The Awkward Adventures of Mary

Textbook

2017-05-16T18:51:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago, a friend posted about National Infertility Awareness Week and her struggle with infertility. I didn't know that this was a thing, but I love that it is. Infertility has such a stigma attached to it (Why!?) and couples who struggle with it feel like they can't talk about it, which makes it exponentially harder to deal with.

Let's talk about it.

I stopped taking birth control in June 2015 after Spencer and I graduated from college. Our plan was that we wouldn't actively try for a baby while he was in law school, but we also wouldn't use any contraceptives. We felt like if it was supposed to happen, it just would. My first period was several weeks late, but this wasn't really unusual for me. My periods had been wildly irregular before taking birth control. To the point where I spent about 1/4 of my time in high school with an irrational fear of immaculate conception.

Except without the sex.

As my periods continued to space further and further apart, other strange things started happening. Despite diet and exercise, I started to pack on weight. And then my hair started to fall out to the point that the sink, shower, and vacuum were getting clogged almost weekly. Month after month, my period would be 3,4,5 weeks late, but when I took a pregnancy test, it would be negative. When I went a three month stretch without a period around Christmastime and was still not pregnant, I decided that I needed to go to the doctor.

My general practitioner ran a few tests and the only thing that was unusual about my bloodwork was that my testosterone levels were high. I immediately called Spencer and told him, "We've discovered why I can't get pregnant! ...I'm a man." I was told to go to a gynecologist for more specific tests.

I made an appointment with an OBGYN whose office was filled with pictures of babies to make me feel even worse. I should have taken this as a sign that this was not the office for me. I described what was happening to the doctor and she immediately took me back for an ultrasound. She told the tech to look at my ovaries. She pointed the wand over and they both gasped.

Not actually my ovary (because weird) but this is what it looked like

I'm pretty sure that it says somewhere in Med School 101 that you should never gasp at your patient's anything when they are in the room with you. "Wow," they kept saying over and over, "that could go in a textbook!" Which, once again, not the best thing to say while your patient is next to you. They went on like this for a few minutes before they remembered I existed. I was told to put my clothes back on so we could discuss what we had found. The doctor still hadn't told me what was wrong, but I figured that "textbook" ovaries were not a good sign.

When we got back to the exam room, the doctor told me that I had polycystic ovarian syndrome, which was causing my weight gain and hair loss as well. She told me that I had two options, go on birth control to get rid of the symptoms or start fertility medication. I told her that we would start fertility medication. She gave me a prescription for clomid and told me to start taking it three days into my period which should start soon based on the ultrasound and shooed me out the door to get blood work to make sure I didn't have diabetes. Oh, but she made sure to tell me before I left that she had patients with PCOS who could "eat nothing and gain weight."

A few weeks later, my period had still not started. I called the office repeatedly and finally got my doctor on the phone. This was our conversation:

Me: "You told me to start the clomid once my period started, but it hasn't started yet. What should I do?
Doctor: "You need to start taking it on day three of your cycle."
Me: "Yes. I know. It hasn't started yet. I saw you several weeks ago. You told me that my endometrium was thick and my period would start soon. It hasn't"
Doctor: "Hmmmm. Let me get your chart....Oh, your endometrium was only a few millimeters thick"
Me: "You told me it was thick"
Doctor: "That's very thin. If you knew how itty bitty a millimeter is..."
This is when I decided to get a new OBGYN as soon as possible
Me: "Ok, well what do you want me to do. I can't start the clomid until my period starts and it hasn't"
Doctor: "Yes, you need to take your progesterone and then you can take the clomid on day three of your cycle"
Me, internally: AHHHHHHHH!
Me: "You didn't prescribe me progesterone."
Doctor: "Yes I did."
Me: "No, you didn't."
Doctor: "Hmmm well, I'll send that in to your pharmacy and then once your period starts, you need to take the clomid on days 3-7 of your cycle."
Me:"......got it. Thanks."

