What Makes A Name

Naming Brock was almost as difficult as having him. Matt and I had tossed around dozens and dozens of names, but none seemed to weather the storm. I wanted something unique but not bizarre, and Matt just seemed to want whatever I did not.

Immediately after Brock was born, Matt told me that I could name the baby whatever I wanted. Ironically, as I watched the nurses take his measurements his name became so clear to me. Somewhere between me realizing that I had just had my second child and the doctor, who did not do VBACS, told me I did an amazing job, I realized that none of this would have been possible without my original doctor.

Months before planning on having a second child, I consulted with a doctor that had come highly recommended. I was scared to death to have more children due to the terrible birth experience I had with Luke. In my mind, birth equaled death. This doctor told me that everything would be great and that I had already experienced all the bad there is to be experienced in giving birth. I trusted him. In fact, I even continued to go to this doctor after moving to Tucson because I believed in him so much. Choosing to go with another doctor closer by was very difficult, but ultimately he had already given me all of the information and confidence I needed to have this baby anywhere.

So when Matt asked me what the name was going to be, the only name that I could choose was Brock, after my doctor. And the name is perfect, just as it was meant to be.

No Pressure

I spent an hour being monitored this morning and having my blood drawn. The conclusion by the nurses and laboratory was that I am normal or at least my blood and blood pressure is. My blood pressure was perfect, and the test that they did to check my liver function, which is the primary organ affected by high blood pressure, was totally fine.

In this pregnancy I have gone through two rounds of diabetic testing, a daily regimen of 4 glucose checks a day, at least 6 non stress tests and several blood draws. With all of these tests the outcome has always been that I have actually been perfectly fine, which makes me wonder if medical tests are horribly inaccurate or if my body does not perform well under medical test-like scenarios. The funny thing is that I have always felt fine, and as my mother so kindly likes to point out, I study and analyze my bodily functions and symptoms with extreme attention to detail. I guess that means that I would be the first to know if something was wrong.

Here's to another weekend.

It's Like A Mel Gibson Epic Film

There is some famous war movie or perhaps football movie, my pregnancy brain can hardly distinguish between the two, where people either in the battling armies or a stadium begin to chant "Hold that line!" Again, it would help if I knew exactly which medium I was talking about, but at any rate, that is exactly what I feel like I have to do right now. I have to "hold that line." I'm like Benjamin Martin (The Patriot) or William Wallace (Braveheart). My odds are stacked against me, but I can't give up hope yet.

Here is the scenario my doctor gave me today: Try not to have my baby during the week because the on-call doctor that will be caring for her patients while she is in Brazil does not do VBACS. Try to have the baby on the weekend because those on-call doctors do VBACS. If for whatever reason I do not go into labor on my own, which of course must be on a weekend, then I will have a scheduled c-section for June 13th.

I feel like the C-section is like the English Redcoats. It is the enemy I have to hold off for as long as possible. I realize that a lot of people may not understand the idea about me disliking a c-section so much, and all I can say is that a c-section is no little ordeal. It is major surgery that involves the cutting of guts and muscles and the rearranging of internal organs. Furthermore, it is not like a tummy tuck which results in you looking any better than how you started. In fact, you kinda look like the Michelin Man and Pillsbury Dough Boy's love child. Some people may like the idea of the procedure to the old fashioned Bee Gee style breathing and pushing; however, I am not one of those people. I will happily breath in an Andy and Barry Gibb style syncopated rhythm while pushing out a watermelon instead. Very sexy visual, I know.

The kicker to all of this is that my blood pressure is slightly elevated according to my doctor's office. I had my blood pressure taken 6 times today. Three were perfect and three were slightly elevated. Why we didn't have a battle royale to settle the conflict, I don't know. So now I get to have another NST on Friday where they will draw blood and check my blood pressure. If that comes out high then I might have to have a c-section due to my history with pregnancy hypertension. In my head as I write this I instantly hear the voice from Rob Schneider's character in The Water Boy saying "Ah, we suck again!"

So now I wait, with all the excitement of a high school student with a bad case of Senior-itis, for Friday. Perhaps I will don a blue painted face, kilt and dreads before going into the hospital to help scare the blood pressure or at least intimidate the doctor. However, now I am remembering how that whole get up didn't fair so well for William Wallace in the end. Maybe my mom can just write me a note to get me out of it instead.

Corey

Pregnancy Insomnia

There are tons of scenes in movies where kind, tired husbands make late night trips into fast food places and convenience stores in search of finding whatever culinary masterpiece will meet the needs of their pregnant wives. That is exactly what Matt is doing right now at one-freaking-thirty in the morning, as he put it. There are two things that all pregnant women at some point in their pregnancy want to do more than anything else in life, which just so happens to be eat and sleep. Unfortunately, due to our complete inability to sleep, that leaves us with only one thing in life that brings us pleasure: eating.

