1 Chemo down, 7 to go!

We got back to mom's house last night LATE, around midnight.  It was a very long day, but mom did great!  Unfortunately, with the 2 chemo drugs she's getting in the first 4 cycles, her chemo days will be long (like 8 hours) since she's only getting treatment every 3 weeks.  So, she's not looking forward to that, since we thought that after the first treatment, they would be around 3-4 hours long.  But really, I didn't think it was so bad.  They have a TV in the room and you have plenty of channels to choose from, or you can watch movies.  Mom was feeling the benadryl, so the first 2-3 hours she mainly slept on and off.  Then they brought her lunch, and I went down to the dining hall and got lunch and her a piece of cake (because, chemo = guilt free cake 🎂).

The recliner she gets to sit in is very comfy and has heat and a massager on it (hayyyy 💃💃).  She didn't use it, but as she becomes less of a newbie, I think it could come in handy for relaxing.  They also have a nice balcony she can go sit on, and roll her little IV cart out there with her.  For safety reasons, she wasn't allowed to do it on her first treatment, but she'll be able to mosy on out there the next time if she wants to.

She had to go to the restroom A LOT, because of all the fluids they were pumping.  They forgot to tell her about that, so the dozen or so trips caught her off guard.  To be extra careful, when she does use the restroom, she has to flush twice when she's done so there's no remaining drugs from bodily fluids in the toilet when the next person comes in.  Also, if you're not receiving chemo and go to the restroom in the infusion department, they suggest you flush once before you sit, so you're not in danger of any trace of the chemo drugs coming into contact with you.  I find it interesting that the drugs they're pumping into mom by the bagful, they don't even want them grazing non-patients due to safety reasons.  Kind of amazing how powerful they must be, and scary at the same time.

Once they were done flushing her port, we were able to leave.  We grabbed a bite to eat in the dining hall and then waited for the shuttle to the airport.  Our flight was delayed at the very last minute (and I do mean that -- we were already on the plane, and then we sat there because they were messing with the cargo area, and then we had to wait our turn to take off).  So we were about an hour delayed.

I put on Facebook this morning that I saw Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) from Downton Abbey on our flight last night (I talked to Sammy Watkins of the Buffalo Bills briefly in the security line last week).  It took me the entire flight to figure out where I knew her from.  I kept thinking that I must've known her from high school since she looked so familiar and was heading to Wilmington.  But then her British accent gave it away as she walked by me after we landed and it clicked.  I don't get to sit next to mom on the flights usually, so mom told me that apparently, she sat next to her.  That was after mom greeted her by saying "Hey, you're in my seat."  😂 Mom went on to say that she wasn't very talkative (you don't say 🤔).  I told mom that she probably couldn't understand her country twang.  Anyways, it was just a funny story.  I'm just sorry I stared at the girl for an eternity trying to figure out how I knew her.  That would've creeped me out.  My bad. 🙋

Today, we got up and mom went through her normal morning routine with her 2 cups of coffee, but she said she had a headache that was kind of a nuisance and she felt jittery and anxious.  She did say that she felt a little better once she got something on her stomach, other than coffee.  She said she wanted to try to go walk because the oncologist stressed that keeping up her daily activity was important (and to maybe even try to do more if she felt good enough).  But, we were just taking baby steps.  So I went with her to walk the loop, like she does every morning.  We walked a little slower than normal, but she did great.  We also figured that the amount of sweating that she did was probably good for her, to try to get those drugs out of her system.  She said she felt sluggish but that is understandable considering the last 2 days and everything her body is currently experiencing from the port insertion and the chemo.

After that, we went to grab a bite to eat and saw my bestie at their restaurant (shameless plug for Bill's Front Porch Pub and Brewery 🍻.. check it out if you're in Wilmington).  It was just nice to be in a familiar place.  We went and got her prescription to combat any nausea she might have in the future so that she's ready if those side effects do creep up on her.  I'm only telling y'all all of this so you can see that she's doing normal activities and not bedridden (so far... knock on wood).  She got in a short nap after that and then my brother came to visit, and I left to get back to Craig and my babies.

I checked in with her tonight once I was home and she said all was well, and she was still feeling okay.  I can tell she's tired though.  We didn't sleep much while we were gone and last night wasn't much better since we got back so late.  Thanks to everyone who has been asking how she's doing and checking in!  We hate that these circumstances are the reason, but it's been so heart-warming to see how many people care about our mama.  Really, the smallest gestures have meant the world.  So, again.. thank you! 💞

Chemo #1

Mom got her port put in yesterday and it went very well.  I met with the surgeon after he was done, and he said he was able to attach the port catheter to the small vein.  If they hadn't been able to do that, they would've had to go behind the collarbone to get to the "big one", and when you do that, you risk puncturing a lung.  So we were happy to have avoided that possibility.  Other than slight soreness and being tired, she said she felt great!

This morning we got here just before 7am and mom got her blood drawn to check all her levels and whatnot before we start chemo.  Both her and the RN have to wear masks for now as her port is being accessed since it is so new.  They do not want ANY germs near it.  Mom is so funny when she gets her blood drawn or anything that might hurt a bit.  Before they even touch her, she's all "oowie, oowie, oowie, oowie, oowie."  The RNs are so confused but they can't help but laugh.

Yes, that was mom being surprised at the end that I didn't pass out.  Sometimes I'm probably a questionable choice for caregiver. 😬

All of her labs have come back great and she's currently getting her pre-meds (benadryl, steroid, etc) to try to combat some of the side effects she may experience.  This first treatment they will administer very slowly, so as to not overwhelm her body.  This will likely take 6 or 7 hours once we start the actual chemo.  After that, we will get discharged and head to the airport around 7pm to catch our 9:35pm flight. 😩 It wouldn't be so bad except our last 2 flights have been delayed 1.5 to 3 hours and it makes an already long day very long.  I think next time we are going to try to come in the morning of her chemo, stay that night, and come back the next morning, assuming we can get it all worked out with her appointments and the scheduler.

