any sense. That snapped the nurse into a higher sense of urgency. She called the nursery again and arranged for an immediate delivery of babies, as long as Nicole would go and help them. So Nicole leaves and two minutes later, people come in to take me to a sonogram. I flipped again. I couldn’t believe that I was not going to see them. Meanwhile, who was feeding them? I told them NO BOTTLES.

Nicole wheeled them in just as I was about to be wheeled out. Given that I was I hysterics, they let me stay with the babies for a few minutes. How nice of them. It seemed unnatural that I wasn’t allowed to spend time with them. Especially since when they were with me, all of my vital signs started to even out.

I was moved to a regular room (finally) around 6 pm. I was so grateful to be down the hall from my babies, who were in the nursery. We put our names on the list for a private room, but we were told that there wouldn’t be one available. So we settled into a very cramped shared room, and no sooner than I started to breastfeed the babies, a nurse came in and said a private room just became available. Nicole literally ran down the hall with all of our stuff and within a half hour, we settled into our new giant room, complete with a hospital bed for Nicole to sleep in and our very own bathroom.

To this day, the doctors still aren’t sure what happened that day. My doctor said she would probably call it toxemia, but she wasn’t happy with that because it isn’t a neat fit with the symptoms. I chalked it up to the trauma of surgery (hand surgery too) and the epidural and all the top offs and all of the other meds pumped into my body. How could that not affect me? It was just bizarre, because I had for the most part a pregnancy free of traumas and bed rest and issues. To get pre-eclampsia or toxemia after the babies are born just seems weird. Also, I don’t discount the theory that my bladder was traumatized accidentally in the surgery. But the doctor said nothing happened to it during the C Section. So I guess we may never know. Once again, I am a medical mystery (the lovely pyogenic granuloma was Mystery No. 1).

I am still blown away that we were allowed to check out of the hospital on Sunday. But in the end I was happy to recover at home, even with still having blood in my urine and a not quite functioning kidney. I am happy to say that the pain of the C Section is long gone at this point, but now I am dealing with some seriously painful shoulder/arm pain.

Pictured above is Madeline with me after (after her first bath) and Avery with Nicole (after her first bath). In fun news, Avery lost her belly button stub last night and proudly joins her sister in the outtie club. Maybe that changes over time and becomes an innie.

Birth: Part 2

The saga continues….

On a side note, I was on the phone with my friend Jen today and fell asleep. So that pretty much sums up my current state!

After the decision to do the C Section, things moved really quickly. Someone started taking all the monitors off of me and removing my IV drip. Someone else showed up with scrubs for Nicole and when I saw her covered head-to-toe in that blue outfit, it really hit home to me that this was happening. My SIL took pictures of her and then I was wheeled off while Nicole was told to wait in some staging area.

The room was so bright. I know this is necessary for an operation, but still. I had to be moved from the hospital bed I was on to the operating table. Somehow I managed to do this, with the help of like ix people, but I felt like a beached whale. Adrenalin kept me moving: I was so excited that we would finally be meeting these babies soon.

But I felt like a piece of meat: The nurses and doctors arranged me Just So, laying me flat with my legs together, completely naked from the chest down. There were so many people in the room: My doctor and several residents, a nurse for each baby, a pediatrician for each baby, two anesthesiologists, and some other random people whose role I couldn’t figure out. It just felt like a circus. Not the warm and fizzy I pictured. Nicole was ushered in and positioned next to my head.

The anesthesiologist kept testing me: Pricking me and asking if I still felt sharp pain. I was horrified to suddenly realize that I wouldn’t be completely painless from the neck down as I though but rather just numb. I wouldn’t feel the slicing and dicing, but I would feel “pressure,” which I still contend is doctor-speak for pain.

There was no narration. I knew the doctor had begun when I smelled my own flesh burning. Because of all of the equipment, Nicole was slightly behind the side of my head, so I kept telling her to lean over really close and get close to my face. I wanted her right up in my face. All I could see were her eyes, but that was enough. I started to shake uncontrollably. It might have been the medicines and also the fear.

I started to feel all the pulling and tugging that everyone talks about and the aforementioned pressure. I’m not going to lie: It hurt like a MF. I developed some bizarre personal coping mechanisms: I counted backwards from 5 to 1 for most of the surgery. I kept thinking “I can handle this for five seconds” and then I would count. And then I told myself I could do another five seconds. In between I chanted “1-2-3-4 Pressure,” and ode to the Billy Joel song, until Nicole reminded me there was also “Under Pressure,” the Queen song. So those were my mantras.

The anesthesiologist was very nice, and answered all of my questions as we went long. She would warn me whenever when were about to have a “pressure event.” It was nerve-wracking being behind the curtain, unable to see, only hearing hushed voices.

Then someone told Nicole to stand up to see our first baby (Madeline) being born. At then, at 12:33, we heard that little cry. One minute later, Baby B (Avery) entered the world. It hurt so much when the doctors were removing the babies from me, but hearing their cries was the best pain medicine.

Nicole went over to the bassinets to meet and photograph the babies (just seconds old and already we are snapping their pictures!) while the doctors went about the business of putting my internal organs back and sewing me up. This is when things got a bit tense. Of course, no one was really telling me what was happening, but I know something was not quite right when I asked the anesthesiologist how much longer and she would say about 15 minutes. 15 minutes later, she said the same thing. The doctor kept ordering new medicines and new drips were put in me. People were moving quickly but I still had no idea what was going on. After, I found out that my uterus wasn’t contracting and therefore wasn’t going back into my body. I also lost a lot of blood. And then there was something about blood in my bladder and blue dye being put in my bladder to figure out if it was damaged in the surgery or not.

The anesthesiologist warned me that another “pressure event” was about to happen and I could expect to throw up. Within seconds I started dry heaving, and almost laughed when a tiny little vomit basin was tucked under my chin. If I vomited it would be all over, not in a dainty little cup! Luckily it was all dry heaves. But still. No one told me these sort of things would happen.

Eventually someone said they were putting my uterus back in and that is the moment someone else brought over Maddie. Her eyes locked with mine and it was again like the best medicine in the world.

The babies left to go to the nursery (no NICU for them! Yay! Go babies!) and Nicole went with them. I was pieced back together and taken to the recovery room. Nicole met me there and within moments the babies were brought in to eat. Already! I was the only patient in there, so my mother and SIL came in to spend a few minutes with the babies. By then it was almost 2:30 a.m. They stayed for another 20 minutes or so and then took a cab home. The babies were whisked away again for routine maintenance and Nicole and I were left alone.

