The best obstetricians are supposed to be the doctors who have delivered hundreds, even thousands of babies. But, after watching the OB smile to him or herself the tenth time after one of my questions, I have to wonder whether all that experience really makes a doctor more aware of patient needs.
I remember waking up one day early in my second trimester in horrible pain. My hips and legs would barely move. My belly was as tight as the outside of a basketball. And I hurt all over.
What was wrong with me? Could this be premature labor? Was something wrong with our baby?
I tore through What to Expect When You're Expecting. Nothing. I asked around at school. Again, nothing. I spent most of the day in tears before calling my OB and making an emergency appointment.
The OB did a urine test, poked my belly, and told me I was fine. The exam took less than ten minutes. She did absolutely nothing to assuage my fears. "Everything is normal," she said. But she couldn't tell me why I was in so much pain.
As it turned out, I had hurt myself sleeping without a pillow. (Pillows are a MUST for pregnancy, I have since figured out.) I had a very normal reaction to a very normal pregnancy mistake. But because everything about my pregnancy has been so very normal, the OB didn't take the time to help make me more physically--or emotionally--comfortable.
Adam and I recently transferred to a new OB-GYN. When the doctor reviewed our file, he commented that the pregnancy had been remarkably uncomplicated. That's great to hear. But that doesn't change the fact that, for me, every new symptom can be alarming--or even frightening. And, unfortunately, OBs won't always be the source of comfort, hope, and advice they should be.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
#13. Alcohol and Cigarettes Aren't the Only "No-Nos"
Everyone knows you aren't supposed to smoke or drink when you're pregnant. Or do illegal drugs. But I was blown away by the huge list of "nos" I didn't find out about until after I got pregnant. Did you know, for example, that pregnant women aren't supposed to...
Of course, being told you can't do something has a profound psychological effect. What do I want on my salad? Feta cheese. And how can I never get comfortable? On my side. I don't even like paté, but I'd give anything to be able to eat some.
- ...top salads with feta cheese?
- ...dine on Eggs Benedict? (At least not with a soft-poached egg.)
- ...splurge on paté?
- ...enjoy sandwiches with deli meat?
- ...clean up after a cat?
- ...sleep on their backs?
Of course, being told you can't do something has a profound psychological effect. What do I want on my salad? Feta cheese. And how can I never get comfortable? On my side. I don't even like paté, but I'd give anything to be able to eat some.
At least I've learned a valuable parenting lesson from this list of "don'ts": nothing makes you want to do something more than being told you can't. I hope I can keep that lesson in mind when baby comes around.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
#12. You Will Convince Yourself You Will Kill Your Baby
Amazon.com lists about 5,000 books for the search "pregnancy and childbirth." In a field of competition that large, most of the books try to differentiate themselves with a crucial claim: this is the one and only book standing between your unborn child and death or permanent disability.
Or something like that.
Early on in my pregnancy, I went to the library and checked out a number of the most urgent looking books. I trolled the internet for pregnancy-related websites. And, as already mentioned, I listened to every horror story other people were willing to tell me.
After a few weeks, I was a nervous wreck. I was terrified that every time I carried in the groceries by myself, rolled onto my side during sleep, or bathed myself, my baby was going to die.
A minor pregnancy complication was just icing on the cake.
I remember after five o'clock one Friday afternoon finding a vague message from my OB in my voicemail, "Alison, we need you to call the office when you get the chance." How ominous. I'd been expecting some bloodwork results from the office. Clearly something was wrong. I was missing a critical piece of information that would save my baby's life!
I frantically called the answering service for the OB practice to find out what to do. I was so panicked, she paged the doctor. What had the message really been about? Congratulations! My pregnancy hormones were finally at the appropriate levels. I was so emotionally worn out that I lay on the bed and sobbed my heart out for a full thirty minutes.
After that experience, Adam sat down to have a talk with me. He said I was allowed to pick one book, and one book only, to read about pregnancy. If my OB and the book said I had nothing to worry about, I was just going to have to listen.
So far, our baby hasn't been harmed at all by opting out of optional information. In fact, he may be better off with the reduction in adrenaline pumping through my system. I guess I learned a valuable lesson about child-rearing... and life in general.
Sometimes, what you don't know really can't hurt you. The human race survived for thousands of years before What to Expect. And a century more without the internet.
I still don't want to take unnecessary risks with my baby's life--now or after he is born. But the cost of knowing everything (or trying pretty darn hard) is just too great--what with the worry, the stress, and the waste of time. And even if it were possible to recognize every single little thing that might harm our child, it wouldn't prevent bad things from ever happening to him. Far better to live happily and well, taking one day at the time.
