Nummies 911

Fill Me Up

There are days that drain you and days that fill you. The other day at work I had a fill day.

There was a woman who was thought to be in preterm labor. If the estimates were correct, she would deliver a baby that would most likely require a stay in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) for weeks. While the nurses and doctors prepared, I was in the unique and rare position of being able to give all my time to this patient. She was young and scared and very tired. This was her first baby and she really didn't tell anyone she was pregnant until just a few weeks ago.

I was a doula for about six years, so I jumped into that mode and helped her breathe, move and cope with her labor. She had not slept the night before. She kept her eyes closed most of the time. She kept saying she had no idea it would be this hard.
"None of us do," I told her.

As I helped her and felt her baby moving around and down lower and lower, the thoughts of a premature baby seemed further away. This baby seemed more like a near term, if not full term baby.

She labored harder and harder, moving and groaning, and then finally she said, "I CAN'T do this!" Music to my ears! When a woman is laboring naturally, and she says this, it is almost certain that she is in transition and is about to start pushing. I checked her and I could feel the baby's head low, and what I thought to be a ton of thick hair. I encouraged her. I told her soon she would hold her baby and see that thick head of hair.

She was so strong.  As the team of nurses and doctors filed in the room for the delivery I was separated from her as I assumed my position at the infant warmer, but I could hear her grunts as she delivered her baby, which turned out to be over seven pounds and full term, with the thickest set of curls on top of his head.

After she and the baby were cleaned up from the delivery and all the staff had left the room, I leaned down close to her. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be sleeping. I lightly touched her shoulder and whispered, "You did it."

Without even opening her eyes, she smiled the biggest smile I'd ever seen. That one smile, from her very soul reached far into mine. I continued to tell her that she had just done the hardest thing ever and now she could feel confident in her ability to handle whatever life threw her. "You are strong, and now you know it."

I handed her the baby. With her eyes still closed, she pulled the baby's face to nuzzle into her neck and gentle held and rubbed the baby's hand. At that moment, they were beautiful beyond belief.

I may have helped her, but she helped me far more.

Crazy Club gets a new member

Dooce had her baby.

For certain I have readers that do not read Dooce’s blog, so I’ll give you a little synopsis. Dooce, aka Heather Armstrong, had a baby, went into severe post-partum depression (PPD), was hospitalized, recovered, and went on to write a book about it. She then got pregnant again and had her baby recently. Her first post about her experience with post-partum depression with this baby was June 30, 2009.

It was this post that made me realize, she is just as crazy as the rest of us. But what makes me upset is that she is in the public eye and people are listening to her. I don’t purport to know the extent to which she influences the public, but if you look at the comments, I see a lot of mothers, both new and experienced, following her and lauding her efforts in bringing the dark side of PPD out into the open. Well, that is all fine and well, but as evidenced by her recent comments, she hasn’t learned nearly as much as I would have thought.

She has talked extensively about her medicines and her therapy in the past. But in her recently she says she was experiencing anxiety after her birth and I guess she thought she needed help. Good so far. But did she call her psychiatrist? No, she went and found the doctor who treated her as an inpatient.

“So early last week we called the doctor who treated me in the hospital back in 2004. He does not normally see patients who are not in the hospital, but by some lucky twist of the universe he thought I was someone else, someone whom he owed a favor, and agreed to see me as an outpatient.”

Then she says:

“So we did a lot of talking, and since he's been treating women for this very condition for over 30 years I did a lot of listening and learning. The odds were completely stacked against me, and he said that if I had been gearing up and treating the possibility of this in my third trimester I might have been able to avoid it. But since I didn't it was time to attack it now.”

This last part sent me over the edge. My GOD woman you were hospitalized for severe post-partum depression. The very least you should have right now is a good working relationship with a psychiatrist (and therapist) along with the ongoing prescriptions. Even a mediocre doctor would have been anticipating this and “gearing up!”

Ok, so let’s get this straight, you had a baby, went crazy, were hospitalized, wrote a freaking book about it, but just thought, hey, maybe it won’t happen to me again, so we’ll just wing it and hope for the best. Because that is what is sounds like.

If that is the case, you just joined the ranks of every other depressed, bipolar or schizophrenic who don’t take their meds or see their doctor because they feel fine, right now.