At this point, the pain was creeping up on my but I was given some strong medicine. Nicole was exhausted and I finally convinced her to go home and sleep for a few hours and come back (we are a ten-minute walk from the hospital). There was only an office chair in the recovery room for her and I knew she would get no sleep in that. And how would she get through the next day with zero sleep? How can she bond with her babies if she was falling asleep? The medicine was making me drowsy but I knew I wouldn’t sleep if she didn’t. So she left and I closed my eyes.

But then there was a lot of action around my bed again. Doctors were coming in and nurses and checking my vitals. My blood pressure was rising quickly and my heart rate was lowering. And then there was the problem of all of the blood in my urine. Doctors came in and did weird things, like check my reflexes. My reflexes weren’t working and I asked if that was ok. They wouldn’t say. They asked me all sorts of questions that seemed so random. Something was wrong but no one would tell me. It was pissing me off. Then the nurse returned to take blood for blood work. I started to really panic. The drama of the days events plus the pain plus Nicole not there made me feel really vulnerable. A doctor came in and said they got my blood work back but she didn’t want to tell me what they found because they didn’t not to worry me. That pissed me off SO much. I told her to tell me now (I’m an adult, for the love of g-d. I just gave birth to two babies. And they were treating me like a child?)

OK, so this is a three-parter. I will finish this saga up tomorrow I hope!

Pictured above: Meeting Maddie for the first time. Below are both babies, hungry out of the womb!

The Birth Story Part I

So this is the start of the story of the birth of Madeline and Avery. It is too long to be written in an interesting way. But I wanted to get it out because the details were already getting fuzzy.

I woke up on Thursday May 31st in major pain. I had hand surgery the day before, and after the anesthesia finally wore off, my hand was throbbing like it never had before. The doctor prescribed me codeine and assured me that I could take it without harming the babies, but I was skeptical, as usual.

I pictured a day of convalescing on the couch. With the hand pain and my in general lethargic self, I couldn’t imagine doing anything. So imagine my horror when I lay down on the couch only to find that the cable was out, as well as the Internet. This is enough to push me over the edge on a regular day. And to make things worse, I couldn’t even search online for codeine/pregnancy horror stories.

So I called Nicole at work and asked her to do a Goo.gle search for me. We were on the phone for barely a minute when I felt a gush. I momentarily thought maybe I just lost control of my bladder. Fun. But when I got up and waddled to the bathroom more and more and more came out. I told Nicole my water just broke. Then I went about packing my bag again and waited for her to get home. I tried to call some people as I scurried around and get the phone tree working. I remember my SIL screaming.

We took a cab to the hospital (Nicole had one waiting downstairs) and checked in. I was put into a room and examined by the attending physician, who proclaimed me 4 cm dilated. Turns out, I was contracting but not feeling it. I was hooked up to all the monitors and had to lay on my back; not the most comfortable position for someone carrying all that extra weight. In addition, I had to keep my left hand elevated above my heart. For the entire labor. Good times.

My ob came in and said unless I deliver before 4 pm, she would not be delivering me. It was very disappointing, especially since we never did get around to the “end game” talk. It felt like being engaged to the same person for nine months and showing up on your wedding day to find a while new person.

Of course I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink, which was quite a challenge because I skipped dinner the night before and I didn’t eat breakfast yet that day. I was starving and SO thirsty but couldn’t have anything but ice chips. I asked what the difference was between eating ice chips and getting them to melt and just drinking the water. No dice. I also bribed everyone who came into the room to bring me chocolate milk. Also no luck.

Around noonish, I started feeling a lot more pain and pressure and got the epidural. Immediately I felt better…this weird sense of calmness kind of floats over you as your legs become heavy. I could sleep for hours. I never did quite fall asleep, but I was so relaxed. My mother and sister-in-law went out to get food and I tried to rest.

Despite the pain, I hadn’t made any progress. So by 3:30 the doctors added a pit drip to move things along. Immediately my contractions started coming faster and harder and even the epidural wasn’t masking the pain. I asked for a top off, which meant another internal exam, which concluded that I had gone from 4 cm to 9 cm in a short period of time. So things were moving.

During this entire day, I had to keep my hand elevated. I kept a biohazard bag filled with ice in it to alleviate the pain a little. The ice would melt and someone would go to the pantry and refill it. I still can’t believe I had hand surgery and then went into labor the next day.

By around 9:00 pm I was fully dilated, but Baby A was in the zero station. They wanted to see the baby in +2 before I started pushing. So we waited. And the pain got worse. And I got another top off. But after another internal, Baby A still wasn’t moving at all. In fact, she was still in the very same spot. So we waited some more. More internals. And still no progress.

At this point, there was all sorts of talk about C sections and pushing. My sister-in-law, who was with us, reminded me how awful her recovery was. My mother told me I should try for a vaginal delivery. Even a nurse came in and rubbed my hand and told me not to give up my dream of a vag. delivery. Everyone was pushing for what they thought was best, but I still had no idea what to wish for.

The thing is, after no food or drink all day (and most of the day before) and after all of the pain I was feeling and the pressure that kept coming in waves and the pain in my throbbing hand, I had no “dreams of delivery” anymore. I just wanted the babies to come out, and whatever was safest and best is what I would do. Nicole agreed, and countered I should at least try to push for a little while to rule out a vaginal delivery. What scared me about that was that during my last internal, the doctor asked me to push, and sensing this is my moment to show Just How Strong I could be, I pushed with all my might. I asked how that was and the doctor was not as generous with the compliments as I wanted. I wanted to hear; “You’ll push these babies out in record time.” Instead I heard “It was okay.” This panicked me, because I was giving it the old college try. If that wasn’t good enough, how would I possibly get through pushing?

Well, the decision was made for us, in a way. The doctor came in around 11:30 pm and determined that after being fully dilated for at least 2 hours, Baby A didn’t move at all. She has been in the same spot since I started labor, in fact. Since both babies were head down, he surmised that they were locking each other out of the birth canal. In addition, both were beginning to shows signs of distress (high heart rates) and I started getting a fever. The doctor asked for my permission to do a C Section and we agreed….

And then the drama starts. But I will have to continue with Part 2 later.

Pictured above is Nicole with Miss Avery and Avery and Madeline discovering the others’ presence.

A Tale Of Two Mommies

I didn’t expect to have tons of free time, but I was hopeful to be able to keep up with this blog little more than I am.

Nicole just left to pick up a few things that we need. There is a sleeping baby (Avery) laying next to me and another with hiccups (Madeline, who hiccupped her way through gestation in my uterus) by my feet. I still look at them in wonder that they are actually here.