Or something like that.
Early on in my pregnancy, I went to the library and checked out a number of the most urgent looking books. I trolled the internet for pregnancy-related websites. And, as already mentioned, I listened to every horror story other people were willing to tell me.
After a few weeks, I was a nervous wreck. I was terrified that every time I carried in the groceries by myself, rolled onto my side during sleep, or bathed myself, my baby was going to die.
A minor pregnancy complication was just icing on the cake.
I remember after five o'clock one Friday afternoon finding a vague message from my OB in my voicemail, "Alison, we need you to call the office when you get the chance." How ominous. I'd been expecting some bloodwork results from the office. Clearly something was wrong. I was missing a critical piece of information that would save my baby's life!
I frantically called the answering service for the OB practice to find out what to do. I was so panicked, she paged the doctor. What had the message really been about? Congratulations! My pregnancy hormones were finally at the appropriate levels. I was so emotionally worn out that I lay on the bed and sobbed my heart out for a full thirty minutes.
After that experience, Adam sat down to have a talk with me. He said I was allowed to pick one book, and one book only, to read about pregnancy. If my OB and the book said I had nothing to worry about, I was just going to have to listen.
So far, our baby hasn't been harmed at all by opting out of optional information. In fact, he may be better off with the reduction in adrenaline pumping through my system. I guess I learned a valuable lesson about child-rearing... and life in general.
Sometimes, what you don't know really can't hurt you. The human race survived for thousands of years before What to Expect. And a century more without the internet.
I still don't want to take unnecessary risks with my baby's life--now or after he is born. But the cost of knowing everything (or trying pretty darn hard) is just too great--what with the worry, the stress, and the waste of time. And even if it were possible to recognize every single little thing that might harm our child, it wouldn't prevent bad things from ever happening to him. Far better to live happily and well, taking one day at the time.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
#11. Nothing Cures Morning Sickness
If I heard or read that morning sickness is misnamed once I heard or read it 1,000 times--in the months after I got pregnant. Before I got pregnant, morning sickness seemed like an almost romantic pregnancy symptom. Throw up every morning before you go to work as your husband lovingly holds your hair and massages your back. Get on with the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, morning sickness is more than an occasional fit of dawn vomiting. Morning sickness can be--and was for me--a knock-down, drag-out and totally incapacitating problem.
Morning sickness started out the first few weeks as a vague feeling of queasiness. I felt a little flu-ish. And there were certain foods I didn't want to eat. I could live that way.
Over the course of the next few weeks, morning sickness turned into smell aversion. Climbing the stairs in our multi-ethnic apartment complex at dinner time was like running a gauntlet. I'd race into the door dry heaving--but only once a day. I could live that way, too.
Then, I remember one fateful night about two months into my pregnancy. I hadn't been able to bear the thought of eating anything all day. About 10:30, I got into my head that I could eat a crunchy granola bar. I drove myself to the 7-11 to buy one. I ate it in the car in the parking lot... and threw it back up before I could make it to the door. I sat down on the steps and cried I was so miserable and so sick. I was beginning to think I couldn't live that way after all.
And it got worse.
It got to where I couldn't eat lunch in the school cafeteria because there were too many different smells.
It got to where I had to stop brushing my back teeth because my toothbrush made me gag.
It got to where I couldn't eat anything for Thanksgiving dinner except cheese and crackers.
It got to where Adam and I gave up all social activities so I could lie on the bathroom floor at night.
The real problem, I realized later, wasn't the morning sickness--or at least it wasn't just the morning sickness. The bigger problem was my refusal to ask for help. I felt so tired and alone because I refused to let Adam into the bathroom when I was getting sick. And I couldn't eat because I kept trying to cook for myself and Adam.
I couldn't have made it through my first trimester without a group of supportive co-workers who covered for me when I couldn't make it to class and students who were willing to self-supervise for the sake of my health. And I couldn't have made it without Adam's continuing love and support. But next time, I'll ask for those home-cooked meals I needed. I'll accept those offers of help keeping the house clean. And, for heaven's sake, I'll let Adam into the bathroom to rub my back and hold my hair out of the way.
Unfortunately, morning sickness is more than an occasional fit of dawn vomiting. Morning sickness can be--and was for me--a knock-down, drag-out and totally incapacitating problem.
Morning sickness started out the first few weeks as a vague feeling of queasiness. I felt a little flu-ish. And there were certain foods I didn't want to eat. I could live that way.
Over the course of the next few weeks, morning sickness turned into smell aversion. Climbing the stairs in our multi-ethnic apartment complex at dinner time was like running a gauntlet. I'd race into the door dry heaving--but only once a day. I could live that way, too.