Currently, mom is starting to ramble as the benadryl starts to set in.  It's funny.  She's starting to slur and her eyes are so heavy.  But she swears she's not tired.  Now she has the giggles and can't stop laughing.  Gonna be an interesting day, folks! 😉 Cheers to her first treatment! 👍🍻 #becausemamaisacouplemargaritasaheadofusall 

  

Mom's Diagnosis

**This is SO long... sorry for the novel!

The month started out well.  It's always fun when there's a holiday, and we lightly celebrated with neighbors and the pool, etc for the 4th of July.  Then July 5th happened.  My mom got a phone call from the surgeon that biopsied a lump she found before her most recent mammogram.  We were hoping it was something along the lines of scar tissue, a cyst, a lost butterbean that somehow escaped her esophagus on the way to her stomach... basically ANYTHING but the word cancer.  But, people get cancer every day.  It's not something you can choose, and mom certainly didn't choose to spend her retirement this way.  So, we fight and we keep going. 

She texted my brother and me the next morning, as we knew she was waiting to hear from the doctor.  One of the [many] things that upset me was/is thinking about her sitting on that diagnosis ALL night long, not telling anyone.  How scary!  So anyway, she texted us... and when the text starts out telling us not to call her yet, you know it's not good.  She relayed what the surgeon told her and immediately I cry, then begin to google.  Millie was at camp that morning, and Craig headed off to the pool to get an early swim in before work (aka - he was away from his phone).  So it was just me and Chase and I was desperately googling everything I could regarding Triple Negative Invasive Breast Cancer.  Chase obviously had no idea why I was crying, although, you could tell he was confused about the crying role reversal.  The first thing I read about this cancer was that it was aggressive and prone to recurrence.  So, I knew I needed to go to the gym and put him in the nursery there so I could [try to] get a handle on this.  Doing anything else was not an option.  I also knew I would have to tell Craig.  Telling him at the gym was not high on my list, but I knew I couldn't sit on it for 2 hours, while trying to distract Chase and research.

I get to the gym and unload Chase in the nursery and continue researching.  I get a slight grasp on it and begin to get upset again.  So I go into the pool area to find Craig and he knew I was waiting on mom's results.  I stood at the end of his lane and he looked up after finishing his lap, and I just completely lost it.  There in front of countless other people in the pool, I just sobbed.  I told him what I knew and once I settled down, we begin to TRY to formulate some sort of plan.  I was a wreck for the rest of the day, but after a couple days and finally speaking to mom on the phone, we started to get better and begin to focus on getting through it instead of all the "what ifs" that seemed to be staring us in the face.  

The 2nd Opinion: 
I was so worried that mom was going to just stick to whatever her doctors in Wilmington told her and suggested, without consulting outside the area.  The oncologist that she was referred to in Wilmington was so overbooked, that they took 6 business days to call her after she had her diagnosis, and THEN they told her they couldn't get her in until August unless she wanted to drive to Leland to a different office.  It just didn't seem like they cared or that this was a priority, to put it plainly.  That's not the kind of care that I (or my brother) wanted for her.  Not to mention that the surgeon and oncologist that would be leading all of this was a general surgeon and general oncologist -- no real focus on breast cancer, much less this form of cancer.  And I knew without a doubt that if the roles were reversed, she would not want me to settle for that either.  And don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with using a general surgeon or oncologist, but I personally like knowing that they specialize in what is wrong with me.  When it could be life and death, I would want the best.  Especially considering the treatment centers that weren't that far away, either by car or plane.  

My step-mother's sister is currently being treated at the Cancer Treatment Center of America (CTCA), and has had nothing but glowing reviews of the center, so I mentioned it to mom and eventually, she said she was ready to hear a 2nd opinion.  So, I began making calls for her.  It has been great so far and they have been beyond accommodating.  They made a terrible situation a lot easier to deal with by taking the burden of the back and forth between insurance companies and several doctors offices for medical records.  Obviously, we felt comfortable with their facility and their treatment plan and agreed to begin right away.  We couldn't think of a reason not to, so we felt like that was a good sign.  And honestly, who wants to wait to treat under these circumstances?


Triple Negative Invasive Breast Cancer:
I won't go into all the details of everything I researched and learned from the 2 oncologists, 2 surgeons, radiation oncologist, and plastic surgeon (and then some) that we saw because the number of tabs I had open on my computer alone, for about a week, likely is not recommended for a smooth operating system...  but what I can tell you in a broad sense is that this form of breast cancer essentially means that the three most common types of receptors known to fuel most breast cancer growth (estrogen, progesterone, and HER-2) are not present in the tumor.  So you are pretty limited in treatment options, which basically consists of chemo, surgery, and radiation in some variation.  

The good: triple negative breast cancer may respond even better to chemotherapy in the earlier stages than many other forms of cancer.  But much of it depends on the stage and grade of the tumor.

Before mom's biopsy on July 3rd, she was a late stage 1, with the tumor size just under 2 cm.  Also consider that the biopsy removes a portion of the tumor when extracted to test after that measurement.  However, when we visited the CTCA outside of ATL (for a 2nd opinion) on July 19th, the breast cancer surgeon performed another ultrasound, and it had grown to 2.7 cm in about 2 weeks time.  Which also meant that she was in a solid stage 2 rather quickly.  So, it grew from less than about 1.9cm (since they took some of it to biopsy) and it grew to 2.7cm in a little over 2 weeks.  Again, aggressive.  We met with the oncologist in ATL, same treatment center, 2 days later and he suggested chemo first for 6 months (8 cycles), then surgery (either "generous" lumpectomy or unilateral mastectomy 2-3 weeks after chemo is done), then most likely radiation 2-3 weeks after that.  So she will get chemo tomorrow, and then every 3 weeks after that for 6 months.  8 total chemo visits.  She will not be remaining here and will fly back and forth from Wilmington to Atlanta for each visit.  Because of mom's insurance (thank goodness she still has BCBS), they pay for mom (and sometimes a caregiver) to fly back and forth for appointments, and they have really cheap rates at nearby hotels for accommodations when needed.

The bad: the tumor is grade 3(poorly differentiated) – the cancer cells look most changed and are usually fast-growing.  People with grade 3 invasive breast cancers are more likely to be offered chemotherapy to help destroy any cancer cells that may have spread as a result of the cancer being faster growing, hence the treatment plan presented by the oncologist.  They have a scale when returning results to determine the grade.  They usually like to see it in the 20s... well, Mom's was in the 70s.  It wasn't what we wanted to hear.