Recovery from the C section has been tough. I always heard two things in regards to this procedure: It wasn’t so bad or it was the worst experience of my life. I am in the latter category, I’m afraid. I spent the first few days walking (barely) hunched over, in nothing but a tank top and those lovely mesh hospital underwear. My posture and gait is a bit reminiscent of Smeigel from Lord of the Rings. Each day I get better, but recovery is very slow. I resent how it interferes with these precious beginning weeks and how it makes me so helpless and dependent.

It’s awful how this recovery interferes with bonding with the babies. When I was in the hospital, Nicole was picking some things up from home and I was alone with the babies for the first time. I had one on my lap and the other in a cart next to the bed. Avery (in the cart) started to fuss and pushed her mini nose against the plastic. It took me 15 minutes to get out of bed and pick her up and get back into bed. Very humbling.

It takes some getting used to, this helpless thing. A baby cries in the night and I can’t physically get out of bed to get her. Which brings me to Nicole. Of course I knew she would be a great mom, but I am overwhelmed at just how quickly she snapped into maternal mode. A whole new side of her was born the minutes the babies arrived. It is amazing to watch. She is a natural, gracefully handling all of the ups and downs of new parenthood while I clumsily still try to figure out how to get a burp out of them or try to get myself off of the couch without using any stomach muscles.

A baby cries at 2:00 a.m. and Nicole is at their crib next to our bed before the baby can get a second intake of breath. She is practically single-handedly taking care of both babies, our home, our lives and me. She has changed almost every diaper and prepared every bottle for feeding and even helps me latch on the babies for BF. She has discerned their cries already, and know when they are hungry or gassy or have to get a new diaper. And she is doing all of this while operating on almost no sleep. And this is a person who normally needs at least eight hours a night.

The babies in turn LOVE her. Madeline especially turns her head in that cute can’t-control-my-neck way when she hears Nicole’s voice. And Avery calms down immediately in her arms. Me, I leave bruises on Nicole from where I grip her to get out of bed or up from a sitting position.

The biggest priority on our agenda is getting the breastfeeding flowing. I started in the hospital and all went well for a day or so. Then the pain came: When the babies latched on, the pain was so excruciating that one night I literally screamed and burst into tears. I have never been so affected by pain. I didn’t quite expect that.

My nipple.s are red a cracked and bleeding. The babies may or may not be latching on properly: We were shown in the hospital how to do it and we are doing the same thing now but still, that pain. Madeline started losing too much weight so we had to supplement with formula. Of course, this lead to copious tears about how I feel like I am starving my children. Avery also gets supplements but she takes to BF much more. We rented a hospital grade pump yesterday and have a lactation consultant coming here tomorrow. One hour I pump and get an ounce from each side. Next time I pump I get less than a coating on the bottom. Bizarrely, I have much more success with a hand pump and not the thousand-dollar electric one. Very disconcerting. In my spare moments (ha) I have been trying to read books about all this, but I can’t find anything that helps. It is so frustrating.

I still need to get out the whole birth story. Already details are getting fuzzy. But that will have to wait a little while longer.

Pictured above are some moments from the past few days….Nicole with the enchanted Madeline and Nicole with Avery.

The Best Of Times

It’s Sunday night and there are two spikey-haired babies sleeping on my couch. I can’t believe they are ours.

For some reason, the doctors decided that it was ok for me to be discharged today, if I wanted. Nicole and I discussed it and agreed: Recuperation is going to be hard, but I am happier doing it at home. So here we are, back at home, with two beautiful baby girls.

Thank you all for your well wishes! I feel like so many have gone on this journey with me. There’s a bit more to it, with a few twists and turns at the end, which I will write about tomorrow. But before I get into the gory details, I wanted to touch base and post a few pictures. Much more to come tomorrow!

Pictured above are Madeline and Avery and Nicole and I with both. They look so much like Nicole and nothing like me!

They're Here!

This is, yet another, guest poster. I thought I'd continue the series about me that Jennifer had started and fill you in on Nicole fact #4. (Is that the fun Nicole fact number we were up to?)

Not only do I like to watch movies like "Frankenfish" I am now the proud mother of two beautiful baby girls, Madeline and Avery. Jennifer continues to amaze me with her superhuman strength - she's managing incredibly well after the c-section AND hand surgery. Jennifer and the girls should be home sometime on Monday so I'm sure Jennifer will post more details then. To tide you over...

Madeline was 6 pounds 6 ounces and 20 inches, born at 12:33am on 6/1
Avery was a whopping 7 pounds and 19 inches, born at 12:34am on 6/1

(Wow, Jennifer had a WHOLE lot of baby in there)

Of course, the birth could not be without drama but I'll let Jennifer fill you in (I really couldn't do it justice).

If I can get back tonight I will try to upload some pictures. Thanks to all for your well wishes and positive thoughts!

-Nicole

this is a guest post and you know what that means...

Jennifer woke up to no Internet access and no cable today and was laying there talking to Nicole on the phone and trying to figure out if she could take codeine for the hand pain...

when her water broke all over the couch!!!

Since I was at work and had the phone on vibrate, I am not sure when the message is from but I am thinking it was this morning around 10. So... maybe there will be an update sometime tonight or tomorrow. I will certainly do my best to keep everyone posted!

Looks like Baby B went head down because she wanted to get this party started!

-Bri
Guest Poster

It's Done

I’m home and convalescing. That was pretty intense. I seriously thought it would be this quick and easy in-office kind of thing. But it was full-on surgery in an operating room with me in a gown and hair net and booties. I had to take out my earrings and contacts. The surgery itself lasted about 40 minutes, which is like an eternity when you are 37 weeks pregnant and laying on your back. They removed the PG and then they wrapped up my hand, so I can’t even see the sutures. I have to keep my hand all bandaged up and elevated for 5 days. And in 10 days, the sutures come out.

I am so glad it is gone. Sadly, there is a 50 percent chance of it returning, since my hormones are all screwy. However, if I deliver in the next week, the chances of it returning go way down. So let’s hope for a delivery.

In fun news, Baby B got the memo and is now head down. So it is time to strike while the iron is hot: I am ready to talk inducing. Is that so wrong? I really am having a hard time getting around. Just going to the bathroom in the middle of the night is a struggle. Walking, rather waddling, is difficult. I have no appetite, except for things like toasted almond bars. If these babies are cooked, then I am done too.

OK, that’s all for now because I can’t type with one hand anymore. And, as usual, I need to sleep. Phone calls will have to wait till tomorrow.

