Husband for Sale. Discount today only!

Did you happen to read yesterday’s post about the husband who says too much?  If you didn’t, I hope you’ll go back for a fairly decent laugh.  If you did, then this story, you will see, continues to compliment the ongoing humor in our marriage.  Enjoy!

So, this morning, after not sleeping all night due to two rotating toddlers switching non-sleeping schedules, my husband saw my scar where I had my C-Section.  He then proceeded to say, “Wow!  You can hardly see your scar.”

I looked down at my belly.  He was right.  It’s nearly invisible two years after my 10pound 10ounce baby’s birth.

But Richard—being Richard—didn’t stop there.

“Yeah.  It blends in now with the rest of your belly wrinkles.”

I looked at him and died laughing.  I said, “Oh no you didn’t!  Let me read you what I just wrote!”

And proceeded to read him the blog When Your Husbsnd Says Too Much!

He was, at this point, rolling.

After we all stopped laughing, my husband said, “Well.  Are there any takers?”

Where we began to laugh again.

Friends—

Yesterday he was For Sale.  Today he is free.

I’ll set him by the curb.

Beware:  He comes with a wicked sense of humor.

Oh.  And he eats a lot.

Come quickly, though, because it is cold outside.

Mind over Matter…Right?

Pain.  It was shooting down my leg with each step that I took.  In fact, the nodule that I felt pulsated with just that.  Pain.

I was certain something had gone terribly wrong.  And I was scared about the future…Would they have to put me back under the knife?

Did I split my internal sutures open?

Did I get a hernia?

What happened and how would it be remedied?

Ouch.  Ouch.  Ouch.

That’s it.  I have to call my husband first.  Then the doctor next.

Ring.  Ring.

“Rich.  Rich!  I did it.  I got a hernia.  Or I split my sutures open.  Something happened.  There is a knot under my skin!”

My poor husband got off the phone and came home.  After all, it was to the day two weeks after my C-Section, and he was just as certain as I.  Something happened to me.

Good grief!

Now.  Let me tell you what happened the day before.

The day before, I had been stuck in the bathroom nearly the entire day.  Food did not sit right with me.  And to round up an already miserable day, the entire evening into the wee morning hours, I had been back in the bathroom.  Because this time the food was coming up.

I moaned all night, writhing in pain.

“Richard!  Call my parents.  Get them over here, quick!  I need to go to the emergency room!”

Okay.  Okay.  I am a bit of a drama queen.  My husband realizes this.  So, needless to say, he ran around getting me puke buckets and cleaning up after me, but he did not call my parents nor run me to the emergency room.

Now it was the next day and something—who knows what—was protruding from under my skin, on my right side, right above my incision.

Lord have mercy!

And then I called the doctor’s office.

“Hello!  Hello!  Can you get me in?  What’s that?  What’s the problem?  I’ve split my sutures!  Or I got a hernia!  Help!!!!”

“What’s that?  You can get me in to see the Nurse Practitioner?  Heavens no!  This is too serious.  A doctor it must be!”

And, so, much to their amusement, they got me in for the very next day—bright and early the next morning.

Of course, we did not end the phone conversation without me asking WHAT SYMPTOMS I should pay attention to.  You know, just in case the world turned upside down and it got worse.

Like I said—I am a bit of a drama queen.

And then I did what most of us do.  I went online and got my PhD at Google University.  And I told my husband that it advised I lie down and stay still.  And, of course, I spouted all sorts of knowledge (that I had just acquired).  But I still knew it all and prepared for the worst.

My poor husband.  He was now guilt ridden (believe me, it was not my intention).  He had actually LEFT me alone and GONE to work.

Home.

Alone.

With a newborn.

And a 1-year-old.  A 30-pound 1-year-old.

His poor wife.  He had caused this great pain upon her.  How DARE he go off to work, right?

Ouch.  Ouch.  Ouch!

And I just prayed to the good Lord above that all would end well.   At this point, not only am I a drama queen but my hypochondria is also kicking in.  And when my hypochondria kicks in, my mind refuses to shut off.