Another thing to consider is the BRCA-1 gene.  My mom's maternal family has a history of testing positive for the BRCA-1 gene when diagnosed with breast cancer.  Two of her 1st cousins and her Aunt all have had breast cancer.  The 2 first cousins tested positive for the gene, but my Aunt was never tested (she had it around 40 years ago and is now 96).  We are waiting to hear back from the genetic testing, but obviously, we wouldn't be surprised if she has it.  If she does, I will likely go get tested myself.  I have no idea what I will do if I test positive, but at least I would know (I guess?).  At any rate, if she turns up positive it might effect the type of surgery post-chemo.  Her choices seem to be a "generous" lumpectomy (+ reconstruction), or a unilateral mastectomy (removing 1 breast + reconstruction).  That is all to be decided later.

All of this has led us to where we are now.  We try to stay away from the dark places that this can easily take us.  We focus on the 80% 5 year survival rate (which I feel is good!) and just do the best we can.  We will trust the doctors, but try not to blindly follow them, and ask plenty of questions if we aren't completely sold on something.  We've had an amazing outpouring of support (especially since the Facebook post) and honestly, it's overwhelming but in the best way possible.  So thank all of you that have prayed, offered kind or uplifting thoughts, offered to chat about your own experiences or experiences of loved ones, offering to help watch Millie and Chase so that I can be here, helping with or checking in on Grandmama, and it goes on and on.  This diagnosis has turned our world upside down, but the support has made the outlook a lot less grim.  Don't hesitate to send mom your favorite wig styles and most bizarre scarf creation.  We sure have had some laughs trying to design mom's "new look." 😉😉😉

Checking in: 1 year postpartum

So, Chase is 1 year old now and Millie will be 4 years old in about 8 short months.  I see moms post on Facebook all the time, "Where does the time go?"  You don't really understand this phrase until you see your children grow.  Facebook is great at reminding you of how far they've come in a year, with daily updates of happenings from 1 to however many years ago.  I first joined Facebook in 2004 (showing my age a bit), and it's quite humorous to see some of the "wall writings" from 13 years ago.  Yes, back when Facebook was first created, it wasn't called a "timeline"; it was a "wall."  And people could come and write on your "wall" while simultaneously erasing someone else's ode to you.  I know a lot of those things got lost as the code and look changed for FB, which is a shame.  I know there were some gems from my college days at NC State.

This is when I reflect on how thankful I am that camera phones were so terrible during college.  They had just become a thing, and they were still flip phones, at that.  We posted most of our pictures on the Wolf Web (that were mostly scanned, or downloaded from a CD).  Oh, memories.  I have truly digressed here with my postpartum check-in.

Anyway, so Chase is sleeping through the night now (this is new), and I am fully aware that it could be temporary, so I'm just enjoying the sleep while I can.  He is the opposite of Millie in about every way.  Millie started walking at 9 months, sleeping through the night at about 7 months (consistently, no turning back).  Chase just started to try to walk right around 11 months (New Years Day 2017, he finally took a string of steps[see video below]), and he's been toying with the idea of sleeping through the night since about 9 months.  But has digressed many times, usually because I dare tried to travel and stay somewhere else with them, or because he caught yet another cold and coughed all night.

Millie was great at entertaining herself at 1 year old.. she would find all kinds of ways to play with 1 thing.  And she didn't really bother anything if I told her, "no."  I did have to chase her down off the stairs a couple times in the old house, but it's a race everyday to keep Chase off the back staircase.  And he thinks that is hilarious.  He is good at plundering through things to entertain himself (or throwing everything in the floor), and then he quickly gets bored or sees something Millie is doing and tries his best to interfere or do whatever she's doing.  The screaming starts at that point.  He is a squealer... I never had this with Millie.  He will throw himself down on the floor and pitch a fit at 1 year old.  ONE.  I can't wait til he turns 3, which is when Millie started her tantrums.  It is fascinating to see the differences.

[Millie walking, just after her 9 month birthday..]

I could rattle on all day about Millie and Chase.  I will probably try to start documenting more, other than the cute quotes I put on Facebook, when Millie talks like she's 17.  But really, I need to talk about MY year.  The past 12 months have been hard.  Not because of anything dire, but because trying to identify yourself while taking care of your [somewhat new or transforming] family is one of the toughest things to navigate.  Hormones are no joke.  And the things that happen to your body from conception through your child's 1 year birthday or whenever you decide to finally wean your child from depending on your body (literally) is an emotional rollercoaster.  And not like "Weeee, this is FUN!"... but like "Weee, I feel like I fell off the roller coaster and it has run over me and everyone is puking and peeing and pooping everywhere, on top of it all."  

This is the face of motherhood.  There are the best memories you could possibly dream of, like a beautiful nap with your baby on your chest, practically trying to burrow inside you again because they just want to be close.  And then there are countless nights where you cannot figure out why they are crying, and honestly - I really don't think they know either. They are just unsettled and they just have to cry.  Because there were nights that I stumbled to their room out of my slumber, and changed a dry diaper, tried desperately to nurse, or rock a child that just keeps crying.  Helpless isn't the term to describe when you feel like you are failing.  Not failing as a whole, but in that moment, you are failing to soothe your child.  And it's miserable.  Beyond miserable.  You are tired, they are bound to be exhausted, and you just want them to be happy, or at the very least -- content.  I feel like trying to make them happy at every turn once they reach the toddler age is going to set them up for disappointment, so I've stopped trying to bend over backwards to make sure they are blissful at every opportunity.  Sometimes, they will be bored and will just have to settle for a puzzle, or for coloring on their own, or for pretend playing while I *gasp* go to the bathroom.  

Trying to get through this last year was exhausting and amazing.  My only job currently is to be a mother and a wife, so I struggled, and still struggle, with my identity and value, not bringing in a paycheck or contributing financially.  And often times, I felt and feel like I'm not contributing emotionally either.  I was so tired this year that I felt like I was just going through the motions.  There were times that I snapped out of it and tried to capture or appreciate certain milestones or events or moments (and most of you bore witness to those times, because I would share on FB or IG).  But sometimes, I think I was doing that to kind of just bring my head above water and wave to y'all, to say "Hi - I'm still here... I haven't drowned yet."  Craig would see the signs when he was here, and would typically step in and give me a break, so I could reset for a couple hours, whether that just be a joyride to the grocery store, or dinner with a friend.  So I would remove the cartridge, blow the dust out, and reinsert myself back into the system to give it another go.