Pictured above are two cute dresses that Nicole’s manager gave us. She bought them in London, which makes them infinitely more charming.

Buh-Bye

*Bonus link to PG pictures


I scheduled a follow-up with the hand doctor for Wednesday, but fear and panic over the weekend got me to change my appointment to today. I was pretty close to 1.) going to the ER yesterday to get this growth removed or 2.) getting out an exacto knife and slicing the thing off myself. I had a full-on breakdown over it last night, crying ridiculously from the discomfort and fear. As far as pyogenic granulomas go, this one is a superstar, in a class of its own. Most are a couple of centimeters across. Mine is over 20. Its growth rate is so rapid that it is alarming. Of course, I fear that it could be something worse. Letting this thing just keep growing…I just can’t do that.

But cooler heads (Nicole’s) prevailed. I called the doctor first thing in the morning and begged for a slot today. They were very accommodating (perhaps they heard the fear in my voice?) and put me in for late morning. Nicole was able to leave work and come with me, to act as moral support/my voice/a steady and calm force in case I fell apart, which is quite likely these days.

I am so happy to report that tomorrow I will be going in for hand surgery and removing this thing. I am so happy I could cry. And I am so relieved that I don’t even care that this doctor isn’t covered by my insurance.

The PG has more than doubled in size in less than a week, and it has gone from unsightly and annoying to quite painful and frightening-looking. My doctor—who has the best bedside manner in the world—was upfront: He said that it could continue to grow if we just left it on my palm, due to pregnancy hormones. I talked about the pain I was feeling and about my fear of being able to take care of two babies with one hand, since the other hand has to be elevated by my shoulder to minimize the stabbing pain. And it is not just babies—it is hard for me to do anything with my left hand at all. He was looking at it very carefully and I could see his mind working. I was on the cusp of my seat. If he said to wait until after birth to deal with it, that was Nicole's cue to step in and insist it be removed (she would need to do the talking as I am sure I would be crying). But it didn't come to that: He agreed that it was time to remove it.

Caveat: There is a chance that it will return, but if that is the case, we will just remove it again. I’ll take my chances. I will take the pain of removal. I just want it gone.

Surgery is tomorrow. It will take about an hour from start to finish (from prep time to bandaging). I also have a sonogram and NST tomorrow. So tomorrow will be a long day at the hospital.

For those of you who are truly curious what this is all about and want to see a picture, I posted a couple on my old picture site (I so need to update my pictures). It is not for the weak of heart/stomach. It shows what it looked like last night. Click here if you want to see what I have been whining about. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Pictured above: The famous hospital pain scale. I am definitely not in dire straights, but I am not exactly a smiley face either.

It's Come To This

I am lounging around home in a tank top and underwear, eating toasted almond bars and watching woman-scorned Lifetime movies. I am just so tired and hot and lazy. But I did make it outside today. This morning, Nicole and I ventured out in the empty city to do some shopping, tolerable only because we drove. We also picked up the babies’ car seats, which were at our friends’ apartment, and installed them. Nothing says “You are really having two babies” like two car seats in the back seat. Surreal. You would *think* by now I would have no doubt about this, but still, it is unbelievable to me. When I catch a glimpse of myself in window on the street, I have a hard time processing that that is me, pregnant.

However, said seat installation started talks of a bigger purchase. Not too long ago, I told Nicole that I thought we would have to someday [soon] think about getting a bigger car. We have two cars, and neither are especially twin-friendly. One is a two-seater, which obviously can accommodate zero kids. And the other can accommodate both car seats, but then nobody else. Nicole insisted that we would be fine, at least for another year or two. She was adamant, so certain that she was right, that our car would be Just Fine. Flash forward to today: We install the car seats, get back into the car and Nicole drives immediately to the car dealership. Sometimes she needs to see things for herself! We are very specific about what we want, car-wise, and are only looking at two different cars. Both are not mini-vans (not ready for that step). Both seat seven. And both have crappy mileage, which makes me feel awful, in that ruining-the-universe kind of way. But I have nieces and nephews to think about. And I recycle, so that makes up for it, right?!

The rest of the day was spent on the couch.

The PG is still looking pretty scary and seems to be getting a little bigger. I am counting the minutes till Wednesday’s appointment. I need this thing off. I am still worried that it could be something scarier than just a PG. Of course, 99 percent of what I read reassures me, but it is that one site, the one that mentions that some cancers can mimic PGs, that I choose to believe. Why does the mind choose to worry? I like to think of it as anticipating every outcome and preparing.

My new concern is what if removing the PG means that I need to go on antibiotics, which could mean that I wouldn’t be able to breastfeed? My friend Jen brought this valid point up, and since her husband is a doctor, I take her opinion to be completely medically valid. If I had to chose, what would I do? Obviously, I want to say that I would choose to let the PG grow so I can breastfeed. But the thing is, the PG is really painful. Typically, they grow to the size of a pea, but mine is the size of a grape. If my hand drops below my heart, it feels like it is being stabbed, as the blood rushes to it. I can’t use the hand really for anything right now, which is going to make taking care of the twins really hard. I know that there are people who have had much worse conditions and managed to care for their baby. But to me, this PG is too new for me to have developed appropriate coping strategies. And I have never taken care of two newborns full-time. Ever. I hope I am lucky enough that this will be the worst health issue I ever have. But right now, it is really stressing me out.

So onto a less stressful topic: Nicole Tidbit No. 3:

Movies: Nicole’s tastes in movies is completely opposite of mine, literally on the opposite side of the movie spectrum. When we first started dating, I think she hid this side of her a bit. We would watch movies like Mulholland Drive and other Serious Dramas, and she seemed fine with that. But slowly she revealed her true colors. My first clue was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She loved this show passionately, which always seemed dichotomous to me: Madam Executive/Miss Serious who goes off to work by day and relaxes with Buffy by night. It just didn’t quite fit.

After the Buffy adjustment period, she let it all come out. Now our Tivo list is filled with such gems as Frankenfish, about a genetically-altered fish that preys on people, and Blood Surf, about a genetically-altered crocodile that preys on people, and Octopus, about a genetically-altered octopus that preys on people. They don’t always have to be about aquatic animals: They can also be about land-dwelling, genetically-altered animals, aliens, the Bermuda Triangle, genetically-altered people, monsters (including ghosts, zombies and vampires) and the Undead. Or Star Trek people. Relaxing with her on the couch on lazy Sunday afternoons can be difficult: I will be on the cusp of sleep, all comfy cozy, when I will be jarred awake by the sound of a skull being crushed by a giant anaconda or a woman screaming as she is chased by a chainsaw-wielding madman (yes, she LOVES horror movies) or the distinctive sound of blood splatter. The thing is, not only can I not watch violence, I can’t even listen to it. I am pretty much the biggest wimp when it comes to those things.