Get me a cool cloth, cover my eyes, and let me lie down, folks!  It’s enough that I have to wait until TOMORROW to find out my fate.

But, before we know it, tomorrow rolls around.  We get our 3 kids out the door (that’s a small miracle in itself since the last time we tried to take 3 kids somewhere, we left without 1—whoops.  To be fair, it was our first time out as a family of five), we drop our daughter off uber early at school.  Thankfully Uncle Casey is there with his kids.  So she goes and hangs with her cousins.

Now it’s only the 1-year-old, the newborn, the baby daddy, and me—the unfortunate patient of imminent doom—in the car.  And we’re heading with heavy minds and hearts to the doctor’s office.

We make it to the doctor’s office.  The doctor, by the way, is a year younger than my husband and 9 months younger than I.  And, yes, this is the doctor that cut us open.  So, here we are at the doctor’s office expecting the worst.

My husband has great pity on me.  He feels so bad that I gave him a baby for his birthday and, as a repayment, I have to go back under the knife to correct something that has gone terribly wrong.

I feel great pains accompanied with great fear that “Oh no” I have to go under the knife again.

And the doctor.  He confirms it all for us.

He confirms that, “Yes.  I feel that nodule…”

Here’s the kicker.

“…But you are fine.”

Say what, young man?!

Well, as our baby doctor explains, it turns out that my “split sutures or hernia” is actually sutures—not split but stable.  In fact, the nodule I feel is the “knot” that is keeping all of the sutures tied together.

And the reason I probably feel it is because I have lost some baby weight.  Or perhaps it is just the first time I felt it, after all, I hadn’t spent much time poking around at my sensitive belly.

The reason it probably aches especially is because I spent the entire night before puking my guts out, pulling at my sutures, and causing tummy pains.

Woe to me for…well, I guess for no big reason.

Mind over matter, folks!

I felt something and my mind went to town.  I Googled everything that could possibly have gone wrong—and I began to “live” everything that I read.

Isn’t that how it works, often, in our lives?  We “worry” about something that we have no control over.  And then we let our minds take over and spin out of control.

I am not going to be naive that say “Don’t worry.  Be happy.”  Because, truthfully, something could have been quite wrong.

Problem was, I diagnosed myself and took a swan dive straight into the deep end.

What did we do once we found out I would be okay?

We laughed.  And laughed.  And laughed.  We called our concerned family and they laughed.  And laughed.  And laughed.

And it seemed that once I heard I was going to be okay, the sharp, shooting pains slowly went away.

The ache of the night of puking—twas still there.  After all, I did just have my stomach cut open 2 weeks earlier.  But the pains that accompanied each step I took—yep.  Gone.  Just like that.

Ah, Brooke.  Sometimes I have got to learn to not let my MIND take over.

As for my PhD at Google University, I really need to remember to, instead, go for a PhD at God’s University.  After all, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:6-7).

This sure sounds a lot nicer than constant stress and worry and sleeplessness that presents itself when I try to “diagnose” myself, eh?!

Ah well…All in a day and life of Brooke.

And, what do you know?  Pain’s nearly gone.  Knot is still there.  And, mentally, well, that’s left up in the air.  After all, I am the mom of a newborn.

Ciao for now.  Have a great day and stay HEAD STRONG!

Perhaps I’ll hang Wonder Woman?!

And, heck!  I don’t have to wait until I’m old.

I’m fairly sure that with my lack of sleep, I might fall for it now 😉

I’m Superglued Together…My C-Section Adventure.

From Baby Belly to Belly Jelly…

Welcome, Josephine Diane!

So, I did not intend on a C-Section.  In fact, we went in to be induced on January 1st.  We were SO excited.  We had packed bags and big, big smiles!  Our children (Adelyne and Maxwell) were already dispersed to the cousins, and we got lots of family hugs all around.  My momma, whom the little J girl is named after, Josephine Diane (Diane being my momma’s name), got all dressed up for the hospital to meet her precious namesake.

