Felix's Birth Story

May 8th - 3:30 PM - Group Health Medical Center

"And the baby is head down?" The midwife felt my very large stomach.
"Yes, has been since week twenty," I said.
"Hmm.  Let's get a quick ultrasound just to make sure."
"Ok..."
She picked up the in-room ultrasound wand and set it on my stomach, just below my left boob.  Two seconds later...  "Yep, I thought so.  There's his head."
"Shut up... You've GOT to be kidding me."

He was head down on Friday.  Between Friday and Tuesday he flipped himself right side up.  He was breech for three days.  THREE DAYS.

May 8th - 3:45 PM

The midwife led the on-call OB in.  By this time I was fighting tears.  The OB checked my amniotic fluid levels and informed me that they were too low to try a version (flipping the baby into position from the outside) and that she was concerned that the cord could crimp or wrap if they tried.

"You need to have a C-section and you need to have it today."

They kept saying "urgent".  "It's not an emergency, but it's urgent."  And "baby needs to come out".

We kept saying, "This kid is so grounded."

Cue tears.

Ben and I always said, "However Felix enters the world is exactly how he is supposed to enter the world."  Working to be flexible and trying to go with the flow.  That being said, we didn't plan for Felix to join us via C-section.

We had planned to welcome him after hours of labor, ice chips and focus objects, naturally and without drugs.  We didn't research c-sections or even think about them.  We were floored when the birth plan we were so ready to execute was thrown out the window.

We were sent home to get our hospital bag, take a shower and scheduled to return to the hospital at seven pm for our surgery at nine that night.  The drive home was a blur.  I just kept thinking, "I can't believe this is happening."

Ben was a lifesaver.  He kept reminding me of our previous mantra, told me to focus on the fact that, in a few hours, we would have our son.  Kept telling me that a c-section was the safest option now for Felix and me. Kept holding my hand.  I didn't know until days later that he was just as terrified as I was.

I put on my big girl panties and got on board with what was going to happen.  I braided my hair and put makeup on.  When Ben asked why I told him that it was incentive for me not to cry.  I was going to laugh through this unexpected experience or cry trying.

Our room!

When we checked in, they gave me a delightfully tasteful gown.
And Ben got a space suit, complete with hairnet.
While we waited for everything to get ready (good God there is a lot of paperwork when people want to cut your middle open), we did what any nervous parents would do. 

Took picture of the score as we went into surgery.

Played some Zelda.
Photo-bombed the nurses.
You know, the usual.

Finally, it was time to go into the OR.  I was lucky in lots of ways.  I didn't have to go through hours and hours of labor before we had to have a c-section.  So, taking full advantage of that, I decided to skip to the OR.  Remember, we are laughing through this.  

Time for drugs!  Time for giant needles!  Time to (inadvertently) make the docs laugh.
I sat on the table and got the spinal.  Within seconds my legs felt heavy and tingly.  I think I was really super nervous because I said, "Guys, I can't feel my legs.  Seriously, I can't feel my legs!"  

The anesthesiologist thought that was great.  "Yes, that's the point.  Lay back."

Ben sat next to my head and held my hand.  Before they started, the nurse looked at me and said, "If you don't want to see anything do not, I repeat, DO NOT look at the lights."  They were mirrored and you could really see everything.  

Ben watched the entire operation.  They kept asking him if he was okay and he just said, "Dude, move.  I can't see."  He likened it all to being a chef and cutting up meat all the time.  Same feeling.
I didn't watch the first part.  I was terrified.  Kept my eyes closed and chatted up the anesthesiologist.  Asking him which medical shows on TV were the most real(He doesn't watch but doesn't like House).  I couldn't stop my arms and upper half from shaking.  Like fierce shaking.  They said it was due to the spinal.  It was weird.