However, I am fully aware of the glass house I live in. After all, I love cheesy Lifetime movies. But I am specific about which ones: I don’t like the feel-good comedies or happy-go-lucky ones; I only like the woman-scorned ones. These movies move up to the top of my must-see list if they star Melissa Gilbert (a.k.a. Laura Ingalls), Tori Spelling or Meredith Baxter Birney.

Breaking news on the CNN ticker: There are 218 days left in 2007.

Pictured above is our coat closet. Nicole cleaned it out in a cleaning frenzy this weekend. The best part is that empty shelf: Her goal is to have things completely emptied out. My goal is just to have things neat and organized! I have no idea what will go in all that emptiness, but I am sure we will find something. Right now it holds a box of seashells and a box of mini-umbrellas. Below that is me at 37 weeks. When will the growing madness end? See that grimace on my face? That is because my hand is below my heart and that stabbing feeling is back....

Enough About Me....

One day home and truthfully, my life isn’t much different than it was in the hospital. I know I keep saying this, but I am astonished at how my energy levels are dropping by the day. Today, I had to work up the inertia just to take out the recycling. By “take out,” I mean bring it down the hall. Not a difficult task, yet it felt like moving mountains to me. I thought long and hard about showering, because that entails so many tasks that I don’t excel at, like bending and reaching and dressing myself. If I drop the soap one more time in the shower…..

I woke up in the middle of the night thinking maybe I was starting to go into labor. I was really nauseous and having contractions and I felt pain in my back and pressure on my cervix. Now each and every one of these symptoms can be easily explained and justified. Maybe my dinner made me sick to my stomach (spicy Thai rice) and the back pain could be from how I was sitting on the couch. Cervix pain could be Baby A and the contractions, well, what else can my uterus do these days? Still, I was up from 2:00 am till almost 6:00. And even though everyone says that you’ll know when you are in labor, why do I have the feeling I won’t?

The PG is getting bigger, much to my consternation. The doctor said it could get bigger—maybe even double in size—but I thought/hoped/prayed that won’t happen. Ha. I am still all stressed about the cancer thing. Lots of websites indicate that certain cancers mimic PGs and the only way to be certain is to biopsy it. The fact that it keeps growing just freaks me out. I know I shouldn’t worry, but, well, I’m the worrying type. Wednesday (appointment day with hand surgeon) can’t come soon enough. I have lots of pictures and I will try to upload them later and post a link for those of you who really want to see it.

It occurred to me that I never completed the Seven Things About Me meme that I was tagged for. Since my life is pretty much an open book, I think I will write seven things about Nicole instead. After all, she is an extension of me. And she can’t defend herself, so this can be fun! I won’t get to all seven in one post, but let’s get started:

1. Sleeping Habits: If Nicole could go to bed at 7:30 pm, she would. She loves her sleep, which is diametrically opposed to me, as I am happy with five hours a night. Most nights she is in bed by 9:30, but there are nights when she heads off much earlier than that under the guise of “reading,” but in reality, she just goes to sleep. She can’t sleep unless the bedroom closet door is completely closed. And she can’t sleep without white noise as provided by an antique fan that sits in the corner of our room. This rickety thing isn’t not child- or adult-safe. The cord looks like it is going to burn up any day now. And there is only an insinuation of a cage covering it, so if you walk by it too close your pajamas/clothes will be sucked into it, making a horrifyingly loud noise akin to jet engines. I try to convince her to get a newer, safer fan—perhaps something old-fashioned looking from Restorat.ion Hardwa.re—but she refuses. She is attached to the fan and I fear even toddling children won’t convince her to get a new one. Nicole is also prone to night not-quite terrors. She will wake up in the middle of the night yelling about crabs coming down from the ceiling and such. Sometimes she will just jump out of bed and run to the door. I have learned that engaging her in conversation will only make things worse, so the best thing to do is coax her back to bed and ignore her when she speaks in tongues. She recalls none of it in the morning.

2. Food Excitement: Nicole experiences Food Excitement on a semi-regular basis. This means that her mood is considerably brightened when the prospect of certain foods are in her near future. How this manifests itself: Quick hand claps, hopping up and down, and kisses for me. Foods that almost always induce food excitement include: black and white milkshakes, chocolate chip cookies, Carvel ice cream, Mister Softee, cupcakes and homemade cakes with a glass of milk. “Real” foods like sushi or hamburgers or pasta or pizza can cause food excitement too, but there has to be a considerable length of time between meals and true hunger pains. About once a year, Chinese food and buffalo wings will cause FE, which will almost immediately lead to Food Remorse.

I just heard Nicole open the freezer for an ice-cream sandwich. I just had a toasted almond bar. It was Old School Ice Cream Night in our house.

Three through Seven to come….

Pictured above is my bandaged, zombie-like hand. The bandage cushions the PG, but it is still hard for me to grip or hold anything. Ugh.

Free At Last

I am home sweet home. It feels so good to be back. Thank you all for your messages, concern and good vibes. I’ll admit I was remiss in getting Nicole to update my blog, and I know how nerve-wracking it is when people delay between posts, especially when their last post is something like “I am going to a hospital now.”

But Nicole was running herself ragged, being Shirley MacLaine to my Debra Winger in the classic Terms of Endearment. She was running around getting my medicines and such. She had to help me do things like shower, because I couldn’t really use either of my hands. And in between it all, she had to bring me food and entertainment, while also squeezing in work. She stayed with me every night past her own bedtime and even missed the season finale of her favorite new show, Heroes (it is Tivo’d, so all is not lost). How could I possibly add one more item to her list? However, I learned the lesson that we need to come up with a good updating strategy for when the babies are born, since it seems like there is no wireless internet access at my hospital.

My heart really goes out to all of those people who are on bed rest in hospitals. It’s one of those things that I think you really need to experience to understand (although some people have a much more attuned sense of empathy than others). My friend Jen was in the hospital for weeks before she delivered her twins (early). I now have a taste of how annoying it must have been for her. There are so many people in the Blog World who are in hospitals right now on bed rest, for much longer than I was. I am so lucky to be sprung after a mere six days. I am looking forward tonight to getting some sleep. The dark secret about hospital stays is that you never get any rest because people are constantly coming in to check on you. I never really understood that until I lived it. Tonight, the only thing waking me up will be my bladder.