My husband ate his last meal—and got me OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE for one of my last “pre-induction” meals.  Since we all know that ya can’t eat once induced.  And, if you know me at all, you know how much I LOVE my food.

So, my handsome hubby got me a “rocking” last pre-baby meal.

I tell you.  We had it all together and ALL planned out.

EXCEPT…When we arrived something completely different took place.

Ruh-roh.

We were told, “Um…Why are you carrying your hospital bags?  You’ll be going home tonight.”

SAY WHAT?!

“Yes.  We induce you, and if you don’t progress 2 centimeters in 2 hours, we send you home to labor.  And you have 3 chances for this.”

SAY WHAT?!  You induce me and send me home to writhe in pain?!  Doesn’t sound like a jar of jelly beans to me.

Now—if I had progressed…And believe me, my contractions were every 5-10 minutes, I was 3 centimeters dilated, and my cervix was practically 0.  So, there was a SUPER GREAT chance that I would be one of the women that goes into labor, gets to stay in the hospital, and have the baby that night.

BUT…I don’t like pain, and not being near pain meds or professional anesthesiologists was so not for me.  In fact, the very thought of being induced, not progressing, and being sent home sounded like a small form of TORTURE.  And I’m not pro-torture Brooke.  Therefore, Rich and I said, “Thanks for this info.  We’re outta here.  We’ll come back next week when it’s Pitocin induction and I can’t be sent home.”

But something else happened between then and the “next week” .  I had an ultra sound on Friday (part of the Stress Testing that I had been doing twice a week since 30 weeks).

The Ultra Sound lady looked at little Josephine, and measured her.  And measured her.  And measured her.  And finally said, “Your baby measure 10.8 pounds to 10.12 pounds.  I need to call your doctor.  Stay here.”

And she did.  And Rich and I didn’t know what was going on.  And then the doctor said, “Come in first thing Monday morning.  We need to talk about a C-Section.”

SAY WHAT?!

Absolutely NOTHING was taking place this week like I had planned.  No induction.  Baby far bigger than anticipated.  No baby—yet.  I felt like hyperventilating.

But, instead of sticking my head in a bag and/or passing out, Rich and I and a whole slew of really awesome peeps came to our house the very next morning and helped up pack up our little farmhouse and move the entire house and all of its contents into a bigger house in three hours.  And, yes…I had contractions every 5-10 minutes the entire moving day.

Good thing the crowd of awesome friends let me eat donuts and direct traffic all day.

So, instead of being induced—instead of looking at a future induction, I was moving homes, having contractions, and starting to talk to all sorts of women about C-Sections.

To make a long story shorter…we agreed with the doctors.  And so all wheels were set in motion.

C Day…January 8th.  Her daddy’s birthday!

***

Now, mind you, I may have terrible pregnancies, but I was 2-0 for rocking labors.  My daughter came 11 days late, I was induced, and labor from start to finish was 8 and 1/2 hours.  It was like a party.  My son came 5 weeks and 6 days early, but labor itself was 4 and 1/2 hours.  It was not a party—because I had no pain meds.  But you really can’t beat a 4 and 1/2 hour labor.  I bounced back from that within 5 minutes.

But here I was about to embark on a different path.  And it was a very STERILE path.  Have you ever been in a surgical room before?  SCARY!  Freezing cold.  Sterile environment.  Anesthesiologist.  And lots of prep work for surgery—without my husband in the room.   Finally—lots of paperwork and signatures, signing your life away while letting you know of all the bad things that could go wrong.

YIKES!  Surgery was definitely not for me.  But we were there—and my belly was not getting any smaller.  Let’s rock this joint!

They finally let my husband in and started immediately.

Now—my husband and I are some of those people that take pictures and videos throughout my labors so that I can actually enjoy the moments post fact. With our C-Section, however, he wasn’t allowed to take pictures or video of the procedure.  I was a bit bummed about that.