I have been trying to sleep for the past two hours. Sleep, the only thing that brought me pleasure and that I was good at during the first four months of my pregnancy, is the one thing that I cannot do. Me trying to sleep involves an act of God. It takes the precarious arrangement of six pillows, a room cold enough to make most Arctic animals uncomfortable, intense massaging that would cripple most people's fingers and a prayer that my extremities will not tingle and fall asleep prior to my falling asleep because that would require me to rotate like a chicken on a spit, which would ultimately lead to me having to go to the bathroom for the third freaking time in one hour. Yes, all of those circumstances must be met in order for me to sleep, and it takes A REALLY LONG TIME for all of those elements to come together, which means that on nights like tonight I lack the perseverance to actually accomplish sleep.

Tonight the craving is a root beer float. My mom's pregnancy poison of choice was a root beer float, so perhaps this craving is just hereditary. Something about the bubbles, fizz and mushiness of the ice cream seems like the perfect treat or at least a close second to sleep. As I type I am practically salivating at the thought of chugging down my pregnancy craving equivalent to the most perfect, blended with salt margarita in the whole world. True, I will undoubtedly have heartburn after drinking, but I have just learned that heartburn is the pregnant woman's equivalent to hang overs. Pregnant women are basically food alcoholics. We eat what we know we shouldn't and without regard for the consequences.

With that, I will wait with baited breath, while a chick flick plays in the background. One of two things will happen. I will either fall asleep, which would be fabulous, or I will be greeted shortly with my root beer float. Wish me luck.

Non Stress Tests

For the past week my extremities and face have been swelling to epic proportions. I have posted several entries of Facebook detailing my case of prego fat face and cankles; however, now I can also proudly add that I have man hands. Well, while swelling is somewhat expected and normal, I was a bit concerned since I am right at the point where I was diagnosed with pregnancy induced hypertension when I was pregnant with Luke. At 37 weeks I was given the diagnosis and that very next day Luke was delivered. As a precaution I decided to contact my doctor, who thought it would be best if I began twice weekly non stress tests (NST). I had no clue what that meant, but I dutifully drove myself down to the Northwest Women's Center.

I checked in and was told that there would be a short wait until I would be admitted. Like any pregnant woman, my main concern was whether or not I could use the restroom or if I would have to wait so that a "sample" could be taken. (P.S. The word sample now creeps me out beyond words.) The receptionist who checked me in told me that she had no clue if I would need to give a sample, so she suggested I take a sample cup and save "it" in my purse until I was called in. I have imagined that in an emergency situation I could possibly puke in my purse, but urine was one thing that I never imagined placing into my Coach bag.

Ten minutes later and it was time to go to triage for my NST. Upon entering, I told the nurse about the special something extra I had in my purse. She laughed and told me to chuck it. I was officially the creepy lady with pee in her bag.

Next I got to lay on a fairly comfy bed with two fetal heart rate monitors and a blood pressure cuff all hooked up to me. I was still not entirely sure what this test entailed, so I asked the nurse if this was to measure my stress or the baby's. She laughed (this is now the second time) and told me that nobody had asked her that before. I felt like telling her right then that I was actually a very well educated person that normally did not carry my own bodily waste in my purse, but I thought that would only add to my creepy factor. She told me that the test would be 30 minutes of monitoring the baby's heart rate. It would also measure my blood pressure three times throughout the 30 minutes.

I laid in bed, armed with Nook and found myself enjoying this whole NST thing. It was relaxing, and all of my numbers came back great. The baby's heart beat was perfect too, but in my head I thought, "Duh, what does he have to be stressed about?" I was brought ice water, with the good ice that they have at Sonic, and the nurses were full of good conversation. Thirty minutes later, and I was done.

I will now go to the women's center for twice weekly tests. This is being done as a preventative measure to watch for hypertension, which makes me feel great. Hypertension in pregnancy can happen with very little warning, so I feel a great deal of relief knowing that I am being proactive. Actually, I think that everyone should have NSTs, prego or not. Who doesn't want to sit in bed with ice water and no interruptions for 30 minutes?

The Countdown

Just a few quick updates...

1. On Monday I will be 36 weeks, which is just one week shy of when I delivered Lucas. I have an appointment tomorrow, which like all appointments, I look forward to with subtle dread. My inner pessimist, which has often times been proven right, always prepares for the worst.

2. I have been testing my blood sugars daily, and I can honestly say that there are worst things in life I could have to do four times a day, every day. Things that would be worst to do four times a day, every day include: staring directly into the sun, eating play dough and doing dishes. It doesn't hurt so bad anymore, but I am glad that I will only have to do it for a few more weeks, tops. And just as I expected, my sugars have all been within normal range.