You go through several cycles of clomid before other options are explored. While I was dealing with the joys of hormonal treatments, I had to deal with people saying these things:
"Why don't you have any kids?"
"When are you going to have kids?"
"You're lucky you don't have kids"
Spencer was at a "Fathers and Sons" campout for church because it was a part of his responsibilities at the time and someone literally said to him, "Why are you here? You don't have a son."

We told a few of our close friends about our infertility and talked with them about these experiences. One of our friends helped us come up with some fun responses to rude questions. When people asked why we didn't have kids, we wanted to say:
"Guess Spencer's shooting blanks!"
"It's so weird. We have unprotected sex all the time!"
"We saw your kids and decided we didn't want any."
Or, my personal favorite, "I don't know what we're doing wrong! We kiss every night before bed!"

We were lucky. I got pregnant on my third round of clomid and had a healthy pregnancy and a successful delivery (I won't say healthy delivery because y'all know what went down). But, at the time, we didn't know how long we would have to struggle with infertility. We still don't know what's going to happen when I stop breastfeeding or when we decide to have another baby.

I tried to make this post as humorous as I could because I think we can find humor in even the darkest times, but infertility is real and way more people struggle with it than you would think. Please don't ask people when they're going to have children or why they don't have any. And be sensitive around Mother's and Father's Day. And if you're a doctor, don't gasp when you look at someone's ultrasound.

Labor is Beautiful...HAHAHAHAHAHA

2017-04-01T13:16:00.004-07:00

While on Facebook yesterday, I noticed an acquaintance had posted an article about natural childbirth. As these articles often do, it described labor as "beautiful" and "magical," and said that "women's bodies were built to labor effectively." HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

As someone who recently experienced labor, I can testify that for me, this is not true. I know that some of you are thinking, "But my experience was magical! I felt no pain and my baby slid out of me effortlessly, smiling, with a full head of beautiful hair that was not covered in gunk!" Good for you. However, for the rest of us, let's not pretend that childbirth is not at least an intense experience.

I'll be honest, I was expecting an easy labor. My mother had four children, all with no pain medication, all in eight hours or less. She is one of those women the articles supporting natural birth are describing. My plan was to go natural. I had nothing against epidurals (besides the fact that they terrified me, but more on that later) but I wanted to do it without one if possible. I discussed this with my doctor and he agreed. I practiced my breathing. I thought of other things to focus on. I was ready. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

When I visited my doctor for my 36 week checkup, he told me that we were in it for the long haul; I was maybe 1cm dilated and 0% effaced. That baby was sticking around for a while. "It is possible that your water could break spontaneously," he said, "but that only happens in about 15% of pregnancies. I'll see you next week." That was Wednesday. Around 2am Saturday morning, my water broke spontaneously. I'm going to be honest with y'all. I woke up and needed to fart. I was pregnant, it happens. I did and felt a gush like I had peed. I hadn't yet hit the peeing your pants stage of pregnancy, so I thought that we had reached that point. I sighed and got out of bed.

Well, that's not pee, I thought. I screamed for Spencer to wake up as I ran into the bathroom. I called the doctor standing in the shower, fully clothed, while Spencer mopped up the path I had made between the bed and the shower.

We got to the hospital and checked in. They kept saying if my water had broken, I would get a room. If my water had broken, they would call my doctor in. I'm not joking, guys, I was standing there, dripping through my pants onto the floor and they didn't believe that my water had broken.

When they confirmed that my water had indeed broken, we were checked into a room and I was attached to a million wires. Just a few things no one told me about labor from the start:

If your water breaks, it does not stop leaking. I was in a constant state of wetness from 2am on. Unpleasant.
You will need to go to the bathroom a lot because the only thing you're allowed to consume is ice. This is good, because it actually helps you labor faster (in theory). The problem is that every time you want to get out of bed, you have to call the nurse and tell them that you're not dying, you just have to unplug the millions of things you're plugged into. "Hey, uh, I have to pee again," was something I said about a thousand times over the course of my labor.
Everyone will tell you that you can watch TV to pass the time. Unfortunately, I somehow found myself uninterested in the infomercials on every channel at 3am.