But within minutes, I felt this unbelievable suction out of my belly.  It was like a huge balloon being pulled out.  And then we heard a loud ruckus of murmurs…”Wow!  Look at those cheeks.  She’s huge!”

And, before a moments notice was up, there she was.  Our little Josephine Diane right next to me.  And you are not kidding.  Her cheeks were HUGE!  And she was the spitting image of her ultra sound pictures.  And she was all dirty and screaming her lungs out.  And she was perfect.  And safe.  And we were so happy.

Then they put her on the scale.  10 pounds 10 ounces.  For those in the other measurement world, that’s roughly 4.82 kilograms.

Whoop!  There she is.  In all of her chubby glory.  Perfect.  Screaming.  Safe.

Thank you, Lord.

Now for the finale—putting me back together.  I was a bit bummed that I didn’t get to see any of the surgery, so I remember my sister-in-law telling me that if you look up at the lights, they act as a mirror, and you can see your reflection.

Sure enough, I glanced up and noticed that the metal bars of the large surgical lights above had a great reflection of the surgery taking place below.  So I got to see all of my inners—all of my guts and glory.  At first it was like, “Oh, wow!  That’s fascinating!”  With my second look, however, it was like, “Oh, yuck!  Scary.  That’s my insides.”  And so, I stopped looking after that and just appreciated the doctor as he verbally walked us through all the steps.

Truth be told, a combination of the anesthesia and then the rocking of putting my inners back in rendered me seasick.  And thus the puking began.

Of course, my hubby is with baby at this point.  So it’s just the anesthesia doc and me in all of my guts and glory—he’s catching my puke and wiping my face while on the other side of the curtain the doc and the nurses are reinserting my inners and working on gluing me back together.

And, of course, in the midst of the vomiting it did not hit me, but later it did…

Sometimes in life we take different paths or go in different directions than we intended.  If you had heard the conversation I had with the nurse on the Friday that we were told the doctors recommended a C-Section, you would have heard me at my worst.

I was upset.  I was angry.  And I probably wasn’t kind.  I was crying.  And I was not at all about to agree with the path that they recommended for me or our baby.

But I called many women and confronted all of my questions and fears.  By Monday, we walked into the office in peace.

The doctors shared their concerns.  If the baby got stuck, there would be an emergency C-Section (15 inch head, by the way, is what our little gal measured).  Or there was the possibility of her shoulder being broken, nerve damage, and, ultimately but very seriously, potential neurological damage if delivery did not go smoothly and something went wrong.

They didn’t try to scare us.  They shared with us.  And we both had great peace that yes, it was not what we had wanted, but it was the direction we were willing to go.  Down the surgical road of the big C.

Then the best part took place.  Since I reached my due date, they were wanting the C-Section the next day.  But we asked, “Um…If we are going to go C, anyway, can you wait one more day?  It’s my husband’s birthday on Wednesday.”

Sure enough.  They were willing to wait another day.  And I got to plan not only for our baby—but a double birthday party!

I never intended on being superglued together.  I never intended on a C-Section.  I never intended this pregnancy to end the way it did.  But that’s life.

Sometimes our insides have got to come out.  We have to be gutted.  We have to be cleaned.  And we have to be put back together.  And only then do we truly have what is best.

For us, the best was a safe and healthy baby placed into our arms.

You may have to endure your own surgery.  Perhaps your guts have to come out.  Maybe you will need a little suction or cleaning.  And then your world may rock as you are put back in place—causing great discomfort (in my case puking)…but it may also be the best for you.

After all, the most important is “Are you okay?  Are you safe?  Will you make it?”

And then, in the end, you may be superglued together.  But you know that everything is okay.

You will heal.  You may scar.  But you will live.

God is good.

And so is our baby, Sweet Cheeks 2, Josephine Diane!

One week before our Sweet Cheeks joined us outside the Belly

And now you can see how she got her name

(But she is #2 since our 1st daughter was also called Sweet Cheeks)

I thought today might be the day…

Have you ever moved into “Prepare for Countdown” mode?