Here is the latest: I did six days on the antibiotic IV, which should knock any MSRA out of my system. I have an appointment with the infectious disease doctor next Thursday to follow up. The staph never went systemic, so the babies are both fine (knock on wood).

The pyogenic granuloma (or: pyogenic granular…same thing) is still going strong…meaning, it got a little bigger and while it isn’t painful like a sprained ankle or a broken bone, it does hurt a bit, kinda like the way a cold sore hurts. And it throbs. When we take off the gauze, we can watch it pulse up and down! It has a life of its own. And maybe its own heartbeat. Nicole just called it Baby C.

We have been taking pictures of it every day, but I won’t post those, as some people might not want to see it. However, I found a picture of one online: click on this link and scroll about halfway down. Mine looks almost exactly like the one on the far left, except it is a little bigger and it is on my palm. To protect it, since it bleeds like a gunshot wound if it is even slightly tapped, I have to wrap my hand in gauze like a mummy.

I will see Dr. Soap Opera Star (the hand surgeon) next Wednesday. He said he wants to wait till after the babies are born to remove it (because there is a 40 percent chance of growing back) but I stressed how difficult it will be for me to hit the ground running with twins when I have one hand that I can’t really use for much. As it is now, I can really hold anything, grasp anything or do much with my left hand, with this growth in the middle of it. He said we can talk about removal next week. In the meantime, it just might start going down a little on its own. We’ll see. I am trying not to look a it because it is disturbing, and no matter how many times I remind myself that it is just a pyogenic granular, I can’t help but get a wee bit freaked out, because it seems so wrong for something like that to grow so quickly and so large. Sometimes I just want to twist it off to make it go away.

After being released, I had a growth sonogram upstairs at the hospital. Here are the stats: Baby A is still head down and weighs 6 pounds 7 ounces (a nice gain from her last measurement of 5 lbs 2 ounces). Baby B is still in the penthouse, stretched across my entire top of uterus like she owns the joint, and now weighs 7 pounds 4 ounces, which means she grew almost a pound in two weeks. Of course, there is an error of margin here, but it could go either way. Allow me to say this: There is almost 14 pounds of baby in there and it has ceased to be comfortable. And I am only 36 weeks and 4 days. But I am grateful that the babies seem to be thriving. What more can I ask for?

I spoke with Dr. Nothing Bothers Her and, in keeping with her special name, nothing bothers her. She said that she thinks I can try for a vaginal delivery, since Baby A is head down. A C-section at this point would be elective. Again, I feel rather ambivalent about this: I can see positives and negatives to either exit strategy, and my doctor is willing to do what I want. But I don’t know what I want. My doctor said she would let me get to 38.5 or 39 weeks before doing any sort of inducing. But at 38 weeks I think I might get aggressive about doing some of those old wive’s tales/tricks. To wit: I will tweak my own nipp.les while walking on a treadmill for hours and drinking balsamic vinegar. At the very least I will entertain my fellow gym-goers. Any other suggestions would be much appreciated, because these babies act like they have no intentions of going anywhere any time soon.

And now I have quite a few blogs read! The good thing about being computer-less for a week is the fact that I am so looking forward to catching up on everyone’s lives. I had Nicole give Riley updates, but beyond that, I have a lot of reading to do.

Pictured above is Baby A, in profile. Baby B has her back to us, so no picture of her!

Quite the Cliffhanger...

I’m still in the hospital and alas, I have no internet access. I’ve been here for the past four days. On Saturday, my hand wound seemed to take a turn for the worse. I won’t go into details because some people might be a little put off. Suffice it to say that several doctors have taken pictures of my hand growth and have commented how they have never seen anything quite like it in real life. Truth is, I haven’t either and I am not thrilled that it is growing (and keeps growing, seemingly without abatement) from my palm.

My official diagnosis: I have a pyogenic granular with a MRSA infection. The granular is a wound that is overgrown: To put it simply (as some of the doctors explained to me), basically my body keeps resending the “heal me here” signal, so my body is paying way too much attention to this one little area. As a result, the skin keeps building in a tumor-like way. So what I have now is something that looks like a pinky tip growing out of my palm. On top of that, there is a staph infection in it. This staph infection is resistant to most antibiotics, so I need to get IV antibiotics. And that is how I ended up here.

Back to Saturday…. even though it is only a few blocks away, we took a cab to the hospital. We went up to the labor and delivery floor, but was quickly escorted out and told that I won’t be staying on that floor, near all the pregnant moms and newborn babies, since I had an infectious disease. Instead, I was set up in a room on a regular floor, next to other infectious patients.

The good news is, because of the MRSA, I was given my own plague room. There are two doors: You open the main door and enter a little vestibule, where you can don your haz-mat suits, gloves and masks. Through another door is my area. I feel so lucky not to have a roommate.

In the beginning, I was treated as if I was a threat to society. The first nurse who came in to take my vitals was dressed in full-on haz-mat gear: Gloves on her hands; a plastic suit; a mouth mask. It seems strange, since Nicole is sitting right next to me without a stitch of protective covering, and she is fine. And they let my brother and SIL and niece and nephew visit later without blinking an eye. My infected hand is completely covered, and unless I unwrap it and rub said wound on other people’s open cuts or sores, then most people will be alright. But still, I understand the precautions. MRSA is considered a “superbug” and it can be dangerous to people with weakened immune systems, aka everyone in a hospital. Now that it is being treated, it is not infectious anymore.

There is an endless parade of doctors and specialists coming in here. Nurses come in to check my vitals. Different nurses come in check the babies’ heartbeats (even in the middle of the night, when I am soundly sleeping). Techs come in to do non-tress tests. Nurses come in to hook up the IV drips to the line in my arm. Someone comes in with a tray of food, which I keep telling them not to do, since Nicole is picking meals up for us. Someone else comes in to change the sheets. People randomly show up with ice or pillowcases. They come in at all hours of the night. Like last night, when my temperature was checked at 1:30 in the morning. There is no resting in a hospital, which seems a bit ironic. The good news is, I am under the care of six doctors: Three hand surgeons; one infectious disease doctor; an ob/gyn resident and my ob/gyn. I feel very well taken care of.

I was given an amb.ien on that first night to help me sleep, and it was the best sleep I have had in a long time. Nicole slept over, contorted in a chair with her head resting on the windowsill. I felt awful and kept trying to get her to go home, but she refused. In the long run, I am grateful, since I am not a fan of spending nights without her and I have never spent a night in a hospital before. We spend up to a week apart when she is away on business, but that seems different: She is in some hotel somewhere and I am home in our bed. Now, she is alone in our bed and I am alone in a sterile hospital room. Not fun.