Once I was pregnant with Chase, and the closer I got to having him, I started realizing that I was depressed after I had Millie.  It wasn't bad, but I had some awful feelings about myself during her first 6 months of life.  It took watching other moms with their newborns to see the signs.  She was tough.  She had colic, or looking back, maybe she was just hungry with reflux, on top of it.  I breastfed her and my supply was low.  She had a terrible latch (probably due to frustration and hunger) and I ended up only bottle feeding BM for the last 5-6 months of her first year.  But by the time I had switched to a only a bottle, I think my supply couldn't be helped with a pump so I continued feeding her what was probably not enough.  She started to come out of her funk once I started her on solids, and she ate like I had starved her.  It was a joke back then, but maybe I did.  The doctor always chalked up her low weight to mine and Craig's small size, which makes sense.  No one really knows I suppose, but regardless, it didn't help my already crazy hormones and the feeling like I was failing my child.  But I never spoke of it.

It's interesting though - you feel like you're failing a child that only wants you.  It's ironic how you can convince yourself that you're doing everything wrong, but they don't care.  It was quite some time before she would happily go to Craig, and even longer before she would go to anyone else.  She would cry if anyone else even looked at her, other than me.  And that's not exaggerating!  Now, she is the most social little "leader".  She thrives in her little 3 day, 1/2 day preschool setting and she rarely gets a bad report when I pick her up.  I never would've guessed that in my lowest of days during her first 6 months, that there would be such a dramatic turn around.  And she happily tells me "bye" anytime she goes anywhere without me.  Bittersweet, but I'm so glad that she's mostly happy with very little effort.

And Chase.  Oh, Chase.  I thought you were going to be my "easy baby" after my battle with baby Millie.  And he was pretty easy the first 2-3 months, but I could tell that things would soon turn and he wasn't going to continue being "easy."  Craig started traveling for work again when Chase was 5 weeks.  That's code for "too soon."  The resentment came fast and furious.  Yes, he was out dealing with the stress of a job, which I am beyond grateful that he does -- because without him doing that, I wouldn't have the chance to stay home to see my babies grow, and get to see all of their "firsts."   But those are logical thoughts... the thoughts I was having were sleep deprived and hormonal.  I was home in the trenches with no break.  All I could think was, "He gets to go to a hotel, and sleep without fear of ANY interruption, and he gets to eat alone with his thoughts, or with adults that didn't need to be fed by you, or coerced to eat their veggies."  I was actively drowning and I felt like I had lost my voice.  I didn't know how to talk about this and I didn't know how to articulate my feelings, other than being secretly angry.  Although, admittedly it stopped being a secret once I would hit my breaking point.  Poor Craig.  I hit my breaking point several times and each time, it got easier because he knew what I needed after the first time.

I love my children beyond anything I could ever imagine, but trying to be the best you can be didn't feel good at all when you are mostly alone and having to do it all while your partner is gone.  I still don't think Craig has ever successfully soothed Chase in the middle of the night (and that is by no means a shot at him - it's just a fact, and it is not his fault).  It has just always had to be me (mostly due to him simply wanting to eat/nurse until he fell back asleep.)  I got up one morning and it's unusual for Chase to cry at the "wake up" time - he's generally pretty happy.  But Craig had got him up and he wouldn't settle after changing his diaper and whatnot.  So of course, I can only handle it for so long and I go upstairs and I playfully go to Chase and say "What's wrong, bubba??"  And Craig decides to speak for him and says, "Daddy doesn't have any boobies."  If Chase could talk, he'd probably tell you that's a true story.

It was easy enough to get him back to sleep in the middle of the night when I had to, I suppose, but when you do this EVERY night for a year (as it turns out) - wow, what a job!  I wanted to formula feed SO bad just to relieve myself for sleep purposes, but I feared he wouldn't like the formula, or it wouldn't agree with him and it would just get worse.  So I would power through and count down the months, then weeks,  then days until he hit his 1 year milestone.  And here we are.  Y'all.  I am so sad about weaning.  I'm almost completely dried up and it is depressing.  I never dreamed I would be this sad about it.  Millie's breastfeeding journey wasn't good from the start so I didn't experience this with her.  Chase never had much difficulty eating so it was smooth sailing for that aspect.  He's not a cuddle bug anymore so it's the only time he lets me hold him and rock him.  How do I let that go?!  He truly could not care less about it (other than the eating part).  From what I can tell, he's not dying to be nursed by any stretch so that's not something I worry about.  It's just me being selfish about keeping my baby a baby.  I have noticed that he can tell the difference in breastmilk and whole milk.  He will chug a bottle of breastmilk, but if you give him a bottle of whole milk... nope.  He'll drink it eventually, off and on.  But not like the breastmilk.

It's so hard to decipher if this means that I truly want another baby, or if I'm just a sucker for babies in general.  Craig has made it no secret that he is ready to go make it permanent with Millie and Chase, if I give him the green light.  I am not okay with that.  The thought and finality of that decision moves me to tears.  But could I handle another?  I seriously almost lost my *ish* with Chase -- would I be committed to a nervous hospital the next time?  To give you an an idea of where we are and how different we are on this subject -- Craig and I went to a school event for Millie and I was talking to another mom.  She told us that the Lord spoke to her about having her 3rd and she just knew it was right.  I looked up at Craig as if to say, "See... 3.  God said so."  I was half joking (sort of).  And without skipping a beat and before I could say anything, Craig says, "The Lord already spoke to me.  Two."  I think we are lost somewhere in translation of God's word.  

But to summarize this hodgepodge of thoughts, Chase is 1 and I am through another postpartum first year.  I am not positive where things go from here, but I am intrigued.  On days that I'm tired and I'm on my last shred of patience, I think, "Ok, 2 it is."  But on days when naps are smooth and meltdowns are minimal, I get itchy with the thought of another.   Craig is 40 and I think that sticks out to him the most.  Although, he is in the BEST shape of his life (jerk).  In all seriousness, I'm proud of him.  He's really worked hard to get where he is physically, and he's worked even harder to find balance with it all and to help not to jeopardize my mental state while doing it.  I'm pretty sure this universal quote says it best, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."  Cheers to all the mamas out there - I know you don't see it, but you'd be surprised at the number of people that see a cape on your back.  It's the hardest job you'll ever have, so don't be too hard on yourself on the bad days.  We all have them.  And chances are, they're bound to get better.  At least that's what I try to tell myself as I hide in the pantry, eating snacks that I don't want to share!