Totally here!  In fact, today I started nesting.  I know…I am quite far along to start building my nest—but as the days count down, I started to realize that sooner is closer than later.

And then there was the pain.  The intense, kick my butt, bring tears to my eyes, pain.

Lastly there was the extreme tightening of the belly.  Oh how lovely was my burning hot shower on my back.  It was as if I had escaped reality and melted into lava.  Lovely lava.  Although I am pretty sure I would not want to melt into real lava.

Anyhow—I could be totally psyching myself out at this stage.  Probably since I was told the baby could come “Any day!” by the doctor—the wise and trusted physician (well, I better consider him wise and trusted or else I’ll be walking into the unknown on my L-Day).

Have you ever done that?  Psych yourself out.  Just to end up being psyched out.

I could be completely there at this moment.  Because at this moment, my little Belly Josephine is gladly kicking my softened belly and apparently having a blast by the non-stop motions.

But, then again, perhaps I am not.

Tomorrow I go back in for monitoring.  Watch them say that she’s snug and settled.  Will I feel relief?  Or am I at the point where I’m ready for her to come?

Well, technically since tomorrow is Day 1 of Week 32, I should feel relief, but this lay on my side and elevate my feet is killing me.  I am not even appreciating Hulu.  We don’t like TV on in the evenings when my daughter is up…It’s not that we’re anti-TV.  Heck no.  I have a great fondness towards many shows.  But the commercials that play in the evenings are horrendous.  I believe my 7-year-old should be spared from some nasty things in life.  So Hulu, when we have a chance, is the way we watch.

Except for Sesame Street in the morning.  Our son…He’s a huge fan!  Especially of Mr. Noodle.  Totally waves each time he appears on screen, as if Mr. Noodle himself will stop his silliness long enough to wave right back.

Anyhoo—today I was certain it was time for my “Breathe, breathe, breathe, grab my husband’s collar, breathe, breathe, breathe day.”  And I don’t even have my bag packed.

I forgot.  What do you pack for a potential preterm birth?  Do I still pack underwear and pajamas?  Do I grab clothes?  Nursing pads?  Will she be able to nurse if she comes early?

Or should I just go to the hospital with nothing at all and then after the big event ask my husband to run home and grab for me what has come to mind?!  Hmmmm…

And, if she comes early, someone’s going to have to do a preemie run to Target.  My sister already scouted out the clothes and told me they are C.U.T.E.

But, if she comes too early, will she be able to breathe okay?  My son was born sick.  So I don’t know if that’s the way it works with all premature babies.  Or if some are okay?  Or…???!!!

Let’s just say.  As soon as the doc told me that she could come any day, I had a labor dream that night.  All went well (I’m GREAT in the actual labor part of birth—it just appears I suck in the keeping the baby baking part of birth).  And then the second night I had a C-Section dream.  That was a little scarier.  I am not hoping for surgery.  I am tough.  But I am afraid that with a C-Section I may prove a wuss.

Hmmm…

Thankfully the third night I had no labor or C-Section dreams.  But I did get up to pee about 4 times throughout the night.  Perhaps that was preparation for nightly feedings?!  And, as tired as I might be during those feedings, they are completely some of my most treasured moments.  The moment I quit nursing my son is the exact moment he stopped snuggling me.  So nightly feedings it is!  And treasured moments they will be.  Babies really do grow too quickly—even when I demand that they stop!

Well, the ramblings of this overly anxious momma will stop.  I hear tires and children.  My fam is home.  Yea for reality.  And a touch of sanity.  Or insanity (depends how you describe my family).

In any case—she’s still baking, and it appears as if I’ll make it into tomorrow.  Week 32.  The beautiful number 32.  It’s a pregnancy milestone, “Thank you, God!”  And I am but hours from it.

Woo-hoo!

For now, I will sign off as big and preggo.  And hopefully tomorrow I can tell you the same.  And the next day.  And the next day.  And the next.  Until she makes it as big and fat and round and healthy as possible…a slice of perfection delivered as a bundle of screaming lungs!