3. Lucas is still doing soccer once a week. He really enjoys it, and we all love watching him.

4. By this point in my last pregnancy, I looked like Aretha Franklin prior to her 85 pound weight loss. I can happily say at this point that I do not look like that. I have so far gained about 25 pounds which puts me about 50 pounds less this time around. That alone deserves something special!

5. We still have no name for the baby, but have decided that even when we do we will not share it. Opinions about baby names are like _________ because everybody has one :). It will be a surprise.

Heart In A Blender

I don't know if it's the heartburn, or if it is the stress of trying to have a VBAC, but in any event, my heart feels heavy and as though it has been through a blender. I had a doctor appointment today, and everything was great. My weight gain has been perfect, and my blood pressure has been spot on. The baby is measuring exactly, and I am starting to like my new doctor more and more. Then, when all elements feel as though they are all perfectly aligned for me to take the easy road, life throws up an ugly orange cone. My doctor told me today that she will be in Brazil during my due date. Normally, for most people this wouldn't be a huge issue; however, it would be disappointing none the less. For me, however, having had a previous c-section and hoping for a VBAC, this little vacation is screwing with my plans!

I appreciate my doctor being honest and telling me in advance. I realize that doctors are people and deserve vacations. I'm not mad at all that she is taking a vacation during my due date. What I am upset about is the fact that her partner does not do VBACS. I am not sure why. More than likely it is to avoid paying higher mal practice insurance fees. So this puts me in a predicament to say the least. My doctor said that we will play it by ear, which is fine if I was one of those nice, normal people that can live completely in the moment effortlessly. Sometimes I come pretty close, but all too often my the hamster in my mental exercise wheel does not vacations.

As much as I want to, I am not of the mindset that believing in the philosophy of "whatever is meant to happen will happen" means that a person can just sit around willy nilly and wait for fate to find them. I feel like obstacles are put in the way to test people. They separate the deserving from the other people. So now I wonder if I should seek out an alternative doctor, read up on holistic remedies to hurry up the labor process (after 37 weeks of course) so that I can deliver with my doctor or gamble and hope that I can hold off and labor to point of no return before going to the hospital. I realize that everything could turn out perfectly, and my worrying could all be for nothing, but I would kick myself if things went south and there was something that I could have done differently. I want to be the Skipper, not Gilligan.

The real problem, in my opinion, is the predominant philosophy of most OBGYNs who adamantly feel that VBACS are horrifically dangerous. I visited an OBGYN in Tucson in November before finding my current doctor. I told her that myself and my doctor at the time felt that a VBAC would be the best option for me. You would have thought I told her that I planned on giving birth in a tiger pit, surrounded by a ring of fire! She told me that they were terribly dangerous and that a planned C-section was as close to sex on the beach as you could get without the sand. I told her that I knew my statistics, and was fully aware of the medical research that proved that VBACS were less risky than a planned c-section. She dismissively said that I was clearly one of those women who would never feel like a real woman until I went through the barbaric process of a normal birth. She then said I might be able to convince her to try a VBAC. Clearly this woman was not aware of my pre-madonna tendencies and did not understand that if anybody was going to get the pleasure of being a diva to be served, it was going to be me, the person forking the bill. Well, to be honest, the person who's husband was forking the bill.

Some people think that a c-section is no big deal. I think that those are the people who have never had them or who got tummy tucks immediately afterwards. C-sections are major. They involve ripping into skin and muscle while also temporarily rearranging bodily organs. Not to mention, I know how tricky conducting surgery can be. I have dissected a shark, a worm, a frog and a cat. Ok, I am sure that most surgeons have more training than my untrained high school hands and eyes, but in any event, surgery is hard, and I know it! There is a lot that can go wrong, and quite frankly, I have already been a key player in one that went wrong. Most doctors avoid VBACS for several reasons, some of the more popular being the increase in mal practice insurance or the inconvenience of them. It is much easier to pencil in a twenty minute surgery than it is to wait for nature to take its course. In the 90's, there was an increase in uterine ruptures of women attempting VBACS, which is part of why they were more or less banned by some practitioners. Low and behold, most of the women that suffered these ruptures were also given the same drug to be induced which actually caused an increase in uterine rupture. The drug caused the problem; however, the stigma of attempting a VBAC is still prevalent.

So I have to ask myself now what is the best case scenario, and I really don't know. I know that in my heart of hearts I would like a natural labor and delivery with no drugs. I am not scared of the pain because I have already endured it once, and I know it is temporary. However, I don't know how to guarantee it in the least stressful environment. I realize that at the end of the day having a happy healthy baby is most important, but I have to say that not feeling as though you are on death's doorstep due to an overkill of medical interventions is almost equally important. Venting complete.