Here are the babes at Chase's 1st birthday.  He's saying "Give me ALLLL the cake!"

Chase's Delivery Day from Mommy's Perspective

This is the 2nd time I'm writing this and I'm so mad because my first draft didn't SAVE.  Ugh I hope I don't forget too much.

Anyway, so I had zero contractions leading up to the day I went into labor.  I was sick with the flu like 3 or 4 times during the pregnancy and I would get so dehydrated that I would have some small contractions but nothing major.  Once I was able to hydrate, they always went away.  It was so crazy how sick I would get during this pregnancy... I only had 1st trimester morning sickness with Millie.  This time, I had that plus I caught everything that Millie brought home, plus some.  On Chase's due date, I even had to go to urgent care for my first ever sinus infection.  I was so miserable!

I was due on February 6th, and on Sunday February 7th (Super Bowl between the Carolina Panthers and Denver Broncos... spoiler alert: the Broncos won), I was on the phone with mom around 6pm while Craig was fixing chicken wings for dinner.  She would always ask if "anything was happening" and I had nothing to report other than him being super active that day and his kicks were crazy hard.  As we were getting off the phone though, I felt a "cramp" that lasted for about 30 seconds and then went away.  I was pretty sure it was a contraction but didn't want to say anything to Mom to get her hopes up.

As I got off the phone, I told Craig that I thought I just had a contraction and he gave me a slight side-eye (and actually kind of ignored the statement).  I'm pretty sure it was because the Super Bowl was about to start!  We had joked during the last month that I had to hold out until the Super Bowl was over, so when I told him about the contractions, I'm not sure if he was thinking "Nope" or "she's probably kidding or mistaken".  I knew they were inconsistent so I didn't really make a big deal out of it so I proceeded with the next hour, realizing they were getting somewhat intense, and that they kept on coming.  Granted, not consistently, but I was pretty sure we were going to get there soon.

I wasn't hungry so I ate a couple wings and whatever else we had and just let things go.  I took a shower eventually (after Millie went down for bed) and as Craig was watching the game.  Eventually, I called the doctor around 11pm because the contractions would be like 3 minutes apart for a little while, and then they'd space back out.  The on-call doctor told me I might want to start heading to the hospital soon since it was my 2nd child.  She also said if they spaced out again, then I could just wait a little bit before going in, so I did.  I laid down, but I knew that was going to be short-lived and Craig slept in the guest room for a little while, since we figured there was no sense in both of us not sleeping.  Around 1am, the contractions kept coming even while I was laying down, so I decided maybe we should go.  I called my brother to come to the house to stay with Millie and I went and woke Craig up.  He said "Am I going too?"  Seriously?  No, I'd rather have the baby alone.  I'm going to chalk it up to him being groggy from sleep.

We get to the hospital around 2am and this weird nurse checked me in and did all the cervix exam fun stuff.  I was really happy her shift was going to be over soon because her bedside manner was just strange and I wasn't in the mood to deal with awkward.  Anyway, I was at 4cm (I had been at 1cm for 3 weeks so I was happy it seemed to be happening quickly, finally!).  They still wanted me to walk around for a while to see how quickly I'd progress.  So I'd walk and walk and have contractions every 2 minutes like clockwork, but then my back would start to hurt so I'd lay down for a while and the contractions would stop.  It really was not fun because walking around after being awake for 24 hours already, plus a sinus infection wasn't my idea of a smooth delivery.

So, my doctor came in around 8 or 9am I think and he decided they should go ahead and break my water and he swears it'll get going after that since I was still only at 5cm.  So, apparently, my sac or whatever didn't want to burst and he had a really hard time getting that to happen.  "Uncomfortable" is probably an understatement as I try to withstand this maneuver and I am sure I'm going to walk off my bed via my behind.  It finally breaks and they discover meconium (again - this happened with Millie too, so I wasn't alarmed or anything).  And once your water breaks, the contractions get really intense, however they weren't very consistent.  They just hurt like crazy, which is super fun as tired and as congested as I was.

The contraction pain was almost blinding at one point and I was having trouble breathing in a way that was helping me to get through them (because I found myself holding my breath because the pain was so crazy).  Every time I felt one coming, I'd call Craig over and he'd hold my hand as I tried to bear down and huff and puff and get through it.  Craig was the best in the delivery room, both times.  He stood right there with me, whatever I needed.  I'm pretty sure he even cried with me at one point.  I'm sure it's hard watching someone be in so much pain and really, there's nothing you can do for them.  Plus we were both exhausted.  Eventually, I just started crying because I wasn't progressing and it felt like I was in all this pain and my wheels were just spinning.  So I told him that I was going to have the nurse (Mary Kelly - she was amazing and super knowledgable and experienced) come back in and check me and if I wasn't at like 7cm by now (it was around 1pm), we were going to have to go to an epidural, which wasn't in my plan.

So, she came in and we told her my game plan and she checked me.  She took off the gloves, threw them away and came and sat on my bed.  "You're still at 5cm."  Worst. News. Ever.  Not really, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear on a day that nothing was happening very quickly.  So I told her to go ahead with lining up the epidural.  At that point, I wanted it RIGHT THEN.  Like, why had she not already had him standing outside?!  I kept powering through contractions, tears and all, and I kept asking when the anesthesiologist was going to come.  She sat down on my bed again and said "Haley, you're going to have probably 5 more contractions before he gets here."  Ughhhhh.

Ok, so the epidural.  Most people know that I hate, and I mean, haaaate needles.  But the pain won out, so whatever.  He came in and explained what was going to happen, which all happened during contractions and I wasn't exactly handling those very well at the moment.  So, they get me to sit up on the side of the bed and wrap my legs around Craig and they had raised the bed so that when I hugged him, I was hunched over and they could easily access my spine to shove a canon sized catheter or something up there.  They get through the first phase (as I was contracting, no less) and then they move on to step 2, which I think was to inject the stuff to make all my stuff numb... BRING IT!  With that came the strangest sensation/pinch that I wasn't really expecting and I about jumped off the bed.  At that point, the nurse and anesthesiologist both yell at me "DON'T MOVE!" and then I begin crying.  Again.  I'm thinking "Great, not only did I mess up my epidural, but now I'm probably paralyzed too.  Perfect."