Incidentally, another good representation of my water breaking

After about an hour, I had not gone into labor naturally. Once your water breaks, they kind of need to get the baby out, so I was told that I would have to be induced. I knew that this was bad news bears. The only labor that my mother has ever complained about was the one that was induced. It was also the longest of her labors (8 hours, don't you feel so bad for her?...) But, I knew that for the safety of the baby and myself, we needed to get her out as soon as possible. They started the pitocin.

The contractions came on quickly. Every few minutes, it felt like the worst muscle cramp I'd ever had, starting from the top of my abdomen and going all the way down to my knees. I tried sitting. I tried standing. I tried lying down. I even tried squatting for half a second. Every time I had a contraction, I would think, "The pitocin is working. This is a good thing." I would chant that over and over in my mind while I breathed in my nose and out my mouth like they always say to. I'll have you know that all the nurses complimented me on my breathing, soooo.

After about five hours of this, the doctor came in to check on me. I won't go into details, but that in itself was fairly unpleasant. I had dilated an additional.........half centimeter. I was 1.5 cm dilated after five hours of what felt like excruciating labor. I was aware that there are three stages of labor, early, active, and transitional, each one becoming more painful and intense than the last. I was still in early labor. The doctor told me that I needed to prepare myself to be here for 24-36 hours. It was going to be a long labor. Everyone who talked to me when I was pregnant knows that this was my basic birth plan: If anything is going wrong, cut me open. I had heard too many stories of women suffering through terrible labors only to get a C-section anyway. I told the doctor this. He said that he wouldn't do that. A vaginal delivery is the most healthy for mom and baby and they'll do everything they can to insure that before they'll do a C-section.

So, I kept going. Spencer and I watched Parks and Recreation on my laptop for a while. I tried to read a book. I honestly don't remember how I passed most of the time. After a few more hours, the doctor came in to check again. 2 centimeters. He said that we were going to have to double my pitocin levels, which would mean even harder and faster contractions. It was at this point that my fear of an epidural was overcome. We called the anesthesiologist.

Side-note: Why is it that the blood pressure cuff always seems to go off in the middle of a contraction? So, not only are you in crazy pain all over your body, you're also having the life squeezed out of your arm. Then the nurses come in and say, "Your blood pressure was a little high there.." Yes. I feel like I was maybe slightly stressed at that moment. Anyway.

When you get an epidural, they tell you to sit up on the side of your bed, and then hunch over with the worst posture you've ever had in your life. Then, while telling you to not move under any circumstances, they stick a giant needle into your back. Which, believe it or not, hurts a ton. Meanwhile, contractions were still coming on strong. The anesthesiologist told me that it should start to feel warm and then numb in my legs and then work it's way up. It would be fully effective within twenty minutes. None of that happened. I was still having terrible contractions, shooting all the way down my legs. The nurse had my try hitting my "extra juice" button a few times, but to no avail. The epidural hadn't taken. I had to do it over.

So, the anesthesiologist came back. They made me hunch over the bed again. They pulled the catheter out of my back, and stuck another giant needle into me. "I was wondering if the last one wasn't quite right," the doctor mused very calmly. "It didn't feel right to me." Awesome. Thank you for pretending that it was going to work last time, then. I remember thinking, if this one doesn't take, I don't know if I can do this again. What are my options? Pass out? Die? Yeah, that sounds good.

Thankfully, my second epidural worked. And, let me tell you, epidurals are awesome. I felt nothing. I need another steroid shot? Sure! Need to check me again? No problem! I am a female warrior. I can conquer all. I am Beyonce.

Keep in mind, I had been awake for a very long time at this point.