Then, I remember one fateful night about two months into my pregnancy. I hadn't been able to bear the thought of eating anything all day. About 10:30, I got into my head that I could eat a crunchy granola bar. I drove myself to the 7-11 to buy one. I ate it in the car in the parking lot... and threw it back up before I could make it to the door. I sat down on the steps and cried I was so miserable and so sick. I was beginning to think I couldn't live that way after all.
And it got worse.
It got to where I couldn't eat lunch in the school cafeteria because there were too many different smells.
It got to where I had to stop brushing my back teeth because my toothbrush made me gag.
It got to where I couldn't eat anything for Thanksgiving dinner except cheese and crackers.
It got to where Adam and I gave up all social activities so I could lie on the bathroom floor at night.
The real problem, I realized later, wasn't the morning sickness--or at least it wasn't just the morning sickness. The bigger problem was my refusal to ask for help. I felt so tired and alone because I refused to let Adam into the bathroom when I was getting sick. And I couldn't eat because I kept trying to cook for myself and Adam.
I couldn't have made it through my first trimester without a group of supportive co-workers who covered for me when I couldn't make it to class and students who were willing to self-supervise for the sake of my health. And I couldn't have made it without Adam's continuing love and support. But next time, I'll ask for those home-cooked meals I needed. I'll accept those offers of help keeping the house clean. And, for heaven's sake, I'll let Adam into the bathroom to rub my back and hold my hair out of the way.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
#10. There Are a Lot of Strange Remedies for Morning Sickness
Graphic stories weren't the only lore our friends and family had to share with us. We also heard dozens and dozens of increasingly-bizarre, and often totally unrealistic, folk remedies for morning sickness. Every mom we knew had a whispered secret to share, the solution for living through pregnancy nausea:
Most of these suggestions came before I started to feel sick in earnest, so I ignored them at the time. Even if I didn't internalize the cures, I should have grasped that any condition these women had clearly tried so hard to get rid of was not going to be easy to survive.
Eventually, my desperation drove me to try every single one of these strange remedies... with mixed results. Stay tuned.
- Munch on soda crackers all day because they'll settle your stomach
- Get plenty of exercise
- Dose up on vitamin B6
- Wear motion sickness bands to calm queasiness
- Eat only cold food because it doesn't smell as strong
- Gobble ginger in any form--candied, pickled, carbonated...
- Hold to a B.R.A.T. diet--bananas, rice, applesauce, and tea
- Chew on lemons all day
- Dine on cabbage
- Keep a boiled egg by your bedside to eat when you wake up in the morning
Most of these suggestions came before I started to feel sick in earnest, so I ignored them at the time. Even if I didn't internalize the cures, I should have grasped that any condition these women had clearly tried so hard to get rid of was not going to be easy to survive.
Eventually, my desperation drove me to try every single one of these strange remedies... with mixed results. Stay tuned.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
#9. Pregnancy Inspires a Lot of Horrible Stories
When Adam and I finally unveiled our pregnancy, we were greeted with a lot of love and support. But, for every congratulatory hug and warm, happy phone call, there was an urgent, whispered aside from someone who had been pregnant before.
In a few short weeks, I heard just about everything--and in graphic detail. Morning sickness and salmonella at the same time. Moms who went into premature labor and didn't realize it. Women who delivered in their bathrooms. Twelve-pound babies who tore their mothers apart on their way into this world. I was horrified.
Adam eventually forbade me from reading pregnancy forums and carefully shielded me from wiser moms who tried to take me aside for a private chat.
I didn't realize that becoming pregnant would grant me membership to the exclusive club of women who have been pregnant. And the initiation ritual is to listen to every other woman's pregnancy horror stories.
Pregnancy is such a strange thing. It's a basic biological function of womankind, but it is still somehow secret, and sacred. And getting pregnant is like becoming part of an intimate sororal group to which any woman can be invited.
Over the past few months, I've come to appreciate that secret sorority and its instant intimacy--warts and all. I appreciate the frankness and openness with which that group of women has greeted me. I've even told a few horror stories of my own to new moms. And, lets face it, I've started a blog about pregnancy with the same basic impulse to share.
In a few short weeks, I heard just about everything--and in graphic detail. Morning sickness and salmonella at the same time. Moms who went into premature labor and didn't realize it. Women who delivered in their bathrooms. Twelve-pound babies who tore their mothers apart on their way into this world. I was horrified.
Adam eventually forbade me from reading pregnancy forums and carefully shielded me from wiser moms who tried to take me aside for a private chat.