So, they finished and the nurse did the "ice test" and determined that I had the perfect epidural.  I felt NOTHING from my abs down and finally... RELIEF!  My mom came back from eating lunch with my brother (she witnessed a breakdown before she left when I was crying during contractions) and looked at the monitor as I was having a contraction that was apparently off the charts.  She kind of gave me a sideways glance and said "You ok?"  I said "yep" and proceeded to chow down on my grape popsicle.  She couldn't believe the difference.  They turned the lights out, my dad and stepmom came back to the room too and they sat over to the side and talked with mom for a while, Craig left for a quick lunch and then answered some work emails when he came back, and I napped.  It was glorious.  I had never been more sure of a decision in my life.

After a little while, the nurse also made a decision after they had to up my pitocin levels to get my contractions to really make some headway, to give me a peanut shaped medicine ball to put between my legs as I rested.  It was huge, but honestly, at that point - who cared?!  So I used that and turned from side to side every so often, and within like an hour - I was at 10cm!  I could tell I was close because I began shaking, which was what happened when I got to 10cm with Millie.  They told me to keep the ball between my legs so that his head would come down a little more and it would make pushing easier.  I was all about that and I was still in no real pain, so I just let it ride.  They went ahead and kicked my parents out and began getting me ready to push.  Finally!  It was like 4:30 I think.  The NICU team had to bring in all their stuff and they ended up briefing another one of my doctors from the practice as it was time for another shift change.  But it's ok, because the longer we prolonged pushing, the more the contractions were naturally bringing him down the birth canal and again... no real pain, just pressure.

When my doctor came in (I love Dr. Barlow), I begged her to PLEASE help me not tear like I did with Millie.  It was such a miserable recovery with her and I really just wanted to try to make things as "easy" as possible since pain wasn't a huge issue during the pushing.  She reassured me that 2nd babies were better in general, and the nurse seemed very confident that we had done a good job of getting him down naturally to where tearing wasn't going to be a sudden problem since it's all been so gradual.  All of this was so different than it was with Millie.  Pushing was a nightmare with her and I was exhausted and writhing in pain.  Plus with her, I delivered with a doctor I had never met before that day.

Anyway, pushing started and it really wasn't that bad.  I mean, it wasn't paradise, but it was definitely bearable.  The nurses saw the head and told Craig to look repeatedly and he refused (bless his heart)... he kept telling me "Sorry baby, there are just some things you can't unsee and that's one of them."  They told me to feel and I felt his head and it just felt like mush, which was rather alarming and they assured me it was totally normal.  But I was ecstatic that he was RIGHT THERE!  So with what felt like minimal effort, he was born and laid on my chest.  It was the best feeling in the world.  He cried, I cried (and I'm pretty sure Craig cried) and I quietly shushed him, trying to comfort him.  Then he pooped on me, but I really didn't care.  He was finally here and I felt like he was just melting into my chest as all my pregnancy anxiety went away after 2 miscarriages.

 

The days at the hospital were my favorite with both Millie and Chase.  Yes, it was annoying to have nurses and doctors constantly in and out, checking on me and them but it's the easiest 2-3 days.  All of your food is brought to your bed, and the only thing you really need to worry about is feeding your baby and trying to rest.  Plus, if anything happens to go wrong or if you have questions, someone is RIGHT there.  Whereas, when you go home to a toddler and your house, which if you're anything like me, it feels like there's always something to do... it's just stressful trying to get situated.  My mom was at home, waiting on us both times and man, that was the best.  I know a lot of people don't want any help when they first come home.  NOT I.  I needed all the help I could get because there were times that I was so exhausted and questioning myself... it's nice to have someone there that's done it before and can just jump in and take over if needed.  I cried when she left.  Both times.  

I don't know what it is about coming home from the hospital... it's like babies just go bonkers as soon as you set foot in your house.  Things go from easy-peezy in the hospital to a train wreck in an hour's time.  Chase had a circumcision (sorry son, for you spillin' your bidness) and they did it literally right before we left.  They brought him back to the room and we put him in the carseat and left once they gave us the rundown.  Basically, the instructions were "you don't need to change the gauze unless it gets poop on it".  So, what does Chase do when we walk in the door?  You got it.  So, I'm trying to change him and the gauze and he is SCREAMING.  And I mean, it was awful.  So, he's screaming, I'm crying because he's screaming and I feel like it's my fault, and the dang dog was even pacing back and forth crying because things were just CA-RAZY.  We were all a mess.  But, as things always do - they settled down and here we are 7 months later.  Chase is a pretty happy baby overall, but he definitely shares his sister's temper.  When he's over it, he is over it.  But I love when I walk into his room after a really good night's sleep or a really long nap and he just smiles up at me.  He has the sweetest grin.

And now, I leave you to go and convince myself that I do not want a third child...

Millie's Delivery Day from Mommy's Perspective

I told Craig after I had delivered Chase that I really wanted both of us to write our own accounts of each of the kids' births.  I know he remembers things that I don't and he is bound to have had different emotions that I didn't have or that I didn't know he had.  I also think it will be a cool thing for the kids to read when they're older.  Anyway - here is my account of Millie's birth... :) :) :)

She was born on Oct 5th at 1:46am, but man, labor was lonnnnng and hard.  I started having contractions during the really early morning hours on October 3rd around 12:30am.  I started timing them but they'd be consistent and then inconsistent and then stop.  I eventually got back to sleep on and off but I spent all day of October 3rd walking our neighborhood and hopping up and down on one of those huge yoga balls.  It didn't get me anything but some weak contractions.

I went to bed that night and the same thing happened around midnight... I woke up to more contractions.  I got out of bed this time and walked the house to time them and eat because I had a feeling this was it (after all, I was due Sept 27th, so this had to be it, right?).  I walked around for like 3 hours timing the contractions and finally got Craig up around 4.  He showered, I showered and after I talked to the doctor and since I was 41 weeks, she told me to come in.

I checked in that Friday morning, October 4th, to triage and they checked my cervix and I was still only a "maybe 3cm" at about 6 or 7am (which was where I was earlier that week). Super bummed, but Dr. Collins told me that she would like to go ahead and break my water to get things going.  She said if we didn't do that, I could always just go home but she felt like I'd be right back by the end of the day.  So we went with it and she broke my water and discovered there was meconium.  That just meant that the baby had pooped already and the NICU would be waiting in the delivery room when I was pushing.