We turned off the lights and Spencer slept while I dozed (kind of hard to sleep with a blood pressure cuff going off every fifteen minutes) for several hours. At around hour 22 of being in the hospital, I was finally 100% dilated and effaced. We were ready to push.

Side-note Two: I was so exhausted at this point, I kept thinking, "I'm so excited to be done with labor, then I can get some sleep." Then I would remember that when I was done with labor I would have a baby and never sleep again. Then I would regret every decision in my life that led me to that point.

With every contraction, the nurse had me hold up my noodley legs and push. She would say, "Great job! You're doing so good! Exactly like that!" and then I would plop my legs back down and breath, waiting for the next one. After about an hour, I started to think, "but am I doing 'so good'? If I was doing such a 'great job' wouldn't this gosh dang baby be out of me by now!?" After the second hour, I started to think, "You LIAR! I am NOT doing good! I am NOT doing a great job! GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME!" Or, you know, something like that.

When I had not produced a child after two and a half hours of pushing, the doctor was called in. He sat down, looked at me, and immediately said, "Yeah, no, we need to do a C-section."

He started this whole spiel about how "if we had a crystal ball and could've known this was going to happen.." I am not the type to do this, but I was so past my limit (and bedtime) at this point, I interrupted him and loudly said, "I asked you twenty hours ago if I could have a C-section because I thought that this exact thing would happen." I was your crystal ball and you ignored me!!!

So, they dressed Spencer in surgical gear, wheeled me down to the operating room, and pumped me full of even more drugs to numb me further. Did you know that the anesthesia they use to perform C-sections makes you shake uncontrollably? I didn't. Did you also know that even though you can't feel any pain, you can still feel everything they are doing to you? I felt them slice open my stomach. I can't even think of a better way to produce imagery for you, so I'll repeat it. I FELT THEM SLICE OPEN MY STOMACH. I heard my baby cry, and I'd like to tell you that it was this magical moment and everything was suddenly worth it and I looked like all the women in movies meeting their babies for the first time.

I was slightly distracted by the sounds of the doctor saying things like, "We need to stop that bleeding." I kept thinking, "This is it. This is how I die." Obviously I didn't die and it's pretty normal to lose blood during surgery, but I was finding it difficult to think clearly in the moment. Apparently, after they closed me up (which I felt too, by the way), the doctor came around the curtain to congratulate us, still covered in my blood. Spencer tells me this happened, I must've blocked it from my memory.

All in all, it was worth it. Everything they say about forgetting labor pains is true. I only have vague memories of what it felt like and the whole 24 hour experience now feels like a blur. I didn't cry when I met my baby and even for a week or so afterwards, it still felt surreal that she was my baby, but I would do it again for her.

But, when a week ago someone asked me if I was going to try to do VBACs for the rest of my children, I had one thing to say. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Homeward Bound

2016-01-10T13:59:00.002-08:00

After spending time with Spencer's family in Utah for Christmas, it was time for us to return home. We had planned to fly home on Sunday the 27th so that we could be home for our anniversary on the 28th. After church, Spencer got a notification that our flight to Chicago had been delayed by 50 minutes. This was a problem, since our layover in Chicago was only 45 minutes long.

After being on hold with Southwest for half an hour, Spencer found out that our flight from Chicago to Louisville was the last one that night. We booked flights for the next day. So, our second anniversary was going to be spent getting up at 4:00am to catch an 8:00 flight to Chicago, sitting in the Chicago airport for 4 hours, and then taking the two hour flight back home to Louisville. We had also lost our Early Bird Check-in when we switched flights, so we were going to have to pay $40 at each gate to upgrade Spencer to A boarding if we wanted to sit next to each other. We were less than thrilled. But, we were just excited to be home with our cat, so we were going to deal with it.

When we got to the Salt Lake Airport at 6:00 the next morning, we breezed through security, got some overpriced pastries, and sat next to our gate. Maybe things would go our way after all. I think you can see where this is going.