About ten minutes after they (OB and a midwife as first assist and a slew of nurses) started, we heard "Here he is!"  and "definitely a boy!"  I guess he came out butt and balls first.  Ben said they kind of pushed him back in and grabbed a leg.  I couldn't feel anything.  Not a damn thing.  Weirdo that I am, I tried to move my leg just to see if I could.  I could not.  

I wait to see him. 

While they cleaned Felix off, I watched the surgery.  It is beyond surreal to see your own uterus, stomach muscles, blood and just general guts exposed.  Absolutely surreal.  I watched them suck the blood and fluid out.  I watched them sew my uterus back together.  I watched it all.  Just incredible.


Look at his giant fingers!

Ben said he was wide eyed and quiet.  They apologized to us for having to do it and made him cry.  Once Ben went to the bin they put Felix in and said, "Hi Felix" he was quiet again.  Just wide awake and watching.

I watched them staple my skin together and asked to see the staple gun.  They laughed when I saw it and was disappointed that it was so tiny.  I wanted a full on staple gun.  

Ben brought Felix to me.  Our first family photo.

I kept saying, "I can't believe he's here.  I can't believe he's here."  I still say that every day.  We got wheeled back to the recovery room and they put me under warming blankets to get me to stop shaking.  They put these things on my legs that squeezed them to keep the blood moving.  They checked all my vitals.  And then Ben handed me Felix.  

Oh God, that sweet face!

Tiny wrinkled hands.  His feet were so wrinkled too.  They told us it was because he was in water for ten months and duh.

They got a love thing.

 These are some of our nurses.  The one with the dark hair on the right was our favorite, Candace.  She was awesome and took such good care of us all.
For a c-section they have you stay in the hospital for two nights.  Since Felix was born so late at night they said we needed to stay for three nights.  I said, "buck that."  I was on a mission to go home.  I was walking the next day.  Off the catheter, IV out within hours of walking.  I wanted out.  The nurses thought I was a rockstar.  And that was awesome, I have to admit.  They wanted to walk me by other women and say, "this is how you're supposed to do it."   

Overlake has the best cheeseburgers.  I think I ate like five before we left.  Seriously.  The people at the room service laughed every time we called.  

We got to go home a day early because of our efforts, obnoxious and repetitive asking to go home and good behavior.  The pediatrician signed off on Felix and his healthy self.  And once they took the staples out of me, I was free too!

Look at the tiny staples!  Out!  Home!

I can't believe we get to take this sweet boy home!
 

It was scary and unexpected to have a c-section.  I think it all happened the way it was supposed to.  If I had known I was going to have a c-section for weeks and weeks I would have been terrified and nervous for all those weeks.  Only knowing for a few hours before it happened worked out great.  It was wham, bam.  I didn't have time to freak out.  I had a car ride to cry it out and then we just had to go.  He really came into the world the way he was supposed to.  I'm beyond grateful for the hospital, nurses, doctors and Ben for the support, humor and expertise they provided.

After so many months of waiting and hoping and wondering what he would look like and who he would be, I can't believe he's here.  He's so cute - like to the point of barfing, and has his own personality and looks just like his dad.  I am one blessed mama.

A happy little family.

Pregnancy


I cannot feel my fingers.
I cannot see my toes.
You would not believe the many hues
Of snot from up my nose.

The belly, it is big and lined.
Like a tiger, it has stripes.
So much peeing, round the clock,
Results in sleepless nights.

I used to sport thin ankles,
And had comfy shoes that tied.
My skin is like a popcorn ceiling.
They said I’d glow.  They lied.
  
Disney is out.  Country songs, too.
I cry at the drop of a hat.
Running upstairs is hilarious.
Christ, I am so very fat.

What a whirlwind ride it is,
This “growing a human” thing.
But I press on, because I know
Of all the joy it will bring.

One Year

It has been one year since I had surgery.  It's kind of amazing what a year can change.  A year can show you the best and worst parts of yourself and people around you.  It can show you that those parts aren't things to be "fixed", they're just pieces of a whole.  The angry, crazy, ungrateful parts are just as crucial to who you are as the good words we all want to be.