So fast-forward and ALL of the parents showed up around the same time (I think around 10am), even though I told them to take their time.  I walked and walked and walked and bounced and did everything to try to get her out (even though I didn't know we were having a girl at the time).  She stalled around 4-5 cm for HOURS.  Finally, I got tired enough to ask for an epidural around lunchtime even though I wanted to go all natural (once your water breaks, those contractions get real very quickly).  My amazing nurse (who I can't remember her name for the life of me, but she was awesome) talked me out of it because I was so adamant about having a natural birth when I came in.  So she gave me the option to try Stadol which was a drug administered to help me relax between contractions.  It didn't help with pain - it just helped to let me rest in between.  I really wish I hadn't done it because, yes I did get a little rest, but it took it FOREVER to wear off.  I felt so drunk for hours and it was so hard for me to focus on breathing because I was so tired.  I felt like I couldn't wake up.  It was only supposed to last for an hour!

Funny story: before I got the drug, my dad plopped down in my room in the chair and started watching sportscenter, while eating chocolate chip cookies!  I was like "DAD!  I'm so hungry!" and of course, I couldn't eat anything other than popsicles and clear fluids.  He didn't know that and asked "Oh you want some?!"  Haha, yes, let's ask the pregnant, laboring, hungry, tired lady if she wants some cookies!  Good old Dad - he had no idea. Anyway, I sent Craig away to eat lunch because I knew I'd get hangry if he attempted to eat in front of me too.  So mom sat with me for a while and everyone else left for a bit (I assume to eat, because that's all I probably wanted to do!)

So, I had the drug now and I was trying to relax, which is kind of laughable because I'd be out of it and then all of the sudden, I'd just start huffing and puffing through a contraction.  I remember one time, my mom was really impressed that all I muttered was "Ohh Shhhhhhhhooooot" as I powered through one.  I don't think I was able to maintain that kind of control through the rest of the day, but it was a good effort.  I still find it hard to swear in front of my mom apparently.  So anyway, they keep checking me and I'm barely making any progress but I had a great support team with the nurse(s).  I even went into another nurse's 12 hour shift that night. I was so sad to see my original nurse go!  The new nurse was younger and I wasn't as confident in her, but the first nurse had informed her of my desire to go natural so she was also really supportive and helpful as well.

Our parents were in and out most of the afternoon, but I started to get into the nitty gritty of contractions in the evening hours (yes, EVENING hours) so I finally had to ask everyone to just stay in the lobby.  I was up and down in the hospital bed and in a hospital gown and I didn't want to have any awkward moments with the dads, and I didn't want to have to worry about it.  I got in the shower at one point, on the big ball.  It was a sight, I'm sure.  I'm in one of those attractive hospital gowns with skid proof socks on while I'm in the shower - try to picture that!  I remember once I got in there and situated on the ball, it felt so good as I would roll around on it and Craig used the sprayer on my back.  Craig kept telling me how great I was doing and that he couldn't even tell I was in labor during some parts.  Apparently, I had found my groove.  Although, I really feel like I was just putting up a front because I distinctly remember thinking I was ready for a c-section.  I would have these thoughts as we got into these evening hours and the progress was SO minimal.

Craig did everything we learned in our classes.  He brought tennis balls and rolled them on my back and did all the little massages they taught us.  He was amazing!  He never left my side (I don't think) after that lunch break.  I think he did go to get a fan or some ice or the nurse at a couple points.  It was so freaking hot in that delivery room.  I just kept asking for ice and for the fan!

We did all kinds exercises to try to make the labor as "comfortable" as possible.  I was on my side, on my knees, on my back - I would bury my face in pillows, scream, breathe, whatever.  Although I didn't scream much because I noticed it took a lot more effort and seemingly made the pain worse if I did anything other than controlled breathing.  It took hours, but I just don't remember much of it.

I finally get to 10cm around midnight... needless to say, I was EXHAUSTED and I still had to push.  Nobody tells you how hard pushing is.  I was prepared for it to hurt like crazy, but I didn't think it would take so much energy and just the right kind of pushing to make any of it productive.  Or if they did, I didn't hear it because I kept asking the nurse "what if I can't do this???" because I really didn't think I could.  I was so, so tired.  I looked up at Craig and told him I couldn't do it and he just kept coaching me and encouraging me.  I know he had to feel so helpless.  We tried a couple pushes through contractions with just the nurse and it was awful.  I finally made some sort of progress after about 20-30 minutes of terror and what do they do?  They tell me to stop.  So I have to sit there with NO epidural, with this immense pressure on my backside which really just makes you want to push, and they tell you not to.  You are literally fighting your own body!  It took about 3 hours for "my doctor" to come in (not really, but it felt like it... sitting through contractions when you are at that point is complete torture.  I'm confident it would be used in war if it was feasible.)  And I say "my doctor" because it was the on-call doctor in another practice because my actual doctor's shift had ended about 12 hours before.  You have to remember that I came in at around 6-7am and it was about 1am the next day (Saturday) by now.

So the doctor had checked on me in the previous hours leading up to this, and had told me that he was impressed with my composure and he didn't think he'd have to do any cutting or an episiotomy and that it should all be fine.  Why he would tell me that, I don't know because I have no clue what he was basing that on.  Because it only took him about 3-4 pushes for him to look at me and say "Haley - stop pushing for a second.  If I just cut, just a little bit, the baby should come right on out."  At that point, I didn't care what he did, I just wanted it done!  I think my response was "Ok fine, whatever" which I don't know if he was expecting that or not, because he acted like he was trying to sell me on it.  Anyway, he cuts and he pulls HER out.  We decided that Craig would be the one to tell me if it was a boy or a girl, and NOT the doctor.  So Craig looks at me and says "It's a Grace!..."  And then he looks at the doctor and says "Hey, it's a girl, right?"  I was like WTF?  I know the look I gave him was absolutely hilarious to bystanders, because I was like "Ok, you had 1 job!"  Every time we told this story, he would say "In my defense, she was really swollen!"  Mmmhmmm.  