I didn't realize that becoming pregnant would grant me membership to the exclusive club of women who have been pregnant. And the initiation ritual is to listen to every other woman's pregnancy horror stories.
Pregnancy is such a strange thing. It's a basic biological function of womankind, but it is still somehow secret, and sacred. And getting pregnant is like becoming part of an intimate sororal group to which any woman can be invited.
Over the past few months, I've come to appreciate that secret sorority and its instant intimacy--warts and all. I appreciate the frankness and openness with which that group of women has greeted me. I've even told a few horror stories of my own to new moms. And, lets face it, I've started a blog about pregnancy with the same basic impulse to share.
Friday, February 25, 2011
#8. You Can't Be Pregnant by Yourself
I said yesterday that there is no such thing as "your" pregnancy. I'd like to add a caveat. There is no reason you would want a pregnancy to be "your" pregnancy. A one-woman-show pregnancy isn't even possible.
I'm a do-it-yourself kind of person. I hate accepting help from other people. And I hate asking for help even more. In my early pregnancy, I tried very hard to make it to work on time every day, to keep cooking for my husband, and to keep my vomiting a secret--even from Adam.
But as time wore on and my pregnancy symptoms got worse, I just couldn't do it any more. Many mornings, I had to spend way too much time in the bathroom to make it to work on time. I couldn't eat a bite of anything I smelled as it cooked. And sitting on the bathroom floor crying by myself was just too depressing.
Help arrived. And I didn't even have to ask for it.
Before I knew it, my early morning classes were getting covered. My ninth- and tenth-grade homeroom students even took their own attendance and ran their own prayer session! Food started appearing out of nowhere from friends and co-workers. And Adam talked me into leaving the bathroom door open so he could come running when he heard the tale-tell sounds of sickness.
Now, five months into the pregnancy, I've learned that I really do have to depend on other people. Pregnant women aren't as helpless as some people think we are, but there are some things I just can't do. Adam and I are moving into a new home tomorrow. I can't smell the chemicals required to scour the oven. I can really navigate around the piles of boxes in our living room with my growing belly. And I don't have the stamina to pack for hours on end without many, many breaks.
Just like in the first trimester, help has materialized. My mother came up and helped clean our apartment--several friends have volunteered to finish the job on Sunday. My in-laws came up for a friendly visit and ended up packing a huge number of our belongings. Friends volunteered their time to stuff our dishes and books into boxes.
There are those who question whether it is responsible to bring a child into a world with so much suffering. I suppose they may have a point. But I, for one, am happy to be introducing a new person into the warm, charitable, generous community and family by which Adam and I are lucky to be surrounded.
Without Adam, I wouldn't have made it through the first trimester. Without our friends and family, we wouldn't be moving into a wonderful new house with plenty of room for the baby.
There is no way I could be pregnant by myself.
I'm a do-it-yourself kind of person. I hate accepting help from other people. And I hate asking for help even more. In my early pregnancy, I tried very hard to make it to work on time every day, to keep cooking for my husband, and to keep my vomiting a secret--even from Adam.
But as time wore on and my pregnancy symptoms got worse, I just couldn't do it any more. Many mornings, I had to spend way too much time in the bathroom to make it to work on time. I couldn't eat a bite of anything I smelled as it cooked. And sitting on the bathroom floor crying by myself was just too depressing.
Help arrived. And I didn't even have to ask for it.
Before I knew it, my early morning classes were getting covered. My ninth- and tenth-grade homeroom students even took their own attendance and ran their own prayer session! Food started appearing out of nowhere from friends and co-workers. And Adam talked me into leaving the bathroom door open so he could come running when he heard the tale-tell sounds of sickness.
Now, five months into the pregnancy, I've learned that I really do have to depend on other people. Pregnant women aren't as helpless as some people think we are, but there are some things I just can't do. Adam and I are moving into a new home tomorrow. I can't smell the chemicals required to scour the oven. I can really navigate around the piles of boxes in our living room with my growing belly. And I don't have the stamina to pack for hours on end without many, many breaks.
Just like in the first trimester, help has materialized. My mother came up and helped clean our apartment--several friends have volunteered to finish the job on Sunday. My in-laws came up for a friendly visit and ended up packing a huge number of our belongings. Friends volunteered their time to stuff our dishes and books into boxes.
There are those who question whether it is responsible to bring a child into a world with so much suffering. I suppose they may have a point. But I, for one, am happy to be introducing a new person into the warm, charitable, generous community and family by which Adam and I are lucky to be surrounded.
Without Adam, I wouldn't have made it through the first trimester. Without our friends and family, we wouldn't be moving into a wonderful new house with plenty of room for the baby.
There is no way I could be pregnant by myself.
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