So this is the basic run-down of my infection: pyogenic granulars occur during pregnancies when hormones are running amuck. They usually resolve on their own after birth. If they don’t, they can be surgically removed, but they won’t do that while a woman is pregnant because it will just grow back. The best part is that these growths usually appear on your face (75 percent of the time), so I am lucky indeed that it is on my palm. One doctor, who looks like Anderso.n Coo.per, asked permission to photograph it (my hand wound is gonna be famous!). Another doctor was so excited to see it and commented how it was the largest and best specimen she has even seen. Most doctors marvel at it, filled with wonder and glee. It is that impressive.

Meanwhile, the IV drip is taking care (hopefully) of the staph infection, but the doctors agree I need a full-course of antibiotics, which means six days. And that means I will be here until Thursday. I have friends visiting every day and am racking up cell phone minutes with others, so I am far from bored. Nicole comes after work and stays till the sun goes down. And so many people have had much longer hospital stays for much worse reasons, so I really can’t complain. And, as my friend Jen reminds me, the goal is healthy babies. I am so grateful that this all has turned out to be a giant pain in the ass (hand), but the babies and I will be fine. Still, some good vibes can’t hurt, right?

Some random, fun moments so far:

• One nurse looked at my hand wound and asked if I was sure I wasn’t stung by an animal, possibly a lobster? (Um, yeah…pretty sure it didn’t have a run-in with a lobster).

• A nurse’s aide brought me a jug of water and 28 plastic cups. 28. Does she think I am having a party in here or something? Who needs 28 cups?

• The appetizer on last night’s dinner was “cranberry juice.” Today’s breakfast included a corn muffin that tasted like fish. Tonight’s appetizer was pineapple juice. Thank goodness good food is a block away!

• Hand surgeons are apparently quite good-looking. As I mentioned, one looked like Ander.son Coo.per and the other looks like a soap opera star. I was actually a bit embarrassed by the Pop-Tart crumbs on my tank top when he came in!

• One nurse asked if it was okay to pray for me and the babies. I said “of course,” and she came around the side of the bed, grabbed my hand and launched into prayer. I had no idea that it was going to happen right then and there. When she paused for more than four seconds, I took that as a signal that it was over and said an “amen?” I am not particularly religious in any conventional way so I was definitely a fish out of water with that whole thing. It was very sweet though, of the nurse. She also prayed for the doctors to have wisdom in treating me. I like how she covered all the bases.

• Nicole and the window: We have a lovely western view from the hospital window, overlooking the Hudson and lots of apartment buildings, and Nicole can spend hours staring out it and making comments like “I wonder why that flag is a half-staff” and “The lights are coming on” or “Those people still have their Christmas decorations up.” All of these comments are delivered in a very serious and contemplative way. I’m not surprised about her window fascination: It reminds me of our apartment: I put a stool in front of the window in the kitchen and every day, which she is brushing her teeth she goes and sits on the stool and stares out the window. She will sit in that stool at other times during the day and night, staring at the street below. She is like a cat with a new carpeted cat castle or whatever those things are called.

• A nurse WOKE ME UP last night at 12:30 a.m. and asked if I wanted a sleeping pill. I was asleep….logic dictates that I do not need a sleeping pill. Or, at the very least, I managed to get to sleep already so maybe the pill isn’t necessary.

• There are beautiful sunsets over the Hudson from my window.

So I will be out of the loop till Thursday! I am having Nicole read me baby Riley updates, and I am so happy that everything seems to be going so well! I can’t wait to catch up on everyone else’s lives/news/updates. I am officially going through Other People’s Blogs’ withdrawal!

Checking In

The hand wound is getting worse, not better. We just went to the doctor and spoke with the ob/gyn and I am being admitted to the hospital now to get IV antibiotics to treat this nasty infection (latest diagnosis: something granuola with MSRA). It is still localized, thank goodness. But I am glad finally everyone agrees with me that we shouldn’t just wait till Monday to see the ID doctor and e shoudln't be waiting for this to invade my bloodstream. I am packing a bag (ugh) and checking in now. I’m bringing my computer and hope I can use it. Otherwise, I will have to talk Nicole through updates. No talk over having the babies yet; we have to see how I respond to the meds first. Ugh again.

Please think all sorts of positive thoughts.

Oh, The Drama/Irony of It All (….and introducing a new doctor: Dr. Infectious Disease)

I went back to Dr. Hand today, with a slight spring in my step because I thought that maybe just maybe the hand wound was looking better. It seemed a little smaller and it looked like it as drying up. So I go into the office, relax in the super-comfortable reclining chair and Dr. Hand comes in. I unwrap my hand like a Christmas present and he inspects it carefully and pronounces that he thinks the base looks smaller but the height looks taller. Kinda like a volcano. He then explains a little more about my test results. It is a staph infection on my palm that is MRSA, which stands for methicillin resistant Staph aureus. That means the course of antibiotics I just took three times a day for a week did nothing. And that this infection ill not respond to many antibiotics. So far it is localized and not systemic. That is good. If it becomes systemic then the babies are at risk to get it.

Then I spent the next hour waiting in the room by myself, reclined in the chair (pregnancy privilege, I believe) while Dr. Hand spoke with Dr. Nothing Bothers her (ob/gyn) and Dr. Infectious Disease (new) and Dr. Primary Care. Four doctors talking about me. Wow. A bit of a doctor networking miracle, considering all that they have to do, which kind of made me think that this is a little more serious than I want it to be.

The following has been established:

• I need to see an infectious disease doctor who practices at my delivery hospital.
• I may need to be treated with IV antibiotics that the babies shouldn’t be exposed to. That means we (ell, they) need to decide if I can hold off on treating this infection until after the babies are born in two or three weeks or if the babies need to be born sooner so I can be treated sooner.
• I might be able to be treated with other meds; Dr. Infectious needs to make that call.
• My infection is not systemic right now but it can become systemic at any point.
• If I get chills, a fever, redness in the palm or pain in the palm or heat (?) in the palm I need to go to the ER immediately.
• We can’t ignore this and hope it goes away (I asked) and we can’t just cut this thing off of my palm (I asked that, too).
• Will the babies be affected? That was my only question. The only response I have gotten: Right no, no, but we don’t want this infection in your system. OK, I got that part. But what does THAT mean?? And shouldn’t we test the rest of my system (other non-infected tissue) to make sure it hasn’t indeed spread? What would/could happen? What is the worst case scenario? Would the babies become carriers? Would they deal with staph infections for the rest of their lives? Or is there a worse possible outcome?