I've learned (over and over) that it's okay to be angry.  Anger is an incredible motivator.  It gets shit done.  It gets you off your ass and head first into projects, rants, exercise, or whatever needs doing.  I'd much rather be angry than afraid.  I'll take the rage over the tears any day.

Many visits to the shrink have helped me learn it's okay to be crazy.  Really. Granted, there are different levels of crazy but most of the everyday levels are surprisingly normal, common even.  

Like the Cheshire Cat says, "We're all mad here."  I'm not alone in my neurosis, I'm not special in my fear.  Everyone is afraid of something(s).  It's just harder to pinpoint how to battle it when you're afraid of the unknown.  People who are afraid of heights can (safely) jump from them.  People afraid of spiders can hold (see: kill) them.  Being afraid of the unknown or of what could happen... I suppose all you can do is keep on keeping on.

It's how you deal with the crazy that matters.  For me, having a plan of attack when the fleeting crazy comes on is key.  Having a list of things that make me happy, and then doing them even if I don't want to is part of my attack plan.  Using the plan to battle or,  more often than not, wait out the crazy is how I best deal.  All things I didn't know a year ago.

A year, especially a year like this, can help you realize that, no matter what, there is always something to be grateful for.  Yes, cancer, surgery, recovery, fear, pain, depression.  These are all very real and very unavoidable things.  But noting that there is sun instead of rain, or the grocery store has the best flavor of corn nuts, while insignificant in the grand scheme of things, reminds me that there is always SOMETHING to be grateful for.

Life is scary.  It's going to throw things at you that suck beyond belief.  And it's not going to stop.  It's a battle some, if not most, days.  If you're very, very  lucky, you have the tools to fight the hard days.  You have the army of friends, family, experts and super cute boots to fight with you.  

And, if you're me,  you have an adorable dog to lay next to you, looking proper and British.

And this amazing husband, Ben 
(who, ahem, by the way can finish the scramble at The Kettle in one sitting) 
to hold your hand and make you laugh and give you worlds of happiness even in the hardest of times.

It's been a hell of a year.  And tonite I get to celebrate at my favorite place with my favorite man.  Arby's and Ben.  How much more of a celebration could it be!?

Scar - One Year Later




How to Love Pumpkins

I love pumpkins.  I assume the rest of the world does, too.  Here is a detailed set of instructions on how best to love pumpkins the Bacon way.


First, select the best specimen.

Second, get a love thing going.

Introduce the pumpkin to your family.
Good dog.  Good pumpkin.

Now, we get an idea.

And, find a knife.

Hack open pumpkin.  Carefully.  Very carefully.
See, pumpkin opens and we still have all our fingers.

Look!  Guts!

Separate guts from seeds like so.
Spreading on cookie sheet with a bit of salt.

Cook until seeds pop up.
Nice and toasty.  Good job, team.

Congratulations.  You have successfully loved pumpkins the Bacon way.  Enjoy fruits of your labor.

What to do with the now seedless halves of pumpkin?  Why, I'm glad you asked.


Scars and Swearing

WARNING: As the title suggests, within this blog, there are swear words and pictures of scars.  Close now if either offends or sickens you.  I should also note that it's not a short post.  It's not a short story.  Christ, is it a long story.


Six months ago, I had a total thyroidectomy for Follicular Thyroid Cancer.  I guess I am writing to celebrate that.  It sounds a little ridiculous to me as I write it, mostly because six months isn't even a medical milestone.  It's not one year, it's not five years, it's sure as hell not ten years.  It's nothing.  But it's all I have and dammit, I am going to celebrate until my thyroidless self passes out from exhaustion.


Lots of people know what happened.  Let's see if I can condense it for those who don't.  In April of 2010, I was a little more than anxious.  Scared of just about everything.  Things logical and not.  I bordered on crazy.


Long story short, I found a lump on the right side of my throat.  It moved when I swallowed.  It was like a squishy, hard ball.  And of course, I completely freaked.  