As I stood in line to board, someone announced over the intercom, "Attention Southwest passengers to Chicago. Flights from Chicago to Las Vegas, Orlando, Newark, Atlanta, and Mobile have been cancelled. Please see a representative if you would like to change your flight schedule."

The people in line had one of those weird moments of stranger solidarity as we all looked nervously toward each other for support. "Excuse me," the man ahead of me asked the attendant, "Are all flights out of Chicago being cancelled? That was quite a list!"

"Not yet," the attendant replied as he continued to scan boarding passes nonchalantly.

Ah, yes, comforting.

The flight was really uneventful for the most part. Spencer was able to save me a seat and we watched Food Network together on the iPad. We were about thirty minutes outside Chicago when the pilot made an announcement. "Well folks, Chicago has been hit by some freezing rain. They've closed down all the runways and they aren't letting any planes in or out." Spencer and I looked at each other in grim amazement as he continued, "So, we're going to be diverted to Louisville."

WHAT!?

It was an anniversary miracle.

But, slowly, my pessimism began to take its toll. "Spencer...what if they don't let us off the plane?"

"Why wouldn't they let us off the plane?"

"I don't know. I feel like that's a thing they do sometimes..."

I was mostly thinking of this episode of 30 Rock, where they get stuck on the tarmac for hours.

But still, a legitimate fear.

We landed in Louisville and sat on the tarmac for a while without word from anyone, furthering the Liz Lemon panic attack growing inside me. Finally, the pilot announced, "There were five other planes diverted here from Chicago, so they don't have enough gates for all of us. I'll let you know as soon as I know anything. In the meantime, I'm turning the fasten seatbelt sign off. Feel free to move around and use the bathrooms."

I got up to use the bathroom at the front of the plane and since it was occupied, I ended up standing right next to the flight attendants. I figured now would be a good time to calm down my crazy. "If Louisville is our final destination, we'll be able to get off here, right?"

"We don't know yet."

Excusemewhat. "That wouldn't make any sense though, right? Would they really make me fly all the way to Chicago to come back here?"

Now. I had not raised my voice. I was not letting those women know the hell storm of fury that was rising from the depths of my soul. But I was given the authority voice. You know the voice I'm talking about. Equal parts condescending and angry, with that splash of polite so you can't complain to corporate later. I know that voice. I've used that voice. Don't give me that voice!

"Ma'am," the flight attendant started, "we do not know. You'll have to wait until we hear from the captain."

I mumbled something to the effect of, "oksorryjustthinkingoutloud"

Then the flight attendant picks up her phone thing, looks me in the eye, and says, "Ladies and gentlemen, although we are on the ground, it is important that you not form a line for the forward lavatory. Please scoot about 4 or 5 rows back for safety reasons. Thank you."

.....

When I got back to my seat, I was in full blown panic mode. I'm sure I was ranting like a lunatic.

"Spencer. We have to get off the plane, Spencer. I'm not going to Chicago, Spencer! THEY CAN'T MAKE ME GO TO CHICAGO, SPENCER!"

I had a plan. And I'm dead serious, guys, I think I would have done it. They can't move the plane if someone is standing up. I was 100% ready to stand up and refuse to sit down until they let me off that plane or they got a policeman to escort me off. I'm also pretty sure there were at least six other people going to Louisville on that plane. We could have mutinied. We could have done it. It would have been beautiful.

Luckily, they let us off the plane and I still have a clean record.

Classroom Management

2015-11-22T17:36:00.000-08:00

I recently started teaching at a new school. A new school has given me an entirely new set of challenges. Firstly, these kids are huggers. Rule #1 of teaching: don't touch the children. At least three times a day, a student will surprise me with a hug, which, between their 11-year-old awkwardness and my inability to touch them, looks like this:

I am Malfoy in this situation.

On the other end of the spectrum, a large portion of my day is dedicated to getting yelled at/ignored by prepubescents. These are some typical classroom conversations:

Me: I love it when people are doing their work quietly without talking