Dr. Infectious is on jury duty so my appointment isn’t until Monday. So much for today or Friday. Ugh. If anyone has a good excuse to skip jury duty (not that I condone skipping JD, but for this doctor I selfishly do) it is an infectious disease doctor. Sample dialogue: “Why can’t you serve?” “I treat infectious diseases.” “You’re dismissed.” Simple. I asked if it is ok to wait till then and Dr. Hand and Dr. Nothing Bothers Her both said it as fine. Unless, of course, the infection becomes systemic. Comforting. This, of course, rattles me and makes me want to run to the ER now. I don’t want to wait. I want to take care of this now now now. Too bad I didn’t think that way a month ago.

There is that part of me that is just so angry with myself because I let this happen. I rarely go to the doctor when I should. I learned the (bad) lesson early in life to suck up the pain. And boy do I. All the time. That is why I walked around in severe ectopic pain for three months. Or go to work sick (yes, I know how irresponsible and selfish that is, since I can get others sick). Or go to the gym with a high fever. I just assume that I am overreacting to pain/illness/discomfort and carry on. I also have a high tolerance for pain. It runs in the family: My brother is the same way.

But the thing is, I feel like what kind of mother am I? I watched this hand thing get bigger and uglier and did nothing for weeks. Nothing. I didn’t even really cover it with a band aid. I didn’t put any cream on it because I am not thrilled about using any meds while pregnant, even ones deemed 100 percent safe. And by the time I get my ass to a doctor it is a staph infection. And now I need serious medicine. Oh, the irony and the drama.

In cute news, the babies passed their non-stress test. I, on the other hand, am apparently having many contractions. Who knew. The nurse asked if I felt any pain and I laughed. Not such an easy question for me. No, I think. Maybe. Yes? She mentioned it could be pain in my back or lower abdomen. Funny because I did have back pain a week ago. Or was it three days ago? But it is gone now. And it was tolerable. But would someone else find it tolerable? That is the question. The nurse asked if I had an internal exam and I laughed again. No, Dr. Nothing Bothers Her has not checked my cervix or done an internal because everything with me is Just Fine. Well, that is, until it is not Just Fine. But I digress…this is supposed to be happy fun things.

Onto the biophysical. I had the most amazing tech, who narrated everything in a calming and comforting Polish accent. She showed me Baby A, sucking on her fingers! With chubby cheeks! And a nose! And chubby lips! The tech pronounced her cute and I have to agree. Baby B is stretched across my uterus like she owns the place. No fetal position for her. Her head is all the way under my right breast and her butt is about three feet away (just a little hyperbole) and her feet dangle along my left side. It really gave me perspective about how big these babies are. Baby A, on the other hand, is all tucked up in a little ball on top of my cervix. Baby B also poked Baby A in the butt. They were kicking and pushing and doing cute in utero things. There is plenty of fluid and all else checks out as it should, thank goodness.

Monday I see Dr. Infectious. Then off to Dr. Nothing Bothers Her to talk exit strategy (which might change abruptly now, in light of this lovely infection) and then off for another non-stress test. So I will be at the hospital all day and I will have lots of news on Monday.

Speaking of news, here is some great news. A baby is going to be born this weekend!

Pictured above is my chubby-cheeked and adorable niece Skye.

Staph Stuff

You know it isn’t great news when your doctor calls you and instead of telling you your test results right of the bat, he asks you how you are feeling. My hand doctor called yesterday, and before launching into my test results (for the abscess on my palm) he asks me how I am feeling. Any fever? Fatigue? Is the wound getting better or worse? Is it hot, itchy or red? I assured him I had none of those things and he told me I tested positive for a staph bacteria. So this thing in my hand is a staph infection. Apparently, I must have had an open cut on my hand that became wildly infected.

I am a little confused. As usual, when test results or medical news are delivered to me without the benefit of having a second set of ears then I tend to not be entirely clear on my diagnosis. I think it is because I go into a sort of tunnel,and tune out the doctor and listen to my own personal dialogue of What Does This Mean? I am so busy trying to figure out how this affects my fertility or trying to conceive or the next cycle or, now, the babies, that I am not listening properly and not dutifully asking for the proper spellings of the Latin names. He tested some fluid from the abscess, but he said that there is a chance that the bacteria grew in the lab because of optimal growing conditions (?) and not because it was actually in my palm. So maybe it is not a staph infection? Also, a friend who is a certified wound care specialist (who knew these titles existed!) told me that the doctor should have tested the tissue around the wound to see if that was infected.

What is clear right now is that it is not systemic. In other words, it hasn’t traveled into my body and reached the babies. I asked Dr. Hand three different ways if the babies will be fine and he said yes. The issue at hand (no pun intended) is finding antibiotics that will treat this that are safe for the baby. For that he wants me to see an infectious disease doctor. This makes no sense to me, since even I can use the internet to determine what medicines are safe for pregnant people. So why a new doctor?

Dr. Hand is so confident all will be fine that he didn’t want to change my Thursday appointment for that day. He told me to just come in on Thursday and we will take it from there. Nicole can’t come in with me because she has back-to-back meetings so I need to navigate these Latin-named waters myself. So till Thursday, I am keeping the palm covered in gauze, I am taking my antibiotics that probably aren’t doing their job (staph resistant) and I am putting on the cream twice a day. And wallowing a bit.

I called Dr. Nothing Bothers Her and she echoed that it was weird that I needed to see any other doctor. She too assured me the babies are/will be fine, but was quite firm in telling me that I needed to be treated because this is the sort of thing that can be life-threatening if it gets out of hand (again, no pun intended). I don’t think I am at death’s door and frankly I don’t care about any of this and how it relates to me. All I care about is making sure these babies are safe. I assume if there was any real danger to the babies, my doctor would take them out right away. After all, I am so close to 36 weeks and the babies are nice and chunky and hopefully ready to come out.

Still, it is this sort of drama that just gets me on edge. I know that for this entire pregnancy I have been nervous and scared about everything. I haven’t exactly been the picture of calm and Zen. Most people would stop worrying if their doctor said to stop worrying, but for me, worry is like an unstoppable force. I am trying to be even keel about this and just wait till my appointment tomorrow and not let worst case scenarios get the best of me.

Pictured above is my hand wound, taken on Sunday, compared with the hand of a Discovery Channel television show fisherman.