So, they had to take her to the little incubator thing in the room and get her cleaned off some and make sure she was ok from the meconium.  She was perfect and they brought her to me and it was just magic.  I'm laying there with my legs spread-eagle, still in stirrups and I just get lost with this tiny little baby girl on my chest.  

She still uses that lip at every opportunity!

We do all the pictures and everything, and the doctor is taking FOREVER "down there".  Not to mention, he had to get the nurse to jab me with a needle in my leg to apparently stop the bleeding.  That's a reassuring thing.  So I finally ask the nurse what's going on and she tells me I have a 3rd degree tear.  I had no idea what that meant and she filled me in.  Not fun.  

Anyway, he finally finishes and I'm still shaking beyond measure which she tells me is normal, all while she keeps punching me in the uterus.  I finally told her that she couldn't do it anymore and we began negotiating on how often and how many more times she was going to attempt to get my uterus to contract and to get the clots out.  I know it's important and everything, but dang - I had already been through way more than I had bargained for.  I was so tired and HUNGRY!  

I finally get done in the delivery room, and they get me to the bathroom before they take me to recovery so I could do what I could manage to do at that point (with way more supervision than I was normally comfortable with when I use the restroom but by now, I had lost any dignity that I had).  Craig had gone to inform the parents that the baby was here but we still hadn't told them if it was a boy or a girl, and of course we hadn't told the name.  We had kept the name a secret as well.  I know my mom told me that they were all really worried because it had taken us a while to update them after I reached 10cm to when she was born.  She was born at 1:46am and I think we finally got them to our room around 4:30am?  The stitching took a long time and then getting me to the bathroom, and to recovery, and then letting me inhale the best grilled cheese sandwich of my life took a bit of time.

We have a video of them coming in the room and me telling them that it's a girl.  What's weird is that no one asked her name!  I finally had to tell them: Amelia Grace Allen and I wanted to call her Millie.

The rest is history.. we had a rough few months to follow.  She had colic and I had no clue what I was doing.  BUT, once she hit the 6 month mark and started to gain mobility, she became the happiest baby you can find... and a great sleeper to boot!  Millie, you've been a challenge from day 1 in the best way possible.  You've made me love something like you'll never understand until you have one of your own.  And maybe then you'll understand it when I say that you and your brother are the best things to ever happen to me.  

So.. We had a baby..

When I read my last blog post, I see that I apologized for being MIA for 3 months. Not sure what to say after being MIA for 3 years?

I have an excellent excuse. :) For the last 15 months or so, I've been trying to keep up with my daughter, Millie. My little firecracker. Seriously, motherhood has been amazing and I love being able to watch her grow everyday since I stay home with her. I've had jobs before but nothing makes me happier or fills me with more pride than getting to raise her. It's like I've finally figured out why I'm here and it has nothing to do with my business degree!  Although, I'm sure I'll put that degree to use again in a few years.

In saying all that, it brings me to the main subject of this post.. extending my motherhood role. Before you get all excited, thinking "Yay! You're pregnant again!"  No.  No, I'm not. I would love to be, but it's currently not in the cards at this point in time.  I've actually miscarried twice in the last 5 months and each time was harder than the last. I thought I had hit rock bottom in August, but Jan 2nd taught me otherwise.

We went in for our 1st ultrasound at 8 weeks, to find our little peanut without a heartbeat and only measuring 6 weeks. I knew when the tech was being so quiet, searching around my womb that it was my worst fear. Craig was holding Millie, trying to keep her calm because she was a little nervous with me on the table and it being so dark. I finally asked, "it's not good, is it.."  The tech said no and started pointing things out which I already saw.  Fast forward about 10 minutes, we were sent to another room to wait on the doctor, which we hadn't planned on seeing that day.

The doctor went over the technical stuff to make sure my dates were right, etc and then went into my options. Normally I love having options, but this boiled down to "which way do you want to remove what's left of the life inside you?"  Granted, there was no heartbeat but it didn't change my thinking of it being my child in there. The child I'll never get to hold. Yes, I hope to get pregnant again and hold THAT child, but THIS child that was due in August will not be held by its parents who already loved him/her.

Complete devastation took over as I tried to discuss this with my doctor.  I wasn't comfortable having a procedure done to remove the pregnancy based on 1 ultrasound so the doctor lined up another ultrasound before the scheduled procedure.  I didn't want to be left wondering, "What if the baby was just slow developing but really was developing?"  And then I began to worry that I would be torn if there did appear to be growth, but not much. Would I go ahead with the procedure or continue to torture myself, while clinging to hope that things would be okay week by week?

As I waited for the days to go by before the ultrasound, I just prayed for peace and for a clear mind to make the right decision if things seemed to be on the fence.  In the meantime, I grieved for the child I had likely already lost. The one that was just sitting there inside me, that my body hadn't recognized as not being viable any longer.  I felt broken in so many ways and as I wondered if I would get to experience a healthy pregnancy again, and if Millie will get to be a big sister.

We got the ultrasound and there was no progress.  Things were the same and they did me pre-op for the following day's procedure.  Mom came up and kept Millie while we went to the doctor.  It was very quick and I was put under anesthesia for it.  I remember them bringing me out of the anesthesia and not wanting to be brought out.  I remember feeling almost disappointed that I had to face it all again.  Regardless, I snapped out of it somewhat and we returned home to Millie and my mom.  I rested most of the day and mom left that night.

A couple weeks later, we took a vacation to Jamaica and it was exactly what we needed, although I admit that I missed Millie terribly.  I cried quite uncontrollably when we left her and I found myself down quite a few times over the week.  It's such a change going on vacation after you've been a SAHM mom for over a year and all you've known is waking up to her each day and literally every day revolves around her and her schedule.  It was nice to just be free to do what we wanted, but my missing her was palpable.  Not only that but I was still dealing with the miscarriage and I had trouble talking to Craig about it.  There's really just no "good" way to get through something like this.  The best you hope for is that you DO get through it somehow.

Long story made short, we are still optimistic about having another baby but now we are in the process of selling our home in Fuquay and building a new house in Wake Forest.  It's good to stay busy and to keep our minds occupied.  I just try to have faith that it will happen if and when it's supposed to.  Until then, I will just keep loving Millie and Craig since they are here now, and truthfully, some people don't get to even get married or have even 1 child of their own.  I will try to worry about what I don't have yet, later...