Doc said it was nothing.  Okay, cool.  Three months later, it was still there.  I went to another doc.  She said it was nothing.  O-kay... cool.  Three months later, in October, it was still there.  Third doctor said, "Hey, lets just do some tests and see what we can find."  How fucking hard was that?   


Later that month, I had an ultrasound.  I cried all the way through it.  I may not be a doctor, but I know that what I saw wasn't normal.  It found a two-inch tumor on the right side of my thyroid and a one-centimeter one on the left side.  I couldn't have been more pissed off, scared and, let's be honest, vindicated.  I wasn't crazy.  I was belligerently, apologetically, there-will-be-no-living-with-me-after-this right.


November began with a needle biopsy of both sides.  Yippee.  I'll tell you what, I pretty much passed out.  As good as the doc was, the numbing injection was not where the needle went in (over and over).  I could not only feel the needle scraping, I could freaking hear it.  I still shudder when I think about it.  I got sent home with ice packs and slurpies. 
As you can see, I have fixed an ice pack to my neck with my favorite scarf.  I'm a damn genius.
  
The results came back with no signs of cancer.  Swell! . . .  You waiting for that other shoe to drop?  So was I.  They removed only 200 cells from my tumors, which were made up of thousands of thousands.  Good game, tumors, good game.


I met with an Endocrinologist who suggested I have either the large tumor half or the whole thyroid removed.  There were many reasons.  The tumors could be cancer.  They could turn into cancer.  They could block my windpipe after years.  On and on the reasons went.  After so many opinions, prayers, discussions and pro/con lists, I decided to have a total thyroidectomy.  


My surgeon is a serious rockstar.  People come from all over the country to have him cut into them.  As such, he was so nonchalant about the procedure I could have strangled him.  "It's no big deal.  I do them all the time." That's all well and good.  But, for me, it's a big damn deal. 


The doctor told us all the side effects and potential risks.  Aside from, you know, dying, they were pretty understandable.  All except one.  It was possible that they could cut a vocal chord when removing the tumors. Now, I don't pretend to be an amazing singer but I was okay.  I did theatre in school and love to sing.  It broke my heart that my voice could potentially be gone or altered for a while or forever.  I decided to record some songs with what I had before it was jeopardized.  I had a blast.  I recorded the song below.  


Remember, I never said I was a rockstar.  No mocking.  

Here is the cat that lived at the studio.  Want.  One.


We showed up on February 23rd, 2011 to Overlake Hospital.  Pretty, pretty hospital.  I don't remember anything but the fish tanks.  But I was told it was nice.  
Here I am bright and early. Excited (see: so nervous I can't poop) and decked out in my pajamas.  No scar yet.  Don't worry.  It's coming. 


It was the the only day  we got snow and ice practically the whole year.  We were told, "You may have to reschedule if doctors/nurses can't make it in."  I got up at 3 AM.  I am terrified.  I am here.  We are having surgery.  

The hospital was amazing from start to finish.  The doctors, nurses, techs, pudding deliverers, everyone was totally great.  They let my husband and his bestie play Warcraft in the waiting room while they waited for me.  


I was laying in the bed while they pumped my arm full of delightful sleepy drugs.  They wheeled me into a room that I remember asking, "Why are we in the supply closet?" which got laughs.  Then I remember nothing.  I didn't even have to count backward from ten.  Surgery was about two hours.  Not very long at all.  
Here come the scars.
I don't remember having my picture taken.  I got drugs and asked Ben if the room was being squished.  I felt pushed down.  He just laughed and handed me ice chips.  The orange on my skin is iodine.  I didn't get a bad spray tan.  
Here is me on drugs.  They attached the vital monitor to my finger and it glowed.  
I do remember thinking I was ET.
A smile.  I get pudding.

The next morning I tried to eat eggs.  With my right hand.  While seriously drugged.  Enjoy.  
You can see at the end, I get super pissed.