Let me say this. Post-partum depression is serious! If you have ever battled clinical depression in your life (note I said clinical, which is different from being depressed during a life trigger such as the death of loved one, divorce, etc.) then you are a shoe-in for PPD. If you get PPD with your first baby, you are most likely going to experience it with your others, perhaps even more severely. Get HELP! This can be life or death.

Help is out there. There are wonderful sites dedicated to the subject. There are great books out there. There are support groups you can attend. But none of these is a substitute for a relationship with a doctor you trust, who can help you when you are in crisis. If you had cancer, you’d have an oncologist. If you were pregnant, you’d have a midwife or obstetrician. If you have post-partum depression or you are at risk for it, you need a psychiatrist, preferably one who has successfully treated many women before you.

So, congratulations to Dooce and the birth of Marlo, and if she has raised some more eyebrows, I hope it has served as an example of what not to do. Remember, crazy is as crazy does.

Birth Philosophy

Charlotte is a stray cat that Molly brought home a few weeks ago. I, of course, do not need another living thing in this house, so I kicked her out at least five or six times, but she always found her way back.

After a couple of weeks of this, I realized she was pregnant. So we became Charlotte’s foster home. The last time I had a pregnant cat I was 8 or 9 years old, so I did some reading.
•    Cats can become pregnant as young as 4-6 months old.
•    Cats can become pregnant as soon as 48 hours after giving birth.
•    Cats are very needy and moody when they are pregnant.
Sound familiar? (By the way, a six-month-old cat is the equivalent of a 10-12 year old human.)

I’ve learned some other things along the way.

Turns out there is an old technique in birthing kittens that if the mother does not lick the kitten to stimulate it to breathe, you can “gently” swing the kitten downward between your legs to force out the fluid and clear the airway. WHAT!?! Seriously, that sounds as barbaric as some of the things we do to women in labor and delivery. Science only gets us so far. Doing things the way they’ve always been done, will get you all the way to crazy.

One information source made the declaration: There are no consistently safe and effective ways of inducing labor in a feline. Amen to that, and ditto for women! If only THAT was printed on every little thing a pregnant woman receives from her clinic, than maybe, just maybe, it would have sunk in by the time she reaches 36 weeks. I’m gleaning a little from the next lesson.

My kids have forgotten everything I’ve ever taught them about birth and babies. Being a childbirth educator, doula and finally nurse, I have always talked plainly and truthfully to my children about sex and birth and breastfeeding. However, this experience has taught me that unless you talk about it everyday, most of what you may have considered “covered” is actually “forgotten.”

Leaving things alone is the best way to get things right. In birth anyway, it has a design that works, if only we would let it. Almost everything I read encouraged the pet owner to NOT interfere with the cat's labor and delivery, but to be there as a "lifeguard" if something goes wrong. And yet, when we as humans have just as good a design on labor and birth, we REFUSE to believe in it. We judge it, question it, doubt it. Are there no wise women left who believe that birth is right, natural and best left alone? Are there no women who want swim with lifeguards? I could go on and on about this one, but I'll leave it for now.

While most sources say that a cat prefers seclusion, Charlotte wanted my attention in labor, so I sat with her, and petted her and tried to support her. But as any good doula knows, you cannot possibly prepare a female for what happens at the moment of birth. Charlotte became wide eyed as her first kitten emerged and she literally tried to climb up my arm. It was a familiar sight, one I’ve seen so many times as young, first time mothers climb to the top of the birthing bed to “get away” from the pain. The next time is better because while it hurts the same, we know what to expect and the panic is not as bad. By the third kitten, Charlotte didn’t even make a sound.

 

The children’s reactions to the kittens just exemplify how very different each child is. Cullen is squeamish and Camille is not. Cullen touched one of the kittens and then felt the umbilical cord. He freaked out and ran to the bathroom to wash his hands. Camille laughed and at 3½ years old, she mocked him with waving hands and laughing, said “I’ve got to wash my hands!” Camille picks up earthworms with her bare hands.

While Molly is imaginative, Camille is rather concrete. Molly is projecting personalities onto the kittens, determining little scenarios and trying to find names that fit.
Camille asks, “Is my kitten sick, or is he OK?”
She says, “I’d like my kitten to be a girl.”

Later, Camille thinks we should sing a song to the kittens.
“Do you know any kitten songs, Mommy?” she asks.
I reply, “No, that would be Molly’s department. Go ask her. I’m sure she can make up a kitten song for you.” And she will.

 

Molly's Birth Story

Here is Molly's Birth Story I wrote soon after her birth. She is 9 years old now.