When they took my thyroid out, local pathologists looked at it.  They couldn't tell if there was cancer.  Thyroid Cancer isn't as "easy" to diagnose as say, lung cancer.  All the damn cells look the same.  So my thyroid got to take a trip to Johns Hopkins.  There, three weeks later, they found Follicular Thyroid Cancer in the small tumor.  That sneaky, tiny bitch that I couldn't even feel.  

It's taken me six months to be able to say through teeth clenched so hard they squeak, "Thank God for the two-inch tumor.  Thank God for my dark, anxious times.  Thank God for the universe refusing to do anything other than teach me lessons I truly need to learn."  

Because they wouldn't have found the cancer without it.  Because I wouldn't be the less anxious version of me without it.  

Even though I may never be able to be grateful for my cancer, or this experience, I can be thankful for the outrageous serendipity of how it all came to be and of the lessons I continually take from it.  
Because, as we all know, you hardly ever learn a lesson just once.  You can't be a superhero every single day.  You are never out of the woods.  Life is a journey and all that shit.  More scars incoming.     

.
two month scar

four month scar

six month scar

I've heard that, for cancer patients, there are triggers for bad days, outbursts, depression, visceral reactions, etc.  For instance, driving past the hospital where they received treatment, taking medicine daily, seeing the scars. . . Any of those can cause a hitch in an otherwise smooth get-a-long. 

Well, my scar is getting lighter.  Taking a pill every day is getting easier.  I can maintain normal breathing when I drive past the hospital.  

For me, it's the fleeting moments when I can't help but think, "I can't fucking believe I had cancer." that get me.  So, I guess that makes me lucky.  Nothing constantly triggers it.  It's weird and haphazard, just like this whole surreal experience.  

Some days I can't believe it's been six months.  And, some days I can't believe it's been six months.  Two seemingly identical sentences, but vastly different emotions attached.  There are days I wake up and think, "Wait, when did I have surgery?  That was a lifetime ago." and some moments I rage at the fact it's only been 180 some odd days.


I guess all I can do is celebrate the little victories every chance I get.  Try my damnedest to get through the moments that randomly blindside me.  Since I know tomorrow could be filled with those jarring moments, I will focus on today.  And, just for today, I will deny worry, refuse anger and maintain gratitude.

My Best Mary

One lovely day in July, friends got together to have a baby shower for their best Mary. 

As you can see, she is adorable.  There is a baby in her tummy.  It's probably going to be a soccer player.  I've felt the kicks.


There were presents.  


There was a cat.  And a grinning Beth.

Little favors of nursery-colored jelly beans.


There were boys at the beginning, but we kicked them out.


There were lots of games.  This is Maggie eating the chocolate doodie from the diaper game.  
 And Sam guessing how big around Mary's tummy is.  
Nicole schooled us in all the games.


The food makes me hungry as I write this at 1:38 PM.  All gluten free for our gust of honor.  
Sam made the most amazing fruit arrangement.  It was beautiful and delicious. 

Mary loves sushi so we got the idea to make candy sushi while she isn't able to have real sushi.  Mmmm, sushi.  Still hungry.  
How freakin' cute are these?!  It's rice krispies wrapped around gummy worms and starbursts.  Wrapped in green fruit roll up.  They were a blast to make.  The swedish fish made awesome sashimi.

We tie-dyed onesies for little baby. 
We got messy.  Sam's knee got tie-dyed a little bit, too.  Then grass got stuck.

 Everyone had a blast drawing pictures to transfer to onesies, too.  Though I think Maggie drew like four drafts before being satisfied with her airplane.  It was impressive.  

I'm really proud of my Ben.  I worked on a blanket for my gift to Mary and her baby button.  Ben learned to crochet and did a whole section himself.  
This one, right below his eyeballs.

He crocheted so fast I couldn't catch him.  He was a crocheting blur.

It was a blurry, sugar-filled, crepe paper wrapped, tie-dyed, sunny, lovely day with my best Mary.